Abyss

Chapter 10

Hermione had been alone in Voldemort's chambers for an indeterminable amount of time. She spent her waking hours looking for some way, any way at all, to escape. She memorized every nook and cranny, every book on the shelves, every sifter of brandy in the liquor cabinet, every crease in the bed.

She spent the rest of her time sleeping or in a haze and waiting for Voldemort to wake her again at his whim.

But when she finally woke to find someone in the room again, that someone was not Voldemort, but the woman she recognized at Bellatrix Lestrange.

The woman sneered at Hermione's emaciated figure.

"Here," she snapped, throwing a flask of water and an apple at Hermione's head. "Eat something, Mudblood."

Hermione's sudden hunger overshadowed the insult. She bit firmly into the apple, sucking at the juices enthusiastically.

"Did Lucius teach you that?" Bellatrix said sweetly. "The cradle-robber always did like it that way."

"How would you know?" Hermione mumbled through a mouthful of fruit. She did not know how long she had been without water or sustenance. With the introduction of food into her system, her stomach awoke a writhed at its prolonged abstinence. Hermione doubled over at the first wave of cramps while Bellatrix laughed.

"The Dark Lord requests your presence at his feet during the Death Eater initiation," Bellatrix said delightedly as Hermione took a swig of water and grimaced at its combination with the aftertaste of the fruit. Hermione had not even heard her and barely paid attention until Bellatrix tossed a plain brown shift at Hermione, covering her head. Hermione sputtered as she choked on her last sip of water. She pulled the garment from her face.

"He wants you clothed at the initiation," Bellatrix explained, still grinning madly. "Seems to think Wormtail might jerk off in his pants if he saw you in both a naked and such a submissive position in front of our lord and master. Like a dog, Mudblood, like a cowering bitch."

"I'd rather be a bitch than insane," Hermione countered. "And I'd rather be a token of supremacy rather than be so blatantly hypocritical like your master."

Hermione screamed as Bellatrix pointed her wand at her, eyes livid and lips white with rage. It felt as though a lightning storm had erupted from inside of her and was forking through her veins. She was vaguely aware of her head banging against the foot of the bed in a violent seizure; the back of her head slowly swelled and ached even as Hermione wished for some way to make it end.

Finally, the curse was lifted and Hermione lay shaking on the floor.

"I am the Dark Lord's most faithful servant," Bellatrix said breathlessly. "You will not insult him before me."

"Are you lovers?" Hermione asked, breathless herself but quite annoyed with Voldemort for sending a servant rather than waking her himself. Where has he been sleeping? She appraised Bellatrix coldly and with more than a trace of disgust.

"No," said Bellatrix almost wistfully, and Hermione nearly gagged. "He is my mentor, my father, my brother, my master, everything--he taught me everything I know." Her eyes glazed as her thoughts trailed to the Dark Lord. "Except for Frieda, I am the only female Death Eater, but I am no sex slave like that two-Knut slut. I am trusted with great secrets."

"Like what?" Hermione asked, hoping she had caught Bellatrix in a confessional mood. But Bellatrix spat at her and said, "Put on the shift."

Hermione obliged, if only to hide her vulnerable body from Bellatrix's blood-thirsty gaze. As she pulled the neckline over her head, she caught something on Bellatrix's face, but it could not have been. Why would Bellatrix be jealous of her?

The female Death Eater released her from the shackles on the bed only to charm a chain around Hermione's neck. With an expected jerk, Bellatrix began leading Hermione out of Voldemort's quarters. Hermione shuddered as a cold strip of cloth wrapped around her eyes.

"My master says that even in the improbability that you escape, and you remember the way out without meeting one of his followers," Bellatrix said with relish, "you still don't have your wand and you don't know where you are. He is not particularly worried, but he does want you blind. You don't know this fortress, and he wants it to stay that way."

She barely memorized the directions they took as it was. Hermione guessed that all these twists and turns, despite what Bellatrix had said, were meant to confuse her so that she would not remember. A few times they seemed to double back and go the same way twice--Hermione wondered just how big the fortress was.

