A/N: Thank you to those of you who have followed, favorited, and reviewed this story. :) I hadn't meant to post this chapter until Monday, but I just can't help myself. Please let me know what you think of this chapter, and feel free to ask any questions you have. Reviews are a fan fiction writers inspiration, I have discovered, and I'd love to get to know you readers better and fan girl with you.
Chapter Seven: The Dark Lord
May 31, 1997
The breathlessness of apparition was followed by the cool, clean air of the countryside. The first thing Hermione noticed was that the sun had set. The western sky was tinged with deep orange, but the rest of the sky had gone dark and there were stars appearing above her head.
"Where are we?" asked Hermione, peering down the narrow lane on which they had appeared and seeing only darkness.
"Wiltshire," answered Professor Snape. "Now put up your hood. I don't want you recognized immediately." His voice seemed loud on the abandoned road and as Hermione pulled up the fur lined hood of her cloak, she looked around instinctively to make sure they were alone. Fortunately they were, and all she noticed was the high, neatly manicured hedge bordering the lane to their right. As Snape's footsteps began to crunch along the gravel path Hermione followed, trying to keep pace with her Professor's long stride.
"What's in Wiltshire?" She asked at last. Snape cast her a sidelong glance and Hermione thought she could make out a sneer on his face despite the ever deepening darkness.
"I was under the impression you knew our errand tonight, Miss Granger," he mocked, "Perhaps I over-estimated your powers of deduction."
Refusing to reward his insult with a reaction, Hermione instead fell silent, following him as they walked,until at last the hedge broke and Snape took a sharp right onto what appeared to be a wide driveway. In the distance, Hermione could see an ornate wrought iron gate, beyond which the hedge extended. As they approached, she felt Snape wrap his right arm around her. She stiffened as he pulled her close and raised his left arm, not breaking stride as they approached the gate. Hermione closed her eyes right before they reached it, hoping he knew what he was doing and that she wouldn't end up with bruises on her forehead from the collision. Fortunately, their stride did not break, and when Snape released her and she opened her eyes, they were on the other side of the gate. Still flanked by the tall yew hedges, they approached a large manor house, opulent to the extreme with lights glinting through sparkling windows and gilded front doors that swung open at their approach.
At the bottom of the steps leading into the house, Hermione hesitated.
"Come on, girl," Snape called from the entrance way.
Hermione tried to move, but she felt as if her feet had turned to tree roots and were keeping her in place. She couldn't do this, couldn't walk into this place voluntarily knowing what was waiting for her past those double doors. With an impatient noise, Snape turned back, grabbing her by her upper arm and pulling her inexorably forward. She stumbled once up the stairs and found her footing in a large, dimly lit hallway. She hadn't time to protest further because at that moment a voice spoke up ahead.
"Severus," The man's voice was deep, gruff, and familiar. Hermione looked up at the sound and barely prevented herself from gasping before dropping her face quickly back down, letting her hood hide her features.
"Dolohov," acknowledged Snape, keeping hold of Hermione's arm, his grip firm but not painful. Her heart raced as they stood there, remembering the last time she'd seen the Death Eater before her. Circe, he'd nearly killed her a year ago in the Department of Mysteries, and now she was supposed to expect that she could exist in his presence without fearing for her life?
"What've you got there?" the man asked, peering down at Hermione's slight frame. Even enveloped as she was by her heavy cloak, there was no mistaking her for someone of larger stature. She had always been petite, another legacy of her mother's.
"A guest," answered Snape shortly. Hermione heard Dolohov chuckle deeply as Snape began to pull her forward. She kept her eyes on her feet as they walked.
"I know this is an informal affair, but I didn't know we were bringing our sluts to this sort of thing," the other man leered. Hermione felt Professor Snape's fingers twitch on her upper arm.
"I think, Dolohov, you should watch your tongue." The other man laughed again, clearly amused.
"Or what?" He pressed, "You going to make me regret insulting your whore?"
