Author's Note: The following chapter includes a graphic description of
violence. It is not meant to be titillating in ANY way, or to romanticize
this kind of violence. It is, however, meant to relay a sense of sacrifice
and courage under fire.
But please, do not read this if the concept of rape, in any form, bothers you. Skip right to the next chapter (which will be a week or more in coming). And if you STILL read it and feel compelled to flame, have the guts to sign it.
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Struggling against the dark waves of unconsciousness, Hermione slowly woke. Fabric tickled her nose, making it twitch, and her jaw was sore. More than sore, as she squinted into the darkness, trying to open her eyes. Her jaw ached with a throbbing agony, and as she moved it the pain flared even higher. Cuspid and bicuspid, the analytical part of her identified automatically from the charts from her parents' office.
Her face was buried in folds of cloth, her ragged breathing sucking it in towards her mouth. No matter how she twisted her head, it remained, and she was unable to reach it with her hands. Her arms strained, but her hands would not come up. Her wrists hurt as well, and she realized vaguely she was lying face down, her wrists are fastened behind her. This was wrong - she hadn't been able to lie on her stomach for weeks. The baby in her womb took great exception to being crowded.
Oh. Just a dream, her sleeping mind realized. I'm just dreaming that I've woken up. Once recognized, it was a simple enough matter to stretch her thoughts just so, to push against the barriers and derail a burgeoning nightmare. She'd been able to do that since she was ten.
Except it didn't work.
The dream was more real, more immediate than any fantasy spun by her unconscious mind. It was eerily reminiscent of the few times she'd been dropped into a Pensive. And the instant she made that connection was when her sleeping mind realized that Professor Dumbledore's Anisthetae had finally worn off.
A sound came, a door opening, then suddenly strong hands seized her upper arm and dragged her from the lumpy cot on which she lay. A physical presence, larger than herself, more powerful, steered her ungently forward, paying no mind as she careened off a doorjamb and collided with his bulk. It's a man, some instinct told her, and fear that had been a vague fog contracted suddenly into her stomach, sharp and immediate.
Voices came near, and a dim light made some impression on the dark hood over her head.
"I don't have time for this, Lucius," snapped a familiar voice.
"You don't have time to do our Lord's bidding, Severus?" questioned a dryly aristocratic voice. "I wonder why that is."
"Because I'm under Dumbledore's thumb, you fool. The man may be in his dotage, but he still keeps a sharp eye on me and those in my House. If he suspects me of backsliding, he'll have in Azkaban without a moment's warning."
"How convincing you are, old friend. Or at least our Lord thinks so. He believes you, you see. Seems to think you're providing a valuable service to our cause by your position of kissing Dumbledore's backside." The casual voice hardened. "Our Lord is convinced of your loyalty, Severus, but I am not. And the more I think on it, the less convinced I am."
"What do you want, Lucius?" the Potions Master responded acidly. "My protestations of loyalty? A sworn statement? Full page ad in the Prophet, perhaps?"
"Harry Potter's head on a platter would be a start."
"I cannot touch the boy, you know that. The only reason I stay in that accursed school is to keep an eye on the brat, and on your brat as well."
"Yes, Draco, my son and heir. He's had a lot to say about you lately. About your potions class. About a certain Mudblood."
"If you're referring to the Granger chit, there's nothing I can do about her. She's Head Girl, and if your precious offspring would stop whining and trouble himself to study on occasion, he might actually stand a chance against that annoying little know-it-all. But as she does study, and Draco seldom deigns to open his textbook, it's no surprise her marks are better than his."
A note of satisfaction crept into Malfoy's voice. "Well, I'm going to remove that thorn from your side, Severus. It's Halloween night, and we have a warning to issue."
"Has our lord approved this.. warning? You know how appreciative he can be of independent thought, Lucius," he continued silkily. "Are you confident your actions are correct?"
"I have his sanction and blessing for this. He wants to send that fool of a Headmaster a message on his lenient policies. Bad enough the most respected wizarding institution has been overrun with half-bloods and worse. An example must be made."
"What kind of example?" Snape asked, suspicious.
Lucius must have signaled, since the strong hands holding Hermione dragged her forward and thrust her into the room. She lost her footing, as had been intended, and fell heavily. Her arm twisted awkwardly under her and she cried out as a dull snap shot agony through the front of her shoulder. A cruel chuckle accompanied the footsteps that come closer to her, and a hand dragged the hood roughly off her head.
Curled on her side, Hermione blinked against the light that seemed so bright at first. Of the men surrounding her, she recognized Lucius Malfoy first. Two other men stood nearby, looking so much like Draco Malfoy's two cronies that she guessed they must be the senior Crabbe and Goyle. A third man, not quite as big as the others but still quite large, stood beside her.
He seemed familiar, and the pang in her jaw dragged up the memory of a man stepping out of the alley near the Three Broomsticks and suddenly swinging a ham-sized fist at her face. He must have been the one who'd taken her from Hogsmeade.
