She sat, unmoving, in front of a mirror that paid
her ridiculously inane praises. How could it say anything that would
make her smile? And how could they think it would make a difference?
She sighed long and deep, bracing herself against the pain that
swept across her nerve endings. This was something she experienced
every single time she steeled herself against the total obedience to
the Death Eaters that was required from her by the Imperius curse. A
curse laid upon her by both Draco Malfoy and his father,
Lucius--Voldemort's right hand man--when she had been captured
during the war. Her struggle was constant but she was getting better
at resisting their double Imperius, inch by excruciating inch.
How she hated them, and hated herself for not
being able to move against them. If she could only get her hands on
a wand, she'd hex the whole bloody lot of them to Kingdom Come, damn
the consequences. Not that anyone had been stupid enough to let that
happen... yet. Someday, she'd find a way to make every last one of
them pay. She lowered her face perfunctorily in the direction of the
beleaguered house elf who was fussing around her, working at healing
and hiding the bruises that still lay around her left eye--a
souvenir from last night's encounter with that bastard, Draco Malfoy.
She sometimes wondered at the frequency of his visits. If she got
paid for what they put her through, she'd have to admit he was her
best customer. She sighed long and deep yet again and let the pain
wash over her.
"Please, Miss, don't anger them." the elf
ventured timidly, her voice little more than a whisper. "You should
listen to Milly……if you don't make them angry, then they won't hurt
you."
Hermione said nothing.
"She's right, you know," came a quiet voice from
across the room, "when I stopped fighting it all became a lot
easier." She turned to look at the sallow, haunted young woman who
had been--except for that brief but wondrous period during seventh
year when Hermione had been Head Girl and rated her own space--her
roommate since she was eleven. A person who had shared the journey
with her from innocence to this unfortunate life.
"Thanks for the words of advice. I'll keep that
in mind." Hermione's reply was flat. She supposed for a moment that
it was just as hard, if not harder for Lavender, being one of the
few non-muggleborn prisoners here. Lavender had been unfortunate
enough to insult Malfoy Junior just days before the war began in
earnest, and so had shared Hermione's fate.
"I'm not happy at all with this, I'll have you
know. Not one bit." the man complained sourly, leaning back in his
chair.
"If you don't go, it will be even more
suspicious. All the Death Eaters will be there, you can hardly not
show up. You don't turn down an invitation to a dark revel,
especially one being held on Samhain Night…" he stopped to take a
breath before continuing, "especially when you're considered to be a
member of their inner circle. And besides, how else will we know
what they're up to if you're not there?" Harry Potter responded in
what he hoped was a reasonable voice. He thought it was strange that
he'd be the one doing the cajoling, but since Dumbledore's death, it
had fallen upon his shoulders. Leading the resistance against the
regime of Voldemort was a lot to ask of someone who had just turned
19 a few months before, especially when all their information on the
Death Eaters and their activities was funneled through this lone
source--Severus Snape--a man who absolutely despised him. "We need
you to do this, Headmaster."
Professor Snape had been installed as Headmaster
of Hogwarts, charged with ensuring the children received the
education laid out by Voldemort in the revised curriculum--a
curriculum that no longer included classes called Muggle Studies or
Defense Against the Dark Arts. Muggleborns were no longer admitted
to the school and the children already enrolled were watched rather
closely by the new Board of Education. Half the teachers were new
and therefore not worthy of trust. It was definitely a police state.
And even now, after all this time and all these
changes, he was a spy--a mole. " I know," he conceded after a few
minutes, "but that doesn't mean I have to like any of it."
And so, Severus Snape found himself cleaned up
and wearing his best dress robes, walking to the gates of Hogwarts
so he could apparate to Malfoy Manor.
Severus
"Ah, come in Severus." Lucius Malfoy's greeting
to Snape, who was being shown through the doors of his study, was
almost congenial.
"Lucius." Snape rejoined. Malfoy gestured to a
chair and Snape sat, poised on the edge of the seat like he was
sitting on a razor blade, not allowing himself to get comfortable.
He waited for a moment expecting Malfoy to speak, but he didn't.
"Why haven't I been shown directly to the revel? I am sure Lord
Voldemort would not like to be kept waiting."
