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A/N: Slight difference in the formatting; nothing major, just attempting to 'trim' my workload to make the format acceptable to another age-monitored site that I'm tentatively trying out. (if they ever go ahead and call in Orkin. They've been de-bugging it for well over a week now, and it's still not accepting new chapter uploads from anyone. Gggrrrr.)
Not to worry! I'll continue posting this ficlet on this ff-site to it's grim completion because y'all are the ones who originally gave me the courage to try to spread my wings and fly.
By the way: I'm still not JKR; no matter who might wish otherwise.
She and her affiliates own everything that you may recognize herein. Anything you find that varies from her original concept is truly intentional, free-form juggled like four Rubic's cubes twisted side-ways, and is now a part of my very own AU's canon.
As Hagrid would say, "Sorry 'bout that!" --snickers--
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Chapter 13: Awarding Day You Say?
Severus shifted uncomfortably in his seat to the Dark Lord's left.
He'd make certain that the poor little Fourth Year Hufflepuff girl that Voldemort had finally rather reluctantly granted to Crabbe for his years of loyal service would be the very last Muggleborn that twisted, sick, pervert ever defiled.
The girl was now a lost cause, as were countless others that had already been parcelled out to various Death Eaters; some of whom he was acquainted with, some not.
The dark Potions Master covered his moue of distaste at himself for having to let it all happen to them with a seemingly bored yawn. Inwardly, it took every gram of Severus' incredible skills at Occlumency and self-control to maintain his complaisant appearance.
He couldn't save them all. It was a cruel, brutal, fact of life; at least life as it would be henceforth in Voldemort's brave new world.
Severus silently vowed to his conscience that before this very week was out that the portly bulldog-faced pedophile would 'disappear' from sight. And good riddance!
The now satisfied smirk that grimly curled his thin lips up pleased Voldemort when he glanced over at his Potions Master.
So there Severus sat, his sauternine features ever-deepening into what might have been a carved ivory mask of the consummate Death Eater; seemingly completely comfortable with the idea of all of the sexual peccadilloes that would be indulged in tonight and every night to come for these poor wretches, young and old alike.
He had to tamp down the urge to resist; to fight back. The urge to help the helpless that Dumbledore had fostered within his lonely aching soul, and then used against the Potions Master to keep him in line for years.
Severus struggled within himself to shield his true thoughts and emotions from Voldemort as his very soul writhed in agony deep within his consciousness at this travesty.
Under no circumstance could he allow the Master to have any doubts again about his trustworthiness; else how could he salvage anyone, himself included?
No matter what else occurred, or to whom else it happened to, Voldemort was now the one supremely in charge.
Severus had existed in kind of shadowland between two puppetmasters for years. It was almost a relief to now have to serve only one of them.
Except for the fact that the one master that he still served was Lord Voldemort (a twisted megalomanic who demanded completely loyal service under pain of death), it wasn't such a bad life to have to live.
Ah well! Perhaps 'twill be better to rule in hell than to serve in heaven, as the Muggle poet had once said.
Severus sighed again as he complacently watched Rudolphus LeStrange's choice morsel being led in. He stared hard once more at the lad; if he hadn't have been a true Muggleborn, Severus would have thought him to be a young Sirius Black.
Now looking at the fire and fight and sheer handsomeness of the lad, Severus wondered once again if perhaps either Sirius or Regulus had left an unknown by-blow in some pretty little Muggle of their acquaintance about sixteen years ago.
Well, it would almost certainly have had to have been Regulus, then; Sirius Black had been tightly confined in Azkaban during the proper time-frame for the lad's conception.
No. It couldn't possibly be so. Albus would have surely told him about it. Wouldn't he have?
The resemblance was uncanny but, as the present Headmaster, he'd already carefully checked the boy's documentation; there was no hint of irregularities anywhere within them.
Severus had simply chalked it up to 'everybody has a double somewhere'.
Perhaps if the Order had been the victors instead of the Dark Lord, he'd have researched it a bit further. There were several dark blood spells that could confirm or deny a child's paternity beyond a shadow of a doubt.
