Humming.

Soft. Nonsensical. Wordless.

It was humming that woke her, some painfully familiar ditty that made her think of serenely darkened skies and even darker curls. It gently stirred her consciousness, luring her toward a wakefulness she wasn't entirely ready to embrace. Yet, the sound-it followed no rhythm, no easily strung together pattern-stimulated thought and sluggish awareness. It was wrong, a song with no structure and her mind screamed as much but it soothed nonetheless, feeling incredibly right.

Then she jerked, suddenly awake, conscious, aware.

And terrified.

"Ah," A voice whispered, the voice that had been humming, "You're awake."

"Luna?" Hermione croaked, her body unmoving and heavy among the various dark greens and dulled silvers that surrounded her. She was on a bed, that much of clear, and swaddled under a mountain of colored blankets that might have been suffocating if not for the warmth-trapping but oddly lightweight consistency of them. From the pillows to the mattress everything about the bedding screamed unnaturally comfortable. It was nearly enough to lull her back to sleep, humming loony or not.

If only her heart weren't beating so viciously, so utterly ramped up and powered by rapidly returning memories and startling unfamiliarity.

"Mhm," Luna hummed, her tone incredibly calm and casual, "It is I."

"What," Hermione said, her voice still burdened by drowsiness and disorientation, "Why?"

"Why?" Luna asked right before Hermione felt the bed dip slightly, now holding their combined weight, "Well, it would be rather irresponsible for it not to be me, don't you think? You are an unmarried woman of high status, I suppose, and I am your companion." Yet, there was an awkward pause in Luna's speech, as if she were contemplating some major idea while Hermione struggled to comprehend her spoken gibberish. "Would you prefer someone else? Someone not me? I'm not able to shapeshift, unfortunately, but I suppose if you were uncomfortable-"

"Stop." Hermione barked, her eyes tightly closed as her head swam with a thousand unconnected possibilities. "Stop. Stop."

"Stop?"

"Stop." Hermione needed a moment to breathe, to think, to recap-"I was at the revel."

"Yes," Luna confirmed.

"I am no longer at the revel?" Hermione asked tentatively, though she kept her eyes closed as she combed her scattered memories.

"Hm," Luna began and Hermione could practically envision her rubbing her chin in thought, "You are still at the revel, I think. No, that isn't the way to say it. Well, you aren't home if that's what you are asking."

"You think I am still at the revel?" Hermione hissed, flabbergasted at the half-answer as she risked opening her eyes.

Luna was, indeed rubbing her chin, "Well, it is still in play. Though, we are not exactly there."

Hermione took a deep breath, mostly to calm the building throb of her temple, "Where then are we exactly, Luna?"

"Malfoy Manor, upstairs to be specific, in a room that has been assigned to you."

Hermione found her words caught in the throat as her brow furrowed and her arms twitched. Slowly, as her once numb body became controllable, she sat up with lips parted in utter disbelief. "I am-"

"Upstairs in a room-"

"-assigned to me, yes, I heard you the first time, Luna." Hermione interrupted with a wave of her hand.

"Yet, you seem uncertain," Luna said.

Hermione leaned forward, allowing the blanket to slip from her body in a green pool at her hips. Her dress had been replaced, removed in favor of a thick green house-robe that felt like heavenly clouds against her flesh. Unfortunately, the material did little to soothe that growing twist of knotting nerves carving through her belly.

"I am extremely uncertain, Luna." Hermione found her voice steady and carefully neutral, an impressive feat honestly, considering the constant heavy thud of her heart against her chest. "It was not my intention to find myself in a room, in this manor."

"You passed out," Luna provided her with information happily, something that Hermione found slightly annoying considering her current predicament, but if the scowl that twisted up her lips weren't a deterrent Hermione doubted her words would be, "Some assumed it was from too much Malfoy produced champagne. I believe it was the pixies, they drunk rather heavily from you. That will pass with time though, as you progress."

"Luna," Despite that twisting gut wrenching weight that crawled through her body Hermione's voice remained very calm and even, despite seeming distant to her own ears. "What's going on?"

"Time continues to march, it pauses for no witch or wizard. I'm not sure what's going on at the revel anymore, I left quickly to tend to you, but I can tell you the immediate finalization of your trials."

Hermione knew that Luna must understand that she was not speaking about the current activities of whatever party was still going strong below them and so she said nothing as she waited for her friend to speak further. Yet, something had changed within her, something that had Luna leaning forward with a slow smile that stretched her lips and made her gaze of silver churn with an emotion Hermione found difficult to describe. It's intensity, it's sudden joyous purity was enough to make her shrink back, cowed, and silent as softly whispered words washed over her with the power of finality.

"Hermione, my dear friend. As you must remember, you have been crowned the first of our Firstborn brethren. We no longer live in a world ruled by blood purity and unprogressive thinking. Though our actions are still dictated by the Old Ways and the traditions revived by our Lord, the power is returning to those who will rightfully claim it-the powerful."

With parted lips Hermione took a deep breath as that heavy sensation in her belly became cold realization. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. It was in the fervent speech of her companion, in the near fanatical glint that sparkled among her normally dreamy gaze, and yet she could not find the courage to deny her words. She had been there, she had been The One, she had received-

"L-luna," Her words were strained, strangled by a soft gasp that banished coherent thought and replaced it with an escalating loop of mind-spun gibberish.

Luna's initial response was but a smile and a gentle reach for her arm, the arm that held it, the arm that Bellatrix had claimed right along with the Dark Lord.

Her Dark Lord.

"Shh, you mustn't fear it, this new change. You need this, more than you perhaps realize." Fingertips toyed with the edge of her sleeve before slowly, cautiously, as if Hermione were some precious doll, Luna began to roll it up and away.

She couldn't look at it, not yet, not ever, she couldn't bear the thought-

"It is painful at first. Tender, perhaps. You must be careful, always careful, to answer it's call. He doesn't like to be kept waiting, and this gift of His is not to be slighted." Luna paused, if only to search her face, "Don't look like that. It is a sign of power, a little masculine but lovely in its own way. It compliments your forearm muscle, perfect definition and all that, Hermione."

She turned her head and swallowed harshly but couldn't stop her heavy breathing.

"His magic is great. It pulls at you, you know," Luna whispered, and her words might have been missed if Hermione's senses hadn't felt so hyper-active. Her arm twitched as Luna gently traced the wriggling tattoo that Hermione felt slither across her flesh with a heated pulse but Luna's grip was strong.

"Don't touch it," Hermione hissed, feeling the tattoo react in a peculiar way when Luna applied pressure against her skin, "It feels…"

"Nice? Well, that's a conditioned reaction. The heat and the tingles and all, it's to inspire sensations of loyalty, pride and such."

Hermione ground her teeth as her muscles flexed and finally she turned her head to stare at the mark that was making the rising panic that made her palms slick and her back wet with sweat twist into something darkly sweet and fluttering. She didn't' like the way it pulsated, didn't like the idle tug of something dark and wild mix so well with the presence of warmth that vibrated along her flesh-

Wait a minute.

"You speak as if-"

"I know? I do, that is. I know." Luna interrupted with one last swipe of her thumb across Hermione's dark mark before she allowed her arm to drop limply back onto her lap. "I have one."

For a moment that felt like forever, Hermione let the silence stretch between them. Only the dulled and muffled sound of the revel below-which still thumped as if the earlier events had not taken place-filled the painfully static emptiness that prevailed between.

Then Hermione blurted out the first thing that came to mind— "You betrayed me!"

"It's not so black and white." Luna snorted, as if Hermione were some child to be chastised and not her peer.

But Hermione found it difficult to process those words. She gripped the blanket and bit her bottom lip, ignoring the taste of copper as perfect teeth pierced the weak flesh and blood filled her mouth.