"You'll see the Dark Lord in time." Malfoy waved
his protest away and continued, "He's worried about you, you know.
We weren't even sure you'd show up tonight." Snape quirked an
eyebrow and Lucius smiled. "Yes, you've been working really hard and
according to all our reports, you hardly ever socialize any
more--not that you were ever the social butterfly, mind you."
"Running that menagerie takes all of my time and
attention," Snape glared and snapped back in response, "not to
mention all the extra-curricular potions work that's required of
me."
"Tsk! You seem short-tempered, even for you. All
work and no play makes Severus a dull boy, you know." Lucius clucked
his tongue against his teeth. "I think Lord Voldemort's right, you
need to relax and I've got just the thing." He steepled his fingers
in front of his face and smiled, but it was not a pleasant smile.
Snape narrowed his eyes suspiciously, waiting for Lucius to
continue. Malfoy stood up and walked to the fireplace, which was
blazing away merrily. As he reached up to the mantle to take down an
ornate box, he spoke over his shoulder to his guest. "Well, are you
coming?"
"Where are we going?" Severus asked, slowly
making his way across the room to stand stiffly next to Malfoy.
"To help you relax." Malfoy replied, cutting
Snape off as he opened his mouth to speak. "Dark Lord's orders, so
there's no use protesting." He took a pinch of floo powder out of
the box and tossed it into the flames. "Brothel." he spoke, and the
flames flared green.
"After you." He stood back and let a surprised
Snape go first. Since when had there been a brothel linked into the
Death Eater Floo Network? Was he that out of the loop?
Another house elf suddenly materialized in the
room where Hermione and Lavender were being prepared for that
night's entertainment. Both girls felt ill to the pits of their
stomachs but said nothing to acknowledge him. Whenever this
particular house elf paid them a visit, pain and degradation usually
followed within the hour. In his hands were bundles of velvet and
leather and lace. "You must wear these." the elf directed as he set
down the pile on a chair. "Then the master would like you, Miss
Hermione, to wait in the green room for tonight's visitor, and you,
Miss Lavender, to wait in the black room." He disappeared without
another word, not expecting disobedience. And he would get none.
They were both compelled to do as they were told, even if it was
just by an elf delivering a message. The Imperius they were under
saw to that.
Hermione held up various bits and pieces of
clothing and snorted. "Here we go again, Lavender, the S&M dream
girls." She thought it extremely funny that they were usually
dressed in one variation or another of the run-of-the mill
dominatrix outfit. Didn't Death Eaters have any imagination? The
thought triggered white-hot blades of pain to lance their way
through her and she shuddered. Soon they were cinched into the
corsets of their respective merry widows and strapped into their
garter belts and fishnet stockings. Lavender was dressed in white
and Hermione in red, their hair arranged so that curls fell from the
crown of their heads to lie in seductive tumbles around their
shoulders. Their eyes were then sketched with smoky kohl, charms
were applied to bring colour to their cheeks and their lips painted
dark and full, before Milly pronounced them ready.
"Please don't cause any trouble, Miss. I is not
liking it when you come back hurt." Milly petitioned Hermione as the
women walked to the door and knocked to signal they were ready and
the door could be unlocked.
"I'll try to be good." It was all Hermione could
promise.
"Ah, here we are, Severus," Malfoy smiled at
Snape, who was looking around the room to get his bearings.
"And where would that be?" Severus asked coolly,
still unsure of what was going on.
"Think of it as a spa, if you will." Malfoy
answered without telling him what he wanted to hear. "When you leave
here, you will be relaxed and rejuvenated and ready for the revel."
Severus highly doubted it, though his face betrayed nothing. Malfoy
had no idea how tightly wound he was right now. Was he being tested
yet again? Lucius walked over to the corner of the room and picked
up a crystal decanter from its place on a silver tray. "Drink,
Severus?" Snape nodded and after a few moments he was handed a glass
filled with amber liquid. Snape raised the glass and held it under
his nose, sniffing the contents.
"Fire whiskey." he said in a soft voice. Lucius
nodded.
"Only the best." He replied, taking a sip from
his own glass--a move that allayed Snape's suspicions a little.
"Now, if you'll do me the favour of waiting here
for a moment, I'll go and make sure everything is ready." Severus
nodded and watched as Malfoy closed the door behind him. Once he was
alone he crossed the room, drink in hand, to look out of the window.
