She was uncertain of what she was supposed to do. Was he expecting her to go lie down on his bed?
He strode past her to the wardrobe and after laying his hand against the door for a moment, jerked it open.
Perhaps Malfoy was not entirely monk-like. The wardrobe had almost an entire room within it. The door held a full bar, and Malfoy snatched a bottle of firewhiskey off a shelf and pulled the cork out with his teeth. Spitting the cork onto the floor, he raised the bottle to his lips and stared at her.
Hermione just waited.
After a minute, he drew his wand and with a quick movement conjured a table in the middle of the floor. Hermione stared at it, completely at a loss. She looked over to Malfoy.
He sneered at her.
“Bend over,” he said in a low, taunting voice, gesturing toward it.
Hermione hadn't thought she could feel any more revulsed by him, but apparently she could. She bit down on the inside of her lip until she felt the skin give away and blood flood over her tongue as she felt her feet begin to obey automatically.
She walked slowly over and after hesitating for a moment, leaned across the table.
The wood bit into her hip bones. She rested her hands against the edges and gripped them until her knuckles cracked from the force. She fought to keep from trembling. Her whole body felt on edge from the intensity of her vulnerability. Her ears were straining to detect any sound.
There was a pause. Then she heard Malfoy approach her slowly.
He stopped directly behind her and there was another silence. She could feel his eyes on her.
The air shifted.
“Are you still a virgin, Mudblood? Is that something you even remember?”
She flinched as she realised she didn't know.
He stepped closer. “I'm sure Weasley or Potter climbed up there at some point.” She could hear the mockery in his tone.
His hand rested briefly on the small of her back as he pulled her skirts up to her waist. She felt the cold air of his room against her skin. She was shaking so hard the table was rattling.
“Well, I suppose we'll know soon enough,” he said and then commanded, “Move your feet wider.”
She forced herself to shift.
She felt his fingers on her and jerked away slightly.
He muttered under his breath and she felt something warm and liquid inside her. A lubrication charm. She started so abruptly the table legs shrieked as they dragged across the wood floor.
“We can't have any damage or infections impairing your — usefulness,” he explained in a derisive tone.
She heard his belt click and then, without warning, he impaled her with himself.
She tried to bite back the sob that forced its way up her throat but the abrupt invasion caught her off guard. At her cry, he froze, just for a moment, before he started moving again. Aside from where they were joined, he didn't touch her. His right hand gripped the table near where her face was turned. She could see a black ring on his hand, glittering faintly.
When he came, his movement grew uneven and rougher, and then he stilled suddenly with a quiet hiss.
He stayed there for only a second before jerking away from her and striding back over to the bar.
“Get out.” His tone was sharp.
Hermione shook.
“I can't.” She tried not to sob as she said it, but her voice trembled. “I'm not allowed to move for ten minutes after.”
He snarled with rage. Suddenly the table beneath her vanished, and she plummeted to the floor, hitting her forehead sharply on the ground.
“GET OUT!”
The room shook.
Pushing herself up, she fled. Stumbling dazedly through the hallway. Trying to remember the way back.
Her chest was stuttering as she tried not to hyperventilate. She couldn't see clearly. She reached up to find that her forehead had split where she'd hit it. Blood was streaming down into her eyes.
She stood at the top of the stairs. Trying to remember the way back. Blood was filling her eyes. She could feel fluid seeping out from between her legs and trickling down her thighs. She was shaking. Trying to remember where her room was.
If she stayed there — Astoria would find her and gouge her eyes out, or chop off her fingers, or pull her teeth out.
She stumbled and almost fell down the stairs.
She was drawing short, rapid breaths as she tried to keep from sobbing aloud.
She couldn't understand — she'd survived the war. She'd watched her friends die in front of her. She'd stayed sane, alone in a dark cell for over a year. But — being forced to be complicit in her own rape. She couldn't bear it. Not while knowing she'd be expected to do it again the next day. And the next. And the day after that.
She stared dizzily down at the foyer.
If she just threw herself over the balcony Malfoy couldn't stop her.
She'd be done.
She leaned over and looked down at the table in the foyer. Just a little further—
A vise-like grip closed itself around her arm and wrenched her away.
She turned and found Malfoy glaring at her, enraged.
“Don't — you — dare.” He snarled the words. His face white with fury.
“Please, Malfoy—“ She was sobbing. “Please—“