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How to Train Your Mudblood

by Xetal (ao3)

Chapter 1

After two years of successful operations, attacks and espionage, it had finally come to an end for Hermione. Not through, like she’d expected, a grand duel with the likes of Bellatrix, or perhaps even Lord Voldemort himself, fending them off valiantly whilst her comrades escaped. No, all it had taken was a simple mistake.

She’d been exhausted, fresh out of a 3 hour long firefight at Rosier Place, she’d been the sole survivor in her cell to make it to the agreed up emergency apparition point. Protocol, that she herself had written, dictated that if no one else arrived within 15 minutes, the first survivor was to pick an apparition point at random and escape there. That way if any companions were imperio-d into giving away the evacuation point, by the time the Death Eaters got there, any Order members would already be gone.

That’s how it was supposed to work at least. But Neville had been with her at the Rosier’s mansion, and when he didn’t arrive in 5 minutes, and then 10 minutes, and then 15 minutes, Hermione chose to give him just a little bit more time. She’d lost too many friends already, surely a few more minutes couldn’t hurt?

It had. Almost like clockwork, snatchers, death eaters, and the Dark Lord himself had apparated around the small forest clearing she’d escaped to. Anti-apparation and portkey wards slamming into her magical senses before she could even think to escape.

Had she been any less exhausted from the non-stop fighting, she wouldn’t have waited so long. Had she been any less exhausted from the fighting, she might have thought to use the felix felicis all senior order members carried in case of emergencies. Had she been any less exhausted, rather than fight, she could perhaps have hid, using her emergency ring, cloak, or potion.

But she had been so very tired. Her brain, still replaying the utter carnage of watching her friends and allies be torn apart by Rosier’s wards and guards, had instantly chosen fight, instead of flight.

An amateurish mistake. One could no more fight the Dark Lord than fight gravity. He was a force of nature, inevitable and ineffable.

And so Hermione had raised her wand, not quite panicked or scared, but utterly drained of all energy, and utterly furious and vengeful over her fallen comrades.

And so the Dark Lord had raised his, and without so much as a single word spoken, and fewer than three spells cast, Hermione had fallen to the cold snow, unconscious, but alive. Perhaps had she known what was to come, she wouldn’t have dodged the Dark Lord’s initial killing curse, rather than suffer the stunning curse that followed it.

 

---

 

Hermione awoke to a cell, cold, damp, and as utterly miserable as one would likely imagine a cell to be. A novice at wandless Magic, Hermione couldn’t so much as muster a flame at her fingertips within the cold stone room, it must have been warded with some kind of anti-magic spell.

With neither window nor artificial light, Hermioone couldn’t truly tell how long she stayed in that cell. Sleep came and went without regularity, as did the meals that appeared on the floor. Meals was perhaps a generous term for the strange ambiguously liquid soup that mysteriously appeared in seemingly unbreakable bowls. It didn’t have a distinct taste, so much as it’s existed merely evoked feelings of disgust and hatred towards the existence of one’s own tastebuds.

She counted 23 meals in total before the door to her room finally opened. Ideally that would have meant 23, or perhaps 8, days had passed, but Hermione was sure that she’d waited at least a few days between meals at certain points, so calculating the time accurately based off of them was nigh impossible.

She’d been brought to a great chamber that looked every inch the courtroom that it was. It was there she met her lawyer, which to her incredible surprise, turned out to be Percy Weasley. Naturally the Death Eater’s government didn’t offer prisoner’s public lawyer’s like a muggle government might, but the traitor Weasley apparently had grown something vaguely resembling a conscious, and so had chosen to represent her of his own volition. That meant she wasn’t to be immediately executed for the several counts of treason, espionage, murder, arson, terrorism and jaywalking she’d been charged with, but rather, she was to enjoy a comedically unfair trial, which would then have her executed for the aforementioned crimes.

Certainly, the paid off Judge, Jury and eagerly waiting executioner seemed to be expecting that result as well. But who knew, Percy made for one hell of a lawyer apparently. His main argument simply was, and Hermione was given no say in this, that because of her blood status, Hermione legally wasn’t human.

The death eaters had of course very quickly ensured this was the case in the British Ministry’s constitution. The problem with this was that the rest of the laws hadn’t been updated along with it. So while Hermione legally wasn’t a person, technically she wasn’t anything else instead. She wasn’t considered a half-creature like a Veela would be, nor was she considered a sub-human like an elf or goblin. Mudbloods were only understood, according to the Ministry’s current lawbooks, as not being people.

Which raised the interesting exception, in that Treason, Espionage, Murder, Arson, Terrorism, but not, oddly enough, Jaywalking, were all crimes that only ‘persons’ could be charged with. Of course, the court was hardly going to let a known terrorist go free, but legally speaking, they couldn’t technically execute her as they’d planned.

That was when Percy had stepped forward, and Hermione had realised this whole charade had not merely been Percy suddenly growing a heart. No, apparently, he’d made a bargain with Draco Malfoy, that in exchange for delivering her to Draco, Percy would be appointed the Undersecretary to the Minister. It was a rather appealing alternative to death, but being handed over to her schoolyard bully wasn’t exactly an attractive proposition in and of itself.

Oh well, no one seemed inclined to give her a choice in the matter.

---

 

Malfoy Manner was a very impressive building. At least, Hermione remembered it to be, way back when she, Harry and Ron had been captured and trapped in its dungeon. She couldn’t see it this time, an incredibly skin tight hood had been pulled over her face as they had driven her over. This naturally begged certain questions, such as, why had they driven her rather than apparate or floo her? Why did they feel the need to cover her eyes when she’d already seen the mansion before? And of course, although Hermione tried to avoid thinking about this one, why use latex for a hood? Surely a burlap sack would have done the job?

The rubbery material hugged every corner of her face, and indeed, made it ever so slightly difficult to breathe. She presumed it to be black as that’s all she could see, but given the sheer darkness, it could have been any colour at all.

Noone in the carriage she’d ridden with had spoken a word to her the entire trip. The first thing she’d heard from them, was the greeting they gave Draco upon arriving at the manner. It wasn’t long after that she heard the first words addressed to her. Well, she assumed they were for her, with the hood hugging her face so very tightly, she couldn’t really tell for certain.

“Oh? Is that her? My how the mighty have fallen.” Draco spoke, his voice quite a lot deeper than Hermione remembered from her school years. It still had that aristocratic lilt, but less of the childish whine she’d long associated with his every spoken word.

Hermione tried to respond, yelling out several insults against Draco, his politics, his hair, and indeed, his Mother’s alleged sexual escapades with the long deceased Severus Snape, but apparently the hood that smothered her had a silencing charm, as the sounds seemed to vanish the moment they left her mouth.

She heard, rather than saw, Draco step forward, closer towards her. “Do you know what they have you wearing?”

Hermione did unfortunately. Perhaps from a distance one might mistake it for the Slytherin School Uniform. A little bit closer, one might think it a summer variation of that uniform, or perhaps merely that the tailor had been rather short on material that week and cut several corners accordingly. Closer still however, and one would realise that, aside from the Slytherin branded Hogwarts coat, and the green and silver tie, all she had on was the black sports bra she’d shoplifted a few months ago, and an incredibly short, and very torn, Hogwarts skirt.

Naturally however, her rage and insult filled response didn’t leave the confines of the latex mask.

Draco seemingly stepped closer. “Is she- is she asleep in there? Is she- is she ignoring me?”

Hermione had to bite back a laugh as Draco sounded almost sad at the thought of being ignored here.

Here Hermione was, half naked, utterly humiliated, blind and struggling to breathe, and saved from execution only to be sold like cattle to a prejudiced wizard fascist, and he had the audacity to feel sad over being ignored? She wasn’t even ignoring him, the blasted mask deafened her every vitriolic insult.

“Uh no Sir, it’s the hood you ordered, the one with the gagging spell.” One of her guards, or perhaps her driver, spoke up.

There was a pause, and she imagined Draco looking rather confused. “A gagging spell? I didn’t- OH! I didn’t mean for a gagging spell, I meant for a gag!”

There was another pause, this time presumably from the driver – guard – person. “I uhh- I don’t follow Sir, this is just what was sent to us Sir.”

A hand touched her shoulder. It was cold, the skin so incredibly soft, and yet, so very icy.

“You know Mudblood, I spent 25 Galleons on the mask. Latex is not a cheap material to work with, especially with the various enchantments I requested for it. I hadn’t wanted a gagging spell, but a dildo gag in the hood. I had this whole plan you see, I would insult you, you would gag on the dildo shoved down your throat, I would make a hilarious joke, you would gag even harder, I’d then compliment your lovely attire, also my doing by the way, and you would gag some more. It was going to be hilarious. But now look what I’ve got, I paid 25 galleons to give myself the Merlin damned silent treatment.”

Hermione gagged at the thought. Not in the dildo way to be clear, more in the vomit threatening to spew forth manner.

That Draco had wanted her for himself had been evident since her trial. But the reason why? Millions of ideas had gone through her head, some more likely than others. This though? She’d never so much as considered it.

“Oooooh, you’ve just realised haven’t you Mudblood? I can see It on your face, shiny black covering notwithstanding. You escaped death because you’re not a person, but now that means you can’t live as a person either. Not that you ever were to be clear, do try and forget Dumbledore’s lies regarding that.”

His hand slowly slid down from her shoulder to her breast, easily sliding under her bra as he gently groped her. His hands were so very cold, and yet somehow gentle. She felt violated, humiliated, and worst of all, somewhat aroused.

Suddenly he squeezed, and she gasped along with it. “That’s right Mudblood, you’re not a person anymore, just a good little toy for me to use.” He laughed a cruel thing as he spoke. “You’re welcome by the way, had I any other intention with you, I doubt the Dark Lord would have let me get away with that legal stunt.”

Draco’s firm hands squeezed even tighter, what little pleasure was there being utterly drowned by the pain of it now. “In other words, you owe me your life Mudblood. Morally as well as legally now.”

Suddenly, the man’s hand unclenched, the welcome relief as the tension relaxed only countered by the dull lingering pain her breasts still felt. In the next moment, the hood was torn off her face, and she came face to face with the young Malfoy heir.

Objectively speaking, he was handsome. Hermione could recognise that even despite her disgust. The perfect blond hair, the chiseled jaw, the piercing blue eyes, the slight but intentional stubble, he was, as far as men went, handsome. Beautiful was perhaps the better word for it, but Hermione was hardly in the mood for going beyond objective scientific descriptors. Even when a part of her strongly suggested he deserved them.

“Welcome to Malfoy Manor Mudblood.” He paused, locked eyes with her, and as she went to retort, he moved in oncemore, violently grabbing at her breast again with one hand as the other went to her throat. Once again, a gasp was forced out of her lips as the cold hands seized her, but this time, Malfoy used the opportunity, throwing his lips against her own, drowning out the tirade of insults she’d wanted to spew. His lips tasted good, amazing even, she wanted to kiss back, desperately so, she needed to-

With a strength of will she’d long since trained into herself, Hermione yanked herself away. What the hell had that been? A spell? No, she couldn’t feel the magical residue. But that couldn’t have been a natural reaction? Could it? No, his lips, her eyes darted to the boy’s soft pink lips. There was a vague gloss to them! Ahah! A potion perhaps? Of what though-

Hermione’s thoughts were interrupted as Draco let out an excited chuckle. “Oh good, I was hoping it wouldn’t be too easy. Consider that a…” He paused briefly, before smiling even wider. “A taste, of what is to come. Best of luck Mrs. Granger, I do hope you don’t give in too quickly. I’ve been looking forward to this.”

 

Chapter 2

The twin doors to the mansion swung wide open, with a gravitas and drama that only a truly unnecessarily expensive set of ornate, and likely magical, doors could provide. The inside of the manor was unsurprisingly lavish, with the limited view from the front door showcasing a myriad of doubtless expensive sculptors and artworks.

But such affairs didn’t catch Hermione’s eye. No, her eyes remained solely on the figure that had opened the doors. Not Draco, who still stood next to her, grinning as if he knew some number of secrets he couldn’t wait to reveal.

No, the doors opened to reveal a young lady, perhaps a year younger than Hermione herself. Well, Hermione didn’t need to use the word ‘perhaps’, the woman was most certainly a year younger, she knew that for a fact.

The younger lady wore a maid outfit of sorts, and as a servant to the Malfoys, that needn’t be all that surprising. Except most servants’ outfits weren’t completely made of latex. Even her shoes, which bore heels that appeared to be at least 6 inches, had a distinct black rubbery shine to them. Everything else, from the shiny white socks to the black tights, to the pristine reflective frills and ruffles of her apron and the skirt’s edge, to the mirror like sheen across the majority of the costume, were all completely made of latex.

The only exception to it all appeared to be the small lock and steel collar that adorned the girl’s neck.

Her eyes were downcast, but she smiled widely. Almost creepily so. Hermione had seen the girl smile before of course, but never like this. She was supposed to be dead though, she had been for months. Right?

 

---

“Fuck off” Ginny laughed loudly, before sipping at her butterbeer.

“I’m not joking, I can’t believe he never told you about that” Hermione couldn’t help but laugh as she responded.

The younger woman’s eyes darted to where Harry stood at the other end of the bar.

“Shame, if he’d told me he’d had such naughty thoughts earlier, I’d have probably agreed then and there. I had to practically beg the poor boy to finally drop his pants for me after a year and a half together. It took a bloody war Mione, a war! And now you’re telling me if I’d just shown him my fucken toes, I’d have had him back in 5th year?”

Hermione couldn’t stop the raucous laughter that spilled forth from that. Ron had told her of course, not Harry himself, but what kind of friend would she be to the youngest Weasley if she didn’t spill such stories to her. “At least he’s more of a gentleman than Ron. Merlin, you’d think the boy was going for his Charms mastery the way he studied ways to get past the jinxed stairs in the women’s dorms. He never did manage by the way, the wards just expelled him in progressively more creative manners, was quite hilarious.”

Ginny snorted, before looking a bit more seriously at her. “Did you ever do anything?”

Hermione felt her cheeks blush. Talking about this kind of thing was funny when it came to Ginny, but herself? That wasn’t as enjoyable a topic. “Umm- well…. You see…- “

“Oh my god, are you a virgin?” The other girl exclaimed in shock, positively cackling.

“HEY! We’ve kissed” Appeared to be the wrong response to shout indignantly, as the younger girl only laughed even harder at that.

“Oh Merlin Mione, that is hilarious. Two years of war, and a year of school together, and you’ve never more than kissed? How do you do it? Honestly? I couldn’t last that long if I tried.”

She blushed even harder, stammering out an indiscernible response as Ginny laughed even harder. Finally, after several deep breaths and stutters, something vaguely approaching English departed her mouth. “We- well, you see. I just… I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right, giving up control like that. I love Ron, more than I can even describe. But I don’t want to just let him… well, when I first met him, he was just such a pig. Nothing like who he is now of course, but I’ve seen guys when they get… aroused. I love Ron, the smart, courageous, and funny boy. But when he gets… aroused, it’s like all that disappears, and the pig he used to be returns.”

Ginny, rather than seem uncomfortable by the discussion as Hermione somewhat hoped she would, merely nodded empathetically. “That’s the thing with guys, you can’t let them have any control, if they do, they’ll become the worst versions of themselves. You gotta hold the power, make them beg for you, crawl on their knees for it. Guys are all dumb idiots, its our job as women to make sure they know their place.”

The younger girl smiled a wicked thing as she continued. “Trust me, you’ll be much happier for it, and so will he.”

 

---

Ginny’s smile, already impossibly large, seemed to widen as she saw Hermione, although when her eyes moved over to Draco, it returned to its original size. The girl curtseyed low and bowed her head, and Hermione noticed that her eyes only ever seemed to look below Draco’s own.

“Weasley, you’ll be taking the Mudblood to her room, get her settled in, and then take her measurements, she’ll be needing a new wardrobe.” Malfoy spoke, grinning as Hermione watched in increasing horror as, rather than fight back, or at least meekly comply, Ginny readily inclined her head and enthusiastically nodded.

“Of course, Sir, it would be my pleasure. Shall I take them to you in the lounge room, or your bedroom Sir?” Ginny’s voice was not her own.

It sounded like Ginny to be sure. The tone and timbre were just right. But whereas Ginny spoke with clipped words, and an edge of danger and humour to her every sentence, this girl was all formal compliance. Every word enunciated perfectly, a complete contrast to every Weasley bar Percy’s way of speaking. The tone itself was warm, but whereas Ginny’s warmth was like a crackling fire, this was akin to perhaps a warm towel. Consistent and pleasurable to the ear, but utterly lacking in further depth or nuance.

