Author's Note:

As I said, this story has irregular updates, in part due to my work and due to the fact that I'm writing it back-to-front, which means further on there'll be quicker updates but for now, I apologise that you have to wait until I have completed earlier chapters. I do appreciate reviews and I truly believe this is one of the more interesting Snape – Hermione pairing stories so I hope you can power through this chapter which has been an upheaval to write, but I hope I have done a good job and I hope you let me know whether you think so (or not!).

DaenerysTargary3n

Chapter Two:

"Why are you so unwilling to see how your parents met?" Harry asked, still reeling from the news of just moments ago.

Morgana grimaced, "Because – as I understand it – they met at a Death Eater revel and mama, Muggleborn that she was, was not there as an invited guest."

Harry saw the darkness in her eyes and his heart dropped into the very bowels of him. He had heard of the revels Tom Riddle had hosted for his followers. He had heard of the Muggleborns and Halfbloods tortured and slowly slaughtered for sport. He had heard of the numerous witches who suddenly disappeared but then were found dead – tortured and violated – as a warning to other non-Pureblood witches who would most likely give birth to more Halfbloods.

"Hermione…she was taken to a revel?" Harry whispered, not really wanting the confirmation he sought.

"Yes. She was beaten, she was raped, and she was left for dead, but she survived."

The gut-wrenching sob that let itself loose from Harry's lips tore at Morgana's heartstrings. She saw the same love for her mother in his eyes. His love was not born of blood but of a lifetime of burdens he shared with her mother. He had tried to protect her mother from so many hurts and harms with his body and soul without realising that it was she who was protecting him. The knowledge that her greatest moment of sorrow and hurt occurred before they had even met, and that sorrow was kept from him was another blow for which he was unprepared.

"I know. It was hard for me when I was told the…circumstances of my conception." Morgana whispered sombrely, her head bowed and her hobbling shame.

Harry looked up at her, "Then it was Snape? Snape…raped her?! Severus Snape did that to 'Mione? And then forced her to marry him?"

Morgana cursed herself inwardly. She had spoken too soon and with her father's quickness to confess shame. She had found out when she was 14 years old that she was a child of rape but had grown up a child of love.

"Harry…" Morgana begged, "please, don't judge too quickly. They were different times and mama and papa different people to the ones you knew. Please, reserve your judgment, especially on my father, until we've been into the pensieve."

Harry truly did not know what to make of this strange young woman before him. She had such outlandish claims and such an enigmatic demeanour. He believed her, that he knew, that she was her parents' daughter, for he could see it plain as day. She was a mix of the Professor's sharpness and Hermione's compassion in her personality and Snape's dark features along with her mother's softer, homelier aspects. And now, here she was in front of him after all her revelations, attempting to coax him into more of her father's memories, memories of him taking Hermione by force so he would understand the past that had been concealed from him.

"We?" Harry asked.

Morgana nodded, "I'll go with you."

I'll go with you. Those words. Those haunting words. Someone else had said that to him earlier and now, he vehemently wished he had not told their speaker to remain behind. He should have permitted her more than anyone else to go with him into the woods to make his last stand. Those short four words should not have been the last that passed between them. They had so much more to say and do and now, especially now, he had so much to ask her, so much for which to thank her.

"Regardless of what we find in those memories. You are definitely your mother's daughter."

Morgana frowned, "Why do you say that?"

"Because those were the last words I heard her say." Harry confessed with glassy eyes and a furrowed brow.

His companion sniffed before taking his hand, with a small comforting caress he couldn't be sure was there and led him closer to the mahogany closet.

Memory Date: 28-01-1980

Location: Selwyn Abbey, Yorkshire Dales

"Welcome, my friends," Tom Riddle, in the prime of his life, boomed over the his large seventy-strong audience, "to our summer solstice revel. We thank our gracious hosts, Laurel and Berenice Selwyn. You are a credit to the Pureblood tradition and our number."

