WARNING: This chapter does include a rape. I tried to do it as tastefully as I could, and it is NOT written as a sex scene. It is quick, to the point, and focuses solely on the plot-essential aspects of it. It may still disturb, though, so if you feel that is you, skip to the next chapter.
Sorry again, but it is kind of central to the plot.
Chapter 8
The girl was infuriating. He didn't like freezing people like that, and it took the fun out of torture. If he hadn't, though, his little witch would have jumped in between them and possibly would have attempted to fight him completely muggle. She wouldn't have even thought twice about, he mused. She would have gladly taken the little Hufflepuff's place. He had almost hoped she would have accidentally used her magic right then, but it was too soon for that kind of response.
Voldemort hadn't necessarily needed to sleep. Not much, at any rate. He slept a rare few hours a night, then woke either with his wand pressed to some Death Eater's throat for the disturbance or with a sheen of sweat covering him from a nightmare that had left him unable to sleep again. No, the reason he had needed the bed tonight at all was to give her a vital clue to her fate. He knew she was smart, logical, even if impulsive. He had given her plenty of hints about her fate.
The only thing he had to decide was exactly what kind of protection he wanted the girl to perform. The one with the most personal benefits was definitely having her as a personal shield. Binding her to his side might prove irritating at first, but he would have her in a place where she would protect him with her very life. It would disconcert her allies, it would bolster his troups, and he would have the pretty little witch for whatever he needed.
However, if he wanted to win the war a momentary shock wasn't enough. Having her as a defender of the home instead of his person would have definite merit. Linked to all his followers through blood and the Dark Mark, she would share that link. She would be the last measure of defense for their homes, and it meant he could keep a permanent foothold in Britain for quite a long time. His followers would receive as good of protection as he could provide them for their homes and families, and he would have a direct way to monitor their goings-ons. She would be magnificent in that role, always there whenever there was to be a raid or a Ministry sanctioned investigation. She would pop up and with his training she would eviscerate anyone that trespassed. Yes, that may not keep her fixed at his side, but it would be immeasurably more practical.
Yet, she could be anywhere she wanted. That would be a problem. The bond with her would only allow him to order her return if there was an emergency, so otherwise she was free to be anywhere between the estates. She might even find friends, which would be unacceptable. Embedding the Dark Mark upon her forearm wouldn't solve the problem, as she needed to accept it willingly, and the bond couldn't be changed to make her more obliging. A tracking charm would be instantly negated because of the old magics, same with the darker versions of it. He could always threaten her, but that wouldn't do as she was too much of a Gryffindor. Once this plan was in place, she would know he valued her for her usefulness and that she would be of no use even remotely injured. He would probably give one of his followers to keep her healthy once the bond was formed.
He looked at the young witch in the bed. She was rather pretty compared to the normal purebloods he dealt with. It could just be that he liked his women to look natural, as she did. She did not look like a statue, even when she slept, and he hair was wild and uncontrolled. It spilled over her pillow in every direction, making it look like she was floating as opposed to resting. Everything about the young witch was uninhibited. She was angry when she felt it, she was saddened when she wanted, and she demanded when she could. Her intelligence was apparent in her behavior, but it didn't hinder her reactions. Her intellect informed her reactions, making her already more bearable than the frantic Mme. LeStrange.
Almost unthinkingly his hand stroked part of her curly crown. It was soft, he noted. He moved higher up the strand, analyzing it as if it were a complex spell or a intricate potion. His hand came high enough to touch her face, and he marveled at the youth in her skin. Had his own been as vibrant? Moving down to touch at her bare neck . . .
That was it.
Hermione spent the next three days under Nagini's watchful eyes, and away from Voldemort's. The first day, she saw it as a blessing. She explored, and found the balcony. It was clearly warded so she couldn't climb over the bar. She couldn't tell where she was, but it wasn't Malfoy Manor. With the war, she'd studied blueprints for the building just in case she needed to know. This home was older, not the Victorian she would have expected. The grounds were beautiful, though, with forests on all sides. She spent her first day like that.
