Chapter Text
Chapter 1 - Malfoy Manor
May, 1998
The stone floor bit into Hermione no matter how she sat in her small cell in the damp cellar of Malfoy Manor. She shivered in her wet clothes; various Death Eaters had sprayed her with Augamenti every morning at 4 am, and it was too dark and cold for her clothes to dry down here. It had been two days since the snatchers had found her foraging in the forest of Dean.
Hermione had been out looking for anything they could eat, and had settled on some mushrooms that she wasn't entirely sure were safe but intended to bring back to the tent she shared with Ron and Harry to investigate. Inside her bag, in the tent, were several volumes of books on fungi in the British Isles. She had never made it back.
Her voice came out in a shudder that echoed on the stone walls. "Please, I'm so cold."
"Shut up, mudblood." Yaxley's tall form cast a shadow on her, his bald head reflected the only light in the room. She couldn't read his face.
"You can't let me die. I know you need me, I'm valuable -" her teeth chattered loudly as she argued with one of the brutes who came to visit twice a day to cast water on her or beat her with his fists. Hermione had an inkling his heart wasn't really in it. For example, he really only beat her when he came in already angry about something else. She assumed Yaxley was on Voldy's shit list if he was stuck on cell duty.
"Mudblood scum thinks she's valuable to the dark lord? Hilarious." Yaxley clapped his hands in mock entertainment.
She rubbed her hands up and down her arms. "If I catch pneumonia, you can't pump me for information."
"It's not information I want to pump you for."
The blood drained from her face. Surely not-
Of course they would, a sharp small voice told her. This is war. They're not above rape. You should have asked one of the boys to go with you. Foolish girl, now no one knows where you are.
Was that her voice? She didn't normally use the word Foolish. She couldn't tell, but she also hadn't slept in 2 days. The stone floor wouldn't allow it, especially with only her thin pants and small black tank top for coverage. They had taken her jacket and shoes.
Hermione wondered, barely allowing her brain to voice the thought, whether she may need to play nice with her captors. How long would it take until she was so desperate for a blanket that she would offer herself to Yaxley? She shuddered at the thought. Depending on how long she was kept down there, she may need to make some hard choices.
"Are you listening to me, slut?" Yaxley taunted her, his face growing redder.
Hermione backed up from the bars of her cell. Her eyes darted around, but she already knew there was nothing and no one who could help her now. Maybe she should play along, and change her tactic, as insulting him was only making it worse. Maybe she could negotiate some food. She hadn't anything to eat but a rotten apple that the guards had thrown her as a joke. She'd sniffed it and did her best to ascertain its safety, but ended up eating it anyway. There was nothing for it; if she was going to get out, she needed energy, and if they wanted her dead, it wasn't likely they would poison her.
No, if they wanted her dead, the muggle-born thorn in Voldemort's side, they would drag it out.
Yaxley's hand went to his crotch and he adjusted himself, looking her in the eye. "What other use can a mudblood have? Face it, you're property now. Might as well try to make the best of it."
She held her head high. "I'd rather fuck an acromantula."
Yaxley lashed his wand out and sent a streak of pain up Hermione's cheek. She slapped her hand to her wound, searing agony bringing her back to reality.
He can really hurt you. The voice said.
He barked a loud laugh. "That just makes me want it more. Why don't you come over here and give it a kiss?" He began to unbuckle his pants.
"Yaxley!" A smooth, sharp voice echoed through the stone cellar. Yaxley whipped around to see a looming shadow cast on the wall by the stairs. As the figure approached, she recognized her former potions professor, and traitor to the Order of Phoenix, Severus Snape.
"Come back later," Yaxley shouted over his shoulder up the stairs. His eyes stayed on Hermione's while he stroked himself through his pants. She felt frozen in place. She wanted to cry and yet was determined not to. Her stomach recoiled at the image.
No, no reaction. This time, she was sure it was her voice.
"The Dark Lord requires your presence this instant."
Yaxley stiffened and straightened his pants, securing his belt. He didn't say another word to Hermione or Snape as he turned to rush up the stairs.
The light from the stairs above illuminated Snape's outline, but she couldn't see his expression. "The last face I was hoping to see." His voice echoed off the stone with ominous effect.
"I can always go if you like."
"Silence." His voice did not have the usual bite she was used to. He took several steps towards the bars of the cellar. She could barely make out his face from the light streaming in from the small barred window. He said in a low voice. "Don't provoke them, girl. You'll only make it worse for yourself."
Hermione steeled herself. "I'm not afraid of any of you."
"I said 'silence'." He muttered lazily. Snape unlocked the cell door and stepped aside to hold it open for her. For a wild moment, she thought he may be letting her out. "Let's go."
Hermione froze. "What?"
He tilted his head, black hair falling into his eyes. "I thought you weren't afraid."
He was goading her. Fine. "Where-where are we going?"
"Your interrogation. Make yourself small. Stay quiet. And if you can help it, don't cry. They won't bother so much with an empty husk."
