A/N: I've had a few people complaining that they were not sent alerts for the updates. So I have decided to write at the bottom of each chapter exactly when I'm gonna post next, so you can come and check if your app isn't letting you know.
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Warming: This chapter contains some scenes of torture. But then again, we're all privy to GoF, aren't we?
Chapter 32: The Calling
The apricity of the sun soothed Hermione's sun-starved skin. This year, she had been exposed to the sunlight less than ever. Spending weeks confined in the Infirmary hadn't helped. October was coming to an end soon. Halloween was only four days away. Scotland had adapted to the month, sending chills in the air.
Most of the students were out again this afternoon to enjoy the last of the sun that they could purloin before the grounds were covered with thick layers of snow.
Some First years were trying to catch a miniature snitch like one would a butterfly, running and giggling in the background. Hermione could see a group of Ravenclaws sitting by the Black Lake, discussing the latest Potions inventions they had read about in The Potioneer Monthly, and not for the first time wondered if she should have been a Ravenclaw because the discussion was intriguing her even from a distance. A group of Hufflepuffs, along with Dean and Seamus, was playing Exploding Snaps. Neville and Luna, Hermione noticed with a smile, sat by a far tree, both reading something from a hefty book set before them. Hermione wondered if they were officially a couple yet for they suited each other.
Beyond several small groups of students, the Slytherins were huddled together. Draco Malfoy stretched on the grass, his head in Pansy Parkinson's lap, while his cronies flanked them. It did not go unnoticed by Hermione how he was caressing his robe-clad forearm almost lovingly. The bushy-haired witch could not help but make a face as if she were witnessing something downright lewd. Was that what Professor Snape had called addiction to dark magic?
"Hey! I was gonna eat that!" Ron exclaimed as Ginny snatched the last cheese sandwich and took a large bite into it. Their group had smuggled the plate from the kitchens, courtesy to ever-the-loyal Dobby.
Ginny was sitting cross-legged on a conjured mat, in the grass, finishing a Transfiguration assignment, while Ron was sluggishly laying beside her, one arm under his head, the other tearing the blades of grass. The empty plate that was once heaped with sandwiches now laid empty. Harry sat against a tree, facing the Black Lake, while Hedwig perched on his arm gracefully.
Hermione, sitting in her Charmed-Chair, craved to put her feet on the lush grass underneath. But her legs, though gradually gaining sensation back, still couldn't be moved. Madam Pomfrey had assured Hermione that her spinal cord and other injuries were healing well. The scars on her face did not bother her anymore. Most of them had faded away, save for one stubborn line of scar that touched her eyebrow and made its slanting way to her hairline. Hermione doubted it would ever really fade...
But in times when she thought more deeply, she found it to be a sort of Divine Justice. She had disrespected her body, so she got something to remind her to respect herself.
"Did'ya see ma Punpkin Patch, 'Arry?" Hagrid's gruff voice held a cheery glee.
"Hey, Hagrid!" Harry smiled as the kind half-giant made his way to their group.
Soon, Harry was conversing with Hagrid and Ron seemed busy ridding himself of an overexcited Fang, which left Ginny guffawing uncontrollably, while Hermione enjoyed the view of the Black Lake. The Giant Squid was granting some peeks as it surfaced the water here and there, earning oohs and aahs from the First years.
Hermione seldom got time after classes to enjoy a calm afternoon. Usually, she was either busy with her shift at the Hospital Wing or her assignments. But today, she had taken time out to visit the Lake with her friends. And of course, Crookshanks, who was alternating between catching a fly and terrorising poor Fang.
Today, all Hermione wanted was to enjoy the sun. Even her anxiety about soon being called by Voldemort could not hinder her good mood. Perhaps she could log in her journal how refreshing the day made her feel, after a long time.
It was a good day, she decided and smiled to herself, looking into the distance.
UUUUUUU
If Hermione had thought it to be a good day, life proved her gravely wrong.
It happened when it was approaching midnight. Hermione was leaning against a bunch of pillows with her black, leather diary balanced on her lap. Writing in her journal, Hermione's hand faltered. Professor Snape's forearm was hurting. She understood he was being summoned after a very long time. But another ache in succession somewhat caused her stomach to drop. Her doubts were confirmed when she immediately received a signal on her band.
They were both being summoned.
Though she had been waiting for the summoning to get out of the way, treating it as a hurdle in her Halloween plans, the obvious apprehension came naturally. She had even decided to put her research on Professor Snape's Healing Charm on hold until the pressure of being summoned was abated. Yet, now stuck in that hour, she found herself anxious.
"Karly," Hermione called without delay. She understood how important it was for the Professor to report on time. The tiny house-elf popped in her room. "Could you help me dress?"
UUUUUUU
Hermione left the Hospital Wing stealthily. Being close to midnight, the few residing patients at the Infirmary were fast asleep behind closed curtains. She left quickly and moved her Chair swiftly to cross the corridors and descend the staircases. Empty halls implied Mr. Filch on rounds, Hermione might as well have cursed the caretaker if he had crossed path with her tonight.
The Professor had asked her to report to him on the ground floor whenever the summoning came. Her anxiety was quite prominent and she wondered if it was how he felt every time he was summoned by Voldemort. With such pressure, it was no wonder how he got so prone to headaches.
Before Hermione could reach the landing on the ground floor, she heard the Professor's voice. "Miss Granger, follow me."
Hermione had half-expected him to call her to the third floor corridor, to the secret passageway of Gunhilda of Gorsemoor. Instead, he led her to an abandoned classroom on the ground floor itself, one that had always been locked like numerous other rooms in the castle.
The said classroom was coated in a thick layer of dust in the air that irritated her nostrils. The furniture huddled at the back was more or less old and unfit for further use. The chalkboard appeared stained with chalkdust that hadn't been erased for years. If Hermione cared to squint her eyes and concentrate for a hour or more, she might have successfully read a word or two.
