A/N: *Scampers by*

*flings the chapter in your direction*

*scurries underground to wrestle another plunny into submission*

xx-Kitten.

Splinter

By Kittenshift17

Chapter 14: Bend or Break

Hermione tensed at the sound of Rowle returning. The click of the door to his chambers, the snick of the metal in the lock and the almost imperceptible swish of his robes as he moved into the room were the only sounds announcing his return. She didn't dare turn to look at him or acknowledge him.

Perched upon a windowsill overlooking the gardens of Rowle Tower, Hermione tried her best to pretend he didn't exist. She loathed him more than ever as she stood, listening for his silent footsteps. What he'd done to her in the bath before he'd been summoned away by the Dark Lord was tormenting her mind incessantly. She couldn't bear it. She felt as though she had betrayed herself and everything she stood for. She'd couldn't believe she had snogged him.

The feel of him behind her made the little hairs on the back of her neck stand on end and Hermione held her breath as she felt him there. He didn't speak and she hadn't heard him approach. She only knew he was there because of the cold that swept over her.

"Tell me something, Princess," he purred into her ear, his lips brushing the sensitive shell and making her shudder. "Which memory of our time together would you most like Weasley and Potter to see, hmm?"

"What?" Hermione gasped, spinning to face him.

Hermione blanched when she caught sight of a dagger clutched in his hands. Her eyes widened, fixating on the blade as it glinted. Lightning cracked beyond the window, making her jump even more.

"Do I need to repeat myself?" he asked in an even tone, looking evil as he stared at her.

"You... what are you going to do with that?" she asked, eyeing the blade carefully. Fearfully. Hermione didn't want to imagine the type of things he might inflict upon her with the weapon.

"What would you like me to do with it?" he countered, always one to parry with a question of his own.

"Put it down?" she suggested. "Bury it in your Master's chest? In your own?"

"Now that's not very nice, Baby-girl," he practically purred, a cruel smile curling his lips up ferally as he lightly trailed the tip over the sensitive flesh of her throat, making Hermione swallow fearfully at the dangerous caress. He dragged it very lightly along the length of her jaw, his steely eyes fixed upon her own terrified pair. Hermione knew he was getting off on her fear. That he was enjoying the way her heart raced inside her chest painfully. That the goose-bumps that spread across her skin at the kiss of the steel against her were turning him on.

Hermione hated him all the more for the fact that he was doing it to exert dominance over her.

"Do it," she demanded, finding her courage to glare up into his eyes rather than focusing on the path of the blade as he trailed the tip of the dagger over her lips.

"You think I won't?" he challenged, smirking in the face of her bravery.

"I hope you do," Hermione retorted. "Then I'll be free of you."

His eyes flashed a warning before he moved so suddenly that Hermione screamed. A sharp sting near her scalp made her cry out before she found herself shoved back against the window she'd been staring out.

"Ouch!" she cried, glaring at him in confusion when he stepped back. Hermione lifted her hand to her temple where he'd cut her with the blade, her fingers coming away bloody.

She stared at him in confusion, wondering what he'd done before he held up a lock of her curly hair with the thinnest sliver of her scalp attached. He smirked triumphantly.

"You'll never be free of me, Granger," he warned her.

"Why did you do that?" she asked, confused. "What do you need with my hair?"

Horror dawned upon her when she recalled what he'd said about sending a memory to Harry, Ron and the Order. He meant to mark the vial of a potion containing one of his memories of her with her lock of bloodied hair and send it to them.

"You can't," she whispered. "Please don't, Rowle. Please don't torment them."

"You'd rather stay here?" he smirked in reply.

"Of course not. But if you send them a memory..."

"You say that as though we haven't already," he rolled his eyes. "Your first night with me was shared with your friends. But the intel of your failed mission suggests they weren't expecting you until a few days ago and have been searching for you since. They are not furious enough in their attacks to suggest those memories Antonin, Rabastan and I shared have reached them just yet. So another is in order. Hmm, what shall we share of your time with me, Granger?"

"You already sent them something?" Hermione asked, horrified. Blood trickled down her cheek from her bleeding temple where he's almost scalped her.

"Mhmm," he smirked, "The Dark Lord thought it most appropriate to share the morning you and I spent in the shower last week."

Hermione closed her eyes in horror, her cheeks burning.

"That's how this is going to be? Raping me in front of the court at the revel wasn't enough? You have to share everything with him too. With my friends? Why? Do you imagine that's the best way to endear me to you? To make me fall for you and submit to your will?"

"I just follow my orders, Granger," Rowle shrugged unapologetically. "Besides, why worry about having your friends see what I've done to you in private when they're going to witness what I do to you publicly?"

Cold dread filled her and Hermione stared at him fearfully.

"What do you mean?" she whispered.

"Oh, didn't I tell you?" he asked as he vanished the dagger he'd used on her before he began extracting a memory with his wand. "You and your friends are to be the main attraction at a revel in Quart Pot Vale next week. Tell me, do you think Weasley will scream when he watches me fuck that pretty little mouth in front of the whole world?"