"Luna you, you… you found me to take me to Him to... to enslave me…" She tried to wrap her mind around the realization and while Luna remained the perfect example of absolute control Hermione felt as if she were tearing apart at the seams. Oh, how she had longed to feel some companionship, to connect with an old ally who might understand and-

"You are not enslaved. Quite the opposite, actually. You certainly have more freedom than I, as His adopted-"

"Now I have this… this mark! And Bellatrix is hunting me, no doubt to ruin what's left! Now, now I… and and what about Harry-"

Then she jerked, slammed back against the headboard of the pretty ordinate bed as Luna's hand pressed against her mouth and silenced her words. The other woman was on top of her, straddling her hips, with blonde hair wild and eyes wide and unseeing. For a moment, Hermione thought of struggling, of doing anything to get this traitoroff her, but her eyes made her pause… the way those pupils shrunk and the heavy breath that escaped Luna in great gasps.

So uncomposed, so positively terrified.

"You mustn't speak it." She whispered, tone nearly sing-song and adorable in fashion if Luna hadn't seemed so intense, so desperate, and feral in conveyance. "His name, the Dark Lord doesn't like it. You'll need to be taught. The past is the past, Hermione. Listen to me, listen!"

Luna's desperate hiss captured Hermione's full attention and she found herself nodding despite her captured head even as the ache of her back threatened to make her whimper.

"I miss him, Hermione. Desperately so. We all do, even Malfoy, to some degree. Yet, you mustn't speak of him-The Boy, Hermione. He-Who-Lived-But-Probably-Didn't. I will protect you with every fiber of my being, but I cannot protect you from Him if He-"

Her breath caught and she turned away, her expression pained as she slowly removed her hand from Hermione's mouth and tried to control her gasps. Hermione saw her throat constrict, could see the glistening edge of Luna's normally glassy focus.

"Hermione, I am your friend, better known as your current companion. I am doing… what must be done to improve your existence. I couldn't save him, I was too late, but I will save you."

Then under her breath she heard Luna mutter— "I won't fail again, I promised."

Promised? Who?

It was that sentence and that sentence alone that seemed to slowly settle Hermione's pounding heart and the scathing words she wanted to say. Instead she remained sitting up and ignored the ache of her back as she watched Luna gather her raw emotion and return to that unsettlingly calm and dreamy state.

"I apologize, my friend. That was terribly rude of me."

Of course, Luna would only be thinking of how polite and proper her manners had been after such a spat.

Hermione took a deep breath, then another, but when she opened her eyes she had some semblance of understanding. Out there, during the revel, with His gaze upon her, Luna had been insanely proud and ecstatic at her performance. While His attention and approval had been the only one that really mattered some part of her had enjoyed the looks of impressed disbelief on the pure-blood elite. She had proved to them, in many ways, that she could stand among them and hold her own. That her magic had never been something to ignore, to disregard.

She was not filthy.

There was no denying the part she had played in her surrender to the Dark Lord and His scheme. She had unwittingly become an important piece in a game she didn't have the rules to and maybe Luna was to blame, but only a little. She was the one that had embraced the attention, the praise, the release of long denied power. And she wanted, wanted, very badly to experience such freedom again.

Needed.

"Luna, it's all right. I apologize for my overreaction," She answered carefully, picking her next words, "I… want this, I think. I want to… to…"

Do more than any other witch or wizard had ever done before.

It was more than just simple survival, more than moving through the days in a numb haze and being perfectly good.And there was no denying that she was very good at being… well… good. She was a swot, a avid learner and a talented wizard. How could she return to her deadened existence after feeling so alive? After experiencing what it was like to be His verses just being Harry's-

Harry, Harry, Harry-Her mind looped on the thought, but the guilt she expected to feel never came. Instead, a heavy lethargy settled over her limbs and her mind, which seemed to bounce about his name as if it were meaningless and too complex to comprehend at the same time, felt tired and foggy. She tried to remember where she'd been going with the line of thought but…

"Hermione," A voice, Luna's voice. It pulled her back, up from the depths of mind-cotton and back to the present.

"I, what? I felt..." She felt like she'd dozed off, like she'd daydreamed about a hundred things all while a gently whispered name turned to rubbish in her mind.

"Mm, I told you not to think about him, The Boy?"

Oh yes, of course. Could she have blamed her idle daydreaming on the mark as well?

"I have no idea what I'm doing." Hermione admitted.

Luna wiggled a bit, reminding Hermione that another grown woman had made herself very comfortable upon her lap. "No worries, that's what I'm here for. I am your companion after all. It was smart of me to claim the rights, don't you think? Least you'd have Goyle Jr. perhaps, as your most faithful. He's certainly not very good at magic, let alone something this important. A prat, some would call him, though Malfoy still seems to be fond-"

"Luna," Hermione groaned, not quite prepared for another tangent when she was still gathering her wits. "Explain. Not about Goyle. About the companion rights."

With a tilted head, Luna spoke, her tone so very matter-of-fact, "I am your companion, your most trusted political counselor and confidant. It is my job to aid you in your transition from the mundane regularity of reality to the world of pure-blood elite society. I will provide you with a functional education and assist you with our traditions until you are of significant education to properly wield the power and rights of your house without immediate deference to myself..."

"My house," That's right, the Dark Lord had named her the first of the Granger line, "What does that mean exactly? My knowledge on house authority is rather…"

"Lacking, yes." Luna confirmed, ignoring Hermione's pout as she moved on, "Your house, the First and Noble House of Granger, is politically connected to the Powerful and Worshiped House of Slytherin, the Dark Lord's taken title. It packs a bit more punch than Riddle, though that's the intention. You may find His influence rather convenient and a few extra galleons to fatten your accounts. His support and sponsorship will dictate how you run your house and in return you may find yourself… respected for His backing. Yet, your pure-blood etiquette must be improved to make you worthy."

Hermione had a feeling the word Luna was really looking for might have been feared.

"And you?"

"My companion status also creates a binding political agreement to you. It is… the same, in many ways, I suppose. I am like a knight, bound to nobility. As you climb our hierarchy dictated by power I will also be seen as powerful. You are elevating my family house into a higher position and creating a stronger vote for yourself among the Inner Circle."

But there was a pause, one where Luna gave a slow lick of her lips, an act Hermione would have thought sensual if not for the fact that Luna had done it.

"There are other things that I could do. Will do. But not yet, it isn't time."

Then, with a soft hum and a swish of her robes Luna swung herself off from Hermione and back her proper side of the bed, a graceful maneuver that somehow didn't seem clunky or rumble her dress. Hermione found herself oddly missing the warmth of her thighs through the lightweight covers.

"Has that answered your questions?"

"Not nearly all of them," Hermione answered petulantly, "What of Bellatrix?"

"You will be courted by her. It's all very proper, the Lord is serious about the Old Ways."

Hermione hissed, "He told her to… to."

"Train you in the basic Dark Arts. An honor, really."

"You can't be serious!"

Luna paused for a moment, if only to give Hermione time to cease her growling, "I am. She is a talented witch and seems very taken with you. The training will no doubt be difficult but the courting will be very appropriate."

"He also said-"

"-pain, that you must learn pain. It helps to have a fundamental base to build our loyalty of the Dark Lord and the Dark Arts. She will be… thorough in that as well. You will find the suffering is not…"

Hermione opened her mouth to bark something at Luna but her friend seemed far away, as if she were trapped in some memory that made her fingers flex and her cheeks flushed.

"It's..." She couldn't finish and Hermione frowned at the unspoken implications.

"You're speaking from experience again."

Luna hesitated, but ultimately spoke in a soft and almost shy whisper. "I am."