Hermione felt the trailing end of her cloak brush Dolohov's boots as they swept past him and towards a heavy wooden door with a bronze handle. Snape paused there in front of the door and she heard him direct his words over his shoulder at Dolohov.
"Or I'll inform our Lord of your opinion regarding our guest." This seemed to quiet the other man as there was no response, only a clearing throat and the sound of footsteps coming to stand beside them. It seemed Dolohov was not eager to risk insulting an actual guest of Lord Voldemort's. Hermione wondered idly whether her actual status, whatever that was, would actually matter to the Death Eaters where it concerned her, or whether they would still see her as the filthy Mudblood who had gotten several of them, Dolohov included, sent to Azkaban after their failed mission at the Ministry.
Before her, the door swung open. Light filtered in under the cloak and she spared a quick glance up to take in her surroundings. The room was honestly lovely, and not at all the type of place she would have imagined a meeting of Death Eaters. The whole room was gaily lit by twinkling candles, a fire roared beneath a large gilded mirror, and the portraits on the wall chatted amiably. The furniture was sumptuous, the carpet beneath her feet ornate. She wondered whether the decor was Voldemort's choice, or whether some other wizarding family had lived here and created such an ostentatious space. Either way, she was reminded of Snape's words before. Beyond the grotesque, there is opulence… he imagines himself a king. And here in this over-done and over-crowded drawing room, she saw what he meant. This was the type of space in which great lords and ladies might receive and entertain their guests. She had even spotted a pianoforte on the other side of the room.
"Severus," Hermione recognized this voice as well though she resisted the urge to look up. "What a pleasant surprise. We weren't expecting your attendance this evening."
"How could I refuse such a gracious invitation?" Snape dismissed.
"You've never had trouble with it before," said the other man.
"Come now, Lucius, try not to be bitter. It is not your hospitality that keeps me away, only my duties at Hogwarts."
This then, thought Hermione, was Malfoy Manor. Suddenly the over-the top decorations and velvet furnishings made sense. No wonder Malfoy Jr. was such a spoiled little ponce.
"Well, it seems as if you've managed to break away this evening. And you've brought a guest," remarked Lucius. "Won't you introduce us?"
"I'm afraid I must save the introductions until I've had a chance to present her to the Dark Lord," said Snape silkily. "Has he arrived?"
Lucius, whose voice sounded more stiff than before, answered. "He is still above. Please, take a seat and make yourselves comfortable." And with that, he turned and crossed to the other side of the room.
From the doorway, Snape led her to a green settee in the corner of the room, finally disengaging his hand from her arm and sitting mere inches from her. From under her hood, Hermione was able to watch the proceedings as they unfolded around her. Several men approached Severus where he sat, all inquiring after his work at Hogwarts and after the guest by his side. As she listened to his answers she became quite impressed at his ability to dodge questions and give meaningless answers while still sounding perfectly polite. Of course, he had been at this for a very long time, so Hermione could hardly have expected any less.
Once the trickle of visitors ceased making their way to the corner where Snape and Hermione sat, she was able to watch the rest of the room. It was different than she had imagined. In her nightmares, the meeting had always been held in that same circle of trees she'd seen two weeks ago through the enchanted window in the library. It was always dark, the Death Eaters swathed in black and hooded with skeletal masks. The smell of blood, the harsh, taunting voices of cruel men echoing around her… How unexpected was this gathering then, where genteel looking wizards and witches in expensively cut robes mingled and laughed gaily at jokes Hermione couldn't hear. It was every inch a society event, she thought, the manor's drawing room setting the stage for a beautiful pageant of manners and tradition. She might have been impressed at the sight if she hadn't felt sick to her stomach at the thought that just above them, Voldemort lurked, preparing for some grand, courtly entrance.
"Severus." The feminine voice took Hermione by surprise, and she looked up from under her hood automatically. The woman standing there was tall and blonde, lines of worry etched on her face, her once beautiful features now pinched. Hermione quickly lowered her head. She'd seen Narcissa once before at the Quidditch World Cup, and though she doubted the woman would have recognized her from that meeting alone, Hermione's face had been on the cover of the Daily Prophet more than she would care to remember thanks to Rita Skeeter and her ridiculous brand of journalism.