The classroom had been a previously used Charms workplace for the students. But an unfortunate incident in the year 1948, that entailed a Fifteen-year-old gaining a second nose and a third ear, had the Professors close the classroom for general use, owing to their superstition. Hermione knew better than to inquire the professor why he was leading her into the abandoned classroom. It was pretty evident from his face that he was in a hurry.
She watched Professor Snape retrieving his wand and waving it in front of the chalkboard. Whatever he muttered under his breath was hard for her to catch. As a result of his spell, the wall that held the chalkboard parted, opening into a tunnel of sorts.
"Come," he said, illuminating the tip of his wand.
Hermione followed his lead inside the tunnel. Behind her, the wall knitted itself shut, the meagre light only came from his wand tip. His long legs were complementing his strides, but Hermione, too, kept her Chair moving at a swift pace. The narrow walls on both sides, the persisting reek of stale water and one or five dead mice, and thick darkness assured Hermione that a claustrophobic could never cross the tunnel unharmed. Fortunately, she was not one with that phobia.
She couldn't keep from speaking for the silence was only amplifying her anxiety. "You come here every time you're summoned?"
"There are a number of passageways for my surreptitious visits," he replied. His voice was impatient, but not demeaning. In fact, he continued, "I usually use the passageway from my quarters, but this specific route was the closest to where you were." His voice echoed in the dark tunnel.
The small walk was torturous. But she kept from thinking in terms of dangerous words, for it reminded her uncomfortably where she was headed.
They left the tunnel soon, mostly in silence. Hermione found herself outside the Hogwarts gates, even outside the Anti-Apparition wards. They must have crossed the wards sometime inside the tunnel. She was compelled to wonder exactly how the tunnel worked, if only to distract herself from the gnawing panic set in her stomach.
The starless, half-moon night complemented their situation quite eerily. Late October wind was chilling enough to penetrate her cotswool robe.
It was then that she noticed him wearing the heavy robes customary to a Death Eater. It reminded her of the attack, so much so that her apprehension overwhelmed her. Though prepared, she suddenly felt fatigued with agitation.
"Riddle will believe us, won't he?" She asked in a small voice.
Tying his travelling cloak around his neck, Professor Snape eyed her carefully. "Miss Granger, we are sufficiently ready. You are sufficiently prepared."
And what if I'm exposed? But she kept from voicing her concern. Hermione nodded, willing herself to trust him. That was all the re reassurance she could seek in the little time they were granted.
He extracted a crystal vial from one of his pockets. It contained a mere two drops of clear liquid, she studied it with curiosity. "What is it?"
"An antidote for Veritaserum," he replied, pushing the vial in his hand. "Make sure each drop falls directly on your tongue."
Hermione uncorked the vial and sniffed, only out of curiosity. It smelled like nothing. She let the liquid fall on her tongue, half-expecting it to burn her tongue with its pungent taste. But it tasted like water. Or like nothing.
He took the empty vial from her. "How many fingers am I holding?"
Hermione blinked at him. "Um... Sir, I...don't see any fingers."
A hint of a smirk touched his lips at the reference. "I believe it works, then." He retrieved his wand at set fire to the vial. At her puzzlement, he added, "It tends to muddle the drinker at times."
"Oh," Hermione made a mental note to read about Veritaserum and its antidote later.
She watched his movements pause instantly. He muttered something incoherent under his breath. Hermione frowned. "What happened?" She wanted to tell him how his sudden change in demeanour was frightening her but kept from mouthing her fears mere minutes before presenting herself to Voldemort.
"Miss Granger," he said, his voice close to hesitant, "It slipped my mind. We will have to Apparate."
"I know," she almost shrugged.
"You cannot Appatate with your Chair," he said as a metter-of-fact.
"Oh. A Portkey, then?" She suggested. "A simple Portus can create one, though it'll be illegal-"
"You cannot travel with your Chair by any magical means," the Professor amended.
Oh.
"So…" She trailed off. "What will we do?" They looked at each other, ill at ease.
She glanced at her legs, vaguely wondering if the Malfoy Manor was close enough to walk- Oh. Oh, no.
Hermione bit her lip, feeling blood rising to her face as understanding dawned on her. "So…um…you will have to…" For that moment, her anxiety of presenting herself before the darkest wizard of their age was overpowered by her sense of uneasy embarrassment.
"It seems that that is the only possible way," he cleared his throat out of discomfort, she could tell.
Hermione recognised another burning sensation hit his forearm. Though his face remained impassive. Voldemort was getting impatient, she assessed. They could hardly afford to wait and squander precious time. "Alright," she agreed hastily.
He appeared to be dithering more than Hermione herself even though, she surmised, she should be the one to feel more mortified...
To ease him, she tried to sound more casual at the prospect. "We must hurry."
"Of course," he murmured and stepped towards her. Hermione watched him bend closer to her and tried to keep her face from showing any signs of the obvious awkwardness, for she was quite certain her unease would only intensify his. "May I?" His voice came too close to her ear. She nodded. It was highly inappropriate and both of them were cognisant of that.
Hermione felt one of his arms coming to settle around her shoulders, his muscles stiff, and the other to take hold of her from under her both knees. She felt herself being lifted and squeezed her eyes closed just as she had the first time on her Chair. Though his movements were ever so gentle, she didn't dare open her eyes until she could feel herself leaning against his chest and not rising in unreliable, thin air.
She could not help but keep her eyes away from his face and set on her knees. Her mind vaguely registered how his body exuded heat, despite his contrasting appearance. Suddenly, she found herself breathing in the scent of smoke and potion spices. And she had smelled that exact fragrance before. Amortentia! Her mind supplied. Among freshly mown grass and new parchment, she had caught a whiff of smoke and spices, too.
This was not the kind of self-knowledge that she needed right before meeting Voldemort.
UUUUUUU
Severus cursed himself inwardly for not assessing it earlier how Granger's travelling would be impeded by her Charmed-Chair. In all the chaos and preparing for presenting a convincible image of Granger before the Dark Lord, he had failed to take into account the very obvious facet of the summoning.