Hermione lowered her bloodied hand from where she'd been trying to stem the blood flowing from her head before she stepped away from the window and slapped him fair across the face for mentioning Ron. The sight of her crimson hand print staining his pale cheek was a grisly one and the horrid smile he gave her for it was enough to make Hermione shudder.

"You're testing my rules, Granger," he warned her coldly.

"Screw your rules," Hermione hissed in his face. "You don't get to say things like that to me. Not about Ron. Not after everything you've done."

His eyes flashed at her and Hermione cried out in surprise when he lunged at her again almost too quick to see. Discarding the lock of her hair and the vial he'd filled with a memory, he spun her until she was looking out over the grounds again, her bloodied cheek smearing against the glass. Hermione felt the hot tears begin to pour down her face as he ripped her pyjama bottoms down, canted her hips and drove his hard cock back inside her. She clawed against the glass, squirming, wriggling, trying to flee his brutal treatment but he pinned her easily with his superior body strength. One of his hands tangled in her loose hair, dragging her head back and to the side far enough that he could bite down on the delicate skin of her throat. Hermione cried out again in agony when he bit her hard enough to break the skin.

"I hate you," she whispered brokenly. "I hate you."

He didn't bother to reply and Hermione barely heard the sound of knocking on his doors over her own pathetic mewling whines as he drove into her again and again. Unlike the other times he'd fucked her, he clearly wasn't in it for her pleasure this time. He didn't attempt to torture her with pleasure. This was just pure torture. This was simply him using her for his own amusement and discarding her when he was done - like a breakable toy he didn't care about.

"Rowle?" Rabastan's voice came from the doorway and Hermione squealed when Rowle flinched minutely at the sound as the door opened to emit the dark haired Death Eater. "Oh. I see you're busy. What happened to not getting attached?"

Hermione cried harder when Rowle pounded into her faster without responding before he bit her harshly again and pumped her full of his seed. When he was done with her, he pulled out of her coldly, fixed his robes to conceal himself and then dragged her by the hair around to face Rabastan.

"Ah shit," Rabastan cursed, his eyes assessing the carnage carefully from the blood pouring down Hermione's cheek where he'd hacked at her temple to the bloody print of Hermione's hand on Rowle's cheek, the bruise on her cheek from the glass and the wound on her neck from being bitten to her naked lower half, sticky and dripping with Rowle's spunk.

"What the fuck have I said about opening my chambers without permission, Lestrange?" Rowle growled, shoving Hermione to the floor at his feet carelessly. Hermione cried harder as the carpet bit into her knees, burning them.

"One of these days I'm going to fuck that pretty mouth of yours, Rowle," Rabastan purred and Hermione could tell from the gleam in his eyes as he stared at Rowle that he was thinking lustful thoughts about the blonde wizard.

"No, Rabastan. Never," Rowle disagreed with him. Hermione whimpered when he nudged her with his foot. "If you get any of your filthy blood on my carpet, Mudblood, I'm going to make you clean it up with your tongue."

Hermione whimpered, dragging herself back to her feet and stumbling for the bathroom, taking that for a dismissal as she attempted to keep from getting any more blood on the carpet.

"Did you partially scalp her?" Rabastan could be heard asking and Hermione cried harder as she caught sight of her reflection in the bathroom mirror. There was only a small cut in the shape of a circle by her temple where he'd take a single curl but like all head wounds, it bled profusely.

Horrified by the sight of herself and feeling more powerless than ever, Hermione turned on the shower, hating herself for thoughts of opening her open wrists and bleeding out in the tub. Merlin, she couldn't live like this. She wouldn't live like this! She couldn't stand the idea of him coming back from wherever he went when he wasn't with her and either tormenting and torturing her with his cruel and almost adoring habit of bringing her off so sweetly; or coming home in a mood like this one, where he brutally treated her with disgust and contempt and wounded her beyond her imagining. She'd rather endure the Cruciatus cruse again than live through this kind of battery.

Glaring at her own reflection, furious with herself for having been caught in the first place and thinking that it was high time she did something more than just surviving this viciousness, Hermione pushed away from the sink. She dismissed thoughts of suicide to be free. If Voldemort wanted to put them on display and wanted to torture the remaining members of the Order, he was going to have to work for it. She was done putting up with this bullshit. Every minute of ever day, henceforth, would be spent honing her skill and focusing her mind until she could perform wandless magic.

After all, they could take away the tools that made her a more effective witch, but they could not deny her the magic that festered in her blood and ignited her soul. And in short order they were going to make the acquaintance of the true power she possessed. She winced at the sting of searing water over the exposed skin where he'd cut away a sliver of her scalp and Hermione leaned into the pain. They wanted to break her with pain and violence, and they were going to fail.

Hermione didn't think she'd ever truly pitted her will against anyone before in her life, except perhaps Professor Umbridge, and look what she'd done to that vile bitch. Thorfinn Rowle was going to rue the day he set his sights on her. Voldemort and all of his Death Eaters would rue the day that they took Hermione Jean Granger captive. She would make sure of that. If it was the very last thing she did, Hermione was going to watch the darkness fall, and she was going to watch Thorfinn Rowle crumble until he was nothing but a bad memory.