The second day, she was getting uneasy. She had no idea where Voldemort went or what he expected, so she simply did as she had been; Nagini pointed to safe volumes from the bookshelves and she read, she drank her Restorative draught twice a day, she explored her room, and she succumbed to her curiousity about old magic.
The more time that past, the more uncomfortable she became. Her core felt empty. Completely gutted. No spell she performed was pulling her magic back, no amount of emotional distress pulled it out of her, and she felt like a squib. Her wand was somewhere in Voldemort's care, so she didn't even have a crutch. Hermione felt as if Voldemort was intentionally leaving her alone until she could feel her magic again.
Problem was that she had no idea what her magic was supposed to feel like.
The book on Pureblood traditions of the Sacred 28 gave her a little idea on what she could do to trigger it. Usually after the ceremony, in between 1-4 days the new magic manifests. The longer it takes, apparently the stronger the magic. The book was telling her to be grateful she was powerless!
She kept rereading that chapter over and over.
'There is a period of wait prior to being able to use old magic. Wizards and witches alike can expect for their magic to return within one-four days. The shortest recorded waiting period was a meager four hours, belonging to Belinda Parkinson (1320-1371). The longest recorded waiting period was eight days, belonging to the triplet brothers Peverell, although that period of wait is believed to have been a result of them performing the ceremony jointly or because of their existing magical bond with each other.
The recuperation period for magic is believed by most families to be an indicator of magical prowess. Many wizards who had longer recovery periods became well respected and powerful wizards, such as Minister for Magic Deol Shafiq (1405-1530), who allegedly took five days to recover and who, during his tenure, carved the multi-level cavern that houses the Ministry of Magic. More importantly, witches who have lengthy recovery are more likely to be participants in powerful marriage bonds, produce more offspring, and are powerful protectors. The best example of this is Perenia Malfoy (312-399) who singlehandedly defended her family's castle in France from attack from Lord Pierre Halbert in 356 A.D.."
Hermione had been insulted by that passage at least a dozen times, but it made her hopeful. The longer she went, perhaps the more like Dumbledore she could be.
If she could just ask Voldemort . . . NO!
Every time she had that thought, she rejected it immediately. She could not be wishing for his company, of all things. No matter how lonely, she wouldn't let herself wish for company. So she tried to get any visitors to keep her company.
She would try to get the house-elves to stay when they dropped of her food; so, they stopped even showing themselves in the room. Nagini wasn't good company, being denied her nightly jaunts outside, so Nagini was curled either by the fire or in her bed, not responding unless I asked her for another book. There was no one else in her rooms, and Voldemort left her completely by her lonesome.
Finally, she gave in. She planned hypothetical conversations with Voldemort. She took the parchment and quill and wrote out all her questions on old magic. From the time frame of her recovery, to the reason for his absence, she had more than a few questions.
She spent another day having fake discussions with Voldemort, usually with a Nagini stand-in. She felt like she was going insane! Every five minutes she checked the clock over the fireplace. Every hour she went to the patio to make sure she couldn't see anyone outside. No one patrolled the grounds. If she thought about it, as a Death Eater, she wouldn't want to patrol with her Master's vicious snake there every night either.
By day four, she was more than restless; she was insane with her imprisonment.
The Restorative draught she had brought with her meal should have helped her recover by now! She was screaming in frustration, pounding at the walls. A Restorative draught is powerful enough to enable a full recovery from any magical depletion within a day! The power of a full day of consistent magic use was in a dose of Restorative draught, and she'd already taken seven.
Hermione had the energy of seven Restorative draughts, and the restlessness of her wild Animagus form behind her. By the afternoon of the fourth day, she was banging on the entrance to the room with anger.
"You kidnapped me!" Hermione screamed at the door. "If you're just going to ignore me, what's the point?"
Then Hermione finally had her bit of accidental magic.
After four days, seven potions, and a lot of loneliness, Hermione felt a surge of magic go through her, rushing around her system before flying towards the door. She felt the crash against the wards, but they crumbled beneath the powerful wave of her anger. It swung wide open. She was free.
