Wrapped tightly in a fluffy grey bath towel, she stepped out of the bathroom, and a cloud of steam followed from the scalding shower as she did so.
Shifting uncomfortably under his steely gaze, she took three more steps toward him before stopping and looking at the white Persian carpet beneath her feet. She didn't want him to see that she had been crying. She didn't want to show him an inkling of sadness because to show sadness was to show weakness and she didn't need to be seen as weak.
She could feel his heavy gaze boring into her flesh, almost as if he were expectantly waiting for her to say or do something.
Slowly, looking up, their eyes met for but a fleeting moment before the deep baritone of his voice hit her ears.
"Take it off," he demanded, pointing a slender finger to the towel wrapped around her body.
It took a few moments for what he said to sink into her brain. "W…Why?" She choked out, slightly taken aback. The modesty that the towel provided was somewhat comforting to her, and she didn't want to lose that comfort right now.
An eye-roll and a sigh later, he finally answered. "So, I can treat your ailments, Miss Granger. I already told you I wouldn't fuck you with someone else's cock so you can rest assured that I am not asking you to remove the towel for any other reason than medically necessary. You are so far left of the type I would go for I can assure you my mind wouldn't even wonder for but a moment."
Tentatively, she grasped the top of the towel and opened it glacially before letting it slide down her legs and pool around her feet. Eyes closed, she didn't want to see him looking her over. It felt as if he were violating her, and she would rather not be privy to such a thing.
The only sound that filled the otherwise silent room was their hot breath mingling and a few tuts from him as he checked her over.
The man couldn't help but feel guilt towards the state that the girl was in. Black and blue all over her ribs were broken, indicated by the dark purple bruises spreading along her back. It also bruised heavily her under eyes and across her cheeks, almost cementing the fact to him that she had at minimum one fractured cheekbone. Her legs, although also tainted with bruises, were merely flesh deep and the cut on her neck now stopped bleeding and would heal somewhat quickly.
Exhaling sharply out of his nose, he turned away from her waving a dismissive hand. "I'll leave you some salve and pain potion on the bedside table. You're battered and bruised, but no one has ever died from a few bruises and a couple of broken ribs. Dress and I'll take you down to see The Dark Lord. There are clothes on the bed." He inclined his head sideways as a fresh pile of laundry stacked neatly on the bed before leaving the room.
He leaned coolly against the wall outside of the room in which she was currently dressing, and he wondered what Voldemort was playing at. He'd not even hinted at a morsel as to what may be going on nor why he spared the girl and it was setting everyone, especially him, on edge. His nerves were still shot from the near slaying of the girl earlier today, and all he knew was he needed a stiff drink later before bed to calm his damn nerves.
The click of the door handle roused him from his thoughts, and the girl tentatively stepped out. It was so odd; she thought to herself. To be clean and dressed and not be dragged from the room by shackles that bound her hands.
Her stomach growled mercilessly, the loudest she'd heard it yet, and blushed slightly. She may be clean, and she may have clothes on, but the fact her stomach was void of any food was hard for her to push aside.
He never, ever said a word, not even a glance sideways before he began striding off purposefully. As usual, she followed behind as an obedient dog would its master. She didn't have any choice anyway, and she was much too weak from lack of sustenance to think of a logical plan right now.
The silence was maddening, even more so than their soft footfalls that fell in time with one another as her mind ran at a million miles trying to think what was going to become of her. Was this going to be her second dice with death? Was this all part of their elaborate plan?
The walk seemed as if it took a lifetime before finally, they stood outside of the dining-room door.
"Ready?" Severus asked her, not even giving her a chance to answer before he pulled the door open swiftly.
Her stomach tied itself into knots and her tongue went as dry and stiff as wood. She willed herself to swallow, but nothing happened. She forced herself with every fibre of her being to keep breathing and not hold on to her breath.
She stepped through the door, every set of eyes lay upon her, some with feigned curiosity, others with intense hatred, and she couldn't help but shift uncomfortably.
She looked to Draco, and then Lucius followed by Bellatrix, all sitting around the table. A feast lay before them before the soft, raspy voice of Voldemort pulled her from her thoughts.
