A/N: Wow, thank you guys so much for all the follows, favorites and reviews. I love knowing that this story isn't just interesting to me. And thank you to the guest reviewers I couldn't PM back! Also, please note that I'm going to start a regular posting schedule starting today. You'll see posts from me on Mondays and Thursdays until I'm caught up with my writing, and after that you'll see posts once a week. And before we begin reading the chapter, can we all just take a moment to think about the amazing Alan Rickman and everything he contributed to film and art and our lives? He will be missed. 3

Chapter Ten: Sanguinis Copulam

June 1, 1997

Hermione stood in the middle of the Drawing Room that evening, still dressed in the dark blue robes and cream colored boots Narcissa had set out for her that morning. The witch had offered to find her something more 'bridal', but Hermione had refused. After all, what was the use of looking like a bride when you didn't feel like one? The room itself had been transformed once more, the usual furniture and the long table vanished and replaced with an intricately carved stone altar covered by runes and dozens of chairs for the audience of Death Eaters who were now seated and staring up at the trio standing at the end of the room. How very different a wedding it was from the one she had imagined as a girl. Rather than standing in a church somewhere beside a man she loved and surrounded by people who cared for them, she was standing in front of a pagan looking stone next to a man she barely tolerated surrounded by her enemies.

At least in the end it had been her choice, though she wasn't sure she could really qualify it as such. Apparently, Sanguinis Copulam required the consent of both parties. The willing surrender of independence was a condition of the rite, and thus Voldemort's plan became impossible without her agreement. So he had given her the option. She could either stay there with him, an honored guest at Malfoy Manor, or she could agree to marry Snape and return to Hogwarts with him the following morning.

She had agonized in her room for several hours after she had been released to think about her decision. She had tried to remember every interaction she'd ever had with the spy, analyzing the experiences to try and find his motive, to reveal his true loyalties. She had even made a list of pros and cons (one side of which had predictably taken up considerably more space than the other.) Ultimately, however, despite all logic and examination, her decision had come down to one simple question: did she trust Severus Snape? Did she believe that he would not abuse whatever "loyalty" the binding ensured? In the end, though she hadn't been able to explain why or how on any satisfactory level, the answer was yes.

And that answer had brought her here to this altar, standing stiffly beside Snape who it seemed had opted to wear dress robes as well. Her hands clenched into fists around the loose fabric of her skirt. In front of them stood the Dark Lord, resplendent in another set of black dress robes. His wand was held high over the pair of them and he chanted in a language she wasn't familiar with. At first, she felt nothing, and then the shining silver tendrils of light shot out of the tip of Voldemort's wand, wrapping themselves around first her right wrist and then Snape's, tugging them up until at last they met and she felt Snape's large hand clasp her own. The lights wound around their joined hands and began to burn like hot wax, pressing them palm to palm, wrist to wrist. She thought she could feel his pulse against her own and when she forced herself to look up at his face it was just as disconcerted as hers. They stood there for several minutes, their hands burning under the winding lights as Voldemort spoke the words of the binding, only separating when they both had a chance to repeat a short phrase and the lights changed from silver to brightest gold before sinking white hot into their skin and disappearing from view.

The binding, it seemed, was through, because as Hermione felt herself being turned to face the room, there was a smattering of polite applause from the observers.

"Well done," came Voldemort's voice from behind them. Hermione glanced back at the sound, still feeling as if things were too surreal to actually be happening around her. Surely she hadn't just been married. She didn't feel any different, didn't feel any more loyal to Snape or to Voldemort. Her hand was still warm, but as far as she could tell that was the only difference.

"My Lord," said Snape, his voice sounding hoarse as he knelt down before his master.

"You have always been my most loyal servant, Severussss," said Voldemort, "and I know you will continue to serve me well." He paused and looked at Hermione. "Is she under your power?" he asked, curious it seemed, to know whether the binding had been successful.

Snape glanced up at Hermione, still standing stiffly beside him.

"I order you to kneel at once," he said. Hermione scoffed and shook her head, staring down at him defiantly until all at once she felt as if she couldn't breathe. There was something blocking her airway, a sinking feeling in her stomach and a panic so acute she thought she might collapse. Somewhere in the back of her mind, the thought occurred to her that she must kneel, that kneeling would save her, would bring the air back to her lungs and make her feel at peace.

The next thing she was aware of was the feel of her knees on the marble floor of the drawing room and the sensation of breathing air into her lungs again.

The surrounding Death Eaters were silent as Voldemort moved from his position behind the altar to circle around the pair kneeling on the floor until at last he stood directly before Hermione. He crouched down in front of her then, examining her features until at last he smiled, a horrible grin that showed his yellowing teeth. He looked over at Snape, smile still firmly in place, and spoke.

