A/N: Sometimes I wish the FF had a 'tags' system like AO3 does so I could better warn you all of what you might encounter in this fic so as to avoid alarming you, but other times I'm kind of pleased that it doesn't have them. I rather adore the number of you who are enjoying the story though you might've balked or been scared off had you read the many warning tags I could have used. I'm also having the time of my life writing this in such a way that it's altering your perception of the ships, the tropes, the darkness and the characters. I know I'm losing some of you thanks to the content, but those brave souls among you who are reading on despite your misgivings, you are my angels.

Those depraved souls among you who live for this kind of grittiness, I can only promise there is more on the way and not at all in the ways you might expect. Also, It should be noted that while this is a Draco/Hermione/Rabastan fic, as per the tags, this fic will include Hermione shagging a bunch of other people too (obviously). Anyway, I know you're all hankering for some more Draco action and more of Rabastan, but I should warn you that it might be a while before we get to the sex with them. I know when and how I want it to happen, and I promise that no matter how much you're saying you want it, you're not ready for it yet. Trust me. When it comes, it will be all the sweeter but it's not ready yet. Thank you SO MUCH to all of you who've been reviewing. I'm so pleased you enjoyed the last chapter especially. This one is tamer and sweeter, I promise.

Much love! xx-Kitten


Fervidity

By Kittenshift17


Chapter 8: Assimilation


... "Everyone started out a little insane,

But we learn pretty quick how to fake it for the game.

Some of you never learn to drop the act,

And under that skin of yours, a heart attack"...

- Make a Move (Icon for Hire)


She woke alone and aching the next morning. Hermione groaned when she opened her eyes. For a terrible moment she forgot where she was, but then it all came back to her in a rush and Hermione felt her cheeks heat to crimson as she recalled why she was so sore. On the table by the bed was a stack of books and a note with familiar, spiky handwriting.

Bedtime reading

Hermione smirked, realising they were all books on Dark Magic. She felt a thrill run through her at the idea of reading them. Her whole body throbbed when she tried to reach for one and Hermione groaned again. Merlin, she ached all over. Her entire nether region throbbed and Hermione decided the loo and a shower were in order. Dragging her aching body from the bed, she grimaced when she realised she was naked. Not that it mattered much, she supposed. Snape had seen it and touched it all. With that in mind, and his comment about her needing to be comfortable and confident in her own body ringing in her head, Hermione located her discarded towel from the previous night, along with some clean knickers. She carried both, along with her wand, out of the room.

Her thighs screamed in protest as she tried the stairs and she slipped down the last few, cursing foully. She cursed all the more when she spotted Snape sitting in the lounge room at the base of the stairs, a pot of tea in front of him and a book open on his lap. He eyed her levelly, his expression blank, but Hermione could see the glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

"Shut it," she warned, not caring that she was being rude and disrespectful, "Don't say a word. I don't want to hear it."

"Come here," he commanded, ignoring her words as he beckoned her with one hand, moving the book from his lap with the other.

"Why?" she asked warily.

He didn't ask again. He simply waited. Hermione kind of hated him for the way she felt the urge to go to him. She did so reluctantly, gingerly crossing the room until she stood before him. He reached for her towel and her clothes, relieving her of them before he nudged his knees between her legs and pulled her down into his lap until she was straddling him again.

"Ow," Hermione hissed, her battered body throbbing painfully. She didn't know what he was planning but she eyed him carefully, suspecting he meant to teach her something. He always meant to teach her something.

"Sore?" he asked.

"Everywhere," Hermione nodded.

"I'm not going to give you anything for the pain," he warned her, "Your body needs to grow accustomed to being brutalised sexually, if I heal you, it won't acclimatise."

Hermione nodded, knowing it was true even if it was horrible.

"I can make it hurt less, though, if you like?" he offered.

Hermione nodded, she felt miserable. She squawked in surprised when he freed his cock from his robes, lifted her and impaled her on it with a muttered lubrication charm.

"Ow," Hermione groaned, her face screwing up with the sting and throb.