But at least, Granger had seemed agreeable and not repulsive, not visibly, anyway. That was until she decided to keep her eyes averted from him. It was no secret how she was stuck in the travails of maintaining nonchalance.
While lifting her up, he unconsciously took notice of a faint smell of...what was it exactly? Wet grass? Fresh rain? Old books? Odd yet a pleasant mingle, sadly topped with cologne lingering on her—that dulled against her naturally possessed scent. On realising how borderline 'lewd' his behaviour could be called, albeit unintentional, not to mention inappropriate, Severus mentally shook himself and determined not to breathe in her scent again.
It had been easier the last time, when she was practically unconscious and unaware of him. A disturbing fact that did not escape his notice was the amount of weight she seemed to have lost since the night of the attack. She weighed next to nothing, as if her bones were hollow as a bird's. He could not help but wonder if it was her injury and subsequent Healing that had sucked the nourishment from her body or if she simply did not prioritise eating.
She shifted in his hold, clearly uncomfortable by his his brief dawdling. "Miss Granger, you can shrink your Chair and store it safely while we Apparate," he said.
Wordlessly, she pulled out her wand and cast a Non-verbal Charm on the Charmed-Chair with the expertise that narrated years of experience. She stowed the miniature Chair in her robe.
"Are you ready?" He asked quietly.
When one of her arms came to settle around his shoulders, it was Severus' turn to strive to maintain the nonchalance. Physical contract, without prior warning, had rankled him since his childhood—so much so that it didn't feel natural anymore.
She tightened her hold on his shoulders and he refrained himself from cringing, "Yes."
Severus, at a loss, willed himself to tighten his own hold on her to prevent an accident involving splinching. He tried to maintain a delicate balance between not keeping his grip too firm to be inappropriate and not too loose to be parlous.
The situation was gravely bizarre in every aspect, he reflected. The witch in his arms seemed to share his opinion.
"Ready?" He asked again.
"Hmm," she murmured in what he supposed was her overwhelming awkwardness. Severus cleared his mind and focused on his destination. In no time, they were caught in the throes of Apparition.
UUUUUUU
It was when air finally returned to her lungs that Hermione opened her eyes. She had Apparated Side-along before but it almost always ended up making her feel nauseous. Thankfully, this time, being held close to someone had reduced the effect it had tended to have on her body. On opening her eyes, she blinked into the man's face and realised her close proximity to him. She bit her lip and turned her face away again.
"Your Chair." His voice was low, but his warm breath reached her ears. Unlike in the Room of Requirement, she did not have to suppress any flinch.
Hermione quickly resized her Chair on the immaculate marble floor of the Malfoy Manor. Despite the absurd situation, Hermione could not deny the interiors of the Manor to be splendiferous.
A scent of fresh roses wafted through the foyer, emanating from a huge flower arrangement on a large, circular, granite table. Hermione knew she would forever associate roses with the Manor. Roses—blood red, sun yellow, pristine white and coal black—were set in an opulent bouquet.
Further into the foyer, a statue of a life sized silver serpent guarded a water fountain, as if ready to strike anyone who dared to touch the sparking water—that could be anything from lake water to Phoenix Tears. Two gleaming rubies were embedded in its eye sockets, reminding Hermione of Harry's description of the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets, except the great beast's eyes had been described as green. But here, at the entrance of the Malfoy Manor, waiting for a rendezvous with a bloodthirsty dark wizard, the statue's eyes felt as petrifying as the Basilisk's had been. Its bare fangs, though beautifully engraved with mandala art, gave an impression of venom coating them. Hermione couldn't tell how far deep the hollowness of the open mouth went or if the depth was a mere illusion, all she could see behind the fangs was thick darkness.
The glow of hundreds of candles illuminating the crystal chandelier, reflected on the marble flooring—if it was marble at all, for it resembled more to glass—and left a sheen in the water. It stole the charm from the gold lamps that adorned the walls between the line of portraits—all dozing men and women with similar pallor and expensive stones on fingers and earlobes, caged inside regal, golden frames. But none snored, Hermione realised, as if each one of them was above displaying such rustic tendencies.
The Manor carried a miasma of extravagance to such an extent that it could very well faze the common visitors. Perhaps that had been the entire purpose from the start.
The Professor lowered her into her Chair with just as much gentleness as he had lifted her up. "You are prepared for this," his quiet yet surprisingly mellow voice worked to reassure Hermione.
She erected her Shields up and hid her real self beneath the protective water. What was left on the surface were the farce of memories they had created. Hermione tried to delve into the persona of a meek woman, one who was controlled and even abused by a staunch follower of the 'Dark Lord'. A young witch who was dealing with the pressure alone, for months, but never dared to babble a word out. Who was expected to prove her utmost loyalty before the dark wizard, for that was her only renaming lifeline. A witch who harboured grave terror of the 'Death Eater' who controlled her like a puppet and immense fear-induced deference for his Master.
Those bizarre thoughts brought Hermione to feel sick. One more time, she mentally thanked her fate that it was Severus Snape she was compelled to be bonded to; grateful that she would only have to act, not live it.
She looked at the man for a mere second to convey to him her readiness, before averting her eyes away, just in case they were being watched.
The Professor gave an imperceptible nod before retrieving the customary mask from deep within his robe and wearing it over his seemingly impassive face. In a blink, the man she had come to know was transformed into a life-sucking demon, not too unlike a Dementor. Venomous was the first word that came to Hermione on looking at the mask clad face that was a completely different man, if only in appearance.
"Come," he led her to the first door, behind which she could hear commotion.
Hermione kept her eyes glued to the white and black floor, numerous white octagons laid in a conjoined pattern with deep, shining black filling the gaps. She could see her own face into the pattern, blanched, jaw clenched tightly—of fear or determination she couldn't tell anymore. Determination, a confident voice whispered. Not fear.