"Remember that her blood is worth more than yours, Severus," he warned genially, before rising and addressing the Death Eaters present. "You are dismissed," he said abruptly. "You will all remember your orders as you leave. I will not be crossed." The mass seemed to bow in unison, all of them then filing out of the room in silence until at last Hermione and Snape were left alone, kneeling on the floor at Voldemort's feet. The dread which had begun to build in Hermione as she had knelt beside Snape had reached a fever pitch as the true consequence of the binding she had agreed to revealed itself to her. The spell did not require mere loyalty, it required something far worse. Obedience. Complete, utter, and swift obedience which she could do nothing but carry out.

"You may retire, Severus," said Voldemort, looking down at his servant and his daughter, kneeling with bowed heads. "Don't be too unkind."

As he left the room, Snape rose stiffly, dusting off his robes where he had knelt and then looking down at Hermione as if he had just noticed her presence.

"You can get up now," he said, voice curt. His permission, Hermione noted bitterly, was what she had been waiting for. She rose gracelessly, knees sore and pride wounded. She turned her back to him immediately, walking stiffly past him and out of the room, boots clicking against the marble floor with each step. He followed her, not bothering to speak as she led the way from the Drawing Room up the stairs and to the guest room he had given her the night before. She took the time to read the plaque on the door this time, The Green Room, it said. She scoffed, and threw the door open, steeling herself to turn around and face Snape as she did so.

"I'll see you tomorrow morning," she said through clenched teeth. She noted his raised brow and look of confusion as she moved to shut the door in his face. Unfortunately, before she could close it, Snape pushed his way forward, catching the heavy wood on his shoulder and grunting as the force jarred him. Well, she thought, the bastard deserved it.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" growled Snape, pushing the door wide open again and stepping through into the room to stand in front of her.

Hermione crossed her arms beneath her breasts and scowled.

"I think that was perfectly obvious," she said, "I was making it clear that you are not welcome here."

"Not welcome? Granger, have you lost your bloody mind?" Snape was staring down at her incredulously.

"I don't think so," she said defensively, her voice gone high just as it always did when she was feeling panicked and put upon. "Just because we're… bound, or whatever the hell you want to call it..."

"Married," supplied Snape, eyeing her speculatively.

Hermione just scoffed and continued. "Just because I've got to obey every damned thing you tell me from now on, does not give you the right to- to come into my bedroom and to, well, to take advantage of me in any way!" When she finished speaking, Hermione's voice was so shrill she thought she sounded like a house elf.

From his spot near the doorway, Snape watched her, brows furrowed as he thought until at last, he seemed to settle on a course of action and turned to shut the door behind him.

"I said I don't want to do anything with you!" cried Hermione, stomping her foot and looking about wildly as he locked the door and produced his wand. He warded the entrance quickly and then stowed his wand back in his robes before turning to face Hermione.

"Stop!" she cried as he took two steps towards her.

Snape snorted impatiently and gave her a withering look.

"Miss Granger, I assure you your virtue will remain quite intact for the time being. Now. Sit. Down." And suddenly Hermione saw before her not the Death Eater from the previous evening, the Dark Lord's servant to whom she had been bound just minutes before, but her old Potions professor, imperious and haughty as ever.

She sat.

"Now," Snape began, pacing in front of the settee upon which Hermione had settled, "I think perhaps a conversation is in order. You seem under the misapprehension that I wish to defile you in some way, Miss. Granger. I assure you that is not the case. I have not been waiting in the wings for my chance to pounce on the bushy-haired, buck-toothed know-it all who tried to make every bloody class with her in it another episode of the Hermione Granger show. I am not the lecherous old man you have no doubt been imagining."

"I haven't been-"

"Allow me to finish!" hissed Snape. Hermione frowned and fell silent. Snape watched her suspiciously as if he expected her to contradict him. When he seemed satisfied that she would remain quiet, he spoke again.

"The thought of bedding you, Granger, is one which causes me a considerable amount of distress," he continued. Hermione wasn't sure whether she should be relieved or offended at the proclamation. "And while it is a necessity of this curse to which we are both subject, it is not one I relish."

"It's what!?" cried Hermione.

Snape glared at her, looking near apoplectic, and she thought she had better let him continue his explanation, though if it was headed in the direction she suspected, she thought she might vomit.

"It is a necessity, Miss Granger," he said. "The binding is not complete until we join physically, and that physical joining is required by the Dark Lord." Looking weary, Snape sat on the opposite end of the sofa from her. "Knowing nothing of the ceremony we have participated in, I cannot fault you for your ignorance," he said, "but I cannot leave you to wallow in it. Sanguinis Copulam was the first wizarding marriage rite. It was a binding of blood and magic which served dual purposes."