"Will you tell me, so that I can prepare?" Hermione had already decided that to judge her companion would be an awful waste of time. The only thing she could do now was to continue and to try and keep her sanity. Luna was not the only one to bow to Voldemort upon His rise to power to survive, just one of the first after the war. Something had changed in her, something that couldn't be touched or salvaged, something wicked that seemed tightly restrained as it swam side by side whatever twisted morals Luna had always fallen back on in her youth. The war had changed all of them, but sometimes, sometimes… the experience was too private, too intimate, when someone was broken.

"I cannot. Prepare you, that is. Perhaps, one day I will… share my experience, but it is different for everyone. When I was in the cell, waiting, those first few horrendous hours after dawn, I had asked him-Draco-and he told me the same. Animals of war, animals of habit, need a firm and consistent understanding of their place until it becomes truthand other lines of thought cannot exist alongside it."

Hermione reached out a hand to lightly touch the top of Luna's own, earning a small distant smile in the process

"I do not wish to ever return to that place, the time of my… awakening."

Then she took a deep shaky breath, as if frightened and yet impassioned-" And I won't ever need to."

After their last exchanged words silence fell upon them again, something heavy with the promise of changing times and yet comfortable all the same. After some time, with only Luna's warm hand between her own and their soft thoughtful breathing to fill the silence, Luna addressed her again if only to tell her that for the foreseeable future the manor was to be her home.

"But what of my things? My job?"

"I will worry about your things, Hermione. But, the job, well…" Luna rose from the bed to move toward the massive vanity against the wall, her speech incomplete as she lapsed into quiet mumbles directed toward the mirror there. It was enough to cause Hermione to frown, though it did give her time to examine the room she'd been unwittingly assigned. Other than the massive bed and its current color scheme the rest of the space remained awkwardly bland. The vanity, with its old and carved wood and massive reflective glass seemed the only structure in the space with a bit of personality. It was clearly a guest room and she supposed, if this were to be her own space in the manor, it would need a more personal touch.

Maybe some red. Especially some red.

"Luna?" Hermione asked.

"Yes, the job. I don't suppose you'll be able to keep it. Not now with so much to learn."

Perhaps it was Hermione's pale face or her open mouthed expression but Luna seemed quick to elaborate-"That is to say you will have a job. Whatever our Lord asks of you. He is not in the habit of creating worthless pure-blood socialites. There will be meaning to your education. Becoming a socialite will merely be a perk of that."

St. Mungo's hadn't been her initial career destination. It wasn't some illustrious magnificent responsibility, but it had been her own, something she'd picked by a combination of fate and understanding. To have that choice ripped away from her seemed terribly unfair, but what use did fairness have in the presence of His reign?

"Is it difficult to come to terms with?"

Though Hermione felt petulant and sullen she managed a cordial reply, "It wasn't exactly a glamorous position, but it was my position. I earned that spot and the old slag behind the desk was finally giving me a semblance of respect."

If Luna noticed her pouting she didn't comment, "The role He will no doubt prepare you for will be far more rewarding, I'm sure. My own role-"

"And what is it that you do, exactly?" Hermione interrupted, lips twisted in irritation and eyes narrowed.

"Simple work, for the Ministry."

Silence was Hermione's initial response as she worked through a sudden onslaught of awkwardly awakened emotion. Surprise, irritation, envy, pride-

"I'm the current Junior Assistant to the Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Though, I hope to someday be more than just an elevated errand girl."

With a shake of her head Hermione pushed aside the jumbled mess of emotions that threatened to claim her sensibilities. "He allowed you to work there? Even though…

"It's easier to control your enemies if you've made them fat and content in the den of your allies." Luna turned from the mirror then to smile with a weary sort of acceptance, "Perhaps you'll end up there too, someday soon, in that very same den unsure about whether you are still wild or tamed."

Slowly Hermione drew her legs up from under the sheets, if only to swing them off the bed and rest her wriggling toes among the soft plush cream colored carpet. "How ominous of you to say, Luna."

"It's all intrigue, in the end. However, I am rather serious about the den. There is something you must know about this lifestyle, so do keep it in mind. You see, Hermione, you may have become a target in the last few hours."

Hermione gave an understanding nod, despite her furrowed brow. That much was easily assumed, considering who had dangled her around in the party parlor just moments ago. Umbridge had already tried to assert her command and 'purity' inspired dominance over her but she would bow for no toad.

"Our peers, they will be the hardest to convince of this new status, that He finds you worthy enough to elevate may sound laughable to most. The den of snakes you'll traverse-ah, with me at your side, of course, don't look so concerned-are only cowed, not calmed."

"What do you mean?"

"You must be more than His Golden One. You must be cunning, sly, clever-"

"A Slytherin?" Hermione blurted out in disbelief.

"His Slytherin."

"I'm a Gryffindor, that is an absolutely impossible and preposterous idea-"

Luna held up a hand, effectively silencing Hermione with her amused smile and quirked brow- "You are more than just a sorted individual. We all have a little bit of some other house within us.

"And if I had to guess that something other would be Ravenclaw for sure."

"Perhaps, in another world, you may have been given the luxury of thinking such. Do be brave, Hermione. You can't be anything but, yet our schoolyard notions of nobility and courage are rather piss-poor in comparison to the games these adults tend to play."

Then a pause came in their conversation as Hermione clenched and unclenched her hands.

"Ah, language. Sorry, a lady mustn't sound so roguish."

"That's the last thing I'm concerned about, Luna."

With an idle shrug, she continued, "Our peers must be dominated. Shown their place. Fear and hesitation are only a weakness here. You will receive an invitation to a club of sorts and you must become the queen of the people that frequent it. Else, they will do all that they can to better themselves in the eyes of those that truly matter."

She took a fleeting breath, "The Dark Lord?"

"He will not accept failure, even in this. You are at the top, you know, a literal lioness in every sense in a world soon to be shaped by the dominance of power instead of only blood. It is important to claim your allies wisely and control them thoroughly. After all, I'm certain that's what He did."

And He had won, had He not?

"I must be smarter, more cunning, and three steps ahead of my competition."

"To stomp out challenge and disorder among our generation," Luna answered plainly. "He would be impressed with the initiative. She would be too.

"I.. I have no desire to… impress someone like her. If you are speaking of You-Know-Who."

The usage of an old phrase upon a new face was enough to make Luna pause before her gentle laughter, so musical and soothing, rang about the space. "Lady Black is not nearly as frightening as our Lord, though I understand your hesitation."

"I don't suspect she has been carving into any other women and leaving irreplaceable scars these days?" Hermione grumbled bitterly.

"No, I suspect she only likes to mark those she wishes to claim."

There was something eerie about Luna's sudden softness, something that reminded Hermione that it was very possible Luna had experienced something as horrific as Hermione's torture so long ago beneath the woman who was meant to romance her.

"But worry not," Luna said, recovering quickly from a memory Hermione may never be truly aware of, "She will obey our Lord. Your cultivation is first, your possible union second."

"That woman is madness and fire. There can be no union, not with her." Hermione's voice shook, betraying her panic, her apprehension.

"She is controllable, just like any other witch or wizard." Luna's statement was enough to draw Hermione's gaze from her trembling hands to the introspective expression her friend wore.

"What?"

"Pay attention, Hermione. To the lessons. Then, you'll understand. This is just another class and you need to earn the highest marks. Your power, your very life, depends on that. I look forward to seeing you use that big brain, you are the brightest witch of our age and all that."

"I'm really starting to regret that title." Considering how much trouble it had gotten her in.

Luna gave her a beaming smile before she made an idle motion with her hand. "It's time. She's waiting. I'll be here afterwards, when you return. I need to settle your accounts and accept the Dark Lord's gracious sponsorship tithe."

