Chapter 1: Seven
Hermione waited in the darkness, tears filling her eyes as her Hogwarts classmates were led out, one by one, onto the stage and sold into slavery to whichever Voldemort supporter could pay the highest price. Voldemort had won the war a week ago. Part of Hermione was still in denial. She, Harry, and Ron had come so close to defeating the Dark Lord - they had destroyed all of the Horcruxes except for Nagini and Voldemort himself, and if they hadn't been so stupid as to get caught watching Snape and Voldemort in the Shrieking Shack, then they might all be free right now. Voldemort and Snape had stunned them immediately, and she had woken up in a small, cramped cell with all of the other Hogwarts students except for the Slytherins and Harry. Hermione could only hope that Harry was still alive, but she had no way of knowing.
Ron stood next to her, gripping her chained hands tightly with his own. Their wands had been snapped in half shortly after their capture. "Don't cry," he breathed, and he kissed her as the student before him was led onto the stage. They were the last two to be auctioned. "We're going to find Harry," he reassured, "we're going to find a way to kill these bastards." Hermione let out a shuddering sob, and she strained to embrace him as much as their bonds would allow. She remembered how they had destroyed Hufflepuff's Cup together in the Chamber of Secrets, and their first kiss shortly after. She had known at that moment that she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him. Now she would never have the chance.
"Ron! Ron!" she cried as he was wrenched away from her and pulled out onto the stage. He turned to look back at her, his eyes glittering with tears, before the Death Eater guarding them pushed Ron's head forward into the light. Hermione stood alone, sobbing quietly, as she listened to the distant voices calling out prices. Finally, she was pushed forward onto the stage. She looked straight ahead, trying to ignore the jeers and catcalls of the boorish crowd below her, and held her head up high as she swallowed back her tears.
"For Hermione Granger, 17-year-old female Mudblood, close associate of Harry Potter, the bidding begins at 500 Galleons!" the auctioneer called. Hermione did not recognize the voice.
"500," called Fenrir Greyback in the front row. He licked his lips lasciviously at Hermione, who suppressed a shudder, recalling how Greyback had captured her and brought her to Malfoy Manor.
"1,000," Bellatrix Lestrange called shrilly. Hermione tried to slow her breathing as she remembered Bellatrix casting the Cruciatus curse over and over. Bellatrix undoubtedly wanted to torture her until she was dead.
"1,500," another Death Eater cried out.
"2,500," yelled a familiar voice. Hermione couldn't help herself. She looked down wildly and saw Draco Malfoy staring straight up at her, his hand held up high with his auction number. Surprisingly, he was not smiling; his expression was blank. She leaned forward, ready to call him a traitor for helping the Dark Lord even though she, Ron, and Harry had saved his life multiple times, but the Death Eater guard jerked her back at the slightest movement. The crowd tittered, but Malfoy did not. He merely gazed at her intently.
"2,500? Is that the highest I hear? Going once…going twice…" Hermione felt a lump lodge in her throat, trying not to think of a life of servitude with Malfoy.
"3,000," a soft, sneering voice cut in from the side of the stage. Everyone's head whipped to the left as Severus Snape stepped out of the shadows. Hermione felt her face burn with rage. She couldn't believe that she trusted Snape so much as a child, only for him to betray Dumbledore and Hogwarts and Harry. She tried to take a step forward, but the guard pushed her back again.
"H-Headmaster Snape, sir!" the auctioneer cried wildly. "It's an honor! We didn't expect to see you here!"
"Indeed," Snape sneered, approaching Hermione with quick, soft steps as his robes billowed out behind him. Her guard backed away toward the other side of the stage as he came to stand beside her, jerking her around so that she faced him directly. She glared at him, trying to convey all of her hatred and anger, and then she spat in his face. The crowd gasped.
"Traitor," Hermione hissed.
Snape did not respond. Slowly, deliberately, he wiped the spit off his face, and he turned her around to face the crowd. "You always did have a sharp tongue," he said silkily, his voice echoing loudly on the stage. He must have cast Sonorus on himself. "I do believe I can find a way to put it to…better use." He licked his lips slowly, and Hermione tensed as she realized what he meant. The crowd below her laughed as hurt and disgust flashed over her face. "3,000 Galleons," Snape repeated.