The Anti-Apparation wards extended from the entrance to the cover the entirety of the Manor, the Professor had told her. Nobody could escape from the room they were making their way to. Only one wizard could grant them an escape, if they succeeded in proving their loyalty today, if she succeeded in proving her loyalty today. Or that room would be her cremation ground, their cremation grounds. Hermione swallowed.
The Professor paused outside the heavy doors as if weighing his options. But he never turned to face her. Without a word, then, he raised his arms to push the doors open. Hermione braced herself well when the double doors swung inwards to reveal a room she had been in before.
The room brought back a flash of her dead parents, shaking her grip on her Shields. The room that had haunted her nightmares and doomed her to countless sleepless, sobbing nights came into full focus. The floor inside was patterned with black and white diamonds in contract to the foyer. The huge, curtain-less windows let moonlight enter the otherwise dark room. The silver throne on the dais had Voldemort sitting upon. His familiar, Nagini, rested draped to the wizard's legs, like a loyal dog would.
In a neat rows on both sides, stretching from the door to the throne, several Death Eaters stood like ministers to a king, available at every beck and call but otherwise only stood guarding their master. Most faces wore the mask. Pupils shining out of the white sockets, lips hidden behind a cage, they looked every bit the debauchees the follower of a soul-less human could be.
But what caught Hermione dumbfounded was a prone form on the floor, writhing before Voldemort. Bellatrix Lestrange, whom Hermione had never seen wearing a mask, had her wand pointed at the man, her eyes shining with sadistic glee. Hermione recognised the clothes worn by the victim to be standard formals, Muggle formals. He was a Muggle. Hermione averted her eyes from the pain stricken face of the middle-aged man. Even from a distance and despite the darkness, she could still see his furrowed eyebrows and frothing mouth.
Beside Bellatrix Lestrange, Hermione spotted the two men who had dragged the corpses of her parents away from her—the Lestrange brothers. Another familiar face who had tortured Hermione after she was brought to the Malfoy Manor following the attack, leered at her. Yaxley, she recalled his name to be. Hermione's blood boiled to see the wretched beings, but her Shields kept her face smooth, meek, scared, like their sight had reawakened the terror that had settled in her heart all those months ago.
"Severus." The sibilant whisper carried through the room like a whisk of chilled air. "Must you always keep us waiting for an audience?" If Voldemort was angry, his calm voice did not give it away just yet.
"My most sincere apologies, My Lord," the Professor said quietly, yet with conviction as if he, indeed, was most apologetic. "It was proving to be quite a challenge to remove the girl stealthily from the castle."
"I am assuming Dumbledore is still ignorant?" The question came in the same voice, but more as a warning that an inquiry. There could be only one answer, or death.
"Absolutely, My Lord."
"And what if the girls lets something slip, Severus?"
"I have-" The Professor deliberately paused to eye Hermione, who in turn lowered her head, "-taken care of that, Sir."
Yaxley snorted, drawing his pleasure from the statement. These were the kind of people her Mum and Dad had warned her about long, long ago when she was a mere child with little understanding of the world beyond her own imagination. A pack of hungry wolves that exuded danger.
"Excellent, my loyal servant," Voldemort eyed Hermione before looking back at the Professor. "Come."
As if it were a cue—and it might as well have been—Professor Snape removed his mask. He walked towards the dais and Hermione followed, keeping her gaze stuck to her lap and wishing she could cover her ears to silence the painful whimpers of the Muggle. Except her, nobody even flinched at the sounds the poor man made, like it was as natural as the hooting of owls coming from a distance.
It stumped Hermione when the Professor knelt before the dark wizard. She watched from behind her lowered lashes as he kissed the hem of his robe. Each movement screamed of the servitude supposedly embedded in each Death Eater present in the room. Hermione couldn't help but feel anguish and anger on behalf of the man who held his dignity like an armour, but was now compelled to bow before the dark wizard he despised with every shred of his soul.
Red eyes raised from the man to settle upon Hermione. Pushing other emotions away, she bowed her head as low as she could go without hurting her healing injuries and murmured, "My Lord." The words left a sour taste on her tongue that threatened to burn her insides.
"Aw, Severus' little slutty can't kneel, can she?" Bellatrix Lestrange cooed.
Hermione did not let the remark bother her. There would be many sent her way tonight, and she couldn't afford to take each one at heart.
She recalled the Professor's words, when he had spent hours and hours preparing her for exactly this.
'They will endeavour to break you, Miss Granger,' he had said, as he paced in front of the fire in his office. His voice had been steely in along the flicker of the flames. 'They WILL inflict pain and humiliation. They might manage to reduce you to a keening weakling.' His words had been acerbic, but not cruel. 'Weep if that is what it takes. Lose your composure, but never let yourself lose the grip of your Occlumency Shields. Your temper can cause you your cover if not handled carefully.'
"Rise, my servant," Voldemort granted. Professor Snape got to his feet in one smooth motion, his cloak billowing with grace again. "What news do you bear?"
"The Order is at a loss with the slew of attacks Your Lordship is conducting throughout Britain," he spoke. "The inner circle already has a division of opinion, more than half of the members are standing against Dumbledore in strategies. There seem to be wide chances of a coup d'état."
"Ah, the leadership is being jeopardised, I see," Voldemort looked pleased. "Who will be Dumbledore's successor?"
"Minerva McGonagall, Sir," he expelled the words with distaste.
"Exchanging one fool for another," Voldemort sounded pleased with the information. "I had put my galleons on the eccentric ex-Auror."
"Alastor Moody is the most vehement about replacing Dumbledore," The Professor said. Hermione wondered how much of it was the truth, if any. "Once Dumbledore loses his standing, there might be another skirmish for power."
"You bear pleasant news, Severus," the man's mouth twisted. Hermione could see little difference between that and a grimace of a dying animal.
"And Potter-"
"Let your Mudblood narrate that particular development," he ordered.
