Azael's Chains

Drip Drip Drop

She was thirsty. Her mouth was long since void of spit and Hermione mourned every drop of sweat she'd surely wrung out while being Cruciated. Time passed in measures of chain rattles, breaths, and the mortifying stream at her apex. She had fallen asleep at one point only to wake from screaming shoulder pain as her feet had given up hope of holding her. The ridged blocks of stone making up the floor beneath her were drizzled in fat black splotches, some of which her feet had dragged through to scribble nonsense in flaking maroon.

"Awake at last, mudblood?" Her chains clanged at her shock and her body twisted helplessly until a buttery soft hand dug into her side. Relief palpated through her as she looked down at gleaming black gloves. "And Severus claimed you still had your tongue."

Her mind trailed over his words, meaning slow to her parched intellect. Hermione tried to speak, but her throat ground like rusted machinery.

Thick wool caressed her as the man stepped in. "What was that?"

Water, she mouthed raspily, throwing the whole of her thought into the word.

A sleek, black, leather-cased finger tipped her chin up to meet steely eyes. "You're thirsty?"

Her chin bobbed against his hand as she tried to focus.

"You've somehow weaseled your way into both my son's and my wife's affections. I had planned to leave you like this until your master came for you, but Narcissa insisted I check in on you. A mudblood." He glared at her through shockingly dark lashes for so fair a man, then swept his gaze over her entirety with a seething mask of distaste. "Why should I care about such a pathetic creature? You haven't the wits to survive this world yourself, and I am a busy man."

When she hung limply in reply Lucius Malfoy took a step back.

"Perhaps I'll find some amusement in this. Open your mouth." His dark wand blurred with motion as he cast. " Aguamenti. "

Cold. It was so cold, cutting through nerves she'd thought numb from sensation. But it was blessed water, and Hermione's jaw dropped to drink it in great, heaving gulps. It waterfalled over her, hair clinging to her shoulders and down her back, but she arched into it, seeking the sweet mercy.

It splashed over her face, snorted up her nose and coughed into her lungs until she was spluttering, but she moaned in displeasure as the water rushed over her breasts, pits, stomach, down to her core. Her thighs slapped together.

"Spread your filthy legs, girl. Unless you enjoy being covered in your own menses."

Horrid, cruel man , she thought at him. When she did not obey, he kicked her legs apart to continue her icy shower.

"To think, this is what tempts my son to question our superiority as Purebloods. No well-bred woman would get herself in such a position. One would think you enjoy being tortured." She could hear the sneer over the rush of water and steeled herself to keep from crying lest she find herself without drink again. The course splayed over her core until it burned red from the cold, then the man was circling her whilst spraying all the untouched bits of her body. "There. Perhaps your scent will cease to offend." The spell ceased and stepped back once more to study her. "Well?"

Irritation flitted across his veneer and she realized what he wanted. "Er, thank you?"

He studied her for a moment longer, then nodded to himself, brushing his empty hand through silken blond hair, then he nodded and turned on his heel, leaving a dripping, freezing Hermione to sag once more in her bonds.

Whether it was hours or a day, perhaps even two, when next the soft footfalls of the Malfoy patriarch next nudged Hermione from her half existence. "Haven't stopped bleeding, I see." She could hear the curl of his lip, feel the weighted disapproval of his glare. "Exactly how long should this keep on, mudblood?"

Heavy lashes fluttered apart and slitted umber eyes took in the man in front of her in all his patrician ambivalence. She'd have shrugged except that her muscles were anchored to the useless sack her body had become.

"Kneazle caught your tongue?" The creak of leather prefaced Lucius Malfoy pinching her chin between thumb and forefinger. "I expect an answer when I ask a question, mudblood."

Cotton tongue trailed over chapped lips. "Four days."

He arched a brow. "Four more days or four total?"

"Total," she croaked.

A contemplative hum accompanied the schooling of his sharp features. "That's something." Silver eyes trailed down over her post-mortem imitation of a vessel. "I suppose you're thirsty again."

They locked gazes and she nodded weakly. "And hungry."

"Presumptuous," Mr. Malfoy huffed. "Slight as you are," he drawled with a scathing leer at her abdomen, "you can survive days yet without food. Now, would you like some water?"

"Yes."

"Tut-tut. Is that any way to ask for a favor?" Cruel amusement danced at the corners of his mouth as he leaned over her expectantly.

Too drained to fight, she pleaded, "Could I please have some water?"

The low chuckle brushed warmly over her forehead. "Well, well, she can be taught. Open wide, Miss Granger." Her jaw dropped with the insistence of his thumb and she closed her eyes to prepare for the onslaught. Rustling as he shifted, then a smooth edge pressed to her lips and cool sweetness followed.

It was far more reasonable this time, droplets escaping at the corners to tickle down her throat. She groaned in relief as it slaked her burning thirst with each gulp, but it was pulled away too soon and her mouth desperately tried to follow.

"I won't have you losing your stomach while I'm here, mudblood. You should drink only in measured increments." Protest lodged in her throat when she met his glare. "Good. Now for your bath." A hiss of distress seethed out of her as freezing water hosed from the man's wand. It rushed over her face and neck, falling in sheets over her as he turned round her, falling over her pits once more, insistently beating the area beneath her breasts, and then the spray slowly lowered. She summoned energy enough to glower as he kicked her legs apart with all the ease of scruffing a kitten. He skewered her with a stare that seemed to stir her insides with debasement. Minutes passed, her thighs prickling with cold until they were mere slices of meat on her body, water splashing up to ice her chest. When she thought she might fall over the edge into true despair, the stream stuttered to a stop.

"Much improved," he purred. "A little more water? I'm feeling generous." He pressed the conjured chalice to her mouth again and allowed her long draughts. "Very good. Until next time, Miss Granger."

Warmth started between her shoulders and spread through her back and lapped at her side. The deadened strain at her wrists released and she groaned as fire shot through her arms, aching muscle and bone drifting down beside her, guided by cloud-soft wonder.

"There we are." Her heels touched cold stone floor and she sank at soft jointed knees-- until the warmth enveloped her more fully and she was floating against a warm, comforting embrace. "My poor kitten. My frail little girl." Plush heat ran against her forehead, but her lids were leaden. The world tipped and swayed, set to the rhythmic thumping against her ear. It lulled her back to familiar static nothing.