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The Golden Calf

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Hermione tried desperately to pull free of Lucius Malfoy’s iron grasp. He was already displeased with the situation judging by how he had hauled her to her feet, and his fingers dug into the flesh of her upper arm with bruising force. She could tell already that come morning, or sooner, the entire area would be one giant purple blotch. Her previous scrapes and bruises were well on their way to being fully healed, so Hermione knew she had been held captive for some length of time. She just had no way of knowing exactly how long she had been a prisoner.

And now, the elder Malfoy was propelling her down the hall leading from the dungeons toward some unknown fate. When she had been left behind during the daring escape, she had rejoiced for her friends even though she had known that getting left behind would most certainly result in her death. Bellatrix had taken out her rage on Hermione, and she had come very close. Really, she was surprised it hadn’t happened yet. Considering Bellatrix’s insanity, her arm would always bear the jagged reminder of the mad woman’s wrath, and the way the werewolf, Greyback looked at her, licking his chops, Hermione had been certain her life was forfeit the moment Dobby had apparated her friends away from Malfoy manor. Somehow, she was still alive. She could only guess it was by Voldemort’s command.

That had to be where Lucius was taking her now. She could tell he was agitated about something. He reeked of strong alcohol, and his eyes were bloodshot as he pulled her along beside him with no thought towards her comfort. “No!” Hermione shouted as she realized where they were headed. Lucius said nothing, only dug his fingers in harder than before, Hermione thought he might break her arm with the force of his grip, and shoved open the double doors to the drawing room where she had so recently been tortured.

Fear flooded her system, and she grew light-headed as the vivid memory overtook her. She looked around wide-eyed. The broken chandelier had been cleaned up, though there were still scuffs in the hardwood floorboards. Greyback was there grinning viciously. Bellatrix danced gleefully, bouncing from foot to foot. Hermione’s blood turned to ice in her veins at the sight. If Bellatrix was that happy, whatever lie in store for her couldn’t be good. She spied Draco and Narcissa standing meekly off to the side, with nearly identical disturbed expressions marring their delicate aristocratic features, and her apprehension only grew stronger.

Lucius released her arm, throwing her to the floor with an unconcealed look of disgust. Hermione fell with a sharp gasp at Voldemort's feet. His giant pet snake coiled at his feet, winding itself around his legs, hissing at her as she landed. She scrambled backwards trying to get away from the beast, and backed straight into Lucius Malfoy’s legs. Voldemort turned from where he gazed pensively into the fireplace to look at her. Her skin crawled under his penetrating gaze. She felt like an insignificant insect he was considering crushing beneath his boot.

“I don’t understand your reticence, Lucius. It is true, she may be a filthy mudblood, but she is, at the least, not altogether difficult to look upon.” What the bloody fuck had they been discussing?!

Lucius sniffed disdainfully, “She is a child, my lord. No older than my son.”

Voldemort glanced dismissively at Draco before returning his gaze to her. “Your son is of legal age, Lucius. She is therefore of legal age as well.” His voice turned insidious, shocking Hermione to her core even though his words were not directed at her. “Did you not say you would do anything to regain my favor?”

Hermione hadn’t realized just how far the Malfoys had fallen within the ranks of Voldemort’s Death Eaters. Lucius’ failure in the Department of Mysteries and Draco’s failed mission to assassinate Dumbledore had seriously damaged their standing with Voldemort. Hermione would have rejoiced at the Malfoy family’s misfortunes, were she not currently being offered up as Lucius’ ticket to regain his lost position.

“I did, my lord. Perhaps if you gifted this one to the wolf… Greyback is more than willing-”

“So, you are unwilling then to do what is required of you by your lord?”

“N-No, my lord,” Lucius stammered. There was clear panic in his voice at the realization that his continued protests were pushing him into dangerous territory. Hermione couldn’t dredge up an ounce of sympathy for the man, however. He had, after all, just attempted to throw her to a monster that likely wanted to rip her to shreds and eat her. Lucius was only a marginally better prospect.

“My husband is merely overwhelmed by your generosity and trust, my lord.” Hermione was surprised when Narcissa spoke up and stepped forward to lay what appeared to be a comforting hand on Lucius’ arm. “He knows what a great honor it is that you bestow upon him. This alliance, after all, is entirely necessary for your expansion into mainland Europe. Of course, he will do whatever you require of him. He is pleased to do so.”

To Hermione, Lucius looked anything but pleased at the prospect of physical intimacy with a filthy mudblood the same age as his son. Draco looked like he was going to be sick all over the floor. Narcissa hid her revulsion well. In fact, she seemed to be holding the entire Malfoy family together through sheer strength of will.

