Chapter 3

Hermione had no need to give the password to enter Gryffindor Tower, since the Fat Lady had been ripped from her frame and the portrait hole was hanging open. She climbed through, to be greeted by a sombre group of fellow lions who were congregating in the common room.

Seamus Finnegan leapt from his seat and threw his arms around her, and clutching her tightly to his strong chest, and she finally allowed herself to cry. He was followed by Parvati Patil, who moved over to join them, and the tough Irishman extended an arm to include her in the comfort, also. The three of them had just lost every one of their year group in a single night.

Lavender Brown, a fellow seventh-year, had been the first to fall, overpowered by the vicious Fenrir Greyback. Harry, Ron and Neville, all needlessly slaughtered in the courtyard. And now Dean.

"Seamus," she sobbed, "It's Dean, he …"

He stroked the side of her face, pushing her hair back from where it was sticking to her tear-stained cheek.

"Voldemort?"

"Voldemort. Dean was trying to help Orla, you know Orla Roach, in Hufflepuff? He didn't even given Dean a chance, he … he just cast it, the killing curse."

"At least it would have been painless, Hermione," he replied. "Fucks sake, what the hell is happening to the world?"

He pulled the girls close against him once again, all of them finding strength and comfort in each other.

"We never give up, right?"

"Never," she echoed.

"Never," added Parvati, but without as much conviction as Seamus and Hermione.

"They're letting me back in to Hogwarts. I don't trust their reasons why, but it seems as good a place as any to be. I have nowhere to go now, anyway."

"That's good news … I think," Seamus said, "although I don't trust those bastards, not one single inch."

"None of us do," Parvati agreed. "Hermione, do you have things? School uniform, books, everything?"

"I have books," she replied, shaking the beaded bag so the thump of dozens of books could be heard, "but not the rest."

"We'll share out quills, equipment and parchment. Lavender had plenty of uniform, we can use a sizing charm to make it to fit you. There's no other way you can get clothes, we have no choice, and she'd want you to have it, I know she would."

They gave Seamus a tight hug and walked together up to the small dormitory that belonged to the Gryffindor seventh years. Since last September it had only housed Parvati and Lavender. Now it would be home to only Parvati and Hermione.

Parvati began pulling out Lavender's school uniforms, and the room was soon a sea of scarlet and red as Hermione began shrinking them to fit, especially around the bust. Her old bed was still in the dormitory, and she began to empty the beaded bag that had been both her wardrobe and store cupboard over the last year into her old armoire and on to the bookshelves. She took rather more care of the books than she did of the clothes. She'd mostly be wearing her uniform anyway, doubting that excursions to Hogsmeade would be approved under the new regime, and if they were, they'd be unlikely to include her.

She was prepared to live the next few months as a second-class citizen, an alleged thief of magic, a filthy Mudblood. All these were preferable to being dragged before the Muggle-born Registration Committee and having her wand stripped from her and being imprisoned, or worse. At least she would be receiving some form of education, with the potential to pass her NEWTs, despite there being only three months left of the school year. She would work and study harder than she'd ever done in her life.

And then there was Professor Snape. Headmaster Snape. She had not been at Hogwarts under his tenure as the head of the school, and knew him only as her Potions or DADA professor. How did he lead Hogwarts? She wasn't sure she was too keen to find out, especially as it was clear that Voldemort kept Snape in his pocket.

Why had he claimed her? What did he want with her?

He had not pawed her as Yaxley had done to Orla, in fact, Snape had barely looked at her, let alone met her eyes with lascivious intent. He had indicated that he might summon her to his office, but had given no indication of the frequency or nature of these encounters. She supposed she would find out soon enough what the plan for her was.

What spell had Voldemort cast over them just before she had left the Transfiguration classroom? She had never heard that incantation before, nor recognised the complicated wand movements that he had made using his long, thin fingers. She had felt the curse hit, and clearly it was a dark curse because of the unsettling feeling it had given her as it took hold. It had run down her spine like someone was trickling freezing water down her back, and then shot around her body, almost feeling like it was getting bigger, before it seemed to burst inside her belly. It hadn't hurt, at all, but it had been an utterly strange and unpleasant sensation.