Heedless of her internal thoughts Draco responded to his maid. “Neither send them straight through to Twilfit and Tannings, then wait by the floo for Zabini to arrive. Do show him what a good little set of holes you are, he’s offered me a great deal of money to take you with him to Rome”.

And again, rather than cry out in protest, run away, or nod fearfully, the other girl bowed excitedly. “Thank you Sir, this filthy little blood traitor doesn’t deserve your generosity.”

What the fuck had Draco done to her? Was this all an act? Did she have a knife she planned to slip into Draco’s back as she poured honey into his ears? Hermione desperately wanted to believe as such, but the blade never came.

Draco made a few more snide remarks, and then violently slapped the younger woman’s backside, but rather than yelp or scream, the girl simply let out an absurd moan and followed it quickly with a “Thank you Sir”.

And then that was it. Draco left to some other room, and Ginny began to lead her further into the mansion. The staccato of her heels against the wooden floors, and the squeaking of her latex maid outfit were all that filled the otherwise silent walk. Hermione wanted to say something of course. To plan an escape with the other girl, or find out what had happened, or how she could help.

But seeing the way the redheaded girl held her head up so very high, her back so very straight, and swayed her hips and breasts as if the only purpose of her movement was to accentuate her figure, Hermione doubted the other girl would be all that receptive. How had this happened? How had one of the strongest and smartest women Hermione had ever known been reduced to this?

Perhaps Hermione could ask in a less overt manner. “So… Ginny, how did you ahh… end up here?”

The other girl stopped, and turned around, that eery smile and those glassy eyes staring directly at her. “You’ll learn very quickly Mudblood that you are not here to ask questions, and I am not here to answer them. Luckily for you, Master Malfoy is generous even to the likes of you filth. He has graciously allowed me to inform you that he allowed this filthy blood traitor and her whore family to live despite my abhorrent crimes in exchange for, amongst other things, my servitude. A fate that, in many aspects, you now share.”

Ginny’s smile never wavered, but the pleasant unnatural happiness of it seemed to disappear the moment she began speaking to Hermione. And then it hit her, Ginny had just called her a ‘Mudblood’! More then that, the younger woman seemed actively disdainful of her!

Before Hermione could respond in outrage however, Ginny continued. “Stop gawking Mudblood, your mere presence here is dirtying the floors.”

That was enough. The rage within her had been building since her capture, but with the gag spell she hadn’t been able to unleash it on Draco earlier. This would have to suffice.

Hermione grabbed the girl’s slippery latex sleeve. “What the fuck is going on Ginny! What is your problem? You don’t get to speak to me like that, and why would you! We’re friends! We all thought you were dead, we fucking mourned you. Ron-“

Her rant was cut off, as a wand suddenly appeared in Ginny’s hand, and force like a thousand compressed winds pinned Hermione against the wall, narrowly avoiding an expensive statue. The force never letting up even as she writhed and struggled against it.

The pain hurt, but it couldn’t stop Hermione from realising a key detail. Ginny’s attitude could have been explained by an act, or perhaps her being suitably afraid of punishments from her tormentor. But a wand? Why in Merlin’s name would Draco Malfoy ever allow a known resistance member like Ginny to carry a wand unsupervised in his own mansion? He had to have been absolutely certain of her loyalty, and that meant all the things her old friend had done so far hadn’t been an act.

But that simply didn’t make sense. Ginny wouldn’t be like that; she wouldn’t turn traitor. Hermione knew that to be true beyond any doubt in her mind. Which left only one option, brainwashing of some kind. Not the Imperius curse no, it was too fragile, Draco would never trust Ginny with a wand if his hold over her was merely that. This had to be something longer term. Something that couldn’t merely be snapped by a moment of willpower or weakness from the caster. The memory of Draco’s lipstick from moments earlier suddenly came to the forefront of Hermione’s mind. She vividly recalled the rush of arousal and excitement she’d felt upon mere contact with his lips.

Hermione didn’t like the conclusion she drew about how Draco had brainwashed Ginny from that.

She especially didn’t like what the implied for her.

Movement saw her eyes suddenly dart upward, breaking her out of her thoughts to see Ginny slowly approaching her. The girl’s wand was still raised, pinning Hermione against wall at eyesight level. In her other hand though, Ginny carried a small rubbery shiny black ball. The girl was smiling now. Not the plastic perfection she’d shown to Draco earlier, nor the disdainful politeness she’d offered Hermione moments prior. This one had a cruelty to it, a sense of eager malice that lit up her eyes and gave a shine to her lips.

A part of her seemed desperate to beg the younger girl, certain that whatever that ball was, Ginny’s expression meant it was bad bad news for her. But Hermione didn’t beg easily, and no matter he fondness for her former friend, the girl before was clearly an enemy. Instead, Hermione continued to violently writhe and resist her bondage, attempting to free herself from the continuous spell wind charm the other girl was casting.

Ginny laughed a delicate thing, completely unlike the raucous laugh Hermione was used to from her, before raising the shine ball up towards her mouth. Instinctively, Hermione held her mouth tightly shut. Was it a poison of some sort? Whatever, it didn’t matter, better to keep it out than in.

Unperturbed by her resistance, Ginny’s smile merely widened, as if she was enjoying this, or was looking forward to what she was about to do. Hermione soon saw why. The girl violently twisted, and then flicked her wand, slamming a gust of wind into her gut like a suckerpunch, forcing Hermione to violently wheeze as all the air escaped her lungs.

And that was exactly what Ginny wanted, to force open her mouth, so she could shove the ball in without resistance. Hermione desperately tried to cough and spit out, but it was to no avail.

In her mouth, the ball felt so very slippery and rubbery, and yet, almost gooey. Indeed, as her tongue pushed against it, trying to shove it out of her mouth, rather than feel resistance, it sank through it becoming enveloped by the rubbery substance. The more she tried to force it out, the more of her mouth the slimey rubber like substance seemed to coat, completely taking over mouth, and then her throat.

She felt herself choking desperately, and yet, right before it fully blocked off her throat, the goo seemed to stop, and then solidify again. It couldn’t have been an entirely solid matter, for she could just barely breathe through it, but it coated and utterly filled her mouth, rendering her completely unable to speak or make the slightest of noises.

Ginny just smiled at her as she writhed in panicked horror.

“There’s a good little Mudblood, you never could shut up could you. If only Draco had had one of those back at Hogwarts…”

And with that, the overwhelming winds that had been forcing her into the wall abated, sending her falling to her knees against the hard wooden floor. The sudden impact almost made her wheeze, but the rubbery gag that so completely filled her mouth and throat made such a thing impossible. All she could do was try not to choke as she continued to kneel on the floor.

“Come on then slut, there will be plenty of time for kneeling later, I’m to see you to your room and take your measurements. If you make that task any harder… well… I assure you that lovely little ball isn’t the only tool I’ve been given.”

Hermione wanted to resist on principal of course, but her every laboured, almost impossible breath, convinced that as of right now, if all Ginny was going to do to her was take some measurements, it was a far better alternative than finding out what the next evil toy she had was.

And so, she resisted the urge to resist, and followed the young red headed maid further into the Manor.

“Now that wasn’t so hard was it Mudblood?”

Chapter 3

Finally, her latex clad former friend stopped in front of a tall door made of an almost impossibly dark wood. Without fanfare, Ginny opened it up, motioning Hermione to follow suite, and eager not to find out what other toys the maid had on hand, Hermione complied swiftly.

Inside the room was an ornate affair that largely met Hermione’s expectations for the youngest Malfoy’s tastes. The monochrome black and white colour scheme that the manor largely followed was maintained, with the walls being a pristine affair only broken up by the regal paintings of Draco himself that decorated the walls. The bed itself, in keeping with Malfoy’s clear affinity for rubber, bore the shiniest of black sheets, over a crisp white mattress. Neither wrinkle nor crease was insight, and Hermione wagered Ginny’s own labour was to thank for that.

That did beg another question though, why the use of human maids? Perhaps Harry’s turning Dobby against him had soured Malfoy on elves.

No wonder the other girl had seemed so irate with her if she had had to spend hours cleaning and preparing this room just for her. Hermione would have been somewhat sympathetic, if the other girl hadn’t taken to liberal usage of blood-based slurs against her, or gagged her with that awful rubber ball.

Of course, each corner of the bed frame, made of an almost obsidian coloured wood, had several metal loops which Hermione couldn’t help but assume were for ropes. Indeed, the more she looked, the more she could see vaguely subtle, but still rather obvious signs of nefarious design in the room. Certainly, Hermione doubted the suspiciously waist high desk in the corner had two steel shackles at its end for use as paper weights.

“Undress” The command from Ginny snapped Hermione out of her observations. She considered disobeying on principal, but one look at the feral shine to the girl’s eyes convinced Hermione that Ginny desperately wanted an excuse to punish her further.

Indeed, once Hermione began to take off what little clothes she already wore, she noticed Ginny looking almost disappointed by her compliance. Hermione shuddered at the thought of what Ginny might have had planned for her. The girl had always had a cruel streak, but it had always been directed towards dumb misogynistic boys or pureblooded snobs. Never her. Never anyone not deserving of it.

Just what had Draco done to her?

Finally, when the last of her skimpy attire hit the floor, Ginny’s wand flashed in a rapid movement and a spell slammed into her behind.

Even despite it being cast wordlessly, Hermione easily recognised the feeling of the Full Body Binding curse as her every limb went utterly rigid.

Her preexisting emotional and physical exhaustion numbed, but didn’t prevent, the panic that seized her. Still, whether bound by spell or threat, it wasn’t like Ginny could now do anything she couldn’t have done already.

Silently the other girl went to work, a tape measure appearing in her hands with a flick of her wrist, which she readily employed in measuring Hermione’s every inch.

It was a bizarre feeling, being utterly naked and paralysed, as her former friend moved around her, pushing and prodding and measuring her as if she were little more than an object. Still gagged, she couldn’t even offer a word of protest, or merely voice herself to prove her own humanity. No. All she could do was stand completely still, completely exposed, as latex gloves shoved and squished at her, and as the tape pulled itself against her skin.

Almost all of her was utterly horrified by the treatment.

That a part of her wasn’t was all the more horrifying.

Eventually, the redheaded maid seemingly completed her measurements, as she turned and began to walk towards the door, opening it without so much as looking back.

Hermione’s heart lurched as she feared being left alone like this, but, after far too long a pause, Ginny, with great reluctance, turned around and cast the countercharm to the body binding curse.

“Do not leave this room Mudblood, our Master will be along at his own convenience.” The voice that sounded so very much like Ginny, yet impossibly aristocratic and demure, spoke. With that said, the Maid slammed the door shut, which oddly appeared not to make any sound despite the violence of the action.

And then Hermione was alone.

And with neither enemy to thwart nor friends to support, Hermione did the only thing she could.

She sat on the bed, curled into the tightest possible ball she could, and began to sob hopelessly.

 

---

At some point the sheer exhaustion of her prison sentence, court trial, and the day itself clearly caught up with her, because she fell asleep. Hermione only knew this because in one moment, she was sobbing into herself in her brightly illuminated room, and the next, she found herself in an almost pitch black room, with dried tears staining her eyes and cheeks.

It seemed an almost impossible thought, but she honestly wished she was back in her cell awaiting execution. That this had all been some dream, and that Ginny was still dead, and that she would be too soon.

The alternative, what had happened to her friend, what might happen to her, it was too horrible, too awful, too completely and utterly evil. And yet, as she sat up and surveyed her room, the nightmare didn’t end. When she pinched herself, and began to cry again, the nightmare continued. Because reality was so much worse than anything mere nightmares could conjure.

And as if on cue, her door opened, and the monster of her nightmare arrived in a stylish black suit and with a small suitcase in his right hand.

“Good evening Mudblood, I do hope you enjoyed your rest. Your dear little blood traitor friend seemed desperate to wake you up, but I thought it best to let you sleep a while. You’re welcome by the way.” Draco spoke, his tone was both surprisingly deep and jovial.

As Hermione went to respond, she suddenly realised that her throat was empty, the gag was gone. Instantly her eyes went down to where she’d been sleeping, and there sat the rubber ball, she must have spat it out whilst she slept somehow.

Her eyes looked back up to Draco’s once more and she felt the strange urge to look down, or at least away, from the piercing steel gaze he levelled back. Naturally she just stared back harder to spite the traitorous feeling.

Draco went to continue speaking, but Hermione cut him off. “So, what’s the plan then Malfoy? Imperius me into some kind of sex doll? Are your peers so disgusted by you that that’s what you have to resort to just to get off?”

She expected outrage, or at least a degree of annoyance, certainly the Draco she remembered would have been raging and yelling about how ‘his father would hear about this’ by now. But instead, Draco just smiled even wider. “Oh my practices are controversial even among my peers, but rest assured I will get to them next, once I’ve refined my process. You can consider yourself… my honoured test subject. If I accidentally do turn you into a doll, rather than just an obedient little housewife, then at least no powerful family will be out for blood. Soon I’ll have half the country’s aristocracy under my complete control. I won’t pretend that this is anything but evil, but even you have to admit, it’d be a lesser evil to the Dark Lord’s insanity.”

That was horrible, obviously. Hermione hardly liked her pureblooded peers, at least the ones that hadn’t joined the Order, but the idea of Draco helping turn other women into little more than slaves for their husbands was terrifying. More terrifying than that though, Draco felt comfortable telling her. This kind of plan, if it got out, would see him assassinated within minutes, if not seconds.

And yet, he felt no risk or issue at all in telling Hermione, even whilst she still hated his absolute guts. The man was either an idiot, or she was truly fucked.

Remembering Draco at Hogwarts, Hermione felt somewhat relieved that the former wasn’t that unlikely a possibility.

That provided an opportunity, if Hermione could pump him for information, and then escape somehow, she could almost certainly turn the women within the pureblood faction against him. If she was lucky, it might even cause something of a civil war.

“And how exactly do you plan to do any of that? Even if you could brainwash one of them like you did Ginny, do you think the rest wouldn’t notice? You’d be executed, or probably brainwashed yourself.”

Draco just laughed. “Oh? You think they’d notice anything was wrong? That’s the wonderful thing about my techniques here, its no singular spell that can simply be broken, and neither is it plainly obvious in its symptoms. After I’m finished with one girl, she’d go home and act as normal, at least until I was finished with the last. And then, on my command, they’d all reveal their delightful new selves. All under my own control of course, I’d rule the country and no one would even know it was I who’d brainwashed them all.”

Merlin the man was clearly as insane as he was confident.

“And what exactly are these techniques? I’m yet to hear of a magic without a counter, especially when it comes to mind magics.” Hermione inquired, trying to make it sound more like curiosity than information gathering.

Maybe if she knew how it worked, she could lessen, or even prevent its effects.

Draco seemed to ponder the question, before grinning a wicked thing. “I do believe a demonstration would be far more informative than a speech.”

And with that, he unlatched the briefcase he’d been holding. Instantly, her eyes fell to the myriad of tools and implements within. There were strange mechanical contraptions, syringes, paddles, a cane of some kind, an onyx wand, a set of rubber objects with flared bases that increased in size, and a number of other things Hermione didn’t recognise.

Draco however, didn’t go for any of those things, instead, choosing to pick up and don the pair of shiny rubber gloves that were delicately held by a small silver stand. They slid on gracefully, and Draco stretched and twinkled his hands as he ensured the fit was completely skintight.

Then he reached back into the briefcase and pulled out one of the syringes. This one had a bright, almost fluorescent, pink mixture visible in the clear glass behind the needle. Hermione desperately hoped he wasn’t about to inject that into her, and for once, the world was merciful, for he merely squirted liquid harmlessly onto his other hand.

A potion? Almost certainly, and one that would doubtless affect her mind in some manner. If he was applying it to his gloves, that meant skin contact was likely enough for it to be effective. Fuck. She was still naked from earlier.

Draco rubbed his hands together, the gloves slightly squeaking as he did so. He chuckled as he noticed her terrified staring at his hands. “In this case, the latex is more than just a fashion statement, it’s powerful stuff, can’t have it touching me now can I.”

Oh fuck. This wasn’t good. She took a step back, her eyes darting around the room. The window! Perhaps she could make a run for it, while he was still holding the syringe rather than wand.

In an instant, she turned around and began sprinting, her feet kicking against the ground with as much force as she could muster as panic seized her every sense. And then she sped up, too fast she realised, as a force from behind like wind buffeted her pace briefly, and then catapulted her into the very window she’d planned to escape out of. Even with all that force, it didn’t so much as crack. It had a reinforcing charm, damn.

It was a bitter feeling knowing she wouldn’t have been able to break it and escape anyway.

Malfoy advanced on her, his wand still pinning her against the wand as Ginny had earlier. The thought briefly flashed across her mind that Ginny must have learned it from him, likely through experience.

