A/N: Hi guys. This is going to be a slightly darker Lumione. There are changes to the timeline at the end of HBP, mostly shifting Dumbledore's death from the 30thto earlier in June. Consider this your only content warning for dub-con, graphic violence, referenced sexual assault, and general dark themes. Without further ado, please enjoy.

o.o.O.o.o

June 17th, 1997

Hermione had waited too long. She should have moved her family sooner and been long gone before the Death Eaters found them. The recriminations and desperate thoughts circled through her head as she was dragged down a darkened hallway. Her bare feet scraped against stone, as she scrambled for purchase. She was blind folded and gagged, her jaw ached painfully as the cloth cut into the corners of her mouth.

She'd waited too long and now her parents were dead. It was her fault. Worse, her own fate was hanging by a thread. A very large part of her brain didn't want to think about why she was still alive, and what they wanted from her. She screamed against the gag as she was thrown down onto the ground, pain lanced through her knees as they slammed into the floor.

"Take off the blindfold and gag. No one here should have anything to fear from this creature." A raspy voice commanded and then she could suddenly see again.

She was on her knees in front of a man that could only be Lord Voldemort. Calling him a man was stretching it though; he looked more serpent than human, twisted and gruesome. The gag was removed and she reached up to massage her sore jaw. Her defiant attempt to stand was thwarted with a vicious kick behind her knee, and she was sent crashed back down. Tears streamed down her cheeks, stinging at the tender skin from earlier when she'd cried for mercy for her parents. There hadn't been any for them. There wouldn't be any for her now, she knew that.

"I trust you understand the gravity of your situation." Voldemort approached and reached down, tipping her face up with bony fingers. It was more like a talon than a hand.

"What are you going to do with me?" she managed to ask. After everything she'd seen tonight, she almost wished for death.

"Whatever I please," he said and then there was a sharp stabbing pain that lanced through her head.

She couldn't look away from those horrible red eyes, and she could feel him forcing his way into her mind. She cursed her stupidity for meeting his gaze. Nothing was spared as he rifled through her memories, walking boldly through her interactions with Harry and Ron. He saw the fake Horcrux and the rage that boiled through the mental connection was terrifying. His search became more frantic and spots of black started eating at her vision.

Her whole life started flying by at breakneck speed, without any apparent rhyme or reason. In a flash, she was cuddling Crookshanks on her bed in Gryffindor tower listening to Lavender gushing about Ron, wondering how hard it would be to poison the chit so she could get some sleep. Then she was running down the beach, a child of no more than six or seven, squealing with joy as dozens of seashells seemed to appear by magic, conjured up out of the sands at her whim. She waltzed across the floor of the Yule Ball with Viktor, and then she was slapping Malfoy for getting Buckbeak executed. The dizzying journey continued with her cursing the DA parchment, leading Umbridge into the Forbidden Forest, and brewing Polyjuice Potion while Myrtle heckled her for breaking the rules. Finally, it stopped and the hands that had been holding her upright released her.

She collapsed down onto the marble, shaking uncontrollably. Her head was on fire and blood was streaming from her nose.

"Put her in a cell and make sure no one interferes with her," Voldemort ordered.

Hermione wasn't sure of what else was said as she started sliding down into unconsciousness. He knew everything now, and it was all her fault.

o.o.O.o.o

Hermione woke to the smell of damp earth and near complete darkness. She was lying on a cot of some kind and the blanket was rough and scratchy against her cheek. Her head was still pounding, but she forced herself up and started checking the cell. A tiny sliver of light from the cell door gave her enough illumination to make out the general features of the space, but only just barely. It was small with a bucket in one corner that she assumed was for her bathroom needs, rough stone walls, and a solid wooden door.

There was no obvious way out, so she returned to the low cot and sat down in defeat. Here, alone in the dark, there was nothing to stop the memories. They'd appeared in the dead of night, dragging them all from their beds. Crookshanks had escaped out the window, but she had no faith that she'd ever see him again. They'd held her to the ground and forced her to watch as her father was butchered like an animal, and then her mother was raped before being killed. She'd screamed until her throat was raw, fought as hard as she could, but she'd been no match for them.