If he was hoping for a familiar view, he was out of luck. It seemed
the place was perched on the edge of a cliff as the window looked
out over the sea, and the view reminded him of the one he saw from
his rooms at Hogwarts that looked out over the lake, but that was
all. He looked around the room once more, sipping the whiskey
tentatively as if he cradled a glass of poison, before sitting down
to await Malfoy's return.
Hermione jumped as the door to the green room
opened. She looked around to find one of her worst nightmares
realized. Lucius Malfoy was standing on the threshold, studying her.
Great Merlin, no, not him! she thought to herself, suddenly
awash in pain at the mutinous thought. Only two people here really
scared her and they were Lucius Malfoy and Lord Voldemort. She found
herself thankful that it was only Malfoy, though. She'd take his
beatings and twisted tastes over a visit from Tom Riddle any day.
The last girl that had been visited by Lord Voldemort had not
returned. Every time she thought of Hannah, her chest grew tight.
No-one, not even the worst Death Eater, deserved to die like that.
"Ah, Mudblood, it's nice to see you are ready."
Hermione met his eyes but remained silent. She had long ago learned,
lips split and bloodied by the rings on his hand, that you do not
talk out of turn with Lucius Malfoy. He took a moment to drink in
her form as she stood complacent before him. "I have some
instructions for you." he told her. She felt a cold knot bind itself
around her core as he cupped her chin in his hand. "Listen well,
your life depends on it. You will not take no for an answer from our
guest, do you understand?" She nodded, her gaze unwavering. "Lord
Voldemort is most concerned with this man's welfare. You will give
him something he has not allowed himself in years--you will make
love to him and you will enjoy it."
Hermione found herself filled with loathing as
she felt compelled to answer automatically, "Yes, sir." What in the
hell was she saying yes to? Another Death Eater monster relishing
her pain?
"Wear this." She took the red, feathered
half-mask from him and slipped it on, completing the careful
ensemble. "Ah… wonderful." Hermione repressed a shudder as she noted
the strange glint in his eye. He leaned in and claimed her lips,
running his cruel, slender fingers along her fishnet clad thighs and
up between her legs. His kiss was strong but cold and she felt dead
inside. Why is it that I always have one or the other of the
Malfoys sniffing after me like a dog? She let herself get swept
away by the pain that washed over her at the thought.
Severus was ushered through the heavy oak door by
Lucius Malfoy. "Enjoy yourself! I can guarantee you won't be
disappointed. I'll be back to collect you in a while, just before
things really start hopping at the dark revel." Before Severus had a
chance to reply he heard the bolt being shot home on the outside of
the door. He reached for his wand… It wasn't there. He cursed softly
to himself before straightening up and looking around. That bloody
bastard had pick-pocketed him and he hadn't even realized it, he was
so caught up in worrying about what was going on. How could he have
let that happen? Was he losing his touch? At that thought, he grew
even more worried.
The room was candlelit, albeit dimly. As his eyes
grew accustomed to the almost non-existent lighting, he realized he
was in a bedroom and with a start, that he was not alone. There was
a figure sitting in a chair across the room--on the other side of
the bed, silent and unmoving--waiting for acknowledgement.
"What the hell is going on here?" he asked, face
still hidden from her in the shadows. He did not get a reply.
Merlin's balls!! Hermione thought to herself,
in a panic as she recognized the timbre of the voice after all these
months. She'd know that tone anywhere, even well into her old age.
Professor Snape. Even as she balked at who her 'visitor' was,
she found herself rising from the chair against her will, one foot
moving in front of the other automatically as she crossed the room
to stand in front of him. She had never been so glad in all her days
to be wearing a mask as she was at this moment. As for him, he
looked like a deer caught in the headlights of a car, stunned and
even a little terrified all at once--a look she did not associate
with Professor Snape in the least.
"There's been some kind of mistake… " he began,
"I'm not supposed to be here." Hermione couldn't have agreed with
him more but was unable to voice the sentiment.
"But you are." she replied instead in a soft
whisper, stepping closer to him. Severus was struggling. This was
absolutely not what he was expecting at all from this evening. He
pulled what strands of dignity he could around himself, stood tall,
and glared at her--a look that usually struck terror into those on
the receiving end of it. It didn't work this time, though. The
masked woman took another step towards him and he stepped back to
keep her from invading his personal space.