Would she learn to do the same to Malfoy’s next subject? As she pondered the thought, she felt her body being violently twisted around to face her approaching tormentor. His black suit and shining gloves cut an intimidating figure, but it was the smile that really sold it. Malice, excitement, intelligence. This was no boy playing at dominance, and she knew she was about to experience that fact firsthand.

“Oh? You know, I had thought about going easy on you today, helping you settle in and what not. But trying to run away before I can even get started? Well… I am going to enjoy this.”

And with that, his wand dropped, the wind stopped, and before she had the chance to so much as breathe, his gloved hand slammed into her neck, pinning her violently against the wall.

Without a moment of pause, she found his body suddenly pressed up against her own, as his lips parted and enveloped her own. Her heart beat so very rapidly and she desperately hoped it was from fear. Pleasure seized her mouth as tingles ran down her spine, the more he kissed, the more violently his hand pinned her neck against the wall, the better it seemed to feel.

His lips were impossibly gentle for how brutal his actions seemed to me. So very soft, she couldn’t help but move her own in turn, her body filling with a strange and incredibly good feeling as she did so. More! She needed more! Her lips began to move on her own, even as she begged them to stop!

She didn’t want this! This man was evil, prejudiced, her enemy! He was forcing himself onto her!

And yet, no matter how loud and desperately she screamed, her body eagerly complied with his tender yet rough movements.

And then his lips pulled away, and even though her body went to follow his, her mind suddenly felt like her own again. Mostly.

His hand was still tight against her neck, his fingers pinching in to restrict bloodflow, perhaps that was what was making her feel so very lightheaded.

Draco smiled at her, and she hated that part of her seemed to beg her to kiss him more for doing such a thing. The other part of her, the main part of her, the part of her that she identified as being herself, merely wanted to punch the smug git.

“Merlin, what a slut you’ve turned out to be. Ginny wasn’t nearly that quick to reciprocate, I guess I’ll have my work cut out for me.”

Hermione thought of a few excellent swears to respond with, but her mouth, still so caught up in the memory of Draco’s lips, seemed unwilling to comply. Indeed, it was only when his gloved hand fell away from her throat that they seemed inclined to move again, and that was merely to beg Draco to put it back. Naturally, although it took far more force than she would have thought possible, Hermione silenced that idea.

Draco continued though, heedless of her internal struggle. “Hmm, perhaps a reward is on order for such good behaviour. Get on the bed Mudblood, you’ll enjoy this.”

She felt her legs begin to move, but even with whatever substance Draco had had on his gloves now going through her, Hermione still had enough willpower to force them in place. It was painful, and it hurt, but it beat obeying the orders willingly of such a monster.

Malfoy didn’t look deterred though. “And here I thought you’d just learned what resistance earned you? My such a dumb little whore, I had assumed you’d be a fast learner. Oh well, this way is even more fun.”

And suddenly his right hand seized her neck once more, and her body utterly cried out in joy as he threw her in one violent motion onto the bed. The rational part of her brain wondered how on earth the spindly Malfoy she’d once known had ever become that physically strong. The part of her brain she was increasingly desperate to ignore wondered how else he might use that strength on her.

She found out shortly enough, as within a second he was on top of her, his right hand firmly gripping her throat whilst and his lips pressed forcefully against her own. And then it happened

She hadn’t meant for it to. She’d been trying her best to suppress such a thing. And yet, despite her best efforts. It happened.

A quiet, but most certainly audible moan, escaped her lips. Instantly she stopped it, but it was too late, Draco had heard it, and was smiling even more manically than before. His grip around her throat tightened, and he leaned closer in, pressing his body against her own as he whispered into her ear.

“Good girl”

Two words, so simple, and yet spoken with such genuine delight, husky deepness, and sheer dominance.

That was enough to break the dam of resistance she’d been building. No longer could she stop the moans that followed as he continued to ravage her mouth.

And then something even worse happened. Flesh touched her own, sliding smoothly over her vagina and clitoris. Hermione didn’t need to be the brightest witch of her age to know Draco had begun pressing his penis against her.

Sliding it back and forth, as his lips pressed harder and harder, and his grip clenched even tighter. With every stroke of his, she could hear herself moaning louder and louder, and feel her efforts of resistance proving more and more futile.

The pleasure was beyond imagination. She hated the image of Ron that conjured itself in her mind as she realised that never, in all their time together, had she felt even a tenth of this ecstasy with him. The sensible part of her, what was left of it, noted that it was obviously because of the potion Draco had applied to his hands. The rest of her didn’t care to think about it, too lost in crying out in sheer overwhelming pleasure at Draco merely rubbing his penis against the outside of her vagina and clitoris.

“Such a good little slut for me, if I’d known you were so desperate for a real man’s cock between your legs, I’d have taken you as a pet years ago.” His voice dripped like honey through her ears, drowning out her every sensible and sane thought. All she could do was moan in response, louder and louder, until she doubted anyone in the manor could possibly not hear her.

And then the words slipped from her mouth, as the part of her brain that screamed and raged and cried at Malfoy’s usage of her weakened ever further. “Fuck me! Please! Please, stick it in me, please fuck me! Use me! Please!”

And Draco just laughed, and laughed, and laughed, before leaning over to her and whispering a single word.

“No”

And what was left of her mind shattered, as pleasure at being used, and a terrible sadness at not being used, drowned out was left of her sanity.

She couldn’t stop herself from begging further, pleading so very desperately for his cock, but he just seemed to laugh harder still.

“You haven’t earned my cock yet Mudblood. You don’t even deserve the pleasure you’re feeling right now. You haven’t cum yet have you?”

She hadn’t, but she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt she was getting close. Her face seemed to say it, as Draco looked at her and grinned. “Good, for daring to beg even after I’ve rejected you, you don’t deserve to orgasm.”

An involuntary whimper escaped her lip, as Draco’s cock continued to slide back and forth across her.

His lips, still so perfect and lovely, continued to ravish her mouth, and then her neck, and then her breasts, before going back to her mouth. It was too good, too perfect, she was getting closer, and closer, and even though Draco had said not to, she knew she was going to cu-

Pain seized the lower portion of her body as all those feelings of incredible pleasure suddenly whimpered out. Panicked, her eyes suddenly fell upon Draco’s wand, held deftly in his left hand and pointed at her.

“I think that’s enough for the day, don’t you? You didn’t seem all that enthusiastic earlier, and I’d hate to impose.”

She felt herself lurching forward to beg for more, but with his hand no longer on her throat, and his cock lifting itself off her, the rational part of her managed to seize back control. It still took too much effort not to beg the Pureblooded man to continue using her.

“Now then, I’ll be seeing you tomorrow morning, your uniform should hopefully be ready too.” He moved towards the case that lay on the ground, depositing his gloves into it before picking it up and heading over to the door. “I do hope you’re looking forward to it as much as I am.”

And the worst part was. Hermione knew, no matter how much she dreaded and hated the idea of it, a large part of her was looking forward to it, possibly even more than he was.

The wicked smile and knowing glance he sent her way before he closed the door made her feel that he knew exactly how that part of her felt.

Chapter 4

Waiting for a rescue wasn’t an option.

No, Draco’s little show of force earlier had made that clear. If she suffered even just a few weeks of that kind of conditioning she’d…

She’d what?

The obvious answer was that she’d turn out like Ginny, but no, that didn’t seem right. Hermione let herself slowly pace about the room as she gathered her thoughts, her eyes scanning the room as she did so.

Sure, after weeks, or even months, she’d likely become quite used to Draco’s perversions, but nothing he’d done had been mind altering. The potion’s he’d used to affect her weren’t love potions, or any derivative there of. If they had been, her expert occlumency would have rebuffed, or at the very least battled with, their influence.

The effect thus had to be more chemical than mental Hermione reasoned. It forced her into a state of magically enhanced lust which then affected the mind, rather than the opposite. It was clever, Hermione could concede that.

But it was also very clearly temporary. Within moments of his gloves receding, the effect had largely abated. Curious given the potions liquid nature, surely had Draco applied it to his gloves, some part of it would have stuck to her even after he’d taken them away?

Unless… Draco had framed his cessation of activities as an act of teasing dominance, but what if he’d been responding to a time limit? He’d realised the aphrodisiac he’d applied would soon finish, so he wrapped up the scene along with it?

It made sense, and yet? That wasn’t all that powerful, was it? A temporary lust potion may have been useful for private perversions with a consenting partner, but to fully brainwash someone like he so clearly had Ginny? That couldn’t have been enough.

As she racked her mind for the missing key to the puzzle, her eyes finally fell upon something interesting. The shiny black rubber sheets that covered the pristine white mattress had, at their very bottom, a small runic array. It was of course imperceptible to the naked eye, but the air around it had a minor distortion that the sufficiently magical could notice. Hermione, proving more sufficient, quickly moved to inspect it closer.

Without her wand to reveal the runes themselves, she had to mostly figure it out by touch, tracing which parts of the rubber material felt more magical until she could make out each individual rune.

After a few minutes, Hermione was decently confident she’d found ‘weight’ and ‘heat’ in addition to an ambiguous last one, which Hermione tentatively assumed gave the sheet its somewhat silky texture. Had Draco tried to turn the sheet into something of a weighted blanket? Or did he just want it to hug her figure when she slept? Regardless, whatever the reason, it was a rookie mistake. Any magical prison cell worth its salt would keep all its runes exterior to the cell itself. Having any manipulatable magical objects in reach of a Witch was just asking for trouble.

Hermione eyed the ‘weight’ and ‘heat’ runes, which ones would work best? The room was primarily a wooden affair, if she fiddled with the heat rune, she could probably get the mattress to combust and burn a fair portion of the room along with it. That was, provided the mansion’s wards didn’t cover basic fireproofing.

Weight then? Hmm… unlike heat where the sheets would simply burn up with sufficient magic, more and more magic would only make them heavier. Which, given the runes were undoubtedly tied to the Manor’s wards, meant they could likely grow to weigh at least a tonne, likely even more.

A thin smile stretched across her face as she examined the room for the most effective place to deploy her new weapon. She could easily snap off any of the door handles by putting the blanket over them and turning the weight up, but that wouldn’t get her anywhere. Hmm, her eyes scanned the room, until they found the suspiciously waist high desk.

Instantly Hermione made her way over and began to check its every inch. Such a fancy custom made desk was sure to have- Ahah! There, she found a few more runes carved into its underside. Most of them were unimportant, but together they formed the standard structural integrity array. In other words, almost no non magical force would be able to damage the structural integrity of the desk.

Careful not to make too much noise, she dragged the desk into the centre of the room. Then she grabbed and pulled the latex sheets off the bed and placed them on top of the desk, very careful to ensure the blanket touched nothing else.

Now for the fun part. Hermione, with an incredible amount of focus and effort, began to wandlessly push and prod at the sheets’ weight rune.

Back when Hermione had first learned of runes at Hogwarts, she’d been shown a detailed painting of a pipe with the words printed underneath ‘Ceci n’est pas une pipe’. As Professor Babbling had translated, the text had said ‘this is not a pipe’, and yet, as one could clearly tell, the painting was indeed a pipe.The lesson being that an image was not it’s contents, the painting was a painting of a pipe, not an actual pipe. A rune represented a greater idea, with their meaning being inferred in the texture, shading, font, and indeed, intent in the drawing of them.

This meant Hermione didn’t need an arcane calligraphy set, or even a wand to change the meaning of the rune. All she had to do was pull at its edges, broadening its meaning, whilst applying and channelling her clear intent. Her every little etch and impression never changed the meaning of ‘weight’, but it did ever increase how much weight was actually exerted.

Soon enough, her efforts clearly bore fruit, for the wooden floorboards creaked dramatically as the four desk legs exerted likely over a hundred kilograms of force.

And than two hundred. And then, quite rapidly, three, than four, and before the floor even had time to respond, it dealt with over a metric tonne of force being applied down to it through the four chair legs. Hermione went to continue, but that proved to be the final straw, as suddenly the table shot through the ground with alarming speed.

Hermione jumped back instinctively, which proved very sensible when the main body of the desk slammed into the floor, utterly caving it in with a thunderous ‘CRACK!’.

And then almost the entire floor gave way, the bed, the various shelves and furniture, everything, tumbling and violently crashing down in a cacophony of smoke and noise.

All things considered, it was rather tame as far as escape attempts of hers had gone historically speaking.

Without waiting for the dust to settle, Hermione quicky made her way through what was left of the floor, and into the room below. Draco’s wards would have alerted him of the sudden destruction, that was, if he hadn’t heard it first. Time was certainly not her ally. The room appeared to have been a pantry of sorts, at least, from what Hermione could make out from the various vegetables, grains and spilled liquids that smothered the floor, that seemed the most likely option.

Quickly, she scanned the room for an exit and found it when she noticed the thin rays of light emerging through the smoke on the other side of the room. A door! She raced over the collapsed wood, various furniture, shelves and food items as she threw herself through the slightly ajar door into a long hallway.

On her right where windows into the magnificent gardens which stretched an impossible distance, almost meeting the horizon. It may have just been a trick of the darkness, but they truly seemed without end. To her left, busts, artwork and doors that likely led further towards Malfoy. The choice wasn’t hard.

Hermione moved with a sense of urgency over to the window, quickly fiddling with the mechanism that held it closed. Unlike a muggle window, it was clearly designed to be utilised magically, but luckily a push in the right place freed the window regardless. Still, it took a considerable effort just to fling open the unlocked window, but with a final burst of desperate strength, the window broke loose and violently crashed outward.

Hermione would have cringed at breaking such an expensive and well-designed bit of craftsmanship, but the hope that mere fresh air and the chance for freedom brought her utterly drowned any such thoughts out.

She wasn’t free yet, but she was close. Within his wards, Draco could almost certainly pinpoint her location, but given that he’d yet to apparate to her, Hermione wagered her little stunt hadn’t triggered the wards like she’d assumed it might have. Either that or there was something delaying his response. Still, no use waiting for him to find her regardless. She flung herself through the ground floor window, checking left and right to see if a shorter path out existed. It did not, the mansion seemed utterly surrounded by the endless gardens.

At least she knew for a fact that his wards wouldn’t stretch to the end of them. No, Malfoy Manor’s wards were built to withstand a siege if need be, the inherent structural weaknesses of building so massive a ward wouldn’t be worth protecting meagre gardens. More than likely the wards barely stretched twenty or thirty metres outside of the mansion itself.

Freedom wasn’t merely close by, it was actively in sight. She’d be able to warn the order of Draco’s madness, and indeed the world. Perhaps even organise a rescue mission for Ginny.

One foot rapidly finding itself in front of the other, she quickly made her way into the garden, her arms and legs brushing against all kinds of plants and trees of every shape and colour. Her every urgent step filling her with further exhaustion and elation.

Freedom tasted so very sweet.

Incredibly sweet actually.

Her legs paused as her tongue rolled its way around her mouth, feeling a strangely sweet and viscous liquid there. Her eyes narrowed on the plants around her, as she noted the slight pink tinge the air had taken on.

Had her presence here somehow made them pollinate? She watched as the bright pink centre of the purple petaled plants released more and more of the pink spores in the air.

Whatever, it didn’t matter, herbology while interesting hardly mattered as much as escaping.

Right? Her legs didn’t seem as eager to escape as her mind was.

For some reason, as she stared at the flowers, inhaling the spores and tasting their sweetness as they mixed in with her saliva, she felt the need to stay. To examine them further.

There was something about them. Something odd. Something important.

It felt like a song whose tune she could vividly recall, but whose name was forever just out of reach.

There was something familiar about it. Some strange part of her seemed almost panicked by the thought.

But she couldn’t really tell why. They were such pretty flowers. The purple petals were each roughly the size of her hand, and the beautiful pink centre was just larger than her head.

She wanted to sniff it properly, to smell the scent of the majestic flower itself, rather than the mere spores. That felt like such a good idea.

She didn’t understand why a part of her brain seemed to be utterly screaming at her to…?

To what?

The more she stood there, surrounded by the pretty flowers, the more distant that voice seemed to become.

In its place, she felt something else. Something soothing, something warm. It felt nice. It felt natural. Her right hand seemed to find its way down her body and over her clit. Unthinkingly, she began to rub.

That felt so much better than whatever she’d been feeling. This must have been what she was looking for in the garden. It all made sense now.

Rubbing the stress and fear away.

Why had she even felt such fear in the first place?

It didn’t matter, rubbing made everything better, it made so much sense.

So much more sense than what?

She’d been so very exhausted, finally rubbing gave her peace.

Peace? Had she been at war? Why had she been so exhausted? Why was she here!