Thoughtlessly Hermione stood, her fingers set to grasp the green robe tightly around her form as she realized she didn't have a stitch of clothing on otherwise. Yet another mystery she'd need to ask Luna about but there seemed more pressing matters to attend to.

"She's waiting? And… and you have access to my accounts?" Hermione glanced around the room but failed to find anything to wear beneath the robe. Perhaps the nearby closet?

"Lady Black, Hermione. Or Madam Black, if you prefer. And of course, I do, I am your companion after all. My rights include a bit of leeway when it comes to the management of your financial obligations. It's something I find I will enjoy. The management, that is, not the galleons. I'm certain you've kept well organized parchment dictating your financial history and what not. It'll make this task rather simple for me. The shopping, though I suppose the tithe disbursement too."

"Shopping? Disbursement? Slow down, Luna." Hermione hissed, irritated by the lack of clothing in the closet as well, a closet that seemed suspiciously empty though she supposed that was a little natural if this was in fact a guest room. Yet, where was her dress? Her heels? Her clutch? Her-

"My wand, Luna?"

"You won't need it, not for this lesson. Our Lord has it."

The world spun for a moment, tilted as if she were floating off the ground despite the firm plant of her well-cared for feet upon the ground.

"H-he has my wand?"

"Yes, it is to be received upon the completion of your… ceremony. She should be here soon to take you to it. Oh, that reminds me, you'll need a new familiar and your first house-elf, though I expect the latter to be a gift to you. The Inner Circle will be drooling at the chance to get in your good graces. Shame about the former, though. I really wish I'd been able to locate Crookshanks while you were sleeping. He can't possibly still be at the Burrow remains."

She swallowed harshly, trying to keep the rising panic from bubbling past her throat in a broken cackle. There was no need for the intensity of her terror but the very idea that Lord Voldemort had her wand in His possession doing who knew what to the only connection holding her to this world was difficult to comprehend. A portion of her, illogical and driven by awakened emotion, screamed that He meant to destroy it. Though the larger portion, the analytical pragmatic portion, only confirmed that doing such would mean a waste of tonight. Deep within, though she found it much easier to deny, she understood Voldemort's play at power more than she wanted to admit. The pure-blood line, in the six years after the war, was too heavily intertwined to generate fresh offspring-or soldiers, if her idle understanding of Voldemort was to be taken into account-with actual potential. They needed new bodies to brainwash, new mouths to flap incessantly about His perfect order among the Hogwart's corridors. The more families grandfathered into the cause the more slaves He'd have to peddle, wasn't that right? And wasn't she just another slave? A new body to be bred and controlled in exchange for the fallacy of power, security, and safety?

Yet, if that were really the case then why had He allowed Bellatrix of all people to court her? Especially considering the impossibility of their union producing faithful wriggling screeching bodies for His glory? Unless, unless there was a way for such a union to produce offspring? Unless, this was more than just finding new wombs among Muggle-borns and more about finding power to warp and twist?

She was not a woman so arrogant she considered herself particularly powerful. Talented, yes, and skilled to be sure if her duel with Malfoy, Parkinson, and Luna was anything to go by but did He really think her potential ran so deep that it demanded His personal investment and interest?

Luna continued to prattle on though Hermione had lost track of the words, even as she mentioned possible names for a house-elf Hermione in no way wanted. She needed more information, for the security of her future and for a greater understanding of what was best to do. The wizarding world, her peers, Voldemort, and even Bellatrix all wanted a piece of her for some unfathomable reason and she needed to know what that reason was.

So, she needed to move forward, fearlessly. She could do it. Somehow, she could become the snake and the lion and if by chance she learned the depths of what Dumbledore claimed to be the darkest magical forces on the planet then wouldn't bowing before the Dark Lord in exchange for absolute peace be worth it?

What was she thinking? What was she… doing?

"Luna," Hermione croaked. "My clothes?"

"You won't need them for the ceremony."

"The what now? And what do you mean I won't need them-"

"It's exactly what she means, pet. You won't need them. Not for what I intend to do to you."

Hermione jerked, stumbling backwards until she hit the opposite wall from the door. Instinctively her fingers twitched and her hand reached within her robe-painfully reminding her that she had nothing on beneath it-to draw her wand. Yet, the familiar comfort of wood didn't reach her.

"Bloody hell, can't you knock?" Hermione snarled, her lips twisted up in a sneer that may have made even Lucius proud had he seen the simmering irritation she managed to pour into the look.

"Language, Ms. Granger," Bellatrix and Luna managed to say, at the same time, before the former tossed Luna a mild look of exasperation. "I'm here to escort you, love. As is proper, and all that."

"There is nothing proper about this," Hermione gestured wildly to her current clothing, buckled tightly upon her frame.

"Nonsense." Bellatrix purred and for a moment Hermione froze, pinned down by the rolling storms that passed through the impossibly black depths of the gaze that combed her. Her heart sped, it's heavy thump enough to force Hermione to draw in a shuddering breath.

"I'm not snogging you yet, you know!" She barked.

"Yet?" Bellatrix said, head tilted ever so slightly, as if Hermione were some curious prey she'd managed to corner.

"I mean… ah, shite."

"Language," Luna said again, all sing-song and smiling before, with an exaggerated sigh, she began to gently maneuver Hermione from her plastered position against the wall and toward the door. Closer to Bellatrix. Closer to whatever they were meant to do tonight without the use of proper attire. "I need to get started on your accounts, Hermione. How about Mr. Winkles for your house-elf's name?"

Hermione sucked in great lungfuls of air as Bellatrix's lips split into a wicked grin of excitement, a grin that was enough to make unwanted flutters stir tendrils of warmth within her belly, "I… I certainly don't need a house-elf."

"It's improper for a young woman to be without a house-elf. Someone in your standing, my wriggling pet, must be attended to. My Lord would die of displeasure to know you weren't already assigned to one." Bellatrix offered, rather unhelpfully.

If she hadn't felt as stiff as a board she might have stomped her foot like a child. Instead, she only shyly stood beside this woman, her torturer turned escort. How surreal, how incredibly surreal.

"We'll apparate and allow Ms. Lovegood to get to it." Bellatrix lifted a hand, the palm perfectly upturned in her direction, an offering with heavier implications than Hermione could ever realize.

And yet, she took it anyway.

Hermione was thankful that they would not need to traverse the exceedingly large and labyrinthine manor while she had nothing but a thin-albeit very comfortable-robe to protect her dignity. What she was not thankful for was the immensely cold, dank, and dark space they currently inhabited.

What she'd initially confused for as the Malfoy dungeons-a space that she would have fought tooth and nail to remove herself from-was an elaborately decorated parlor. The walls were covered in the usual forest green she'd seen in her current dwelling, but added to that was an interesting collection of mounted shelves which kept elevated and safe a few various knickknacks that seemed benign in nature. There was a glittering golden cup, a slender red-filled vial, a book that seemed bound in peach colored leathers, and other items whose visage seemed warped due to the twisting shadows in the poor but purposeful lighting provided by green-flamed lanterns placed strategically along the walls. It wasn't enough to make out the finer details of her space-was that a liquor cabinet against the wall? A stuffed werewolf against the corner? -but it was more than enough to display the most frightening aspect of the room.

There, at the center of the space stood a circle of reflective glossy black flooring. It was suspiciously clear of the soft and yet still warmth lacking carpet that she currently stood upon. Above the glossy ground hung several silver colored chains, still and certainly imposing as the flickering flames reflected bright glimmers back in her direction. It was enough to make her heart skip a beat and certainly enough for her eyes to grow somewhat wide as the unspoken meaning of their presence slipped across her mind unbidden. The rest of the room seemed out of place in comparison, to false and cozy while the chains hung with purpose and oozed intent.