She could still feel Greyback's hand on the back of her neck, whispering about what he was going to do to her once the Dark Lord had finished with her. About how she'd beg just like her mother had at the end, but he'd never give her that clean an end.

She pulled her pajama-clad legs up to her chest and just waited for the end to come.

o.o.O.o.o

Being immersed in darkness made judging time incredibly difficult. Hermione had no real sense of how long she'd been locked in the cell. Meals appeared at random intervals, her waste seemed to vanish instantly from the bucket after she used it, but the door never opened. Time seemed to stand still, as if nothing existed but the ever-present darkness. To break the oppressive silence, she'd recite things to herself, potion ingredients, or spell theory mostly. Anything to keep her mind from coming any more unhinged than it already was. The shaky cadence of her own voice kept the nightmares at bay. She'd talk to herself until her throat was raw and her eyelids were so heavy that she had no choice but to risk sleep. The dreams were horrific, but still nowhere near as horrendous as reality.

After what felt like an eternity alone, there was a sound other than the dry rasp of her own voice. A metal clang as a key turned in the lock and the door opened. The sudden flood of light nearly blinded her, and hard hands grabbed at her. The man hauled her up to her feet and out of the cell, a hand roughly groping at her as they pressed through the doorway.

"Move it, girlie." He growled.

As her eyes adjusted, she realized it was Fenrir Greyback dragging her along and her stomach started falling down to her knees. She stumbled along and was taken back to the room she'd been in the night her parents were killed. The sickening metallic smell of blood hit her in the face and clung to the back of her tongue. It instantly brought back the memory of her father's death, and she felt sick. There were dozens of robed and masked Death Eaters standing in a semi-circle around a man on his knees.

She recognized him long before she saw his face, the spill of long platinum hair unmistakable. Lucius Malfoy was kneeling, supporting himself with one hand on the floor, breathing hard. Hermione was so absorbed with watching him, that the hard shove Greyback gave her made her tumble down, her knees falling into a puddle of tacky blood. Lucius's head was bowed, looking unwaveringly at the floor.

"Ah, here she is…witches do love to keep us waiting on them," Voldemort laughed and it was echoed by the masses gathered around them.

Hermione's cheeks grew hot, anger swelling through her.

"This is a momentous day for us and for the entire wizarding world. Today, we seized control of the Ministry, and we can now begin to repair the damage done by years of weak, ineffective leadership. The Loyal will be rewarded, and those that have wavered must in turn be punished. Isn't that right, Lucius?"

"As you say, my Lord." The man ground out, like he was chewing on broken glass. There was a lot of barely leashed rage and bitterness in those few words.

"And then there is the question of what to do with those like you, Miss Granger." The wizard turned his eyes on Hermione. "There are those that feel the only good mudblood, is a dead one. However, I feel that those like you offer an opportunity. While most are a worthless waste of magic, inferior in both skill and power, there are the odd exceptions. Throughout history there have been rare, talented witches that have sprung from the mire of muggle filth. Those witches could be used to strengthen lines that have grown stale and stagnant," he said, walking around the kneeling pair.

Hermione felt bile rising in the back of her throat, and she started shaking her head. It was pretty clear where he was going with this and there was no way in hell she was going to let herself be turned into some kind of…broodmare. Her eyes flicked around the room, looking desperately for any possible escape route. There had to be something, some way of stopping this.

"Now, I'm not an unreasonable man. A witch should always have a choice," he said and paused while his followers chuckled. "You can either choose to lay with the disgraced, but distinguished Lord Malfoy until he manages to get you with child, or I can give you to Greyback. He's asked that you been made into the newest member of his pack. I am certain Lucius would much rather you choose the werewolf. So, what is your decision mudblood? Will you spread your legs for my Death Eater and remain a witch…or keep your pride and be turned into an animal? Either way, since I've wrung every useful piece of information from your brain, I have no further use for you."