"It will hurt less in a moment," he promised, smirking a little.

Hermione knew he was right when a minute later the ache evened into something else. Like when you warmed a sore muscle by using it again. He was slow and gentle - a complete contradiction to the previous night's wantonness and Hermione let him pull her into him. She nuzzled her nose under his jaw, kissing the skin lazily as he encouraged her to ride him slow and easy. The ache in her muscles eased slowly and Hermione pressed into him. She felt the stirrings of pleasure inside her again, despite what he'd done to her and she knew she'd feel even better with another orgasm.

"Just one," Hermione murmured to him and she heard him chuckle.

"If you insist," Severus replied, "For now, at least."

His silky voice made her shiver and Hermione tipped her head back. She felt naughty, straddling him in his living room. He was fully clothed, having only unbuttoned his trousers to shag her.

"You too," she insisted as she felt him shoving her towards the peak of pleasure.

"That bossiness will get you into trouble, Mina," Snape purred into her ear, nuzzling into her and nipping the flesh tantalizingly.

"I'm discovering I like trouble," Hermione admitted. She arched her back again, nipping his throat when she was teetering on the precipice of pleasure again.

"Don't we all?" he sighed, thrusting faster. Hermione toppled into the abyss of orgasm and she could swear Snape was almost lazy about it as he followed her. Not in the sense that he was rubbish, just lazy like a Sunday morning. Like a lion stretching for something and then relaxing again.

He held her to him a few minutes longer as Hermione tried to catch her breath, huffing slightly.

"Go and shower," he commanded, his hands urging her up as he lifted her back to her feet.

Or tried.

Hermione giggled when her knees wobbled and gave out, causing her to drop back to land on the coffee table with a thud. Snape looked like the cat who got the canary when she glanced at him, still amused.

"You'll have to work on that," he told her, smiling indulgently, "One orgasm is too few to be incapable of standing. Now, get a hold of yourself and walk to the bathroom. Don't let me catch you sitting or leaning against the wall either."

"You're going to check?" Hermione asked, smirking.

"Yes," he answered, "Pull it together. You are in control of your body. Not the other way around."

Hermione laughed as she got to her feet once more, tottering slightly before getting her legs under her control.

"I should have known you'd be as unforgiving a tutor in this as you are in everything else," she commented as she rounded the couch and made for the bathroom.

She showered quickly, choosing not to dwell on the events of the previous day. She had more important things to be thinking about than having shagged her teacher. Besides, it had felt good. Hermione realised it was the Mina-wolf inside her that was currently in control, but that the Hermione-wolf was lying down contentedly and enjoying a nap. Hermione frowned. The idea that the two sides of herself could be in sync over the idea of shagging a Professor, making out with an enemy and toying with another concerned her. Perhaps there was more wickedness inside her usual self than she'd thought.

She blinked in surprise when Snape's face appeared through the shower curtain suddenly as she was rinsing the conditioner out of her hair. He didn't say anything before disappearing again, and Hermione laughed. She felt a strange swell of affection for the man as he left the bathroom while she finished bathing. He was stand-offish, rude, surly and downright mean, but she found him strangely amusing too. She dried herself slowly, grinning when she noticed that he'd brought the towel and clothes he'd confiscated from her into the bathroom. She donned the muggle tights and oversized t-shirt with a smile before leaving the bathroom, her wand tucked into the waistband of her tights.

"Have you eaten?" she asked Snape as she passed the lounge and headed for the kitchen.

"No," he answered and Hermione rolled her eyes. She found a loaf of bread and a muggle toaster, working it quickly she made a stack of toast and ferreted through his cabinets until she found some plates and some jam. She was munching one as she joined him, offering the plate to him before conjuring herself a cup and pouring herself some tea.

"Should we begin Occlumency today?" she asked him, "Or practice dark spells instead?"

He eyed her for a long moment while he ate his toast and Hermione remained quiet, despite the urge to fill the void with conversation, knowing he was thinking.