In actuality, the room was lit by a few branches of candles on the walls and on a table to one side. The heavy shadows threw the walls in dramatic highlights, making the stuffed heads on the richly paneled walls seem nearly lifelike. Here a hippogriff screamed silently, its severed front legs crossed under the bronze feathers of its neck. On the far wall hung a gold plaque with a unicorn's head, glassy eyes dull with dust. Between the crossbows and pikes that completed the decoration of this rather bizarre version of a wizard's hunting lodge, several other mystical and mundane animals stared dispassionately into the room.
She turned to the last man, standing beside Malfoy with his eyes narrowed in familiar disdain. Severus Snape.
"Professor?" she called. A thread of hope blossomed and instantly shriveled against the certain knowledge that he would not, could not do anything to help her.
"Vocabulus Strangulatem," Malfoy intoned, pointing his black wand at her. From the wand shot a gray haze which settled around her neck, greasy and unpleasant.
"What." she began, only to feel the spell constrict instantly, choking her until black spots appeared before her eyes. When it released and allowed her to draw a gasping breath, she saw the pleased smirk on Malfoy's face.
"Have you lost your mind, Lucius?" Snape asked, sounding bored. "The girl knows me, and you. No matter what memory charm you put on her, Dumbledore will be able to break it if you give him sufficient reason to do so."
"Not if she's dead," Malfoy pointed out reasonably. "And she will be, when we're done with her. She'll look so tragic, don't you think, draped before the gates of Hogwarts with nothing but her precious badge on her ravished body? Half the Mudbloods in the school will be gone by the end of the week."
"Five Galleons says it's more," rumbled the third Death Eater.
"Feeling confident, Avery? Very well, you're on," Malfoy agreed. "What about you, Severus? Care to make a wager?"
"I'll keep my money," Snape said coldly. "And so would you, if you were wise. She's bloody well Head Girl, you idiot. It will be all over the Prophet."
"That's exactly the point!" Lucius snapped. "We cannot allow Mudbloods to take over our world!"
"Murdering a student will attract too much attention! If you want to make an example of Mudbloods, wait until the next Hogsmeade weekend. The town will be overrun with students, you can beat a dozen of them bloody if you want!"
"All liberty weekends have been canceled, you fool. No students are allowed to leave the school now, and the next time they are the town will be crawling with Aurors! Someone told Dumbledore about our plans today!"
"All the more reason to wait! You never had a head for strategy, Lucius. Kill her, and you'll bring Aurors even faster, and I'll be their first suspect!"
"No one saw you leave the grounds, Severus. No one will think you had a thing to do with this."
"I won't have anything to do with this. I'm leaving, and I highly recommend you listen to sense instead of your ego. Obliviate the girl, give her a plausible reason for her tardiness, and wait for a better opportunity." He paused, as if considering some unpleasant duty. "If you like, I'll take her now and come up with some story of her spraining her ankle or some rot. You may thank me later."
An ugly glitter appeared in Malfoy's eyes, so very like his son's, and the tension crackled between the two men. Snape's movement was a blur as he went for his wand, but Malfoy's wand was already out and in his hand.
"Imperio!"
For an instant Severus Snape stood absolutely still, his wand half-drawn from his sleeve. The stillness disintegrated quickly as slight tremors in his hands began, growing to a palsied shaking as his mind struggled against the Unforgivable.
"He's fighting it!" Malfoy snarled. "Together! Imperio!"
"Imperio!" echoed the other three, their wands out, and the four spells together stilled Snape's hands again. Malfoy smiled with a thin, self- pleased expression that made Hermione shudder.
"That's much better, isn't it, old friend? Put your wand away, that's a good boy." Under Malfoy's mellifluous direction, Snape's wand was again thrust up his sleeve and the man stood, swaying slightly, his hands down at his side and his face uncharacteristically blank. Malfoy walked around him, stepping absently over Hermione's prone body.
"Severus Snape. At my command. How delicious," Malfoy purred. "For years I've done as you commanded, fed off your leavings while you wormed you way deeper and deeper into our lord's favor. Coward!" he spat. "You always loved to give the orders, tell us what to do and what not to do. You've never understood the real work." He leaned close to Snape's ear, his handsome blond head next to Snape's dark, hooded features. "Fear. That is our work. Fear makes a man do what he's told, not some spell or ridiculous potion. The whip hand, my friend. But not for you, oh, no. You never liked to get your hands dirty."
Malfoy circled his victim once more. "Well, you're going to get your hands dirty now, old friend," he assured Snape. On your knees!" he shouted.
Jerkily, Snape obeyed and knelt on the floor. "You're mine now, Severus," continued Malfoy. "I can make you do anything. Just imagine the possibilities!" He laughed, and his cronies laughed with him, obedient. "Want to lick my boot, Severus? Fool! Lick her boot instead. Go on, lick it!"