Hermione was in shock. The tears had stopped flowing and were chilling on her cheeks. Her knees felt weak. Nagini was now staring at her, finally looking bothered by her antics.
More importantly, Hermione could feel everything. Every cell of her body hummed with newfound magic, her core seemed to swirl with it, her hands burned to use it, and her entire body was now awake with the newfound energy she possessed. She could sense a magical hum around everything around her, but something distant was calling to her more strongly than the magic she could sense. It was like a gasp of air. A sense of cool water running down her being. Before she knew it she was launching herself into the hallway to follow the strongest of the amazing feelings she was having.
Hermione ran down the hallway in a flash, her mind screaming at her to just use this power and escape and her body ignoring it and following the trail of magic. Stronger and stronger came the pull, and she felt herself let go of even using her feet. She was flying through the air towards her target.
She even stopped looking. She just felt as she flew, not even considering where it was leading her. She crash-landed through a door and onto a cold marble floor.
Opening her eyes, her gaze was immediately drawn to the man sat at the end of the room. She sat perched on a throne, one of cool greys and uncomfortable stone. When her eyes caught the glint of red, her powerful feelings felt stifled, like he was surrounding her weightless matter with a glass dome, letting none of her escape. It was Voldemort. The torchlight flickered on his face, the rain outside felt mad and the wind billowed it around the entrances, granting him even more presence. She could feel the magic radiating from him. This was the cool feeling she had been following. It was this man.
"Congratulations on your escape, Miss Granger," Voldemort greeted calmly. "Although, moving from one prison to another is hardly a daring venture, is it?"
Her feet felt unsteady beneath her as she rose from her fallen position, brushing at the robes he had left her, and giving him a small smirk. "Absolutely. My apologies, I'll try to make things harder for you. Goodbye now!"
She turned heel and tried to apparate. When it didn't work, she sent herself flying again. She hit the door violently, throwing herself to the ground once more. He'd warded her in. It was a trap.
"I don't think an escape is quite on the agenda for tonight," he announced. "However, if you would prefer I hunt you, it can be arranged."
"Alright," Hermione conceded, trying to rise without her head pounding from impact with the door. "You win. I'm here, I have my magic . . . You can tell me what you want, now."
"You already have the answer to that," his tenor voice reverberated off the walls. "You read about it the past few days."
Her heart stopped briefly at his haunting, threatening tone. Then, it sped up to a run. What had been holding the Voldemort of nightmares back – her lack of magic – was gone. She was now at the mercy of whatever plans he had laid for her. His bone-chilling smile did not bode well for her.
"I will not take any pleasure in this, Miss Granger," Voldemort informed her. He rose to his feet from the throne and deliberately but carefully strode towards her. "However, what better gift can I give my supporters? To my cause? To let your friends have you, unfortunately, would greatly hurt my chances of winning. To harness your power, however, would give us a great advantage. You may very well be the reason we win the war, little witch."
"I am NOT a gift!" She roared in fear. "And I will NOT help you win!"
"You will not have a choice."
Voldemort was closer now, the red in his eyes ghosting over her with feigned concern and real hunger. She could see now why this man had originally done the spell himself; this man had known the ritual might kill him, but to him, nothing would match the pleasure of additional power. Hermione had offered it to him as a naked feast that day in the woods. And now, he had her.
"What are you going to do?" Hermione whispered.
He was nearly upon her. She backed away from him, mirroring his steps. Her frame knocked against the wall. She had no more room. Her eyes widened as Voldemort towered over her, a solid foot above her height. His magic pulsed, pulling hers against his. The sensation was confusingly pleasant, and her fear was mixing with a bizarre sense of empowerment and revitalization. She tried to use her magic to push him away, but every push from her distanced some magic from her, letting him further envelop it and increasing the strange sensation. It was almost physical, and strangely intimate. She shivered as the hunger in Voldemort's eyes increased with every push.
