Chapter Twenty Two

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The woods were quiet. Hermione sat with her back pressed to the tree, listening intently for any sound behind them. Ron sprawled on a patch of dry grass, watching his tiny, ungainly model of Viktor Krum walking around in circles, but Harry, like her, was watchful for any flicker of wandlight, or voice through the trees.

"Mad, to do something like that when the whole Ministry's out there," Hermione said, a tremor in her voice.

But as she spoke there was a rustle, and the sound of twigs cracking underfoot. Hermione froze, and Harry got to his feet and peered through the trees.

"Who's there?" he called.

There was a brief hesitation, and Hermione scrambled up, as Ron pocketed his model of Krum. In the clearing behind them there was a shadow. Ice trickled down her spine as the shadow raised a wand, and then a shout rang out

"Morsmordre!"

A dazzling light flashed from the clearing, and then like a shooting star it rose higher and higher across the midnight sky until it exploded, and Hermione ducked, expecting debris; something -

A sickening green shape appeared. A circle - a moon - a skull. A skull, with a snake curling from between the teeth, wreathed in green smoke. Screams sounded from every direction, and the woods came alive with bursts of light and running feet. Hermione spun to find Harry and Ron gaping alongside her.

"Harry, run! We have to get out of here," she said.

"What? What is it?"

"It's the dark mark Harry!"

"It's what?"

He was frightened, but bemused. She was petrified.

"It's You-Know-Who's sign!"

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None of them had known what a marking ceremony entailed.

Neither Harry nor Ron, nor Dumbledore or anybody Hermione had known had witnessed what took place when a Death Eater was initiated. Severus had, but he had never shared that knowledge with the Order.

Hermione was the first, and she was walking in blind.

She took the silver spoon in her hand, and pressed her fingers around it. The metal was unreasonably cold for something that had been near a warm fire, and it took effort to not let go, to not fling the item as far away from her as she could.

The portkey activated. There was a flash of blue, and she was gone.

Hermione opened her eyes, standing at full alert, and tilted her head to one side. She was standing in a lonely clearing shrouded with darkness, without a single lit wand or floating orb to light the space.

She held her breath. She listened.

Dozens of immense old trees rose high above the clearing, and night birds, or bats fluttered overhead, darting from one shadow to another. The night had turned everything to monochrome, and the trees were grey, with no softening grass, or flowers, or shrubs. The dreary undergrowth hulked and huddled without grace on hard bare earth.

The clearing was so devoid of life that, but for one detail, Hermione would have followed the tree line around the edge, avoiding the risk of exposure on the open ground. The detail was a basin. A basin, or a pensieve, or something in between.

It sat in the middle of the clearing, squat and shadowy. Even silhouetted against the black trees, the basin shimmered like a mirage, and Hermione blinked. It was still there. At a closer look, it wasn't a pensieve - this was just a basin of plain grey stone, without elaborate engravings or carvings.

Then came a sound, not from the sky, but from all around, that might at first be mistaken for the rustling of leaves or the fluttering of wings.

The sound grew louder, and of course it was the rustling of robes, fine silk swishing against the ground. They came with pageantry, wreathed in darkness as they stepped out of the trees and began to gather around the basin. Figure after figure stepped forwards, gliding across the ground and assembling.

They all turned to towards her, their faces concealed behind shining silver masks that gleamed in the darkness. Dozens and dozens of them, more Death Eaters than Hermione had seen since the day of her execution.

The crowd of Death Eaters parted like a fan, spreading outwards to reveal the man at their centre. He alone wore no mask, and for all the fear that one could have of the unknown, this uncovered face held much more terror.

Lord Voldemort was still handsome, but his face was so cruel that for all the fine features he looked monstrous. He raised a hand, and beckoned Hermione forwards.

Hermione stepped towards the granite basin. It exerted a strange, magnetic pull on her. Step by step she crossed the clearing until she was closer to the Death Eaters than she was to the trees behind her. The water in the bowl of the basin swam into view; a reflection of the moon floating in the ripples, a tiny twin to its counterpart in the sky.

"My Lord," Hermione said, offering a short bow.

Lord Voldemort wore his sleeves rolled back to reveal skeletal arms, wiry with muscle. His dark eyes rested on her face, unreadable.