He didn't bother to restrain her, he merely walked up the steps and left the door open behind him. She had no choice but to follow him up the stairs, down two impossibly long hallways, into the main living room.
It was a sprawling, beautiful room with powder blue wallpaper and gold fixtures, like a 17th-century French villa. She didn't know what she expected the Malfoy Manor to look like, some version of the Beast's Mansion in her favorite muggle movie. But as soon as she walked in, it made complete sense to her. The walls were covered in priceless art hoarded over centuries, busts of giant elk, a lion, and even a Qilin. Hermione felt a pluck on her heart as she took in the terrified expression on the Qilin's large brown eyes, her last moment forever frozen. I know how you feel.
The room was grand, but also, gloomy, much like the Malfoys themselves. All three family members currently stood in the corner of the room, blonde heads bowed, silent. This clearly wasn't their home anymore.
Snape led her to the middle of the room in front of a central armchair. No one else was sitting, except Bellatrix, her beautiful curls flowing around her as she sat at her master's feet, her small hand resting on his knee.
Voldemort sat back in his throne, an ornate goblet resting in his hands. His black robes spilled to the floor, his chilling gaze ran over her slowly.
She stood tall, chin high. The figure in black next to her stiffened. Sorry, Snape. I won't be small for any of you.
Voldemort's thin voice cut through the silence. "Well Mudblood, you've spent two days without food or water, have you decided to play along?"
Oh, I've had plenty of water, she thought but kept her mouth shut. She let her eyes glaze over. She would have to endure. She would survive the beatings, torture, even rape, although she did not allow her brain to think about what that would entail, for fear that even more blood would drain from her face. They would get nothing from her.
"Where is Potter?"
When Hermione did not answer, Voldemort nodded to Bellatrix. Bellatrix flashed her a wide, mad smile and stood from her place at Voldemort's feet.
A scream escaped Hermione's lips as the first Cruciatus curse hit her. Voldemort roared with laughter and the room joined in, putting it on thick for show. When it was over, she cursed herself for her weakness. Damn.
But when the next one hit, she was ready. She bared down on the searing pain, focusing on it, searching for it, leaning into it. A few laughed again but stopped as they realized their Dark Lord didn't. As Hermione held onto the painful sensation with her mind, it became her sole focus. At first, the intensity nearly drove her to delirium, but after the fourth or fifth curse, it began to seem like background noise. Bellatrix picked up speed. Hermione had still not made a sound. She focused on the thrum of breathtaking agony that vibrated through her body.
Hermione dared a glance upward; Bellatrix lashed out curses faster and faster, and held them longer. Hermione felt like she was being whipped. By the twentieth, and thirtieth, she was numb, her brain completely dissociated from the pain. It may as well have been happening to someone else. After what could have been 20 minutes or several hours, the curses suddenly stopped coming.
The room was silent. She knew all eyes were on her, in her crumpled position on the floor, she was an easy target for a kick to the head or a vital organ, so she slowly rose on shaking arms to a kneeling position, and then shakily stood. Her back stung with every movement she made. Each shift of her shirt on her back made her want to scream. She brought her shoulders back and held the Dark Lord's eye.
"Well, this is an interesting…change. Half of my Death Eaters would be a sobbing mess on my carpet, but this mudblood just endured all of our curses." Hermione felt a pang of pride. She hadn't even realized they all had cursed her. "Put her back in her cage, I will think of a more creative punishment tomorrow. Clearly, physical punishment is not going to break her. Something more fun, then."
Suddenly, Fenrir Greyback grabbed Hermione by the arm, his yellow teeth visible through a devious grin. "I'll escort little miss back to her cell." He licked his lips and panted at her; her eyes welled up at the smell.
Snape was at her side before anyone else could move. "I think not, Fenrir. The Dark Lord requires her secrets, remember? She is no good to us in the condition you left the last one."
Fenrir growled and narrowed his venomous eyes at Snape, who didn't flinch.
"Severus is right, of course." Voldemort smiled. "But by all means, Greyback, you can have her when we're done."
Snape grabbed a horrified Hermione by the arm and moved her roughly out of the room. He let go of her the moment they got into the hallway. He didn't say a word but picked up his brisk pace back to the cellar.
Snape allowed Hermione to walk herself downstairs, shutting the door behind them and following at a distance. "Where did you learn that?"
"What?" She turned to him, already back in her cell. He didn't move to close the door.
"You didn't scream." His expression was blank but his eyes held something else. Was he...impressed?
Despite the cold, the hunger, her wet hair and clothes making her shiver, Hermione felt powerful. They had tried to break her and failed. She held her chin high and said nothing.
"I expect an answer." His voice held no threat.
"And I expect to die tomorrow," she snapped, "so I don't really give a shit what you want."
Snape's lips quirked up. A beat passed between them, and then he cast first a drying spell on her and then a warming spell. Hermione nearly yelped as steam rose from her body and she felt warmth, sweet, sweet warmth, for the first time in days.