"What's the matter?" Another step closer. "Don't
like girls?" And another. "Would it be better if I were a boy?"
Hermione asked when she'd finally backed him up against a wall and
he couldn't go anywhere else. Snape's eyes narrowed and he looked
mildly insulted.
"No, it would not be better… " he sniped, biting
back the rest of the remark.
"Good." She replied, relieved at his answer. She
raised a hand and ran it down his prominent cheekbone, trailing the
backs of her fingers along his neck. He was softer and warmer than
she'd imagined, not to mention very tense. He didn't want to be here
either, by the looks of things. Oddly enough, the discovery eased
her own discomfort. "Now are you going to give in and let nature run
its course?" Her voice was low and sultry. She stood on her tiptoes
and planted a soft kiss on his lips before stepping away from him
and sitting on the edge of the bed. It made no difference what he
said--Hermione had instructions she couldn't go back on, but she'd
like to let him think he had a choice in the matter.
Severus was filled with conflicting emotions and
thoughts. He could still feel her touch as if it had seared his
cheek and his lips tingled. It had been years since anyone had
touched him like that and he'd forgotten what it felt like. On the
other hand, his mind was working overtime trying to figure out what
game Lucius was playing with him. He sat down at the other end of
the bed and studied her. He wondered who she was but thought it
unlikely she would tell him--she was masked, after all.
She was cinched, quite flatteringly, into a dark
red velvet confection. Her skin was golden in the soft light and her
breasts swelled invitingly over the top of the corset. Her hair,
dark chestnut in the soft light, fell in ringlets around her
shoulders and her eyes were unfathomable through the holes in the
mask. The play of shadow and light on her lips was an enticement he
was afraid to accept. He closed his eyes and tried to gather himself
together.
He opened them again after a moment to find she
was studying him. "Well?" she asked.
"This whole situation is discomfiting to say the
least. I have no idea where I am or whose company I'm keeping." He
answered truthfully. His statement was greeted with a small smile.
"If it helps, I have no idea where we are either…
but I do know whose company I'm keeping, Professor." He started at
her use of his title and eyed her warily as she moved up the bed to
sit beside him. She was amazed once more at how helpless she was to
resist the task set to her by Malfoy.
Snape didn't know what to think anymore and said
as much.
"Well maybe you think too much." Where was
this dialogue coming from? Hermione raised a red gloved arm and
placed her hand on his chest. He looked from her hand to her eyes as
she began to push him back onto the bed. She was strong and
tenacious and he stopped fighting her. "That's right, just go with
the flow." she told him as he lay back, weighing her from beneath
black brows permanently etched with a frown. "Let's give you a night
to remember." He closed his eyes at her words, fear and anticipation
tumbling together inside him with the glass of fire whiskey he had
drunk. Trying to predict what was going to happen next in this
increasingly strange evening was like trying to forecast the
movements of a rogue bludger escaped from the confines of a Quiddich
match.
Severus stiffened as he felt her move up the bed
and along his body, her fingers delicately tracing their way towards
his face with feather-light touches. He drew in a slight, hissing
breath at the sensations her hands were eliciting from him and she
stilled, stopping to study him. He opened his eyes to find she was
staring at him again, her eyes glistening darkly from their place in
the mask.
He was about to say something to her when she
leaned in and stopped his mouth with a kiss. Unlike the first time,
this kiss was deep and insistent and he found himself lost in the
moment and kissing her back.
Hermione was stunned by the kiss, and the
butterflies that had been in her stomach fluttered down to dance
between her legs. Who'd have ever thought Snape--the
greasy-haired, hook nosed git who had been the bane of her existence
at Hogwarts--could kiss like that? And who would have thought
that his gentle mouth and reticence could reach her, used as she had
been these last months. Usually she was bitten, bruised or smacked
around within the first five minutes in one of these rooms; a
prelude to a nightmare. Then they'd fix her up as good as new and
it'd be straight back into the Snake Pit for a repeat performance.
She could tell already that tonight was going to be different from
her usual experience as one of their whores, because she was the one
making all the moves here… whether she wanted to or not. A slow,
half smile found its way to her lips as she broke off the kiss and
shifted to straddle him.
