Chapter 12


Voldemort had pulled her into a room just off the ballroom, his face now carefully measured and his new appearance not taking away from the frightening way his gaze landed upon her.

"You vowed you would be respectful in front of my followers, Miss Granger," he warned her. "Now you act upon it. You will not do anything any of my followers tell you, and if they try to punish you, you will call to me, no matter the timing. You will, in that instance, call me MASTER."

"I will never-" I tried to object.

"In public, in front of my followers, you will." The flicker of fire in his eyes told her he was serious. "Now stay here, and do not draw attention. Understand?"

"I will obey, for now," she seethed.

"You will obey forever," he hissed. "Because you are never getting away from me."

He didn't let Hermione have the last word. Voldemort swished his robes around him to turn and throw open the double doors. Immediately, the music ended and the Death Eaters split to make way for his walk to the stone throne. Hermione bowed her head with all the humility she could muster, and followed directly behind him, matching his steps. Murmurs and eyes followed her movements behind their master.

When Voldemort reached his stone throne, he sat, and regarded Hermione coolly. Unsure what to do, she stood there, at attention, waiting for his verdict.

"My followers," Voldemort announced, "you asked me earlier this evening about out prisoners. You asked me about my new appearance. You asked about the whereabouts of our youngest recruit, young Draco Malfoy. The answer to all those questions stands before you."

Hermione remained still. He wouldn't let any lasting harm come to her, not with the power she provided him. She would have to let him finish, let him finish his course.

"Long ago, our families worshipped magic in a way forgotten and forbidden today," Voldemort continued. "They looked at the greater good, at magic, and decided that they would do everything in their power to prove themselves worthy of it. Old magics abounded, power abounded, and while a few unworthy died, the worthy flourished. Their worship and sacrifice is what made our families pure, and is what made them great."

He rose, coming close to Hermione once again. Their magics flowed in their seamless current through them even as he approached her like an enemy.

"Miss Granger has done exactly as our ancestors did," Voldemort told them, grabbing her shoulders and spinning her to face the room. "She embraced the old magics, the old rituals, and proved herself worthy. However, her loyalties are not with us, are they, Miss Granger?"

She glared at him. "No, master, they are not."

His smile was overbearing and sickly sweet, and she averted her eyes to avoid the clenching in her stomach from guilt.

"Yes, she was a problem," Voldemort told his followers. "She broke in a released all the prisoners we kept here, and then finished the job over at Malfoy Manor. She took them, and the young Mr. Malfoy, directly to Dumbledore himself."

"No!" Narcissa gasped from the sidelines. "My son!"

"He won't hurt him!" Hermione insisted. "He was being abused in that dungeon, I couldn't just leave him!"

"Silence, mudblood!" Bellatrix screeched, raising her wand.

"Bella . . ." Voldemort called, his voice lofty and patronizing. "May I finish?"

The monstrous, depraved creature known as Bellatrix Lestrange pocketed her wand swiftly, nodding at her master. Hermione latched onto the significant part of the exchange which was that Voldemort hadn't told her no. Only that he needed to finish.

"Miss Granger made the right choice – to prove herself above her blood status – but for the wrong reasons," Voldemort announced. "As evidenced from her appalling behaviours, she is a powerful weapon. Power such as hers simply needs to be used by the right master, don't you all agree?"

Voldemort circled her once more. Standing before me, he leaned close and ordered, "Kneel."

She did, with a glare at him. His followers hooted and cheered.

"I bound her to me," Voldemort informed them, "used her magic for myself, and have made her a defense for all of us, loyal servants and dedicated followers. A perfect pet, now and forever to be a powerful keeper for my use.

"However," Voldemort monologued, "as wonderful of a pet as she is now, she did something very naughty. She released prisoners from my keeping without my permission and needs punishment. I shall need your assistance in training her to behave, my followers."

A cheer from a few members of the Death Eaters.

"There are others that need discipline as well, however," Voldemort said. "And what better way to start the year than with a fresh perspective on our failures, hmmm? Malfoy, Selwyn, Pyrites, please join Miss Granger on the floor."

Now that was him using her to demean some of his followers. The men in question did not hesitate, walking forward before bowing to their lord on their knees. Uncomfortable as she was on her knees in front of Voldemort, it was worse with the other three Death Eaters around her. As if they would pick her up and use her as a shield at any moment.

"Lucius Malfoy," Voldemort hissed, "as your son is not here, his failure so far is on your head. I asked for the death of Albus Dumbledore, and he has left me waiting. Moreover, he has failed in an attempted curse on his, making him cautious. You will accept his punishment."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Stefan Selwyn, Damien Pyrites," Voldemort hissed, "it seems as though our informant, Griselda's successor and daughter, Isabella Marchbanks, was tortured to insanity. Up until now, our control of the new Minister was close to absolute. The young Mrs. Marchbanks was leading him along in her position as the new Undersecretary and with her position in the Wizegamot. Feel fortunate we still have the new Junior Minister, but his connections with the pureblood families are negligible at best."

