Shaken and Stirred

I make no profits from the writing of this story, and no characters belong to me. Thank you to Lady Lynn for being an awesome beta!!

Upon exiting the decrepit building, Hermione quickly felt his callused hand wrap around her wrist, and without warning she felt the pressures of Apparition. Before the girl could get her bearings she was being dragged through a falling down courtyard and into an aging house. The word "house" didn’t quite fit the decayed monstrosity, and as they walked through the wide double doors and she looked around at the moth-eaten furniture, she started wondering where she was and how anyone would ever find her.

“Little Wren, I present to you the great Lestrange Manor. No one will come looking here, we are as far from the war as I could safely get you, without my master becoming too suspicious of our whereabouts.” The hand still at her wrist burned unpleasantly, and she felt her stomach clenching at the realization that all of this was real. She was trapped in the home of a Death Eater. The home of several Death Eaters.

“My brother and... Bella do not come here often, if ever. They dislike seeing our home so far from its former glory.” Hermione noticed the hesitation before his sister-in-law’s name, but thought nothing of it.

“Why did you bring me here? If you let me go now, I won't tell anyone, I promise. Just let me go.” She knew it wouldn’t work, and she was prepared for a great many reactions. Torture, perhaps being stunned unconscious again... she was not ready for his laughter. It was rusty, but seemed to fill the large parlor. Continuing to drag her, he kept laughing. It seemed that he could not stop, having started. Hermione started to wonder if she had driven him further into madness. “You’re crazier than I thought. Wonderful.” Muttering to herself, she tried to keep up with his long strides. She lost count of the doors they passed along the narrow corridor, and it seemed an eternity of being dragged along before they came to a stop in front of an unassuming green door. He opened it and pushed her in.

“I will make sure you are fed, and if you keep your mouth shut you might just live through this. Know that I will not allow you to malign my brother, Bella, or the Dark Lord in my home. I will not be around much, but when I am you will obey me, little wren. Do try to keep those Gryffindor qualities in check. I would hate to have to hurt you...” Releasing her wrist, he flexed the palm of the hand he had been dragging her along with, the mocking smile that seemed to always be stamped on his face slipping.

For the first time since the forest, Hermione started to really wonder what would happen to her. He’d yet to curse her, and had not been physically violent, but who knew when he would snap. He turned to her suddenly, a strange light in his eyes. Making the distance between them uncomfortable, he looked down at the top of her head. “Make no mistake, I will not hesitate in punishing you should you try to run. Do not, however, worry for your virtue. I would much rather the company of my hand to tainting myself with you, Mudblood.” She did not miss the venom in his voice and being the brightest witch of her age, bit her tongue on the sharp retort.

She kept her head down, though she felt as if the words were rising from her throat like bile. She pulled away and walked to the small bed in the center of the room. Rabastan was left standing before the door, eyebrows pulled down and an unreadable look stamped across his harsh features.

“While not often, others do come. I do not think they would be as understanding as I have shown myself to be, little wren. Stay in this room.” As soon as he had swept out of the small alcove, Hermione started thinking of ways to make good her escape. The room had no windows, and she had no idea where the Lestrange home was, but there was no way to stay here. Eventually Rabastan would drag her to Voldemort, and she would be tortured and killed.

Sitting in his father’s study, a place his eldest brother should be master of, Rabastan closed his eyes and tried to imagine living in a world that was different. A world in which there was no Dark Lord, no Harry Potter, and no Azkaban. The dementors still haunted his nightmares, and though pretending madness had its advantages in his Master’s service, he knew he was not insane. Not in the way Bella was insane. Beautiful Bella, who he remembered as a vibrant girl full of mischievous laughter and who had given him his first kiss.

He felt himself harden at the memories of the heated kisses he’d shared before the night she had been given to his brother. He had not known, not suspected, that a marriage contract was being negotiated as he kissed the girl feverishly in Hogwarts' darkened hallways. Not allowing himself even the thought of release, he got up from the ancient chair and walked to the fireplace. Time to return to the Dark Lord’s lair. As it was, he had been away too long, and could not afford suspicion. He would be punished for not coming up with the girl, but many of the best trackers had been sent. The blame would not rest solely on him.

Walking to the fireplace he allowed himself a smile; things were about to get interesting.