"Hermione Druella Black. What have you come here for today?" he asked.

Hermione's gaze dropped to the water again, away from the slit eyes, away from the eager murmurs of the crowd pressing around them. She licked her lips, and offered the response.

"To pledge my life, my obedience and my soul."

"And do you pledge these things, Hermione Black?"

"I do pledge these things," she said.

A collective sigh, and a rustle of robes. Somewhere, there was a clink of galleons. Bets had been placed.

Lord Voldemort swept forward, and nodded his approval. From a sheath he pulled a bright silver dagger. Momentarily, Hermione felt a strange flash of recognition, and then she understood. It was Bellatrix's dagger. She had felt that dagger in her flesh before.

"Your hand."

Hermione extended her hand over the basin. Under the moonlight her skin seemed to have drained entirely of colour; her hand looked like it belonged to the dead.

The dagger flashed once, and then there was sharp pain, and a spray of bright crimson.

The water beneath Hermione's hand erupted. Scarlet and scintillant, as brief as fireworks, it twice pulsed, luminous. In the subsequent gloom, while a negative image of the pyrotechnic burst still blossomed like a black flower across Hermione's vision, the water bubbled into stillness.

"Good."

Lord Voldemort extended his hand. Rodolphus hurried over, and handed him a silver goblet. Without a word Lord Voldemort dipped it into the basin, and brought it up dripping.

"Drink."

Hermione took the goblet in both hands. The silver was warm under her hands. She lifted it to her lips, and the taste of salt stung her tongue. It was bitter, and smelt like iron.

"Flesh calls to flesh, blood to blood," Lord Voldemort said, and the Death Eaters joined in, chanting dutifully. "Blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh. Tonight you become our sister. One flesh, one blood, one Lord. Drink the blood of your brothers and sisters."

Hermione stilled. She could not vomit, she could not throw away the goblet, she could not refuse to drink. And so she drank, draining the potion that contained of the blood of every Death Eater, until the goblet was empty. Then she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, leaving a streak of red, and smiled.

Rodolphus took the goblet from her hand, his own face carefully schooled.

"Good," Lord Voldemort said again.

He turned back to the crowd. He seemed to vibrate with excitement, in his element.

"Tonight we welcome Hermione Black to our ranks. Is there anyone here who would object to her inclusion."

There was silence. Nobody moved, nobody dared to breathe.

But -

Something was wrong.

Hermione turned her head this way and that, seeking with her mind the source of the discordance she could feel, like a scent of danger on the wind.

Yes, there it was.

It was Mulciber. His lips had barely begun to part, his eyes hardly started to widen, when Hermione clamped down on his mind with iron force. Her grip was so strong that his eyes rolled backwards in his head. Then she scanned his surface thoughts. They were problematic.

Mulciber knew Hermione had killed Avery, had discovered the truth somehow. And it would not do for the other Death Eaters to become aware that she was capable of killing them.

It only took a few seconds to wipe Mulcibers mind, but in her nervous tension Hermione overdid it. The instant she slipped out of his thoughts Mulciber collapsed, slumping to his knees. His neighbours hauled him upright, and Lord Voldemort turned to him immediately.

"What is the meaning of this?'

Mulciber shook his head, looking dazed. "I'm sorry, I just tripped over my robe."

Lord Voldemort stared into his eyes for a long moment, and then turned away.

"Fool."

Hermione stood where she had been left, her palms sticky with coagulating blood, waiting.

"Very well," Lord Voldemort continued. "Hermione Black has been chosen to join us, and none have dissented. Extend your arm."

Slowly, Hermione extended her left arm. Though the scars were gone, her arm throbbed as though they were not. Mudblood.

In one quick motion Voldemort slit her sleeve from wrist to elbow, and the fabric fell away in soft folds. Long, bony finger caressed her bare arm.

"From this day onwards you are mine."

"From this day onwards I am yours," Hermione repeated.

Voldemort pressed the tip of his wand to her skin.

"Mordsemordre!"

Pain.

This was not the pain of the flesh eater, or even the cruciatus curse. This was pain like Hermione had never felt before. It was as though someone was flaying her flesh right down to the bones, or hammering nails right through it. Her fingers spasmed, but she gave no other outward sign.