"I'm so glad you were able to come this evening," the blonde woman continued.
"The pleasure is mine," answered Snape, rising from his seat and inclining his head. "It is always a treat to be subject to your hospitality."
Narcissa Malfoy smiled and extended a hand, placing it gently on Snape's arm before speaking. "You are always welcome here, Severus," she said, withdrawing her hand and letting it fall back to her side.
"And how is Draco? I must confess myself jealous that you see him so often, and I so little." There was a note of urgency in the woman's voice that Hermione recognized at once. She had heard the same worry in her own mother's words less than an hour before.
"He is well, though understandably stressed. His wounds are, of course, completely recovered," Snape replied. Narcissa made a disgruntled sound at the mention of Draco's injuries and Hermione winced. She could imagine what Mrs. Malfoy must think of the fight between her son and Harry which had ended with Draco's blood all over the bathroom floor.
"The Potter brat is a menace," she hissed.
Beside Hermione, Snape spoke, sounding amused. "A sentiment I have ever held," he agreed. "Dumbledore has spoiled the boy since he set foot in Hogwarts. A regrettable state of affairs which makes him all the more difficult to draw out." Hermione clenched her fists in her lap and bit her lip to keep from retorting, and when she braved a glance up at Snape's face she saw him smirking in her direction. The bastard.
"Well," said Narcissa, composing herself once more,"Let us hope he is only a nuisance for a short while longer."
Snape nodded his agreement and, as Mrs. Malfoy took her leave, he sat back beside Hermione who took the opportunity to scowl at him. He only chuckled and returned his gaze to the party.
Hermione did not know how long they had been sitting there in the corner by the time Voldemort descended, but it had been enough time for the Drawing Room to begin to overflow with people and for a set of wide double doors to be flung open and a terrace lit by fairy lights revealed.
She did not at first notice the change in the room when He arrived. She had busied herself watching the feet of the few dancing couples at the center of the room, trying to learn the steps to the dance they were doing. It wasn't anything she recognized from her ballroom dancing lessons as a child, though it was similar. She supposed it must be a wizarding version she hadn't heard of. It wasn't until the feet stopped moving that she realized the room had begun to fall silent, and the occupants to still.
She looked up as soon as she felt Snape stand beside her and felt his hand on her arm once more, dragging her to stand with him.
Voldemort stood alone at the entrance of the Drawing Room, his hands loose at his sides, his head held high. The first thing Hermione noticed were his eyes, red and menacing. They swept across the room once, twice, and a third time before finally settling on the Malfoys who stood tall beside the door.
"What a lovely turn out, Narcisssssa," he complimented, his voice high and sibilant.
"My Lord," said the woman graciously, dropping into a low curtsey and refusing to meet his gaze. Whether this was a sign of respect or of fear, Hermione was not certain.
He began then to make his way into the room, greeting guests as he did so and acting every inch the honored guest. Hermione grudgingly admitted that had it not been for the hideousness of his face, he might have looked the part as well. He was arrayed splendidly in expensive looking black dress robes cut to his tall frame. He looked powerful, strong… dangerous. She could see in his bearing what had enticed so many purebloods to follow the half-blood, muggle-raised orphan Tom Riddle. He was completely confident, expectant even, that his followers would bow to him and deliver the respect due his position as their Lord. Idly, Hermione wondered how the Malfoys must feel having another master here in their home.
At last, Voldemort had made his way to the other end of the room where there appeared a large and ornate wing backed chair.
"I am so glad that so many of you were able to join us this evening," he said, voice filling the large Drawing Room completely. "Please, do not allow me to distract you from your merriment." And with that, he took his seat, smiling in what he must have thought was a kindly way, and motioning for everyone to resume their activities.
"Come," said Snape. "It is time." But Hermione froze, not allowing herself to be pulled forward this time and practically yanking her arm from Snape's grip.