Lucius cleared his throat, nodding his agreement with his wife’s assertions. “I live only to serve you, my lord. You honor me with this responsibility.”

“You should feel honored. I could have just as easily chosen Dolohov. This war will end soon. Potter cannot hide from me forever. By the time I kill him, I expect you will have results for me. Disappoint me, and your family will pay the price.”

Lucius nodded quickly in agreement. “You will not be disappointed, my lord. I swear it.”

“See to it that I am not,” he replied, exiting the manor in a swirl of black smoke taking the snake with him. As soon as he was gone, Narcissa turned sharply on Greyback. “Leave now,” she hissed at him. He looked at her as though he would object, but then flashed his fangs at Hermione one last time, and sauntered from the room without a backwards glance.

Bellatrix resumed her crazed dance, grinning at Hermione maniacally. “Ooh, you’re going to get it now you filthy mudblood! Dear brother is going to breed you like the animal you are!” she cackled. “He’s-”

“Enough, Bella! You can get out as well!” Narcissa screamed at her mad sister while both Lucius and Draco paled even further. Bellatrix glared back for a pregnant moment, before she screamed hysterically and then disapparated, leaving the manor as well.

Once she was gone, Narcissa breathed a sigh of relief, and then turned to Draco with a worried expression etched on her brow. Her voice was the most soothing thing Hermione had ever heard. “Draco, go pack a bag. We’re going to stay at the winter cottage for a while. Do not come back down. I’ll meet you upstairs when I’m done.”

He only nodded absently to acknowledge that he had heard her, avoided looking in Hermione’s direction, and left the room quickly. Narcissa rounded on Lucius the moment the doors clicked closed behind him. “What the fuck were you thinking, Lucius?! Are you really so drunk you would argue with the Dark Lord? You of all people should know better!”

Lucius looked frantically at his wife, desperation etched in the lines of his face. “I-I know. I don’t know- I panicked. She’s so young. She’s-” he looked briefly at her, “He could have chosen someone else. Dolohov would have jumped at the-”

“You know why he picked you, Lucius. The arrogant bastard wants to you fail almost as much as he wants you to succeed. If that happened, he would still have Dolohov, and he would be rid of you.” She gripped him by the face, forcing him to look into her eyes. “You will not fail him. You will do whatever you need to do to protect this family.” Narcissa spared Hermione a glance. She didn’t know what the emotion was on Narcissa’s face, but she knew it wasn’t pity. “The girl is pure. The Dark Lord will not be able to doubt your success, but you will need to prepare her.” Lucius closed his eyes briefly, nodding his head morosely, and Narcissa swept from the room without another word or glance. Hermione was alone with Lucius.

He only stared at her as though getting himself used to the idea of- of touching her and more. He shook his head with a grimace, shuddering, and then snapped his fingers. A nervous little house elf appeared a moment later wringing its hands in the dirty tea towel covering its small body. “Master called?” it queried timidly.

“Yes,” he said as though dazed. Then he cleared his throat, snapping himself out of his thoughts. “Bathe her and bring her to her suite when you’ve finished,” he ordered.

“Right away, master.” Lucius left her alone in the drawing room with the elf, grabbing a decanter of whiskey on his way out the door. The house elf immediately began prodding her to move, completely ignoring her pleas for help in escaping the manor.

Hermione’s skin was bright pink where the elf had scrubbed too hard and her healing cuts stung, burning from the soap and rough treatment. She had stopped trying to appeal to the creature when it had shot a stinging hex at her, and had resigned herself to her fate as it carefully trimmed the unruly curls between her legs. It clearly wasn’t going to help her.

She knew what was coming as soon as the elf was finished with her, but some of the conversation between the Malfoys and Voldemort confused her. Their talk of alliances was troublesome and made no sense whatsoever. What could she possibly have to do with Voldemort’s plans to conquer all of Europe? The elf wrapped her in a silk bathrobe, herding her from the bathroom, and Hermione had no more time to try piecing together what was going on.

Lucius was sitting at a small table near a window when the elf ushered her into his domain. The decanter was, worryingly, over half empty. It had been nearly full when he had left the drawing room. Hermione didn’t allow herself to get excited about his alcohol intake, however. She didn’t know how it affected him, so couldn’t count on it affecting his ability to perform. With her luck, it was likely to just make him mean.

“Young miss is ready, master.” Lucius didn’t look up from his glass, though he did wince at the word young, only waved dismissively at the elf and continued to pour. The elf disappeared with a loud crack, and Lucius drained his glass, refilling it, still without looking at her. Hermione took the opportunity to look around for an exit, a weapon, anything.

