“I want her pregnant,” Voldemort said with a forceful hiss. Then, as though it were an afterthought, he added, “It concerns me that the Malfoy line is without an heir.”
“Of course, My Lord, Astoria and I have been careful to follow all of Healer Stroud's instructions,” said Malfoy.
“Very well,” Voldemort said, sinking further into his throne and dabbing the corner of his mouth again. “Return her to the manor then.”
Malfoy bowed and then gripped Hermione by her arm from where she hung suspended. The magic holding her released and she fell against him. He grimaced in obvious distaste and proceed to drag her out of the hall and away from the cloying, oppressive nest of dark magic.
When they were halfway down some hallway Malfoy shoved her against a wall and released her. She slid halfway down it and raised her shaking hands up to wipe away the tears crusting on her cheeks. She could still barely see through the blinding pain in her mind.
“Drink this,” he commanded, slipping a vial of a common pain relief potion into her hand. “Otherwise you'll black out when I apparate you and it will add considerably to your recovery time.”
She swallowed it, fairly certain he wasn't going to poison her.
“Did that ever happen to you?” she found herself asking, when the pain began easing so she could speak again and his face slowly swam into focus.
Malfoy eyed her for a moment. “More than once,” he said. “My training was rigorous.”
She nodded.
“Was that after fifth year?” she asked looking up at him. The pain seemed to fade somewhat when she focused on the question.
“Yes,” he said it in a clipped tone.
“Your aunt?”
“Hmm,” he hummed in confirmation, his eyes narrowed.
They were both staring at each other intently. He felt like the only thing she could see.
“Not the only thing you learned that summer,” she noted. His eyes widened incrementally.
“Are you needing a confession for something? Should I tell you everything I've done?” he asked in a careful drawl. He drew closer so that he towered above her.
She forced herself not to shrink or cower down further than she was already slumped. She stared up into his eyes. A question rose to her lips and she felt somehow that it was vital that she ask it.
“Do you want to?” she said.
He stared at her as though he were considering something. Then his eyes grew flinty and he stepped back.
“Why would I want to talk to you about anything, Mudblood?” he said coldly, grasping her by the arm and dragging her down the hallway to the apparition point.
Hermione's brain still felt crushed and damaged. When Malfoy apparated back into her room the squeezing sensation on her head made her cry out and collapse, vomiting as soon as she reappeared.
He stood stiffly, staring down at her and banished the mess from the floor while she tried to fight off the endless waves of nausea.
“Go to bed. You have two days to recover before I'll expect you to be walking again,” he said before turning to leave. She would have glared at him if she could have interrupted her body's compulsive dry heaving.
When her body finally became convinced that there was absolutely nothing in her stomach left to expel Hermione crawled into bed and cradled her head in her arms.
She wasn't sure when two days passed. She slept like a dead thing and couldn't have said whether it had been hours or days when she finally woke without a migraine.
While she was poking at breakfast Malfoy strode in.
She glared at him sullenly from the bed.
“Season's greetings, Mudblood,” he drawled.
She stared at him in mild surprise.
“As a Christmas gift to myself, I have decided to end the weekly ritual of replacing all your shoes. It should arrive tomorrow. Please do not interpret it as a sign of my affection,” he said and chuckled for a moment. Then his face grew cold as he walked closer. “It's been three days and you haven't left your room. I hope you're not going to inconvenience me.”
Hermione felt too ill to feel afraid of Malfoy.
“I have no way of knowing what the date is,” she said in a flat voice. “Perhaps giving me a calendar could be an additional present for yourself.”
He stared at her.
“It didn't occur to you to just ask an elf?” he asked after a moment.
Hermione stared at him and felt unwanted tears of humiliation prick at the corner of her eyes. Her mouth twisted as she fought not to snarl or cry.
“I can't speak unless spoken to,” she said stiffly.
Malfoy froze and was silent for a surprisingly long time. An indecipherable expression rippled across his face before he blinked and laughed faintly.
“And here I thought it was an elf rights thing,” he said with a smirk. His eyes still looked slightly frozen. “I'll send an elf later and see if you can speak if it initiates.”
He spun on his heel and walked out without another word.
When Hermione finished picking at her food an elf appeared to take the dishes away.
“Master is wanting to know if you is needing anything,” it said, avoiding her gaze.
“A calendar that indicates the date, if that is possible. And — a book, about anything.”