Severus was surprised at how bereft he felt as
she broke away from him. Maybe he should have indulged in a few of
his little fantasies over the years. He might not feel like such a
slave to this mystery woman's touch, had he done so. He watched her
as she moved to sit astride him, fighting to keep his cool reserve
as she reached behind herself to run one gloved hand up his inner
thigh, and wondering what she had thought to make her smile. Her
movements were languid, yet deliberate. He wondered again about her
identity. There was something about her that struck him as familiar,
and she had known who he was. Then her hand found the erection that
betrayed him, and he lost the train of thought.
Well what do you know? He's not dead, or undead,
after all. Hermione thought to herself, remembering the
schooldays rumours about Snape. What had they been again? Oh, yes…
he was a vampire and turned into a bat at night, that was one of the
more popular ones. She liked that one herself, actually, because of
the way he'd swept down the corridors like a great bat, robes
flapping behind him. Or a raven... she'd fancied that rumour too,
what with the great beak of a nose and the voluminous black robes
falling around him like huge, folded wings. Her smile grew even
wider. Now, seeing him through eyes much older and wiser than they
seemed, he wasn't such a caricature. Right now he looked like a
little-boy-lost and she knew exactly how he felt.
Hermione peeled off her gloves and tossed them
carelessly to the floor, never breaking eye contact with him the
whole time. The gloves were almost always the first thing to go, as
she couldn't do her job properly with them on. She reached down and
slid her manicured fingers between the layers of his jacket, popping
the buttons in a nonchalant manner as she went, caressing him
through the fine linen undershirt he wore beneath it with light,
teasing strokes. She was strangely flattered to feel him tremble
under her touch. When the last button was undone, she deliberately
sat down on his erection and ran her hands under the satin lining
and swept back the jacket and the robes he was wearing so she could
loosen the laces of his shirt.
Severus was having a hard time concentrating,
what with all these sensations sweeping over him. He bit his bottom
lip to help control the shivers he was experiencing as she rubbed
against his crotch with her own, and raised his hands to rest them
on her fishnet clad thighs. He rubbed his thumbs gently back and
forth over the ridges of the stockings and the bare flesh
underneath. She took this tentative touch to mean he was giving his
permission for her to continue, and she was right. She leaned over
and kissed the side of his neck, marveling as she did so that he
smelled of sandalwood and myrrh. He trembled at the touch of her
lips on his flesh. "Don't get out much do you, Professor?" she
asked, but not unkindly. He could feel her smile curl against his
skin as the question left her mouth.
"No, I don't." he answered honestly. A
barely-there smile quirked at the corner of his lips and he wondered
again about the woman straddling him. Something about her
practically screamed "If you think I'm Slytherin, please do me a
favour and kill me!" She began to kiss him, trailing her lips down
to the nape of the neck and onto his chest as she finished unlacing
his shirt. With practiced ease she pulled the ends of the shirt out
of the top of his pants and peeled it back to rest on the jacket so
she could run her hands up his bare chest.
She was happy with this arrangement until she was
grounded by the layers of material that draped heavily off his
shoulders and arms. Her exploration stopped suddenly, hands run
adrift on the sandbanks of his clothing.
"Shit!" she exclaimed. It was all he could do to
keep a straight face as she bemoaned her fate. He looked up at her,
a little puzzled, wondering where she was coming from. "Well, are
you going to help a Damsel In Distress or not?" she asked, her voice
teasing him with every word.
It took him a minute, but he finally understood
what she was getting at and pushed her back gently so he could rear
up and help her push the shirt, jacket and cloak off him.
"I'm a bit rusty with this stuff." he told her by
way of excuse. He listened to the irreverent laughter bubble up
within her.
"Isn't that the truth!" she replied, leaning in
to kiss him again and push him back down onto the bed. He pushed her
away.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"The Malfoys like to think I'm no-one of
importance." She answered flippantly, tensing as the result of the
Imperius swept over her. He felt her stiffen as she sat astride him
and knew from her reaction she was fighting one of the unforgivables.
He had enough experience of his own in that field to know when
someone else was suffering their consequences. He was surprised at
how uneasy the knowledge made him. He went through the catalogue of
various symptoms in his mind and arrived at the only logical
conclusion.