"Spells," he said, "Occlumency is something you have a rudimentary grasp of. Given what you will endure this evening at the ceremony, you need to be sharp - not half-way asleep with a headache and mental exhaustion. How many dark spells do you know?"

"The Unforgivables and the blood boiling spell I used yesterday," she shrugged, "I know of others from studying their counters in Defence."

"We will be practicing duelling," Snape decided, "You will also be reading those books I left in your room. You need to familiarise yourself with those spells and learn to produce them."

Hermione nodded.

"I also know about Sectumsempra," Hermione told him and Snape nodded.

"Of course you do," he growled, "Fucking Potter!"

"How am I to practice?" Hermione asked, "I don't actually want to hurt anyone but the other Death Eaters..."

He got to his feet then and beckoned her. Hermione followed after him as he led her down the hall and into his basement. She smiled when she saw and enchanted practice dummy that bore an uncanny resemblance to Bellatrix Lestrange.

"With this."

"Why do you and Bellatrix loathe each other so?" Hermione asked him curiously, "I mean, I hate her because she's vile and insane and completely merciless. But so are many of the other Death Eaters. What did you do to make her hate you?"

Snape eyed her blankly for a moment, as though he was considering whether or not he should answer her.

"I despise her for the same reasons and a hundred others. I have witnessed her cruelty. I have tolerated her suspicions of my status as a spy. She is without conscience," Snape said finally, "She, on the other hand, despises me for another reason. She doubts the loyalty of all who did not go to Azkaban after the first war for trying to find the Dark Lord. She does not believe I wormed my way into Dumbledore's confidence without forsaking the Dark Lord - and rightly so. She also has never forgiven me a horrid encounter of my youth when I was still a young, vile and ruthless Death Eater without conscience myself."

"Oh?" Hermione asked, raising her eyebrows.

"She's never forgiven the fact that when I was eighteen, I fucked her," Snape admitted with a twist of his lips. Hermione knew a similar expression of disgust was arranged on her own face, "As you have learned, I have some skill and complete self-control. She's never forgotten what I did to her and resents the fact that I've refused to ever repeat the experience."

Hermione snorted in spite of herself.

"Doesn't Rodolphus resent having so many other men fucking his wife?" Hermione asked, baffled by the notion.

"He enjoys it," Snape shook his head, "Pureblood marriages, as you no doubt know, are rarely founded on love. Narcissa and Lucius are among the very few who go into the arrangement actually being in love. Bella and Rodolphus were arranged by Bella's father. They have grown to care deeply for one another, I suspect, but it is through shared perversion and lack of conscience rather than deep and abiding love. Rodolphus does not begrudge having others - even the Dark Lord himself - fuck Bella because he enjoys watching them do so. He likes seeing her scream. He also enjoys rubbing it in the faces of others who might envy him that he's the one fucking her every night. She doesn't fuck around on him often. Only at revels or by special invitation when he is also present."

"She doesn't seem like the type to pander to his rules," Hermione commented.

"She's not. His only rule for her is that if she ever has a child, it will be his, and when she fucks anyone, he either gets to watch or he also participates."

"They have an open marriage, in other words," Hermione mused, "I don't think I could do that."

"Mina could," he told her, "But Mina would not care for or love the man she married – as Bella doesn't."

"Do you think I'll have to marry in this role?" Hermione asked suddenly, finding no appeal in the notion but fearful of it nonetheless, "The Dark Lord seemed to suggest it to Rabastan yesterday."

"Rabastan is dangerous, Mina," Snape warned her.

"They're all dangerous," Hermione argued.

"Yes, but not like Rabastan. He is young and he spent fourteen on his thirty-two years in Azkaban and yet he seems entirely sane. Or no less sane than he was at seventeen when he was incarcerated. He will try to worm his way into your affections to better manipulate you. He will also try to trap you into marrying him if he can. He loathes Bella even more than you do, but he also admires and in many ways, covets her. And you are just a little too like her in both appearance and some personality traits, not to have his attention. You've already indicated that you intend to fuck him, but do not let it go any further. Is that clear? He is not to be trusted. If anyone in the Dark Lord's service can completely corrupt the Hermione Granger in you, it will be Rabastan."

