The Robber Bridegroom
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Lucius/Hermione
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
10
Views:
8,306
Reviews:
7
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Lucius/Hermione
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
10
Views:
8,306
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.
Escape
Title: Escape
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: #15 – Escape. ‘I want to tear your dreams away, and show your hopes last sanctuary.’ ‘Pure’ by Gary Numan.
Word Count: 781 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
#15 – Escape
There was no way out except through her Master. Hermione realized this soon after he had whispered the traitorous words into her ear. There was no guarantee that it was not a trap, and there was no surety to be able to trust his words. Lucius Malfoy had lied his way out of much in his life—imprisonment being at the top of the list.
He did not touch her that night, and let her sleep in her dress. The bed was large enough for her to imagine that she was sleeping alone. He did not snore and did not move much while asleep.
When morning came, she was alone.
Aniel met her on the servant’s staircase to the kitchen and led her back up to the first floor, showing her several rooms that were suddenly hers.
“You have put on some more weight, and you might fit into the Mistress’ clothes…”
Armoires of clothing, all belonging to a dead woman, were shown to her, and Hermione could only stare passively as Aniel laid out a fine dress for her to wear that day. The elf spoke instructions, new instructions, as Hermione dressed mechanically in a bustled gown of deep blue. It was a plain dress compared to the others she had seen, and it clung to her body like a second skin of taffeta, warm in the cool atmosphere of the Manor.
“You will always join the Master when he has guests. You will sit at his feet, as is fitting to your station. You will always join the Master for dinner, sitting at his left hand. You will not speak to guests. You will not leave the Master’s side for any reason unless escorted by Aniel when guests are present. You will not speak unless spoken to, you will not look guests in the face, you will not…will not…”
Hermione felt as if her head were on a hinge attached to her neck for all the nodding she did.
Once Aniel had finished with the ‘new rules,’ the elf tutted at Hermione as she stood before a dressing mirror in the bedroom she assumed had once been Narcissa Malfoy’s.
“Your hair needs fixing, sit on the bed, Aniel will do it…”
The elf, whose sex Hermione could not determine, grumbled to itself about a witch not having a wand…then remembered Hermione was not considered a witch in the eyes of the Dark Lord.
While the elf Charmed Hermione’s hair up into pins, weaving the long chestnut curls into intricate weaves, Hermione regarded her new rooms. They were smaller than her Master’s was, brighter, decorated in creams and pale blues. It was tasteful, feminine, but still cold.
There was a type of artificial quality about the first floor rooms, one that Hermione disliked. The simplicity of her basement room had suited her. The light that came in through the windows still made her eyes hurt after four years of darkness.
“Master is waiting with a guest in the parlour, you are overdue,” Aniel informed Hermione; a sudden dread filled her corseted chest.
She did not want to go into the parlour.
Escape was impossible. If she were to try, she knew she would not get far. There was no one she could ask for help if she managed to leave the Manor. Harry had stopped looking for her, Ron was murdered before her eyes, and Hermione did not know what other of her friends and allies were still alive.
Then her Master’s words came back to her.
She would have to trust in them for now.
Descending in clothing that made her feel far more elegant that she would ever know, Hermione knocked on the parlour door and entered. As Aniel had told her, she sat at Lucius’ feet like an obedient hound, her hands folded atop his boot, his fingers brushing the side of her neck, as a man would stroke a beloved pet.
Tea was served, but none was offered to Hermione. The scent of orange peel and spice made the lingering smell of death in the parlour disappear. Hermione eyed the walnut table with repressed anger.
“It is good to know that we understand each other,” Lucius said, and Hermione was quickly paying attention.
Her eyes moved to the guest sitting on the adjacent couch, cup, and saucer balanced on a wide knee. She had paid little mind to the conversation, still burning at the thought that Ron was gone…
Chancing a look at the guest, whose eyes were burning into her, Hermione shuddered and her Master’s fingers pulled roughly on a loose curl to keep her face from crumbling in humiliation.