“You won’t find anything,” he slurred and finally stood, a pronounced unsteadiness in his gait as he walked toward her clutching the glass in his hand. He looked her up and down with his unfocused, severely bloodshot eyes. Hermione was surprised he could even stand. He smelled like he had dumped an entire bottle of whiskey over his head.

He reached boldly for the sash of her robe, bolstered by the alcohol. Before she could even register what she was doing, Hermione’s hand shot out, and she slapped him hard across the cheek. Her hand stung. His head rocked to the side, and he snarled at her in anger, gripping her by the throat with his free hand. She struggled in his grasp, his fingers squeezing tightly enough to cut off her air way, and make her see spots dancing in her vision. The more she struggled, the tighter he held her, and when she feared she was in real danger of passing out, she stopped trying to hit and kick him and grew still. He relaxed his hold on her, and allowed her to gulp in some much-needed air.

Lucius didn’t release her. Instead, he spun her about and marched her by the throat backward towards the bed. When the backs of her knees hit the mattress, he pushed her down roughly, knocking the little air that remained from her lungs. He shrugged out of his suit jacket angrily, and loosened the collar of his shirt with quick jerky movements. “Do that again and I’ll break your arms.” She didn’t doubt him for a second.

Hermione made one last-ditch effort to appeal to Lucius. “Please don’t do this, Mr. Malfoy.” Hermione begged with unshed tears in her eyes. “I know you don’t want to.”

“Shut up!” he yelled. “Do you think I have any choice in this? That I wish to soil myself with you?”

“I can help you! The Order can protect your family-”

He laughed harshly. “The Order can’t even protect itself, and you’re in no position to help anyone.” He held his glass out to her, the amber liquid sloshing inside dangerously. “I suggest you drink this. It would be in your best interest.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t care either way.”

Hermione took the proffered glass with only the slightest hesitation. Malfoy, clearly terrified of his dark master, was going to go through with it. Considering his beliefs, and current state of intoxication, she doubted he would be gentle with her. If she could numb herself to the pain she feared was coming, even just a little bit, she would take the opportunity to do so.

He reached for her sash again, and Hermione downed the whiskey as quickly as possible, coughing and gasping at the fiery burn coursing down her throat. He took the glass from her, tossing it across the room, and stripped off her robe with ruthless efficiency. Hermione attempted to cover her sudden nakedness, drawing her knees up to hide her most intimate parts from his view. The way he stared at her was unsettling. A dark flush crept down her face and neck when she caught sight of the tenting bulge in his trousers. The whiskey was doing its job, allowing him to forget her lowly blood status, and focus on her female attributes, attributes he clearly had no issue with. He stood before her, palming himself through the fabric of his trousers as he took in her naked form, working himself up to the point where he could touch her without revulsion. It took far less time than Hermione had hoped.

Without preamble, he forced her knees apart, and sank to the bed between them. Hermione tried to scramble backwards, her heart rate skyrocketing in her panic-stricken state. Lucius Malfoy was far stronger than she had suspected. With ease, he dragged her back to him by the ankles, and pressed himself down on top of her, his hands kneading her breasts near painfully. She struggled beneath him, whimpering half in pain as he pinched her nipples hard, biting down into the swell of one breast. Hermione screamed. There was no one left in the manor to hear her, so he just allowed it. His tongue soothed the bite, and his mouth began exploring her overheated skin. Lucius ground his clothed erection against her as he pressed her into the mattress, bucking his hips, and making her shout loudly. The flush crept further down her chest all the way to the tops of her breasts as she felt the whiskey begin to take effect. She desperately hoped it was the whiskey.

Hermione shivered as warmth spread over her body and settled in her belly. Her brain began to cloud as the alcohol flowed freely through her bloodstream, making her languid and boneless beneath him. Lucius ground his hips against her harshly, his mouth never ceasing the exploration of her flesh. He held both her wrists in one hand, trapped in his iron grip above her head. Hermione squirmed, trying desperately to move away from the touch of his hand skimming over her ribs and farther down, his fingers questing, finding their mark between her spread thighs. Her traitorous body responded unexpectedly, growing slick beneath his touch, and she sobbed at the betrayal.