"My Lord, she was resisting the imperio we placed on her," Selwyn begged with as much dignity as he could. "Her mind was becoming too strong. I thought if I could weaken her enough-"

"Silence!" Voldemort ordered. "First, you fail to find me Slughorn, then you fail to eliminate the new head of the auror department, and now . . . tell me, Selwyn, do you enjoy punishment, or do you simply seek it out for attention? Crucio!"

The Death Eaters laughed as Selwyn was hit with his punishment. His screamed seemed to increase and increase, and Hermione felt her magic spike. Selwyn's family manor in East Winging seemed to pull her to action. It pulled her, nearly to jumping in between them. Only the knowledge that he wouldn't die or suffer permanent damage from this kept her magic from behaving eratically. She looked away, willing the tears away from her face. She whimpered, using her nails to dig into her legs and distract her from the feeling.

The screams turned to whimpers, and Hermione looked back. She saw eyes now focused on her, including the pale blue eyes of Voldemort. She tried to straighten up and look unaffected, but it was no use. Everyone could see the tears that dripped from her chin and everyone had seen her looking away.

"You find this a distasteful punishment, my little witch?" Voldemort asked, tauntingly. "Does it disturb you?"

"You made me a protector of them, Master," Hermione bit as much as she could, though the warble in her voice got in the way. "My magic is protesting his treatment."

Voldemort smiled maliciously. "Do you wish to heal him, Miss Granger?"

She bowed her head. He could feel her magic's reply, it's excited move towards Selwyn's, but he would make her say it out loud. "Would you hurt him again if I did?"

"I suppose I need to have my fill first, hmm?" Voldemort replied. Selwyn started screaming again, and Hermione started crushing her thighs between her hands to keep the from directing the magic to the writhing figure. The other Death Eaters weren't batting an eye.

Finally, Selwyn was released in a gasping, seizing heap on the floor. She looked to Voldemort.

"Ask me to heal him, Miss Granger," Voldemort demanded. "Politely."

She bowed her head. "Please may I heal him, Master?"

"Go."

Hermione moved over to the Death Eater's trembling form. She laid her hands over his chest, almost instinctively. Her magic flowed from her, sinking into the spasming nerves of Selwyn's body. After a few moments, the man in question was calm and glaring up at her.

"Hands off, mudblood," Selwyn said sharply.

She stood quickly, but remembering her vow she moved with dignity away from the man. Voldemort stopped her with a stern look, then turned to Selwyn.

"Ah, ah, ah," he admonished, "did I not say she is my pet, Stefan? Did I not call her pure, now, by virtue of the magic she's performed? Her position with me warrants a degree of respect, I would hope."

The order was implied. Selwyn went white at the perceived threat, and turned to Hermione. "Thank you for the assistance, Miss Granger."

Hermione went through the pain of magical denial twice more when he tortured Pyrites and Malfoy. The four Malfoy estates made it particularly difficult to avoid healing Lucius. She may have grabbed her head in between her hands and screeched as she was forced by her oath to respect her master, but by the bond to heal Malfoy. Finally, it was over, and only Hermione was left kneeling at his feet.

"Bella," Voldemort called the woman, "I believe you wanted a go with my pet?"

"Oh God, no," Hermione whimpered.

Bellatrix sauntered forward proudly and madly, each movement showing the confidence and poise of her upbringing with the edge of desperation and madness she had brought from Azkaban. Her eyes were bright as she twirled her wand for the spectators, and for her master who had returned to his stone throne to watch.

"No permanent harm, Bella," Voldemort warned her sternly.

"Of course, my Lord," Bella cackled. "We're just going to play, aren't we girly?"

Hermione tried to move, but to do so was to show disrespect and the wand oath burnt her hand at the movement. She hissed in pain before Bellatrix even came upon her.

Bellatrix levelled her wand at her, then, thinking otherwise, she reached out and yanked Hermione's hair out of its containment so she could grab at the rambunctious curls. Hermione yelped in pain as her scalp protested. Her magic wanted to curse her, but the oath recognized the impulse as disrespectful to him. He had decided to punish her, and she was being forced to accept it unwillingly thanks to her stupid oath. It was worse than not being able to heal Malfoy. This was forcing her defenselessness. She hadn't even thought of this as a consequence when she made the vow, but now she was afraid.

Bellatrix laid into her. A few smacks across the face to start, sparking involuntary tears and roars of laughter. A few crucios. She went to cut her hair, but Voldemort stopped her. "I want her presentable later, Bella." So instead, she used her wand as a whip and set to her back with a fury. Suddenly Voldemort's dress choice was even more detestable, with the open back letting everyone the pounding she was receiving. After so many painful hits, Hermione felt herself fading. She was shaking badly, her tongue bleeding slightly from her attempts to avoid screaming, and her body was shutting down from shock. Her back had multiple bleeding lines where the magical whip had ripped her open, all of them dripping slow drops onto the floor. She fell forward, avoiding the last stroke, and curled into a ball of defense.

"Thank you, Bella," the sick overlord's voice came. Bella hissed at the interruption, but did stop and stalked back to the crowd.

"I hat-t-te y-y-you."

Hermione let herself stop sobbing into the floor.