Certainly, they could have also been an out of place statement of taste but she reckoned the Dark Lord did nothing, even decorate, without purpose driving the decision.

Her mouth was open, dry, her tongue curled as her chest ached with need for oxygen but she'd forgotten how to breath when she saw those chains, when she understood what was to come. No amount of chipper discussion from Luna could have prepared her for this, this supposed ceremony that could be nothing more than an excuse to usher forth her agony.

"And I will have it, your agony, girl." His voice hissed, so chilling and indifferent and perfectly aware of her thoughts that it was startling, "You will give it to me, even if I must, at first, take it."

She swallowed harshly and tried to calm the tremble that infested her arms as she combed the space for His presence. Yet, she could see little beyond her immediate position. Only the circle was suspiciously illuminated and the items closest to it.

"My Lord, "Bellatrix chirped with glee, a hand at the small of Hermione's back-heavy, controlling, warm.

How could she sound so happy? So disgustingly pleased?

"Well," He said, "Get on with it."

Without hesitation Bellatrix gave her a shove, nothing to malicious but more than enough to get Hermione's heavy feet moving toward the circle. The circle that seemed to grow impossibly wide as the carpet literally recoiled from the touch of the oozing black floor. It rolled out to greet her, to embrace her toes with its chilling bite and draw from her a wince as she stepped fully upon it. Now that it seemed to control most of the room she noticed the center of the circle radiated a near unnaturally sort of cold. She could see her breath form with each nervous pant and feel her skin crawl with revulsion as the bitterness in the space coated her flesh.

Her words were frozen in her throat, proclamations of 'I can't' and 'This isn't right' remained trapped and strangled. The idea of screeching in indignation, of yelling stop, never passed her mind, but a portion of her greatly wanted a fight nonetheless.

Was it cowardice or bravery that kept her moving forward? That allowed her to mindlessly raise her hands above her head when commanded by Bellatrix? Was it courageous to face one's trails without resistance? Or was she giving into a power that was beyond her comprehension?

"You are right on all accounts," The hiss came from her left, so close, so impossibly close to her ear and yet she did not see Him, only Bellatrix, who carefully dangled the enchanted chains near her wrists and watched them like a dutiful caretaker as the curled around her flesh, "Even if you don't understand exactly how."

Get out of my head, she thought, give me this privacy.

She thought she heard gentle laughter, the sound of the amused and interested.

There is no privacy, not with me and no, I will not grant you the illusion of such. Not you, my precious Golden Girl. You, more than anyone else, should not be degraded with such coddling.

She jerked from the powerful ring of His voice, from the playful courteous allure of His words. It did nothing to alleviate her fear, though she knew that had never been His intention. Perhaps, He took pleasure in the harsh thud of her heart, in the rush of her blood that did little to keep her warm against the bite of His cold. She could practically feel the truth of His speech, knew from that moment onward that no thoughts were truly safe from His touch, from His introspection, and to make her think otherwise would have…

It would have only made her weaker.

And I must have my weapon sharp.

Hermione gasped as Bellatrix moved suddenly, as she hooked her wicked fingers into the expensive but otherwise impractical cloth that covered her body and tore it from her person like a child destroying a simple piece of flimsy parchment. Her smile never left her lips-if anything she grinned even more, splitting her beautiful face, and turning it into something hungry and monstrous-as her gaze wandered across her skin with all the appreciation of a person accessing a blank canvas.

If she'd had the courage to yell and the ability to cover her body she might have. As it was she was afforded neither, knowing that any sound she made might have egged on her company and that her arms were still strung up above her body. She could have lifted her legs, might have even, but that would have painted a rather foolish picture of her person and the Dark Lord was somewhere in the room, she was certain of that.

She would not look like a fool in front of Him.

So instead she hissed, allowed her lips to twist into a sneer befitting the inner turmoil and rage she felt. She was not ashamed of her body-she had aged well, a woman of war-toned muscle and gold dusted skin from various ventures in the sun. If only her nipples had not hardened, puckered from the invasive cold, on her modest chest. Perhaps, they would not have drawn attention there, considering how long Bellatrix gaze seemed to linger-which only irritated her further considering the way she was currently on display.

They remained like that for a moment, Hermione nude as the day she'd been born, and Bellatrix whose eyes had darkened to a murky black with an emotion that seemed indescribable to Hermione. She shivered then, disquieted by the silence-for even the Dark Lord seemed eerily absent-as Bellatrix combing gaze moved from her clenching belly past her breast and toward...

Bellatrix drew in a breath, something akin to a soft hiss, as her eyes scanned the Dark Mark before landed upon the scarred flesh that spelled out that despicable word-Mudblood.

Yet, who would dare call her such a thing now?

Still, she stared and Hermione, feeling haughty-or perhaps dizzy from the overwhelming need to move forward from Bellatrix unending scrutiny, snarled out a- "You did that to me. Do you remember? You wicked thing, do you?"

For a moment, Hermione swore she saw Bellatrix shudder, though that was an impossibility Hermione refused to fathom. She doubted Bellatrix felt much beyond her constant state of buzzing ferality. Bloodlust, perhaps, mania certainly and so many other aggressive powerful uncontrolled things but never remorse, never guilt.

And she was right, it was not guilt that Bellatrix shook with.

No, when Bellatrix finally lifted her eyes back to Hermione's face what she saw shimmering there was far too frightening to be anything so simplistic. It was a tempest there, some twisting storm that made the shadows of her gaze all the darker. That shaking pupil, so dilated and focused, seemed filled to the brim with need. She could feel it, practically drown in it, the intensity of that one look, the raw refusal to taper or control the crafted want for possession there. It was all so very terrifying, so incredibly real.

"I did," Bellatrix gave a slow lick of her bottom lip and Hermione thought she had no right to make the act look so effortlessly sensual, "And I remember. Oh yes, I constantly remember."

Now it was Hermione's turn to shudder, to tremble in understanding that had nothing to do with the terror she should have felt and everything to do with an odd elation.

Yes, some part of her, some thumping hot part of her thought, let her remember.

She wanted to be anywhere else so that she could think, so that she could push down this craving that clawed at her belly and made her feel flushed. She liked the look she inspired, liked that Bellatrix seemed so completely consumed by a flame created by herself. Her torture, how she'd writhed and screamed and cried, seemed so far away and warped. Bellatrix made her feel like they'd done something horribly unspeakable that night in the manor. Something that had gone beyond the pain-filled interrogation and had marked her just as much as she herself had been.

She needed time to understand, to look back at that moment and wonder how tightly this odd bond between them could wrap-

"It's time to shed your worthless skin, I shall kill something in you and replace it with something stronger. Do not disappoint, Granger." His voice returned, strong and unforgettable and enough to break the tension that had consumed them. Instantly Bellatrix resumed her thoughtful detached examination and with only an idle-and extremely inappropriate-tug to Hermione's soft embarrassingly well managed pubic hair she twisted around to bow deeply to the writhing darkness of the outer shadows.

"Begin."

With a roll of her shoulders Bellatrix turned to face her, her eyes alight with an eagerness Hermione was familiar with. She tried to keep her expression of frustration, tried to summon up some semblance of loathing, but she was wrapped in the embrace of anxiety and could think of nothing more than how Bellatrix planned to accomplish her task.

She didn't have to wait long and with a flick of her wrist Bellatrix summoned a whip from seemingly thin air. It looked like the normal affair, from its corded handle all the way to the tip, and Hermione had to doubt whether it would cause her pain, the type of pain He seemed to demand she experience and lose herself to. It just looked so mundane, so Muggle.