"To make me obedient," supplied Hermione, looking up at Snape as she spoke. He met her gaze and nodded.

"Yes," he agreed. "But not to every offhand command. I must formally order you for the spell to take effect, as I did in the Drawing Room."

"Oh," breathed Hermione, finding that the knowledge relieved her somewhat. "So if we're in class and you tell me to do something…"

Through gritted teeth, Snape answered, "Unless I speak the words 'I order you' before my command, you are as free as ever to disobey me, though I warn you that no matter your marital status, such a choice will still result in the loss of house points."

Hermione nodded her understanding.

"Your obedience, however, is only one purpose of the binding. The other serves you rather than me. While you are bound to obey, I am bound to protect you. When you are in physical danger, I will feel the same compulsion with which you are inflicted, driving me to protect you from that danger."

Hermione's eyes widened at the news. Snape was bound as well? If she were ever in danger he would feel the same panic, the same breathlessness she had felt when she had tried to disobey him?

"Does that mean when I get a paper cut, the spell punishes you?" she asked. Snape shook his head.

"No, as with informal and formal orders, the spell distinguishes between things like paper cuts and an attack or mortal peril. If such circumstances arise, I will be compelled to come to your aid. Do you understand?"

Hermione nodded. She understood far better now why such a binding as this might have once been appealing to witches and wizards. In an era where wifely obedience was already an expectation, she imagined that having the added assurance of a husband who was bound to protect you and who could therefore not abuse your obedience to the extreme must have been an attractive option. Still, she didn't understand what Snape had meant when he had said that them… being together, was a necessity. As far as she could tell, the obedience aspect of the spell was in full force, and she assumed that meant the protection portion was as well.

"The binding served a third purpose as well," continued Snape, catching Hermione's gaze and refusing to release it as he spoke. "It is more than just marriage vows enforced by a spell, it is a literal binding of magical power. My magic is bound to yours and yours to mine through this marriage," he spat the last word as if it were an obscenity, "and this binding of our intangible magics must be acted upon physically. As this is a union of husband and wife… that means sexual congress."

"Oh God," said Hermione, "So we have to… umm…"

"Quite," answered Snape. "Of course," he continued, "There are benefits to being magically bound. After the bond is made, we will both experience an increase in magical power and clarity of mind. Unfortunately, with time, this increase begins to diminish." He wasn't looking at her now, but at a spot over her head.

"Diminish?" asked Hermione, "as in lessen? Then what's the bloody point of it in the first place?"

Snape swallowed and seemed to force himself to look back down at her.

"I think the point is rather to ensure that the couple repeats the process, and renews the bond," he answered levelly.

"What?!" Hermione's voice was shrill again and she sprang from her seat, staring down in horror at Snape who was looking up at her with a cross expression of his own.

"As flattering as your outburst is, Miss Granger, I don't believe you really need me to repeat myself."

"Voldemort knew about this?!"

Snape scoffed. "Do you imagine it would matter to him? Of course he knew! He deemed the increase to our power worth the repeated sacrifice of your virtue," here, he paused for a moment, "Assuming such a thing is still intact."

Hermione's eyes widened at Snape's words and she stared down at him in disbelief. "Professor," she said, "are you asking if I'm still a virgin?"

Snape shrugged and sat back in the settee, crossing one ankle over the opposite knee. "It matters little to me," he answered, his black eyes glittering "but as a matter of curiosity towards the young woman I'm about to take to bed, yes, I am."

"That is none of your god damned business," Hermione answered, turning bright red and whirling around to face the fireplace which was now lit.

"Ah," said Snape, voice soft and smug, "So you are."

"You don't know that," retorted Hermione, whirling back to stare down at the man impetuously. "I could have shagged loads of guys. For all you know, Harry and Ron and I could be having great bloody threesomes in Gryffindor Tower nightly!"

From his seat, Snape arched a brow and smirked.

"Miss Granger, the most scandalous memory you seemed to have two nights ago was of being snogged tamely in your fourth year. Do you really expect me to believe you regularly participate in ménages à trois with the boy wonder and his pet weasel?"

"I could!" cried Hermione, feeling defensive now.

Snape, who was still smirking, nodded indulgently and conceded, "It might be a possibility."

"Thank you," said Hermione.

"Much as the Dark Lord deciding he loves muggles and wants to live as one, is a possibility," he added.

Glowering, Hermione turned back to face the fire as Snape chuckled.

"You needn't be such an ass," said Hermione, feeling quite as if she'd like to punch her professor in the mouth. She heard the man shift on the sofa behind her.

"Perhaps not, but it is better, I think, than ravishing you immediately as your father expected." Hermione's spine stiffened at the word.