Hermione's eyes widened in disbelief as Snape shuffled forward on his knees and reached out to grasp one of her ankles. She fought the urge to kick at him as he brought the cheap leather to his mouth and stared, appalled, as the tip of his tongue came out and swiped the toe of her shoe.
Somehow, despite the lump of her combined fists digging painfully into her back, the ache in her shoulder and the suffocating fear, Hermione felt some shame for the man at her feet. She knew very little about the highly unpleasant Potions Master, but could not imagine such a proud man forced to demean himself. Watching this was nearly as humiliating as it must be to endure, and Lucius Malfoy was smiling like a child with a new toy to play with.
"You're lucky I prefer girls, Severus, or we could have had a very long night ahead of us." Malfoy's intense concentration shifted to Hermione, and another frisson of fear shot through her. "Muggle-born witches are for tickling under the hedgerow, old boy. Not for making into Head Girls."
The elegant man shifted his weight and stared at her, as if considering the pattern of a rug. "Remove the shirt," he said negligently. "Anything else, too."
Hermione gasped and tried to worm away, but Snape's grip on her ankle reeled her back. His knee came down heavily over her legs and pinned her in place while his hands, so competent when formulating a potion, were clumsy as they reached for her. A single "NO!" burst from her lips before the spell around her throat constricted again, rendering her struggling ineffective as she fought to breathe.
She was helpless to stop him as the lovely new blouse her mother had bought her was yanked open, buttons tearing through the fine silk and revealing her bra. His fingers slid inside the cups of the bra and tore the lacy fabric apart in a surprising show of strength. The cold air hit her exposed skin but did not cool the blush of shame that rose in her face and down her chest while the men around her cheered and whistled.
Above her, Snape's dark eyes glittered in panic, not lust, but his hands did not falter as he followed Malfoy's further instructions. Hermione turned her head away, closing her eyes tightly and biting her lip to stop from crying out as he touched her. Her flesh reacted automatically, tightening into hard peaks, and she could not evade his mouth as he sucked on each in turn. She discovered that the spell still allowed her to scream when Malfoy ordered him to use his teeth.
Sobbing helplessly, Hermione did not react immediately as the weight on her shifted and he moved down her legs. Despite the spell, she could not help crying out when her skirt was rudely pushed up; her vision went black as her air was cut off, but clearly felt the harsh tug as her panties ripped along one hip. Her knees were seized and pushed apart roughly.
Forcing her eyes to look above the dark head bent over her, she could make out Malfoy's malevolent expression as he thoroughly enjoyed having Snape as his puppet; his commands were succinct and couched in the crudest terms. It never occurred to her that while the other men shouted advice and disgusting commands, Snape followed only those that Malfoy issued, and only in the quickest, most perfunctory way. His hands shook as he fought the magical geas that held him captive.
Those same long, strong hands bit into her inner thighs as they were forced down, and she gasped as a warm mouth descended onto the most intimate part of her, leaving her wet with his saliva. She struggled as Snape was ordered to explore her. First one, then two fingers probed her sex, working the moisture inside her, implacable in their invasion. Instinct led her to shove with her heels, trying to crab back and away on her elbows. A booted foot shoved down on her shoulder, fortunately not the broken one, and halted her attempt to escape.
Suddenly, it seemed, Snape's dark form loomed over her, and she felt the hard stab of something against her inner thigh. Unable to help herself, Hermione looked up at him and for an instant his gaze locked with hers.
In the past years she had seen his lip curl with disdain, his eyes dart with suspicion, droop with malice, expressing sarcasm and loathing and a thousand different shades of anger and contempt. Yet at this moment Snape's face showed only horror, a window into a personal hell from a man who had seen far too much of it already.
"Do it!" ordered Malfoy.
Snape held her hips down as he forced his way into her, hesitating at the entrance before he surged heavily and broke her maidenhead. Hermione felt as though she was being split open; the invasion was too painful to let her scream and she writhed beneath his weight. The next surge was worse, it went even deeper; she felt she must be torn in half by the huge presence of him within her.
The voices around her dimmed in her ears as she came close to unconsciousness, but that blessing was denied. She felt her attacker roughly pull her knees up before he thrust again, and pain exploded in her stomach as his hard shaft began to batter at her cervix.
She made the mistake of looking up, and was horrified to see one of the men above her stroking himself through his robe, plainly waiting for his turn at her. For all the cheering and loud comments going over them, the men could have been observing a Quidditch match. Tears trailed down her temples, dampening her hair, and the hard grip on her thigh shifted to her waist. She thought she must surely die from the pain and humiliation, and wanted nothing more than to sink into the hard floor beneath her and disappear from the world entirely.
Under the jeers and crude comments above her, a quiet hiss of a voice calling her name finally registered.