"A-are you sure?" She asked lamely, not prepared to let herself be revealed. "He doesn't, I mean, he looks as if he's not really ready to speak to anyone. Don't you think maybe if we wait-"
Snape tapped his foot impatiently.
"Stupid girl," he hissed. "The Dark Lord is among us to receive information. He is waiting for the two of us even now. Or do you think sitting here completely covered has somehow stopped him from noticing you?"
Hermione was trembling now, felt her knees growing weak.
"I don't think I can… I can't do this," she managed to get out. And just as she thought she might collapse she heard Snape speak beside her.
"Gryffindor courage indeed. Imperio!" he said. And suddenly, Hermione hadn't a care in the world. She was floating, flying in a world without worry. She couldn't remember what had frightened her so, could only understand that yes of course she ought to go with Professor Snape, he had only her best interest at heart after all. She allowed herself to be led by the arm, dreamlike. She crossed the drawing room without caring that all eyes were on her, ensconced as she was in the yards of heavy black fabric that concealed her. And at last, she stood at the feet of the Dark Lord, standing beside Snape who waited momentarily for a black haired man to finish whispering in Voldemort's ear before speaking himself.
"My Lord," he said, dropping to one knee and bowing his head.
Hermione watched the scene dispassionately. Of course if this was what Snape thought best, she would stand by and not interfere.
"Severusss," acknowledged the Dark Lord. "I hope you are well?"
"Far better for being in your presence, My Lord."
"Indeed. And who is your companion, Severus?"
Hermione could feel Voldemort's red eyes on her now, though she wasn't sure why the feeling discomfitted her. She stood still despite the odd sensation, eager to feel the peace she knew would come in obeying. Around her, the room fell completely quiet, every occupant waiting for Snape's answer. Hermione had gathered through the reactions at her presence that it was highly unusual to bring guests to gatherings where the Dark Lord would be present, and that it was normally only done when a new recruit was to receive the Dark Mark. Was that why they were all watching so intently? Where they eager to see their newest companion?
"I fear, My Lord, that to speak her name would lead you astray," Voldemort raised a brow as Snape spoke. "For though her name is known, her true history is not."
"Very well, Severus," interrupted Voldemort, "But your evasiveness bores me. Have you a point?"
Looking up from where he knelt, Snape met the Dark Lord's gaze and nodded.
"Yes, My Lord." Here he paused and Hermione felt her heart begin to race despite the perfect blankness in her mind. "I wish to present to you the daughter of Annora Avery, returned at last to her true home."
A collective gasp rose up throughout the room and voices began to murmur excitedly. Hermione could only watch the snake-like man before her. His eyes flashed in shock, his hands clenched on the arm of his chair briefly before loosening and coming to rest on his knees as he leaned forward towards Snape, keeping their gaze locked as he did so. Hermione thought he must be performing Legilimency though the thought didn't bother her at all. Finally, Voldemort stood, looking from Snape to Hermione and ordering in his high, commanding voice, "Release her, Severus."
At once, Hermione felt the fog lift from around her. She felt her pulse beating frantically, her knees trembling beneath her… but instead of the fear she had felt before, she was consumed only by anger. Without thought, she rounded on Snape.
"How dare you?!" She spat as she took a step towards him, "Of all the horrible, underhanded things you've done, to perform an Unforgivable on me!?" Snape did not bother to look up at her tirade, keeping his eyes instead on the Dark Lord's boots. It was only as the other man began to chuckle coldly that Hermione remembered exactly where she was.
She whirled back to face Voldemort at once, backing away by several steps until she bumped into a white haired wizard who steadied her and then looked away immediately, releasing her and stepping back from where she stood as if afraid to have touched her.
"You certainly sound like Annora," said Voldemort, drawing Hermione's gaze up to his face. "She was easily outraged as well." And he stood, watching her for several more seconds before he ordered, "Remove your hood, girl."