To rub of course, came her own voice as if it was the simplest truth in the world. And it felt like it was. Hermione didn’t understand why the nagging thoughts continued to bother her, so she just continued to rub them away. Almost delighting in how the voice grew fainter and fainter as her pleasure only increased.

Alright fuck it.

The words barely seemed to form in her mind, before she felt her fingers pinch sharply over her clit, her sharp and untrimmed nails digging deep.

“AH FUCK! YOU BITCH!” Hermione heard her voice loudly shouting as she was briefly snapped out of her stupor. Without thinking, she went to take a deep breath in and resume her masturbation, when something caught her eye. The sky, it had been a nighttime last time she’d seen it, the full moon that had been oddly bright in how its eery glow had illuminated the gardens was gone.

Now amber streaks of light cut through the almost purplish sky as the sun valiantly rose across a horizon she couldn’t see, fighting back the dreary night.

How much time has passed? Her eyes narrowed on the flowers, those beautiful flowers… She felt her hand drift back down towards her vagina as her mind caught up with what was happening.

The familiar feeling she’d been unable to recall? Well, she recalled it. It felt so very similar to the feeling Draco’s gloves had given her. It wasn’t the exact same thing to be sure, but it was similar. She didn’t doubt these flowers, or their spores at least, were a key ingredient in that potion of his she’d experienced earlier.

“Aww, and here I was enjoying the show” A familiar aristocratic voice called from behind her. “Impressive that you escaped its grasp, at least temporarily, once you breathe in again, I doubt you’ll come back out.”

Draco’s smile dripped with amusement and malice in equal parts as he regarded her nude form, notably eyeing the hand she struggled to keep away from her clit. “Quite a fascinating bit of herbology aren’t they? You seem rather well acquainted with them; I trust I don’t need to explain their function?”

Hermione didn’t bother opening her mouth to retort. That would only ensure she ingested more spores. Instead, she merely let her eyes wander. Draco was standing just as close to the flowers as she was, and yet, remained entirely in control of his mind. At least, he seemed to be.

He wore no bubblehead charm, perhaps he had inoculated himself? Or perhaps there was a trick to it of some kind.

“Is the mudblooded whore that dumb she can’t even answer such a simple question?” Draco grinned as he spoke, and as much as Hermione knew he was just trying to provoke her into opening her mouth, she still bristled at her own lack of response.

He took a few steps closer, his smile widening as he watched her desperately struggle not to breathe, and struggle not to touch herself further.

“Tell you what, I’m a fair man, if you can tell me exactly how those flowers work, I’ll cast the bubblehead charm on you. Let’s see if those spores haven’t completely wiped away what little intelligence, I remember you once having.”

Hermione sent him a distrusting glare but pondered the situation anyhow. No matter what, she was screwed here. Her expert occlumency skills which should have protected her from the clearly magical mind altering spores had proven useless, so escape further into the gardens was out of the question. If escape wasn’t an option, was it better to answer Draco’s question or not?

Why had he asked in the first place? She played with the question in her mind, as she very consciously ignored her increasing need to breathe in.

Obviously, he wanted to know if she knew, but why? A mere test, or was he worried that if she knew, she could somehow prevent its affects, or limit them to some degree anyway? It was an outlandish thought, but it had an interesting implication. There may have existed a way in which she could somehow resist the spores effects, and if she could resist those, maybe she could resist Draco’s potions.

That line of thinking naturally brought her back to Draco’s original question. How did the flowers work?

Her heart was beating faster, sending more and more urgent signals to her brain to breathe in, but she had to ignore them. There was only one thing she could afford to occupy her focus now. Earlier, she’d assumed Draco’s potion was chemically based, and that was how it had gotten around her occlumency. Forcing uncontrollable arousal into her mind, rather than making her mind create a sensation of uncontrollable arousal.

But the plant had clearly affected her mind in a traditionally magical manner, the exact kind Occlumency was developed to prevent. And yet, she’d never even had the opportunity to defend herself. Never felt the need to-

Ahah!

Oh, that clever little shit, it wasn’t a case of it being either a direct chemical alteration or mind magic alteration, but both! The spores, and the potion, forced a state of arousal on to her. Once in that state, she couldn’t even think to raise her occlumency shields because she’d been convinced, they were already surpassed! That meant all Draco had to do to stand here, seemingly unaffected, was to hard his occlumency shields. Naturally, he’d be absurdly aroused, but he wouldn’t be losing her mind as she had done earlier.

Hermione went to open her mouth, beyond pleased with her breakthrough, and somewhat desiring the academic validation that she’d lost now that she was three years out of Hogwarts, but then paused. Draco had asked because he’d wanted to know if she’d figured it out.

She most certainly didn’t want Draco to think she had, otherwise he might force her to forget, or enact additional measures to prevent her escape. So, what could she do?

Mentally, she forced all of her occlumency shields into battle position. Exactly where they would be if she was in the middle of a powerful legilimency attack.

And then she opened her mouth. “It influences the chemicals in your body, completely bypassing the ability to defend it with occlumency, overwhelming the mind with so much arousal the body simply gives in. While the arousal itself is magical, and that’s what makes it so irresistible, the effect on the body is simply biology.”

Draco paused, regarding her carefully, before smiling as he appeared to believe her intentionally false answer. This had been her initial assumption on how they worked anyhow, and it was close to the truth. It just omitted that, the biological component was largely just a cover for some absurdly sneaky mental magic.

“There’s a clever little Mudblood, perhaps I underestimated you, but fair enough, you succeeded my little task, and I am ever a man of honour.” Draco jabbed his wand at her head creating a small, almost perfectly clear, bubble around it.

That incredible warm feeling flooded Hermione’s body as the spores that flooded in when she gave her false answer settled upon her tongue, but aside from the uncomfortable lust, her mind was thankfully entirely her own.

Finally, now that she was within the bubble, Hermione was free to breath in again. Taking several huge gulps of air and feeling her heartrate steady by a tiny degree, she levelled her gaze back at Malfoy.

Having figured out, at least in part, the plant’s attack, she could feasibly escape through the garden easily enough. But that was a long-term project, trying anything right now was bound to end in failure with him right there and her wandless. That meant going back with him and trying to survivor for long enough to escape again. Hopefully her misleading answer would give him a false sense of security about her likelihood to attempt escape again.

“Now that that’s all sorted, I think you deserve quite the punishment, wouldn’t you agree?” Draco took a step closer, inspecting her body like one would newfound toy. “After all, that wasn’t a cheap floor you destroyed, nor were any of the furniture therein. Not to mention my wards pinged me in the middle of a meeting with the Dark Lord himself. I had to leave early. I don’t think you understand the position that’s going to put me in.”

His smile grew wider still. “And clearly you don’t understand the position that puts you in.”

Hermione didn’t know if it was better to respond or stay silent. She didn’t want to give Draco a reason to punish or restrict her further, now that she was so close to escaping. She needed him to have a false sense of her security. At the same time, if she didn’t act as haughty and brash as she usually did, he might think something was up.

In the end, she just chose to level a glare at her tormentor, still desperately gulping for air as she did so.

“Ooooh, so very scary, I’m shaking in my baby hippogriff leather boots.” Draco mocked, strolling forward until he was standing directly in front of her.

A not insignificant part of her wanted to punch him. It wouldn’t even have been the first time she’d done so.

He flicked his wand over her body, without casting a spell. Merely drawing it down along her flesh. Hermione flinched back at the sudden movement, very annoyed that she’d already decided against violently resisting. “What do you want Malfoy?”

The man smiled, meeting her glare with his own. “Firstly, you’ll get my family name out of that filthy mouth of yours.”

Before she could even see it coming, his left hand sped through the air and slammed into the side of her face in a powerful slap. The sheer impact sending her stumbling back a metre and-

Oh fuck it popped the bubble head charm.

The sudden violence had knocked the wind out of her, but she refused to gulp for air like her breath demanded. She would eventually have to of course, and with her occlumency, it’d be survivable, but selling her (very real) fear of the spores here was crucial to ensuring Draco underestimated her.

“You will address me only as Sir or Master unless instructed otherwise. Is that understood Mudblood?” His deep voice was edged with equal parts danger and dominance, as if he was absolutely eager for her to disobey his instructions and punish her for it.

Naturally she wasn’t going to obediently comply, but refusal wasn’t an option either, so instead all Hermione did was hesitantly nod her head.

That didn’t satisfy him. “I generously gave you the choice between Sir or Master, I didn’t offer silence. You will speak when spoken to, is that understood?”

Well… He was going to punish her anyway for breaking his floor and trying to escape, he’d made that clear earlier. It was unlikely that such a minor act of disobedience would worsen that. A part of her grinned at the thought, that meant she could respond any how she wished here.

Hermione stood up and straightened out her back. She was only a few inches short of Malfoy’s height, so while she wasn’t exactly staring into his eyes from the same level, it was close. She held the stare, as Draco looked back at her expectantly, before spitting all the saliva she could muster straight into his eye.

“Fuck you” The words were filled with all the anger and hatred over a decade of pureblood prejudice had conjured. The sheer venom and derision of the words seemed to temporarily shock the Malfoy scion, as Hermione noticed a touch of fear in the way he looked at her for a brief moment.

And then the moment passed, and the fear gave way to raucous laughter. “Oh that is just adorable, if you were that desperate for a punishment Mudblood, you could have just asked you know.”

In a sudden movement, he twisted his wand towards her. “Now, I was planning on doing this back in the mansion, but if you’re that eager we can do it here I suppose.”

“Pampinarius!” Malfoy spoke, his wand contorting in several sharp movements as he did so. Hermione almost laughed for a second afterwards as nothing happened, thinking Malfoy had somehow managed to screw up the spell.

And then two slimy green tendrils suddenly wrapped around her legs and pulled violently, yanking her onto the floor, the impact expelling the air out of her lungs and forcing her to take in a deep breath. Filling her with that incredible warmth once more.

The tendrils didn’t let go of her legs though, instead, they wrapped further and further around, tighter and tighter. Their slimy plant like texture feeling strange but not unpleasant as it rubbed against her skin. Two more of them shot out from the garden itself, each grabbing at her wrists, tightening and pulling, until she lay there on the ground, utterly immobile as her every limb was pulled away from her by a light pressure. It wasn’t painfully hard, but it was incredibly restrictive.

Merely trying to move her legs and arms at all was utterly futile, as the tendrils easily matched and surpassed her strength from this compromised position. Moreover, as the lust continued to fill her, she couldn’t even afford to spend her mental energies on struggling. No, maintaining her occlumency shields took priority. Now that she was focusing for it, she could feel the insidious but oh so gentil pokes and prods of mind magic against her mind. The plants, whether they were truly sentient, or merely magically intelligent, clearly had a skill for legilimency. She’d faced masters that weren’t as delicate or devious in their attacks, no wonder she hadn’t noticed them earlier.

As she was focused on the mental fight for her life, Draco knelt down over her naked form. “Hmm, I will admit, I’m a bit torn here. I’d love to let these tentacles have their way with you and rape your every hole to the point of deliriousness, but at the same time, I did have some tests done on you while you were still imprisoned.”

His looming form leered over her bound body. “I hear you’re still a virgin.” He laughed a cruel thing as he said the words.

“I didn’t believe it at first. I just assumed the blood traitor brat’s prick was too small to set the charms off, but when they investigated further, you’d never so much as had another man’s fingers in you.”

She felt her cheeks deeply blushing at the humiliating comments, but that was the least of her problems. The effects of the spores had clearly kicked in, and even if they weren’t controlling her mind this time, the sheer arousal she felt was difficult to resist. And every word from him only made it worse.

Somehow, hearing Malfoy talk like that, it made her want him more.

“Now, having you lose your virginity to a few tentacles does sound mildly amusing to me I’ll admit, but I feel it’s something of a waste. However, obviously my cock is far too valuable to waste on your inferior cunt, luckily for you, you’ve got a hole to spare that’s just as muddy as you are” He laughed as he said the words, before briefly grimacing. “Welp, let’s hope it’s not that bad actually.”

And with that, he shoved his wand against her arse and cast ‘Aguamenti’, the water making charm, shotting a jet of lukewarm water straight into her. It felt uncomfortable, obviously, and weirdly filling in a way that she didn’t quite know how to describe. Worst of all, because of the spores, she couldn’t help but enjoy that indescribable sense of sheer fullness. It felt good, very good, so good that-

A tiny moan escaped her lips.

Immediately she clamped down on it, but Draco well and truly noticed. His grin growing even wider. “Merlin are you really that much of a fucking whore that a little bit of water get’s you moaning? I’d hate to see your shower’s water bill.”

A small part of her, the part that wasn’t desperately defending against mind magic from semi-sentient rapey plants, or the physical stimulation from a very sentient rapey man, wondered how on earth Draco knew what a water bill was, or even that showers could be used for masturbatory purposes.

“Now then, I’m sure you recognise these.” Draco spoke, drawing his wand away from her and donning a pair of shiny latex gloves. “Naturally you can’t expect me to lay my hands directly onto your disgusting Mudblood body.”

Once he’d pulled them on, rather than immediately go after her anus like she expected, he laid his rubbery hands against her breasts caressing them delicately, the silky slippery rubber feeling so very excellent as it massaged her. Another moan escaped her lips, which seemed to only encourage Malfoy to touch her more. The caresses growing rougher and more violent, until finally he mounted her, and began to pinch and slap the bare breasts.

She couldn’t stop the sounds of pleasure and delight from escaping her lips, or growing louder the rougher her was. And then suddenly, his mouth was over her own, his hands continuing their violent work as he kissed her passionately. His lips were impossible to resist, and she eagerly kissed him back, desperate for me.

As the only logical part of her brain fought a ceaseless war against the plants, desperate not to lose her mind to their influence, the rest of her had already lost the battle against Draco’s physical touch.

“I always used to hate the sound of your voice, such a know-it-all Mudblood, I’m so glad to hear you finally putting that mouth of yours to good use.” He joked, and the insult only deepened her arousal. Her only thought of annoyance was simply about him pulling his lips away from hers to make the comment.

Worse yet, he could clearly recognise her blatant desire for him, even if it was artificially founded. “Oh? Are you such a perverted little slut that a bit of groping and kissing already has you weak at the knees? Go on then, be a good little slut and beg for my fingers in your body.”

Once given the idea, her mouth needed no further instruction. “Please Sir, please fuck me with your fingers, please fill me Sir!”

Draco grinned harder, his right hand dancing down her body until it arrived just outside her arse, where, rather than insert his fingers like she desired, he slapped his palm against her arse cheeks. A cry of shock and a moan filled the air simultaneously as pain and pleasure filled her body.

“Of fucking course you’re a masochist to boot, Merlin, I knew you were fucking pathetic, but even I thought you better than that.” Draco’s dulcet voice was like honey to her ears, utterly melting over what little thoughts she could muster and only further fuelling her pleasure. The more he spoke, the more he degraded her, the better she felt.

“I’m sorry sir, please Sir, just fill me, just fuck me please!” Was all her spore addled mind could conjure. The part of her that was focusing on occlumency, the sane part of her, liked to believe that this was all just an act. That this was merely her brain filled with uncontrollable lust, putting on a good performance to not raise Draco’s suspicions of her resisting the spores. It was a comforting idea at least.

“And why should I? Such a pathetic fucking cunt like yourself, you don’t even deserve my fingers in you. Just look at you, the once proud Hermione Granger, bound to my garden floor by tentacles, utterly naked, and begging to have her arse ravaged by my fingers.” Draco pulled his hand away again, only to slap it back down across her arse, eliciting yet another wild moan from her.

“I used to respect you, you know that? You were a filthy little Mudblood who didn’t know her place of course, but you seemed intelligent and at least studied the power which you’d stolen with due reverence. Looking at you now, I can’t imagine how I ever saw you as anything but the pathetic fucking slut you really are.” Another slap, harder than the last, and her moan was louder accordingly. “This is who you truly are deep down, I want you to admit that, and maybe I’ll be generous enough to rape you with my fingers.”

His mere words sent thrills down her body. If it wasn’t for the thick tendrils holding her so tightly in place, her body would be quivering at the mere sound of him.

“I’m just a pathetic little slut for you Sir, please rape my anus Sir!” She cried out, the normal strength and confidence in her voice replaced by desperate lust.

Malfoy scoffed at her attempt, slapping her several more times with increasing force. “You really are a useless ditz if that’s the best you can come up with. Tell the truth about what you are, beyond all the lies if you’ve been fed by the Light and Dumbledore. Tell me what an inferior little cunt you are. Tell me where you belong.”

“I’m a- “Hermione cut herself off. The part of her that had been focusing on occlumency so desperately taking back the reigns briefly. Draco could defile and violate her all she wanted, but saying that kind of thing about herself? No, she was a Witch worthy of the name through skill and determination. She was inferior to none, regardless of blood. With a wand, she could take on 50 of Draco’s like with pitiful ease. Even to further a ruse, she refused to spout such baseless lies.