As it stood, Severus simply accepted what the records said as truth and 'wrote off' his suspicion as irrevelant.
In true Gryffindor style, the Fifth Year dark-haired, very attractive, wirey young wizard must have fought back furiously when he'd been taken from his cell.
Both of his deep blue eyes were now thoroughly blacked. His bloody lip was split open and rapidly bruising into a nice shade of purple. His right arm appeared to have been broken, or it could have only been his wrist; he manfully struggled to not favour it, so it was difficult to determine with a mere glance.
The boy's disheveled dark head loosely hung in defeated self-resignation.
When he'd been pronounced officially Rudolphus' property, the older wizard had jerked the boy's head back by his unfashionably long, dark, hair and kissed him deeply with such bruising force that it left the boy with no illusions as to his fate.
Other than his face deepening into a more burgundy shade of shame, and a hot single teardrop of unwillingness rolling down his dirty face, Terry Gilliam offered no further resistance as he grimly accepted his life's harsh brand-new reality.
Even though to do so would certainly mean his own death sentence, Terry silently vowed to himself when LeStrange forced his tongue down his throat (in prelude to later forcing other things into other orifices) that as soon as his very first opportunity arose he was going to kill the bastard.
Terry hadn't been sorted into Gryffindor by accident. He was a brave warrior, a member of Dumbledore's Army, and had idolized his fellow Housemate, Harry Potter.
He might have to endure countless buggering sessions to purchase his chance but, by all the gods that ever were, Rudolphus LeStrange would surely die by the bare hands of a Gryffindor Mudblood one day.
'Sweet Merlin! Let it be soon; let my vengence come swiftly!' That became Terry's internal mantra as he was forced to kneel down beside Rudolphus LeStrange's chair like a cumbersome lapdog.
His new master laid a heavy, possessive, hand on top of his head and ruffled the tangle of longish black hair exactly as if he'd been a black curly cocker spaniel. Another bitter tear slowly painted a trail to join that earlier first one down his dirty face.
Terry could meet no one else's eyes in his utter humiliation; how could he?
Another ruffle of his hair, and then a single long finger slid down his cheek and stroked away his embarrassed tear. His head jerked up, and his sapphire blue eyes widened in sudden sexual awareness of the older wizard.
Rudolphus stuck the dampened digit into his mouth, and sensuously suckled the salty drop off the tip. "Mmm. You're delicious," he purred as he smiled widely into the boy's shocked eyes.
Bellatrix leaned forwards and formally addressed him, "Welcome to the family, Mudblood."
She sniggered at the boy's open-mouthed shock. Rudolphus laughed loudly, his head lolling back, the genuine amusement shaking even the chair in which he sat.
When the next handsome dark haired young man was led in before the Dark Lord, Rudolphus' laughter slowly stilled. He was shocked and amazed that Bella was being granted, and was actually accepting, a Mudblood toy.
His younger wife had never before been so honored; now this singular honor proved her to be the equal to all of the wizards present in her loyalty and service to the Dark Lord.
She hadn't even consulted him beforehand in her selection of the slave which surely must be meant for his benefit. This one was too burly; too muscular; too 'top'.
Handsome, tall, and dark, yes; sleek, slender, and beautiful, no.
Rudolphus was looking over just who might possibly be willing to do a 'trade off', and what else was available amongst them, when he plainly heard Bellatrix thanking the Master for "her" new toy after deeply kissing the embarrassed boy in acceptance of him as her personal slave.
What's this? For her? A living, breathing, sex-toy for his wife; on the Master's order?
Ah well. Perhaps they could share him after all; there was always Polyjuice Potion, and he was an expert at brewing that one particular potion.
That might be where Rudolphus LeStrange's skills at potions brewing began and ended but, by Merlin's hoary balls, the much older wizard had truly perfected that one.
With his own alterations, it now altered the diguised person's voice to the assumed identity's voice; it even could fool a werewolf's sense of smell as the disguised person exuded the same pheremonal scent as the assumed identity.