Hermione shuddered as her feet passed from the warm carpet to cold stone, then dewy grass. Bellatrix removed the blindfold and shoved her forward.

"I expect you know what to do with her, Lucius," Bellatrix sneered. "Won't let your ridiculous lusts keep you from obeying our master's orders again, will you?"

"I wouldn't be pointing fingers, cousin," Lucius said, taking hold of Hermione's shoulders. "I wasn't the one thrown naked from the Dark Lord's bed chamber a few months back."

Bellatrix snarled and unsheathed her wand.

"Give it a rest, Bella," Lucius said dismissively. "We don't have time for this."

"I overheard the Dark Lord saying the son is more useful than the father," Bellatrix said. "Any knowledge of that?"

Hermione was stunned when color tinged Lucius's pale cheeks.

"My son," Lucius retorted, "lost the Dark Lord to a Mudblood."

"Because the father didn't tell him anything, even though it is clear that Draco is ready for us. In our line of work, it's not safe to make mistakes."

"And you have a perfect record, of course." Lucius ran a hand through Hermione's hair. "I've heard Crucio flung in your direction, but that may have been my hopeful imagination."

"Let's just take the Mudblood to our master and dispose of her," Bellatrix snapped. "I'm feeling dirty enough as it is."

"Save that for Rodolphus," Lucius murmured under his breath, but he took Hermione by the upper arm and began dragging her over the lawn. As they went, Hermione looked up at the night sky. It was a clear night, but a new moon, so the only sources of dim light were the stars. Wherever she was, at least the stars were familiar. In her preoccupation to clutch at her only handhold to her old world, Hermione stumbled forward. Lucius yanked her back up, making her arm cry out in protest, and Bellatirx struck her with the butt of her own wand. Hermione put a hand to her neck where the thin, stinging welt was already rising. But she did not complain. She expected nothing less from Bellatrix Lestrange. She shuddered at the flickering memory of Frank and Alice Longbottom's staring faces and vacant eyes.

They reached the swell of the hill up which they were climbing, and not only stars lit the frigid night. Sprawled across the lawn were hundreds, perhaps thousands of people in gray cloaks--maskless--and torches surrounded them like a pagan gathering of fire demons, sentinels on dangerous ground. In the center of the throng was a hug bonfire, the blazing higher than the trees that made up the forest in the distance. How are they hiding all this? she wondered. This was no simple gathering--this was an entire community! Her faith in the Order, as small as it was, wavered.

"Look, Hermione," Lucius murmured. "Did you ever imagine the Dark Lord had so many followers?"

Hermione stifled a sob--The Order needs to know about this----and found she could not take her eyes away.

"Lucius, old fellow," someone called, breaking from the mass of Lord Voldemort's followers. MacNair, his trademark smirk in its rakish place, strode up to them. "Ah, Bellatrix, always a pleasure. The Dark Lord is waiting for the girl. But keep her in the shadows until she is at his throne. Part of the Dark Lord's plan."

"Why the secrecy?" Lucius asked.

MacNair grinned. "You'll see. The girl is going to put on quite a show. After all, all the Death Eaters have been Summoned."

Bellatrix checkled and began down the hill to join the rest.

"Still clueless, Lucius?" MacNair said. "Don't worry, everything will become clear in just a few minutes. Meanwhile, the Dark Lord is becoming impatient. Stay in the shadows," he concluded before retreating back to his fellow Death Eaters.

"Why weren't all these people at the Feast?" Hermione breathed.

"Some Death Eaters have other priorities, namely, not getting caught. A Death Eater in Azkaban is no use to us. They had other engagements that helped retain their image of respected members of society. Then some are too far away, and Apparition over too great a distance can be draining. Also, I said these people were followers of the Dark Lord. I didn't say they were all Death Eaters. And the recruits are still in the forest."

"How many of the recruits are from Hogwarts?" she asked, trembling.

Lucius gave a vulpine smile. "I believe you'll recognize a fair few, Mudblood. And a fair few of them will recognize you."