“You’re a what? Answer well, or I shan’t reward you with my fingers.”

Draco’s words felt like a battering ram against her psyche. Hermione knew trying to focus on the physical reality she was dealing with and the plant’s mental attacks was a recipe to fail at both. She couldn’t linger here much longer, but she could try and find a way around Draco’s words. It would still hurt, scarring her pride and sense of self, but not to the same degree. It was a token prize, offered freely to defend a far greater treasure.

“I’m just a stupid little Gryffindor ditz who only got through school with the help of smarter boys, my place is on my knees offering my pathetic fucking holes to smarter and better Slytherins like yourself.” It was fucking dumb, the sane part of her mind thought. Bringing it back to school houses like they were anything more than a childish way of separating students into different sleeping quarters. Still, Malfoy cared deeply for the made up rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin. While it wasn’t the submission to blood purity he’d set her up to give, she imagined it would sate him.

“Aww, that’s exactly right! Your only value to give in this world are your holes. Noone gives a shit what a Mudblood slut like yourself thinks, and you were never even close to the smartest back in school. You were just a fucking teachers pet who everyone felt bad for. I’m glad you’re admitting to what everyone else always knew.” And then her sanity retreated to reinforce her occlumency, and her spore addled brain took back control.

“Yes Sir, just a set of holes Sir! Please use them it’s all I’m good for” She begged her tormentor with all the desperation she could muster.

Draco just smiled. “Well I am a generous man, who would I be to refuse you your one purpose in life?”

And with that, she felt his velvety latex clad finger slip into her arse. There wasn’t much resistance, but the sensation was unmistakeable. That sense of fullness, the sense of defilement, the sense of submission. This was her body, her most private areas, and Draco’s finger had slid in as if he owned it. He was using it like he owned it.

Because for all intents and purposes right now. He did.

That thought alone thrilled her, but the feelings brought forth by the physical stimulation of his touch were on another level. Even had she focused all her efforts, Hermione wouldn’t have been able to stop the wild moans that roared forth from her mouth as Draco pushed his fingers back and forth. Ecstasy and fulfillment gushing through her body at his every expert movement. His lips once again touched her own as he continued to finger her, his own grunts of exertion and effort serenading her into moaning louder and louder.

This was perfect. This was what she’d been needing all her life. More and more, as Draco thrust his finger back and forth, she felt a pressure building.

He added another finger, stretching her almost uncomfortably, but not unpleasantly. A part of her felt the need to be stretched, to be filled, to be used. His fingers quickened in pace as his lips did the same. The pressure kept building, more and more.

“Oh, are you that close to cumming already? Does it really just take a few fingers and slaps to get you to orgasm? Or maybe you’re just such a good little slut that all it takes is a few degrading comments from me? Looking at you now, probably both I suppose”

She could barely even make out Draco’s comments over the pressure that was building. She needed him to keep going, she was so close, this was perfect, this was what she was meant for, she was almost there! She was cu-

His hands violently left her body as his lips did the same.

“Please!” She begged. “Please don’t stop now Please Sir! Master! Don’t stop now!”

Draco laughed a delightfully cruel thing. “And why not? Why should I let a filthy little Mudblood like you cum? I quite like you like this anyhow, so pathetic and desperate.”

“Bu-but! I did as you asked Sir! Please, your pathetic little cunt needs this!” Hermione tried to beg him, to convince him through the self-degradation he’d seemed to like, but he just laughed her off.

“Cumming is a reward, obedience does not deserve a reward, it is expected, it is the bare minimum for an inferior little slut like yourself. Go above and beyond next time, prove yourself worthy of my touch, and maybe I’ll let you cum next time. Maybe.”

And with that, he waved his wand and the tentacles receded, leaving her lying on the cold hard ground. She heard Draco sigh somewhat exasperatedly, and then felt her body levitate as he dragged her through the air along with him back to the manor. Her body and mind were too exhausted to even bother putting up a token resistance against it.

“You know, I had to call that blood traitor slut back from a dear friend of mine just to clean up the mess you made? Weasley didn’t seem all that pleased with your escape attempt or her having to clean up after a Mudblood’s mess. Well, downright vengeful is probably a more apt term, but I’m sure she won’t be too bad. I warn you of this because I have a meeting tomorrow, so you’ll be in her care for the day. Do try not to anger her too much, I’d rather avoid having to reattach any limbs when I return.”

Chapter 5

Malfoy had brought her all the way back to the bedroom she’d so recently destroyed and deposited her onto the bed. Thrown might have been a more apt word, but Hermione was vastly too exhausted to really care about how exactly she arrived on top of the bed. The sheets were rubber still, although even just fiddling with them while she lay on top of them, Hermione could tell they didn’t have any runes or magical enhancements this time.

She just lay there for a time, contemplating further sleep, and trying to ignore the impossible arousal that still filled her body. Sure, the spores may have been gone, but she had been on the verge of cumming mere minutes prior, for the second time in 24 hours at that. The arousal she felt now was entirely natural. 

But touching herself felt wrong. Hermione had of course done it before, but after everything that had happened to her?  After everything Malfoy had done to her? 

At the same time, did she really want to confront whatever horrors Ginny unleashed upon her with her mind still in such an aroused state? The guilt from how much she’d enjoyed Malfoy’s perversions was stemmed partially by knowing the arousal hadn’t been natural, what would happen if she found herself legitimately enjoying some part of whatever Ginny ended up doing? 

How would she be able to live with herself? How would she ever look at Ron again? 

She winced at the thought, Hermione had tried her best not to think of Ron too much. Of course, he would never hold any of the pleasure she’d felt due to Draco’s magic against her, but she would always hold it against herself. Ronald was the man she’d been waiting so desperately for a proposal from. The arrogant and crass young boy who had grown into a man worth dying for.

Perhaps he would rescue her? The Order had more important priorities for a wizard of Ron’s skill and experience than a rescue mission for her of course, but Hermione wouldn’t have put it past him and Harry both to organise one anyway.

Yes, even if she couldn’t escape herself, any day now her friends would come and save her. She was sure of that. Once she saw Ron again, well… she wasn’t going to wait any longer for him to finally get down on one knee. The terrifying thought of dying here or worse was something of a wakeup call in that regard. She’d propose to him herself rather than wait any longer for him to gather the balls to do so himself.

She imagined the scene, her getting down on one knee and giving him a transfigured or stolen ring. Harry would find it hilarious, while Ron would probably be a stuttering and blushing mess and of course Ginny would-

The happy thought ended there. Ginny. Merlin if Ron could see his sister now… 

It didn’t bear thinking about, hopefully they could save her and undo Draco’s horrid brainwashing. 

She tried to focus her mind back on Ron. If she was going to masturbate to ensure she could think clearly, then the least she could do was focus on her beloved. Her right hand drifted downward as she focused on her memories of him. The way he’d held her so very gently whenever she was injured. The way he’d smile at her goofily when he’d struggle to pick up a spell she was teaching him. The way his laugh would echo amongst the dining hall at even the worst of her jokes. 

She tried to rub herself to the thoughts, and it felt… not bad? She kept going, thinking about him more and more. The way his calloused hands felt against her skin when they hugged. The warmth of his clothed body against hers when they’d camped together in the woods. The way he’d so violently fingered her anus with his-

Pleasure surged through her as the memory of Malfoy’s latex gloves ravishing her filled her mind. She tried to push them back down, to focus back on Ron, but her fingers just kept moving faster the more she vividly recalled how Malfoy had degraded her. It took active application of her own occlumency to force her mind away from Malfoy and back to Ron.

It didn’t feel as good. 

Hermione didn’t want to think about why.  

Carefully applying her own occlumency against herself, she recalled their first kiss, fresh out of slaying a basilisk and filled with adrenaline. How they’d locked their lips together, so full of passion and love. So very different to what Draco had done to her. ‘Better’ Hermione asserted, kissing Ron had been so much better, right? 

She couldn't help but compare the two. Draco’s lips had been so impossibly soft whilst Ron’s had been so very dry and chapped. Not that that mattered, Ron had been fighting day in and day out, why should he have had to care about the state of his lips? Ron had been so full of passion, but Draco had such a delicate violence to him. Every subtle move of his lips against her own so full of intent and expertise, her memory of Ron’s sloppy passion felt almost embarrassing by comparison.

Seeing the direction her mind was heading, Hermione wanted to stop the comparison there, but finally that pleasure filled pressure she'd been chasing had begun to build. 

Clearly her body was responding to her thoughts of Ron, even despite Draco’s interference. So she continued.

Remembering their first night sleeping together. They hadn’t done anything sexual of course, it had been a move to save space at a safehouse. Ron had snuggled against her, hugging her tightly while his hands had cupped her breasts. It had felt… nice. Comforting. He’d asked permission several times over just to touch her like that and hadn’t done anything more than what she strictly allowed. He was a complete gentleman compared to Malfoy, who’d groped and slapped her body with such intensity. She’d felt like nothing more than a toy to him.

Her hand found a steady pace, the pressure building further.

Just a good little toy for him to use. Ron had felt almost worshipful over her body, being so very grateful just to touch her figure. Draco hadn’t even seen her as a person worth respecting, let alone worship. Her body existed purely for him to use in his eyes. He’d  been so incredibly rough and uncaring. The feeling of latex violently caressing and slapping at her skin being so viscerally amazing. 

Almost there, just a little further.

Hermione remembered the way his fingers had utterly ravished her, and how he’d made her beg for more. Proving his assertions about her right. Just a useless little toy for him.

Just a pathetic Mudblood whore-

Her body tensed, as her mind utterly caved in to the white-hot pleasure that exploded throughout her being. Waves and waves of pleasure crashing into her, over and over again as she lay there on the bed almost paralysed by the impossibly powerful orgasm. The ripples of sheer bliss that radiated throughout her body seeming utterly endless as they smothered and drowned out her every thought with the never-ending mind-numbing pleasure.

And so, she lay there, exhausted and satisfied in equal parts, riding a high that didn’t seem to end. 

It shouldn’t have felt that good, but as she lay there, bathing in satisfaction and pleasure, Hermione simply couldn’t bring herself to care. 

And then, after perhaps five or ten minutes, the last waves and ripples of pleasure finally abated, and guilt and shame swiftly took their place, crashing into the peace that had settled upon her with a sudden violence.

What had she just done? She’d meant to think of Ron, but all she’d managed to do was get off to how much better Draco had been! She’d orgasmed to the notion of being treated like a…

A Mudblood.

How could she have done such a thing? Why did she do it? What was wrong with her! 

She couldn’t even blame Draco’s potions or the plants, for their effects had clearly long receded. It felt almost violating the way he’d crept into her own fantasies so easily, and the worst part was, it was her mind that had let him.

Forcing herself to take deep breaths, Hermione tried to stem the guilt-ridden panic she felt. It wasn’t useful or helpful. She tried to rationalise it. Of course, after being subject to such powerful potions whilst Draco sexually tormented her, her mind would naturally begin to associate arousal with him. It meant nothing, and it would doubtless stop the moment she’d escaped here and had some mind healing.

She repeated the notion over and over again in her mind. It had meant nothing, and she would be fine once she escaped. Perhaps it hadn’t even been her mind’s fault, perhaps the initial mental attack from the plants she’d failed to protect against had altered her in such a way as to make this kind of thing happen?

Hermione clung to the thought as a lifeboat out of the shame she’d been drowning in. Of course that was the case, that made so much more sense than anything else. 

Her breathing began to calm as the rationalisation took hold. Purposefully choosing not to examine the situation any further, Hermione distracted herself by examining the room. Relative to when she’d first seen it, it was comparatively sparse now, with little but the artwork and the bed itself remaining. Clearly Draco didn’t trust her around furniture anymore. Smart.

Replicating the rune modification trick likely wouldn’t be possible then, unless… Hermione forced herself out of bed and examined the largest of Malfoy’s paintings. This one was a full-length portrait of him, showcasing him in robes of an impossibly dark black, and a beautifully resplendent emerald green. As she examined the painting, a thought suddenly struck her.

She hadn’t seen the painting move at all! 

Hermione examined it further, and indeed, the painting was clearly and absolutely still in all regards. Was the figure within merely standing still? Had they been paralysed? Or was this a muggle painting? The latter seemed impossible, but why else would Malfoy own a seemingly non-magical painting?

It not being magical explained at least why he had felt comfortable leaving it in this room with her. 

Her study of the painting was cut short however, as the door slammed open in a paradoxically silent but forceful manner as a crimson haired maid strode through them.

Ginny was wearing the same latex attire Hermione had last seen her in. The black latex clinging tightly to her breasts, which were exposed very slightly by a frilly white collared scoop neckline. The skirt itself extended down to her knees, the mirror like darkness only broken up by the white latex apron, and the latex frills of the same colour along her arms, and at the edge of her wrists. Immediately below the skirt, one could just glimpse the visible skin of her upper thigh, whilst the rest of her legs were hugged tight by the black latex stockings.

But it wasn’t the complex and well-crafted costume that made her former friend almost unrecognisable. It was the way she held herself. Her back impossibly straight, her chin held high whilst her eyes were cast low. The pretty but utterly empty smile on her face. 

“Hello Mudblood” Her perfectly enunciated words bore a joviality that didn’t even bother to hide its cruelty and malice.

Hermione didn’t know what to say to that

She wanted to feel angry, but how could she? Ginny was just as much a victim of this as she was, and Hermione was all too aware how potent Draco’s methods were now.

The maid strode forward, her rubbery shoes with their several inch heels loudly tapping against the floor in a smooth rhythm as she did so. “Our Master has instructed this filthy little blood traitor to give you a degree of lenience today. Had he not, I would have slapped you for your insolence. Speak when spoken to Mudblood.” 

Ginny stopped right in front of her. Even with the absurdly high heels, the other girl was only a slight bit taller than Hermione was. “Hello Mudblood” Ginny repeated herself from earlier.

What was she supposed to say?

“Hello Ginny?” Came Hermione’s tentative reply.

Evidently that was wrong, the other girl looked to be on the verge of violence from that remark alone.

“To be clear Mudblood, if you ever utter that name from your filthy little mouth ever again, I will ruin you. Our master may be generous, I am not.” While her tone was utterly vitriolic, Ginny’s smile never wavered as she threatened her. 

Well, what was she supposed to do? Last names? Was that more formal? And what on earth was Ginny’s problem? 

The question answered itself. The brainwashed girl was clearly asking questions she knew Hermione wouldn’t know the right response for to actively set her up for failure. Perhaps Ginny would return to Malfoy afterwards and complain at length how she tried to be lenient, but Hermione’s rudeness kept forcing her to enact punishments.

So, what was the solution? Accept that by the end of the day, the other girl would doubtless find several excuses to abuse her in some way and just put up with it all? No, obviously not. Who knew what toys or potions Weasley might have at her disposal. She needed to be constantly finding opportunities for escape, not nursing wounds or fighting off potion effects.

Settling on a diplomatic option, Hermione inclined her head the smallest bit. “And how would you prefer I address you?” 

It stung her to play along like this, but Hermione knew there wasn’t a feasible alternative.

Ginny seemed rather annoyed by her response, evidently desiring further excuse to punish her, but clearly she couldn’t figure out a way to spin Hermione’s question in a way that allowed that. “As a filthy little Mudblood, you are naturally beneath me, even despite my being an arrogant blood traitor slut. Normally you would refer to me as Mistress, or whatever I graciously allowed you to speak.”

Hermione winced at the jarring horror of hearing her former friend speak like this, but Ginny continued on heedless at her internal terror. “However, I am our Master’s slave first and foremost, and accordingly unworthy of such a respectful title. As we are just holes for our Master to use, you may refer to me either by my position as ‘First Hole’ or simply by honorific which would be ‘Miss’ to you.” 

Not even getting into the absurdity and disgust she felt at the idea of calling someone she used to value so dearly ‘first hole’, Hermione couldn’t help but feel equally disgusted at the linguistic travesty that was trying to use ‘first hole’ in a sentence. If her moral convictions didn’t make her preference ‘Miss’, her passion for grammar certainly would have. 

Seriously ‘First hole’? What was she a mini golf announcer? 

Ginny’s expectant glare snapped her out of her musings. Hermione grimaced and answered reluctantly. “Yes Miss.” 

“Aww, so you can be obedient, good girl.” There was something to the silky posh lilt of her Ginny’s new voice that made those last two words linger in Hermione’s psyche, but she tried her best to ignore that.

“Now, before we start the day, let’s get you into your new uniform, shall we?” Ginny waved her wand as she spoke the words, summoning a moderately sized matte black box out of the air and into both her hands. 