Hermione's hands trembled as she stood beneath his gaze. She thought she should probably obey, but she couldn't bring herself to do it, couldn't convince herself that doing as he told her would make this any easier, and so she stood perfectly still, clenching her fists to keep them from shaking and raising her chin defiantly. If this was the end of Hermione Granger, then she would end well.
Around the room, voices began to murmur once more, shocked, Hermione expected, at her defiance. This time, however, Voldemort did not laugh, he merely raised his wand and flicked it lazily as Hermione flinched. Her cloak and hood disappeared at once, leaving her completely exposed in her jeans and blouse, her cascade of thick curls falling around her like a second mantle but doing nothing to hide her identity.
"My God," cried Narcissa Malfoy from somewhere beside her. "But that's Hermione Granger!"
Immediately, Hermione heard the sound of dozens of wands being pulled and pointed in her direction. She closed her eyes tightly and wished like hell that Dumbledore and Snape had allowed her to bring her own wand on this bloody excursion.
"Store your wands," said Voldemort at once, voice soft but commanding. Hermione opened her eyes at his words and watched as the Death Eaters around her reluctantly did as their Lord had bid them. He turned to Snape then.
"Rise, Ssseverus," he ordered. Snape obeyed, keeping his head bowed. "Now…" Voldemort's voice seemed to linger on the word, caressing it as he thought. "Explain yourself."
"Fenestram in Praeteritum," said Snape at once, looking up to meet the Dark Lord's gaze once more and grant him access to his memories. "I found her performing it. It showed you, My Lord, with Annora Avery. The Ritual. I knew at once I must bring her to you, but the problem of Dumbledore remained. How was I to take her from the school under his eye? You know, my Lord, the position she holds in Potter's affections."
At this, several of the Death Eaters in the room spat.
"Yesss," said Voldemort, "I think we are all familiar with Miss Hermione Granger."
"Of course, My Lord," said Snape before continuing. "I knew at once I could convince Dumbledore to send her to you. He wishes to use her as a double agent, My Lord. Of course, the girl has no talent for subterfuge. I wished only to bring her to you by any means necessary."
Hermione felt the weight of Voldemort's eyes on her again as she stood before him, surrounded by his loyal followers on all sides, wandless, and completely exposed. She felt furious at her position, that she should be made to stand here, to be gawked at and considered as they would consider a slug on hot pavement. Interested, disgusted, ultimately ready to put the creature out of its misery. Feeling a hot flash of anger, Hermione looked up, chin jutting out as she met Voldemort's gaze and glared with all her might. She felt the brush of his mind against hers, oily and black. She forced herself not to struggle, to let him brush the surface, to see her anger. Anger at him, at Snape, at Dumbledore for letting him bring her here…
Voldemort looked away, seemingly satisfied and then returned to his seat, sinking down in it and surveying the room and then Hermione once more.
"You look very much like your mother," he said at last, twirling his wand between his fingers and watching her as she stood completely still before him. "The coloring though… well. That must have been my gift."
Unable to control herself, Hermione scoffed.
"While other fathers give their daughters ponies, I am blessed to be the spawn of someone who thinks of genetics as a gift."
While the guests around her began to speak all at once, Voldemort only continued to stare at her, face impassive until at last he glanced at Snape, nodding once. Hermione watched as her professor advanced toward her and stared in open shock as for the second time he took her arm, piercing it with that wicked silver dagger and collecting her blood in a crystal vial he produced from one of his many pockets.
"Just to be sure," said Voldemort, his voice cold as Snape returned to his side, handing over the vial and standing ready for further instructions.
"Take her somewhere comfortable," Voldemort said after several long seconds, "And then return to me." Here, he looked up sharply at Snape. "We have much to discuss, I think."
"My Lord," bowed Snape, and then he was beside Hermione once more, wrapping his hand around her arm again and leading her through the crowd and out of the Drawing Room doors. She barely noticed that the crowd had started talking boisterously again as they left, or that every eye in the room was locked onto her as she walked, back stiff and arm throbbing. The only thing she could really think echoed in her brain over and over again as the doors shut behind them.
Alive. I'm alive. Thank God I'm alive.
