Warning: this chapter contains attempted sexual assault, gore, and eye trauma.

There was some—

Something isn't right about this, Hermione thought as she was pushed against the hedge and her dress was ripped open.

Cold.

Cold air was on her.

Teeth were on her throat. It hurt.

She didn't like it.

She tried to push away but her hands were shoved roughly aside and then she felt teeth against her breast a moment before they bit down.

Hard.

She was crying—she thought.

Fingers were between her legs and stabbing into her. Poking her violently.

She tried to pull her legs closed but something lodged itself in between them.

So she couldn't.

She didn't think—

This wasn't supposed to—

The hedge was scratching her. Stabbing into her back.

Fingers kept digging inside her and teeth kept biting her shoulders and breasts.

Then she was on the ground.

She could feel the gravel of the path under her hands.

Sharp, cold little rocks.

Something—she didn't want.

It was about to happen.

She just—

She wasn't sure what.

Was it something to do with Malfoy?

A man was kneeling between her legs. Montague.

She stared up at him. Glazed.

Her fingers were twitching; clawing through the gravel.

He leaned down toward her.

His face was very close to hers.

Maybe he was going to tell her a secret.

Something was prodding her between her legs.

She felt she should know what—but she couldn't remember.

Something that wasn't supposed to happen.

A secret.

From Malfoy.

But—she didn't want to.

Malfoy would know—if she had a secret.

He was always in her head.

She tried to tell the man but she just cried instead.

Then suddenly the man was gone and there was a loud crashing noise.

She turned and found the man smashed into the wall of the manor.

Malfoy was kicking him so violently that there was a cracking sound.

Hermione sat up and watched.

Malfoy picked the man up by his throat and pulled him up the wall until they were eye-to-eye.

"How dare you? Did you think you'd get away with this, Montague?"

"You didn't seem to care about having her, Malfoy," Montague rasped. "I assumed you didn't mind sharing, seeing the way you let Astoria out to play. The Mudblood was supposed to be mine. You cut in line. I was the one who caught her. She was mine."

"She will never be yours." Malfoy sneered as he made a vicious stabbing motion and sliced through Montague's shirt and into his stomach.

Without hesitating, or lowering Montague from where he was holding him, Malfoy shoved his hand inside Montague's abdominal cavity and started pulling organs out and winding them around his fist.

Montague was screaming and thrashing.

Malfoy drew out a handful of intestines far enough that they glittered in the moonlight.

"If I ever see you again, I will strangle you with these," Malfoy said in a voice of deadly calm.

He dropped the intestines so that they hung down Montague's front like watch chains. Malfoy scourgified the blood and other fluids from his hand as he watched Montague stumble away, whimpering and sobbing and trying to stuff his intestines back inside his stomach.

Malfoy turned back toward Hermione. His face was white.

"You idiot—why—did you come out tonight?"

Hermione sat placidly in the gravel and stared at him wide-eyed.

She thought she should say something. But—she wasn't sure if she remembered what it was.

Something about Malfoy—she thought. That's what she meant to tell the man. Montague.

"Malfoy always comes for me," she whispered.

He stared at her, his jaw locked and his fists clenched for several seconds before he appeared to swallow something.

"What did he do to you?" he said in a low voice, kneeling down next to her.

He tried several counter-charms on her before suddenly one clicked and then, like ice-water, reality crashed down Hermione

A strangled sob ripped itself out of her throat and she wrapped her arms around herself. Her robes were shredded and she could feel the bite marks all over her body. She couldn't stop shaking.

Malfoy was kneeling beside her, utterly expressionless. He reached out slowly and took her arm.

"Let's get you cleaned up."

With a pop they reappeared in her room and he pushed her down to sit on the edge of her bed before turning and walking into the adjoining bathroom. There was a long silence before he re-emerged several minutes later, carrying a basin and wet cloth which he handed to her. Hermione had stopped sobbing and kept hiccoughing as she tried not to cry or hyperventilate.

Malfoy turned away and stared out the window while she tried to wipe off all the gravel and dirt sticking to the blood from the bites all over her. Some of them were so deep they were large crescents rather than tooth marks. She could feel the blood from them running down her torso in streams. Her hands were shaking so much she kept dropping the cloth into her lap.

She heard a hiss of irritation and Malfoy's hand suddenly snatched the cloth from her. She cowered back.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said in a tense voice as he sat down beside her on the bed. He reached out slowly and took her by the shoulders, turning to her toward him to appraise the damage.