Uniform? Right, Ginny had taken her measurements for that the day before. Did that mean she would have to wear the same Maid style outfit as her former friend? The humiliation of the thought stung, but as soon as Ginny opened the box to reveal Hermione’s new latex clothes, she found herself sorely wishing it was a simple maid outfit. 

It was a parody of the uniform she’d once worn all those years ago. The Hogwarts school uniform, albeit this time in black and emerald rather than the red and gold she’d last worn. The cut, the skirt, the layers, it all looked so familiar, albeit in an utterly perverse way given the material was latex, rather than cloth. 

She looked up at Ginny’s face and saw… was that jealousy? The other girl seemed to notice her staring and smiled. 

“Our Master had me wear a similar uniform, however, to remind me of my traitorous blood and past, ensured it was a Gryffindor one.” Ahh, so the girl was jealous she got a Slytherin variation? “Make no mistake Mudblood, wearing that doesn’t mean you’re a Slytherin, it means you’re owned by a Slytherin. A good little Mudblood whore on display in the colours of a house she knows she isn’t worthy of.”

Two years of gruelling guerilla warfare and Draco Malfoy was still utterly obsessed by which colour he was sorted into during High School. Merlin it’d be hilariously pathetic if she weren’t on the bitter end of it. 

“Lucky me” Hermione couldn’t help the sarcasm that filled her words as she picked up the silky rubber outfit. Slytherin, the house of blood prejudice and death eaters that she was going to look like a mascot for. How many puppies had she eaten in a past life to deserve all this? 

Still, perhaps it was better than being forced to walk around naked everywhere… Well, it wasn’t, Hermione would have preferred nudity to this any day, but she could pretend it was. 

She looked back at Ginny, who was looking back at her expectantly. “So… are you just going to watch or…” 

Hermione had spoken the words hoping to inspire the young maid to leave, but instead she just smiled. “Oh no, given your recent escape attempt, I feel careful supervision is required.”

Of course she did. Hermione went to begin to dress, when the thought struck her.

Why was supervision needed? Did that mean there was something about her uniform that Ginny was worried she could use to escape? Something that Hermione would find if Ginny left her alone? Or was this just a powerplay of a bitter and malicious maid? Hmm… she eyed the set of latex items, each so absurdly shiny and so very similar to the uniform she remembered. 

What if their gloss wasn’t just the latex, but came in part from a potion that had been applied to them? What if, like Draco’s gloves, this had with it something that would force arousal, or perhaps obedience? What if-

Ginny’s impatience evidently wore thin, as her wand suddenly jabbed forth “Petrificus Totalus!” 

Hermione didn’t have time to even see the body binding jinx emerge from her wand before it slammed into her body, completely freezing her.

“Our Master had hoped you would wear it unthinkingly and not even realise the spells that were affecting you, but he underestimates your kind. I know you Hermione, I know how devious and crafty Mudbloods like yourself can be. You were just putting it together then, weren’t you?” 

Fuck. Well, she had been putting it together, but that spelled it out, the suit would affect her somehow. Hmm… Ginny had given away another clue though, that Malfoy had wanted her to wear it unthinkingly might mean that if she consciously defended against it, like she did the spores, she could resist it. 

Ginny moved closer towards her utterly frozen body, gently placing one latex gloved hand against one of Hermione’s breasts. Tentatively caressing it, before squeezing it. 

Hermione tried to squeal at the sudden movement, but she was frozen. Ginny nonetheless could see her internal panic, letting out a soft laugh and letting go. “Oh, I could have so much fun with you like this, but alas, business before pleasure.” 

And then the maid got to work. She started with the leggings, posing and moving Hermione’s body at her own convenience to help slide the silky-smooth material on. It felt so very tight in a manner that was comfortable but impossible to ignore.

It felt good.

Even despite her occlumency, Hermione couldn’t ignore that. 

Defending against it wasn’t the same as the spores, this lacked the subtlety and nuance of a semi-sentient plant’s legilimency. Whereas that felt like expert tendrils sneaking and snaking their way around her defences, this felt more like a series of gentle waves against them. Her shields would never buckle or break against such pressure, but had she not previously prepared and readied them, she might have never noticed them. 

Of course, much like the plants, the sensation wasn’t just mental. Just wearing the stockings alone, she could feel the warm arousal spreading from her legs into the rest of her body.

Hermione was almost snapped out of her occlumency when she noticed what the Maid grabbed next. Perhaps, had she been almost blind, Hermione would have thought them regular panties. They were black, small, and vaguely panty shaped, if one ignored the two large bulges that protruded forth from them. 

Ginny's laugh was filled with malicious glee when she saw the sheer fear Hermione felt from looking at the two dildos the panties proudly bore. Completely black and shiny like the panties themselves, the first dildo, the one Hermione assumed was for her vagina, looked at least 5 inches long, and looked to be just over an inch thick. The second was a little shorter and thinner, but that hardly eased her concerns all that much. 

“Normally you’d have your holes on display at our Master’s convenience, but with him absent, and you so very inexperienced, it's important we start training your one worthwhile quality.” Ginny explained like it was the most normal thing in the world, spreading her legs apart as she did so. 

Hermione bitterly tried to resist the body binding jinx, to scream and shout and beg, but nothing came out. Raging against impossibly tight restraints until she felt the pressure against both her holes, which held only for the briefest of seconds, before the pressure gave way to a rush of pleasure as the dildos were thrust inside her. Her internal struggle stopped as her mind instantly recalled being fingered by Draco, and then her masturbating to Draco’s fingering. This felt so much more filling than mere fingers. So much better. How would it feel when she finally got to have his cock inside her-

Slamming down her occlumency over her regular mind with all the force she could muster, Hermione shut down that train of thought, at least for a short while. Suddenly her eyes darted down, and she realised Ginny had put on her skirt, and was now sliding the top over her head and arms. 

How long had the dildos affected her mind for such time to have passed? Was that the dildos? Or just her? 

The arousal from each item, and indeed, the dildos themselves, was growing ever harder to ignore. Ever better. The waves against her occlumency shields growing that bit taller and more forceful.

The top felt marvellous as the rubber, so very tight, smoothly covered her entire upper body. Hugging her in such a comfortable but lustful way, accentuating her every curve, and displaying her to the world with as much bodily detail as if she were nude. Looking down, Hermione could just make out the Slytherin Crest proudly emblazoned just above her breast - it felt more like a cattle brand than it did a school emblem. Worse yet, a part of Hermione seemed to actively love that about it.

She hoped that was just the effects of her new clothes’ spells.

Finally, after securing the rubber tie beneath the shirt, and placing the rubber cloak over it all, the maid stood back and admired her work. “Aww, such an adorable little Mudblood whore, I wonder what the Order would make of you now, looking every bit an obedient slut for your Pureblood betters.” 

Once Hermione was freed from the body binding jinx, she resolved to punch the Weasley. Hard. It was an angry thought, born of the torment she’d been forced to endure, but the more Hermione thought about it, the better an idea it felt.

Hermione was bigger than the other girl, and if she managed to knock the other girl out, she could steal her wand. Against Draco physical violence may have been untenable, but Ginny? 

She’d never taken to physical violence quite like Harry or Ron, but she’d been taught by the same tutors. Attack quickly, target her head and her wand hand, never letting up, and ignoring whatever guilt she felt at attacking her former friend. 

It was a plan, and with Draco out of the house, it may well have been her best shot at survival.

Ginny, headless of her internal thoughts, raised her wand, and began to perform the countercharm to the body binding jinx. 

A yellow glow sped towards her body, and immediately spread through her, freeing Hermione of the impossible weight that had entrapped her. Hermione didn’t bother waiting for the spell’s effects to finish, kicking off with her right foot and dashing towards the Weasley girl, raising her right fist to strike at her jaw. Her limbs were lightning fast and buttery smooth, she was a trained fighter, even if not a very practised one. 

The other girl looked panicked, hurriedly taking a step back to avoid the blow, but so unsteady on her high heels, she could barely avoid tripping over as Hermione’s fist gracefully slid through the air, millimetres away from slamming into her-

Pleasure seized her body as Hermione felt the two dildos within her suddenly pump and vibrate with a ferocious intensity. Her body stiffening up as the speed somehow quickened, feeling directly uncomfortable with how fast and hard they went, and yet, so very pleasurable as well. Her attack faltered as her body contracted and fought against the sudden pleasure and pain. It took all her effort just to remain standing.

Within seconds, Ginny was standing tall once more, her wand raised directly at Hermione, who could barely even move as the dildos forced themselves up and down within her. 

“You Mudblood bitch, how fucking dare you. Of course, a filthy little cunt like yourself would resort to Muggle brutality, you’re lucky I’d already planned for that.” Ginny spat each word with as much vitriol as the maid could muster, as she tapped her wand against the air, and the dildos began to pump even harder and even-

They were growing bigger! Harder, bigger, further and faster, it was so painful, and it was so very pleasurable. 

“Well… I hadn’t planned on going easy on you today, but clearly you need an even stricter lesson than I’d intended.” Hermione’s legs gave out beneath her, whether from a spell, or the dildos, she couldn’t quite tell. All she could see was Ginny, leaning over her, with a malicious- no- with an evil smile.

“You swung at the Queen, Mudblood, and guess what, you just missed.” 

Chapter 6

It felt good. That was the worst part of it all. Obviously, she hated the violation of having her holes plugged and the indignity of being dressed up like a sex doll. But thanks to whatever potion had been applied to those dildos, her body couldn’t help but love every moment of it.

“Stand up straight Mudblood” Ginny commanded, delighting in quickening the pace of the thrusting dildos at the barest moment of hesitation from Hermione. 

A black crop appeared in Ginny's hands with a wave of her wand, and just as quickly, struck down across Hermione’s arse, eliciting both a yelp and a moan. 

“You will speak when spoken to, now don’t make me say this again, stand up straight Mudblood.” 

She didn’t hesitate this time, straightening her back as quickly as possible. “Yes Miss. Weasley.” 

The other girl looked at her for a few seconds, examining her up and down like one would a statue. “Hmmm… better.” The crop came down once more, even quicker and harder than last time, Hermione could scarcely see its movement before a violent moan escaped her lips at its impact. 

“You will keep your chin down and your eyes downcast. You exist to serve, how you stand must signal that to the world. No one will ever again look at you as anything more than a Mudblood whore, it’s time you got used to that fact.”

Hermione refused that fact wholeheartedly, but she’d already learned what voicing that refusal meant. More punishment. More pleasure. Disobedience would only make it harder for her to find an opportunity to escape later. That was how she rationalised it at least.

“Yes Miss. Weasley.” 

The words tasted like ash against her lips, but what other choice did she have?

“There’s a good girl, keep that up and you may well be ready for tonight.” 

Ignoring how nice those words made her feel, no doubt a side effect of the potion of course, Hermione hurriedly considered what was on tonight that she’d have to be ready for. Could she ask? Possibly, but there was a 70% chance she’d get another lash of the crop and be told to only speak when spoken to. Perhaps there was a right way to ask?

“Umm… Miss Weasley?” Hermione tentatively spoke, careful to follow the other girl’s earlier instructions of keeping her eyes downcast and her head bowed tilted low. 

Ginny’s eyes seemed to drill into her as the crop in her hand twitched. Hermione hoped the other girl hadn’t noticed the way that simple action made her flinch.

“Yes Mudblood?” Her silky sweet voice felt like a knife against Hermione’s throat. The young Maid seemed positively excited to find some further excuse to punish her.

“What’s-” Hermione cut herself off as she saw the crop in Ginny’s hand twitch, before trying again in a less authoritative manner. “Might I ask what’s happening tonight, Miss. Weasley?” 

Hermione wasn’t sure how to feel about the thrill that passed through her body when Ginny looked so very annoyed that Hermione’s obedience left Ginny without an excuse to punish her. 

The annoyance on her face didn’t last long, quickly finding itself replaced by a demure smile. “Such lovely manners from a Mudblood whore, good girl, I’m glad to see you’re learning.”

The words felt so very nice, it took all her effort to ignore them just to focus on Ginny’s next words. 

“But I’m afraid our Master preferred the idea of leaving it a pleasant surprise for you.” Ginny looked all too satisfied as she watched Hermione’s annoyance at her words. Whether that was as minor payback, or because the girl enjoyed watching Hermione forcibly try and not look annoyed, was difficult to discern.

Clearly Hermione hadn’t done a good enough job, as with a loud crack, Ginny’s crop once again slapped against her behind. 

“Your posture still needs much work, but it may suffice for now. Your expressions will not.” Ginny moved closer to her and placed one gloved hand over Hermione’s cheek. “You’re an object, you exist to be eye candy for the men around you, and when they get bored of that, a set of holes for them to use. If you’re walking around like-”

She pulled her glove away to gesture vaguely at Hermione’s highly annoyed and angry expression.

“-that. Then you’re failing one of the only two valid reasons for your existence.”

Right, because of course that’s how Draco viewed women. The blond prat had seemingly made it his life’s mission to take on every prejudice he could. Blood purity, misogyny, Merlin was she about to find out he moonlighted as a Klansman as well? 

Hermione wasn’t eager to experience the business end of Ginny’s crop, and so accordingly, decided not to voice her inner monologue, and instead tried to get Ginny to explain exactly how she was supposed to look. “So… Miss. Weasley, what should I do?”

Ginny rolled her eyes at her. “Smile obviously. Show them you’re happy to be there and to be used.”

“But I’m not?” 

Knowing it was coming gave Hermione just enough time to dodge out of the way of Ginny’s crop. Whatever the punishment was, that little bit of resistance was worth it. Just giving in and going along with it was hardly sustainable by itself after all, what if it eventually became easier to keep going along with it, rather than escaping? 

Somewhat shockingly though, Ginny didn’t rush a follow-up strike and instead seemed to smile at it. Any thoughts of her having suddenly developed a sense of humour disappeared when she opened her mouth however. “Aww, careful Mudblood, keep taunting me like that and I might start suspecting you want to be punished.” 

Hermione didn’t even see the crop coming until it slapped into her, but this time it was different. There was less force behind it, and it targeted the very cheek of her butt where most of the soft flesh was. She couldn’t help the deep moan that escaped her lips as the stinging pleasure radiated throughout her body. There wasn’t even a notion of pain to it this time, and Hermione found herself almost desperately asking for more. 

She stopped herself of course, but that didn’t prevent the longing thoughts from besieging her mind and her occlumency shields. She wanted more. She shouldn’t, but she did. Ginny had very clearly hit her like that on purpose, aiming to elicit that exact response. That wasn’t meant to be a punishment, and yet it felt all the more punishing for it. In this instance, the carrot was the stick. 

“Oh, that was beautiful, you truly do have such a lovely voice when it's put to proper use. If only you’d spent more time moaning and less preaching you might not be in this situation.”

Hermione hated that she took that as a compliment. She didn’t mean to of course, her rational brain hated each and every word, and yet, a certain warmth and happiness filled her as the less rational side of her processed them. Of course, that was almost certainly an effect of the potion in her costume, or some other such poison, but that didn’t make it feel any less real. 

Ginny menacingly slapped the crop against her other hand. “Now then, we’re going to play a game so simple even a Mudblood like yourself can understand it. You’re going to smile perfectly, and you’re going to stand perfectly, and the moment you fail to do either of those things, I am going to hit you. Does that make sense, Mudblood?”

She’d had her obligatory attempts at resistance, and Ginny’s patience was clearly already pushed to the limits, so she just nodded meekly. “Yes Miss. Weasley.”

“Good girl.” 

They spent almost an hour on that, with Weasley hurling insults, abuse, and often spells at Hermione while she tried to comport herself according to the strict rules she’d been given.

Unsurprisingly, she failed… a lot. By the end of the hour, her legs were quivering and there wasn’t a corner of her arse cheeks that weren’t bright red. Naturally, Ginny didn’t give her a rest and a snack for her troubles, but instead, immediately moved on to the next stage of training once she was happy enough with Hermione’s progress.

In this case, that meant Hermione graduated from living ornament, to hospitality training. As anyone who has worked in the service industry might attest, that wasn’t much of an improvement. 

For some reason, known only to Merlin and possibly God, there were 18 distinct rules one had to follow when pouring a cup of tea. Perhaps, had those rules been something sensible like ‘make sure the tea is hot’ or ‘don’t miss the cup’, Hermione wouldn’t have felt so frustrated with the educatory process. Somewhat predictably however, most of the ‘18 rules’ sounded like something an 18-year-old boy would come up with for a drinking game. Indeed, Hermione found herself listening to Ginny explaining the way one had to flourish their skirt whilst bending over to pour, or the optimal way to show off one's bust whilst leaning over.