"Open - your hand - Hermione. Open it!" The words were breathed rather than spoken, and she obeyed before she realized the breaths were in time with Snape's movement. Beneath her waist she felt something that might have been his thumb prying at her clenched fingers, which opened as something hard was pushed into her grip. Long, slender -
It was his wand.
Without thinking her hand grasped the wand. Her head shifted, and above her Severus Snape's tense face came into focus through a sparse curtain of his black hair, his rather crooked teeth clenched tightly. Shadowed, his eyes met hers as his fingers wrapped around her own beneath her back.
"Finite Incantatum," he whispered. A tingle of magic went through the wand in her fingers, and in turn the wand recognized her power, used in tandem with that of its true owner. An instant later the greasy, constrictive spell around her neck evaporated. His fingers tightened her own around the ebony stick before releasing, leaving it in her hand.
The noise and the pain faded into the distance as their gaze met once more, despair and pain shared between them, before Nature could no longer be denied. He turned his face from her as his body stiffened. Sensitive, ravaged flesh made her even more aware of the deep pulsing and the hot seed deposited deep inside her, his body shuddering as he spilled himself. The men around them cheered as they recognized the signs, and Hermione felt him withdraw from her body almost immediately.
The sound of slow, measured clapping made her look up to see Malfoy applauding Snape's performance. Snape, she noticed, had sunk back on his heels, his face downcast as his hands put his trousers to rights. Those same hands, pale and clenched, drifted down beside his thighs, though his body language showed only acquiescence and an odd resignation.
The smug expression on Malfoy's face changed to one of cruel hunger as he moved in, ignoring Snape's kneeling form as he fumbled for the buttons on his trousers. Neither he nor Hermione saw the knife Snape pulled from his boot until it flew up, directed by its owner's rangy strength, and buried itself in Malfoy's side.
Malfoy screamed harshly and one of the men stepped forward and kicked Snape, quick and hard. Shouts rang out as the others followed suit. Avery seized Snape by the front of his robes, dragging him up, and swung a massive fist into his face. A second blow sent Snape staggering backwards into the fireplace mantel with a crash. Small china pieces and a handsome set of brass candlesticks showered to the floor as Snape tried to catch himself, blood streaming from his mouth and nose. Goyle and Crabbe stalked after him.
No one noticed when Hermione rolled to her side, out of the way, ignoring the screaming pain of her abused body as she scrabbled across the floor to gain the dubious safety of the nearest wall. The wand in her hand tangled in her torn skirt and open blouse, but the sounds of heavy blows told her she had to seize the chance she'd been given. She took a deep breath.
Concentrating, she breathed the words to break the bonds around her wrists. Not for nothing was Hermione the cleverest witch at Hogwarts. Spell casting required only concentration and the formulation of words, which Malfoy's spell had prevented. The words did not have to be audible.
Her wrists burned from the restored circulation as the cords loosened and dropped away. Hermione covertly rolled over to see if anyone had noticed her. They had not; instead one of the men was holding Lucius Malfoy upright, whispering a healing spell, while the other two continued with slow deliberation to beat the man hanging limply from their grasp.
Malfoy straightened, still holding his side, his handsome face twisted with hate as he delivered a forceful kick to Snape's groin. Snape doubled over without a sound. The two Death Eaters let him drop to the floor and watched as he feebly tried to curl up in self defense. The others gathered around him, like jackals surrounding a wounded lion, moving in to kick him, their voices dying into a quiet anticipation of the imminent kill.
Frantically searching the room for inspiration or a miracle, an overturned silver box caught Hermione's attention. Or rather, the small pile of gray dust spilled from it. A desperate plan sprang full blown in her mind, and she seized a pinch, checking first that the small fire still burned in the grate. A grain of the powder flicked in the fire turned it a characteristic green for an active Floo fireplace. She could be gone in seconds, and leave the Death Eaters wondering stupidly where she'd gone.
She switched the wand to her dominant hand and carefully swept up a sizable fistful of powder before turning back to the men doing their best to kill Severus Snape.
She took a deep breath and summoned all her formidable concentration.
"Expelliarmus! Stupefy! Stupefy!"
Snape's wand was awkward in her hand, but the power was there, fueled by her own fear and fury and pain. Avery and Goyle fell to the ground, stunned, and Crabbe was propelled backwards, his wand flying into the air. He crashed against the far wall and slid down, his breath knocked out of him. His own bulk kept him from getting up for a precious few seconds.
Lucius Malfoy turned, still unsteady, his blood-stained robes clutched to his side. His lip curled in contempt as he took in her posture, crouched in front of the fireplace, her torn blouse still hanging open over teeth- bruised breasts, disheveled and beaten. She aimed the wand carefully as he lifted his to deflect her curse and cast his own.
"Acchio Snape!"
Whatever Malfoy had expected, it was not that, and he was knocked aside as Snape's unconscious form obediently hurtled toward her. She tossed the handful of Floo powder at the fire and shouted a destination as Snape's long, bloody form impacted with hers, and they fell together into the fireplace.