His jaw clenched as he stared at her.

Moving slowly, as though she were a skittish animal, he started on her shoulders. Lightly wiping away the blood and then muttering the charms to heal the wounds. She tried not to flinch every time he touched her. He worked across her shoulders and then up her neck before turning to the worst ones; which were clustered on her breasts.

His lips were pressed into a straight line as he started healing them. Some were so deep and ragged it took multiple spells to fix them. His expression was clinical and intent as he worked. Hermione stared at him, still unable to control her shaking.

He'd barely touched her until then. Aside from the minimal contact when he attempted to impregnate her, the only other times he had touched her at all was when he'd stopped her from throwing herself off the balcony or when apparating her.

He worked efficiently and finally sat back and looked away from her.

"Anywhere else?" he asked.

"No," Hermione said strained voice, pulling her mangled robes closed and hugging herself.

He glanced over at her for a moment as though weighing whether or not she was telling the truth. Then he vanished the basin of blood and water and stood up.

"I'll have Calming Draught and Dreamless Sleep Potion sent up for the next week," he said. "I'm sure you heard, I'll be away for the next several days. You—should stay in your room until I return."

Hermione said nothing. She just clutched her robes closed and stared at the floor. She could see his shoes as he stood beside her. Then he turned and walked out of her room, shutting the door behind him.

Hermione continued to sit frozen for several minutes. Then she stood up and went into the bathroom. She let her robes and dress fall off as she watched the water fill the tub.

She left the clothing on the floor and hoped the House-Elves would burn it all rather than repair and send them back.

The water turned red from all the residual blood on her and she drained it and refilled it, scrubbing herself until her skin felt raw.

She could still feel Montague's teeth sinking into her. The skin that Malfoy had healed was still new and over-sensitive. She fought against a temptation to claw at it.

She sat in the bath and cried until the water grew cold and she started shivering.

Climbing out of the tub and clutching a towel against herself she walked falteringly back to her bed. Two vials of potion sat on the narrow bedside table. She drained the Dreamless Sleep and crawled into bed.

The next morning she stayed in bed. There was no reason to get up.

She didn't want to move. She didn't want to think. She just wanted another dose of Dreamless Sleep. Try as she might she couldn't sleep anymore. She took the Calming Draught and felt the knot of horror in her stomach ease faintly as she lay curled in her bed.

She couldn't stop thinking.

Her mind would never quiet itself. There were always realisations, guilt, and mourning; something to obsess and worry over.

Montague...she didn't even want to think about Montague.

There was little from the previous night that wasn't horrifying.

She'd somehow assumed that the situation was the same for all the girls in the breeding program. That whomever they'd been given to would be treating them much the same way that she was treated. Clinically. Mostly left alone. The conception efforts entirely non-sensual for all parties.

But that was clearly not the case. It was obvious in retrospect that the surrogates had never been intended to be that way. Healer Stroud might consider the magi-genetic breeding program to be legitimate science, but essentially and far more fundamentally, it was a diversion. It made a spectacle out of the Death Eaters but it was also a bribe. The surrogates were sex slaves.

Hermione realised with a bitter pang that she had been so absorbed in her own situation she hadn't considered how much worse it could be for the others.

It had always clearly been intended to be that way. No bra. No knickers. The way the buttons on their dresses popped off with the smallest tug.

Accessible.

The Death Eaters were required to rape them on their fertile days, but the instructions had made no reference to the fertile period being the limitation.

Somehow being given to Malfoy made her—lucky?

He seemed clinical about utilising her.

Perhaps it was simply because Voldemort didn't want her too damaged until her memories were recovered. Perhaps he wasn't allowed to hurt her, or rape her the way he'd like to.

But—that didn't seem right. He didn't seem interested. It wasn't like he was restraining himself. He always seemed eager to be done with her. To get away from her. She was a chore to him.

Was it possible that the High Reeve was the least inhumanely cruel figure in Voldemort's government?

That didn't seem accurate either. Not after what she'd seen him do to Montague. Watching him coolly stand there as he unspooled Montague's organs with his bare hands was—terrifying.

The matter-of-factness.

The ease.

Malfoy had plenty of cruelty in him. Simmering just beneath the surface, waiting to be let out.

Perhaps rape wasn't his thing.