"Child," he rasped, "Severus", a bony hand reached out, pointing at two empty chairs to the left of him. She looked back at Snape, for reassurance, although she was uncertain why she did. Perhaps he was the only familiar thing in the situation, and he brought a semblance of comfort as odd as that was to her.
He only gave her a slight, almost undisguisable half nod of his head. She swallowed hard, hands shaking ever so slightly with fear. She felt as if she were on death row, taking the walk of shame to her demise. Every set of eyes was still boring into her, and she hated it. She wished the ground would open and swallow her whole, or one of them would place a well-aimed killing curse and end this feeling of dread and worry gnawing constantly at the pit of her stomach.
Feeling as if she were about to simultaneously vomit and faint, she made it to the destination at the end of the table and sat perched precariously on the edge of the seat, unable to feel comfortable in their presence.
"I saw something today," Voldemort turned his head just so as to catch her in his field of vision, "on your left hip. A mark. A mark only a Gaunt could have."
It was as if someone had sucked the air right out of the room. Not a person took a breath, not a single movement was made. Everyone just sat motionless as they tried to make heads and tails of what he had just said. Surely the little Mudblood trollop wasn't The Dark Lord's daughter?
"W… What?" Her voice was a ghostly whisper, hands began trembling.
"The birthmark on your hip, child. The mark has been passed from gaunt-gaunt throughout time. A magical curse once cast upon the lineage was long broken, but the mark still remains. Without a shadow of a doubt, you are my descendent."
Bile rose in her throat, burning her tonsils as it did so. She had to remind herself to breathe as she felt lightheaded. Standing tugged the jeans she was wearing off her hip, exposing the white, milky skin to the room. She knew she had a birthmark, but she had assumed it was that and nothing more.
"That right there, child." He reached out slender fingers and traced them across the marring on her hip.
Shuddering, she took in a deep breath, body erupted in goosebumps. His fingers were like being touched by ice.
"My Lord," Bellatrix Began, anger tangling itself deep in her tone. "Are you sure this… this Mudblood is your child? She's Potter's best friend."
"Without doubt, Bella. Which doesn't make her a Mudblood at all." He looked to Bellatrix pointedly.
Hermione had to sit before she fell to the ground, the world around her was no longer visible, only her and the ringing in her ears were all that she could focus on.
They pulled her from her haze as she felt her hand being lifted by those same icy fingers that felt as if they belonged to a corpse.
"Lay your hand on the table, palm facing up, child," he whispered, grasping a dagger that was sitting to his right on the table between thumb and forefinger. He wrapped his hand tightly around the short handle and the other around her wrist. Angling the smooth silver blade horizontally against her palm, he made one quick sharp slice into her flesh.
Wincing, she pulled her hand back as if she had just been burned, the crimson blood dripping down her wrist.
Turning the blade to his own palm, he made the same identical slice into his own flesh and placed the dagger on the dining table.
"Give me your hand," he demanded, "I'll perform a bonding ceremony to confirm," taking her sliced hand and tangling the fingers of his own cut hand together he squeezed her hand hard, and she felt the sickening feeling of blood mingling with blood and wanted to vomit, this was not the least bit hygienic.
A warmth feeling enveloped her hand, almost as if it had been clad within a glove as a snaking gold light wrapped itself tightly around their hands, around and around, covering every centimetre of flesh between them before it fizzled out slowly, the light weakening before it vanished.
"As you can see, without an ounce of doubt, the child is my relation." He dropped her hand gently and turned away from her.
She leaned back in the chair, trying to make heads and tails of what was going on as she cast a glance at Severus, who looked just as confused as she did.
"How?" Bellatrix demanded, slamming an open palm hard on the table. The slap reverberated around the room. "How can she be your daughter?"
"I raped her mother," he shrugged, pointing to Hermione. Not an ounce of remorse ever found its way into his tone as he talked.
"I happened upon her one night in a graveyard. I was searching for the burial site of my mother. She was there, pathetically crying over a fresh grave. The way she looked at me with utter fear in her eyes. Something about those fear-filled eyes pulled me in and before I even had a chance to push those feelings away, I had the bitch bent over that tombstone before she could blink." Sharp laughter passed his lips as he looked off into the distance as if he were remembering that night.
