Hostage of War

A/N: As always, my gratitude goes to Softobsidian74 for alpha reading and feedback and to Sempra, who is a fantastic beta.

I am very sorry about the long wait. Internt access is not always available where I am.


Chapter 6

Philomena


He was lagging.

The ancient runes translation was exacting, but the matter was very dry, Goblin laws. Goblins were known to cover every angle of an issue and never leave loop holes in their laws.

Just the thing to get Granger excited. She was bent over her books, cheeks flushed, her quill scratching over her parchment at a pace that would suggest her to be under threat of death to finish.

Her enthusiasm irked him today, as he was not feeling like working himself.

Settling for watching her and staring into space, he went about finding a new way to aggravate her.

She was too amusing when provoked.

Absentmindedly, Draco kept reaching for the bowl with shelled Almonds, tapping them with his wand. The shell cracked with a soft scrunching noise a he popped the kernel into his mouth.

Exasperated, Hermione tried to ignore the regular noise in the silence of the library, until she could take no more. She stood so abruptly that her chair teetered on its hind legs before falling forward and rocking a bit back and forth before stilling.

Bent over the wide table she caught his hand in the bowl and held on.

“Can you please stop doing that? It makes me crazy!”

He looked at her with cool eyes; his gaze strayed down to where the generous neckline of her deep blue robes ended. His mother had probably not intended to display what his eyes had now access to.

She either did not notice or was too unused to clothing that could become revealing if one did not take care. He met her eyes in amusement.

“No.”

She huffed but still did not let go of his wrist. His skin was warmed by her grip and tingled in interest.

“The noise makes it hard to concentrate, could you at least cast Muffliato?”

He looked pointedly at her hand and she let go, sitting down on her chair with a thump.

“I am allergic to Muffliato.”

Now she tried to run her hand through her braided hair and only managed to get her fingers caught in the complicated slings of locks. His mother was truly putting her through the paces. In two years she would leave this house behaving like a proper witch. It would be interesting to see what Narcissa’s finishing school approach could accomplish.

“Who has ever heard about somebody being allergic to a spell?” she cried desperately trying to untangle the small ring she wore on her right hand.

He shrugged.

“It gives me a headache.”

She closed her eyes and he thought she might break out in tears of frustration.

“It would not even be on you, just on the bloody almonds!”

He loved how harried she looked.

“I am shocked!” he placed a hand on his own chest. “You are suggesting I ingest something I am allergic to?”

She mumbled something that sounded very much like ‘I hope it kills you’.

With glee, he tapped his wand against the almond he had been holding the entire time. The shell split in the middle and revealed two kernels.

A perfect Philomena.

“I tell you what, Granger. If you participate in a pure blood custom with me, I will refrain from eating shelled almonds in your presence.” Which left a myriad of other nuts as well as other shelled things he could still eat and annoy her to no end.

Although the thought of eating mussels or lobster in the library horrified him, it would horrify her so much more.

She narrowed her eyes.

“Does this particular pure blood custom involve anything about cousins, because I can tell you Malfoy, I will certainly not…”

“Hold your horses, Granger—or do Muggles use donkeys to work the earth? Anyhow, no, nothing like that.” He produced the shell with the two kernels. “This is a Philomena. I will eat one and you will eat one. The one of us to remember first when we see each other tomorrow, will say ‘Good Morning Philippine’ and wins. They can ask the loser, most probably you, Granger, for a small gift.”

“Why do you say Philippine if this is called a Philomena?”

Draco sighed deeply.

“Who cares, Granger? Merlin, leave it to you to question everything. Don’t pick it apart, just have fun.” Or let me have fun at your expense.

“Why do you want me to do this? What kind of gift?”

“Anything, Granger. Anything.”

“Never. Who knows what you will ask for!”

Now he had her.

“So you admit that I am superior, since you will not be able to remember such a simple thing for one day and that you are scared, little Gryffindor?”

He could see her instinct to back away fighting with her natural inclination never to back down from a challenge. So easy to manipulate.

“Alright. Give it to me.”

She accepted one of the kernels from his hand and inspected it carefully before popping it into her mouth.

He followed suit and started chewing.

As soon as some of the almond had gone down, magic started swirling between them in a pale yellow figure of eight motion.

Hermione sat in shocked silence.

“You made me enter a magical contract.”

Draco shrugged nonchalantly.

“Serves you right not to be able to withstand a challenge. Sometimes I wonder what you Gryffindors would do if someone challenged you to poison yourself.”

He rolled his eyes and strolled from the room, determined not to forget about the Philomena tomorrow morning.


***


A ‘Good Morning Philippine!’ on the lips, Draco entered the dining room only to find Hermione’s chair empty.

Feeling a bit foolish, he murmured “Good morning, Mother. Father.”

The morning certainly did not start as expected. Draco had carefully waited a full fourteen minutes to be sure to be the last person to enter the dining room for breakfast. Hermione usually sat with her back to the door, as did he himself. She should have had no chance at all to be the first to remind him of the Philomena.