"Surprised?" Bellatrix asked, one brow quirked, as if Hermione's thoughts had been telegraphed. Perhaps, they had been. "Don't be. I'm rather good at what I do, pet. I'd say that rather soon you won't have the bloody ability to overthink my tools of choice. Shame really, it would have been nice to have Lucius here to confirm my prowess. The last wanker we inducted had a nice audience to judge his performance. All his little screams and sobs on display. You're bloody lucky, my pet."

"Bellatrix, language."

"Ah, sorry, my Lord."

Then in a motion of smooth grace Bellatrix pulled back her arm and swung it forward.

Hermione heard the snap of it against her flesh before she registered the pain. It ebbed out slowly, like building ripples from a disturbed pond, but all too soon it collided with her person as an unbearable searing sting that came from the place where she'd been struck-right above her belly button, if she'd been aware enough to guess. She jerked and sucked in a deep breath, her eyes wide as the first strike sung through her. Instead of just one area humming from the pain the bulk of her upper torso felt attacked. By the time the pain had subsided Hermione swore she'd been hit with something more than just a whip.

"Enchanted," Bellatrix sniffed.

Of course.

She was struck again and this time there was no shock nor confusion to soften her reaction. She jerked in the chains and groaned, unable to properly decide where the pain had originated from as it spread throughout her entire being. It felt like she was being bitten, like her skin was carefully plucked and harshly pinched away from her person before being allowed to snap back. Unbearable, it felt unbearable, but worse than that it was unpredictable.

Especially when Bellatrix snapped it against her thigh.

"Gah!" She cried out, spittle flying, as the pain from the second blow refused to fade. If anything, the third blow only fed it further, pushing out tongues of growing agony to other portions of her body left unaffected. Through her blurry vision, she could see Bellatrix lips twitch, as if she were repressing some pleased and lazy smile.

Fuck you, her mind hissed, desperate and strained under the pain.

Not yet, Bellatrix purred back, her voice among her mind perfectly settled and content, like warmed honey and comfortable promises.

And she couldn't push her out.

So, she was struck again, and again, though the delay between the punishment grew shorter and shorter. Hermione's screams grew loud, her voice hoarse, as her limbs jerked against her will and her chest heaved from a lack of proper oxygen. She could see no welts upon her person but her mind screamed that they were there. Across her thighs, her stomach, her shoulders, her breasts-everywhere Bellatrix choose to shower with her whip would undoubtedly become bruised and ruined.

Yet, her skin remained whole. Red and patchy, yes. Slick with sweat and flushed as the blood in her veins desperately moved along, certainly. But there was no blood to wet her skin, no proof to her destruction, only her sounds of despair and the pressure in her skull.

Her thoughts came in random bursts, disrupted by each flick of the whip until she could only think of the 'whys' while her mentality lost the ability to understand 'how'.

You must know pain, His voice whispered, or was it Bellatrix? They were the same, one and whole, indistinguishable among the sea of torment, you must know it, twist it, understand it. Let it cleanse you of your crimes against me, of the guilt that clings to your flesh for those who are meaningless.

The most she could muster was, wHy?

You cannot humble yourself, cannot learn, without it. There can be no distractions, no doubts.

No nO No-Her mind struggled, found the idea ridiculous. She could be humble, would be humble, without it.

You must obey. Must shed your ideals. Everything you know, everything you were taught-The voice hissed, angry and displeased as the pain increased. Images flickered by her vision, cracked phantom pictures of Ronald, of Harry, of Dumbledore. She heard him speak, or was it them speak? They had merged into one being, one horrific cluster of man and beard that reached out for a piece of lemon colored candy. They spoke at length about magic, about the light, about the Dark Lord-No, Miss Granger, the cluster-vision chastised, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named-about Harry's importance and destiny, about sacrificing her personal welfare for that of the Chosen One, about categorizing an entire group of people-Those evil Slytherins, Miss Granger, watch out for them-and so much more. So so much more that had been ingrained in her person since childhood and just too hard to let go.

This silly sense of morals, this ignorant concept of 'light' and 'dark'... even this prejudice understanding of magic and alignment. Power is power, even now you can feel it, the power I have over you.

She could feel it in each strike, in each shake of her tired muscles.

But it is not exclusive, our exchange. I will share with you, soon. I can feel it, your understanding. They left you weak and alone, I will make you strong in their absence.

Something in her snarled, some already broken crazed piece.

You reject this thought. You don't believe me? Tell me why, girl. You cannot hide from me.

Not like how she'd hid from herself. His question confused her addled mind, rattled about her mentality until the metaphorical landscape of her trembling mentality shook with explosive anger.

You?YoU? How, how can you help me? How can you make me something else? They listen to you, but why? A half-blood, the false lord of pure-blood activism when the blood in your veins is as meaningless as the magic most of them hold. They don't deserve it, this gift, my gift, this magic! They waste it, take it for granted, when I have struggled and still lack recognition. I am more powerful than the bulk of them. Me!ME!I am poWerFUl and they are the garbage, fat content with mediocrity. Now I must suffer, bow, as they toy with me over bLoOd. I am more than this, than tHeM!Those filthy wizards and witches with tHeIr muDdy BLOOD!

The voice in her mind raged, spoke with crazed tones that seemed so like her and yet not. It growled and screeched, petulant and disgusted. It could not have been her, that broken rolling yell, and yet it shook her so powerfully, sung through her mind with all the power of her starving soul. She hissed and jerked, shaking her head as Bellatrix paused in her whipping-something had burst, she could hear something shatter as wood cracked and clattered to the widespread black floor, had she distracted her? Startled her? -but it was only so that she could move as the tongue of agony struck the side of her hip.

The voice in her mind, the one that didn't seethe and snarl in her tones, spoke was more-Then you understand it has nothing to do with blood, don't you?

She gasped and arched her back, felt the whip smack its tip across her left arse cheek but… but something was different. The pain was still there, still overwhelming, but something was different.

They are a filthy lot, the pure-blood elite. Manipulated easily enough by their precious traditions, traditions I now twist and recreate to keep them safe and satisfied, but it's power they fear and covet, power they respect. It is with power that I now rule them. No creature, pure-blood or otherwise, deserves life unless they earn it and I am sure they've realized that now. They're all trash, yes even you, girl, until they are useful. Even your beloved Dumbledore was fond of his pawns, using anyone and anything to achieve his machinations so long as they were competent… smart… Powerful-

Another strike, this one across the small of her back, but there was no scream this time, just a sharp intake of breath as the pain blossomed, lingered, and left her skin feeling itchy and tight. Tingling…

You're crossing the threshold, aren't you? Finally understanding what I mean? The worthy ones understand this lesson, the lesson that only power can create a god. That intention is what directs our fears and indirectly our classification of magic. The powerful are dark, the weak and controllable are light. Blood can create very little, Squibs maybe, and blood-locked curses, but they do not dictate much other than political sway when everything else is stripped away.

The whip struck her right arse cheek and this time she let loose a strangled cry of confusion. The pain was still all consuming, still barely tolerable, and yet she craved the touch of the whip more than she did His words, His truth. Each searing strike left behind an odd void in her being, as if one more hit would banish away her growing sense of guilt, of vulnerability, of helplessness-no, she was vulnerable yes, but not helpless. Yet the shame seemed so strong now, now that she was learning and eager. She craved His gospel with a fervent greed she was starting to feel with her body. The next time the whip struck her she knew something had changed, something was breaking, something that trembled under the vibrations of her bouncing flesh and heaving chest.

In the world I wish to create, power will dictate the hierarchy. It will start with the blood of the worthy, as blood rules the minds of those too small to care for themselves, but with each new figure of power we will gain new elevated beings of blood and new rules to govern it.