The auctioneer did not wait for a higher price. "Sold to Headmaster Severus Snape!" he cried, as the crowd applauded. With a sneer, Snape pushed Hermione toward her guard, who led her offstage and locked her into a stone cell nearby. Turning around in the enclosed space, Hermione realized with some degree of horror that the far wall acted like some sort of television screen, giving her full view and sound of the stage at different angles. If everyone had been placed in a cell like this, then they knew – Ron knew – exactly what had happened between her and Snape, exactly what Snape planned to do to her. A tear slid down her cheek as she thought of lifelong servitude to the evil professor, and sexual servitude no less.
The crowd's roaring was getting louder. Some people were stamping their feet and chanting, "Potter! Potter! Potter!" Hermione's eyes widened and she pressed her face to the screen. Something was being placed on the stage – it looked like a medieval pillory, but it was attached to a bench with two holes on the side, so that whoever was placed in it would have to kneel with their ankles restrained. Her eyes turned to the side of the stage. Someone was being dragged across the stage to the pillory. The roaring increased.
"Harry!" Hermione screamed, pounding at the screen fruitlessly as her chains clinked against the surface. Harry was heavily bound in chains. His glasses were gone, his face covered in dried blood running from his scar down to his chin. His mouth was covered by a dirty gag. Despite his condition, Hermione felt her heart swell with hope. Even from this distance, she knew that his eyes were spitting fire. They would find a way to rescue him, rescue themselves.
Hermione watched as Harry's chains disappeared and he was locked into the pillory, forced into a kneeling position. He struggled for an instant, but his head, wrists, and ankles were all immobilized by the wooden device. The Death Eater guards cut his shirt away so that his bare back and chest were exposed, and Hermione felt dread wash over her as she realized what was about to come.
Silence descended upon the scene as Voldemort strode across to the center of the stage. Stroking Harry's hair in a mockery of a caress, he smiled at Harry's flinches and muffled cries of pain. "Thank you, my loyal followers," he began, as everyone in the crowd bowed. "You may rise." Waiting until the shuffling of robes had died down, he said sibilantly, "You have waited patiently for this event today, and I will reward you shortly. This mere boy, Harry Potter," and he grabbed Harry's hair and wrenched it upward, so that Harry let out a loud cry, "thought that he could defeat me with a silly game of hide and seek."
The crowd laughed.
"Let his punishment be a warning to you all!" Voldemort continued, as his followers fell silent. "If ever you should think that you, too, may claim rights to ownership of the wizarding world, remember what happened this day, and remember it well."
Some people bowed their heads at these words, while others knelt on the ground.
"And now," Voldemort hissed with obvious pleasure, "let the public punishment of Harry Potter begin!"
The noise of the crowd lifted as Voldemort swept off the stage, and Snape entered with a whip. He spat at the ground near Harry, removed Harry's gag, and pointed his wand at his and Harry's throats. Harry's rapid breathing and Snape's voice immediately became much louder; he must have cast Sonorus again.
"Mister Potter," Snape drawled, circling around Harry with the whip. "I will give you seven lashes for the seven years of grief you have given me and my master." The crowd cheered loudly. "I expect you to count each one out loud. If you miscount, or if I cannot hear you, I will not hesitate to start over. Begin, Mister Potter." And he flicked the whip hard against Harry's back.
"One," Harry gasped loudly over the crowd's cheering. Two cuts ran across his back, bleeding profusely.
Hermione felt her eyes cloud with tears, and she tried to turn away from the screen, but she couldn't.
"Two," Harry continued, his muscles tensed. His breathing was quicker now, and he flinched violently as Snape hit the ground with the whip, barely missing Harry by a few inches. The crowd was laughing uproariously now.
"Three!" Harry cried out suddenly, his back spasming with pain.
Hermione heard the crack of the whip.
"Four!" Harry was screaming now. Sweat dripped down his back, mixing with blood.
Crack!
"Five!" Harry's breath was strained; he was trying to focus through the agony.
Crack!
"S-six!" Harry howled, sounding close to tears.
Snape put down his whip suddenly. A hush fell over the scene as he leaned over Harry's back to examine his handiwork. Harry was still tensing his muscles, but Hermione could tell that he was close to losing strength of mind and body.
"Well done, Mister Potter," said Snape. Harry relaxed slightly, and Snape grabbed the whip and hit Harry's back for the final time.