But please, do not read this if the concept of rape, in any form, bothers you. Skip right to the next chapter (which will be a week or more in coming). And if you STILL read it and feel compelled to flame, have the guts to sign it.
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Struggling against the dark waves of unconsciousness, Hermione slowly woke. Fabric tickled her nose, making it twitch, and her jaw was sore. More than sore, as she squinted into the darkness, trying to open her eyes. Her jaw ached with a throbbing agony, and as she moved it the pain flared even higher. Cuspid and bicuspid, the analytical part of her identified automatically from the charts from her parents' office.
Her face was buried in folds of cloth, her ragged breathing sucking it in towards her mouth. No matter how she twisted her head, it remained, and she was unable to reach it with her hands. Her arms strained, but her hands would not come up. Her wrists hurt as well, and she realized vaguely she was lying face down, her wrists are fastened behind her. This was wrong - she hadn't been able to lie on her stomach for weeks. The baby in her womb took great exception to being crowded.
Oh. Just a dream, her sleeping mind realized. I'm just dreaming that I've woken up. Once recognized, it was a simple enough matter to stretch her thoughts just so, to push against the barriers and derail a burgeoning nightmare. She'd been able to do that since she was ten.
Except it didn't work.
The dream was more real, more immediate than any fantasy spun by her unconscious mind. It was eerily reminiscent of the few times she'd been dropped into a Pensive. And the instant she made that connection was when her sleeping mind realized that Professor Dumbledore's Anisthetae had finally worn off.
A sound came, a door opening, then suddenly strong hands seized her upper arm and dragged her from the lumpy cot on which she lay. A physical presence, larger than herself, more powerful, steered her ungently forward, paying no mind as she careened off a doorjamb and collided with his bulk. It's a man, some instinct told her, and fear that had been a vague fog contracted suddenly into her stomach, sharp and immediate.
Voices came near, and a dim light made some impression on the dark hood over her head.
"I don't have time for this, Lucius," snapped a familiar voice.
"You don't have time to do our Lord's bidding, Severus?" questioned a dryly aristocratic voice. "I wonder why that is."
"Because I'm under Dumbledore's thumb, you fool. The man may be in his dotage, but he still keeps a sharp eye on me and those in my House. If he suspects me of backsliding, he'll have in Azkaban without a moment's warning."
"How convincing you are, old friend. Or at least our Lord thinks so. He believes you, you see. Seems to think you're providing a valuable service to our cause by your position of kissing Dumbledore's backside." The casual voice hardened. "Our Lord is convinced of your loyalty, Severus, but I am not. And the more I think on it, the less convinced I am."
"What do you want, Lucius?" the Potions Master responded acidly. "My protestations of loyalty? A sworn statement? Full page ad in the Prophet, perhaps?"
"Harry Potter's head on a platter would be a start."
"I cannot touch the boy, you know that. The only reason I stay in that accursed school is to keep an eye on the brat, and on your brat as well."
"Yes, Draco, my son and heir. He's had a lot to say about you lately. About your potions class. About a certain Mudblood."
"If you're referring to the Granger chit, there's nothing I can do about her. She's Head Girl, and if your precious offspring would stop whining and trouble himself to study on occasion, he might actually stand a chance against that annoying little know-it-all. But as she does study, and Draco seldom deigns to open his textbook, it's no surprise her marks are better than his."
A note of satisfaction crept into Malfoy's voice. "Well, I'm going to remove that thorn from your side, Severus. It's Halloween night, and we have a warning to issue."
"Has our lord approved this.. warning? You know how appreciative he can be of independent thought, Lucius," he continued silkily. "Are you confident your actions are correct?"
"I have his sanction and blessing for this. He wants to send that fool of a Headmaster a message on his lenient policies. Bad enough the most respected wizarding institution has been overrun with half-bloods and worse. An example must be made."
"What kind of example?" Snape asked, suspicious.
Lucius must have signaled, since the strong hands holding Hermione dragged her forward and thrust her into the room. She lost her footing, as had been intended, and fell heavily. Her arm twisted awkwardly under her and she cried out as a dull snap shot agony through the front of her shoulder. A cruel chuckle accompanied the footsteps that come closer to her, and a hand dragged the hood roughly off her head.
Curled on her side, Hermione blinked against the light that seemed so bright at first. Of the men surrounding her, she recognized Lucius Malfoy first. Two other men stood nearby, looking so much like Draco Malfoy's two cronies that she guessed they must be the senior Crabbe and Goyle. A third man, not quite as big as the others but still quite large, stood beside her.
He seemed familiar, and the pang in her jaw dragged up the memory of a man stepping out of the alley near the Three Broomsticks and suddenly swinging a ham-sized fist at her face. He must have been the one who'd taken her from Hogsmeade.