She stared at him, shocked. She had completely given up hope, but-
"I can change it back if you like?" He said, raising an eyebrow at her.
"No!" She blurted. She caught herself just before thanking him—a Death Eater. Her mouth snapped shut. "I-I read about it in a book."
He nodded, as if it were obvious. "Of course you did. Why?"
"I had to be prepared for this situation."
"Have you been Crucioed before?"
She hesitated. "Yes… and no." No need to give him too much.
He waited for her to continue. She didn't. "Answer me." He demanded, his voice darkening.
"Or what?" She stepped closer to the open doorway and the invisible barrier separating them. "You'll conjure hot stew and a glass of fire whiskey?" She knew she really should just shut her bloody mouth up, but she was running on adrenaline. Her chest shook as she held his eyes, feeling braver than she had in months. It was exhilarating, this power that she had seemed to forget. Now that she had it back she vowed not to let it go, no matter what they did to her. She would stay brave. Even if she died, she would die on her feet.
Whatever he had expected her to say, it certainly wasn't that. His mouth remained flat, but something sharp and nearly amused flickered in his gaze. Perhaps he knew she would be dead soon, and that it didn't matter if he let his facade down a bit.
To her astonishment, Snape waved his wand again and conjured a small chair and table, on top of which sat a bowl of steaming beef stew and a large silver spoon. Next, a crystal glass of whiskey with one large ice cube whirled into existence on the table.
She gaped at the display, and then at Snape. It seemed that he didn't mind that she was a fighter. She didn't thank him, and she got the feeling he didn't want her to. The man who had killed Dumbledore was feeding her soup. She refused to let her mind even go to what that meant.
"Who crucioed you?" Snape asked.
Hermione picked up the crystal glass, draining it one go. She hissed her approval. "I did it to myself."
"That's impossible."
"Ok." She picked up her spoon. "You asked for my answer, I don't care if you think I'm taking the piss."
"How?" He said sharply.
She chewed the first bite of stew, it was warm and savory. "I invented a spell that allows you to cast spells on yourself as if another person is casting." She picked up the bowl and drank some of the savory broth. It warmed her to her core. She felt a surge of gratitude towards Snape, who waited patiently for her to continue. "It's too difficult to curse yourself. Like trying to jump off a cliff, your instincts don't want to let it happen. I kept freezing up."
"Why were you cursing yourself?" Severus crossed his arms. "What was the point?"
"So I could practice." She said simply.
"Practice being tortured?"
"I knew if I was caught I would be interrogated." She nodded, hunched over her soup. "I charmed an object to reflect my curses back at me, and I built them up. I cast one Cruciatus curse at the object, which sent it back to me. I did that a few times, and then I cast five curses and let it throw them back at me all at once." She didn't care that she was talking with her mouthful.
He cleared his throat loudly. "You can slow down. I won't take it from you."
She said nothing but relaxed her shoulders a bit and chewed more carefully.
"How many times?"
"Hundreds."
He scoffed. "Impossible." But it didn't seem he didn't have any more questions. When she finally set her spoon down, he cleared the dinner table and it disappeared. He turned to leave.
"Wait." She blurted.
He stopped, still facing the door.
"I am afraid."
Snape didn't respond.
She continued, "I'm not afraid of pain, but-" she shuddered, barely able to speak her fears out loud. Her voice came out very small, he barely heard her. "They're going to rape me. There's no preparing for that."
He said nothing but turned to look at her with incredulous eyes.
She held his hard stare. "It doesn't matter what you think about muggle-borns, or that you think I'm inferior, or even that you're a killer. Those men up there are going to rape me and then they're going to kill me. I am going to die without ever knowing what sex is supposed to feel like. I know you can't let me go, but you can help me." She cringed at the tremble in her voice.
"And what would you have me do?" He spat.
"Take my virginity before they can." She winced at the crack of her voice. She knew she sounded pathetic, but this wasn't about pride.
Snape looked truly stunned. He suddenly crossed the barrier between them and towered over her. "Are you-?" He hesitated, blinking rapidly, clearly flustered. "Do you forget whose side I'm on?"
"Give me something else to focus on when they come for me tomorrow." His eyes widened. She went on, "I don't want to be touched by Yaxley or Fenrir or any of those fucking pigs. There is so little within my control, but this is something."
"Am I not a fucking pig?" He hissed the words out, barely a whisper.
"I know you don't hold with rape; I would bet my life on it." Snape clenched his jaw as Hermione took one step closer. "It won't be long until they realize I have safeguards in place to prevent me from revealing anything that would jeopardize the mission. I will probably be tortured and killed by Fenrir tomorrow evening. Let me feel something before it's over."
Severus took a step back. "No." His cold reply echoed through the room.
"Wait, please." She grabbed his forearm. "I'll give you anything you want, anything besides what could harm Harry."
"It won't come to that." He shook her off and stepped away. Her face reddened from the rejection. She shouldn't have cared; it was a means to an end.
Hermione was left alone in her empty cell, the door of which Snape had seemingly forgotten to lock.