Harry had seen Voldemort in memories before, but this figure addressing his zealots was a new version of the wizard who had pursued him relentlessly throughout his childhood. Here, he resembled the Riddle who had sprung forth from his diary. The youth and vigour were identical, but there were tinges of the Dark Lord whom Harry knew so well visible on his face. The venom, the power-lust and the sovereignty Voldemort had over his multitude of followers was seeping into his physical features.

"He's incredible." Morgana breathed, wide-eyed and slack-jawed.

"'Scuse me?" Harry retorted, seeing her awe as quasi-admiration.

"I've never seen him before. Up until now, I've only heard tales of Lord Voldemort from mama and papa. Papa always said he was a master rhetor and could convince a moderate mind to obey his will with only his presence. I always thought he was exaggerating."

"Nope. He was a master of manipulation and acquiring followers. This seems to be Voldemort at the height of his power." Harry explained candidly.

"Friends," Laurel Selwyn spoke, a goblet in one hand while the other clutched his wife's waist territorially, "this night we have many pleasures for you. Berenice and I have spared no expense. Our cellar has been well-ravaged – help yourselves to our best Burgundy! Our estate has been plundered – our house elves have catered to your every fancy! Our sons – Gaius and Marcellus – have been about town and have seen to every carnal desire you might possess. Lads, bring 'em out!"

With a grand gesture, Selwyn wandlessly opened the great door to his banquet hall and two young (they couldn't have been older than Harry was) boys bearing the ends of chains entered.

"Fuck me!" Harry gasped, as the ends of the chains and their captives came into the light.

"Mama!" Morgana sputtered, recognising the haggard young woman at the back of a line of six.

A twenty-year-old Hermione was brought in last, dragged along behind other poor creatures snatched away from their lives by the Selwyn brothers for the amusement of their father and his Death Eater friends. Hermione had been clothed in a plain white shift that left nothing to the imagination, indeed, Harry's first instinct was to avert his gaze, but there was no need for deference to his now-dead best friend.

"These Mudbloods are our gift to you, My Lord," Berenice Selwyn gushed, kneeling before the daïs upon which Voldemort now sat on a makeshift throne, "in honour of your presence in our humble hall. If you would care for first pick, it is certainly yours. Else, those in your favour must take precedence. I gave strict instruction that virgins only be brought before yourself. They are all of them, untouched."

Harry gagged, "Bitch! Why would she do that to other women? It beggars belief!"

"From what I understand about Pureblood women, they are married young, almost straight out of school in most cases for family fortunes or to preserve the ancient bloodlines of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, of which the Selwyn family are an important branch. The matches rarely occur for love. In fact, I only know of two in the past century – papa's old friend, Lucius Malfoy married for love, but then again, he had the presence of mind to fall in love with a Lestrange girl and Molly Prewett." Morgana responded with a pronounced grimace at the plight of her own gender in the ancient clans of the wizarding world.

"Doesn't explain why she's voluntarily offering women up to be raped."

Morgana sighed, "Harry, she was probably raped herself as little more than a child. He's obviously much older than her and I doubt she had any say in her lifelong match. I doubt their wedding night was a night of connubial bliss! I can only imagine that she was badly hurt and then believed that if she deserved to be abused, that no one deserves not to be and, in her marriage, she was never told that was wrong. Then, here comes Voldemort into her house and offers an outlet for her husband that doesn't end in her bed. Why would she not do all she can to prolong her break? I'm not saying it's an excuse and I'm only guessing based on what I know of Pureblood families, but you never know why people do the things they do sometimes. Remember that when you see what is coming next."

Harry knew she was defending her father instead of Madam Selwyn, but he could never imagine a situation where he would breach another human's boundaries in such a way as Berenice was offering and Snape inevitably would. Before he could rejoinder, another recognisable voice piped up.

"My lord, I beg, leave the virgins. My body, my soul is ready to bring you every pleasure." A shrill, penetrating female voice echoed over the sea of masks.

