Her interpretation of the compulsions had always been what had limited her. The command to be quiet: she had interpreted it as Malfoy not permitting her to speak without permission because she assumed he would be vindictive like that. So she hadn't been able to speak. If she'd interpreted it as something simpler, like not speaking loudly, she could have spoken; unless Malfoy had clarified and specified the compulsion further.
The compulsions were built upon preventing willful disobedience.
When she wasn't thinking about the fact she was disobeying, when she was reacting instinctively or speaking without thinking, she'd always been able to get around the compulsions. She simply hadn't noticed it.
"I suppose I did," she said quietly, regaining her footing and standing.
His hands slid away from her. Something inside of Hermione twisted at the loss of contact.
He turned her and used a spell to remove the blood from her face and cast a healing charm where the skin had split. Her head was throbbing where she'd struck it.
"Why?" Malfoy asked in a hard voice. "Why the sudden need to go so far?"
She looked at him. They were standing only inches apart. His steely, grey eyes were studying her carefully. He'd taken a sobriety potion since he'd kissed her; she could smell it on his breath.
"Why not?" she said in a wistful voice. "The options have always been escape or die."
"But this is the first time you were actually intent enough to manage it. Why tonight rather than yesterday, or the day I left for France?"
So he had noticed that she'd become unwillingly responsive. Hermione's mouth twitched and she turned her face away, pressing her cheek against her shoulder.
"I don't require you to speak to get the answer," he said after several minutes. "Although I would think you'd prefer it. We are due for a legilimency session, after all."
Hermione pressed her mouth shut, but her eyes flickered over to her bed. She didn't want to lie on a bed in front of him again. If he invaded her mind to get the answer he'd see how pathetically, desperately lonely she was. How significant he had become to her.
If she answered the question, she'd have some control over the narrative.
She opened her mouth several time as she struggled with where to begin. She felt so cold her skin hurt. She hugged herself, rubbing her arms slowly.
"I think I'm beginning to develop Stockholm Syndrome," she finally said quietly. "It's a Muggle psychological condition. A survival instinct or coping mechanism, I suppose you could say."
She fell silent and glanced toward Malfoy. He was expressionless, apparently expecting her to expound further. She turned away.
He sighed with irritation. "So, we're doing this the hard way. Very well. Legilimency then."
Hermione stiffened and curled her shoulders in defensively. "It's something that occasionally occurs where a hostage can start to become attached to their captor — due to their dependence." She forced the words out, her voice shaking. She didn't look at Malfoy.
She forced herself to continue.
"I don't know much about it. I didn't have much time to study psychology. But, I think I'm starting to rationalise your behavior; trying to justify what you do. A lack of cruelty becomes kindness. It's — it's a survival mechanism, so it operates through subconscious reactions and adaption. In order to try to make an authentic emotional connection, I might develop feelings for you...." Her voice broke and trailed off for a moment.
There was a pause.
"Honestly, I'd rather be raped by your father than have feelings for you," she finally said staring at the blood on the floor.
The was a resounding silence, and she saw Malfoy's hands curl slowly into fists at his side.
"Well," he said after several seconds, "with luck you're pregnant now and you won't need to suffer the attention of either of us. You'll just be left alone."
He started turning to leave. Without thinking her hand darted out and caught hold of his robes. He froze. She sobbed under her breath even as she gripped the fabric tighter, dropping her head and resting it against his chest. He smelled like moss and cedar, and she shook and burrowed against him. His hands rose up and rested on her shoulders until she could feel the heat of them slowly sinking into her, his thumbs lightly running across her shoulders until she stopped shaking.
Then his hands stilled and he shoved her away violently. Hermione stumbled back and nearly fell against her bed as he drew away from her. His eyes were cold, and there was something unfamiliar in his expression she couldn't place.
He stared down at her for a moment, his jaw twitching, then he drew a sharp breath and gave a soft, bitter sounding laugh.
"You don't have Stockholm Syndrome." He raised an eyebrow.