Disclaimer: This world belongs to the fantastic JK Rowling. I hope she'll forgive me for putting her characters in such terrible situations!

College is really hard! I'm sorry I took so long to update. I hope I can be more regular now that I've gotten used to things.

Also, there is some pretty disturbing stuff in this chapter :( So be warned.

But still, enjoy!


Chapter 4

Hermione spent most of her time fearfully wondering if it was the next day yet.

Malfoy had said it would be a bad day for her; Dolohov would be coming to see her by himself – something she knew was a very clear threat of rape, or at least some more-degrading-than-usual torture.

What could she tell them?

Snape had assured her that it didn't matter that she'd revealed that Harry lived in Surrey…Damn it, why couldn't he have told her more? Why couldn't he have given her a list of facts that were safe to relay, instead of just generally telling her to "cooperate" and avoid torture? Did he really think she'd just give them all her information without knowing exactly what was sensitive and what wasn't?

And there was something else, too – why had he said Harry didn't know she was missing? Apparently Ron was still in the hospital wing, but if Harry were too then he would've said it. But he had said that the Order would do everything to free her…were they really, if her best friends hadn't even been informed? Had they told her parents that their only child was being held hostage by a group of bloodthirsty wizard rapists?

She couldn't decide what would be worse for them. To be aware that she was gone, being tortured constantly abused, and that there was nothing they could do? Or to find out that they hadn't been told, either from herself – safe and sound back home – or from Professor Dumbledore, after the discovery of her body.

Hermione shook herself from thoughts of her parents, knowing it would only make her more miserable. Instead, she turned her musings towards Professor Snape, and what the heck he'd meant by saying Harry was unaware.

Not for the first time, she bristled at the alarming possibility that Snape hadn't told anyone from the Order that she was gone. That everything he'd said was a lie, that he was just trying to get closer to her and find information on Harry.

But he'd seen all her memories…And she was still alive. Which could mean that he hadn't told anyone, and that they still thought she had more information to share…Or it could mean he'd told them, but they'd decided to keep her alive anyway as some kind of Death Eater sex toy.

Oh joy.

Hermione was startled to hear a short little laugh leave her lips.

Crap, was she going mad, so soon? She had to be insane, to be laughing at the thought of herself as Voldemort's erotic plaything.

It just seemed so unlikely. Of all the girls these men could kidnap at keep for their pleasure, they'd chosen Hermione Granger? Frumpy, annoying straight-E student, elf rights activist, lacking in any kind of sexual experience…Really, it was a bit funny. Those silly Death Eaters.

The amusement was gone as quickly as it had come, and Hermione forced herself to stick to Professor Snape. She'd been having trouble focusing her thoughts…probably from the stress and fear and lack of food. God, she couldn't wait to get back home to her mum's cooking.

But no. Severus Snape.

He'd brought her chocolate. He'd given her the washcloth when she'd asked, and compared to his Potions classes, he'd been downright pleasant.

Which could be both suspicious and reassuring.

Bugger. She'd never get anywhere with this. Every time Snape walked in, Hermione couldn't help but feel a rush of relief at seeing his familiar face. She never stood up to him, never questioned anything he told her…

Okay, so he was her teacher, and if anyone had a problem with disrespecting teachers it was Hermione Granger.

But honestly, she was locked in a torture chamber, waiting to die at any second. Next time that secretive, unhelpful git came to visit her, she'd have some things to say to him.


Severus left the headmaster's office quickly after Potter had started sniveling. He had nothing pressing to relay to the headmaster anyway, and preferred to spend any free time thinking about ways to safely retrieve Granger.

Why couldn't it have been Weasley that had been taken?

He would've tried to help rescue the boy, certainly, but he doubted it would be anything like the crushing guilt he felt now, thinking about Hermione Granger trapped in that cold dungeon, waiting for rape then death.

None of the Death Eaters were into sodomy. Weasley would have suffered, but not in the humiliating, horrific manner that Granger was.

Snape didn't dare wish it were Potter, of course. He knew without a doubt that despite his personal dislike for the arrogant dunderhead, he would never live with the guilt of letting Lily's son die.

But Weasley would've been an appropriate substitute. One he could live with, maybe.

Next time he had the chance to visit Granger, he'd take the risk and go with a tracked item in his pocket. A tracking spell on his person would be too hard to explain if Lucius had wards to alert him of such spells – though he hadn't detected any in the times he'd been there – but he might be able to feign ignorance of a spelled object.

Yes, that was the next logical step. They had to find out where Granger was located – but it would be signing his death warrant if Granger escaped by Portkey or apparition. He'd be the only suspect. As much as the girl's death would weigh on him, Severus couldn't afford to die at this point in the war. The Order was nowhere near winning yet.