There will be full Death Eaters at Hogwarts, she thought with growing dread. Next Voldemort will be storming the castle... with that infiltration, not to mention influence... and without Dumbledore knowing... even with its wards, Hogwarts won't stand a chance.... Hermione felt her knees grow weak at the thought. If only Dumbledore knew how easy it was.

It was not until Lucius forced her down the entire length of the gathering that Hermione saw where Lord Voldemort was. His throne of roughly-hewn stone had been conjured to the grass, and Voldemort sat there, seemingly unaware of the chaos around him as well as the wary glances and the few people he kept with him behind his throne. Wormtail was there, fidgeting like always, and Carmen hovered nearby, almost disappearing into the background. It amazed her how someone more scarred than Moody could blend into a crowd. Hermione assumed Lucius, Bellatrix, MacNair, and Rodolphus would join him. The inner circle--the faces with which she was familiar--all seemed to be in the same general area around the Dark Lord. But he paid them no attention; he merely rested his chin against his clenched hand and stared straight ahead. His scarlet eyes were half-lidded, pensive. Once Hermione crossed the threshold from the shadows to the vast group alit by the torches, Voldemort blinked and turned as though he had woken from a light sleep. His lip curled derisively. The hand that had supported his chin now reached out for her chains.

"Not here," he said, "the chains don't belong here. Finite Incantatem." The chains disappeared. There was a rush of cool air where the links chaffed. Hermione's hand involuntarily covered the light red marks. But then she took Voldemort's proffered hand, tentative with his overt coldness. At a sharp tug, Hermione stumbled forward.

"Sensitimperio," Voldemort hissed.

"Just sit here for a few minutes until Severus comes," Voldemort whispered. Hermione tried to make sense of the order, but found herself dragged to the ground at Voldemort's feet by her own limbs.

"Interesting, isn't it?" Voldemort said. "I've developed it myself. It's much more affective than the Imperius Curse, even under its basic pronunciation alterations. After all, you can think freely, but everything physical about your body is under my control. And this knowledge that you are doing things you don't want to do makes it very different from the floating oblivion of Imperius and far more difficult to throw off."

"Ingenious, my lord," Lucius said, grinning at Hermione evilly.

"Join the others," Voldemort ordered without looking at him, "and signal me when Severus finally comes."

Lucius bowed and left them.

"Another benefit of Sensitimperius is that I don't have to actually tell you what to do--you do what my mind thinks you should do. This makes it nigh untraceable."

"You are too clever, my lord," Hermione found herself saying in a fawning but seemingly sincere fashion. Inside, Hermione's stomach roiled in disgust at the words.

"Also, an interesting aspect of the curse is that I've already indicated to you through my mind what you are to do, and you don't even know. It makes the results far more spontaneous."

Hermione wanted to slap his smug face. The development really was clever and cunning, but it was evil, terrible, and she could not do anything without Voldemort's commands. Her brain struggled to move her hand, but it lay there limp in Voldemort's own.

Suddenly, he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it lightly.

"Look, Hermione," he said in a voice loud enough to be heard by the inner circle around him. "It appears that Severus Snape has deigned to meet us."

The imperious command resonated in her mind--Ply your wares, Mudblood slut--followed by cold laughter. Voldemort helped her to stand. Hermione kissed his forehead reverently, then she stepped back, letting her hand linger in his until she was too far, giving the teasing impression that she wanted to remain with him. Within her own mind, Hermione was seething. What was he playing at? And why was he making out Snape's appearance at the initiation to be wrong? Oh. No--had he discovered Snape's deception?

"Severus," Voldemort said softly. "I told you I never wanted to see your face among us again."

Hermione could not turn her head to look at Snape--where were her feet taking her?--but she heard his answer.

"When you Summon, Voldemort," Snape replied, notably calling him by name rather than status, "it is not so easy to ignore. The Dark Mark is persistent."