"Seven," Harry whimpered, loudly enough so that Snape could hear him. Hermione cringed, thankful that the crowd was still quiet. She didn't want Harry to go through all of that again. Harry was panting and swallowing rapidly. Hermione knew that he was holding back tears from the pain, and she shut her eyes, trying to forget the horrible scene.
The noise of the crowd forced Hermione to open her eyes again. Bellatrix Lestrange was coming toward Harry, her face twisted into a mad smile of pleasure. Harry flinched, unable to move his head, and let out a gasp of horror as she came to stand in front of him face to face. With the flick of her wand, Harry's pants were gone, and he knelt naked in front of her, his legs spread wide open. Bellatrix laughed loudly as a red blush came into his cheeks, and then she grabbed his chin and kissed him on the mouth.
Hermione felt ill. Harry was struggling against Bellatrix's mouth, but his cock was beginning to harden nevertheless. Pulling away from Harry, Bellatrix simpered and ran long nails across the cuts on his back. Harry moaned in pain; he was still under the Sonorus charm. Bellatrix pointed her own wand at her throat and taunted, "Are you enjoying my touch, widdle Potter? Widdle baby's all grown up!"
The crowd watched in silent fascination. One hand covered in Harry's blood reached under, encircling his cock, and began to move up and down around it. Harry's face was a mixture of horrified shame and disgusted pleasure. Bellatrix touched her wand to his nipples, her hand still moving up and down rhythmically, and he groaned, from pleasure or pain or both, bucking his hips as she teased his nipples with one hand and pumped his cock with the other. Soon his groans got louder and more frequent, as did her mad laughs, and finally, he let out a howl as ejaculate sprayed all over Bellatrix's clean robes. With a sick, triumphant smile, she wiped off her robes with her hands, and then rubbed the cum all over Harry's face, forcing him to lick it off her fingers. Harry coughed and spluttered, tears running down his face in humiliating agony.
Hermione turned away from the screen and was violently sick in the corner of her small cell.
Voldemort was back onstage now. "Did you enjoy that, Harry?" he hissed, stroking Harry's hair with a smile. The crowd laughed.
"Get away from me, Tom," Harry snarled.
Voldemort merely shook his head with a tutting noise. "I thought that after bringing you such pleasure, you would be grateful, Harry," he said with a laugh.
Harry's mouth snapped shut, his face reddening in shame.
"No answer, hmm?" Voldemort said lightly, running his long fingers down Harry's bloody back as Harry winced and tried to jerk away. "No matter. You have one last punishment for the day, and that shall be performed by Lord Voldemort himself."
Harry tensed as Voldemort began to circle around him slowly, his head tilted like a curious child as he caressed his wand.
"I will not kill you, Harry," Voldemort said softly, sibilantly, as Harry's eyes flickered with confusion and fear. "No, Harry, I will give you something much, much worse than death." He placed his wand directly in front of Harry's heart. "Morsmordre necto!" A brilliant green burst of light shot from Voldemort's wand to Harry's chest. Harry screamed and flailed against the restraint of the pillory, staining the wood red with blood as the spell continued. After it had finished, Harry lay limply, unconscious, as Voldemort stood back, giving everyone a full view of Harry's chest. A large, collective gasp arose from the audience.
Voldemort had imprinted the Dark Mark onto Harry Potter's heart.
Cameras clicked and whirred, taking photos of the naked, dirty, broken Harry Potter for the corrupted Daily Prophet, emitting flashes of light and smoke that quickly surrounded the stage. Hermione turned away from the screen, curled into the corner farthest away from her vomit, and cried herself to sleep.
She must not have slept for more than ten minutes, but it felt like an hour had passed when someone slammed open the door to her cell abruptly. Blinking at the light, Hermione pulled herself up unsteadily and felt the person grab her arm.
"Stand still, Granger, I won't have sick all over my carpet," Snape sneered into her ear as he Vanished her chains.
Hermione tried to break free of his grip so she could kick him, hit him, do anything to hurt him and prevent him from taking her as a slave, but he simply pointed his wand at her and said, "Petrificus totalus," and her limbs locked together tightly as he held her in a standing position. Hermione felt the whirl and darkness of Side-Along Apparation, and soon they were standing outside of a dilapidated house on a dirty, abandoned street. Broken glass littered the pavement, and the smell of polluted water permeated the air. Snape waved his wand, muttering something under his breath, and the door of the house opened. Undoing the body-bind curse, he pushed Hermione inside, locked the door with his wand, and drew the curtains. They were in a small, dark sitting room with a sofa, an armchair, and a rickety table. Hermione took the chance to try to attack him from behind, but her feet remained rooted to the ground despite the freedom of her limbs.
