T R A I N E D T O S I N | dramione

Twenty five

No one came for Hermione the next day. She waited. Hardly slept with anticipation, the knowing that if Draco couldn't be persuasive enough, Voldemort could have her moved to some place a lot less generous than Malfoy Manor. She would be owned by someone else. Someone who would have complete control over her. Make her do whatever they pleased.

She tried not to think so much on the possibility, but no matter how hard she tried, her mind always wandered back to the stale thought.

Topsy had come and gone, they hardly spoke. Hermione didn't eat, though. There was no way she could when her stomach knotted with dread and anxiety. It was becoming more common that she didn't eat, so whenever she did, it was more a shock than if she didn't.

Whenever a new bruise would appear on Topsy's ivory skin, Hermione would at least pick up the sandwich and try to swallow the dry bread. On days when she could hardly even look at the meal, she would send Topsy to fetch her something, and hurry to the bathroom to flush the torn pieces of her lunch down the toilet.

Topsy never knew different. She would leave with the clean plate, limbs less stiff than the times she left with a full one. Hermione wondered if soon, Topsy would begin to suspect her antics. Would she be forced to tell Draco? Or whoever her 'master' was?

Hermione wasn't sure if Draco had even planned to come today. To tell her if he managed to weave his calculated words far enough into Voldemort's head that she would be allowed to stay. Now that the option was being torn away from her, she wanted nothing more than to remain at Malfoy Manor. Where the doors were now left unlocked and warm meals were provided, not to mention that Draco wouldn't give her instructions unless absolutely necessary, and mostly for her own good.

Assuming Draco would wait until training to give her the news, Hermione undressed, leaving her clothes scattered across the floor, and stepped into the shower.

She wasn't sure what time it was. Dinner had come and gone, barely touched, and the moon was luminous in the sky, bright enough to cast light through her window and render the dim lamp pretty much useless.

Hermione planned on getting lost in herself under the warm and friendly caress of the water. And that's exactly what she did. It was like a hug; cosy and familiar and she tilted her head back, running a light hand through her hair.

The glass fogged quickly, steam thick enough that you felt it in your lungs with an inhale rose from the base of the shower, misting her vision and coating her skin in a thick, soft layer.

Hermione sighed, a soft, feminine sound, and brought the bottom of her hair over one shoulder. She reached down towards the bottles lined in a row.

Raspberry.

She reached for the bottle, dislodging it from its tidy slot in the low shelf and filling her hand with a generous amount of its pearlescent contents.

Slowly, Hermione brought her hand through the air, trapping her fingers in the strange and running the shampoo through it. It's scent was strong but pleasant. Not overwhelming. It smelled like the one she had used at Hogwarts. The one she had brought from her own home.

When her hair was fluffy and saturated, she dipped it back again, tilting her neck so the water began to tap against the crown of her head. The bubbles tickled as they ran down her back, some getting trapped in the small and others continuing down the path of her legs.