"Ah," Voldemort snarled, "My Bella. Yes, indeed, we will have you this night. Come to me and sit here. You have earned your lord's attentions. Your plan for the Longbottoms was most…riveting and I wish to reward you."

As Harry and Morgana watched, a petite shade in the crowd removed their mask and slithered up to the platform, bypassing all four Selwyns as if they were worms beneath her shoes. She only had eyes for the Dark Lord. Daintily, she hopped up onto the arm of the seat, pulled her onyx robes out of the way and draped her nude, alabaster legs across Riddle's lap, inviting his caress which was swiftly undertaken.

"Now that I have my diversion for the evening. Let us provide for our best and brightest."

After Bellatrix whispered something in his ear, Voldemort raised his already sinuous finger to six masked in the front row of his assembly who then stepped forward.

Harry watched keenly as the six unmasked and revealed themselves. He recognised three, though they were much younger than they were when he had last seen them. "Bloody hell, it's Malfoy, Dolohov and Rodolphus Lestrange. I don't know the other three."

Harry rolled his eyes at the actions of another mental Pureblood woman. It seemed that with the exception of the Weasleys, all Purebloods were bonkers. In Snape's memory, within minutes of each other two married Pureblood women had between them offered other women up for inconceivable pain and volunteered their husband to commit adultery. Then again, Bellatrix Lestrange was the known mistress of Tom Riddle and had only been married into the Lestrange family to bring them to heel alongside Voldemort's earliest followers. "I thought you said Malfoy married for love? What's Mrs Malfoy going to say when her husband rapes another woman? I'm assuming she's somewhere there too…"

Before Morgana could respond, their attention was hooked by none other than Lucius Malfoy himself.

"My Lord," the young Malfoy said, kneeling in deference, "you are most gracious to bestow your bounty upon me, your servant. I would ask, however, if I might in turn introduce one of your newest followers to the delights of revel. He has not yet partaken in the rewards that come with good service, though he has managed to secure himself a place to influence the young to your cause and monitor the likes of Dumbledore. He is newly made Potions Master at Hogwarts. May I introduce, my lord, Severus Snape."

Lucius tugged a slight male figure from the crowd behind him and thrust him prostrate towards Voldemort's feet.

"I am your humble servant, Lord," Snape slurred, pulling away his mask, "do with me as you will."

"Severus. Severus Snape, hmmmm. You are right, Lucius, to bring this man to our attention. A Potions Master at Hogwarts, eh? That could be useful, useful indeed during our campaign. How long have you been with us?"

Snape answered instantly, "Two years."

"And why have you never come forth until now? What have you achieved for us in these two years? Have you wealth for my war chest? Have you duelled my enemies? Have you spread the word of my message and power? What. Are. You. Severus. Snape?" Voldemort sibilated.

"I have furthered myself to bring you Britain's youth for your forces, my lord. I have placed myself close to your enemy, Albus Dumbledore, so that I might bring you news and invaluable intelligence. I have stayed close to my friend, Lucius, so that I might better learn how to overcome my filthy blood. I have killed my own father to rid myself of the stain that ruined my mother and then took her life."

Voldemort held up his hand to stop Snape's tirade, "You are Halfblood, then?"

"Yes, Lord, I apologise that I am." Snape murmured.

Riddle gestured for his newest acquaintance to rise, and announced, "Here, we have a rising star. Though his father was a Muggle, his mother was a witch. This man took steps to rid himself of that which tarnished him and Lord Voldemort respects that, respects such commitment to purity. We shall embrace him and welcome him into the fold with open arms."

Voldemort extracted himself from Bellatrix's legs and tugged Severus into a masculine hold. "You shall enjoy your first revel this night, Severus. And have first pick of the virgins. They are appealing, are they not, for mudbloods? Mistress Selwyn has done well for us. Choose one to have. Do to it what you will and make sure to dispense with it afterwards. They serve no purpose once we have taken our fill of pleasure."

"Why does he choose her?" Harry asked Morgana, watching keenly as Snape's eyes flitted from choice-to-choice.