He almost sighed at the thought of the miserable girl he'd seen in that dungeon. Granger had always been so annoyingly lively and talkative.

Maybe he'd try to bring her some good news as well.

But what could he tell her?

He suspected the insane way in which Weasley had been babbling whenever he woke from his brain injuries were amusing only to him…

Ditto with Potter's snot and tears in the Headmaster's office.

Perhaps something not relating to her friends? Something from the Daily Prophet. He doubted she had access to it, and Granger would be the kind of person who kept up to date on the news.

Though things hadn't been looking so good for the rest of the wizarding world either, now that everyone knew the Dark Lord was really back.

Snape didn't keep up with events in the Muggle world, so he couldn't contribute there…

On that thought, had anyone even thought to inform the girl's parents?

He stopped in his tracks, halfway to his private chambers.

Granger was set to go home in two days along with all the other Hogwarts students. Even if they wanted to keep her parents from knowing the truth, they'd notice if their daughter didn't come home for the summer. They might call the Muggle police, not knowing what else to do.

He strode back to the Headmaster's office, hoping for once that the old man had already come up with one of his schemes to deal with the girl's relatives.

Potter was still there. Sitting at the chair, drinking tea, his face red and splotchy and even more unattractive than usual. Wonderful.

"It has occurred to me that Granger's parents may notice something amiss if she doesn't get off the train in two days," Snape said, without preamble. "Have you told them anything?"

He groaned inwardly at Albus' stunned silence. Really, old man? It was astounding how many important details the Headmaster forgot when they had nothing to do with Harry Potter.

"I confess I had not even thought of it. They may suspect something already. Harry," He turned to the boy. "Does Miss Granger write to her parents regularly?"

Potter took a deep, shaky breath before answering, still looking very shell-shocked. "I don't think so, no," He whispered.

Severus restrained himself from making another comment on how little Potter seemed to know about his friend, choosing instead to listen quietly as he continued.

"She receives packages from them every month or so," Harry shrugged. "But I reckon she writes more often than that. Maybe every week, even."

"Even if that is the case, I doubt they will truly suspect something until Granger doesn't go to London with the other students. You will have to inform them, Albus."

"Yes," The headmaster nodded, solemnly. "I'm afraid I must."

"I've never even met Hermione's parents," Potter shook his head sadly. "They went to Diagon Alley with her in second year, then she always came with me and Ron."

"Perhaps you can come with me, Harry," Albus suggested gently. "I'm certain Miss Granger has told them much about you."

Snape resisted the urge to snort at what a bad idea it was for this unstable teenager to break the news to a Muggle couple that their daughter had been kidnapped by a dark magical cult.

Then again, Severus couldn't seem to come up with any good way to break that kind of news.


"Good morning, little girl."

The voice was one Hermione hadn't heard before, and she jerked her head up quickly to find the speaker.

Peter Pettigrew.

Hadn't Snape said nobody else would be in to visit her? Obviously he didn't know much.

The sight of her new visitor nearly made her gag. Either Pettigrew had always been especially rat-like, or his years as Scabbers had severely changed him. For the worse.

He was plump and squat, with small, watery blue eyes, a twitchy nose and a sparse head of mousy brown hair. Hermione's stomach rolled at the sight of him, thinking not only of his unkempt appearance – right now hers wasn't much better, after all – but of what he'd done to his friends.

If it weren't for this ugly, disgusting little man, Harry would still have parents. James and Lily Potter would be alive and well if not for his betrayal.

He was still looking at her, and now he started chuckling. Though with the look of disgust Hermione was certain showed on her face, she had no idea why. "Have something you want to say, little miss? I can see it on your face."

"I'm sure you know what I think of you," She answered finally, her voice hoarse from disuse. "Harry Potter is my best friend."

Pettigrew shrugged, chuckling a little. "I suppose I do know what you think of me. It doesn't matter much, though."

He seemed to be waiting for her to say something. Hermione defiantly kept her mouth shut. She had nothing to say to him.

"I live here."

She stared at him, wondering why he seemed to say it as if it had some significance.

"I've been hearing your screams," He grinned. "They're lovely, certainly, but after a while it gets quite tiresome to hear without knowing just what is happening.

"I asked the Dark Lord if I could come down to see you every once in a while, and he agreed to let me visit for a bit as long as I didn't damage you too much."

Hermione's eyes widened as she fought the urge to whimper. Damage her? What was she, a rag doll?

"Oh, don't look so scared!" Pettigrew said hastily, seeming genuinely apologetic. "I wouldn't hurt you anyway. I'm not like Dolohov and the others, I don't really enjoy causing pain when it isn't necessary," He shrugged.