A strange thought, but the most plausible one she could think of. He hated touching her; avoided it at much as was possible.

Apparently Malfoy was not a complete monster.

Not that it matter. None of it mattered. None of it ever mattered.

It was the same as her realisation that Voldemort was dying. Realising that it was worse for the other girls didn't make any difference. There was nothing Hermione could do.

Even if by some miracle she found a way to escape, which was itself a sheer impossibility, she couldn't stop to save anyone else. She had to run. She had to run and run. The best she could do would be to try to find whomever it was that remained of the Order and see if they had a way to save everyone else. But if there were any way to do such a thing, surely the Order would already be doing it. Surely the Order wouldn't have left the surrogates for so long if there were any way to save them.

Hermione couldn't think of anyone but herself. If she had the information Voldemort and Malfoy seemed to believe she possessed then the most vital thing she could do would be to keep them from ever getting it from her.

She needed to escape.

She was running out of time.

It seemed an utter miracle that she wasn't pregnant. She had been sure that after the fertility potion she'd be pregnant.

Once she was pregnant—

Hermione felt as though she couldn't breathe. Her chest and throat felt compressed, and she started shaking as she tried not to cry.

Her odds of escaping already felt infinitesimally small. Once she was pregnant they would be practically non-existent and would only grow smaller with every progressing day.

She couldn't even walk across a field or along an open road as it was. An escape with the additional and evolving challenges that a pregnancy would present would be impossible.

Once she gave birth, Malfoy would tear the child out from her arms (assuming he even let her hold it), then he'd take Hermione to Voldemort and kill her and she'd been eaten by Voldemort's vile pythons and her baby would be left alone in Malfoy's horrible house to be raised by him and his horrible wife...

Hermione's chest heaved and before she could stop herself she began sobbing so violently she choked.

Even if she did escape Malfoy would never stop looking for her.

There was no way to escape. Every idea she could think of, none of it panned out. She was like an insect, pinned to board.

The manor was a flawless cage.

Unless by some miracle she could convince Malfoy to let her go...

And there was simply no way.

She wasn't even sure if he could let her go, even if he wanted to. There was something about the way he occasionally eyed the manacles that made Hermione doubt that he could remove them.

He could only kill her. And he was already planning to do that.

She rolled onto her back and stared up at the canopy in despair.

There was no way out.

She would never escape. She'd be pregnant soon.

And she would never escape.

The wave of depression eventually made her fall asleep.

Hermione barely left her bed for the next several days.

She was staring out the window when the door of her room abruptly exploded and Astoria strode in, wand in one hand and a newspaper clutched in the other.

Hermione stood quickly, and Astoria stopped. They stared at each other for a minute.

Astoria hadn't approached Hermione since the night she had led Hermione to Malfoy's room. Hermione's fingers twitched nervously. Astoria had to be there because of Montague.

"Come here, Mudblood," Astoria commanded in a sharp voice.

Hermione crossed the room reluctantly until she stood only a foot away from Astoria. Her heart was pounding and she had a strong sense that the conversation they were about to have was going to end badly.

Astoria was pale. Brittle. She was impeccably dressed and groomed, but there was a sense of unraveling about her. The earrings she was wearing were trembling faintly and her eyes were narrowed into slits as she stared at Hermione.

"I know you snoop. Have you seen this story?" Astoria said, lifting the newspaper up so that Hermione could see the picture on the front page.

Hermione had been too depressed to even look at the Daily Prophet since the equinox. Her gaze dropped down to study the photo and her eyes widened.

On the cover of the Daily Prophet was a picture of Malfoy calmly disemboweling Graham Montague in the middle of the St Mungo's waiting room.

Hermione only could stare for a moment before Astoria twitched her hand and folded the newspaper in half.

"I have to admit," Astoria said in a voice of unnatural sounding calm. "When I first heard the news that Draco had publicly killed Graham, I thought 'he's finally noticed.'"

Astoria's lips twitched and she stared away from Hermione.

"I tried to be the perfect wife when I was chosen," Astoria said. "Draco Malfoy's wife. There was really nothing to compare it to. The most powerful general in the Dark Lord's army. All the other girls were so jealous. Of course it was arranged, but I thought he'd eventually realise that I was right for him. That I was a good wife. I did everything. I joined every board, every charity. I was the perfect wife. I was perfect. But he never cared."

Astoria shrugged and gestured carelessly with her wand hand. Her nails were painted silver and caught in the light.