Granger had obviously had the same plan.

Fourteen minutes stretched to half an hour at which point Draco was in a sour mood. Granger seemed to want to ambush him at a time when he would never suspect it. But that would not work. He would be attentive.

Lucius suddenly hissed in pain and let the chair scrape backward noisily on the marble floor while he stood up, holding his left arm, just as Hermione rushed into the room, her apology for having overslept being cut short by the sight in front of her.

Lucius did not have to tell his wife and son where he was going as he summoned his black cloak and silver mask.

They watched the head of the Malfoy family go with a resounding crack of Apparition.

Hermione felt that her breathing was too loud in the following silence.

“I think I better prepare myself,” Draco said, getting up from his chair, childish games forgotten.

They waited a long time.

By an unspoken agreement, Hermione waited with mother and son, breakfast cold and ignored on the polished table.

Draco sat on one of the sofas, Death Eater robe draped over the armrest, mask on the side table. He had dressed warmly and sat now waiting for the dreaded burn in his arm, foot jumping nervously.

His hiss of pain was nearly drowned out by the loud sound that announced Lucius’ return.

He did not lose time.

“Draco, come. Miss Granger, you, too.”

Hermione stood, an icy feeling spreading through her, making her heart stumble.

Lucius held his hand out to her.

“Your wand.”

She slipped it slowly from its sleeve at her forearm and placed it in his palm. She then lifted her eyes to his and looked at him with trepidation.

“You will get it back.”

Something must have happened.

Albus had assured her that nobody would step out of line, that everybody was well aware of the laws concerning hostages.

The same laws that protected her in the Malfoy household could easily demand her death.

Narcissa Malfoy stood at the table, a frown on her pretty features.

She watched in silence as her husband clasped the shoulder of the girl and then all three of them spun away.


***


The room was vast and dark. So cold and imposing.

The few torches in scones along the circular walls did little to illuminate the hall. For a moment she caught Ginny’s worried eye a few black robes down. Blaise Zabini was standing behind her, his hands on her shoulders.

A sea of black stood to either side of the throne and Hermione had to realise that she and Ginny were the only ones in attendance, who were not in Death Eater robes. Hermione deeply regretted wearing the ridiculously frilly and cheerful magenta robe that Narcissa had talked her into.

A very thin robe.

Hermione could not suppress a shiver and she wrapped her arms around her middle. She had been here for mere seconds and already she had to clench her jaws to keep her teeth from chattering.

Lucius was standing next to her and suddenly she could feel a warm presence behind her, not truly touching at all but shielding her back from the damp drafts that wafted through the catacomb-like room.

“It’s me,” Draco whispered when she flinched away.

She was only too aware that this setting could not mean anything good.

Neither for them, nor for herself.

Voldemort appeared directly in front of his gaudy seat, shortly followed by two Death Eaters, who had their hands firmly clasped around the upper arms of Albus Dumbledore and Arthur Weasley.

“My followers have been attacked. Is this how you honour the agreement, Albus? You were the one talking about family life and a reprieve for the young.” He stood. “It was a picnic, Albus, a picnic! Children were present!”

“I do not know who did this, Tom. Please consider that no one was harmed. A mere prank, a foolish one, but nevertheless a prank rather than an attack.”

“It matters not. I demand retribution.”

Hermione saw Arthur tense, his gaze flicking to Ginny.

Draco’s hands dug into her robes from behind, holding her in place unbeknownst to others.

“What kind of retribution do you chose, Tom?”

“I am not willing to call this armistice off as of yet.”

“I appreciate it, Tom.” Albus inclined his head.

“Now, which one should it be, Albus?”

Voldemort stood and glided closer to the two shivering girls. He let one very long, claw-like fingernail scrape over Ginny’s face, from her brow over her cheek down to her chin.

She did not flinch but tried to follow the movement with her eyes without stirring.

“Would you like to watch while your daughter pays for the foolishness of your peers, Arthur?”

Hermione saw Arthur close his eyes in pain.

Her own parents did not even know that she existed anymore. And they were certainly not here to watch whatever debasement she would be subjected to.

“No!”

Hermione surprised herself with the force and volume of that one exclaimed word.

“No?”

Voldemort seemed disbelievingly amused.

“Punish me.”

“A volunteer? How delightfully brave and stupid. But your lot never was one for self-preservation, were you?”

He strode back to his seat and leaned back comfortably.

“Lucius, would you like to do the honours?”

Draco’s hands were still holding her robes and she was unable to move away from him. And do something even more stupid than offering herself up for punishment. Lucius took a first step toward her and she inwardly tried to remember all the punishments that the laws cited.

Whipping.

Having a goat lick salt from the soles of her feet.

Caning.

Caning was supposed to be crippling if done—well she could not add the word ‘right’ in good conscious—crippling if this was the intended outcome. Or if executed by an amateur. She doubted that there were any amateurs present.