In actuality, the room was lit by a few branches of candles on the walls and on a table to one side. The heavy shadows threw the walls in dramatic highlights, making the stuffed heads on the richly paneled walls seem nearly lifelike. Here a hippogriff screamed silently, its severed front legs crossed under the bronze feathers of its neck. On the far wall hung a gold plaque with a unicorn's head, glassy eyes dull with dust. Between the crossbows and pikes that completed the decoration of this rather bizarre version of a wizard's hunting lodge, several other mystical and mundane animals stared dispassionately into the room.
She turned to the last man, standing beside Malfoy with his eyes narrowed in familiar disdain. Severus Snape.
"Professor?" she called. A thread of hope blossomed and instantly shriveled against the certain knowledge that he would not, could not do anything to help her.
"Vocabulus Strangulatem," Malfoy intoned, pointing his black wand at her. From the wand shot a gray haze which settled around her neck, greasy and unpleasant.
"What." she began, only to feel the spell constrict instantly, choking her until black spots appeared before her eyes. When it released and allowed her to draw a gasping breath, she saw the pleased smirk on Malfoy's face.
"Have you lost your mind, Lucius?" Snape asked, sounding bored. "The girl knows me, and you. No matter what memory charm you put on her, Dumbledore will be able to break it if you give him sufficient reason to do so."
"Not if she's dead," Malfoy pointed out reasonably. "And she will be, when we're done with her. She'll look so tragic, don't you think, draped before the gates of Hogwarts with nothing but her precious badge on her ravished body? Half the Mudbloods in the school will be gone by the end of the week."
"Five Galleons says it's more," rumbled the third Death Eater.
"Feeling confident, Avery? Very well, you're on," Malfoy agreed. "What about you, Severus? Care to make a wager?"
"I'll keep my money," Snape said coldly. "And so would you, if you were wise. She's bloody well Head Girl, you idiot. It will be all over the Prophet."
"That's exactly the point!" Lucius snapped. "We cannot allow Mudbloods to take over our world!"
"Murdering a student will attract too much attention! If you want to make an example of Mudbloods, wait until the next Hogsmeade weekend. The town will be overrun with students, you can beat a dozen of them bloody if you want!"
"All liberty weekends have been canceled, you fool. No students are allowed to leave the school now, and the next time they are the town will be crawling with Aurors! Someone told Dumbledore about our plans today!"
"All the more reason to wait! You never had a head for strategy, Lucius. Kill her, and you'll bring Aurors even faster, and I'll be their first suspect!"
"No one saw you leave the grounds, Severus. No one will think you had a thing to do with this."
"I won't have anything to do with this. I'm leaving, and I highly recommend you listen to sense instead of your ego. Obliviate the girl, give her a plausible reason for her tardiness, and wait for a better opportunity." He paused, as if considering some unpleasant duty. "If you like, I'll take her now and come up with some story of her spraining her ankle or some rot. You may thank me later."
An ugly glitter appeared in Malfoy's eyes, so very like his son's, and the tension crackled between the two men. Snape's movement was a blur as he went for his wand, but Malfoy's wand was already out and in his hand.
"Imperio!"
For an instant Severus Snape stood absolutely still, his wand half-drawn from his sleeve. The stillness disintegrated quickly as slight tremors in his hands began, growing to a palsied shaking as his mind struggled against the Unforgivable.
"He's fighting it!" Malfoy snarled. "Together! Imperio!"
"Imperio!" echoed the other three, their wands out, and the four spells together stilled Snape's hands again. Malfoy smiled with a thin, self- pleased expression that made Hermione shudder.
"That's much better, isn't it, old friend? Put your wand away, that's a good boy." Under Malfoy's mellifluous direction, Snape's wand was again thrust up his sleeve and the man stood, swaying slightly, his hands down at his side and his face uncharacteristically blank. Malfoy walked around him, stepping absently over Hermione's prone body.
"Severus Snape. At my command. How delicious," Malfoy purred. "For years I've done as you commanded, fed off your leavings while you wormed you way deeper and deeper into our lord's favor. Coward!" he spat. "You always loved to give the orders, tell us what to do and what not to do. You've never understood the real work." He leaned close to Snape's ear, his handsome blond head next to Snape's dark, hooded features. "Fear. That is our work. Fear makes a man do what he's told, not some spell or ridiculous potion. The whip hand, my friend. But not for you, oh, no. You never liked to get your hands dirty."
Malfoy circled his victim once more. "Well, you're going to get your hands dirty now, old friend," he assured Snape. On your knees!" he shouted.
Jerkily, Snape obeyed and knelt on the floor. "You're mine now, Severus," continued Malfoy. "I can make you do anything. Just imagine the possibilities!" He laughed, and his cronies laughed with him, obedient. "Want to lick my boot, Severus? Fool! Lick her boot instead. Go on, lick it!"