"I'm not sure."

"I'll have that one." Snape pronounced with an audible stutter and a shaky hand pointing to Hermione.

"Excellent. Mistress Selwyn will take you to your room and the girl will be delivered to you. You need not come back down. Indulge yourself, with my thanks for your service, Severus Snape."

As Selwyn led her houseguest upstairs to one of her many guest bedrooms, Harry and Morgana followed in their footsteps.

"We're not actually going to watch, are we?" Harry asked aghast.

"No, I'll pull us out before anything…graphic happens."

The young witch and wizard watched as Snape paced about the smartly decorated room, wringing his hands. Then, suddenly, with a pop that spoke of house elf magic, Hermione was deposited into the large iron-framed bed, now unbound from the chains that had held her hands. Her eyes darted about the room, resting momentarily on the door as her only point of escape and her sole companion, the wizard who was poised to violate her.

Snape held both his hands out, palms away, and spoke softly, "Witch, tell me your name."

"Hermione." She stammered, backing as far as she could up into the headboard.

"Hermione what?"

"Hermione Granger. Please, please don't hurt me. You don't have to. No one would know. You don't want to do this – I can tell. Please just let me go." She begged, holding back the tears that threatened to paint her bruised cheeks.

Snape winced at her pleading. He remembered the times when he was a boy and his mother implored his father not to take his belt or his bottle to her. Fully intending on living his life solitary and celibate, he never anticipated a woman would ever have to degrade herself praying for him to spare her from any abuse, let alone sexual. It was too much for twenty-year-old Severus to compute.

"Hermione, Miss Granger. I do not want to do what I surely must to you. However, the Dark Lord knows what goes on at his revels and were I to spare you the hardship of my taking you, you would be passed over to one of my brothers and I would no doubt be tortured to within an inch of my life. I will say this – by the time I am finished with you (and I shall endeavour to be as gentle as I can, Miss Granger) – you will have all the tools you need survive. You will not survive intact – I will, I am sorry to say, need to take your maidenhead. That is inevitable, but while you are expected to be dead after our transaction, I will not kill you."

"What?" Hermione stuttered, eyes agape and aghast.

"I have no intention of killing you. I have nothing against you, and I will not let this be your fate, Miss Granger."

"Why would you care a jot what happens to me? You don't know me! And by the company you keep, I expect you to hate me and my kind. What would one more Mudblood's death at your hands be?" Hermione bit back with all the scorn she possessed.

"Never refer to yourself as that," Severus exploded, towering over her frail form on the bed, "that word! Never call yourself it, never let anyone call you it, never suffer it to be used to refer to others!"

Hermione repelled herself from him. He had been all tender words and promises of a life after this ordeal, but with one word, the calming and tenacious man before her changed into a man whose anger and strong feeling at the situation in which they both found themselves shone from the very cores of his ebony eyes.

"Alright." Hermione whispered. "I won't. But tell me why – unlike the others – this bothers you so much. Or ignore me and get on with it."

Shirking off his outer robe along with his shirt, he stood before the bed bare-chested and replied suavely, "I will take the second, but I urge you to submit – it will make this pass quicker. After, before I send you further away than the Death Eaters or our Lord can find you, I may tell you why this particular act separates me – or separated me, I should now say – from my brothers. That is if you can stomach me saying anything to you."

With that, Severus approached the bed and unbuttoned his trousers.

"Enough!" Morgana barked. "We're out!"

She grabbed Harry's collar and thought herself out of the pensieve and back into the comforting surroundings of her childhood home.

"Fuck me!"

Morgana strode away from her companion towards the lavatory and proceeded to void her stomach. She knew she was pale, and her turmoil was great at the vastly different, much younger versions of her parents. After rinsing her tears from her face, she returned to the great room where Harry was staring at her intently marking every motion.

"Not one word. No judgement. No disdain. No anger. Nothing. You say nothing."

With a single, audible gulp, Harry nodded.