“These are all things that… our Master-” Hermione grimaced as she continued. “Made up right? There’s no way these ‘18 rules’ are an actual thing… right?” 

Ginny barked out an honest laugh at that. Heartbreakingly, it sounded so familiar to the girl she’d once known. There was still the somewhat haughty accent Ginny had adopted clipping the edges of it, but it had a degree of warmth that reminded Hermione of the real Ginny. “No no Mudblood, this right here is pure-blood culture dating back for almost a thousand years. It’s gone in and out of fashion, with the Malfoys being one of the last to maintain the tradition until recently.”

Surely not? Sexism, at least in the muggle world, was rooted in a time when biology meant men grew bigger muscles, and women had to carry babies, and thus, one got to have power and the other got to stay home. But in the wizarding world? 

Well, God may have made men, and he may have made women, but Garrick Ollivander made them equal. The killing curse hardly checked what was in your pants before killing your targets after all, and with magic, things like ‘childbirth’ were relatively easy, and not even restricted necessarily to just women. 

So why on earth would there be such historical precedence for sexism in the wizarding world? Clearly it had gone away somewhat, given her experiences at Hogwarts being largely devoid of sexism, except for Ron at times, but still…

“Miss. Weasley…” Hermione asked tentatively, unsure if Ginny was the right person to ask, and if she even wanted an answer.

“Yes Mudblood?” 

“Why… No… How is it that this ever became ‘culture’? Surely women resisted right? We have wands and wills of our own… so how?” 

At Ginny’s cruel smile, Hermione found herself dreading the answer even more.

“An excellent question for such a brainless whore, 3 points to Sluteryn.” Ginny laughed. “Unfortunately, it’s a flawed question. You see, we didn’t always have wands. Once upon a time, when the first Wizards were figuring out the craft, a great deal of them decided it was simply easier not to share their power with women.”

Hermione didn’t need to be the brightest witch of her age to see where this was going.

“No, spellcraft made it so much easier to make women accept their true place in the world. So lovely and docile for their men, and even eager to help break in other sluts. Men were the first to figure out magic, or at least the first to figure out if they used it on their wives they could have obedient pets.” 

Ginny’s smile only widened as Hermione’s face contorted in horror further. 

“Of course, not all families maintained this practice, but to preserve the stability and status quo, those families were shown the error of their ways. It wasn’t until Merlin, and much later on, Emeric the Evil, that women being allowed access to wands became widespread practice.”

It made a certain kind of twisted sense. It only took one creepy thug to use magic to brainwash a girl, and to convince a few friends to do so as well. Women probably fought back soon enough, but when so few people practised magic, the ability for a few men to force women to betray each other with some proto-imperious spell would have probably been enough. And then once it had started, one generation of patriarchs enforcing their rule through magic, how could it ever stop? 

If the women were conditioned to love their treatment with magic, and were never even granted wands, then they never had a chance. And if the men knew their rule would only last provided their women remained enslaved, then they’d never give any ground. 

How had she never heard about any of this? 

Well… that question answered itself. Obviously when enough women began wielding wands that this practice had to stop, the pureblood elites just tried to shove their centuries long history under the rug. Presumably a lot of women were keen to forget their history of being obedient sex slaves as well, and so it all together disappeared from public consciousness as soon as it could. 

Huh, maybe that’s part of the reason pure-bloods hated muggle-borns? They couldn’t condition female muggle-borns from birth, nor control their magic so easily. It’d be a cruel kind of comedy if blood purity was merely an offshoot of misogyny, but one that wouldn’t have surprised her. 

“It’s simple really. It’s always been our natural place to serve.”

How the fuck was that the message Ginny got from this story? That women had been systematically oppressed and kept down through magic and bigotry only proved that they were a threat to the status quo that men feared. 

In other words, it wasn’t a woman’s natural place to serve, it was to be feared. 

Still, saying as such wouldn’t do her any good in this situation, so instead, Hermione just nodded, pretending to be thoughtful about the conversation. As if it had somehow weakened her resolve, rather than strengthened it further. 

Somewhat violently, Hermione felt a surge of pleasure and shock as the dildos inside her suddenly enlarged, forcing out a gasp from her lips. 

“You’re not here to think Mudblood, back to practicing your etiquette slut.” Ginny slapped her bottom as she spoke, evoking a moan from Hermione’s lips. 

“Sorry Miss. Weasley” Hermione found herself replying automatically, evoking a sly smile from the other girl. 

“Hmm, you’re good enough for now at the 18 rules of tea pouring, time to move on to pouring wines. Only 21 rules for that…”

The rules were just as sexual, with some seemingly truly bizarre and perverse like ‘rule 19’. Which said, ‘If your superior wishes to express discontent with the wine, you will get down to your knees and allow him to spit it out into your mouth, swishing it around to determine what was wrong with the wine, as to bring out a better bottle.”  

Ginny had taken immense pleasure in sampling wine after wine and spitting all over Hermione’s face and outfit, not even caring to aim for the Mudblood’s open mouth. 

Hermione herself had attempted to spit it out the first few times, but a threat to fill her mouth with another kind of bodily fluid had instantly stopped her attempts at resistance. 

After several hours of learning how to serve and pour all sorts of things, and enduring significant amounts of abuse from her former friend whilst doing so, the sun finally began to set. Ginny looked actively disappointed when she noted the amber rays of sunlight shining through the dining room windows. “Ah, out of time already. Such a shame, I’d hoped to have gotten a little further in your training for tonight, but oh well.” 

Torn between being grateful today’s torment had ended, and being anxious about what was left to come, Hermione followed Ginny from out of the training room. It was evening, Hermione realised, as the last rays of the setting sun shone through the grandiose windows that lined Malfoy Manor’s corridors. Outside, beyond the endless garden filled with dangers Hermione was less than eager to reacquaint herself with, was freedom.

It was too bitter a temptation to stare at. Hermione pulled her gaze away from the view, following along in Ginny’s far louder footsteps. 

The sun shone quite splendidly off Ginny’s shiny uniform, and even she could admire how pretty the other girl looked in it. Hermione couldn’t help but wonder what she must have looked like herself, as she trailed on after the maid wearing her latex school attire. 

No one had ever found her beautiful in school, nor had she ever placed much emphasis on such vapid things. But having spent so many painstaking hours ensuring her posture and expressions were suitable for male viewing, Hermione couldn’t help but wonder about it all.

Would the people she’d always known, the boys and girls who’d never cared about her, if they saw her like this, would they call it an improvement? Would their eyes widen, not in horror, but in appreciation at the sight of what she’d been forced into becoming?

It wasn’t a pleasant thought.

Even less pleasant, was the realisation that dawned on her, as she followed Ginny through two large and heavily ornate doors of so dark a blue that they almost looked black. As she took just a single step in the chamber, she found herself frozen in place.

Paralysed. Not magically however.

In the room there was a dinner table, quite a small one in fact, with only two sets of cutlery laid out opposite each other. The room’s decorations were all shades of midnight blue, in combination with the Malfoy shade of marble white that made up so much of the Manor. Great artworks, sculptures, and bookshelves lined the room, but none of that caught Hermione’s attention.

No. Her eyes didn’t even go to her Master, Draco Malfoy, as he relaxed by the fire drinking a glass of a purple liquid. 

No.

They went to the man opposite him, and the girl that knelt by his side. The man bore an elegant suit, of almost muggle fashioning, with its elongated coat-tail the only hint of magical couture. His tie was a shade of emerald green identical to the crest Hermione bore on her chest. The coat, and vest underneath, were both of a charcoal black, far darker than the man’s own skin, although not by much. 

Blaise Zabini sat there, one leg over the other, sipping at the same purple liquid, laughing, as Hermione entered the room.

And to his right, kneeling on the ground was a woman Hermione instantly recognised, although Hermione didn’t recognise the outfit style. The girl wore a ‘bitchsuit’ made of mirror-like black latex.

Her arms, bent fully at the elbow, were bound tightly in the latex catsuit that continued to her legs. The latex having completely wrapped around her entirely bent knees, ensured that the only way she could possibly move around was walking on her knees and elbows. 

Hermione could even just make out the dog-like tail that lay around where she was kneeling, and it didn’t take the brightest mind of their age to figure out how that was attached. 

The girl was salivating all over the black gag in her mouth, but even with the gag, and the puppy ears she wore, Hermione could easily recognise her.

They’d thought her dead, but evidently, she’d suffered a fate far worse.

“Susan.” Hermione’s voice croaked out the word as she staggered forward a single step towards the girl.

Susan’s eyes perked up at the voice and suddenly widened in recognition when they saw her. 

Blaise looked up as well, swirling his drink in his hand as he smiled. “Susan? Who’s that?” 

There was a cruelty to the humour in his voice, as he and Draco both stood up. Hermione saw that Blaise was holding Susan’s leash in his other hand. He tugged it, roughly, and the girl instantly stopped kneeling, getting on her elbows and knees with practiced ease.

Hermione just looked on in horror. 

Clearly Ginny found that quite funny, as the maid openly laughed, before excitedly hurrying over to where Susan was crawling. 

It would have been comedic, in any other context, to watch Ginny excitedly pat Susan’s head. But Hermione could only look on in abject terror, as she watched Susan’s tail wag in excitement at the attention.

Draco smiled at the scene, before turning to Hermione. “Evidently, this is why one doesn’t keep a mudblood around for their intelligence. Stupid cunt, surely even you could put together that Susan is clearly a person’s name.”

Hermione stopped, confused, realising what he meant only when Blaise knelt down to the girl, his hand reaching for her throat. Not to choke, Hermione realised, as Blaise tugged at a small bone shaped name tag that hung from the O-Ring on her collar. 

There was still a few metres between them, but Hermione’s eyesight was keen enough to make out what was on it.

“Bones.” 

Blaise laughed as soon as he realised Hermione had seen it. “A far more fitting name for my cute little puppy, isn’t it? Although sadly we’re not here just for me to show off my cute pet.”

Hermione saw Ginny’s shoulder’s visibly droop at that comment, prompting her to stop petting Bones, and walk back over to her. 

Blaise continued, wryly smiling at Ginny’s disappointment. “No, I’m here for you, Mudblood. Draco’s ever been able to work miracles with his girls, but I wager he’s finally bitten off more than he can chew with you.” 

He gave Susan a gentle pat, before turning to Draco. “So, she’s to be our hostess for tonight? Should I be worried?” 

Draco laughed, before shrugging. “I’ve got Mediwitches on standby.”

Chapter 7

The feeling of the dildos within her body couldn’t just be ignored. 

Hermione could focus elsewhere, and indeed, direct all of her mental energies on all sorts of other things, but that never changed that base fact.

The sensation of fullness, the occasional rhythmic vibrations, the sudden expansion and deflation, all timed to expert annoyance by Ginny, were handcrafted to ensure Hermione couldn’t ignore it. 

Worse still, she couldn’t wholly dislike it either.

Standing in the serving room adjacent to the dining room, Hermione’s hands danced across the wine bottles available. The Delacour 1876 was a famous enough vintage for her to recognise it, even before Ginny had given her the briefest of guides on the Malfoys’ several digit wine collection. Notoriously, it was the very bottle of wine that had supposedly sparked the first wizarding war, between Grindelwald’s Alliance, and the rest of Europe.

Draco didn’t deserve such a wine.

She let her hands fall to another bottle. ‘Dullahan’s Distress - Premonition Limited Release’ a comparatively contemporary bottle, bottled by the eponymous Californian winemaker in the very last hour of their life. Supposedly, the death of the seer who made the wine had infused the twelve bottles, that made up the Premonition release, with their very soul. 

She grabbed the bottle. There wasn’t a bad wine in the pantry, but at least this one felt sufficiently menacing to give to her Master. Maybe the notes of death in it would catch in his throat and make her life far easier. 

Before she could take another step, Hermione felt the dildos within her suddenly thrum with an unexpected intensity, her legs positively quivering as waves of pleasure crashed into her - sending her stumbling. 

Ah, too long spent in the servants’ room, clearly Ginny disliked her hiding away from her guests.

Quickly, she staggered out of the room, the crashing vibrations only lessening in intensity once Ginny saw her emerge, bottle in hand. 

Blaise and Draco were making small talk about a new suite of security legislation announced by the Ministry that allowed for warrantless access by Aurors into any half-blood or muggle-born owned properties. 

Hermione didn’t much care about it. The Death Eaters never worried about warrants in the first place; this was just legislation to legitimise what had already been occurring. 

Her steps were measured, as Hermione walked towards the table. The 19th rule of wine pouring very clearly laid out the requirements for approaching the table. Specifically, regarding volume of approach - not too loud to distract conversation but audible enough to alert the gentlemen of your available service. It also, much to Hermione’s incredible shame, dictated how one arrived at the table. 

Namely, leaning to the unengaged side of the lead male, so as to not interrupt their conversation, bent over at the waist with one’s shoulders back - to amplify visible cleavage - with the wine bottle facing towards the gentleman, while the server stared straight ahead.

After all, it was only the wine and the bust that mattered here. 

The conversation ceased as she leaned over, with both men turning to examine her figure. The latex top hugged her breasts so tightly, she may as well have been wearing nothing at all. Certainly, neither man bothered to hide the way they eyed her figure, a small piece of meat sliding off the fork next to Draco’s mouth as he stared distractedly - mouth slightly agape. 

There was something inherently sickening in being viewed like so very literal an object.

That’s what made the way a part of her felt almost giddy at eliciting such a reaction all the more terrifying. 

Blaise recovered first, grinning widely as he admired her. “My, I can’t believe it’s really you. When he told me, I figured either you were imperioused, or a second away from murdering him in his sleep.” 

His eyes met Draco’s. “Full credit is due, to get her performing the bloody 21 rules of wine pouring within barely a week of captivity, I’d have thought it easier to get Bellatrix to join the Order.”

Blaise’s words snapped Draco’s attention away from her, causing him to laugh. “Oh, she had a rather clever escape attempt earlier I assure you - she’s hardly all sugar and spice. I dare say she’s currently planning her next now.”

Draco’s eyes turned to her. She let her head turn to meet his, only for the vibrators within her to suddenly begin to spasm once more, locking up her legs as pleasure seized her body.

“Eyes forward slut.” Ginny’s voice sounded from behind her. 

Gritting her teeth, Hermione steadied her feet and resumed the presentation position, eyes forward, chest out, bottle label on clear display. The sound of Blaise’s amused laughter filling the room. 

“At this rate, I reckon she’ll kill the Weasley before she tries for your head.” 

Malfoy grinned. “What can I say, I’m used to women fighting over me.”

The other man just rolled his eyes, as he turned to the bottle in Hermione’s hands. “Only in Malfoy Manor could a mudblood reach blindly into a wine cellar and still manage to pull such a perfect vintage.”

Blindly? She’d had to memorise a whole speech given to her by Ginny earlier that day about the Malfoys’ wine collection. 

Her mind, the ideal weapon for plotting and executing simultaneous acts of insurrection against a brutal wizarding dictatorship hell-bent on the genocide of her people, had been wasted memorising the subtle differences between a bottle of Nurmengard 1911 versus 1912. The 1911 had subtler notes of pink cherry overlaying honeyed pears, whilst the 1912 had a more palate-forward pear flavour, with a lighter yet lengthy undertone of black cherry.

Hermione would have resolved to burn down the vineyards of Nurmengard for the sheer injustice of her brain knowing such stupid facts, but Grindelwald had already done so 60 years ago. 

Pouring the wine despite her own internal turmoil, Hermione ensured her chest remained fully out and as close to the male being served as possible - and found herself grateful that both men found the wine acceptable. She’d have stabbed someone if either tried spitting it into her mouth. 

Stabbing someone certainly wasn’t off the table even now.

But she didn’t. Her eyes had certainly darted to the cutlery on the table a few times, but she knew better. 

Malfoy had said it himself. He knew she was planning something. The worst thing she could do was make him raise his guard even further. 

Taking an appreciative sip from his glass, Blaise eyed her once more. “So, what say you about the latest legislation? I’ve never known you to let a discussion about politics pass by unmolested, what’s a Mudblood’s take on policy?”

Who the fuck just drops unmolested in a sentence like that? 

Momentarily stunned, it was only when her vibrators refused to let her go unmolested, that Hermione forced herself to actually answer the question. 

It wouldn’t help her to play coy here. “Meaningless, no-one’s ever bothered to ask for a warrant before bombing or invading any of our safehouses before, I’m not sure how this would change anything.” 

Blaise nodded, but Draco just shook his head. “Spoken like a terrorist, rather than a citizen. There is a difference between policy that allows us to invade the locations of known Order members, and those of regular people. Moreover, Death Eaters, despite what you might think, are different from the Ministry’s Aurors.”