"Of course, My Lord," he crossed his hands at his back and stepped aside to expose Hermione to the unobstructed gaze of the red eyes.
UUUUUUU
Severus took a step aside and gestured Granger to step forward. He was impressed to see her acting her part quite smoothly until now. Granger's head was bowed, her eyes down in a submissive body language. He had never seen her act quite so submissive and neither did he ever wish to. Despite his mentoring, he still had his doubts regarding her capricious temper... He prayed to every God known to men for her temper not to snap tonight, just tonight and she might as well blow up his entire dungeons tomorrow.
"Come to me, Mudblood," the Dark Lord commanded.
Granger manipulated her Chair to get closer to the dais, stationing herself below the three steps that led to the throne.
The Dark Lord stood up smoothly, vaguely reminding Severus just how much his potions had healed the bastard since his resurrection, and stepped towards Granger, his eyes trained on the girl like an eagle's do on its prey. His robes swept after him, the green and bronze border slithering like a common, cheap snake. Extending his yew wand, the Dark Lord ran the tip down the side of Granger's face. Severus could see her recoil slightly. The wand came to rest under her chin.
"Tamed, are we?" He tipped her chin up through the wand tip. But the question was addressed to Severus, though the red slits were studying the girl before him.
"As per Your Lordship's wishes," Severus said with a dip of his head.
"We shall see," the Dark Lord said in a whisper. His wand let Granger's chin go and came to rest between her eyebrows. "Are you satisfied with your reward, Severus?"
Severus did not glance at the girl while he answered, keeping his resolve firm. "Just barely, Sir. She has little to offer me besides significant intel."
A vile smirk on the bastard's face communicated to Severus that his response was liked. "A pity," the Dark Lord let the words drip with amusement.
There was no whispered Legilimens to indicate the intrusion had begun, only the deeper digging of the wand tip between Granger's eyebrows and her hands tightening on the arms of her Chair. Severus was well-versed with the rough Legilimency the Dark Lord subjected one to.
That was her ultimate test. If she managed to pass this- Only if she manages to pass this.
"What will we find, Severus?" Bellatrix came strutting to him.
"Exactly what he's looking for, I must hope," Severus did not pay the deranged witch much mind.
"Why, 'course 'bout the Potter boy, Bella," Rabastan said.
He was interrupted by a gruff laughter over some accursed event in Granger's memory, the Dark Lord found malicious enough to laugh upon.
Bellatrix grinned and hopped to stand near the dais, her gaze switching from the lunatic wizard to Granger.
Severus watched as the Dark Lord forcefully dug his wand deeper into Granger's forehead. She emitted a whimper and tightened her hold on her Chair. Tears already marred her face pitifully, whether of pain or humiliation Severus could only guess.
Avery and Yaxley shared a lascivious word to which Severus gritted his teeth. Such animals he had once allowed himself to hobnob with, Merlin! But his current concern was Granger's Shields. If they faltered…he did not want to imagine the outcome.
Her forehead was beading with sweat, her lower lip caught between her teeth rigidly, as if to keep herself from crying out. But Severus could tell it was to maintain her grip on her Shields. Granger usually concealed her mind without any physical indication, which only left the Dark Lord's brutish rummaging through her memories to blame.
Focus, Granger.
Bellatrix, meanwhile, was licking her lips watching the girl. Every time Granger emitted a whimper, a cry, a groan, Bellatrix moved a little more closer to her, her face tilted to a side as if the picture before her was simply mesmerising. Severus kept his own face smooth and his movements nonchalant to show his lack of concern for the girl or the result of the test—for he knew the girl, tamed by him, would pass.
"I do wonder, my friend, what high expectations do you hold, if the mewling tart doesn't appeal to you," Yaxley snorted, joined in by Avery.
Severus forced on a smirk. "A man needs variety." His Father's words. His former colleagues laughed.
Another agonised cry tore from Granger's lips, as if the Dark Lord had ripped a part of her apart.
And just like that, Severus knew the night wouldn't end well for them. He waited for the judgement to be delivered.
Just as barbarically, the Dark Lord pulled himself from from Granger's mind. In turn, the back of the girl's head collided with the backrest of her Chair, eliciting a last gasp from her. When she turned her face towards him, he could see the exhaustion on her visage clearly. Her chin quivered, her skin pale. Where she had taken liberties with her lip, a swollen cut oozed droplets of blood. He had to clench his sudden, unexpected urge to aid her.
"You have, once again, proven to be useful, Severus."
The verdict would have caused him to release a long-held sigh had he been a lesser Occlumens. "My Lord," the words came quickly with a dip of his head that could be mistaken for reverence.
Glancing at Granger, he found her panting, one hand rubbing her temples, but her eyes showed relief just as profound as his.
UUUUUUU
Hermione's head felt like being sliced open. Her head ached, eyes watered, sweat covered her forehead. Every corner of her mind—above the Shields—was plundered thoroughly.
Each memory that she had left above her Shields was viewed in fleeting glances—of Harry's resignation, of his mistrust in the Headmaster, of his wish to surrender, of his lack of will to live, of his shattered confidence, of his hysteria, and of his misery. Voldemort had drawn his pleasure watching his enemy broken. Just when Hermione had thought that he would withdraw, the dark wizard had dug deeper, witnessing her own plight—of the Professor frightening, tormenting her, forcing her into doing his bidding. The deranged wizard had paused to observe her bruised face with a cruel satisfaction. And of all those memories, she had stuffed the memories of the consummation at the far end. When those wretched memories were raided, Hermione had felt the searing pain thrumming through her head.
Maybe she had screamed or maybe not, or cried or perhaps not. Maybe she had imagined her screams reverberating in her head. She couldn't tell if the wound on her lip was self-inflicted or inflicted by Voldemort. She couldn't even tell that the assault had ended until her throbbing head had collided with her Chair. She thought she was sobbing but if she was, it was somewhere in her most concealed corner of her mind, not outwardly. Yet.