Lucius looked at her with bleary, reddened eyes but spoke clearly the incantation ‘Incarcerous’ in a low, husky voice. Silken ropes shot out from the bedposts, wrapping around her wrists, and Lucius let go of her, the ropes pulling taut to spread her arms wide. She tried to pull them back in, to cover herself once more, but the ropes were unyielding. Lucius, kneeling between her legs, kept them spread wide, and she was open to him, exposed for his viewing pleasure should he care to look. Her blood status, completely forgotten by now, didn’t stop him from doing so. He looked, and he touched. He nipped at her skin and tasted the salt of her flesh. Hermione thrashed her head from side-to-side, her eyes squeezed tightly shut, trying to block out everything he made her feel and she did her best to not react, thinking that perhaps the alcohol had been a mistake.

When the heel of his hand ground against her clit in an agonizingly slow circle and he worked a finger into her, her hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more friction. Hermione bit back a whimper, grinding herself against his hand harder, feeling shamed by her reaction. Her breathing increased, as his did, her skin growing slick with perspiration, heart jack-hammering inside her chest. Lucius added a second finger, twisting, thrusting, and stretching her as he freed his cock with his unoccupied hand.

He was big, stroking himself in tandem with the movements of his fingers in and out of her, and Hermione found it impossible to look away. How was he planning to make it fit inside her? Surely it would split her in two. Narcissa’s parting words came back to her. She didn’t feel anywhere close to prepared for that and longed for another glass of whiskey.

As though reading her mind, Lucius pulled away from her, and left her lying on the bed. He crossed the room, bringing the decanter back with him, and holding it to her lips. She gulped down a significant amount, barely noticing the burn this time, and lay back, the alcohol hitting her hard, and making the room spin a bit. He fumbled around in the nightstand, but Hermione couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to what he was doing as she sank deeper into the warmth of inebriation. He threw something on the bed next to her, but Hermione continued to lie there, breathing shallowly, concentrating on the blood rushing in her ears, and the rhythmic pounding that was picking up speed in her head.

The bed dipped between her legs as he rejoined her. She opened her eyes to gaze dazedly at his naked body settling between her thighs. Her eyes finally focused on the object in his hands, one of the things he had tossed beside her, and she glared at him incredulously. Lucius shrugged as he tore open the foil packet and rolled the condom over his cock. “A muggle invention, I know, but I can’t use a potion or charm on you. That would defeat the purpose.” He uncapped a bottle of lube, coating his covered length in it, and squirted some onto his fingers. She hissed at the coldness, but it warmed quickly as he worked it into her.

Lucius positioned himself at her entrance, and Hermione cried out as he surged forward, her back arching off the bed, and her mouth open in shock and pain. He gave her no time to adjust before he was slamming into her, fucking her as though she were nothing more than a toy to be used, a receptacle for his seed. She supposed that was all she was in the end, but if that were so, why was he using protection? It had sounded like Voldemort had wanted her pregnant, that it would somehow secure an ally for him. Bellatrix had blatantly said as much, not subtle in the least. What kind of deals he might be making with muggleborns, she didn’t know. As far as she knew, they were trying to eradicate them after all.

Lucius continued using her, occasionally gripping the base of his cock tightly as his hips snapped harshly against hers. As he continued, the pain lessened. She felt herself respond to him once again against her will, moving her hips to meet his, too intoxicated to fight the urge. Hermione groaned as Lucius inserted his index finger into her alongside his cock, and then added a second and a third, stretching her impossibly wide. It made her sob brokenly, and stole her breath, and she did her best to relax around him, though it was a difficult feat.

Lucius withdrew from her, and sat up on his knees between her thighs. He continued squeezing the base of his cock for several moments, his eyes closed, and his breathing measured. His cock was smeared with her blood, and Hermione whimpered, so sore she was unable to even curl in upon herself. It felt like she had been bludgeoned by a battering ram. She lay there, legs splayed where he had let them drop, eyes wide, unfocused, and tears streaming from them down her temples. “Why is he making you do this?” Hermione whispered hollowly, fighting to hold back her sniffles.

Lucius was breathing hard. “He wants to secure his alliance. Your offspring will allow him to do that.” Hermione heard the click of the tube and Lucius added more lubricant to her already sloppy, wrecked hole. “And he wants to punish me.”

“What by making you fuck a mudblood?! What could he possibly want with a half-blood anyway!?” she shouted at him, meeting his eyes with a defiant glare.

Lucius scoffed at her. “You don’t know your history, do you?” He shook his head. “You won’t be carrying a half-blood.” He pulled off the condom with a grimace and vanished it. “Magical creatures didn’t just appear in the world. They were created by wizards and witches of considerable power, power enough to maintain specific transformations. You are going to carry a new, pure bloodline, and the dark lord is going to make a gift of your progeny.” Realization suddenly began dawning on Hermione and her eyes widened in horror. “You should consider yourself fortunate that he’s given up on the centaurs.”