"People don't know, but he didn't even live here. We got married and he—he just left me here in this house. Never so much as gave me a tour of manor. On our wedding day he brought me here and left me in the foyer; didn't bother to consummate it until I was supposed to be fertile. And then—once the healers determined I was barren—Draco didn't come here at all. He just—disappeared. I never knew where he was. I couldn't contact him. I thought maybe I could get his attention if I made him jealous but he never cared what I did. Eventually—I accepted that was how he was."

The bitterness of Astoria's expression twisted her face into something both ugly and terrifying.

"But then you came along." Astoria's voice shook with resentment. "And then he moved in and he turned the entire estate upside down in order to ward it and make sure it was safe. Took you for walks and gave you a tour of the house."

Hermione started to open her mouth to point out that Malfoy had been ordered to do all those things.

"Shut up! I don't want to hear from you," Astoria said sharply, baring her teeth.

The newspaper was crumpling in Astoria's clenched fist and smoldering faintly.

"And then Graham started paying attention to me," Astoria said, her voice trembled as though she were holding back tears. "He was so sympathetic and kept me company at all the events that Draco never showed for. He wanted to see everything I had done and he noticed all the things I'd done to impress Draco. He wanted me to show him all around the manor to see how I'd decorated it. He had the idea of a New Year's Party here at the Manor. And dinner parties. And even an equinox party on the veranda of the North Wing. He was very specific about it being the North Wing..."

Astoria's voice trailed off and she stared out the window for several seconds.

"When I heard Draco had killed Graham I thought 'Draco has finally noticed, he was just busy before.' But then," Astoria twitched, "it crossed my mind—Graham first approached me the week after the Daily Prophet wrote that vile article about you living here. He wanted so badly to come to this estate rather than go to a hotel or his townhouse. He was quite insistent. He had to see the estate, the manor. All the rooms, even if we had to break through wards to get in. Then it crossed my mind how Graham always tended to disappear; during New Year's, and the dinner parties, and the garden party. He was always... disappearing."

Astoria fell silent for several seconds. Hermione cringed, unable to speak; unable to clarify. She didn't know that it would make any difference even if she could.

"It was because of you," Astoria said at last. "Graham came here because of you. Draco killed him because of you. Graham was just using me! He was using me to get to you!"

Astoria flung the newspaper on the floor. The pages sprayed out on the wood floor, showing Malfoy coldly murdering Graham Montague in a continuous, black and white loop.

Draco Malfoy Publicly Kills Fellow Death Eater!

" Why do they care about you?" Astoria demanded, stepping toward Hermione and digging her wand sharply into Hermione's throat. "What's so special about you that Draco would move here, into this house that he clearly hates? That Graham would spend months using me to get to you? Why does anyone care about a Mudblood? Why does everyone think you're so important?"

The glint in Astoria's eyes as she glared at Hermione was manic.

Hermione started to open her mouth and Astoria slapped her sharply across the face.

"I don't want to hear your explanations!" Astoria snarled. "I warned you. I told you not to cause problems for me."

Astoria abruptly jabbed her wand up into Hermione's face toward her eyes. Hermione's chest constricted and she jerked her face away.

"You know," Astoria said in a trembling, lilting tone, grabbing Hermione by the chin. "Marcus says he can barely stand to look at his surrogate, because the hole in her head makes her a horror. Maybe Draco would spend less time obsessing over you if you had two."

Hermione stumbled back.

"Stay still," Astoria commanded.

Hermione froze and Astoria drew close again.

Malfoy would come. Malfoy would come. Malfoy would come.

Malfoy was in Romania.

Astoria grabbed Hermione by the chin once again.

"Open your eyes wide, Mudblood," Astoria commanded.

Hermione could feel herself start shaking as her eyes widened.

"Please...don't!"

"Shut up," Astoria said coldly as she pulled Hermione's face closer. Astoria pressed the tip of her wand against the outer corner of Hermione's left eye; digging the tip back into the socket. She sneered into Hermione's face. "I hope I'm there when Draco sees you next. Even if he kills me, the satisfaction will be well worth it."

Hermione tried to tear her face away and Astoria withdrew her wand momentarily to immobilise Hermione with a quick hex, freezing Hermione in place before stabbing her wand roughly into the side of Hermione's eye again.