Compared to this, Professor Snape's intrusions now felt like a mere tickle. If not for the months of training, her Occlumency Shields would have came rushing down.
"Look, little Muddy-bloody got all teary, huh?" Bellatrix Lestrange's shrill voice startled Hermione. She wiped her eyes, feeling dizzy. It was a fight to keep her Shields intact any longer.
A cold, rough finger came to settle beneath her chin. Hermione barely kept from flinching. She looked up into the menacing red eyes of her tormentor with practised meekness.
"How loyal are you to me, Mudblood?"
The question was a deliberate trick, a game of words just as the Professor had warned her about. Hermione responded, "I hope to be as loyal as you need me to be, My Lord."
"Because you fear to disappoint your husband?"
The word irked her. "Because that is my only redemption, My Lord."
A cold smirk creeped upon his face. "Prove it."
Hermione looked at him questioningly. "What shall I do, My Lord?"
"Kill him." He extended a finger. For a moment, Hermione's heart came to a stop thinking the finger was pointing at the Professor. But when she followed the long, boney finger, she saw it was pointing at the Muggle man on the floor. "Kill the filthy Muggle for me, Mudblood."
Hermione eyed the man, bile rising in her throat. A Muggle, most provably oblivious to even the existence of magic. A simple man who might have been returning from work, going back home, to his family. And his family? They would still be waiting for him to arrive, wondering what took him so long today. They would start calling the police in a few hours, maybe even watch the news for any update on a car accident.
No. No, I cannot. No.
Hermione could not kill, never kill. That too an innocent? Even the prospect disconcerted her thoroughly. There was no chance she was ever going to kill him.
"Didn't you hear the Dark Lord, Mudblood Slave? Kill the Muggle!" Yaxley shrieked.
Hermione's eyes looked for Professor Snape. Stuck in the quandary, she found herself at her wit's end. There was no question of her raising her wand at the defenceless Muggle, let alone kill him.
"My Lord," the Professor said, "My utmost apologies but the girl is not trained at Unforgivables by any means."
"Ah." Voldemort bent closer to Hermione and she gagged at the sickly stench of alcohol on his breath. "Then this shall be a lesson."
Hermione swallowed, at a loss for words. But her hands never once tried to approach her wand. She kept her gaze low in a display of obedience—a mere display. She didn't budge, just sat there unmoving, hoping Voldemort would assume her too afraid to raise her wand or too weak to perform magic, or both.
"Not too tamed, then," Voldemort assessed. "Severus?"
"The girl shall do as she is told, My Lord," the Professor said.
Hermione glanced at him pleadingly, silently requesting him to find a way out for her. But his face remained impassive like the life of a common, nameless Muggle was worthless in his eyes. But then again, he must have witnessed this show of naked sadism and cruelty too many times. Was that why he kept himself isolated, for that was the line of difference between himself and the rest—he couldn't come to care more for a single man when there was an entire World at stake?
"My Lord, may I-"
"Not you, Bella," Voldemort stated. "The Mudblood will kill the Muggle and prove her loyalty. Or she will pay for it."
"Granger," the Professor said authoritatively, "The Dark Lord will not repeat himself." The words had no glaring command which would compel her. But there was no respite, either.
"This is your redemption, Mudblood," Voldemort hissed. "Kill the filthy blood that runs in your veins and expiate your lowly birth."
Hermione could feel a new surge of bile already burning her chest. She could feel the palpable fury exuding from Voldemort, and yet she couldn't raise her wand at a man to take his life.
Somethings were simply unnatural.
UUUUUUU
Severus mentally cursed Granger in desperation. Why was she testing the Dark Lord's temper! It was in these moments that he truly couldn't help himself raging at the girl! She had no bloody sense of self-preservation!
Granger! Do it!
He had been immensely proud of her for how she had managed to carry herself through the Dark Lord assailing her mind mercilessly, and hadn't let her Shields slip. But now, he was furious at her for putting herself in the proverbial line of the Dark Lord's Killing Curse.
Her gaze kept travelling from him to the half-unconscious Muggle. The man was half-dead already, teetering between life and death only precariously, anyway. Why would she risk her life for the sake of an anonymous stranger!
Granger would, he begrudgingly acknowledged the automated response. Yes, Granger would.
"I-I can't…"
"How dare you disobey the Dark Lord!" Bellatrix cried. Her wand sliced through the air like a sword. "Crucio!" The green lazer-like spell hit Granger with force. Her screams echoed in the hall. Severus clenched his jaw, forcing himself to remain callous. Her bloodcurdling screams were followed by a fit of laughter from the Death Eaters in the room. Granger writhed in his Chair, her hands flapping like clipped feathers of a caged bird. Her paralysed legs would have kicked, if not for their plight.
"Bella." The monotonous word by the Dark Lord brought the spell to an end. Granger was left boneless.
Severus despised the helplessness with which he was forced to bear with it. He loathed himself to be standing idly while Granger was being put through the torture.
When her brimming eyes met his, Severus decided to try to make a connection to her through Legilimency. It was an archaic way of communication which had never received much popularity due to its arbitrary nature.
"Now, Mudblood," the Dark Lord hissed, "Have you changed your mind?"
Severus focused on her eyes and found himself being connected to her through a delicate thread of their shared skills of mind art. As he had often intruded into her mind to train her, he found the connection could be formed rather anticlimactically. It was simple Legilimency with lesser intrusion and efforts on his part. Granger's eyes visibly widened, indicating him that she, too, felt it.
'Granger. You need to kill the Muggle.' Severus sent her way.
Her nebulous reply came on the lines of 'No. Can't.'
UUUUUUU
Hermione tried to keep the shock out of her face when she felt a pressure on her mind, as if somebody was surreptitiously using Legilimency on her. But as her eyes were looking into that of the Professor, she figured it could only be him. When she received a word from him, Hermione replied in reflex. Though stumped by the sudden connection, she was more determined not to do what Voldemort had ordered her.