A sensation ripped through Hermione's radius, and her lips pressed together. It was like something dark and rotten had taken root in the marrow of her bone. When she looked down she could see darkness spreading like ink from the tip of Lord Voldemort's wand, vivid again her skin. Then -

It was done.

Voldemort wrenched his wand back from her flesh, and she would have staggered if she had allowed herself the luxury. There it was, bold on her arm, the stranger she had never invited to live in her flesh. The skull and the snake, on her.

The Death Eaters burst into applause. It was finished.

Lord Voldemort turned back to the crowd.

"And now for our next attendee."

Hermione glanced up from her arm, surprised. She had almost forgotten she wouldn't be the only one. Lucius Malfoy stepped forward, shrugging off his robes eagerly.

"I'm ready my Lord."

Voldemort nodded.

"Lucius Malfoy, what do you come here for today?"

As the ritual was repeated Hermione watched, fascinated by the way Lucius repeated the words with reverence, as though this was the greatest honour of his life. Somewhere out in the sea of robes was Abraxas Malfoy, Hermione knew. She wondered if he was proud of his son.

When the time came to drink the blood, Lucius gagged and retched, streaks of red dribbling between his lips and down below chin. Hermione could see how badly he wanted to vomit. But he swallowed it down.

But when the mark was seared into his arm Lucius howled like a dog, writhing and screaming on the ground, and clutching at himself in the dirt. Hermione watched impassively as he did so, and she sensed the disapproval of the crowd. He was shaming himself.

But that too came to a close, and with the Mark burned into his arm, Lucius dragged himself upright, and was introduced into the circle.

Now that Hermione thought she could risk it she took a glance at the sky. The moon was almost risen, and she would be back with Severus in a few more minutes. It was almost over.

Lord Voldemort clapped his hands again.

"And now for the testing!"

Hermione looked up sharply, and her fingers flexed involuntarily around her wand. This was unexpected. There came a clinking from the trees, and then two Death Eaters emerged into the moonlight, dragging between them a pile of chain.

Lord Voldemort smiled. It was the smile of a serpent right before it pounces on the helpless mouse. He stepped forward, twirling his pale wand between his fingers, and turned his back to Hermione and Lucius to address the Death Eaters.

"Only the finest and best of pureblood wizarding society become Death Eaters. Our world has becomes confused and disordered over the centuries, since the time of Merlin. As time has gone on, our people have been led astray into ways that are unnatural to them."

There were nodded of agreement, and Lord Voldemort looked around impressively. He was a talented orator.

"A critical situation cannot be remedied by collaborating with the cause itself, but by a radical extermination of these causes. And this fight will have to be undertaken even at the sacrifice of blood and life if necessary. Of all the taste which we have to face, the noblest and most sacred for mankind is that each species must preserve the purity of the blood which magic has given it."

Hermione bit her lip so hard she felt blood well, unable to believe she was hearing the beginning of it all. Lord Voldemort nodded.

"In our society there is but one error which cannot be remedied once men have made it, namely the failure to recognise the importance of conserving the blood free from intermixture, and therefore the magic aspect and character which has been given to us"

There was applause from the audience, and a few murmurs of 'yes'. Lucius seemed keen to make up for his poor showing earlier, and was nodding vigorously.

"So," Voldemort continued. "To achieve our goals we do not need weakness. We do not need softness. We need soldiers."

He turned towards Hermione and Lucius, and stared them both up and down.

"By this process of selection, which will follow the laws of nature and magic, those among our people who show the greatest natural ability in magic and endurance will be appointed to higher positions in leadership. All that matters is strength, blood and magic."

Hermione dug her nails into her palms, frozen in place as Voldemort flicked his wand. The chains and manacles rose into the air and hung, suspended by thin air. Two Death Eaters grabbed Hermione by her arms. She was dragged across the clearing and her arms yanked upwards and forced into manacles. They were tight and unyielding.

Beside her she could see that Lucius Malfoy had been dragged too, and he began to shout furiously.

"Stop this! This is ridiculous. I insist that you let me down at once. Father! Father!"

Abraxas Malfoy stared out of the crowd, his eyes carefully blank behind his mask. Hermione heard Lucius begin to panic as he realised his father wasn't coming to help him.

"Let me out. I demand it. Let me down!"