She wondered if Professor Snape had felt the same thing, because he had remained standing straight and impassive, his body had not jerked in reaction as hers had done, and his face was as neutral as ever.

After the initial sensation, absolutely nothing had happened, and Snape had repeated his instruction that she should return to Gryffindor Tower, and Voldemort had not protested this time. It was very, very odd, and she had a strong feeling that this was not the end of it, and that exactly what the curse had been would become clear to her in time. Since it had been cast from Voldemort's wand, it was unlikely to be anything good.

-xxx-

Dinner had been served in the common room, and students had not been permitted to leave. As Hermione ate the first decent meal she'd had in a very long time, she remembered the last food she'd had was the bread and cheese that Aberforth had given them when he'd dragged them from the streets of Hogsmeade and into his pub as the Caterwauling Charm had threatened to capture them.

How could that have only been one day ago? It felt like a whole lifetime had passed.

Sitting here in the Gryffindor common room, without Harry, without Ron, without Neville or Lavender or Ginny or Dean was just so very wrong. It had without any doubt, been the most horrendous twenty-four hours of her life.

Shovelling steak and kidney pie into her mouth – despite her distress, her stomach was running on empty, she wondered how on earth the house-elves had managed to order themselves enough to produce dinner, with all the destruction and calamity that had been wrought around them.

Through the portrait hole, which was open to the corridor outside due to the Fat Lady's portrait hanging off at right-angles, they could see Death Eaters patrolling the corridors, vanishing the portraits rather than repairing them, but magically replacing broken flagstones in the walls and floors.

The Gryffindors wondered aloud what else might be happening in the more damaged parts of the castle.

The Entrance Hall, the place that had seen the densest area of fighting, had been all but destroyed, they had all seen it. The Great Hall was full of the dead and seriously injured, the maze of corridors had suffered patches of damage as individual duels had been fought the length and breadth of the castle. Nobody even wanted to mention the courtyard, piled up with the bodies of their dearest friends, or the castle grounds that were littered with the fallen from both sides.

There was nothing to do but wait until morning to see if they were called.

-xxx-

After a surprisingly peaceful night's sleep, Hermione awoke to the familiar clanging of the morning bell, indicating half an hour for the students to rise, wash and dress and be in the Great Hall for breakfast. For a split-second, in that blissful half sleep before her brain was fully awake, all was well.

For the briefest of moments, she believed it was just a normal morning at Hogwarts – lessons would follow breakfast and the day would progress much as every school day always did. Ron would soon be hoovering up the bacon and toast, Harry would be trying to persuade his wild hair to lay a little flatter and cleaning his glasses, and she would be trying not to spill pumpkin juice on whatever book she was reading to prepare for the next lesson.

And then, reality hit.

There was no Ron, no Harry. Her closest friends in the world had been murdered by Voldemort and their slain bodies had lain in the courtyard at the mercy of the cold night air. A sob rose and choked in her throat.

Parvati heard it and leapt from her bed and into Hermione's, hugging her tightly. They had never been the best of friends, but tragedy overcame all of that.

"It's ok. Sshh. We can do this," she crooned, trying to be reassuring.

The girls dressed quickly, Hermione feeling most uncomfortable wearing a dead witch's uniform, but she'd had no choice. They walked down the stairs and met Seamus in the common room, along with a few Gryffindor sixth years.

Walking down to breakfast, they could not help but gape in astonishment, for the Death Eaters and accompanying professors had not been idle since the students had been banished to their respective common rooms.

All traces of battle damage had been mended, all debris removed, and the corridors were pristine. The only difference was that every portrait was missing, frames and all. The stone walls were completely bare of any animated oils, only the inanimate tapestries and cloth wall-hangings remained. Voldemort or Snape must have ordered the removal and probably destruction of anything sentient.

The Entrance Hall was even more surprising, for it had been restored exactly to its original state, as if the fierce battle the night before had never taken place. The tables were laid for breakfast in the Great Hall, as they always were.