Lucius closed his eyes, concentrating, and Hermione heard his bones begin to shift and crack just like she remembered Lupin’s doing as he changed into the wolf. Lucius was an animagus… She hadn’t realized. There had never been any indication. His lean, panther-like form grew burly and muscular like Victor Krum’s, only more-so; all muscle and not an ounce of fat. His shoulders widened, arms thickening, and his face… Hermione screamed, fighting, tearing frantically at the ropes binding her wrists. The adrenaline coursing through her bloodstream circumvented the alcohol, sobering her completely. There wasn’t enough liquor in the world to numb her for this.

He snorted out a giant puff of air that buffeted the hair about her face. Lucius looked at her with enormous, liquid-black eyes, and then he shook his head, his shaggy, golden-white hair flying about his head and shoulders. A curved ivory horn protruded from either side of his skull. Hermione whimpered fearfully again, and continued pulling at her bonds as his nostrils flared several times. She cringed as he ducked his head near her crotch to hover over her stomach and bellowed at her.

Hermione tried to crawl away from him, backing once more toward the head of the bed. If she could just gain enough slackness in the ropes, she thought she might be able to fight back, to at least have a shot. Once more he grabbed her ankle, dragging her toward him. He moved back over her, and she tensed, catching sight of his cock. Like his body, it too had changed. It was longer, thicker, inhuman. That’s because he’s a fucking minotaur, you daft idiot! She screamed silently at herself. He pushed his snout against her neck, nosing into her hair. His breath was scalding, nose warm and wet. A hot, sandpapery tongue dragged across her nipples. Hermione couldn’t fight the cry that escaped. He repeated the action several more times. She felt as if her skin was being scraped raw.

He made a deep sound in the back of his throat she more felt than heard, and sheathed his hard length inside her. Every muscle in her body contracted at the intrusion, going taut, and she arched into him helplessly with a silent scream. Beast-Lucius gave her more time to adjust to him, but when he started fucking her, he was far rougher than human-Lucius had been. Then again, it could have just felt that way because the thing currently driving into her was thicker around than her wrist and at least as long as her wand. Her belly bulged obscenely, the head of his enormous member clearly outlined beneath her skin each time he forced it into her.

Hermione lay back and took his rough handling, grimacing with the pain of each thrust but too exhausted to keep fighting. She did her best to blank her mind and disassociate herself from the moment, but his large hands clutching vise-like at her hips, and his loud guttural groans kept pulling her back, allowing no escape from reality. When he drew her knees up, bending her nearly in half and hitting something new inside her with the change in angle, Hermione shuddered and sobbed and fought against the unexpected surge of arousal. No, this can’t be happening, she cried out mentally. She couldn’t, shouldn’t be responding to him like this. Never mind the fact that she hadn’t wanted this, right now he wasn’t even the same species! She whimpered, bucking her hips unwillingly against his with a moan because it was happening. His strange, smooth, slick member drove into her with a furiously relentless pace, stoking the fire igniting low in her belly.

She turned her head to the side, fighting to deny her impending orgasm at the hands of an inhuman creature. From across the room, her reflection stared back at her with heavy-lidded eyes from Lucius’ full-length mirror. In her earlier panic, she hadn’t paid it any mind, and now she couldn’t take her eyes off it. He towered over her, yes, but from an outsider’s perspective, he was massive. Even though he held her legs high against her stomach and sides, her breasts still bounced with every forward thrust. The muscles in his arms and back rippled as he rutted against her with wild abandon, and her reflection lay beneath him, accepting the thorough pounding. She watched as her breathing increased, a pink flush creeping as far down her chest as she could see. A deep lowing groan emanated from his chest, the vibrations resonating into her, and a string of saliva dripped onto her breast, sliding down the side and onto the sheet beneath her. He turned his head slowly to see what she was looking at, locking his gaze with hers in the mirror, and surging deeper than he had previously, the head of his cock poking uncomfortably against her cervix. The pace unbelievably increased, as Lucius, in his minotaur form, watched himself rut into her. Unable to look away, Hermione felt herself convulse around him, watching her reflection’s face contort with unsurpassed pleasure until her eyes rolled back and drifted closed as she rode out her orgasm.

He pushed her farther up the bed toward the headboard, the silken ropes going slack, and withdrew, flipping her onto her stomach. Once again, the ropes pulled taut, her arms crossed beneath her this time, and Lucius pushed her face into the mattress, pulling her knees beneath her and her hips higher at the same time. He sheathed his cock in her with a deep grunt, pulling her backwards onto his length, and she cried out at the depth of his penetration in this new position. She sobbed into the bedspread beneath her, turning her face to the side so she could breathe through her tears.