He casually let one hand slip between her legs, slapping upward, sending both pain and pleasure rippling through her body, as he continued. “A private paramilitary force having extrajudicial powers, and the armed representative of the state having such, are very different matters. Not that I’d expect a Mudblood to comprehend as such.”

Hermione very nearly corrected Malfoy that, technically, such legislation rendered these acts no longer extrajudicial, but the expectant tensing up in her legs at the thought of further punishment dissuaded her. “Of course, Sir.”

The smile she served with the statement condescendingly implied as such anyhow. 

Malfoy just laughed at it though. “Oh, but please do continue making a fool of yourself, maybe we’ll even learn something.” 

He paused, taking a sip of his wine, before looking at Blaise. “Out of the mouth of babes, or however the saying goes.”

Malfoy’s hand once again found purchase on her thigh, but this time it just rested there. Exuding control, he turned to her once more. “So, speaking earnestly, how do you predict this war will end?”

Hermione paused, contemplating whether the trap was for her to speak ill of the pure-blood establishment, and thus, speak above her place, or play sycophant, and thus, disobey the order to speak earnestly. 

Unable to forget the skintight feeling of rubber pressed against her skin, or the ever-present sensation of fullness within her holes, or the way she currently stood - breasts out and head down - Hermione wagered she’d played sycophant enough. If she was damned either way, she’d at least take the opportunity for honesty.

Meeting Draco’s eyes, she didn’t let her legs bend so much as an inch as Ginny furiously upped the vibrations between her legs. “You’re going to lose Draco. You’re going to be fucking dragged from this mansion and burnt on a stake built of your own ego and prejudice, along with every one of your inbred cousins.” 

Draco’s eyes twitched at her statement, but he allowed a smile, albeit strained, to play across his face. “A curious thesis, but one lacking even the pathetic academic pedigree you pretended at during school. I’ll allow you another try, but, if you disappoint me in front of my guest, I will be forced to take disciplinary action.”

Despite her legs locking up beneath her, Hermione felt the urge to grin a feral thing. Had she really just gotten away with saying that to his face? 

“Of course, Sir.” Hermione responded, keenly aware that such deference was blatantly superficial given what she’d just said. “The reasoning behind my logic is simple. Fascism needs an enemy.”

Blaise laughed as he sipped from his wine. “We’re fascists now, are we?” 

Hermione didn’t bother to shift her gaze from Malfoy. “The current establishment derives its power from its ability to manufacture and utilise hate against muggle-borns. Vold-” 

A slap, quick as any spell, struck her face, a crisp echo filling the room. “One doesn’t speak The Dark Lord’s name.” 

Malfoy seemed more fearful than annoyed as he spoke. Now wasn’t that interesting. 

Hermione nodded, before continuing. “The Dark Lord, and the Death Eaters as a whole, justify their existence with that hate. Now that you’ve won the war, the consequences of that are already all too clear. People want to be free, and with the enemy already defeated, people can’t help but question why they still have to put up with the curfews and the killings and the disappearances.”

“The Order still exists.” Blaise interrupted, levelling the challenge with a curious glint in his eyes. 

“Does it? When’s the last time anyone’s fought a pitched battle against the Ministry, or the Death Eaters? Not since Hogwarts has anyone truly challenged The Dark Lord.” 

“You yourself killed six people at Rosier Place before you were arrested.” Blaise countered. 

“Oh, don’t mistake me, the War isn’t over, not for me. But for the People? No battle has spilled onto the streets of Diagon in years, and yet Death Eaters still roam the streets, sending torture curses to anyone who looks at them the wrong way. For all any shopkeeper sees, the War only exists in the Daily Prophet.” 

Hermione smiled as she continued. “You tighten your grasp on ashes, squeezing blood from stone, and you’ve swelled recruitment more than any propaganda I ever could have drafted.” 

Malfoy raised an eyebrow as he swirled around his glass. “Then why do your attacks grow fewer and fewer every month.” 

Hermione felt the urge to laugh, now that was a question she certainly wasn’t going to answer. Instead, she just put on her most demure of smiles. “Why Sir, why would a silly little Mudblood like me possibly know the answer to that?”

She expected a slap, or a sudden increase in her vibrator’s intensity once again, but to her surprise, Draco just laughed. 

Even Blaise looked taken aback by the reaction. “We could always just use veritaserum to get the answer.”

It wouldn’t work, given her occlumency mastery, but Malfoy didn’t even contemplate Blaise’s offer. “No need, what better answer could I possibly desire?” 

Hermione felt caught off guard. Had she walked into a trap of sorts? Almost certainly, yet all the more frustratingly, she couldn’t figure out how she’d misstepped.  

Draco’s hand slapped upward, grasping in between her legs, the plugs within her vibrating at the impact. His thumb found her clit, and began making delicate circular motions, as he began to speak, clearly enjoying the sight of Hermione struggling not to moan. 

“An astute analysis for a Mudblood, you see Blaise, from her perspective she’s entirely right.”

No shit Malfoy, that was how perspectives worked. 

Hermione was utterly devastated that she couldn’t say that aloud, and so consoled herself with merely a brief smirk as he continued. 

“Discontent grows day by day, and our beloved Ministry only sees dissent as motive to crack down further. We won the War with violence, and they believe it is with the same tools that they’ll win the peace.” The intensity of his thumb against her clit only grew as he spoke.

Blaise leaned forward, quite curious at the direction of conversation. Evidently, he hadn’t expected such an argument from Malfoy, and certainly neither had Hermione. “You think the Mudblood’s right? That defeat is inevitable?” 

Malfoy paused for a second, before throwing back his head and laughing, somewhat hysterically. His wine very nearly sloshing out of the glass, as he pulled away the hand between her thighs to slap his own knee. “Morgana’s sweaty tits, no! Merlin Blaise, in what world would I actually think that? Why would I be here turning the cute little cunts into slaves if I thought they were about to see my head roll like the Malfoires of old?”

The dark-skinned boy visibly blushed as Draco continued to laugh, almost for a full minute. At a certain point Blaise grew less embarrassed, and more just annoyed, at which point, Draco laughed for another full minute, before deciding to continue. 

“Our government’s approach is only further destabilising the country, that is true. Everything the Mudblood has said, for the most part, is true. And so, from a muggle perspective, as two plus two equals four, radicalised populace plus fragile overbearing government, equals revolution.” As he finished lecturing, he let his gaze move back to her.

It was almost funny, the way Malfoy’s eyes seemed to be searching desperately for a sign of her approval, anything that showed she recognised the intellectual rigour of his analysis. Meanwhile his smirk just screamed a kind of teenage excitement about revealing the inevitable ‘gotcha’ counterargument Hermione knew was coming. She didn’t justify either with a response, letting her features relax into the polite waiting expression Ginny had taught her earlier in the day.

“But such simple math is so very…” He spat on his heeled leather boots. “Muggle.” 

Swivelling in his chair, he placed the boot in front of where Hermione was standing. “If you’re not going to add any value to the conversation, be a good little slut and put that tongue to better use for me.” 

He raised and slammed his boot down for dramatic effect, as if she hadn’t picked up on the implication already.

She felt her legs lock together, as vibrations, not even that pleasurable anymore, just intense and overpowering, spread throughout her body. Ginny’s discipline ever present, and ever impossible to ignore. Maybe the girl cast a spell as well, or maybe it was just the effect of the vibrators, as all of a sudden, her knees buckled, sending her straight onto the floor. Draco caught the wine bottle almost absentmindedly, as he sneered down at her.

“All the elegance of a hypogriff, with half one’s beauty.” He extended out his boot as he did so, placing it squarely in front of her.

It was funny. Licking a boot was not a difficult thing. It took no grand effort of strength, nor did it exact some physical toll. There was nothing inherently hard about licking a rather flavourless object. 

Yet staring at the boots, a shade of purple so dark they looked black, shined to perfection, and with heels that were at least 2 inches, Hermione couldn’t help but feel the urge to vomit. This wasn’t the most degrading thing she’d done at Malfoy manor. But her occulemency was keen now, and so the insidious effects of the lube couldn’t simply override her natural resistance. 

This had to be a choice. 

And it should have been a simple one. Continuing to play along would relax their suspicions. Not immediately, but it’d be a start. All she needed to escape out through the garden, was another day without supervision. Another day when she could be certain that Draco wouldn’t simply apparate back when he noticed her leaving the wards. Maybe it’d be weeks, or even a month, but it was certain that he’d be summoned for some meeting with… with Voldemort. And then she could escape.

But that required him trusting her without suspicion. Believing she was already broken, or nearly so. 

That required her to lick a boot. 

And she’d spent her whole life detesting all those who eagerly did so.

Playing for time, she arranged herself on her knees in an elaborate show, all while her eyes scarcely left Draco’s boot. They were both looking at her. Draco expectantly, Blaise with… 

She’d only gotten a glimpse of him, careful as she was to maintain eye contact with the boot itself, but he looked almost fearful. As if worried she was suddenly going to snap.

Now that was a good feeling. Hermione let herself smile at the thought. Plastering the expression so that it’d stay still as she moved closer. 

She hated herself for doing this. She’d hated herself for a great many things. It wasn’t something she talked about, not usually, but insurrection took a toll.

Killing people.

Hurting people.

Sacrificing people.

It took such a toll. Less so than some might have thought. Less so than she herself would have expected it to. But overtime, the bodies piled up. And every time she went to sleep, she found herself having to climb that mountain. Reckoning with how much taller it seemed to grow every day.

And yet, as she stared at the single boot. It seemed insurmountable.

It was a sacrifice. Just like every other. Less, in most ways. And yet somehow so much more in others.

Pushing her head forward, she forced her tongue to the boot.

And the vibrators in the dildos within her begun again. Not at full force, as Ginny had enjoyed doing previously, no. Such intensity gave little pleasure, as the body recoiled at the sheer overwhelming power of it too much to truly find much joy. No, the vibrators were gentle, sensual, as they filled her so very much, touching and almost lovingly caressing her g-spot, as her tongue began to drag along the boot.

It was a sacrifice. 

And the worst part of it was how good it felt.

Her tongue continued, almost instinctively, as her body, so pent up from being teased and aroused all day, naturally chased the gentle pleasure. 

And as she licked, Draco began to talk. His voice filled with sheer satisfaction.

“The problem with your math, you see, is that you presuppose equality.” 

Her eyes looked up, her tongue still against his shoe. Their eyes met. His eyes, such a cruel grey, sparkled with malice and delight in equal parts. “A simple mistake, your filth was allowed to stain the corridors of Hogwarts, and so you forget that most of your ilk never get to bear witness to the shoulders of giants, let alone stand upon them.” 

“Look around you, what do you see?” The command came, and Hermione welcomed the reprieve from the pleasure. Looking about, she saw much the same things she’d previously noted. The elegant midnight blue furniture and walls, interspersed by doubtlessly expensive white marble. The countless ornate and very old books that lined shelf after shelf. The works of art, each a testament to a lifetime’s mastery of the most subtle of skills.

In short, it was a room of a wealthy twat, who spent his money on decorations and ornaments, rather than on bettering the lives of those around him.

Her eyes caught Ginny, who was very keenly looking her way, one hand holding what looked to be a remote of some sort, the other, stroking Bones’ hair. Turning away, she saw Blaise. Clearly impressed, amused, and yet, almost disappointed. In her perhaps? 

Then finally, she let her focus drift back to Draco. “It’s a room.” 

She expected a punishment but was met with a laugh. 

“My point exactly. The Mudblood looks, and she sees a room. Do you know how many generations it took to afford such works of art? To write, collect, and decipher those tomes? This room is a testament, one of many, to the Malfoys’ hundreds of years of dedication to power. Hogwarts has an impressive library, I’ll concede that, but even it pales in comparison to many of the libraries the great families of this country hold.”

She looked at him expectantly, before his point suddenly dawned on her. He clearly noticed as the look across her face changed, because he laughed quite excitedly. “You see it now, don’t you? It doesn’t matter how bitter and resentful the population gets, because we are not muggles. We do not derive power from mere strength of arms, easily stolen or forged.”

His smile was so very cruel as he finished his little speech. “Without access to Hogwarts, let alone the private libraries of the nobility, your little rebellion can never truly pose a threat to us. Magic isn’t fair I’m afraid, and we have a thousand-year head start fighting a war you only learned about a mere decade ago.” 

It wasn’t something she’d never considered. The hundreds of years of experience, knowledge, and secrets held by the pure-blooded elite had been a consistent thorn in the Order’s side since the war began. Always they had some spell with no known countercurse to use. Always there was some defence they could erect which no spell could overcome. Always they had a way to sneak through wards or render theirs invulnerable to stealth.

And yet, and Hermione very keenly ensured her face remained neutral as she thought, while all of that was a problem. It was not without solution. 

In fact, something about this tickled a strange part of her brain. A strange segment within her occulemency shields. Still rigid and steadfast, she was certain nothing had come close to breaking them. No, the tickling was from well within her shields. And suddenly, she found herself dimly aware of a box of sorts, its outline only visible by the absence of space in this strange corner of her mind.

As if this space didn’t exist. A hole of sorts, hidden even from her. By herself.

Right, of course it was.

She forced herself from stopping the ghost of a smile touching at her lips. Her face remained completely neutral. Draco had reminded her of something she was very much supposed not to think of. Was that intentional? It was worryingly possible, but in any case, Hermione didn’t let herself think on it any further. 

Her eyes snapped back to the shoes.

And the knowledge of that strange little box in her mind disappeared completely. 

Draco may have expected a reaction to his grand speech. A look of horror, or stalwart defiance. He seemed rather taken aback by Hermione’s eyes briefly glossing over, before returning to his shoe, as if she had noticed some speck of dirt upon them. 

Hermione for her part, was a little confused, but oddly calm. She thought about Draco’s statements, and for whatever reason, they just didn’t seem to phase her that much. 

That clearly annoyed Draco, but not in the way outright resistance would have. That, he could have just punished. Hermione’s apathy? That was far more insulting. Rejection could be taken as denial. Apathy meant she’d considered his statements and thought them lacking.

Her, a mere Mudblood? 

Hermione didn’t realise Draco’s growing anger, until he suddenly stood up from the table and commanded Ginny. 

“Weasley, stop playing with the bloody puppy and get over here.” 

Instantly, the latex maid stood up, leaving behind Bones - who looked far too distraught at the sudden cessation of headpats. 

“Bend the fucking Mudblood over the table.”

Within seconds, Ginevra’s hands were on her, lifting her up with startling ease, before slamming her chest and head over the table. Suddenly, her cheeks were pressed up against the expensive wood, a glass of wine a few inches away, as Ginny’s gloved hand pressed against her neck, pinning her down. 

“Of course, Sir.” Came her mechanically perfect response, as if she were assenting to bringing him a coat and hadn’t just lifted and grappled Hermione as if the older girl were weightless. 

Hermione could only barely see Draco and Blaise out of the corner of her eye, as they circled behind her. 

“You wanted a demonstration of my training efforts? Why not watch the training itself?” Draco spoke, his cadence a little faster than usual, the hint of frustration and annoyance made apparent despite his even tone. 

Of course. Draco was trying to impress Blaise here, and Hermione’s apathy must have seemed a humiliation.

It was pathetic. 

‘Fucking men’, Hemione sighed internally, not for the first time.

A hand - silky and rubbery, so Ginny’s - touched at her arse, lifting up her skirt to display the dildo plugs, and the rest of her rear to the two men. Hermione wasn’t sure whether she was in for more slaps, or something worse.

A sudden pressure within her body, slowly released as both plugged were magically pulled from her, not only made her gasp with surprise, but also sent her mind into overdrive with her worst fears. 

She preferred focusing on worrying, over letting her mind contemplate how suddenly empty and lacking her body felt. How wrong that emptiness felt. 

Her fears were only confirmed, as Ginny’s hands spread apart her cheeks, and her voice filled the room. “Your holes Sir, ready for use.”

Well fuck. 

 

—- Omake —-

“This tastes the exact same.” Grindelwald sighed, placing the glass back onto the wooden table with no small amount of frustration. 

“Try and roll it around in your mouth a bit more and really chew it. The difference between pink cherry hints, versus black cherry undertones really is quite stark once you realise what you’re looking for.” Dumbledore spoke, his face lit up with the same look of joy he had whenever he taught anything to anyone. 

How the fuck was a Light Lord so goddamn cute? This was why he just stuck to cocktails, no need for all these bullshit flavour notes. Just a cute pink drink and enough alcohol to help him forget all the war crimes he’d committed. 

“Have another sip, trust me you’ll notice it.” 

Grindelwald sighed, vowing silent vengeance on the vineyards of Nurmengard as he humoured his boyfriend once more.