The Imperius Curse.
"Why are you doing this?" he asked, amazed at how
quickly the mood had changed for him.
"Because they can--and do--make me do anything
they want." There was an edge of quiet hysteria to her voice as she
struggled to get every word out in clipped tones.
"And who are they?" Why was he asking her all
these questions? What did he care?
"The Malfoys." She shuddered as a burning pain
flooded her nerve endings.
"Take off your mask. Let me see your face." He
wasn't sure she'd comply but she raised her hands to her face and
ran her fingers behind her ears to free the mask and slowly let it
drop away from her face, cradled in her palms as if it were made of
crystal.
He raised an elegant hand to cup her chin and
raised her face to meet his. It took a second but once he realized
who was straddling him he bucked her off his lap like she was the
devil incarnate and struggled to get off the bed. His expression
confirmed her suspicions as to why no one had ever bothered looking
for her.
"M..Miss Granger!" Snape looked absolutely
shocked. "Y..You're alive." He stammered as he lurched to his feet.
She tried to laugh as she sat back up but it came out tangled in a
sob.
"I guess it's safe to suppose rumours of my death
have been greatly exaggerated."
Severus was stricken. He, along with everyone
else involved in the resistance, had truly believed she died in the
same battle that had claimed the lives of many great witches and
wizards, including Dumbledore, McGonagall, Flitwick and Mad-Eye
Moody. The casualties of that battle had been so great and yet,
standing publicly as he had been on the side of Voldemort, he had
been unable to acknowledge his grief for the fallen. Many of the
promising up and coming witches and wizards had fallen that day too,
Hermione Granger among them. There had been many bodies that had
never been found when the fog of war had cleared.
After a moment of shocked pacing--during which
time she watched him stride back and forth before her, wearing a
hole in the carpet--he turned to face her. "What happened?"
"To the victors go the spoils," she laughed
bitterly, "and believe me when I tell you I'm spoiled." She looked
up to see no judgment written upon his face, something that
surprised and disarmed her. "I was spirited off the battlefield by
Malfoy Jr." she continued, "and woke up here. I've been here ever
since, so I think you can imagine the rest of the story without me
having to fill you in on every lurid detail."
Severus nodded in agreement, wondering why her
story and the way she told it had effected him so deeply. Maybe it
was the thought that Hogwarts finest mind in years had been reduced
to this, a slave to the Imperius Curse in the worst possible way. Or
maybe it was just that he was getting soft in his old age. Yeh,
Severus, you're so pathetically old. 42 is positively ancient!
"You've got to let me finish what I've started
here." she told him apologetically, her eyes filling with tears as
she begged the man who had always been her harshest critic. "Please…
Don't say no… I'm so sick of the pain... I'm exhausted."
"I don't want to see you hurt."
"Believe me, there's no way you can hurt me any
more than I already have been." She told him, tears leaking down her
cheeks. "Promise you'll do as I ask and cooperate with me."
"How?" he was sure he knew what she was going to
say but he wanted her to confirm it.
"Make love to me and let me make love to you…
please! It's the only thing that'll satisfy him." He regarded her
for a long moment before answering. He wasn't sure if she meant Lord
Voldemort or Lucius Malfoy but he supposed for all intents and
purposes they were one in the same.
"As you wish, Miss Granger." At his response she
fell into his arms and hugged him tightly.
"Thank you." She whispered, meaning it, and his
jaded heart broke for her as he lowered his lips to hers.
The Dark Revel was winding down and Severus was
glad. It had been one long and draining night and he was bone tired.
As he stood, absently watching the depravities around him from his
place on the dais next to Lord Voldemort, his mind wandered back to
his time in the Green Room. He wondered again at the brothel's
location and recalled the gentle desperation of Miss Granger as she
had made love to him. He could still feel the ghost of her touch on
his skin and the taste of her mouth on his and was haunted by the
look he'd seen in her eyes as Lucius Malfoy had come to fetch him to
the Revel.
How would he tell Potter and the others what had
happened tonight? What would they say when he told them Hermione was
still alive and so were a number of others they thought lost? He
supposed, as he turned his attention back to Voldemort and the
situation at hand, that it was a problem for another day.