But, the dead, the injured? Where were all the bodies? Her empty stomach threatening to retch, she raced to the front doors and yanked one open, running into the courtyard – terrified of what she might see, but also equally as terrified of what she might not.

It was empty.

Harry, Neville, the Weasleys and Bellatrix Lestrange were not there, their bodies were gone.

The courtyard looked completely normal; pillars and columns that had been smashed to smithereens last night were repaired and standing where they should. There were no bloodstains on the cobbles, no weapons or broken wands strewn around. What had been done with her friends?

"I would suggest, Miss Granger, that you do not wish to know the answer to that question."

She whirled around at the smooth, measured statement, delivered in a quiet voice.

Snape.

He was standing in the entrance of the huge door she had left hanging open in her haste to get outside. For a short moment, she felt glad to see him, a curious little pop of happiness in her gut that she quickly dampened down as being ridiculous, not to mention dangerous.

"Breakfast is not being served in the courtyard. You should proceed to the Great Hall immediately."

His tone was authoritative, his expression unreadable. There was no suggestion in either his voice or demeanour that last night he had claimed her in front of Voldemort and the Death Eaters to be his own personal slave.

Without a word, she obeyed, heading back into the castle, trying her best not to brush against his robes as she walked through door, although it was difficult since only one of the doors was open and he was blocking most of it. She hurried into the Great Hall and sat down with her friends on a much-reduced table of Gryffindors.

-xxx-

Snape felt the first thrum of the compulsion curse as Granger brushed lightly against his left arm as she passed him on her way back into the castle. Had she felt it too? Her determined walk would suggest not. It had been no more than a brief passing of interest, a light tap on his psyche as she'd made the inadvertent contact with him, but he had definitely felt it.

Damn Riddle to hell. There would be no doubt that the effects of curse would multiply, compelling them both to seek each other out, to force them to engage in acts that they would never have contemplated with one another. His only hope was to bear the curse out for the next three months until the end of the school term, and then she would no longer be near him, exacerbating his symptoms.

And what about after that, Severus?

What would become of Miss Granger in the Dark Lord's new world? Would he, as a covert member of the Order of the Phoenix, still be responsible for her? Could he keep her safe whilst compelled to take his pleasure from her body?

Fuck. He had hoped that by claiming Granger as his own, he could keep her safe from the filthy hands of one of the other Death Eaters, covertly advising her of his actions, which she would understand because she was a witch of no mean intelligence.

But no. Riddle had 'gifted' him with the compulsion curse that he had cast over them both, meaning that she would desire him as much as he would begin to desire her. The thought was abhorrent.

He had never much enjoyed the taste of rape, not after the heady early days of the Death Eaters, but to effectively rape Miss Granger whilst she believed herself to be a willing participant, was particularly distasteful. But, as always, he would do what needed to be done. Hadn't he always?

He was self-controlled to the point of rigidity, and he prided himself upon it. He would control this. There was no other action to take.

Entering the Great Hall, he heard and felt the hush fall over the room like a black cloud as he swept up the central aisle to the raised platform that used to be solely for the professors, but had now been expanded significantly to incorporate the Death Eaters who had now been appointed as additional Hogwarts teachers.

Each of them would be assigned to a subject, and would effectively tail that professor in all they did, not being clever or learned enough to teach a class themselves. The real staff looked pale and defeated, their eyes full of the hatred that their mouths could not express.

Seating himself in the Headmasters' chair, he poured himself a cup of black coffee and took two pieces of toast from the serving platter hovering in front of him. That would be sufficient. He would deputise a house-elf to bring him further food in his office later if needed.

That office was now unrecognisable as Voldemort had ordered all the portraits of previous Headmasters and Headmistresses be removed and destroyed. Snape had insisted on performing the required actions himself, and had of course not destroyed a single one, instead transporting them to a deep, unknown dungeon, even further down into the earth than his old Potions classroom.

Apologising to each portrait as he removed them from the wall, they had expressed their gratitude as he explained that he planned their incarceration in the dungeon to be only temporary. He cast a strong security ward and locking charm upon the dungeon door, and could only hope that was enough to keep the Death Eaters out. Maybe one day the portraits would be returned to their rightful places.