"Shall I invite my followers to the party?" Voldemort purred in her face. "I would like an audience."
"No," Hermione tried to make it an order, but all that came out was a plea.
It seemed to please him. He brought his hand to her face, brushing away an errant curl and using his spindly fingers to stroke a cold, violating trail down her chin. She closed her eyes against him, shivering at his violation.
She wished she hadn't. His arms were around her in a moment, holding her in place against the door. She pushed against him, punched his arms, threw her magic further into the abyss of his own. It only seemed to bring him closer, and increase the strange hunger in his eyes. He restrained her arms and leaned in, inhaling her scent. His mouth was right next to her ear.
"Smart little witch," he whispered huskily into her ear. "Privately, then. Either way, today will be glorious."
He apparated them easily back to the room from whence she had escaped, the familiar surroundings only increasing her attempts at escape. With a wave of his hand, she was sent flying from him and landed on top of the bed. She scrambled to right herself. Voldemort was extinguishing the candles and torches all around them, all except the fire. There was a sinking feeling as she remembered a passage from his book on the Sacred Twenty Eight. . .
'It is imperative that each family works to protect the virtue and innocence of its daughters. The highest honour for a daughter of old magic is to bind herself to another. She will be giving her husband a great gift with the innocence she spills with him, and the power of their coupling will bring him protection, and her power.'
No.
No. No. NO!
She tried to run. She threw her magic around her protectively, but Voldemort already had her magic surrounded. He cut through shields easily, using his own to pin her to the bed. He had years of experience against her new powers, and she struggled with random bursts of power flying from her only to be cut off by the dark lord who was now hovering above her.
"I see you figured it out," he jeered.
"Let me go!" Hermione screamed.
He tutted her. "Now, I've told you, it brings me no pleasure, little witch. I simply require your power for my services. Once we've finished, you will be the Lady over all of my properties, all of my Death Eaters properties, over everything. A small price to pay, yes?"
"I don't want it! Let me go!"
"You have no choice."
She felt his magic wrap around her rip the clothing from her form. Naked under his predatory gaze, she whimpered helplessly. "Please! Please!"
"Think of it this way, Miss Granger," Voldemort leaned forward, making her cringe, "you're about to be bound to the most powerful Dark Lord there has ever been. It is a great honour."
He raped her.
He teased her, he fondled her, he stroked her, he petted her, and then, when she was sufficiently horrified at her body's natural responses to him, he stuck his cock inside of her, ripping open her maidenhead viciously. She screamed while he chanted the ancient spells, as if her screaming could drown out what was happening. He pounded her relentlessly, using her for both her power and a quick ride. Her pain meant nothing to him as he chanted, and her restraints had her sobbing and screaming for freedom.
Her magic moving even more violently against his, fighting a war of domination. His magic, all that had encompassed her, merged with hers and made her shudder. In her situation, where she lie powerless beneath him, she felt a shiver as power flooded her system. Instead of making her feel empowered, she felt more ashamed.
When the incantation finally finished, the magic that had encompassed them both shot through them like fire, burning and cleansing them. Hermione had visions of all that Voldemort had told her; all the Death Eater estates, everyone who occupied them, and the wards that held them guarded were open for her mind's perusal. Her mind briefly allowed her to find Malfoy, hanging in his family's dungeons, before her mind careened away to more and more new information. Her mind took her all the way to Hogwarts, where she could sense Professor Dumbledore and Fawkes were striving to find her.
Voldemort was being changed. His skin grew slightly less pale and more pink. His nose was now replaced, just as it had been when he was in school. His bald hair sprouted short black locks, his form lowered in height, and his cock grew inside of the little witch, causing her even more pain. He was returning to human form. The returned feelings he experienced increased his pleasure tenfold, and his movements became more rapid. With a final thrust, he spilled his seed deep inside Hermione.
Finally, magic stabilized and coupling complete, both parties fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.
Thanks for the reviews and for following the story. That was a hard chapter. I hope I've done it tastefully and without too many errors on my part. I hope Hermione can forgive me for what I just did to her.