Oh, gods... not only did that mean that Snape had been found out, but Hermione was approaching Wormtail, who was looking at her as she came, his eyes drifting down to where the thin material showcased the shapes of her breasts and legs. Inside, Hermione screamed at what she now knew Voldemort had commanded her, but on the outside, she smiled coquettishly and stroked Wormtail's growing bulge in the front of his trousers. Her other arm snaked around his neck.

"While we're waiting for the initiation," she heard herself whisper, "do you want to..." It was clear that Wormtail did want to, and he made no protestations as Hermione began to devour his mouth with her tongue while stroking him in slow, tight movements. He moaned against her mouth and ran his hands urgently over her body. Hermione had to fight the urge to vomit. Her self-loathing and hatred for Wormtail and Voldemort only increased to new heights. Then Lucius joined them, nuzzling her neck and kneading her breasts. Wormtail did not mind.

Wormtail was only taking advantage of a good thing while Lucius knew, he knew, and was only completing the picture that Voldemort wanted Snape to see--of Hermione the traitor, Hermione the slut. No, Professor, this isn't me! she wanted to cry out, but her tongue was more engaged in other matters--namely torturing Lucius and Wormtail by intertwining with their tongues while preventing them from removing her clothes. Clearly, Voldemort was also taking the lash to Wormtail--that and he did not want an orgy on his hands... yet.

The only way for Hermione to stand it was to listen to the conversation between Snape and the Dark Lord. Maybe there was still hope...

"So," Voldemort murmured, "the self-righteous Potions Master learns that it is not so simple to take another side. It is not so simple to betray me. It is not so simple to leave me."

"Voldemort, I couldn't give a damn about how I've betrayed you," Snape said, all slippery finesse gone. "In fact, I couldn't give a damn if you tortured me and killed me like you do the Aurors. And you know that perfectly well."

"The Dark Mark is still branded on your flesh, Severus," Voldemort said. "It still burns when my Death Eaters are called to me. Your full loyalty may be to that old fool, but you will always be a Death Eater; you will always belong to me."

Hermione could sense a lull in the exchange. Then, "Voldemort, you are a fool."

"Am I?" Voldemort said in that subtly dangerous way.

"You are a fool if you don't realize that you are terrified of an old man and a child, and more of a fool if you don't realize that eventually that old man and that child will defeat you."

There was a pregnant silence. Voldemort's rage spread thick like a red fog, but the Dark Lord restrained himself while exuding waves of power.

Lucius chose that moment to bite Hermione's neck, and though she had been mute thus far during the acts, Voldemort made her cry out in delight. The sound carried through the silence as if it were a solid thing.

"Miss Granger!" The normally collected voice of her Professor lapsed into unmitigated surprise.

The puppet-Hermione started, then broke away from her two ardent lovers--Wormtail struggled to keep hold of her--and ran a hand through her hair.

"Professor Snape," puppet-Hermione said sheepishly. But she still gave the appearance of being unashamed. Her other hand drifted over her breast. Snape watched its progress with dark eyes. "Imagine meeting you here. I thought you weren't allowed."

"I'm not," Snape said, his cadence back to its original calculation. "But neither did I expect you here.'

Puppet-Hermione gave a flirty laugh. "But he told you, didn't he? Our lord told you I'd joined him." No, Professor, please, it's not me. It's not me!

His gaze flickered down her body. "You don't have the Dark Mark," he said shortly.

Puppet-Hermione gave another little laugh. "Why do you think I'm here? I'm Death Eater only in name now, but after tonight, I'll have the mark of my master as well." It's Voldemort, Professor Snape, can't you see how pleased he is? Don't you remember what I'm really like? "And... I'm enjoying myself immensely." Voldemort did not let her push Wormtail away when he took her in his arms again and began kissing her neck and slipping a hand between her legs. Hermione would have blushed if she could as Voldemort made her respond outwardly to every caress. He was doing all this for Snape... he had wanted Snape to come... he wanted Snape to see her like this... he was going to let Snape go back and tell the Order, tell Harry....

Please, Professor, you know I'd never...

"And when I thought you could stoop no lower." Hermione knew only she and Voldemort could hear the fury behind the statement.