It lasted up to three hours for just a sip or two of the vile tasting mess, instead of only an hour for a full cup's dosage of the original recipe. Of this accomplishment, Severus Snape was still jealous of Rudolphus LeStrange; he'd never managed to accomplish the same result.
Nor would he ever have, not if he ever learnt the secret ingredient that LeStrange used to perform this miracle.
Severus Snape could nor would ever cut an unborn child from it's mother's living womb to be boiled down into a potion's ingredient.
No matter what he might personally believe to be the condition and colour of his dark soul, the sarcastic Potions Master wasn't yet that black and evil to the core.
Lily Evans, first his green-eyed young Muggleborn playmate and later the only woman he'd ever truly loved, and Albus Dumbledore, first his teacher, then mentor, manipulator, confessor, and secret Master of Light had made certain of that between the two of them; when push had come to shove during Severus' life to return a wayward son to the Path of Light.
Between them they'd dusted off his conscience, given it a 'whacking' when it'd needed it, and given him ample time to brood and to mentally flagellate himself into repentence. Now their job was finished. He just needed a new teacher now. Or a student.
Severus allowed his onyx eyes to focus intently on the girl now stumbling her way down the long walk to the dais; even filthy, ragged, blackened eyed, and bloodied, he wanted her.
Her razor-sharp mind, her skills and natural talent; she'd dared to attempt brewing Polyjuice Potion as a Second Year . . . and would have been most successful, had she not inadvertently added cat's fur into the mix instead of human hair!
His amused memory of the 'tail swishing incident' when he'd checked on her condition and had scolded her on that potion's dangers while she'd been recovering in the infirmary stretched his thin lips up tighter into a full-blown smile.
By the time he'd refocused his black eyes on her, she'd reached the proper place in front of Voldemort and Rabastan shoved her down to assume the proper position of respect.
'Here we go,' Severus desperately thought, as he turned his gaze and attention towards the Master, and waited.
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The former Great Hall was temporarily serving as the Dark Lord's audience chamber.
He was using the impressive ancient oaken Headmaster's chair as an implied throne; it already stood in the center of the dais anyway. His elite Inner Circle sat in a line of seats on either side of him.
It was indeed her Judgement Day. Rabastan shoved her down on her knees and went to take his seat beside Bella and Rudolphus.
"Ah, Miss Granger," the Dark Lord said pleasantly. "Still alive I see, and relatively unharmed?" he left it hanging as a question.
A question that she'd best respond to, if she knew what was good for her.
"Quite well . . . sir," as she struggled for a moment with just what to call the evil wizard ensconced before her.
"Good. That is well then; you will be in fine shape for your new position in life," he said with some degree of satisfaction.
"My . . . my . . . new life, sir?" she dumbly parroted Voldemort's words, slack jawed in her relief at being reprieved. Hermione hadn't expected to live. She still didn't fully comprehend her current situation; there were worse fates than mere death.
Voldemort's forehead wrinkled impressively upwards in his clear disbelief. "And this is supposedly the brightest witch of her age, Severus?" he increduously questioned.
At the slight, amused, inclination of the raven's wing black head of his personal advisor and Potions Master, the Dark Lord sadly 'tsked' down at her once again.
He waved a dismissive hand at the kneeling girl and said aloud for the benefit of his pet Death Eaters, "Behold my loyal servants! The Brain of the old fool's Golden Trio; a helpless Mudblood whore."
Laughter and loud hoots of 'stupid Mudblood' and 'what did you expect? she's just a Mudblood' echoed throughout the chamber; only Severus, his cousin Lucius, and his friend Rabastan LeStrange failed to join in the baiting of the battered and defeated girl.
Voldemort stood up onto his feet; he was in a very good mood indeed as he circled the kneeling bleeding Mudblood. He'd just 'ticked' another 'thing to do' from his list and soon would be enjoying his very own reward of never-touched prime pussy himself.
Strange that. Voldemort still couldn't rationalize to himself exactly why he was so looking forward to bedding his bride, but he was. Since the ceremony there'd been no help for it; his cock twitched in it's support and confirmation to his actual brain's thoughts.