"And Draco?" Hermione asked.

"I believe Draco still has his Good wolf inside. It is starved, but it's there," Snape offered, looking thoughtful

"Everyone still has a Good wolf inside them, Severus, except perhaps Greyback…" Hermione told him, "Some are just buried deep and so close to death that saving them isn't worth it. If Rabastan's still lives, I will find it. Find it and feed it."

"You mean to honeypot yourself?" Snape asked, "That is a dangerous game, Mina. Were you to try with the Order, I would not hesitate to allow it. They are good, decent people who will not react violently should they learn of your deception. If you slip up after you have made Rabastan fall for you, he will kill you."

"He might anyway," Hermione shrugged, "Any of them could. But if I can feed the side of them that is Good, I can cause them to begin to doubt themselves. I can create anguish and mental conflict. If it saves even one person from meeting death or pain by his wand, it will be worth it."

Snape stared at her carefully. Hermione could tell her was weighing the benefits against the potential for disaster.

"How do you plan to do it?" he asked finally.

"Draco will be easy," Hermione informed him, "He is primed for falling for someone - anyone - who will look past what he is and love him anyway. He is already anguished and fearful of the Dark magics. He's currently little more than a whipped dog that is still seeking affection before being turned from humanity altogether. I will provide that affection."

"And Rabastan?" Snape asked.

"He likes puzzles," Hermione grinned, "He might not know it yet, but he does. He enjoys the idea that he might be able to corrupt me. He's tried to unsettle me a few times and it titillates him when I don't react the way he expects. If I can find his Goodness, I will foster it slowly and carefully."

"Do you have any other targets?" Snape asked her, frowning now.

"None in particular. Greyback is beyond saving, I think. The monster in him has devoured what was left of his Goodness. The only thing to do with him is to get him on my side long enough to keep him from causing me trouble before stabbing him in the back," Hermione told him and Snape nodded in agreement.

"There is something else you should know," he told her after a few minutes of thoughtful silence.

"Oh?" Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"At some stage in the future I expect the Dark Lord will demanded a show from you and Bellatrix," Snape told her. Hermione marvelled at his ability to sound and look entirely unaffected by his words. She felt ill at his suggestion.

"Fuck her, you mean?" she asked, her face blanching and turning slightly green. She knew cussing was beneath her, but there was no other word she could think of to describe the act as she would engage in it with Death Eaters. It wasn't merely having sexing and it certainly wasn't making love. It was fucking. Cold, hard, brutal fucking.

"Death Eaters are often the basest of beings, Mina," he said, "There is nothing off limits to my brethren. No perversion too great. No horror too much. The rivalry that has sparked between you and Bella will amuse them all awhile and eventually someone will voice the urge to see the two of you fuck each other. Have you ever been with a woman?"

Hermione shook her head. She'd read about it but women didn't appeal to her sexually. Oh she could perve, as she believed all woman did, but it was not for sexual enjoyment. It was for the catty pettiness of comparing her own body and her own assets to others of the same sex to see how she measured up. Her competitive streak was responsible for that.

"You will learn," Snape informed her slowly, waiting for Hermione to nod again, knowing she had no choice. She could already feel that he was correct. She would have to fuck Bella, just as she would have to fuck many of the other Death Eaters. She didn't go for girls, but Hermione was learning there were lots of things she could and would consider enduring for the sake of the role she currently played. If shagging another witch was the least of them – even one as vile in personality as Bellatrix – Hermione could do it. She wouldn't much like it, but she would do it.

"Teach me," Hermione nodded, looking into his eyes, "I don't like women and the idea of shagging that one in particular makes me nauseas. But I know you're right. I will have no choice in the matter eventually. And if I balk, she will think she's won. Teach me to fuck her so well she'll loathe me for the same reason she loathes you."

A cruel, feral smile slipped across Snape's face then.