Hermione felt sick to her stomach. She wanted to yell, to hit him, she wanted to kill him for what he had done to her mother. Then dread set in. The man that she had called her father for the entirety of her life was not even her father at all. A maleficent being that was hell-bent on murdering and taking over the world was, and she didn't know how to process this. Did this make her guilty by association? Was she no better than he? Would her friends now hate her that her true lineage had been uncovered?
Quickly doing the math in her head, she deduced exactly what graveyard and whose grave she has been conceived upon- her own grandmothers. She had died just over nine months before Hermione's birth.
"It wasn't my finest moment sliding my cock into a filthy muggle, but sometimes you have no choice but and take an opportunity when it presents itself. I thought I killed her." he upheaved his shoulders into a shrug. "Messy on my behalf not to ensure I'd done the job properly."
Suddenly, Hermione didn't feel like eating anymore. She didn't feel like doing anything. Numb to the world around her, she stood with such force, that she sent the large chair she had been sitting in skidding across the dining room floor, not even looking back as it teetered precariously and then hit the ground.
She stood, chest heaving as she looked to Snape and then to Voldemort. Opening and closing her mouth as if she wanted to say something, she decided against it. After all, it probably wasn't the best idea to question Voldemort. Not here, anyway, so she did the next best thing she could do to distance herself from the situation. She ran.
"Severus," Voldemort hissed, "Go with her. Stay. She's your problem until I work out what to do with the ungrateful little bitch." Rubbing his temples, he sighed heavily, watching Severus, out of the corner of his eye, get to his feet without even as much as a sideways glance or a single protest. He'd taught him well.
Slamming the large door shut behind her, she felt as if a tight metal band was tightening around her chest with every breath she exhaled. Pacing the length of the room, she tried to take in the breath she needed but it was nigh impossible, and she realised she was possibly having a panic attack.
The door creaked on its hinges as Severus stalked into the room and she knew from the look on his face for once in his life he was possibly speechless.
"Lucky," he sneered. "Saved from death because you were the fastest bit of spoof from The Dark Lord's balls. What's it like knowing your father is a ruthless murdering piece of shit with a moral compass that is not only uncalibrated but virtually sitting in pieces in a pile?"
She turned to face him, rage wavering in the depths of her eyes, nostrils flaring, and tears fell like wayward diamonds down her red cheeks.
"My entire world has just been turned upside down and all you can do is make snide remarks about the whole situation?" She whispered, the devil in her eyes as she spoke.
"My entire world had turned upside down nigh on eighteen years ago and you think the world stopped for me? Do you honestly think the world halted for me to clamber back to my feet? Do you think any cunt in this world felt the need to have a bleeding heart for my situation?" He walked casually over to her before grasping her chin hard, forcing her to look him in the eyes.
Faltering under his steely gaze, she felt uneasy as eyes locked. Unable to work out his angle, she knew he wasn't to be treated differently from the others, just because he was a teacher didn't make him a good person and she needed to keep that in the back of her mind. He was a Death Eater, there was no denying that, so instantly in her mind that also made him a bad person.
"You can't show an ounce of weakness in here, Granger or they will chew you up and shit you out regardless as to who's load you once were, or the circumstances in how you came about. If you show them anything is getting to you, they will run with it and use that against you. They don't care about your feelings, in fact, they love that you are beside yourself. The cunts get off on the misery of others."
Dropping her chin as if it were a lump of red-hot coal, he turned from her, taking four steps before he stopped, "get yourself together, Granger. I don't like you, but I also don't think it's fair they have dragged you into this shit show. Have a cry, mope around and once you've finished, I'll be outside. I'll help you find something to eat."
Taking the last step towards the door he opened it, hesitating for a moment, head turned towards her, giving her a curt nod, he stepped out and closed the door softly behind him without another word leaving Hermione wondering, exactly what was he playing at. Was he the evil villain she had formed in her head or was there a glimmer of something beneath the surface that was showing her perhaps, just maybe, he might not be horrible after all?