Hermione pressed the back of her hand against her mouth, trying not to vomit. Either way she was epically screwed. There was no doubt in her mind that Greyback would rape her, so choosing him didn't mean that it wouldn't happen. Malfoy looked just as sickened at the idea as she was and clearly had…protested the 'honour'.

"If I choose Mr. Malfoy, what will happen to me after?" She finally spoke.

"That will be Lucius' decision, as you will be permanently released to his care once you are confirmed pregnant," he said. "Your choice, Miss Granger."

"I choose Mr. Malfoy." The whole situation was completely surreal.

"So be it. Lucius, take your prize, sad little creature that she is. Make sure it's done before morning. The consequences should you disappoint me will be…severe." The creature made a dismissive motion with his hand, and left the room with the rest of the Death Eaters falling in behind him.

Hermione looked over at Lucius who was getting to his feet. He was pale and drawn, the hair that had been so utterly recognizable before, at closer inspection was brittle and tangled. He looked like hell, for lack of a better word.

"Get up, Miss Granger. It would be unwise to linger here," he said, offering her a hand. His face was closed down, nothing betrayed in his expression.

Hermione took his hand, but didn't lean on it as she stood. She had a feeling much of this blood had to be his and he was in worse shape than he let on.

"Come with me," he said shortly and turned to leave the room. He led her out a small door on the left side of the room, and then up a winding set of stone steps. At the top of the spiral staircase, there was a simple wooden door and it opened under his touch. "These will be your rooms for now."

The room wasn't anything terribly special, but it was comfortable. There was a fireplace, and a slightly overstuffed loveseat set in front of it. Bookcases flanked either side of the fireplace, though her heart twisted to see that they were empty. A door stood open and she could glimpse a bed through there, and another door she assumed led to small bathroom.

"How long have I been here?" she asked, turning to look at the man standing there like a statue.

"You were taken nearly a month ago, about the same time the Dark Lord liberated his remaining followers from Azkaban. Your friend is in the wind, along with many of his supporters. The attack on you was enough of a warning to send them underground. You are presumed dead," he said quietly. "I am sorry, both for your parents and for this. It is not my choice either."

"What did he threaten you with?" she asked, hating how the tears welled up in her eyes at the mere mention of her parents.

"Something terrible enough to force my compliance, much like you," he said simply. "There is a bathroom there if you would like to get cleaned up. I'll return shortly, once I've seen to a few minor injuries." He gave a shallow bow and left the room.

Hermione's panic level jumped as the door disappeared behind him. She pressed her hands to the smooth expanse of wall and realized that she was trapped. The only way in or out was at his command, which meant this had to be part of Malfoy Manor.

She moved back from the wall and after a quick exploration for another door, decided that a shower was probably a very good idea. The pitch of the ceiling made her feel like they were up in almost an attic space, and she wondered at the purpose of this place. The bathroom was clean, but had a sense of age. The cast iron tub had large claw feet and the shower head was mounted above. There was a soft blue nightshirt folded on the side, and a matching house coat hung behind the door. She undressed, and got the water going.

Standing under the hot spray was wonderful, as the dirt and grime of her imprisonment was washed away. She refused to think about what was going to happen next, and just lingered under the cascading water. The shampoos and soaps all smelled comforting, the soft scent of vanilla prevailing and clinging to her skin and curls. Reluctantly, she turned the water off and got out. She dried off quickly, nearly jumping as she realized her dirty pajamas were gone. House Elves. Of course.

She dressed in the nightshirt, the hem hitting her mid-thigh. She reached for the house coat and belted the soft terry material around her tightly. It wasn't like she was a virgin and had no idea what was coming, but this was a shitty situation. Deciding she'd hidden in the bathroom long enough, she came back out and saw Lucius was already there. He had a tray with some dinner, a bottle of wine, and two glasses set out on the table. Her meals in the dungeon had been meager, soup and stale bread mostly, so the roast chicken and vegetables were making her mouth water and her stomach rumble.

"I thought you might be hungry," he said, averting his eyes as she came over to sit at the small table.