"Do not try to attack me, Granger," Snape said in a menacing tone, coming up behind her and breathing into her ear. "This is my home, and I cannot be harmed within its walls." He walked around slowly to stand in front of her. "Look at me, Granger."
Proudly, unwillingly, she raised her head and met his obsidian gaze.
"Listen to me carefully," he said harshly. "You are my slave now. I command you. You are to follow every order I give you. Is that understood?'
Hermione nodded, looking down at the dark padded floor, feeling her heart sink down to her toes. Her hands clenched as she fisted a handful of her ragged robes.
"Look at me when you answer me, Granger. I do not appreciate sullenness of any form, especially not from my slave," Snape sneered.
Hermione's head whipped up. "Yes, master," she hissed, her eyes shooting daggers at his big greasy nose.
Snape looked taken aback for a moment, but he quickly covered it with a sneer. "You may address me as 'professor' in private," he said, his voice becoming gentler. "I intend for you to be my assistant in the laboratory and in my research. I will provide you with your own room, toilet, and clothing. And despite what I said at that abominable auction, I will not ask you to perform any sexual acts. That was not my reason for purchasing you."
Hermione gaped. "W-why?" she asked, dazed.
"You have a very bright mind, Miss Granger," Snape said quietly. Hermione noted the use of a title with surprise. "It has saved you many times, and I do not intend to let it go to waste under endless rounds of Cruciatus, as you would have undoubtedly suffered at other people's hands. Now," he snapped, his voice changing suddenly, "get upstairs at once and wash yourself." He pointed his wand at the wall of books behind her, revealing a narrow, winding staircase. "Your room will be directly at the top of the stairs, while the toilet will be beside it. I will have your clothes laid out for you on the bed. Go. Now."
Hermione found that she could suddenly move her feet. She scampered up the stairs, and the wall closed itself in behind her. Trying not to give into claustrophobia, she quickly ran until she had reached the landing, coughing at the dust in the passageway, and went into the bathroom. A few dusty green towels lay on the counter next to an old, slightly bathtub. Hermione shook the dust out of the towels, coughing and wishing she had her wand to perform a Cleaning Charm, and turned on the tap, watching as disgusting grey sludge poured out of it. Making a face, Hermione waited until the water had become clear, then stripped quickly and gingerly stepped in. The water was surprisingly warm and soothing, and despite her initial misgivings on its cleanliness, Hermione soon found herself sinking down into the bathtub, reveling in the smell of lilies and melons thanks to an old but clean bottle of soap at the side of the bathtub. She carefully cleaned the numerous injuries she'd obtained over the course of the past year, then rinsed her hair with the soap, sighing as she freed it of dirt and blood.
"Miss Granger," Snape called outside of the door. Hermione squeaked and got out of the tub, grabbing one of the towels and wrapping it around herself. "Miss Granger, if you have quite finished squandering the water, come downstairs immediately and make a Pepper-up Potion. The laboratory will be inside the door on your left at the bottom of the staircase. I expect you there in five minutes or less. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, Professor," she called, quickly drying herself off and entering the adjacent bedroom. A small, dusty twin-sized bed lay in the corner, on top of which lay a set of plain black robes, jeans, a t-shirt, a bra that didn't quite fit, and some knickers that did. A pair of socks and a worn pair of trainers sat at the foot of the bed. Hermione put them on, feeling strange and wondering whose clothes these were. Pulling her bushy hair back with a hair elastic she found on the bed table, she rushed downstairs through the door to Snape's laboratory. Snape was standing over a simmering cauldron, muttering to himself and occasionally tapping his wand. He did not look up when Hermione entered, only saying, "Your cauldron is at the back corner. Bring it here next to my bench and begin immediately. I have already begun my own batch."
Hermione dragged the cauldron across the floor next to Snape and began working, shelling snails, skinning shrivelfigs, and de-barbing nettles methodically. Snape said nothing to her, and Hermione found she rather enjoyed the silence.
"Miss Granger," Snape said suddenly. Hermione jumped, almost dropping her ginger root into the cauldron, which would have created an unfortunate explosion.
