He'd been feeding her, keeping her clean and sanitary, and bringing her 'gifts' like flowers and chocolate. But she'd been bound to the spot. He hadn't let her get up for anything in three days. The television was on all day and off all night. And she'd had to sit and listen to him talking about his escape from Azkaban, getting all the details as if it was the world's greatest triumph.
A part of her was feeling sorry for him. He was delusional. But she played along with his game, showing her aptitude for acting by blushing and batting her eyelashes. She even started to return his good night kisses, hoping that he might slip up, might give her a chance to escape, or that he might let her go. Though, every time he was careful, every time her hopes were dashed, she grew a bit more hopeless.
Tonight was different, though. She only took tiny sips of wine, wanting to keep her wits sharp. And then he removed her bonds. She knew if she struggled, he'd overpower her, so she went along with it. When it got to the actual rape, she didn't have much choice. She didn't struggle. She laid limp, and cried while he did what he so desperately wanted to do. When it was over, though, she didn't have time to waste. There was a large ceramic pot next to where they'd been laying on a conjured mattress on the floor. She scrambled to it, lifted it with all of her remaining strength, and brought it down over his head.
Then she turned and scrambled for his wand so she could apparate home.