"Miss Granger, I give you permission to heal yourself now," Voldemort told her from his dais.

Her magic immediately responded to the allowance and wrapped around her comfortingly, soothing her shaking and healing the marks on the bare skin of her back. She didn't move, even as her marks healed; she was too scared, too shaken by what had happened. She remained curled up on the ballroom floor.

"I'm pleased with your obedience tonight, pet," Voldemort projected over the expanse of the room. His praise fell on her ears like ice water over her too-hot skin. "You may approach me."

Her magic knew she would be harmed by the oath if she didn't approach him. It pulled her up and hovered her, as she wasn't sure her legs would work. She drifted closer to the man she had been bound to and watched as he upraised her certainly weary and fussed appearance.

He summoned a pillow and placed it by his feet. "Take your seat, little witch. You have earned a reprieve."

Her magic dropped her on her feet at the base of the dais, and she climbed to the step below his and sat on the pillow he provided. Her magic prompted her with little hints to help her: lift up her head, don't make eye contact, sit tall, and maintain dignity. She just wanted to return to her rooms and die a swift death.

"I believe the night's festivities have only just begun!" Voldemort called. "Recommence the dancing!"

Everyone moved to begin a fancy pureblood dance, and Hermione closed her eyes in fatigue and leaned back into the stone arm of Voldemort's throne. She froze in a mixture of shock, revulsion, and pleasure when the man in question began running his fingers through her hair tenderly. It felt wonderful, but his touch should not have. Still, she didn't pull away.


Voldemort was deep in thought as the dance carried on around him. The little witch he'd corrupted with his own magic, with his body, was taking up too many of his thoughts. Normally he would think of the repercussions of Draco Malfoy's apparent betrayal, or of what that meant for the other Malfoys who'd sworn their loyalty. He would have considered what the responses of Selwyn and Pyrites would have been to their torture tonight. Instead, he was rubbing his little witch's head and marveling in her soft and unruly curls.

He was bizarrely protective of her while she'd been under Bella's wand. He had stopped her from removing the witch's hair – which he now counted as a wonderful choice because of his hand's occupation with her bewitching head – and he'd stopped her the moment he'd seen the tears fall down Granger's face. What did he want with the witch? He'd already secured her powers and her protection, and an oath to prevent her from mucking up any more plans he brought to the estates. What more could he wish?

Loyalty.

Yes . . . he wanted her to kneel because she wanted to. He wanted her to become a part of his empire. He wanted to be able to keep her by his feet forever, not as a pet, as a willing woman.

Speaking of woman, he was surprised at the level of hormones his own body was subjecting him to. These were not the feelings he'd remembered from before his death, but he didn't remember everything physical. It was so intense, the feeling of wanting to someone. He'd rejected physical pleasures long ago, favoring the pursuit of power and knowledge over pursuing some skirt.

And Miss Granger . . . She was hardly even of age, but the little Gryffindor looked decidedly attractive in the blood red dress and HIS collar. A most beautiful pet he was proud to have at his feet. He enjoyed seeing her delicious little body sitting beneath him, receiving his touch willingly..

He would have her, he decided. Miss Granger was going to be a handy piece of power, but he could take his pleasure from her as well. Yes, he would enjoy making her his. Completely. Time to play a game.


"My apologies for Bella's enthusiasm, pet," Voldemort murmured lowly enough that only she could hear.

"You're only sorry because you couldn't do it yourself," Hermione accused, matching his tone. She kept her eyes closed.

His fingers continued in their slowly circles on her head. "I didn't enjoy your torture, little witch. I won't deny hurting Lucius brought me a little pleasure, but nothing is so satisfying as seeing you like this, perched at my feet."

"I hate you."

"I did apologize," Voldemort pointed out. "I regret the necessity behind your treatment, Miss Granger. Perhaps we can work to make this arrangement more pleasant for you, if you'd like."

"No matter what you did, I would still hate you, and so I would hate the situation."

"How lucky it is that we share a bed from now on, then," Voldemort purred seductively. His fingers hadn't stopped their petting. "I'm certain that after some time together your opinion of me will change for the better."

"Why does it matter if it does?" Hermione hissed. "Why should it matter if I hate you? I can't even get away if I wanted to."

Voldemort's head stooped low enough that she could feel his breath at her ear, his minty breath flushing over her face. "My recreated body affects more than my appearance, little witch. You awakened long forgotten desires, ones I had forsaken decades ago. Perhaps I've grown fond of you. Perhaps I hope you'll grow fond of me."

"Is there a fidelity charm in the ritual?" Hermione demanded, fighting the blush creeping up her neck to her cheeks.

"Oh yes, on your side Miss Granger," Voldemort reassured her. "I could go take any number of women without consequence, but should you take a lover, he would be effectively neutered. The chauvinistic side of history has you deferring to me for your needs. Do let me know when you have them, my little witch; I'd be more than pleased to oblige you."

Hermione shivered. "Never again. You will never take advantage of me like that again."

"You are correct, little witch," Voldemort murmured, low enough that she wasn't sure she was supposed to hear. "Because when I take you next, you'll be willing."