"Yes, Professor?" she asked hesitantly.
"Ronald Weasley has been bought by Draco Malfoy," he answered.
Hermione's heart pounded, and she almost dropped the ginger root again. Ron would hate being a slave to Malfoy! She could already see the tips of his ears turning red as Malfoy gave him his first order. Hermione's eyes welled up with sudden tears, and she turned away so as not to ruin the potion.
"Do not cry, Miss Granger," Snape said flatly, plucking the ginger root out of her hand and slicing it up on the table. "Narcissa and Draco treat their slaves well, no matter how much enmity existed between them previously."
Hermione nodded and blinked back tears, dropping a few slices of ginger root into the cauldron. The potion hissed, and steam began rising out of the cauldron. Next to her, Snape did the same. After a short pause, Hermione began, "Professor – if I may ask – that is –"
"Speak plainly, Granger, I have very little time," Snape said shortly, deftly skinning some shrivelfigs.
"Professor, you mentioned Narcissa and Draco. Whatever happened to Lucius Malfoy?"
Snape was silent for a moment. Hermione bit her lip, wondering if she had crossed the line. Finally, he replied, "I believe the Dark Lord has had him imprisoned for the time being."
Hermione was on the verge of asking why, but a sharp glance from Snape stopped her instantly. Her thoughts turned back to Ron. Snape had mentioned that the Malfoys had slaves, so Ron wasn't alone. Who else was with him? Neville? Ginny? Were they even alive? Was that why Malfoy had wanted to buy her, so she could keep Ron company? Could Malfoy be that kind?
"Do not get distracted, Miss Granger," Snape warned. "Skin the shrivelfigs and put them in. Your potion is almost complete."
Hermione nodded, quickly skinning the remaining shrivelfigs and dropping them into her cauldron. They were used to bring the body back to normal temperature in case it was overheated by the ginger root and other ingredients. With a sigh of relief, Hermione stirred her potion gently with a pewter rod, wishing that she had her wand again. Snape opened a cabinet at the side of the room and took out a long rack of glass vials with stoppers on the end.
"Distribute the potion into these vials," he ordered. "You should have made enough for one row."
Hermione obeyed. Soon there were twenty vials of cloudy Pepper-up Potion sitting neatly in the rack. She didn't bother asking who or what they were for; the new Hogwarts probably wanted to keep a stock in supply, and who better to brew it than the headmaster himself? Hermione's heart clenched as she thought of Dumbledore's Hogwarts, but she quickly cast the thoughts aside.
"Dinner time, I think," Snape said, placing the rack on a bench at the back of the room. "Do you know how to cook, Miss Granger?"
"A little," she answered, quickly adding, "Professor."
"Then you shall cook tomorrow," he said, leading her to the kitchen, which was on the other side of the staircase. After they had both washed their hands, Hermione sat down at the small, square kitchen table, watching Snape as he pulled out a loaf of bread, a lump of cheese, and some ham, as well as a pitcher of pumpkin juice. Hermione's stomach growled. She hadn't had much to eat when she was being kept prisoner or during their search for the Horcruxes, and now, after throwing up during the auction, she was ravenous.
Snape cut her a few slices of bread and some cheese and ham, pouring her a glass of pumpkin juice. "Eat," he ordered. Without much hesitation, she began to do so, savoring the fresh taste of the ham. Snape sat across from her, sipping his pumpkin juice and eating much more slowly. As soon as both of their plates were empty, Snape took the plates to the sink. Water turned on with the flick of his wand. Hermione stood, hovering uncertainly.
"Go to bed, then, Miss Granger," Snape said without turning from the sink. Hermione quickly complied, running up the dark stairs into the bedroom she had been provided. There were no pajamas she could wear, so she took off her robe, shoes, and socks and placed them onto the chair on the far wall closest to the bathroom. Climbing into the bed, she fell into a restless sleep, worrying over the fate of her similarly enslaved friends.
And so it went. Each day, Hermione would wake up and help Snape brew potions of his choosing. They rarely spoke to each other, and when they did, it was never in the same candid manner as the first day. Snape simply ordered her to do something, and she would do it, responding obediently, "Yes, Professor," and sometimes, when he asked her a question she couldn't answer, "No, Professor." Hermione did not know what was happening beyond the walls of the house. Snape did not receive the Daily Prophet, and on the rare occasion that he received mail, he never allowed her to see it.