Her reluctance could very well jeopardise their subterfuge, even expose her. But her conscience wouldn't allow her to kill an innocent man. They were at a war, whom were they fighting the war for, if innocents were sacrificed in the midst?
UUUUUUU
"One wild bitch, isn't she?" Rodolphus snorted, addressing Severus. "Was she at least worth it, Snape?"
"More or less," Severus replied, being reminded strongly of one of his Father's friends talking about a woman who then worked at a Muggle bar. The reference sickened him, especially when it was said in regards to Granger.
The Muggle groaned from the floor. Severus cursed his timing of returning to consciousness. Granger would be even more reluctant now. Then he paused, bewildered at his own apathy towards the soon-to-be dead Muggle. How ordinary it felt to him to watch or even commit a murder? He couldn't blame Granger for her obvious reluctance, it was he who lacked empathy.
"My patience is running thin, Mudblood!" The Dark Lord announced, his pupils dilating, incensed.
"My Lord, I…" She trailed off, not exactly portraying her reluctance as defiance, yet it was tacit.
"Crucio!" The spell had come from the Dark Lord's wand. The sheer intensity not only elicited screams from Granger, but also sent her falling on the floor. Granger landed right before the Muggle, supporting her body with her shaking arms.
In turn, Severus found himself getting more and more restless. It had merely been a few minutes since the Dark Lord had withdrawn from her mind and ordered her to kill the Muggle, but to Severus it felt like hours had passed.
He ran a finger on his band and sent a signal. When Granger slowly turned to face him, he immediately showed her a memory of Parkinson's wife being tortured and killed in the very room, only months back. The memory reached her in incoherent images, but he did not doubt she received the message.
'Granger, please.'
Her eyes stared from him to the Muggle, panting. 'Play along,' she said to him.
'Granger! No!'
"Mudblood-" When the Dark Lord raised his wand to her again, Granger held out a trembling hand.
"Please. Please, My Lord," she implored, even putting Severus in wonder if she was merely acting or if her resolve was genuinely breaking. "I-I will. I will do it."
Bellatrix shrieked in a shrill laughter, followed by the others. A triumphant smirk creeped on the lunatic wizard's face.
"Pain does it, yeah," Rabastan sniggered.
Severus had his eyes fixed on Granger as she pulled her wand out from her sleeve, still laying on the floor, her lower half motionless, a trembling arm supporting her upper half to be raised enough to eye the Muggle and raise her wand. With slow movements resembling that of a much aged woman, she pointed the wand in the direction of the Muggle.
"In…cindio."
The deliberate mispronunciation of the spell sent a very weak shred of magic to the Muggle. Unlike the blazing flashed that usually left Granger's wand tip in class, this bolt was simply feeble. Though even the lightest of spells elicited a scream from the prone man.
Severus debated whether he should be fuming at her parlous trick or applaud her quick wits.
"That's wha' she can do, huh?" Rabastan burst into a derisive laughter. But the humour was not shared by an incensed Dark Lord. Granger was subjected to another dark spell of torment.
Severus found himself unable to bear anymore. He stepped forward. "My deepest apologies for interrupting, My Lord."
The Dark Lord ceased the spell, but turned to him in rage. Severus, without trying his patience, spoke, "If the girl is found injured—more than she already is—Dumbledore might get suspicious."
"Severus, your wife disappoints me," the megalomaniac of a wizard hissed.
Severus, accustomed to his role, bowed his head. "The girl is highly incompetent to our world of magic, Your Lordship. Bad blood as she harbours." He made a show of glaring at Granger with disgust.
"Aw, Severus' little whorey-whore is good for nothing, then?" Bellatrix grinned at Granger, leering.
"These Mudbloods're dirtyin' our world," Avery muttered.
"Yes. Bad blood, indeed," the Dark Lord said sibilantly. He turned towards his throne, Severus released a sigh of relief. "Nagini," but he called to his snake, "Kill."
As the giant snake slithered down the dais, Severus found himself appalled. The snake slithered towards Granger and bared its fangs. For all his self control, Severus knew he was about to take a drastic step out of sheer reflexes.
One bite and Granger would… A slew of excuses ran through Severus' mind from Albus being suspicious to a Prophecy that included Granger.
"My L-"
Severus paused when the obnoxious snake passed by Granger and instead made its way towards the Muggle. Only a few inches away from Granger, the snake sunk its fangs into the neck of the man. The scream that erupted soon died down, and with it, died the Muggle.
In all honesty, Severus could not deny feeling relief wash over him when the snake returned to its master, despite the most recent murder being committed before his eyes. Perhaps he was truly apathetic but that was far from his primary concern at the moment.
"Enjoy your wife while you can, Severus," the Dark Lord said, petting the snake's head. "She will soon be rendered useless to me."
Severus dipped his head in acknowledgement, but what he acknowledged was a lingering fear that Granger had even lesser chance than him to outlive the war.
"Take her away," he commanded with utter disgust. "And remind her that she is alive only for one purpose—keeping an eye on the Potter boy."
"Of course, My Lord." He turned to pick Granger from the floor and handled her rather roughly back into her Chair for the audience. He had expected her to have lost consciousness, but her eyes were half-lidded beneath furrowed eyebrows, registering every bit of detail. But empty with shock.
Once again, Severus bowed to the Dark wizard, swearing his false allegiance, before leading Granger out of the room through the handles of her Chair.
The Lestrange brothers muttered a word to each other that erupted a chuckle from the few standing close by. Severus had no doubt their conversation was revolving around Granger and her supposed incompetence. But he could not even bring himself to feel anger for the relief of taking the girl back to the castle was so profound.
Before leaving through the door, Yaxley approached them. "Why, Snape, stay for a glass of whiskey?"
"Quite a tempting offer, but I am afraid the girl is needed back at the castle before the senile, old coot is informed of her absence," Severus made an excuse.
"I can see she needs fine handiwork from you," Yaxley smirked that Severus returned with a quirk of his own lips, begrudgingly so.