Rape. Multiple even.

She put that on top of the list of probable scenarios.

Please not the goat.

She had stared dumbfounded at the picture in the old law book.

But then she had read on and a feeling of horror had gripped her. The rough tongue of the goat first made the victim laugh helplessly. The urge was so violent that many passed out from lack of oxygen or literally laughed themselves to death. If that did not happen and the licking went on long enough, the tickling sensation turned to one of pain, a feeling as if the underside of the feet was being removed and the grainy tongue licked directly over exposed nerves and bones.

“But I think that Draco has a score to settle from his schooldays. I think you will have to step aside for your son this time, Lucius.”

Lucius retreated back into the line of minions and Draco held her robes tighter than ever.

“Get on your knees, Mudblood. I am sure you know what to do.”

Fellatio.

The relief that flooded her was nearly comical.

The incident must have been a minor one to force Voldemort to stay within certain limits in his punishment.

She only had to perform fellatio on a man she was forced to live with for more than another year.

Straining against Draco’s grip, he released her and she turned around.

The only thing she could see of his face behind the mask was his eyes.

They held no compassion.

Draco slid his hand into her curls at the nape of her neck and tightened his grip.

Hard.

She held his gaze.

He did not caress the nape of her neck underneath her hair or try to whisper reassuring ‘I’m sorries’.

Not that she had expected that.

This was not some twisted romance novel after all.

But he did not smirk at her either. His eyes were a careful, determined blank as he asserted pressure on her shoulder with his arm that rested there from cradling the back of her head.

The thin material of her skirt immediately soaked through with a cold, wet, slimy substance she did not want to think about.

Shutting the rest of the room out, she concentrated on the next task at hand.

Open robes.

Find belt.

Get shaking fingers to undo the buckle.

Think of peace.

Muster courage to go further.

Falter and try again.

In a twisted kind of way, Draco felt her hesitate and tightened his grip on her hair once more, jolting her back into action.

She unbuttoned his fly with difficulty, afraid that they might get impatient and change her ... task.

Thankfully he was already hard. It would be over ore quickly then.

She had felt a tightening of her stomach at the thought of sucking his limp dick to life.

Opening her mouth wide she closed her eyes and shut out the scene around her. The floor was still cold and hard and slick with unmentionable wetness ad there were still dozens if not more than a hundred men watching her on her knees in front of Malfoy.

She was lucky that it was not somebody like Dolohov, who was a brute in all things.

She was very unlucky that she had to face Malfoy in ten minutes. Tomorrow. Next week. In two months. At Christmas and Easter.

Her tongue moved in practiced patterns along the underside of his cock.

Think of peace.

At least he tasted clean. Thank goodness for Malfoy vanity and immaculate grooming.

Bob head.

Think of peace.

Through her concentration she could hear unhappy murmurs from the assembled men.

Malfoy seemed to realise this, too, because he suddenly had both of his hands in her hair and pulled her face all the way to his groin.

Surprised by the sudden movement, she made a distressed sound and out of pure reflex and instinct, her hands came up to his hips, trying to push him away.

He was going too far, she could not breathe and started struggling.

It was impossible to remember what she was supposed to think about.

Her stomach was heaving; her throat constricting and the cut air supply made her eyes water and tears of strain and panic made their way down her cheeks.

He simply held her there, her nose pressed into his blond, wiry hair and she could not stop fighting and screaming around this piece of flesh and her throat clamping down on him.

There were cheers now.

Catcalls.

Her throat constricted.

Her stomach lurched upward.

She could feel it on her lips and on her tongue. Contractions travelling down his cock. One, two, three.

She could not breathe.

Four.

Just leave me in peace!

And then she fell backward, hands and bottom instantly covered in pungent moisture.

The damp, stagnant air filled her lungs in gulps in between coughs.

“This was entertaining, although not nearly as much as it could have been. One more digression, Albus, one more, and we will be entertained, here as well as on the battlefield.”

Albus and Arthur were escorted out of the room and after Voldemort left, one Death Eater after the other Apparated out.

Hermione was still on the floor, staring blankly into nothingness.

Draco kept a careful distance and it was Lucius, who bent down to take her by the arm and help her to stand.

He steadied her when she nearly lost her footing in the entrance hall of Malfoy Manor, then quickly let her go.

“Granger, I...”

“Spare me, Draco.”

She turned to the stairs, still tasting his skin and sweat and seed in her mouth.

“Listen, Granger...”

“Draco!” Narcissa Malfoy stood at the top of the stairs, an ethereal figure in a flowing white negligee and dressing gown.”Let the girl go rinse her mouth and brush her teeth.”

Surprised, both Draco and Hermione stared at Lady Malfoy. There was nothing sweet or shallow in her voice, only practicality and knowledge.

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A/N: A huge thank you to all, who have read and reviewed! Review responses can be found here:

http://lady-of-clunn. livejournal. com/83248.html

Just take out spaces, as usual.