She thought he would never stop, that he would continue thrusting away at her forever, and by the time his cock spurted copious amounts of sticky fluid deep into her womb, Hermione had no energy left to even move. She knelt, bound beneath him, a rag doll held in place by the ropes and his hands, helpless to move except for how he wanted. She had hoped he would leave her alone when he was done, but rather than withdraw and leave, he continued pushing his cock into her slowly, repeatedly, milking the seed that didn’t escape to trickle down her thighs deeper into her womb. He hardened again from the stimulation and her ordeal began again until he brought his massive hand down onto her bum with a loud crack that she barely heard or felt and filled her once more.

He huffed, blowing hot air across her back, and then rolled off collapsing next to her with a grunt and heavy sigh. Hermione absently watched his features shift back to his human ones. She would have been fascinated if he hadn’t just violated her, leaving her sore and gaping with his come running in rivers down her thighs. Without his cock plugging her entrance, it gushed from her freely, soaking the sheets beneath her. He lay on his back beside her with his eyes closed for several minutes, and just when she thought he must have fallen asleep, he turned to look at her. Lucius brushed a tear off her cheek, and she flinched away from his touch, a look of disgust on her face. He scowled at her reaction, expression darkening, and said, “We’ll continue until it takes. You might as well get used to my attentions.” Then he got up, leaving her on the bed, bound in a puddle of cooling, milky come.

Two ancient-looking house-elves came to unbind her long after he had slammed the door in his wake. She thought one of them was the same house-elf from earlier, but couldn’t be sure. They assisted her as she stumbled to the adjoining bath, and cleaned her as she covered her face with her hands and sobbed, too upset to do it herself. They weren’t exactly gentle with her, but neither were they cruel as they performed their task.

Hermione found herself confined to the small set of rooms with nothing to pass the time. The large floor to ceiling window looking out over the expansive gardens didn’t open. She wasn’t sure if it was built that way or was merely magicked shut to keep her from throwing herself out of it. Either way, she had nothing to do, and begged Lucius for a book when next he came to visit her. He hadn’t acknowledged her request, only shifted form, then shoved her down onto the bed, and taken her viciously from behind. When she had next woken, a stack of books lay on her nightstand.

Lucius visited her often, sometimes twice a day. He had fucked her exclusively in his minotaur form after the first time. She knew he had only taken her as a human so as not to break her before Voldemort got what he wanted. Many days after their first encounter, after he had bred her nearly a dozen times, his girth and the depth of his penetration no longer shocked her as her body adapted to him. She didn’t know if she even remembered what a human cock felt like, and she was terrified that she would never again crave anything but the creature at her back. And, Merlin help her, she did crave it. It could have been a result of his transformation, the beast taking over, but Hermione quickly learned that Lucius preferred fucking her from behind, breeding her with rough abandon.

When he realized that she liked to watch, that it made her wet and responsive, he had begun positioning them in front of a mirror. At first, she tried valiantly to look anywhere but at their reflection, sickened by her reaction: the heat pooling low in her belly and the way her walls grasped at him inside her. Unfortunately, Lucius wasn’t all beast. There was enough humanity left in him, enough of the arrogant, pureblood, narcissistic, bastard, that he refused to allow her to shut him out. He grasped a fistful of her wild curls, forcing her head up, and her gaze forward. Hermione squeezed her eyes tightly shut, denying the image before her. His grip tightened, until she thought she would certainly lose large chunks of both hair and scalp. She managed to keep her eyes closed through the pain until he stopped moving behind her, and held himself incredibly still. He’d had her on the edge of an intense orgasm for several long minutes, and his sudden denial of that orgasm was pure torture. She mewled, wriggling futilely on his massive cock, but refused to open her eyes. Her hands clenched in the sheets. He throbbed inside her with the beat of his pulse.

At last, she could no longer bear it, snapping her eyes open. Her brown orbs met his giant, liquid, bovine ones. It almost seemed like he gave her a knowing look; as if to say that he knew she was no better than an animal, that he had always known, and her place was beneath him. She reached back, never breaking away from his gaze to twine her fingers in the silky-soft trail of golden hair on his stomach, feeling the muscles beneath his skin ripple with the effort of holding himself back. Hermione nodded, slowly, minutely, still caught in his vise-grip as if to say that she knew what he was thinking, and agreed with him. It seemed to make his thrusts that much more forceful when he began moving again, and she came on his cock, clenching so much harder than she had before, her head thrown back with a loud wail.