The pain in Hermione's eye was increasing, she could feel that her eyeball was on the verge of being pulled from her socket. Her whole body was shaking and she couldn't move.

The sound of her panicked breathing cut through the surreal realisation that Astoria Malfoy's face might be the last thing she ever saw. She heard her own strangled scream as she felt something in her eye give and her vision become one sided.

Suddenly there was a cracking sound in the distance so abrupt that the Manor trembled. Astoria jerked with surprise but didn't stop.

"Expelliarmus!" Malfoy snarled as he appeared from thin air.

The wand digging into Hermione's eye vanished and Astoria was flung across the room and struck the wall with a sickening crunch before falling to the floor.

Hermione remained frozen in place with open eyes, sobbing hysterically and immobilised where Astoria had left her.

Malfoy swept in front of Hermione, countering the immobilisation hex. Hermione dropped to the floor. Malfoy knelt down in front of her and tilted her face up toward his. His face was pale, frozen and his expression grew horrified when he saw her face.

He cast a diagnostic spell on her. After a minute he swallowed and took several deep breaths as though he were trying to steady himself.

"You eye is half pulled out of the socket and you have a deep puncture in the white," he said at last. "What are the spells to fix it?"

Hermione stared at him dazedly. Crying. Her face was twisted as she shook against his hand and felt her tears collecting against his fingers. She could see him through one eye but there was just a dark blur on her left side.

She couldn't stop crying and shuddering as she stared up at Malfoy.

She knew she should know the answer to his question but she couldn't remember. She could just feel the spot where Astoria's wand had punctured her eye.

She couldn't see...

Malfoy inhaled sharply and his expression hardened as he stared at her more intently.

"I need you to calm down so you can tell me how to fix it," Malfoy said. The command was heavy in his tone.

Hermione choked down a sob and tried to breathe. She wanted to close her eyes but she couldn't, because Astoria had tried to pull one of them out.

She gasped raggedly several times trying to compose herself. Then she made herself look down at the diagnostic reading still visible on Malfoy's wand.

She was a healer. Someone had an injured eye. She needed to work efficiently if she wanted to try to preserve their sight.

"For a punctured sclera," she said in a wobbling voice, casting her mind back trying to recall as she analyzed the reading. Malfoy had performed a detailed diagnostic on her and she could see that the damage was extensive. "Sclera Sanentur. You have to say it rhythmically, almost singing it. And trace the tip of your wand over the puncture."

Malfoy repeated the inflection and rhythm and she gave a short nod. He proceeded to perform it on her eye. She whimpered quietly as she felt it puncture begin to repair itself.

"And then—for a—a luxated left eye," she said in a voice that was calmer than she felt. "It's oculus sinister retreho. And the wand movement— "

She cautiously, half-blindly reached toward Malfoy's left hand and, when he didn't jerk away from her, she closed her fingers over his and demonstrated the delicate spiraling motion.

"Don't do it too quickly or you'll over retract," she added.

Malfoy nodded.

Hermione felt her eye slide back into place in her head. The dark blur was slightly brighter but it still was like staring through a heavily fogged window.

Malfoy cast a new diagnostic.

"H-how much can you see?" he asked tilting her face up toward his again, his fingertips pressing lightly along her jaw.

She looked up at him and covered her right eye with her hand. His face was only a few inches away from hers.

"You're blond. I think—I can tell that you're blond and if I try I can make out your eyes and mouth a little—" Her voice cut off in a whimper and she choked as she started crying again. Her hand slid away from her right eye and she clamped it over her mouth as she fought not to sob.

"What else do I need to do? How do I fix it?" he asked.

"Dittany," she said. "Essence of Dittany, might be able to repair the rest of the damage. But it's rare. It might be hard to obtain—in time."

"Topsy!"

The elf instantly appeared.

"Bring me Essence of Dittany."

The house-elf vanished again.

Malfoy's hands remained on her face until her sobs eased again and then he slowly drew them away.

"Wait here. I need to deal with Astoria now," Malfoy said.

Hermione nodded and wiped her face, finding that she was crying blood. She watched as Malfoy strode over, levitated his wife up off the floor and dropped her into the chair before performing a diagnostic charm on her. The imbalance in Hermione's vision made it hard to see when she tried to see the reading across the room. She thought Astoria had several cracked ribs and a concussion.

Malfoy healed the fractures with practiced ease and then stared down at Astoria for several minutes before finally rennervating her.