She fumed. So he thought he was any better than the others? That if he didn't torture her for fun, that somehow made him a good person?

"Oh, so I suppose you betraying the Potters then killing those thirteen Muggles was absolutely necessary?" Hermione asked bitingly, wanting to slap the disgusting man in front of her.

He stopped and stared at her, raising an eyebrow. "Why yes, it was. But I wouldn't expect you to understand, mudblood," His voice was still squeaky and not nearly as menacing as the others', but Hermione could sense the warning in it and shoved her anger back down. Even only against Peter Pettigrew, she could do nothing to protect herself if he did get mad and try something.

She was silent, trying to school her features into something more neutral rather than the expression of loathing that had been there a second ago.

Pettigrew stared at her for another few moments, considering, then nodded and looked away.

"I haven't decided yet what to do," He shrugged, and turned to face her once more. "What do you think?"

Was he joking? What did she think? Hermione thought this little vermin ought to scurry back up those stairs and crawl back into whatever hole he came out of. And leave the gate open for her, while he's at it.

She looked at him wordlessly, earning another one of those infernal high-pitched chuckles.

"I suppose you wouldn't really have any good ideas, Hermione. May I call you Hermione?"

Hermione struggled to contain her disgusted shudder. No, you may not, you little turd.

"After living with you at Hogwarts for three years," He smiled. "I've grown used to thinking of you as Hermione."

Now she really did let wince at his words. It was true – the rat had basically lived with her while he was Ron's pet at Hogwarts. Just the thought was enough to make her nauseous.

His grin turned a little more feral, and Pettigrew eyed her up and down. "I've seen all of it, you know. It's not hard to get into the girl's dormitory as a rat."

Hermione gagged. She felt an irrational surge of anger at Ron for never noticing his pet was actually a disgusting forty-year-old pedophile. The clueless idiot.

"Of course, you've grown up quite a bit since third year. And very beautifully, too."

He didn't even pretend not to be talking to her chest.

"But I do have a rather fond memory of you at fourteen…" Pettigrew said suggestively.

She thought back to her third year, wondering what he could be talking about. Had anything particularly embarrassing happened to her then? So obviously he'd seen her naked, so he knew third year was when she'd gotten breasts, but what–

"I believe," He began, drawing out his words. "That was the year you started…How shall we say it…Exploring your sexuality?"

Hermione shook her head even as her cheeks flamed red at his meaning. Did that mean he'd seen her–?

"You…You didn't see me…" She whispered, still shaking her head.

No. She'd closed the curtains around her bed every night! And she was always sure to cast a silencing charm. It wouldn't do for her roommates to hear her–

"Touching yourself," Pettigrew nodded, his voice low and his face flushed in what she was sickened to realize was arousal. "I only saw it once, when you didn't close your curtains so tightly, and I couldn't hear you…But I came back every night after that, hoping to see you again."

She closed her eyes in humiliation. Of all the people to witness her clumsy fourteen-year-old attempts at masturbation.

"You were so beautiful. So frantic. Your face when you climaxed…I often dream of it."

Oh God. She closed her eyes again quickly after blinking them open for a second. He was rubbing himself through his trousers.

"I'd like to see it again," He said hoarsely after a silent minute.

Hermione's eyes shot open at this. Surely he didn't mean?

"You don't even have to take off your underthings." He seemed almost pleading. "But I want to see that again. I will see it," He stepped closer.

She shook her head anxiously. "No. No, I-I can't–"

"Yes, you can. I don't care how long it takes," Pettigrew hissed. "We have hours before Dolohov comes to visit you."

Hermione racked her brain for something, anything to say that would convince him not to ask her to do this.

Objectively, she knew it wasn't nearly as bad as what he could do. As what Dolohov would probably do. He wasn't even asking her to undress, or touch him.

But…But it was so utterly humiliating. To have to do something so private, something she enjoyed, in front of this disgusting man. She'd never be able to touch herself in that way again.

"Besides," He smiled again, his hand stilling over the front of his trousers. "I have a little trick for you."

With his magical hand, Pettigrew took out his wand and aimed it at her.

Oh God. What was he going to do? Imperio her?

"Suscitā feminam."

Well, she couldn't feel any difference. Maybe he'd done it wrong?

Her Latin wasn't good enough to decipher what the spell was meant to do. Something involving "female".

He was moving his wand up and down now, frowning, as if shaking it would make it work. Hermione wanted to laugh.

"Oh!"

What the hell? What was that?

Pettigrew started laughing, and repeated the last movement he'd done with his wand.

Hermione felt a warm jolt in her lower stomach, almost like…

Her eyes widened. No. Suscitā? Is this what that meant?