Hermione tested the manacles with a tug, but they held firm. It didn't matter either way; she had to endure this or everything would be wasted. Lord Voldemort moved to stand in front of them. He ignored Lucius and stared at Hermione, nodding his approval at her lack of resistance.

"You seem to have grasped the situation remarkably quickly," he said.

Hermione bowed her head the best she should with her arms above her.

"I wish only to prove myself."

Lord Voldemort smiled with such cruelty that it chilled her.

"Good luck," he said. He turned to the Death Eaters.

"You have all seen this before. You know what to do."

And then the Death Eaters surged forwards like a wave. Hermione closed her eyes.

When the first blow landed she was surprised to realise it was a fist. She had expected magic, but this was physical. A kick landed in her abdomen and she retched, the blood from earlier coming up. More blows rained down, and a scream rang out from beside her. Lucius Malfoy was sobbing and screaming like a baby, pleading with his attackers to stop, to leave him alone, that he would pay them, do anything.

Hermione opened her eyes. A vicious blow hit the side of her ribs, and she stared at Lord Voldemort until he met her eyes, and something about her defiance caught his attention.

He moved over to stand in front of her, pushing past the Death Eaters until they paused, and he raised his wand.

"Crucio!"

Hermione began to laugh. She didn't try to evade the blows, or draw her knees up to shield her abdomen. She had no magic to protect her, she simply cared less. People had died because of her, people had suffered because of her in this life and the last. She would pay this price.

The Death Eaters stared wide eyed as she laughed. Lord Voldemort snarled, and redoubled his efforts. Hermione shook with laughter, spasming in the manacles, and spat bloody phlegm into the face of the closest Death Eater.

Lord Voldemort stepped closer, and pointed his wand directly between her eyes. Hermione understood what he meant to do, a split second before it was too late.

"Legilimens," he hissed.

Hermione screamed. She had no walls left, no protection, no way to hide the secrets locked in her mind, and she rebelled against it.

Destroyer of my people! I will not let you destroy me!

The trees began to shake, and everyone froze, as birds took flight, screeching with alarm. Energy tore through Hermione's broken body, a heat that seared her veins and arteries to ash as a wave of magic exploded through her, flooding out.

Lord Voldemort screamed a high and unearthly shriek as the magic struck him, and the Death Eaters around him were knocked backwards as it exploded across the clearing. Hermione couldn't tell what was happening, she didn't know what she had done, but she felt the magic invade every fibre of her being, crashing through in waves.

The power seared into Hermione's skin, and as it faded she saw clearly for an instant, the truth in plain sight. Magic was light, a vibrant rainbow of hues in every possible shade, and it was everywhere, in every heart, soul, and living thing. It was beautiful. She could reach out and touch it…

Hermione tried to twist her arm in the chains, and instantly pain hit her with shattering force. She slumped in the manacles, utterly spent as the last of the magic drained from her, unable to move a single part of her body. The light faded, until all was grey once more.

All was silent. The Death Eaters lay crumpled on the ground, and only the dripping of blood broke the stillness. Hermione's wand was unreachable, and she had no way to escape. Her vision began to swim as agony overwhelmed her.

But in the brief moment before she slipped into unconsciousness she thought she saw something out of place, something odd. Half hidden amongst the trees on the opposite side of the clearing was a man, looking very startled. His robes were a muted grey but his long beard gleamed with silver, and he was staring directly at her with astonishment. Before Hermione could make sense of this strange sight, the darkness claimed her and she knew no more.

As her head lolled forward, the clearing was lit with a sudden glow of blue light. Hermione's unconscious body vanished from the chains, leaving the manacles clinking gently as they swayed.

Hermione didn't know that her fall into unconsciousness triggered the portkey embedded deep in her wrist, because she had never known it was there in the first place. Earlier that evening she had closed her eyes against the pain of the flesh regrowth potion, and consequently had missed the moment Severus slipped a small metal object into her arm. She hadn't noticed when the flesh grew over it, sealing it inside. A back up plan.

A last chance of survival.

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So this was a bit dark. I didn't mean for the story to get this dark, but shit, I guess it just happened. Oh, and extra points for anybody who can tell me in a review where Lord Voldemort 'borrowed' his speech on blood purity from.

Thanks for reading,

Cas