Hermione supposed that it could be worse. She lived a dull life now, but not a difficult one, and although she hadn't been outside in several days, at least the house had windows that let in a little bit of sunlight. The house was her prison, but it was a decent one. Snape treated her with cold respect, and she was never restrained in chains, only forbidden to enter his bedroom across the hall from hers. She was allowed to read whichever books in the sitting room that she wished, though she hadn't had a chance since she was brewing potions all of the time. She could choose how much she wanted to eat and drink, and Snape never forced her to be intimate with him as he had threatened at the auction.
Still, at night, while she lay in bed alone, she thought about her parents in Australia who no longer knew they had a daughter, and Ron in Malfoy Manor, and Harry, who she could only hope was still alive. She dreamed of sunlit fields and freshly cut grass, of red hair and freckles and a boy she had only been able to kiss once, of green eyes full of determination and the bravest person she'd ever known. Her heart ached when she woke, but secretly she was thankful to still feel anything at all.
On the seventh day of her enslavement, they had guests.
"Put this on," Snape said to her that morning, holding out a thin, white lacy nightgown over the breakfast table. Hermione's eyes widened, and she looked up at him, horrified. Hadn't he said that he wouldn't make her do anything sexual?
"They expect me to use you in that way," he explained, shaking the nightgown at her. "Now put it on and come back to the kitchen immediately afterward."
Trembling, Hermione snatched the nightgown from his hands, ran upstairs to the bathroom, and changed. The lace was old, itchy, and very transparent. She could definitely see her bra and knickers, thankful that she at least had those. The nightgown dipped into a V, so that when she leaned forward, a large portion of her breasts could be seen. Hermione felt her cheeks heat up in embarrassment, and she walked back to the kitchen slowly, trying to delay the inevitable.
Snape's eyes swept up and down her body critically as she stood before him, feeling very exposed. "Take the bra off," he said coldly. Hermione gaped at him. "Now."
Her legs shaking, Hermione turned her back to Snape, lifted the nightgown up above her head, and unclasped the bra with fumbling fingers, trying to cover her breasts with one arm. She quickly put the nightgown back on and turned around to face Snape, hating him for making her do this.
"Better," he commented impassively. "Hold out your hands." Hermione complied. Snape pointed his wand, and silver chains wrapped themselves around her wrists. "You will serve our guests tea," Snape said, as he bound her ankles in a similar fashion. "The chains allow you to move well enough to do that. After you have served the tea, you will kneel at my feet next to the armchair. You will keep your eyes downcast at all times. They will be discussing things that you will certainly not agree with," he warned. "Do you trust yourself to hold your tongue?"
Hermione bit her lip. The guests were almost certainly Death Eaters who would be discussing her sexual aptitude. She answered honestly. "No, Professor."
"I will cast a Silencing Charm on you shortly before they arrive," Snape said. "They are due at eleven o'clock. You have three hours to practice walking around in your bonds."
Ever the student, Hermione did practice. By the time eleven o'clock had rolled around, she had become good enough to pick up a tray and serve tea without knocking anything over. When the knock on the door sounded, Hermione swallowed nervously and listened from the kitchen as Snape greeted the guests. When he knocked on the wall three times, she picked up a tray of tea from the kitchen and entered the sitting room. A quick glance told her that there were two Death Eaters seated on the old sofa. Setting the tray down with slightly shaky fingers, she leaned forward in front of them, keeping her eyes downcast and trying to ignore their ogling stares. She poured out tea into three cups, setting them in front of each guest and Snape, and then went to kneel down next to Snape by the armchair, as he had ordered. In the back of her mind, she wished she had been clever enough to poison the tea when she had the chance.
"Have you fucked her yet, Severus?" one of the Death Eaters asked. His deep voice sounded familiar, but she resisted the urge to look up and see who it was. "Such a young, fresh body should not go to waste."
"Not yet, Macnair," Snape replied smoothly, taking a sip of his tea. "I simply haven't found the time this week."
Macnair grunted. "But you have tamed her," he remarked. "See how she quakes in fear, even at your feet." He leered down at Hermione, who was shaking with suppressed rage and feeling extremely humiliated. "How long did it take you to break her?"
"Only a day," Snape answered coolly, then he turned to the other Death Eater before Macnair could continue his questioning. "Tell me, Nott, how is your son enjoying the Weasley girl?"