"Thank you," she said, feeling the weight of the situation hanging in the air. "Why is he doing this?" she asked, looking up at him as he poured the wine, two very generous glasses.

"He believes that half-bloods are infinitely superior power wise to both purebloods and muggleborns," he snorted and took a generous swallow of his wine. "Your capture gives him the chance to prove his theories, and it's something else to torture Potter with at a later date. As for why me…it's yet another humiliation to be layered upon me. One of many." He shook his head.

"Because I'm muggleborn?" She raised her eyebrows.

"Because I am happily married with a son your age," he snapped. "Contrary to popular opinion, I have never been unfaithful to my wife and I hardly harbour a secret fascination with teenage witches." He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Forgive me, I have not been sleeping well and my patience is not what I'd like it to be."

"Maybe you should sit down," Hermione offered, unsure why but she felt a strange twist of compassion for the wizard across from her. He wanted this just a little as she did, and there was some comfort in that. "Is this Malfoy Manor?"

"No, it's an older Malfoy property that the Dark Lord is making use of. The family hasn't lived in here in over two hundred years." He settled into the chair, still looking quite uncomfortable. "This was built shortly after the Norman conquest. My ancestors were part of the invading Norman forces, Lucien D'Malfoie rode at the side of William the Conqueror, and helped win the day at the Battle of Hastings. All record of magic has been purged from the official histories, of course, but both side had their wizards and witches to fight beside them." Speaking about his family history seemed to calm the man, his posture relaxing.

"Even the references in the magical texts are sparse," Hermione said, unable to help her curiosity. Anything to pull her mind away from what was hanging over her head.

"There are some family histories I could find for you to read, if you'd like. I imagine you'll be needing something to occupy your mind," he said quietly, and just like that the moment was gone. "I wouldn't normally ask such a thing, but you do have some…experience I hope?" he asked then.

Hermione felt her cheeks flush and she managed to nod.

"I do, not a lot but…yes." She stumbled over it, the delicious meal now sitting heavy in her stomach.

"Thank Merlin for small mercies." He scrubbed a hand over his face.

"How will he know if we don't do this? Can't we just…pretend we did and call it a night?" she asked.

"There are spells that would make liars of us, Miss Granger. I wish there was another way, but there isn't." There was a sorrowful expression on his face. "Finish your wine, it'll make it easier for you at least."

Hermione nodded and finished off the glass, trying to keep her hand from shaking. It filled her with flush of warmth and helped calm at least the worst of her nerves. She wondered if he'd added a mild calming draught to it, seeing that he too appeared more settled.

"It's time." He stood and offered her his hand, helping her up.

"I don't think I can do this," she said quietly.

"You're the only one that can decide that. I won't force you, but I can promise that nothing better is waiting for you at the hands of Greyback. If you somehow managed to survive a night in his tender care to be infected with lycanthropy, even if the war ended in a week…you'd be an outcast for the rest of your life." He reached down and tipped her chin up, making her meet his eyes. "I will not hurt you, and whatever happens I will try to keep you safe. It's not much, but that is as much as I can do."

Hermione took a deep breath, and nodded. "Okay." She let him lead her back to the bedroom, trying not think about what Voldemort wanted with a baby from the two of them, but hopefully Harry would find a way to end the war before anything happened.

"Stop thinking," Lucius whispered as he pulled her closer, stealing a first kiss. His lips were surprisingly soft against her, asking and not demanding as he shut the bedroom door behind them. It was completely different from her rushed kisses with Viktor or Cormac's aggressive tactics. His hand wove into her damp curls, and his other smoothed down her back, pulling her against his body.

The feel of him against her unfroze Hermione's own hands, sliding along his sides and feeling the lean muscle under his expensive robes. The taste of the excellent wine echoed in their kiss, and her hands seemed to drift to the buttons of his shirt of their own accord. He broke the kiss, burning his lips along her jaw to taste her throat. Blame it on the wine, or perhaps the month of complete isolation, but right now she just didn't want him to stop touching her. Every caress made her skin sing and distantly, as her fingers released the last button, she couldn't help but think that Narcissa Malfoy was a very lucky witch.