He refused to converse with either Macnair or Avery, who had been placed to his left and right, and instead glared resolutely out upon the students who ate as if in a daze. The Great Hall was still covered in a large number of cloth wall hangings that included the four giant house banners, but the students had all walked through the bare hallways on their way to breakfast, and would have seen the battle damage magically mended, no doubt they had questions that they would not be allowed to ask. He would not invite discussion.

Inadvertently catching Miss Granger's eye from where she sat at the far end of the Gryffindor table, he quickly looked away, for he needed to keep as much distance between them as he could muster, lest he exacerbate the curse. A compulsion would only increase in frequency and worsen in urgency the more contact the two parties had with one another.

Instead, he swung his glare to the Hufflepuff table to ascertain the presence of Miss Roach, the unfortunate Muggle-born whom Voldemort had 'gifted' to Yaxley.

To his disgust, the girl with the white-blonde hair was sporting a split lip, bruising to her neck, and her already pale face looked drained of all life and colour. She was eating and drinking, however, although she sat a little awkwardly, as if in pain.

Yaxley had clearly enjoyed taking his fill of her last night, his disgust of Mudbloods not apparently extending to sticking his cock in one. Snape could not be seen to intervene, but he hoped that Pomona Sprout would note the poor condition of one of her Hufflepuffs and take Miss Roach to the infirmary for healing, and a long-lasting contraceptive potion.

Thankfully for small mercies, Yaxley was not one of the Death Eaters who was due to be stationed at Hogwarts supervising the professors. As Head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement, his high-profile role at the Ministry would keep him away from the castle for best part of the time. No doubt he would make tenuous excuses to return and interfere with Miss Roach again though, despite the fact he was married with young children of his own. A sexually-deviant pervert, Yaxley would rent those perversions upon the young girl gifted to him outside of his wife's knowledge.

At least that would mean for the majority of the time, Miss Roach would be relatively safe here at Hogwarts. Her Muggle parents had been killed early last year on an intentional Death Eater raid, he knew this because he had been obliged to personally slay them.

Severus had no idea with whom the young witch had been living since or how she had survived. Merlin knows where Minerva had evacuated the other Muggle-borns to, but no doubt she would have been thorough.

The Gryffindor Head of House was currently resident in the hospital wing, and suffering concussion after her skull had hit the stone floor after being struck with Voldemort's full body bind. She was unwell, but she would survive. At least she was alive.

Rather than have Macnair, for he was Minerva's observer, teach Transfiguration alone, a subject that he had no qualification in, Snape had cancelled all Transfiguration classes for the week, instructing students that private study in the subject should be undertaken in the library during those times under the supervision of Macnair and Madam Pince.

Voldemort had thankfully left the castle before midnight the previous evening, returning to the old Riddle house in Little Hangleton that had been left empty since the murder of his father and grandparents all those years before, and he had assumed the estate as his own, an army of subjugated house-elves and fawnings lackeys in residence to pander to his every whim. No doubt there were captured Muggle-borns there too, to provide … entertainment.

Severus had to find some covert way of making contact with the Order of the Phoenix, but he was not even sure who or how many had survived. He had seen the body of Nymphadora Tonks in the Great Hall, which might possibly suggest that Lupin was alive, and was relatively sure he had seen the distinctive blue and gold robes of Kingsley Shacklebolt in the assembled throng of chaos on the school steps yesterday.

Would they even welcome his contact? This had not been in Dumbledore's plan. Merlin knows, the interfering bastard had been trying to post-humously direct the war from his portrait over the last year – more than once Severus had been forced to conjure a painted gag to secure his incessant mouth.

However, Dumbledore was dead, as was Potter.

All bets were off.

Severus had only his own wits left to use now. Miss Granger would be a formidable ally, if only he could keep his hands from her body long enough to engage her comradeship and support.

Quite accidentally, he looked up at the students that were now clattering from the Great Hall at the sound of the bell that warned of fifteen minutes before the first lesson of the day, his eyes zooming in on Granger's arse like a heat-seeking missile.

The small lurch of the compulsion thrummed again.