Azael's Chains

Answer

The day was weaning into night and Hermione paced the library with a book in hand, scanning the page fruitlessly as her mind fought her on a solution to the puzzle Snape had given her. Antonin had kept to his word and used only his hands, mouth, and cock to hurt her, but that had still left her painted with swathes of purple and red, peppered with brown and green spots, her core aching. Approaching a second night would be too much.

"Bloody Hell." She was chasing herself in circles, mind a merry-go-round as the insistent little voice of logic told her the answer and the rest of her rebelled in horror.

It would make sense, especially given the previous night, but she did not know if she could handle that. Dolohov had shown streaks of his cruelty, but she knew each time she saw that side of him she was flying too close to the fire. And there was only so much of her to burn.

But Snape had said to use every tool at her disposal and this was a valid option. There was no doubt in her mind she could do it, and that he would believe Hermione was behaving that way out of shame for the evening prior.

The thought bubbled up that she might enjoy this option; at least, she might enjoy the part where she got to piss him off. The rest Hermione was certain would not be pleasant. It may even undo some scraps of the kindness he'd shown, the liberties he'd allowed. Would he remove her access to quills and ink and parchment?

Her slippered feet froze on the hardwood floor. The possibility of her captor removing writing utensils, books, the blanket she used in the library when cold, all those little comforts extended to her-- it wrenched at her heart.

Every tool she had. Because she was the only one who could do this.

Hermione flipped to the next page, taking in none of it but aware that the door was open and Antonin could interrupt at any moment. She needed to seem normal, whatever that meant in the new world, so she would pretend to read unless she could actually convince herself to do so.

The dinner bell rang calling her to the table and her mind was still milling against the current. She slid into her seat, Antonin sliding her chair forward for her and taking his own.

"How was your reading this afternoon, love?" He cut into the roast, slicing a bite-size chunk of the rare meat; her own was already in pieces as she was not allowed knives.

Hermione shoved her food around with a silver fork, appetite retreating in the wake of her looming deadline. "Fine."

"Did you find any interesting new theories?"

She stabbed a steamed vegetable and shoved it in her mouth before responding with, "No."

Long fingers drummed on the tablecloth, spelling out the measure of his irritation. "Hermione, kitten, are you unwell?"

His patience would wear thin if she kept on like this, she knew the signs by this point. However, it might help her in her task. It certainly shouldn't hurt; she'd already been ordinary enough for the day. And the roiling fury at herself, the man beside her, and her plight had all been simmering for months. This was an opportunity to let it loose. Why not enjoy herself while accomplishing the mission?

Burying the fiery amusement at her train of thoughts, her joy in her belligerent behavior, Hermione said, "No."

"You've hardly touched your food, love. You know I can't abide you starving yourself." She shrugged, and Dolohov reached for her hand.

She snatched it away, scowling darkly. "Don't."

His anger was palpable as it seethed across to her. She scooped up her fork as though to eat more, but when his hand rushed toward her again, she stabbed into it until it tore through parchment thin flesh.

Dolohov roared, hand flinging the silver utensil across the room, blood flying with it. "You little bitch." His wand tore the air, rending Hermione from her chair and slamming her into the thick glass behind her. The cold of the night seeped through to freeze her blood; his eyes flashed silver fury as scarlet dripped around his palm. "Is this repayment for my kindness?" At her incredulous scoff the knuckles of his free hand swung against her cheek. "Yes, kindness , mudblood. Was I not my gentler self for you last night?" He stroked the back of his bleeding hand against her reddened cheek, voicing dropping to raging intimacy. "You begged so prettily. 'Please, no.' And I forewent my crueler desires."

Her eyes were amber bright as they filled with angry tears. "I didn't want it."

She could hear his blood as it dropped against her dress in the silence that followed. His eyes were burning into hers, then a sneer curled his lip. "You were not adverse to it when you came apart around my cock last night, katyonok ." Her cheeks reddened until they matched in hue. "Ah. You feel guilty for enjoying it, don't you? Is that what this is about; your Gryffindor sensibilities cry out for punishment for taking pleasure at the hands of your enemy. Oh, kitten, you only needed to ask."

She was once more hanging in a dungeon, only the balls of her feet able to gain purchase beneath her. Gooseflesh trickled down her bare skin; he'd rid her of that burden while still pressed against the window in the dining room. Once she was properly hung, Antonin had informed her she would wait there while he finished his evening as usual. Hermione thought more than an hour had passed by this point, having gone through the process of making Acid Inhibitor Potion and beginning on a simple Healing Potion.

It was sometime after she'd finished that that Dolohov's heavy boots trod down the stairs and into the dungeon. Her back was to the entrance so she did not see him, but Hermione knew the weight of his gaze on her, as familiar as the weight of Harry's invisibility cloak.

"You do look pretty strung up for me, katyonok. I had hoped the next time would be for pleasure." His hand smoothed up her side, flushing her sensitive skin with warmth. "But it seems you also have needs. And what my little girl needs I will happily provide."

She drew in a shuddering breath and reminded herself why she was doing this. The Order-- the DA-- whatever the resistance was now, it needed her. She was the only one who could do this. Unlike every time before, this was for a cause. She could do this.

The words rang hollow in her chest.

Stubble scoured at her shoulder as he nuzzled her. "Will you ask me for it, kitten?"

"What?" It was breathy, disbelieving.

"Ask me to punish you." The words were hot against her throat. "And perhaps I will not carve my name into your flesh to remind you of your place." Hermione shivered, but firmed her jaw. Even if his threat became reality, it wouldn't be a first for her. Just another scar to add to her growing collection.

His lips trailed over her throat and to her nape as he pushed aside her curls. "I see." Dolohov pulled away with a suffering sigh, leaving her colder than before. He circled around and pinched at her nipples, studying her reaction with a detached expression. "I gave you a chance to beg my forgiveness." He snatched her jaw in a steely grip so that her teeth could not clench together, then lowered his lips to slot against her mouth. "I will see your pretty little face in the morning."

Her brows pinched as he backed away, wand rising. Then darkness shadowed her world, bunched her curls tighter to her head, and settling scratchily against her throat. He had hooded her.

The first tendrils of true terror writhed up her stomach. What the bloody Hell had she done to herself?