She tugged the shirt out of his pants and pressed it back off his shoulders, letting it fall discarded to the floor. Her appreciative gaze was interrupted as he caught her in another kiss, this one more demanding as he picked her up, carrying her over to the bed. The mattress was soft under her back as he laid her down, her heart pounding against her ribcage as she realized this was really happening.

There was a sharp tug at her waist as he untied her robe, spreading it open. His hand ghosted up her ribs to cup her breast, thumb flicking over her nipple through the material. When he pinched her nipple hard, it pulled a surprised gasp from her lips, breaking the kiss. He smirked down at her, holding her gaze as his hand slipped down, finding the hem of her night gown and dragging it up her thigh. He brushed his fingers over the curls at the apex of her tightly pressed thighs and leaned down.

"Open your legs for me," he whispered.

Hermione shivered at the dark tone in his voice, and slowly eased them apart. She didn't want this, but her body seemed to have missed that memo. He was a bigoted, arrogant, ruthless Death Eater…but sweet Merlin his fingers felt so good. He slipped two inside of her slowly, working them in and out. Her hips began to rock into his hand, unable to help it. She bit her bottom lip as she realized just how wet she was right now, embarrassment flooding through her. She turned her head away, unable to look at him. She didn't want this to feel good.

"It's alright." He pressed a kiss to her temple. "It's nothing to be ashamed of. I know you wouldn't do this if you didn't have to."

"Just get it over with. Please." Hermione felt tears sting her closed eyes. His pity made it worse.

"Okay," Lucius whispered and shifted, settling between her legs.

Hermione heard the rustle of cloth as he undid his pants and felt him settling over her. She kept her eyes closed, not wanting to see him over her, wanting to pretend this wasn't actually happening. He pressed against her, sinking slowly inside her. It wasn't…comfortable, her body not nearly ready for this. When she whimpered, he stilled and reached down to stroke her, trying to coax her to relax a little.

"Shhh, it'll be ok," he spoke softly, and only continued when he felt her tension draining away.

It wasn't great, but as he began a steady rhythm, Hermione had to admit that it actually wasn't that bad either. Her first time with Viktor had been worse, at least Lucius seemed to be reading her body and adjusting to her comfort levels. She hesitantly opened her eyes and looked up at him. He was braced over her, a healing pink slash cut across his upper chest, the angriest portion over his shoulder. His steel grey eyes met hers, and she felt a strange magnetism pulling her in. He reached down and laced his fingers with hers, untangling them from the death grip they had on the sheets. As he leaned down, his hair fell around their faces, a platinum curtain separating them form the world.

"We don't have much choice in this, but we can choose to take what pleasure we can," he whispered. "He wants to hurt and shame both of us; don't give him that power." He squeezed her hand as his thrusts got stronger, hips crashing into hers.

Any response she might have made was lost as he kissed her hard, almost desperately. He soon broke the kiss, head thrown back as he lost rhythm in his thrust, working hard to finish. He came with a low groan, catching himself on his forearms to keep from crushing her as he collapsed forward.

Hermione didn't know what to feel right now, and her emotions circled around her restlessly. He felt him press another soft kiss to her temple and that unleashed the dam of emotion, letting her start to cry. She was shocked to feel him wrap his arms around her and roll them so that she was against his chest. He stroked her back and rocked her slowly.

"You will survive this." He held her tightly, just trying to soothe her.

Hermione just cried until she had no more tears. Once she stopped, he gently extricated himself from her and cast some cleaning charms over them and the bed. He pulled the blankets down and tucked her in. She had no idea why he was being so kind, but she didn't examine it too closely. Maybe this was all some strange dream, and she'd just wake up back in her cell.

"Try and sleep," he said. "Things will look better in the morning." He stroked her hair again, and gathered his clothes before leaving.

Hermione curled into a ball under the blankets and tried to push all of it away. It had to be a horrible dream. The persistent ache between her legs kept her from believing it though.