"That's my girl," he murmured and Hermione could tell he meant it in all senses of the word. As a lover. A teacher. A pseudo-father. A mentor. A friend. He approved of her bravery in the face of her disgust and her fear, and he approved her vindictive streak. She could also tell he approved of how she was willing to logically examine everything he was telling her, refusing to allow emotion to come into play. Hermione had known in the past that she was capable of doing so, though she often worked hard not to. Being too logical and too unbiased and unaffected by things tended to draw funny looks.

But not from Snape. He was as logical as she was. As capable to tamp down emotion in favour of cold hard facts. It was why he seemed so cold himself.

"We will begin tomorrow," he nodded sharply, "You will learn from what I do to you. And then you will learn through practice."

"Going to get us a whore?" Hermione asked, barely able to believe she was having this conversation. She laughed when he nodded.

~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~

"No!" Snape hissed in annoyance when Hermione fired a spell at the practice dummy they were working on. He had her perfecting Sectumsempra first, teaching her the way the slashing motion of the wand mimicked the use of a medieval sword and left slashes accordingly. Already the dummy was hanging in rags and needing to be repaired. Again.

"What did I do wrong?" Hermione asked, glancing at him as the head of the dummy was slashed off entirely.

"You're flicking your wand too widely. Were you to use the spell like that on a victim, you would kill anyone standing either side of them as well. Focus the spell on only the opponent. Like this," he demonstrated, slashing his wand in the air in front of him. He utilised the space as though it were a scrap of parchment and he was slashing abysmal grades on someone's homework.

Hermione watched him carefully before she tried again, this time much tighter and more controlled. When the dummy completely fell apart, Hermione turned to him. He didn't congratulate her or offer any other words of praise. He never did. But he didn't have any criticisms either and that was how Hermione knew she'd done well. Just the way he had taught her in Potions for so many years, she knew silence from Snape was often a good thing.

He repaired the dummy with a wave of his wand. He glanced at her to make sure she was listening before showing her a new spell.

"Aperi veteres vulneribus," he enunciated clearly, with a very subtle twitch of his wand.

The dummy burst open again and Hermione blinked. Her Latin was good enough that the spell made sense. Open old wounds.

"It's a hit and miss if the person you turn it on has never been badly injured, but if they have, the spell will re-open every scar on their body or within it as the case may be. You try," Snape commanded, repairing the dummy again.

Hermione tried it and she frowned when nothing happening. She glanced at Snape. He held up his wand, showing her the way he twitched his wand in an anti-clockwise circle no bigger than a coin. She nodded and tried it again, pleased when the Dummy split open.

"More power," he urged, "Pulverise it, as I did. You have to draw on the hate and fury inside yourself to perform the magic properly. All dark magic is deeply seated in dark emotions. Lust. Anger. Hate. Jealousy. They are the basis of Dark magic."

"But I don't have that much hate inside of me," Hermione protested.

"You do," he argued, "You wouldn't have been able to throw a Killing curse if you didn't."

Hermione nodded slowly before closing her eyes for a minute. She drew on every hateful feeling inside herself. The fury that had raged inside her the previous day as Ron had been tortured sprang into her mind and she performed the spell. She opened her eyes to see the entire dummy destroyed. Not just pieces. There weren't even hunks left. Just tiny bits of rubber. She curled her lip at the fact that Snape had charmed the dummy to be entirely too life-like for her liking. It bled. He'd charmed it to appear like a mannequin in everything but the way it felt to touch it and the way it bled fake blood if she wounded it.

Hermione curled her lip in disgust at the sight it made. Then she looked at Snape again. He was eyeing her speculatively.

"What else have you got?" she asked him, smirking the tiniest bit.

"Read your textbooks," he informed her.

"I need more clothes," Hermione replied instead, "Most of what I had in my bag are muggle things, since we were going to be one the run. If I'm to be seen pandering at pureblood pomp then I need to buy robes."

"You want me to take you shopping?" he asked drolly, raising one eyebrow in what appeared to be horror.

"Well, not really but I assume you're not going to let me go by myself," Hermione shrugged. "You don't want me to be seen running around in muggle clothes do you?"