Hermione's eyes widened in disbelief as Snape shuffled forward on his knees and reached out to grasp one of her ankles. She fought the urge to kick at him as he brought the cheap leather to his mouth and stared, appalled, as the tip of his tongue came out and swiped the toe of her shoe.
Somehow, despite the lump of her combined fists digging painfully into her back, the ache in her shoulder and the suffocating fear, Hermione felt some shame for the man at her feet. She knew very little about the highly unpleasant Potions Master, but could not imagine such a proud man forced to demean himself. Watching this was nearly as humiliating as it must be to endure, and Lucius Malfoy was smiling like a child with a new toy to play with.
"You're lucky I prefer girls, Severus, or we could have had a very long night ahead of us." Malfoy's intense concentration shifted to Hermione, and another frisson of fear shot through her. "Muggle-born witches are for tickling under the hedgerow, old boy. Not for making into Head Girls."
The elegant man shifted his weight and stared at her, as if considering the pattern of a rug. "Remove the shirt," he said negligently. "Anything else, too."
Hermione gasped and tried to worm away, but Snape's grip on her ankle reeled her back. His knee came down heavily over her legs and pinned her in place while his hands, so competent when formulating a potion, were clumsy as they reached for her. A single "NO!" burst from her lips before the spell around her throat constricted again, rendering her struggling ineffective as she fought to breathe.
She was helpless to stop him as the lovely new blouse her mother had bought her was yanked open, buttons tearing through the fine silk and revealing her bra. His fingers slid inside the cups of the bra and tore the lacy fabric apart in a surprising show of strength. The cold air hit her exposed skin but did not cool the blush of shame that rose in her face and down her chest while the men around her cheered and whistled.
Above her, Snape's dark eyes glittered in panic, not lust, but his hands did not falter as he followed Malfoy's further instructions. Hermione turned her head away, closing her eyes tightly and biting her lip to stop from crying out as he touched her. Her flesh reacted automatically, tightening into hard peaks, and she could not evade his mouth as he sucked on each in turn. She discovered that the spell still allowed her to scream when Malfoy ordered him to use his teeth.
Sobbing helplessly, Hermione did not react immediately as the weight on her shifted and he moved down her legs. Despite the spell, she could not help crying out when her skirt was rudely pushed up; her vision went black as her air was cut off, but clearly felt the harsh tug as her panties ripped along one hip. Her knees were seized and pushed apart roughly.
Forcing her eyes to look above the dark head bent over her, she could make out Malfoy's malevolent expression as he thoroughly enjoyed having Snape as his puppet; his commands were succinct and couched in the crudest terms. It never occurred to her that while the other men shouted advice and disgusting commands, Snape followed only those that Malfoy issued, and only in the quickest, most perfunctory way. His hands shook as he fought the magical geas that held him captive.
Those same long, strong hands bit into her inner thighs as they were forced down, and she gasped as a warm mouth descended onto the most intimate part of her, leaving her wet with his saliva. She struggled as Snape was ordered to explore her. First one, then two fingers probed her sex, working the moisture inside her, implacable in their invasion. Instinct led her to shove with her heels, trying to crab back and away on her elbows. A booted foot shoved down on her shoulder, fortunately not the broken one, and halted her attempt to escape.
Suddenly, it seemed, Snape's dark form loomed over her, and she felt the hard stab of something against her inner thigh. Unable to help herself, Hermione looked up at him and for an instant his gaze locked with hers.
In the past years she had seen his lip curl with disdain, his eyes dart with suspicion, droop with malice, expressing sarcasm and loathing and a thousand different shades of anger and contempt. Yet at this moment Snape's face showed only horror, a window into a personal hell from a man who had seen far too much of it already.
"Do it!" ordered Malfoy.
Snape held her hips down as he forced his way into her, hesitating at the entrance before he surged heavily and broke her maidenhead. Hermione felt as though she was being split open; the invasion was too painful to let her scream and she writhed beneath his weight. The next surge was worse, it went even deeper; she felt she must be torn in half by the huge presence of him within her.
The voices around her dimmed in her ears as she came close to unconsciousness, but that blessing was denied. She felt her attacker roughly pull her knees up before he thrust again, and pain exploded in her stomach as his hard shaft began to batter at her cervix.
She made the mistake of looking up, and was horrified to see one of the men above her stroking himself through his robe, plainly waiting for his turn at her. For all the cheering and loud comments going over them, the men could have been observing a Quidditch match. Tears trailed down her temples, dampening her hair, and the hard grip on her thigh shifted to her waist. She thought she must surely die from the pain and humiliation, and wanted nothing more than to sink into the hard floor beneath her and disappear from the world entirely.
Under the jeers and crude comments above her, a quiet hiss of a voice calling her name finally registered.
"Open - your hand - Hermione. Open it!" The words were breathed rather than spoken, and she obeyed before she realized the breaths were in time with Snape's movement. Beneath her waist she felt something that might have been his thumb prying at her clenched fingers, which opened as something hard was pushed into her grip. Long, slender -
It was his wand.