Hermione bit her lip to suppress a gasp. Ginny had been sold to the Notts?
There was a hint of smirk in Nott's voice. "She is quite beautiful – a fitting consort for my son, though a bit too fiery at times. Perhaps, Severus," he said, setting his tea cup down, "you could teach Theodore some methods of taming the girl. After all, you were his Head of House. He admires you greatly."
Snape inclined his head. "Certainly," he answered.
"Perhaps a demonstration of your methods is in order?" Macnair suggested, still looking at Hermione intently as if she were a particularly tasty piece of meat.
"I think not, Macnair," Snape said sharply, and then he sneered, "I will tell you that my methods involve the development of potions. She acted as my…taste-tester in the first few days of her stay."
Nott and Macnair both expressed their approval. Everyone knew of the pain and danger of drinking a potion that had not been made properly, especially one whose properties had not been fully recognized.
"Initially, of course, she fought me," Snape continued, "but after a few doses of my new experiments, she quickly submitted to my will. I promised her far worse should she ever attempt to rebel again."
"Always with your potions, Severus," Nott replied with a small, cold laugh. "But – they have always been your forte, have they not?"
"Indeed," Snape responded smoothly. "And Macnair, how goes your work at the Ministry? I understand the Dark Lord has charged you with reorganizing the Magical Creatures Department?"
"You are correct, Severus," Macnair responded, taking a sip of tea. "There are no longer any so-called 'support services' for werewolves, and no relocation serves for house-elves. Why treat the scum as if they are equal to humans? The need for house-elves is diminishing as we continue to capture Mudblood slaves, and so many are loyal to blood traitor families. When we find those, we execute them. As for the werewolves…when they are captured, I give them to Greyback for training."
"And the goblins?" inquired Nott.
Macnair waved a dismissive hand. "The goblins we left in charge of Gringotts, as usual. They were especially willing to help us after we executed the traitor Griphook, who admitted to helping Potter and his friends break into the bank." He shot a glance at Hermione, who kept her eyes on the floor. "The goblins were not pleased. They want Potter's head even more than the Dark Lord does, I think, but of course, they understand and accept their place in the new order. As long as we let them have Gringotts, we shall have no problem. Bellatrix checks in on them from time to time."
Hermione stared at the dirty carpet, heat rising in her at the injustice of Macnair's actions. Her fists clenched at the thought of the poor house-elves who were killed for no reason, and the good werewolves like Lupin who were turned into beasts under the new reign. And Griphook! Griphook had betrayed her, Ron, and Harry, but at the same time he'd helped them get Hufflepuff's Cup…she hadn't felt much sympathy toward him, but she hadn't wanted him dead, either.
"I must attend to my potions," Snape said, standing and ushering his associates to the door. Hermione, uncertain about what to do, remained kneeling on the ground, her eyes following three booted feet and the hem of the Death Eaters' robes.
"Till tomorrow, then," said Nott, not even sparing a glance at Hermione. Macnair leered at her before exiting the house with Nott by his side. Snape locked the door, looked out the window briefly, and turned to Hermione.
"Stand up," he ordered, and she did, grabbing the armchair to help her balance. "Take the tea to the sink." He tapped his wand on the bookshelf to reveal the staircase and kitchen and laboratory doors. Hermione collected the tea tray and walked past him into the kitchen, her chains dragging on the floor. She put the tray in the sink and jumped as he came to stand behind her, her chains disappearing with a tap of his wand.
"Go upstairs and change," he said against her ear. "We will be brewing a Strengthening Solution. Do you remember that from your O.W.L. class?"
"Yes, Professor," she answered, her heart pounding furiously as she wondered why he hadn't moved away from her yet. She felt a hand stroke her cheek and she whipped around, but Snape was already gone. Frowning in puzzlement, she made her way up the stairs, changed out of the horrible nightgown as quickly as she could, and went to the potions laboratory to begin on her work, her mind lingering on the phantom touch of Snape's hand.
A/N: Please review! This is one of the darkest fics I've written.
Since people are always interested, the ships for the story will include R/Hr (definitely), SS/HG (possibly)...and that's about it for now. The story will not focus primarily on romance or on smut, but on the fate of the trio, particularly Hermione, and whether or not Voldemort can be defeated.
Thanks for reading!