"Not particularly," he answered, eyeing her too-large shirt and her tights with distaste, "Especially not for meeting with Death Eaters."

He sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose again as though reaching for patience.

"Fine, go and put on something more appropriate and we'll go," he snapped his fingers at her and Hermione ran up the stairs to change. When she returned to the lounge room she found him pacing in annoyance. He levelled a glare at her when he spotted her. Hermione glanced down at her robes. They weren't anything special. A sundress in a flattering shade of periwinkle blue coupled with the emerald green cloak he'd given her the day before.

The weather outside – which had thus far been dismal most of the summer – was warm enough for dresses for a change and Hermione was taking advantage of that fact only too happily. Snape didn't say anything as he eyed her, before offering her his arm, intending to apparate them. Hermione took entirely too much pleasure from his expression when she took his hand instead of his proffered arm.

"Insolent," he accused her before they disapparated with a crack.

Hermione was smirking wickedly when they landed in Diagon Alley and she released Snape's hand when he twitched it, only to take his arm. She felt a sense of melancholy replace her momentary amusement, however, when she saw the state of the Alley. It was even worse than it had been before sixth year. Most of the stores were dark – the businesses abandoned as people hid from Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

"Where is everyone supposed to get their supplies for school?" Hermione asked, him looking around forlornly.

"The Dark Lord means to initiate an ordinance when the Ministry is overtaken, demanding that everyone go about their business and return to their positions as normal after being subjected to a background check regarding their bloodlines. When the time comes, he means to confiscate the wands from muggleborns and refuse them fair trial. Most will be incarcerated to Azkaban," Snape answered grimly.

"What for?" Hermione asked, aghast.

"Stealing a wand and stealing the magic of other wizards for themselves. He is pandering to the purebloods within his brethren as a means of controlling the population. Everyone will be so busy trying to make sure they can prove they're of magical descent that they will not notice the other more insidious things he means to implement," Snape told her.

Hermione felt her mouth tighten into a scowl. More than ever she felt the burning urge inside her soul to see the Dark lord and his Death Eaters destroyed. And she would. She'd need to get word to Harry and the others, but there had to be more she could do to bring down the ever-growing horror the Dark Lord presented. She didn't say anything else as Snape escorted her down the street and into Twilfitt and Tattings.

She was unsurprised to find that the shop was still doing well. Of course it was. Most of the Death Eaters were purebloods – those who preferred to shop there.

"Well hello," the shop assistant greeted them with a smile. Hermione could tell from the way she eyed them that she thought they couldn't afford anything from the store.

"Severus? Is that you?" an older woman appeared from the back room.

"Deirdre," Snape nodded to her.

"How can I help?" the witch asked, shooing the assistant away, "More teaching robes? I hear you'll be returning to Hogwarts as Headmaster soon."

"Pucey talks too much," Snape replied, "But no, I'm here to have some things made for my daughter. Mina."

He nodded to Hermione, who eyed the woman with the same detachment she'd seen Snape use.

"Daughter?" Deirdre exclaimed, "I had no idea you had a daughter, Severus! Well, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mina, I'm sure."

"Indeed," Hermione replied in the same tone Snape used so often when he was bored before turning to him, "Do you mind if I browse?"

Snape's lips twitched at her rudeness, clearly trying to hide a smirk. She had the distinct impression that he didn't like this woman and approved of her snobbish behaviour. He untucked her hand from the crook of his arm and Hermione slipped away.

"Are you looking for anything in particular, Miss Snape?" Deirdre followed her, leaving Snape to eye the shop assistant – who had clearly gathered he was a Death Eater, if the expression on her face was anything to go by.

"Things to wear when the Dark Lord holds court," Hermione replied evenly, "Not too much black, mind – it's such a boring shade."

"You wish to wear bright colours in the presence of the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters?" Deirdre asked, looking startled.

"Do you not stock colour?" Hermione asked seriously, eyeing her in annoyance.