Without thinking her hand grasped the wand. Her head shifted, and above her Severus Snape's tense face came into focus through a sparse curtain of his black hair, his rather crooked teeth clenched tightly. Shadowed, his eyes met hers as his fingers wrapped around her own beneath her back.
"Finite Incantatum," he whispered. A tingle of magic went through the wand in her fingers, and in turn the wand recognized her power, used in tandem with that of its true owner. An instant later the greasy, constrictive spell around her neck evaporated. His fingers tightened her own around the ebony stick before releasing, leaving it in her hand.
The noise and the pain faded into the distance as their gaze met once more, despair and pain shared between them, before Nature could no longer be denied. He turned his face from her as his body stiffened. Sensitive, ravaged flesh made her even more aware of the deep pulsing and the hot seed deposited deep inside her, his body shuddering as he spilled himself. The men around them cheered as they recognized the signs, and Hermione felt him withdraw from her body almost immediately.
The sound of slow, measured clapping made her look up to see Malfoy applauding Snape's performance. Snape, she noticed, had sunk back on his heels, his face downcast as his hands put his trousers to rights. Those same hands, pale and clenched, drifted down beside his thighs, though his body language showed only acquiescence and an odd resignation.
The smug expression on Malfoy's face changed to one of cruel hunger as he moved in, ignoring Snape's kneeling form as he fumbled for the buttons on his trousers. Neither he nor Hermione saw the knife Snape pulled from his boot until it flew up, directed by its owner's rangy strength, and buried itself in Malfoy's side.
Malfoy screamed harshly and one of the men stepped forward and kicked Snape, quick and hard. Shouts rang out as the others followed suit. Avery seized Snape by the front of his robes, dragging him up, and swung a massive fist into his face. A second blow sent Snape staggering backwards into the fireplace mantel with a crash. Small china pieces and a handsome set of brass candlesticks showered to the floor as Snape tried to catch himself, blood streaming from his mouth and nose. Goyle and Crabbe stalked after him.
No one noticed when Hermione rolled to her side, out of the way, ignoring the screaming pain of her abused body as she scrabbled across the floor to gain the dubious safety of the nearest wall. The wand in her hand tangled in her torn skirt and open blouse, but the sounds of heavy blows told her she had to seize the chance she'd been given. She took a deep breath.
Concentrating, she breathed the words to break the bonds around her wrists. Not for nothing was Hermione the cleverest witch at Hogwarts. Spell casting required only concentration and the formulation of words, which Malfoy's spell had prevented. The words did not have to be audible.
Her wrists burned from the restored circulation as the cords loosened and dropped away. Hermione covertly rolled over to see if anyone had noticed her. They had not; instead one of the men was holding Lucius Malfoy upright, whispering a healing spell, while the other two continued with slow deliberation to beat the man hanging limply from their grasp.
Malfoy straightened, still holding his side, his handsome face twisted with hate as he delivered a forceful kick to Snape's groin. Snape doubled over without a sound. The two Death Eaters let him drop to the floor and watched as he feebly tried to curl up in self defense. The others gathered around him, like jackals surrounding a wounded lion, moving in to kick him, their voices dying into a quiet anticipation of the imminent kill.
Frantically searching the room for inspiration or a miracle, an overturned silver box caught Hermione's attention. Or rather, the small pile of gray dust spilled from it. A desperate plan sprang full blown in her mind, and she seized a pinch, checking first that the small fire still burned in the grate. A grain of the powder flicked in the fire turned it a characteristic green for an active Floo fireplace. She could be gone in seconds, and leave the Death Eaters wondering stupidly where she'd gone.
She switched the wand to her dominant hand and carefully swept up a sizable fistful of powder before turning back to the men doing their best to kill Severus Snape.
She took a deep breath and summoned all her formidable concentration.
"Expelliarmus! Stupefy! Stupefy!"
Snape's wand was awkward in her hand, but the power was there, fueled by her own fear and fury and pain. Avery and Goyle fell to the ground, stunned, and Crabbe was propelled backwards, his wand flying into the air. He crashed against the far wall and slid down, his breath knocked out of him. His own bulk kept him from getting up for a precious few seconds.
Lucius Malfoy turned, still unsteady, his blood-stained robes clutched to his side. His lip curled in contempt as he took in her posture, crouched in front of the fireplace, her torn blouse still hanging open over teeth- bruised breasts, disheveled and beaten. She aimed the wand carefully as he lifted his to deflect her curse and cast his own.
"Acchio Snape!"
Whatever Malfoy had expected, it was not that, and he was knocked aside as Snape's unconscious form obediently hurtled toward her. She tossed the handful of Floo powder at the fire and shouted a destination as Snape's long, bloody form impacted with hers, and they fell together into the fireplace.