It was quite a shock for Hermione when she learned that Voldemort had lost. Unexpected was perhaps an understatement. Her belly was well-rounded, her womb heavy with the life growing inside her, when the Ministry’s Aurors had broken down the door to her rooms. She had been resting in bed, reading one of the many books from the manor library that Lucius had finally granted her access to. The three men had stood in the doorway, staring at her with dumbfounded looks on their faces. The lone female Auror had cursed at her colleagues beneath her breath, and approached Hermione in a comforting, yet cautious manner. The woman had helped her gingerly from the bed, and wrapped her up in her cloak before leading her from the room. Lucius was being manhandled by two more Aurors at the bottom of the stairs in the main entryway, tightly bound, wandless. He stopped struggling against his bonds when he caught sight of her descending the staircase, and they locked eyes with each other, sharing a long look before he was forcibly led away.

She found herself in St. Mungo’s infirmary hours later, thoroughly checked out. Hermione had held the healers in strictest confidence, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to hide the truth of her pregnancy from them. They, and Magical Law Enforcement, had been less than pleased, not only at her insistence that her medical records be kept confidential, but at her refusal to press charges against the Malfoy patriarch. Harry and Ron had done their level best to convince her otherwise, but she had maintained adamantly that he had acted under duress. They weren’t pleased with her either, but she couldn’t explain to her dearest friends the pull she felt towards Lucius Malfoy.

She had rented a small flat, unable to return home after obliviating her parents. All her attempts to return their memories had been unsuccessful, and she had wished fervently more than once that Severus Snape had lived. If any could return their memories, it would have been him. Crookshanks was her only real company, though her friends had stopped by to check on her. They quickly grew frustrated when she refused to ‘see reason’ as they put it. She found that she much preferred it when they didn’t stop by.

A week after she had been released from hospital, a strange, unexpected delivery arrived with the morning paper. The Daily Prophet headline had caught her eye first, despite her curiosity regarding the package. Lucius’ haughty, sneering photo graced the front page, turning his nose up at the assembled journalists. His sentence had been handed down. The remainder of his original sentence from the battle at the Department of Mysteries plus more for his role during the rest of the war, altogether totaled ten years and some odd months. It was a rather light sentence, but then there was no solid proof of the extent of his involvement with Voldemort at the end, not to mention he hadn't even been present for most of it while he had been with her, and she had told no one what he had truly done to her. No one but her and Lucius and her healers knew what she was carrying. Unfortunately, it wasn't a secret she could keep from her friends for long.

She set the paper aside with a sigh, and reached for the mysterious package, tearing open the wrapping to get at the contents inside. In the box, a letter from Lucius which she set aside for the time being, the title to a vault at Gringott’s in her name, the deed to a small country cottage, and a map of northern Italy with directions to a specified location. With the items spread out on the table before her, she picked up the letter, her hands trembling with anticipation. It seemed it offered her a choice. The vault contained a sizable amount, enough to set her up for life if she spent it wisely. It was her choice as to how to use it. Provided she hadn’t already ‘taken care of her problem’, the map contained directions to a colony of minotaurs that would welcome a new member to their family. If she had no intentions of giving away her child, the cottage offered seclusion where she could live in peace away from the prying eyes of the greater wizarding community. The decision, it seemed, was entirely hers.

Hermione put the letter down and leaned back in her chair, rubbing her growing belly absently while considering her options. She didn’t know what she was going to do, but knew that she couldn’t simply ‘rid herself of the problem’. It wasn’t in her to destroy any magical creatures, and her child would be the first minotaur born from a new bloodline in a thousand years. She couldn’t take that away from their race, but did she want to keep it? It wouldn’t hurt to check out the colony, she decided. Besides, whatever choice she made, her child would need to interact with its own kind anyway. He or she couldn’t be raised in complete isolation. Whatever her decision, she had time.

Epilogue

Hermione’s beautiful, golden child came running up to her with unrestrained excitement. She smiled, ruffling the shaggy hair atop his head affectionately as she set aside her shopping bags. She knew what he was after. He had been eagerly awaiting the mail each Friday for as long as she could remember, looking for the letter from his father. Hermione had kept in touch with Lucius during his incarceration in Azkaban. None of her friends understood why, and none of them had approved once her son had been born. Ron had never spoken to her again after he had caught a glimpse of the unruly golden hair and big, liquid eyes. She was sad to lose him, but she wouldn’t have traded her son for anything in the world.