"I do. Of course I do… I just. Arnold has simply never mentioned anyone attending court in colour before. Oh, the occasional shade of grey, I suppose…" the woman looked nervous and Hermione gathered that this woman was the wife of a Death Eater, but not actually a Death Eater herself.

"I'm not suggesting pastels, Mrs Pucey," Hermione rolled her eyes, "But there is nothing wrong with deep shade of purple, blue, green or red. Do you have anything corseted – not excessively so, of course… Oh! Something like this."

She picked up a floor length velvet dress. The midsection was a deep shade of purple with black silk ties criss-crossed over the ribs. The sleeve were long, fitted to the elbow before flaring outwards. It even had a hood on it. She took it off the shelf, intending to try it on and see what she thought.

"What else do have like this? They don't have to be black, or velvet," Hermione told the woman as she carried the garment to the fitting room. Once inside, she hung up her emerald cloak and stripped out of her sundress, replacing it with the dress she'd picked up. Like most well-made wizarding robes, it was charmed to adjust to her size perfectly. Hermione knew the minute she put it on that it was the type of thing she was looking for.

She knew because wearing it made her feel naughty. Her muggle mother would have describe it as being a gothic-victorian style dress and would have told her to stop being silly. To dress properly. Hermione liked it for that reason. It was so entirely not Hermione Granger. Opening the curtains of the change room, Hermione caught Snape's eye, raising her eyebrows at him in askance.

His expression was almost entirely blank and Hermione could see from the way he eyed the dip of the bust and the figure-hugging corset of the waist that, were he her actual father, he'd have disapproved. Another point for taking it. She was intending to take the Death Eaters by storm of desire. Which – for a fraction of a second – she caught flashing in Snape's eyes. Smirking to herself, she turned to the shop owner, and raised her eyebrows.

"Very nice, dear," the woman offered, smiling widely, "Try these too. How many do you need?"

"I don't know," Hermione admitted, "However many strike my fancy."

She accepted the others from the witch and took them back into the change room.

"Not this one," she called out, flinging the dress through the curtains when she didn't at all like the way it reminded her so much of Bellatrix. She wanted to look better than the woman, confound it all, without sticking out too much. She wanted to draw attention, but not so much that she was obvious about it. And looking like Bellatrix was a definite no. She could just hear the jeer about trying to emulate the bitch.

"Too short," Snape told her when she came out of the change room next wearing a black and blood-red thing she expected she might find in the muggle world were she to enter a Gothic-Punk store. It had scraps of lace and ruffles, corseted with full length sleeves. It also fell to just above her knees.

"Is not," Hermione protested, "I'm sixteen, not sixty.

Snape narrowed his eyes.

"With the right cloak the length will not matter," Deirdre insisted and Hermione smiled.

The rest of the robes she chose were more conservative – not that they were boring. They were simply better tailored and more conducive to be worn in a duel. Most of those were in dark colours, but Hermione managed to find some in shades of navy, burgundy, and a dark bottle green. She also threw in a few things in shade of rich brown or charcoal grey. By the time she was finished she had several new outfits that were befitting of pureblood culture and she left feeling rather pleased with herself.

"You should've let me pay," Hermione told Snape when they left the store, "I have plenty of money."

"We're supposed to be projecting the image of father and daughter. I'm also supposed to have only recently learned of your existence. As such, it's expected that I might dote on you somewhat," he argued with her.

"It is not. Anyone who knows you would be utterly flabbergasted to see you doting on anyone!" Hermione informed him, "You don't dote. You don't even like other people. And everyone knows it. By making it seem as though you genuinely care for me, you're putting us both as risk."

"That is precisely the point," Snape informed her, "Deirdre will pass on to Arnold and Adrian that I was shopping today with my daughter and that I doted on you – by my standards. Subsequently the Death Eaters will learn of that fact. It affords you a certain amount of protection because many of them fear me."

"Yes, no doubt because you were a loose cannon with no weak spots they could exploit. Making it seem like you care for me makes me a weak spot they can target," Hermione informed him.

"Indeed," he answered, "But you are not a weakness."