"Don't call him that," she ordered sharply. She couldn't bear to hear the word used to describe the man who had put her in this position.

"Is that not who he is? I was under the impression that your relationship to him was at the root of our predicament."

"Yes," acknowledged Hermione grudgingly, finally turning back to look at Snape with her arms crossed once more, "but he was never a father to me. I had one of those, and he was brilliant. All Voldemort is to me is a sperm donor. Some man I inherited certain genetic traits from, but with whom I have no other connection."

Snape peered up at her from where he sat, taking in her defensive posture and the stubborn set of her jaw before nodding once in acknowledgement.

"You know," he said mildly, "that as this charade progresses, you must overcome that aversion?" Hermione nodded stiffly and Snape let the topic drop.

"Back to the subject at hand," he said instead. "Now that you know what is required of us, do you think it is a fate to which you might subject yourself willingly, thereby saving me the necessity of ordering you to comply?" Hermione's eyes widened, scandalized at the thought of being forced into intimacy by anyone, let alone her professor.

"You wouldn't," she said. Snape arched a brow again and stared back at her looking quite serious.

"I would do whatever is necessary to ensure you are allowed to return to Hogwarts as planned," he answered diplomatically, "assuming that is still your wish."

"Of course it is," cried Hermione.

"Then you know the price," said Snape. He was still reclined on the settee, his hair looked clean and soft where it fell to brush his shoulders. She wondered if there was something about Hogwarts that made it look so perfectly horrid as he taught or if he had paid it special attention this evening in anticipation of the events he knew would unfold.

Hermione sighed, sitting on the small chair beside the door once again and letting her head drop into her hands.

How splendidly awful things had gone. This visit which she had hoped would last a mere evening had gone on more than a day, and the mild consequence she had hoped for had been twisted to nightmare proportions. Here she sat, seventeen, the child of the Dark Lord, and magically bound to a man she had respected since childhood, but never really liked. And now, she was expected to give herself to that same man, using her body to secure her obedience and to increase their magical power. God, she had been reduced to a whore.

"Miss Granger." She looked up at the sound of his low voice as he crouched before her where she sat. His expression was not one of tenderness, but of determination. "I know you must be feeling as if your life has ended. In some ways it has. You will never again be the Hermione Granger you were before you met the Dark Lord. She is dead. Now you must do difficult, distasteful things and submit yourself to a power you know nothing of." He paused, taking her hands abruptly as he continued. "I cannot tell you it will be worth it in the end, that what you are fighting for will come to pass… but when I tried to warn you before, you thought the chance was enough. I hope you will remember that."

Hermione didn't realize she was crying until the first hot tear splashed onto her hand. She looked up, startled, and met Snape's gaze. He did not look so ugly at close quarters, she thought. His nose was large, but his lips were full and his cheekbones high and angular beneath those expressive eyes. She thought if she had to marry someone, at least he didn't look like a goblin.

"I don't usually cry this much," she said, not knowing how else to respond.

"And I do not normally hold with tears," he responded. "I think under the circumstances, though, I may overlook them."

He released her hands and turned his back to her, crossing back to the settee and allowing her her some privacy. Hermione took several minutes to compose herself. She wiped her tears and thought of everything Snape had told her, of her parents safe on some beach, of her friends anxiously awaiting her return at Hogwarts. She thought of Snape, offering her nothing but honesty as always, and of how oddly comforting she found it. If he could be so unfailingly honest with her, perhaps she could be unfailingly brave. Maybe she could do what was necessary without more girlish tears, without placing blame and allowing herself to become so distraught. She was Hermione Granger, after all, she thrived under pressure and blossomed in poor conditions. Maybe if she set her mind to it, her experience that night need not be entirely unpleasant. After all, it wasn't as if she couldn't use her imagination and supply a different man to the actions they would be undertaking. A kinder, gentler man who should have been her first. And a thought occurred to her as she imagined what being with Snape in that way might be like.

"Professor?"

"Yes?"

"Have you ever had- I mean, are you… well, experienced?"

Snape snorted softly.

"Yes, Miss Granger."

"Oh," she said, "I had thought so, only I wasn't sure. And well, I think one of us probably ought to know what to do when it's time to… well."

"I'm sure I am equal to the task," said Snape mildly. Hermione blushed. "Why don't you go into the bathroom and clean your face," he suggested. "When you return, we can discuss this evening's activities in more detail if you wish."

Hermione jumped at the opportunity to escape him, springing from her seat and nodding as she practically ran to the bathroom door. She forced herself to slow before entering and looked back at Snape where he sat on the settee, his back to her.

"Thank you, Professor," she said, and then disappeared into the other room before he'd had a chance to respond.