The guest was Viktor Krum.
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: #15 – Escape. ‘I want to tear your dreams away, and show your hopes last sanctuary.’ ‘Pure’ by Gary Numan.
Word Count: 781 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
#15 – Escape
There was no way out except through her Master. Hermione realized this soon after he had whispered the traitorous words into her ear. There was no guarantee that it was not a trap, and there was no surety to be able to trust his words. Lucius Malfoy had lied his way out of much in his life—imprisonment being at the top of the list.
He did not touch her that night, and let her sleep in her dress. The bed was large enough for her to imagine that she was sleeping alone. He did not snore and did not move much while asleep.
When morning came, she was alone.
Aniel met her on the servant’s staircase to the kitchen and led her back up to the first floor, showing her several rooms that were suddenly hers.
“You have put on some more weight, and you might fit into the Mistress’ clothes…”
Armoires of clothing, all belonging to a dead woman, were shown to her, and Hermione could only stare passively as Aniel laid out a fine dress for her to wear that day. The elf spoke instructions, new instructions, as Hermione dressed mechanically in a bustled gown of deep blue. It was a plain dress compared to the others she had seen, and it clung to her body like a second skin of taffeta, warm in the cool atmosphere of the Manor.
“You will always join the Master when he has guests. You will sit at his feet, as is fitting to your station. You will always join the Master for dinner, sitting at his left hand. You will not speak to guests. You will not leave the Master’s side for any reason unless escorted by Aniel when guests are present. You will not speak unless spoken to, you will not look guests in the face, you will not…will not…”
Hermione felt as if her head were on a hinge attached to her neck for all the nodding she did.
Once Aniel had finished with the ‘new rules,’ the elf tutted at Hermione as she stood before a dressing mirror in the bedroom she assumed had once been Narcissa Malfoy’s.
“Your hair needs fixing, sit on the bed, Aniel will do it…”
The elf, whose sex Hermione could not determine, grumbled to itself about a witch not having a wand…then remembered Hermione was not considered a witch in the eyes of the Dark Lord.
While the elf Charmed Hermione’s hair up into pins, weaving the long chestnut curls into intricate weaves, Hermione regarded her new rooms. They were smaller than her Master’s was, brighter, decorated in creams and pale blues. It was tasteful, feminine, but still cold.
There was a type of artificial quality about the first floor rooms, one that Hermione disliked. The simplicity of her basement room had suited her. The light that came in through the windows still made her eyes hurt after four years of darkness.
“Master is waiting with a guest in the parlour, you are overdue,” Aniel informed Hermione; a sudden dread filled her corseted chest.
She did not want to go into the parlour.
Escape was impossible. If she were to try, she knew she would not get far. There was no one she could ask for help if she managed to leave the Manor. Harry had stopped looking for her, Ron was murdered before her eyes, and Hermione did not know what other of her friends and allies were still alive.
Then her Master’s words came back to her.
She would have to trust in them for now.
Descending in clothing that made her feel far more elegant that she would ever know, Hermione knocked on the parlour door and entered. As Aniel had told her, she sat at Lucius’ feet like an obedient hound, her hands folded atop his boot, his fingers brushing the side of her neck, as a man would stroke a beloved pet.
Tea was served, but none was offered to Hermione. The scent of orange peel and spice made the lingering smell of death in the parlour disappear. Hermione eyed the walnut table with repressed anger.
“It is good to know that we understand each other,” Lucius said, and Hermione was quickly paying attention.
Her eyes moved to the guest sitting on the adjacent couch, cup, and saucer balanced on a wide knee. She had paid little mind to the conversation, still burning at the thought that Ron was gone…
Chancing a look at the guest, whose eyes were burning into her, Hermione shuddered and her Master’s fingers pulled roughly on a loose curl to keep her face from crumbling in humiliation.
The guest was Viktor Krum.