Hermione nearly swallowed her own tongue when she realised he was being complimentary rather than unfeeling. She gaped at him from across the bedroom, having apparated home with him and made her way into her room, where she was unpacking her new robes and removing the tags.

"What do I wear this evening?" she asked him seriously, eyeing the collection of new things she'd purchased.

"You intend to make something of a splash and thus garner more attention from the men you seek to honeypot? Namely Rabastan and Draco?" he raised his eyebrows.

Hermione nodded, biting her lip.

"Yet require the practicality of something that will be easy to move in during the ritual…." Snape mused, looking over the items. He stopped on one she'd chosen. It was imitation whale-bone for the corset, thick and protective around her middle with bright silver fastenings. The skirt was long and puffed slightly, burgundy silk covered by a layer of black lace that looked like spider's webs. The sleeves were small, little caps over her shoulders, revealing a deep cleavage plunge and leaving her arms bare. Attached to the corset were three symmetrically arranged silver chains on either side over her hips, accentuating her narrow waist.

"It will leave your arms bare to receive the Dark mark, which you will be expected to wear proudly. The fit and the skin you're showing will do the rest," Snape informed her, "Wear tights and boots under it. And I want you to drink this."

He held up a phial of crimson potion.

"What is it?" Hermione asked, taking it from him.

"It's a potion that confuses the nerve endings. It means that when the Dark Lord turns the Cruciatus curse on you, and when the Dark Mark is applied, your nerve endings will confuse the pain with pleasure. It tricks the receptors in the brain. Not completely. It will still hurt. But rather than being so excruciating that you pierce my eardrums in agony this evening, you should be able to control the urge to scream – unless it's with pleasure. We have reputations to maintain, after all, and I never scream under the Cruciatus curse. Neither will you."

Snape watched her until Hermione uncorked it.

"Will it make the pleasure receptors respond with pain?" Hermione asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Only a little," he nodded, "Not enough to really matter. The way you felt when you woke up this morning will have been worse."

Nodding her head, Hermione drank the liquid down, grimacing at the taste of the wretched potion. It tasted the way she imagined mud might, were she to drink it like chocolate milk. She handed the phial back to him when it was gone and he took it.

"We leave at six," he cautioned her. Hermione nodded again, realising he was going to leave her be awhile. She was grateful for that. She needed to collect herself. Changing out of her sundress, Hermione donned the new dress she'd bought, feeling a whisper of a thrill at the way she looked in it.

She felt more like Mina Graziana in it than like Hermione Granger and that was a good thing, considering what she would face later that evening. She pulled a thick pair of black tights up her legs beneath the skirt and donned her dragon hide boots. She narrowed her eyes on them a moment before using her wand to enlarge the heel slightly, making it a little higher. She didn't often wear heels, but they would make her more appealing, so she did so now. When she was finished with her clothes, Hermione glanced in the mirror. She needed to do something with her hair.

Everything Snape had said suggested she might pass out from the pain and the horrid nature of the Dark Mark ritual. Which Hermione determined to mean it might also make her vomit in disgust. She didn't want to get vomit in her hair. Gathering the silky curls, Hermione braided the length of it down her back, tying it off carefully. It had grown long recently, hanging in the thick rope down to the middle of her back. A few wispy curls escaped the braid to frame her face and Hermione marvelled again at how different her appearance was now.

She simply couldn't get used to the sight of herself.

Shaking her head, she affixed her approximation of Snape's blank expression on her face, pleased when she caught how much it made her look like him. Smirking like Draco next, Hermione tweaked the expression slightly, once again enjoying the way the expression replicated the person she imitated so nicely. Morbidly curious was her favourite expression. She affected a look she'd caught Rabastan wearing the previous day. It was somehow entirely detached, and yet fascinated too.

She didn't quite get it right, she decided. She would need to study him and practice it. When she was satisfied with the expression Mina would wear, Hermione strolled over to the bed and picked up one of the books Snape had given her, settling herself against the pillows and losing herself in the pages filled with dark magic.