He shook her jaw, jarring her back to him. "You won't embarrass me, will you Mudblood?"

She startled at the word on his tongue. It had been years.

His eyes were like ice as his fingers dug into her jaw. "You know how to behave, don't you?"

She let the tension melt from her muscles and sagged against his grip. Like a ragdoll.

"Yes." Her voice cracked, and she felt the word float between the two of them.

"Yes, what?"

Pull forward only your chosen memory. Let the rest drift back.

Indentations on her jaw as his fingers curled. She let all memories of his warm eyes drift back.

"Yes, Master."

A flicker in his grey eyes. A curl of his lips that felt familiar and cruel. He moved to the drawing room.

She dragged her feet through the entryway and felt the Dark Lord before she saw him.

The darkness hung off of him like a cloak, dripping onto the floors and sinking into the stones. He stood in the center of the room, fingers trailing over the back of an antique armchair, turning to bare his teeth to her in a grin.

"Mudblood Granger. Thank you for entertaining."

Lucius stood with him, holding a glass. He spared her one glance before swirling his wine and taking a deep swig.

A hand between her shoulders – just like earlier – shoved her sharply until she fell to her knees. Draco's shoes in her eye line.

Hadn't taken his shoes off. Wasn't that a phrase? She tried to remember.

"How are you enjoying your accommodations?" Voldemort's voice slid over her skin, his meaning not lost on her. "Everything you'd hoped it would be and more?"

He cackled. She kept her eyes cast down. The slip hung forward off her body. Her chest still sticky.

She re-lived the entire experience from moments ago. She pulled the shelf towards her, letting those images flutter in front of her mind. Her cream-colored walls. The sound of his grunting.

"Let's have her out and about more, Draco. It would be good for morale to see her like this, maybe teach a few others about their place." The words bubbled beneath her skin. She blinked, drawing a shallow breath. Think of a lake with still waters.

"I assume you've broken her in?"

"She's a work in progress, my Lord. But I am enjoying the challenge."

The voice echoed, slipping into her mind.

"So you've finally taken her?" came Voldemort's low timbre.

"Yes, my Lord. Several times now." A low chuckle. "In fact, I must apologize for our tardiness."

She felt her body being lifted, like a hook in her back, pulling her up to face Voldemort.

A lake that stretches into the sunset. Waters still. Depths below them.

She breathed deep into her tight chest, but it was like a shark fin cutting through the waters—

Voldemort was in her mind again.

The cream walls in her bedroom.

Her gasp of pain.

"Take my cock so good, don't you."