Until there was nothing left of the old ideals where blood status was everything. Until even the haughtiest pure-bloods found themselves at the bottom of the pecking order due to a lack of diligence and practice. Ability, skill, talent, this would drive their goals and actions and while Muggles would always, unfortunately, be at the bottom of such a world they would no longer be so unfairly divided from the pure-bloods that had put them there.

Yes…her mind whispered, but she wasn't sure if it was due to Voldemort's proclamation or because… because Bellatrix was hitting her just right. Her body was singing, throbbing to the beat of Bellatrix whip in a manner that defied logical explanation. Her nerves, raw and sensitive, now hummed from the sharp inflaming anguish. The shame she had felt, the guilt she had clung to, slipped from her person with each strike. How just a simple change of direction and force could make her feel so heated was insane, and yet each twist she made in the chains was less in horror and more in confused joy.

Joy that He understood some portion of her being. Joy that He thought so practically-

You are Firstborn, the first witch of my new order. The first of your pure bloodline. They will accept this. You will accept this. You will take this nothing that you are, this trash you've become, beaten down by normality and commoness, and become worthy of my knowledge, my secrets. If you can accomplish that, you will do great things, greater than you have ever known. In time, we will fill this worthless world with our kind, intelligent and proficient witches and wizards who will only think of the worthless and slavish as undeserving Mudbloods.

Now her gasps weren't strained by pain, not entirely, but intermingled with yearning and a indescribable fever. Her heart beat rapidly, pumping heated blood throughout her limbs and giving life to places in her being that had been dead for a rather long time. That dark thing inside of her, that screaming roaring rushing thing, greedily moved forward, demanding the sensation-anything, anything, she just wanted to feel. Animalistic need made her flex her bound hands and it was difficult to focus on the voice as each lick of the whip set off an explosion of sensation that was no longer just pure agony. The onslaught of strikes at her backside did not subside, her pleasure was not brought on by relief. The constant throb of her core, slick from more than just sweat, demanded more stimulation. The craving felt as if it were carving itself into her very being, moving her past her threshold of tolerance and twisting her endurance into something wicked, something perverse. Goodness it hurt, the sense that her flesh was splitting, the hot itch it left behind on tightening skin, the ebb and flow of her twisting nerves against the magic that built and built and built-

But the pressure, the feeling of the strike, the impact across her starved flesh, and the dawning understanding as she began to crumble, to break, to go insane-

There it is. Now you know. It's not with blood I'll rule you. Perhaps, not even with magic. No, my sweet. It's knowledge, my knowledge, that will make you crumble.

He knew, He knew that this whirlwind of want had created a powerful ache between her legs. That her nipples were hard and needy from more than just the chill of the room. That even the cold, a permanent feature of the space, could do nothing to ease the flames in her belly. That some switch had been flicked, some irreparable portion of her lost, all because of how she-Bellatrix-had made her feel and the alluring drawl of His words. Perhaps, He was just as masterful at dissecting the human mind as He was with conquering magic. Perhaps He knew just what pain did to people. Perhaps, He knew just what to do to drive them to madness.

And then he'd taught Bellatrix to do the same.

Yes, she understood. His wisdom was more powerful than any magic. Magic only amplified His prowess, suffering had only brought Him control. Control of others as they bowed beneath His expert manipulation. As they truly broke down and craved His brand of salvation, anything to dull the sharpness of the experience, of such exquisite torture.

I cannot take all the credit, but Bellatrix did learn from the best.

Yes, and maybe, once upon a time, it had been her strung up by her wrists and forced to bow as she came to terms with the power pain, knowledge, and political finesse held over anyone.

Pain will cleanse our faults and connect us through blood. Through pain we find relief-

And pleasure, so much pleasure.

And it is discipline, my Golden Girl, that brings obedience while obedience brings enlightenment. There are times when the pain reminds us why we must be obedient and diligent. The pain in turn makes us feel alive.

Then there was a pause as the dark voice seemed to hesitate and silence slipped into the space. Bellatrix halted her strikes and above Hermione's own labored breathing and soft sounds of need she could hear her companion's pants. When she'd managed to close her eyes she didn't know but she didn't have the strength to open them, was to afraid that the hunger there would be seen and easily reflected by the older witch. Only Hermione's soft moan seemed to shatter that silence and resume the session.

You'll need a taste to truly understand.

"Crucio."

The word was strained, whispered so low that she nearly missed the fact that Bellatrix had no doubt cast it wandlessly. What she didn't miss was when the spell struck her body, when it licked along her skin and sunk deep into her flesh. There was a delay, immeasurable and yet also timeless, before it struck, all-consuming and intense. The pain, this pain, was nothing like the whip and yet everything like it at the same time. Her nerves, already so raw and sensitive, were struck by the white-hot knives of the curse. Her mouth, once open to draw in breath, now let loose a wild screech as the spell drove all sound, all thought, all control from her being. Left behind was something more instinctual, something wild and frenzied that felt conflicted and twisted. She was being torn asunder, her skin removed from muscle and bone -no, no, the spell could do no such thing, yet it felt so real, so incredibly real-and all she could manage was the pathetic twitching and jerking that any witch or wizard would have done from the assault.

Her screams were cut, she didn't have enough air, and her lungs felt tight as natural body functions became complex human algorithms. She forgot where she was, and whom she was with. The only thing that existed in that time, that endless time, was her body, her aching throbbing body…

Which buzzed with more than just her misery, which hummed with slick arousal as the perverse thing in her greedily absorbed the spell. She barely noticed, the mix of pain and heat, as it became sharp and violent, so vivid, so strong.

It was all one thing for her, one unceasing moment where the tightness in her body became unbearably akin to strangulation and her limbs screamed from strain. Where arduous bliss attacked her with vicious accuracy and all she could think was 'please' but couldn't be sure as to what she was begging for.

Then it was over, done with the lifting of the spell as her ramrod straight body collapsed into the waiting arms of the nearby hovering Bellatrix Black. She didn't know how or when she'd been released from the chains and found that the answer didn't matter. Instead she remained weak and limp, held by the warm warms that embraced her possessively as she shook and jerked and-

Moaned, impassioned and tender as she trembled against Bellatrix chest. Something was… something swept through her, like hot liquid relief as her sensitive nerves felt as if they were alive and expressing literal joy at the ending of the curse. She hissed as sensation whipped up her spine, as her eyes narrowed in bewilderment and a sudden compulsion struck her. It felt so good to be free from the curse, to feel the powerful ache of her sex, to swing her arms up with a sudden burst of energy so that she could hook her fingertips against the chest of her former adversary. That was certainly enough to make Bellatrix twitch, though she didn't drop nor release her. And that was fine, the sensation of Bellatrix body-despite being clothed-against her own was deliriously exciting as the sensation that she could only describe as ecstasy continued to ravish her shivering body. She had never felt such abnormal passion before, such intense arousal, such commanding pleasure from-

"Spell-work is an interesting craft when you have a complete understanding over the magic. It's much more refined, my curse, than your own don't you think?" Bellatrix purred, her words soft as Hermione gasped and held to her more than desperate, "The aftershocks will fade soon, dearie. They don't talk about that, the relief from the spell. When every part of your body sings its praises and sort of… tips over the line once the curse is over. It's somewhat emotional, no sane witch wants to be hurt to badly, not even you my little pure-blood, but then that happiness sort of spills over, becomes literal."

Hermione would have thought it all a load of garbage, she hadn't seen Umbridge writhing around in delight, if she weren't currently hanging there repressing the urge to convulse as each spasm brought a new wave of building pleasure.