He left the meeting room in strides in order to avoid anymore conversations. It was enough for a night. Granger was in need of medical attention.
But his attempt was breached when he found Dolohov roaming near the water fountain. A cheap cigar held loosely between his fingers, he was attempting to drop the ashes into the water, but the Charms surrounding the regal fountain prevented the water to be polluted.
"Snape!" His slurred voice and unsteady gait confirmed his intemperance that was pretty evident from his unfocused eyes. Dolohov was one Death Eater Severus had never condoned, even in his days as a genuine follower of the Dark Lord. The man was a little better than Pettigrew and a little worse than Bellatrix.
"Dolohov." Severus unconsciously came to stand in front of Granger's Chair.
"Snape and family," Dolohov's gaze fell upon Granger, staggering closer.
"I did briefly wonder why you were not permitted to attend the meeting," Severus said silkily. "Well, you left little to imagination."
"'S'if you've got too much to give," Dolohov snorted in derision, taking a drag of his cigar and exhaling the cheap tobacco-reeking-smoke in a huff. "Some spy you're."
"You will be surprised," Severus said dryly. "Now, if I could relieve myself of your painful company-"
"Don't know why the Dark Lord's been so givin' with you…" Dolohov extended his hand towards Granger's face, the slowly ascending smoke from the bud wafting towards her hair. A lamp on the wall started flickering dangerously.
Severus caught the other man's hand into a menacing grip, then adroitly pushed the burning tip into Dolohov's palm, making him yelp and jump back to snatch his hand away. "I do not condone trespassers." Even as he said it, Severus inwardly winced at the unintentional implication that Granger was his property. He made a show of wiping his own hand on his robe.
One glance at Granger revealed her eyes to have come to focus on Dolohov, though she maintained her silence.
"Oh, c'mon, Snape, won't you let me have a taste of this bad bloody beauty here?" The man smirked, rubbing his scorched palm against his side. The flickering lamp behind the man hit the floor with invisible force, smearing the oil on the marble, yet unnoticed by the gormless Death Eater. "Bad blood'n all, she's still a feast, yeah."
Severus' fists clenched at Dolohov's innuendo. He stepped up to cover her behind him. "You will do well to keep away from what's not yours, old friend," He hissed in a dangerously low voice. "Or else..." He jerked his arm to let the tip of his wand uncover from his sleeve.
In turn, Dolohov sneered. "I've my eyes on'er since I cursed her at the Ministry, Snape. When you're not 'round her- Aargh!" Suddenly, his hands rushed to reach his eyes desperately. "Fuck! Fuck! What'id you do? What'id you do!"
Severus looked at Granger's incensed eyes which emitted lucid signs of the Wandless magic that she had been suppressing all night, then turned to a shrieking Dolohov. "Exactly what you deserve."
Severus manoeuvred her Chair away from the struggling Death Eater, leading her to the entrance of the Manor. Reaching the Apparition point, he looked around but found nobody except for Dolohov's distant cries punctuated with obscenities.
He turned to Granger. "Are you alright?" The question sounded too daft even as he delivered it—of course, she wasn't. Two rounds of Cruciatus and one of an unknown dark curse must have had an impact on her healing body. Not to mention the impact on her fragile emotional state. It was only a miracle she was still conscious enough to respond.
"I want to go back." Her voice, though no louder than a gruff whisper, was not fearful.
"Of course."
This time, without the earlier hesitation, Severus bent to take the young witch in his arms before they were sighted by an uninvited spectator. Unlike the last time, her arm did not come to brace his neck for support. She remained unmoved almost as if she no longer cared for her safety.
With some difficulty, Severus shrunk her Charmed-Chair and stowed it away.
The incessant rise and fall of her trembling body was all that reminded him of the life that was spared today. But for how long, he knew not.
"Ready?" He asked quietly. She gave a near imperceptible nod against his shoulder. Severus cleared his mind and concentrated on Apparating themselves away to a safe haven at Hogwarts. Had somebody inquired why he was holding her so close, Severus would have put the blame on Apparition than accepting to the feelings of protectiveness that had overpowered him.
A/N: Phew. I tried. What do you think? I have practically written this chapter three times before I was satisfied. Every tome it was either overwhelming or downplaying the summoning. I'm exhausted of redoing this chapter. I'm really eager to hear from you! :)
The next chapter is my favourite by far. But you'll have to wait until Friday. Oh, and yes, I'll give a small warning for the next chapter: There's gonna be some fluff! But nothing OOC, don't worry. :)
Bookivore: Hey! Firstly, let me thank you for telling me honestly whatever you thought of the last chapter. I appreciate that. Now onto the answer.
In canon, it was not stated explicitly anywhere, if I remember correctly, but it is an unsaid agreement for us Potterheads to assume that every year, children's dorms changed or shifted to accommodate the first years in 'first years dorm' (like in every other boarding school). If so, Hermione had never visited the boys' dorm before. Also, honestly, I didn't know that tiny, little detail could miff a reader so much... So I hadn't bothered to clarify that. It just came naturally to me for Hermione to observe her surroundings carefully when she entered the Room of Requirement.
As for that article about 4 out of 5 witches dying a virgin, I did not try a mathematical equation before posting that. Writing about that scene just had a simple motive—Hermione had been a little uncomfortable while talking to Ginny about that article, because I did not want to downplay her trauma. Whatever had happened with her after the bonding ceremony is very traumatic, and that article was a means to show that little things could trigger that. Realising that 'she wasn't a virgin' or that 'virginity was tantamount to purity' (absurd idea), she got a little disturbed. Also, that was written to later accentuate her emotions when she was creating a memory with Snape and recalled that horrible night of consummation. If it makes you feel better, just think how dumb Witch Weekly articles are, anyway. Let's say even they forgot to do the calculations.
If you do decide to read further despite the little slips here and there (because I'm not impeccable, sadly), I'd love to hear more from you. I appreciate honest reviews. :)