"Your first time should be special." That's what her mother had always told her, save your virginity for the right person. The words had filed her head with silly daydreams of white nightgowns, rose petals, candlelight, and true love.
She wondered what her mother would say were she alive to know of her daughter's "first time". She'd be horrified; she could imagine her mother's tears for her baby girl.
She watched the chest of the man beside her rise and fall. How she hated him, her first lover. Here amongst the black satin sheets, in the palace of death, her first time had been special indeed.
Sitting there staring into the seemingly endless darkness, she could almost find the insanity to laugh at her condition. They had told her she was lucky, a mud blood who would now be spared. He had given the choice when they had hauled her to his chambers, life as his willing slave, or death. The choice was hers, and he was the road to both ends.
She had been a coward then, unable to find the strength to meet an honorable death; Hermione Granger had chosen a life of shame. She knew she would wish for death now, pray for it. Alone and humiliated, she would cling to him. Perhaps, in a twisted way, she would come to feel for him. Before there could be anymore tears this night, she lay back down beside him, shivering in the cold. "Hermione…" he whispered, his lust apparent.
"I'm here, Lord Voldemort." She shivered as he reached for her in the darkness.