“I’m afraid there’s no letter today, sweetheart,” she said sadly, signing for him. Her visit to the colony had been enlightening. A translator had been necessary at first, but once she had learned the sign language they used to communicate with outsiders, communication had gone so much more smoothly. It wasn’t the same colony Voldemort had tried to sway with the promise of new blood, and for that she was grateful. She didn’t know what she would have done if it had been. Once they had learned what she was carrying, she had been welcomed amongst them, and they had treated her like royalty, clearly excited at the prospect of a new herd member in the future. Once he had been old enough, they had visited often so he could play with the other children.

Really? He signed with obvious disappointment. Are you sure, mother?

“Yes, I’m sure.” Her son didn’t have human vocal chords, but that didn’t stop her from talking to him so that he would at least know the sound of her voice. “I have a surprise for you today, though.” She smiled again as he perked up, an interested expression on his surprisingly expressive face. Hermione crouched down in front of him and pulled him to her in a giant hug. He was big and strong for a ten-year-old, and she almost couldn’t wrap her arms all the way around him. She let him go so that she could look in his eyes and he could see her hands.

“You know how I told you that your father was away, and that you would see him one day?” he nodded at her. “Well there’s no letter because that day is today.” A shadow fell across them from the opened door. Hermione turned, clutching her son’s hand as he grew suddenly skittish. “It’s okay,” she calmed him. “This is the man who writes you letters. This is your father, Prospero.”

Lucius stepped into the cottage’s small kitchen, and crouched before them in a nonthreatening gesture. Hermione took a moment to study him as father and son looked at each other. There were more lines on his face than the last time she had seen him, but he remained largely unchanged. “Hello, Prospero. What a wonderful name. I’m your father, Lucius.”

Prospero tilted his head quizzically and turned to her with a confused look. Mother?

“It will take him time to learn to sign. It might be easier for now if he communicated with you in your own language.” Hermione looked at Lucius to see if he would take the hint, but he was already unbuttoning his shirt in order to remove it. She heard a sound, so familiar even though she hadn’t heard it in ten years, and watched him shift fluidly into the form she had craved all this time. Her breath caught in her throat. Hermione had slept with other minotaurs over the years, flings to satisfy her desires. She hadn’t initially planned on reaching out to Lucius, but she had remained stubbornly drawn to him despite her efforts to move on. None of the others satisfied her the way Lucius had, perhaps because he was human, and they were not. Neither did they have Lucius’ coloration. They were all ruddy reds, browns, and blacks. Lucius was silk and spun gold, and now that they were together before her, it was easier than ever to see that Prospero was the spitting image of his father.

She was glad now that she had decided to write to him. Prospero deserved to know his father, and the ten years had gone by surprisingly quickly. The two made noises back and forth at each other. Hermione was sure that Lucius was reintroducing himself, because she caught something that sounded an awful lot like his name. Before she knew it, her son had flung himself bodily into Lucius’ massive arms. Lucius closed his eyes briefly, a peaceful expression settling on his face, and then had taken their son by the hand to walk outside. He shot her a smoldering look she remembered all too well just before they rounded the door frame. It was a look that spoke of promises to come. Later. Hermione busied herself with getting dinner ready, leaving the two men in her life alone to get to know each other.

Hermione was glad that she had thought to ward her room with silencing spells. The cottage was quite small, and Prospero’s room was just down the hall. She screamed as Lucius bottomed out, pressed flush against her. It was something he had never done before, but several of her other lovers had. Then again, she had also never birthed Prospero’s giant head the last time Lucius had fucked her. It was a good thing she had. She moaned brokenly as he drove into her again. Lucius was far more brutal than she remembered, a consequence perhaps of ten years in Azkaban with nothing but his hand to keep him company. Everything about it was so familiar, she couldn’t believe it had been so long. Each savage thrust punched the air from her lungs violently, and she soon grew lightheaded with lack of oxygen. As she met his liquid eyes in the mirror, Hermione wondered if he would stay. At some point they had ceased to repulse each other as the unmistakable bond between them grew. It hadn’t been love, but Narcissa hadn’t cared for the particulars. She had left for good once she found out, making certain Draco followed after her.

Hermione shuddered beneath Lucius’ massive bulk, clenching around him violently with a sob, her cunt trying desperately to milk his orgasm from him. He came moments later with a loud bellow, flooding her insides with his scalding, sticky, release. As she rested on the bed, gasping, she noted how much less fluid was flowing freely down her thighs, a testament to her body’s changes. Hermione hoped it meant Lucius had put a baby in her womb. He didn’t have to stay with her. She would be okay if he didn’t, but her heart leaped at the thought of a little brother or sister for Prospero.

Lucius’ large hands caressed soothing circles over her lower back. Maybe he wanted another too. Well, Hermione thought to herself with a sigh, he’ll just have to keep breeding me until it takes. She didn’t mind that prospect at all.