She whimpered as she felt it again, and quickly clapped her hand over her mouth.

"Yesss," He whispered, his normal hand disappearing into his trousers. "Take your hand off your mouth. I want to hear you."

She ignored him, focusing instead on containing the urge to thrust her hips every time she felt the jolt of the spell.

Hermione only noticed he'd moved closer when he bent down to clumsily slap her arm away from her face with his wand hand, the wood whacking hard against her cheek.

She cried out, both from the sting on her cheek and the intense shock of arousal that coursed through her when his wand moved that way.

No. No no no. She would be silent. He could spell her into orgasm – well, apparently he could, though she'd never heard of it before – but he couldn't make her moan in pleasure at it.

She'd never been very loud when she'd done this to herself, so she should have no trouble being quiet now.

Still, Hermione felt it building much quicker than it usually did, and hoped it would be over soon so Pettigrew could have what he wanted and leave.

This wasn't so bad, really. Not as bad as having to actually touch herself for him.

Besides…

She swallowed down a groan,

…It felt good.

And this could be the last time she ever felt good. She could die tonight. She would probably die by the end of the week.

If this was the only pleasurable thing she could have before dying, she'd take it.

Hermione closed her eyes, not wanting to see Pettigrew's moving hands, and tried to imagine some nameless, faceless boy who loved her and took care of her and was giving her these wonderful feelings.

She ignored Pettigrew's disgusting grunts, focusing only on Nameless Faceless Boy who was hugging her and touching her and loving her in her mind.

Yes…

It stopped suddenly.

Hermione's eyes shot open, still feeling the warm tingling but no new stimulation.

She blinked quickly, reorganizing her thoughts and remembering where she was.

She breathed a sigh of relief. This was good. He'd stopped. She wouldn't have to share something so private with this terrible man.

Pettigrew was panting heavily, his hand stilled over his trousers. He was grinning.

"Enjoyed that, did you?"

Hermione said nothing.

"Would you like to feel it again?" He asked gently.

She fought the urge to snort. Did he really think it would be so easy to break her like this? Sixty seconds of pleasure and she'd start begging? She'd never plead for an orgasm from Peter Pettigrew. The rat had another thing coming.

But he ignored her silence and moved his wand again, this time more slowly.

It built up even more quickly now, the pleasure of last time still coursing through her body. Soon Hermione was breathing heavily once more, struggling to keep from making a sound.

It was getting harder to imagine Nameless Faceless Boy as Pettigrew's revolting grunts grew louder and louder as he stroked himself through the fabric of his trousers, his eyes never leaving her face.

God…This was so fucking wrong. Hermione felt tears spring to her eyes as she felt herself nearing completion. No…No, she couldn't be feeling this kind of bliss when that nauseating, betraying Death Eater was having a wank a few feet away from her.

Her breath hitched as the pleasure built and she felt herself just moments away…

She wanted to vomit at how good this felt. How could this feel good? How could she feel this way, when she was here in this awful place with this awful man?

A tear trailed down her cheek. She was so close.

Pettigrew stilled both hands with a pained growl.

"And now?" He asked breathlessly. "Do you want it now, mudblood?"

Hermione breathed heavily, staring at him through glazed, teary eyes. He would not take this from her.

His wand moved again, and she was instantly there, right at the edge, so close, so fucking close to –

She heard a groan leave her lips when he stopped, closely followed by a sob. Her hips rocked forward involuntarily, searching for stimulus.

Hermione wanted him to stop. She knew she did. She didn't want to share this with him. How could her body betray her like this?

"Yes," He hissed. "Yes, Hermione, that's it."

The sound of her own name leaving his lips brought her closer to reality for a moment, closer to the utter disgust she felt rather than the confusing pleasure of a moment ago.

But then he started moving his wand again, and she cried out, and she was there, fuck, she was coming, even as she heard the sickening drawn-out moan of the rat's own completion.

It ended abruptly and she felt cold, her body still trembling with the aftershocks as well as the sobs that rocked her shoulders. Pettigrew was panting a few feet away from her, his hand still moving leisurely over himself.

Hermione ignored it all, crying loudly at the confusing mixture of shame and disgust and hate and pleasure she felt.

Merlin, she just wanted to be home. Why was this happening to her? Why couldn't she just be at Hogwarts, packing her trunks to go home, talking to Ron and Harry and Ginny and being normal and happy and safe? Was that really too much to ask? What had Hermione Granger, who was helpful and caring and smart and flossed every night, done to deserve this?

Pettigrew might have said something as he left, but Hermione didn't register it.

She just cried.


There it is, folks. :( I think I'll write something more hopeful next time.

I live for reviews!