Azael's Chains

Want

How bloody much did she drink last night? That's what Hermione asked herself once her head had stopped pounding enough to think it. She recognized the dull thud accompanied as it was by the sour aftertaste of the fine, bitter red the Malfoys had served. It was a wine hangover.

She'd tossed off her blankets during the night and sweat had doused her and dried to a tacky finish. Had she also kicked off her gown? The length of fiery silk was nowhere in sight, but Tippy was a quick elf and she hadn't expected to see it.

A shower was the order for the day, and the knot between her shoulder blades eased as steam flowered around her. Her feet stretched to wakefulness at the cool ceramic under the pooling warm water. She stood there for a moment and imagined the water washing her clean as it streamed over her, sluicing away the dirty leers and unseen grit that had stayed with her through the night.

Once heat had seeped into her muscles she took up the soap and flannel, the powdery delicacy of violets blooming in her nose. That and scrubbing at her tender scalp refreshed her so her body did not ache to the point of nausea.

Tippy had left her an ivy dress today. It scooped down her chest almost as deeply as the gown, and flared around her knees, the sleeves hardly little caps on her shoulders. Hermione was painfully exposed, and searched the room for a robe or a cardigan, anything she could hug over her body, but turned up nothing before she knew she needed to go.

She'd become accustomed to Dolohov's mannerly mien during meals; he stood as she approached the table, smoothing a hand down his silvery green shirt and wishing her a goodmorning.

"Did you sleep well?"

His eyes glinted needle sharp and she blushed as she lowered herself to her chair. "Er, yes. Decently enough, I suppose." He lifted a black brow and she added, "I think I had too much wine last night."

A smile played at the corner of his mouth. "You passed out in my arms before we crossed the threshold of Malfoy Manor." The warmth underlying his statement lit up her cheeks again. "You looked so sweet when I tucked you in."

Uneasy tingles flurried down her spine. "I'm sorry?"

He studied her expression before returning to his meal. "Drink your water, kitten, you must be dehydrated."

Hermione spent the hours between meals sinking into a cushiony chair in the library. Since the night she'd learned of Ron's death, she'd avoided the longer seat in favor of one she could curl up on with no room for interlopers. It was a little obstacle should the Death Eater press his advantage, but it was something.

She gathered minimal obstructions around her, an armor of inconvenience. Topsy saw no reason not to give her a throw blanket to wrap around her shoulders, though the elf had strict orders on what the girl was allowed to wear. That exchange had nettled her. She'd had to spend an hour in the bath burying the desire to fling breakables at Dolohov's head.

"Tippy, I'm freezing here. Surely Dolohov doesn't want me to catch a cold?"

"Master told Tippy to only lay out the clothes Master chooses for Missy. Tippy isn't wanting to iron her feets, not even for Miss."

She'd inwardly roared and it took formidable strength to keep from hurling a pillow at the elf. "How am I supposed to keep warm then? Should I just-- just drag around the duvet?"

Tippy had tapped a spindly finger against her mouth. "Tippy could give Missy a little blanket for the library."

"Oh, would you? Tippy, that would be perfect!"

While she kept it on her preferred chair, it was in the back of her mind to huddle in it should Dolohov cast suggestive leers her way. He had kept to his word, but the dry rush of sand sometimes flooded her ears with the reminder that he would inevitably touch her again. This polite distance would not last forever.