"Don't know," puppet-Hermione panted, "could do you, betrayer, couldn't I?"

"I wouldn't be talking, Miss Granger. From best friend of Potter to a Death Eater whore. I really wouldn't be talking."

Puppet-Hermione licked her lips at Snape, then proceeded to push Wormtail to the ground. She straddled his hips aggressively and consumed the sensitive skin of his neck. No one, least of all Snape, missed the utterly blissful expression on Wormtail's face.

"Forgive me if I feel compelled to take my leave," Snape said, adjusting himself from his disgust and hatred to a more frigid mien, "but I am clearly not wanted here."

"Did you think I had lied, Severus?" Voldemort murmured. Wormtail groaned loudly as Hermione's head dipped lower.

"I'm not a Death Eater," Snape said, "and I should not be here. Just be sure not to Summon me as well next time."

"You will always be a Death Eater, Severus," Voldemort replied, finally standing. He raised his wand. "You are blood-bound to me--you gave your blood as a willing servant, and you will always be that servant. If you want the Mark off, cut your arm away and cripple yourself from your precious potions." Voldemort sneered. "You were never wanted here. You made the biggest mistake when you denied me. Crucio."

Snape fell to the ground, writhing, and the Dark mark burned, it burned bright red.

"Portus," Voldemort chanted. When Snape clutched for something to hold in the ground, his fingers closed on the grass and he disappeared. Then Voldemort whipped around and cast, "Finite Incantatem" at Hermione. Wormtail moaned in sexual frustration as Hermione emerged, dark red, from under Wormtail's robes.

Voldemort smirked and folded his arms. As tears streamed down her face, Voldemort raised an eyebrow.

"Now that this little episode has passed," he said for everyone to hear, "the initiation can finally begin. Come, Hermione, at my feet again," he commanded, returning to the throne and directing her to the grass with one thin finger.

Hermione opened her mouth to scream at him, but all that came out was a furious yell, and Hermione lunged at Voldemort. Her hands curled around his neck and squeezed.

"Repulso," Voldemort said before she got a good grip. Hermione flew backward. "Now," he murmured softly, "perhaps the Mudblood bitch can behave herself and sit at my feet. Because I assure her, all she has is me. Your precious Potter and the Order will never try to find you now. And it is all your doing--your meddling into the Dark Arts like a naïve little cat. It is pointless, Hermione. Come, come to your lord and master." His brow darkened. "...Unless you would like to spend the rest of the evening with Wormtail."

Hermione wanted to hide her face--gods, she wished she could die--but she slowly crawled over to the Dark Lord's throne and collapsed at his feet.

"My lord," Wormtail said in a strained voice.

"Go service yourself if you must," Voldemort snapped. "You've done your part."

Hermione turned her head around to look at Wormtail, and for the first time she felt a stab of pity for him. Across his face was hurt, hurt that Hermione had not really been loving him and hurt that he had been so used. He held his silver hand out to the torchlight, blinked at Hermione, then swept away from the frivolling into the shadows. She almost wanted to go to him and apologize... Apologize?! To Wormtail?!

Yes. Apologize. Of them all, the only one there at the initiation more used than Wormtail was Hermione, and the persistent blush on her face, the turning of her stomach, the pulling of her heart, the utter humiliation, so strong it was almost a physical thing... she understood what Wormtail was feeling.

Silently, as the beginning of the formal initiation proceeded, Hermione closed her eyes and called out through the night with her mind, hoping beyond hope that they could here her:

Professor Snape, I'm so sorry, that wasn't me, please, please, you're observant, it wasn't me. Tell Dumbledore--he'll have to know that I was under some spell... Harry... Harry, Ron, Ginny... what will happen what Snape says that I really am a Death Eater, I really am a whore... they'll be devastated, disheartened, demoralized, they'll never trust in me again. Please--I'm thin, so thin, wearing a simple, threadbare shift, I have the marks of chains and shackles all over me--please, please don't believe Voldemort. I know that I betrayed your trust once, but that was only for you, for the Order... Please....

She buried her head in her hands and let the curtain of despair fall.