Yes; he wanted his new bride more than any fuck that he'd had in years. Time to wrap this shit up and go.
Voldemort returned to his high place on the dais, carefully adjusted his richly embroidered black velvet robes, and resumed his seat. He motioned for Severus to lean closer in to him as the kneeling girl stared at them all with confused, hate-filled, brown eyes.
The Dark Lord began to quietly speak to him from what little bit of heart that he had still beating within his pale hairless chest.
"Severus, of late it has begun to pain me that perhaps I didn't properly consider your feelings concerning the previous Mudblood witch that you desired. Perhaps, had I spared her and her son to you, he could have been turned to our side through your influence and would have become my loyal servant instead of my nemesis. I would still have my first body, and would not have experienced the difficulties that I had existing as a noncorporeal entity. Nor would I have had to endure the pain of being reborn into this incarnation," Voldemort looked to be extremely uncomfortable at his regretful, remorseful, disclosure; no one else could hear a word currently being said between Master and servant.
Before he'd spoken the first word aloud, the Dark Lord had cast a subvocal silencing charm to just cover the two of them. Severus was simply gob-smacked. Voldemort admitting to a mistake was indeed a redletter day on anybody's calendar.
As soon as Severus had managed to snap his mouth back shut, Voldemort dropped the silencing charm and continued for the benefit of all present, "As you seem to be so very fond of Mudblood witches, Severus, I thought to give you this one to do with as you see fit. Whatever you want with or from her, the Brightest Witch of her age, she's now yours."
Severus rapidly digested this twist in his life; what he'd wanted, the witch he'd secretly begun to desire, now his property for the taking. He swallowed hard. He had to respond; to reply.
It was expected of him. It was common curtesy. It'd keep him from pissing Voldemort off, spoiling his good mood, and receiving a healthy dose of 'Crucio' for himself.
Slowly Severus unfurled his tall lean body from his tall backed chair, came to his feet, and descended the dais to stalk in a wide circle around Hermione Granger like a hungry black panther.
What a mess she was in. He needed to get her back to Malfoy Manor. She needed healing and he wanted the chance to explain things rationally to the chit; all better done in private.
"Thank you, my Lord, for your most generous gift. She'll make a worthy replacement for the other Mudblood witch that I lost last time."
At Hermione Granger's shocked gasp, Severus threw back his dark head and laughed at her shocked reaction.
Sneering down into Hermione's bruised and bloodied face, Severus mirthlessly laughed again, then he sarcastically continued, "All Mudblood witches are the same in the dark, after all, my Lord. Suitable cumbuckets all."
Voldemort threw back his serpentine head and roared with laughter. He waved a hand of dismissal towards the dark Potion's Master.
Severus jerked the terrified young witch up by her right shoulder, clamped her painfully tight to his left side, covered her swollen bleeding mouth with a bruising kiss of accepting her as his, and Apparated them straightway into his private library inside of Malfoy Manor.
END OF CHAPTER 13
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A/A/N: I was recently made aware that some of you readers out there in ff-land do not know how to access the author's profile/bio page. Forgive me in advance for "over-explaining" (in true Hermione Granger fashion) if you already know how to 'pull it up'.
If you don't know how, try this; Point your cursor up to the author's name plate right beneath the story title plate, and 'click-on' the author's name. It'll "take" you there.
Some author's keep themselves extremely 'private' and don't say too much (if anything) about themselves; some are verbous old bitchy-witches like me, and 'spill their guts out' two pages long. --snickers--
That's also how to 'pull up' and read all of the public reviews that have been submitted on any given story; run your cursor up to the coloured number of how many reviews the story has and simply 'click-on' the numeral.
Please browse my profile/bio page; it contains my Avatar of how I see Severus and Hermione--tentative but hopeful; intelligently trusting but still unsure. YOURS.
(that's an "invite" y'all; please feel free to PM or email me with any questions you may still have concerning anything going on in my story that you're confused about. I make time to answer all of my private correspondence. Eventually.) --snickers again--
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