"Beast, filthy woman, demon-" Hermione croaked out, driven by her aches-fueled by her pain and her arousal-but there was little to do as she settled down, still painfully aware of her needs and the soreness of her throat.

"Mhm, yes yes, all those things and more." Bellatrix smirked.

Enough.

Hermione growled and brought up a hand, fully intending on smacking the woman that had just whipped her for whoever knew how long and and... ruined her-no, she was not so naive, Bellatrix had done something to her but her body was far from ruined. Different yes, but not ruined-but instead of feeling the satisfying impact of her palm against flesh she hooked her fingertips and drew them down, aggressively, viciously, wanting to mark her with such a sudden demanding urgency that she could think of nothing else.

Certainly, the action startled Bellatrix, who pulled back once the deed was done with a hiss. Hermione's nails had split her flesh, had drawn lines down her check which were rapidly filling with droplets of blood. Seeing that crimson, knowing she'd caused it, did very little to calm the rapid beat of her heart. If anything, it only increased it.

Yes, she'd done that, had made her hiss, and she saw the flicker of bestial need swim up from the depths of her gaze and destroy what little smug attitude was left in the woman. It replaced it, giving Bellatrix expression life with that intense ferality she was known for. Her lips pulled back in a smile, one that tugged at her cheeks-one perfect, one ruined-and she quickly dipped out her tongue to taste the blood that coated the one Hermione had claimed. Hermione wanted more of that, more of that smile, more of the way she'd managed to break Bellatrix carefully constructed facade of master torturer until what was left before her only gluttony and madness.

Something she could control.

Hermione hissed as Bellatrix leaned forward, their breath harsh and strained, their bodies pressed too tightly. The spasms left her but Hermione refused to bow to exhaustion. Instead she felt… fascinated, drawn to the body that had moments before made her howl and squirm with newly discovered needs, a body that now seemed to suffer just as she had.

Need was, in its own way, pain as well.

"Very good, Bellatrix."

With an almost startled breath Bellatrix pulled up, if only so she could look over Hermione's shoulder toward the voice that had addressed them. Tiredly Hermione tried to escape her grasp, but instead of letting her go Bellatrix merely turned her around to face Him.

Finally, she could see the Dark Lord.

"My Lord," Hermione whispered tiredly, though it felt natural to do so, instinctual.

It managed to bring a broad serpentine smile to His face. Gone was the massive hood, the elegant robes, and instead he wore all black-typical and yet expected. She didn't flinch when He turned His face, odd in its reconstruction since its birth during the Triwizard Tournament, to stare at her with a pleased nod.

"Yes, good… very good."

Hermione didn't bother repressing her soft content sigh, even if she wasn't sure if Voldemort was praising her or the woman holding her up from behind.

"Hermione."

Oh, perhaps it was her. "My Lord."

"Do you understand?"

She gave a nervous tired lick of her lips, "I think so, my Lord."

At that response, Voldemort narrowed His eyes which gleamed red and indifferent, "Ah, you think so? That is not certainty. Though do not worry, my dear. We will make you certain. This sort of growth can take time to be perfected."

She didn't have the energy to shiver though her breath caught at his proclamation.

"A bit of the Cruciatus before each lesson, I think, will make you certain, make you remember, until I ask this question again and you answer with complete confidence that you absolutely understand."

She gave a slow nod, afraid and yet-

Bellatrix brought a hand with delicate wriggling fingers to cup her breast and suddenly the thought was irrelevant. The Dark Lord either didn't notice or ignored when his Death Eater began to gently squeeze her.

Hermione was entranced, watching with parted lips as Bellatrix fingers brushed curiously against her flesh. She gasped softly when she felt her squeeze, trembling under the delicious pressure when Bellatrix dared to bend her fingers in a firm knead.

"Ms. Granger," The Dark Lord huffed.

She sputtered and finally lifted a hand, moving it to capture the wrist of Bellatrix wayward hand which stilled upon contact. She didn't pull it away, not yet.

"Good. I need your divided attention." He said, as if watching others being toyed with before Him was an occurrence He was used to, "You have earned your place as my sponsored. You will continue to please me so that my plans can move forward. I have two tasks for you, your main projects of study."

He leaned forward with tilted head until He was rather close, incredibly close, to her face. She swallowed thickly, lust forgotten in the chill that billowed around Him and for a split moment she was incredibly grateful for the warmth of Bellatrix at her back-and her hand still held possessively upon her chest.

"You will examine some materials I've had sent to your room, girl. One is a book I found in Scotland. Very old, that thing, with a cover of flesh so do be careful. I need you to consume the work there and put it into practice. It appears to be a ritual of some sort that could possibly restore my body to its previous form. I find myself unable to dedicate the time to accomplish the task myself and thus you will do so for me, as a gift to my house for sponsoring your own. It is but one of many tithings you will be obligated to grant me, but it is the first you will attempt."

She gave a bob of her head to signify her understanding.

"The second task I have for you may be… rather difficult but I have faith that you will figure it out." Now His voice took on a curious tone, one that bore no room for argument, one that held little threat but plenty of warning. "You will start taking lessons with Severus Snape for advanced potion making. Ah, Ms. Granger, don't make that face. I understand you feel it might be… beneath you? After all, you are a master potioneer but I assure you the education that Severus provides will be anything but rudimentary."

Slowly He leaned up and away from her only to turn on His heel and begin to move back toward the darkness. From the shadows, she saw the tip of a green scaly nose and flickering pink tongue shift out to greet Him and it wasn't long before the massive snake that Hermione had come to fear and think of as something more than a house pet came out to twine about His body and wrap around His person like a secondary limb.

"You will need a deeper understanding than what you currently have. Your little forays in potions-crafting and experimentation are interesting, Ms. Granger, but could be so much more with a little… focused education."

And if it was anything He had taught her, it was that there was power in knowledge. With a wordless nod, she expressed her understanding

"I have left another book for you, it has no title and must be handled very carefully, more so than the other. You see, I received the book as a present from a wizard that returned from a raid near the Bahamas. He seemed to think it some worthless Muggle trinket but I am not so foolish. It may be nothing more than a diary from long dead trash but there is some truth to the words on those old pages. They speak briefly of Bimini, you know."

Bimini? The Bimini?

"Ah… I must go. The ball is nearly over and it would be unfair for you to spend the last few hours listening to me… speculate. Bellatrix will take you back to your room and you will ask your companion to schedule your lessons and future obligations. Potions with Severus, the Dark Arts with Bellatrix, and so on and so forth. She should have my list."

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, there were so many questions, but He was already moving toward the shadows.

"You may retrieve any belongings you wish to take from that poor flat of yours tomorrow morning. Or send your companion in your stead. Your former manager will receive your resignation but you may tell him personally that you are now in my service if that brings you some peace. I intend to have you as my second acting potioneer, though that is only temporary. Severus is rather possessive about his position."

Then, He turned slightly, giving Hermione a look from over His shoulder.

"You see, I need you to do what is needed to progress toward our classes. I will be sure to check in on your progression, though do know that failure and laziness are very punishable. Your newly gained honor will be your motivation and all of that can come tumbling down around you should you prove to be nothing more than an unfortunate disappointment. Do not sully your house, do not embarrass me, and you will surely succeed."

Then, with a roll of His shoulders He slipped into the darkness, though His voice was loud, a promising echo that rattled her very bones as her wand flew out from the space that had absorbed Him into the open unoccupied hand of the woman at her back.

"And should you succeed in the second task and create the potion I seek, the potion to emulate the Fountain of Youth from Bimini, then I will be able to end my search and devote my time to teaching you properly."

She couldn't see Him smile, but she could feel it, feel it stretch across her mind just as surely as His control had stretched across her existence.

Give me what I want, Granger. So, I can say I've found my heir.