Ascent

Chapter 4

She thought she fell asleep, but perhaps she didn't. There was something there in her mind during that indeterminable time... something alive, full of energy and power, something that shook with excitement. Something that may not have been entirely her. Hermione thought she could see herself there on the floor, curled in fetal position, limp with wide, glassy eyes. She could have been dead were it not for the slow, even rise and fall of her stomach and the tension trembling of her hands where she grasped Voldemort's so tightly.

She blinked, twitched, her body sore from physical exertion and exhaustion of her magical energy. Her back hurt, but she knew the cause of that pain well enough. The six points of the Medicus, six small gray circles connected by seven lines were magically drawn on her back, and they would remain there until the end of her service. She rolled her shoulders tenderly, working away their sting.

After the light in her room submitted to magical means, Hermione rolled to her stomach and pushed herself up to her hands and knees. Every inch of her protested, but she really did not mind that sort of pain. Beyond those aches, a fire of satisfaction sang through her, the euphoria some of the other Medicus with permanent bindings spoke of - that thread to another person, the ecstasy of completion, of belonging and having.

Somehow, she found the strength to stand, and when she did, she could not help but smile, even giggle. Who cared about Voldemort? Right now she was on the most delicious high, no matter how dark it was, and she wrapped her arms around her waist as she walked to the lavatory. She smiled more widely at the bathroom identical to Voldemort's in everything except color. She burst sporadically into giggles all through her bath, but as the hot water soothed her shaking body, what she had done and what it meant began to hit her. The glittering light in her eyes dimmed as the hot sun of the Dark Arts stirred within her. She pushed them down, pure fear twisting her belly.

That had been the first thing addressed after she was taken on as a Medicus apprentice - her burgeoning darkness that stemmed from extensive study within the Dark Arts coupled with her unique experiences.

Marilyn stared down at the little girl-woman who stared at her hands, her legs pressed tightly together and her shoulders hunched over. Marilyn might have been disgusted at the girl's lack of confidence had she not known the extreme circumstances behind Hermione's unusual behavior - that, and Hermione was completely naked, which must have stimulated too many awful memories.

Shannon approached her from behind and gave Hermione her robes back. Hermione gratefully took them into her hands and stood to dress.

"We apologize for the intricacies of the apprenticeship ceremony," Shannon said. "I'm afraid every Medicus has to be... evaluated, body and mind."

"I understand," Hermione said quietly. "I'm just a little shaken."

"There is one matter that came up during the evaluation," Marilyn said as Hermione slid her arms into the sleeves of her robes. "You are officially a Medicus-in-training, but we have one concern for something we saw in your magic that might become a full complication later in your training and in your work."

"It's your Dark Arts knowledge, Hermione," Shannon said. Hermione's head jerked up, eyes wide and a little angry. "Yes, that. They... it's more than knowledge, Hermione."

"They take over. They're a semi-sentient entity that latches to those who use it, like a virus or an infection, something like a parasite," Hermione replied. "The Dark Lord told me."

"Then you know that all that you've learned can be extremely dangerous," Shannon said. "Especially if you dwell on them too long. They are difficult to resist, I know."

"Do you know?" Hermione asked, slipping her wand into her sleeve and facing Shannon. "Do you honestly have any idea? Because I thought I did until Lord Voldemort really taught me what it meant. I wouldn't have believed him had I not felt the truth of it. But I do, I feel it all the time now."

"There is a reason why Shannon was chosen as your mentor, Hermione. Remus had a good idea of what you needed," Marilyn said. "She has worked with the Dark Arts and those under their influence before, including Remus for a few months."

"The Dark Arts cannot be tamed," Shannon said quietly. "But they can be shackled. I will help you learn. It's a hard road there, and it's hard to maintain the barriers you create, but I'm confident that you can do it. I am truly confident of your extensive abilities, Hermione, I'm not just saying it to make you feel better. We're going to fight this because it's something that should be fought. Do you want to try?"

Hermione felt her left forearm brush against the stiffness of her wand, and she nodded silently.

They did not appreciate being reigned back, but Shannon had taught her well, and they quieted again. She closed her eyes, pressed her face against the edge of the bath.

Thin fingers brushed gently against her cheeks, dribbling the warm bath water over her flushed face so that the purity mingled with the salt of her tears.

She roughly shoved the memory away, but the comfort of it suffused her body with peace nonetheless.

"Why does my life have to be so damn complicated?" she muttered before stepping out of the bath.

---

She was late to the dinner, but Voldemort was not surprised or angry. She did not make an entrance, simply slid into the room and took her place to the right of Voldemort at the head of the table. He had strategically placed her next to Carmen rather than any of his other Death Eaters, who smiled at her and pulled the chair back for her to sit. She did not smile back, but Carmen took the slight in stride - he did not expect her to like him, but he liked her. Whenever he and Voldemort had their late-night dinners or chess games, the subject invariably turned to her. Voldemort had remarked that Carmen was smitten with her. Carmen had been silent on that point.

Hermione could feel the stares, particularly from some of the more intense Death Eaters... and Wormtail, of course, but he was on the other end of the table, and she could ignore him easily enough. She heard the squeal of a woman, the wet sound of kisses, but she did not look.

Carmen served her the meal, the clatter of silverware allowing the others to continue their meal, and as he reached for one of the bowls, Hermione caught the flash of the Dark Mark.

"You're a Death Eater now?" she asked quietly.

Carmen paused for a moment before continuing his service. "One of my neighbors caught me in illegal activities with known Death Eaters. With the polarization of the wizarding world, I had few choices - the Dark Lord has assured me that my status with him has not changed, and he has given me no reason to believe any differently."

Voldemort watched Carmen as he ate, and Hermione knew that there was a new tension between them now that Carmen had become one of his servants.

"I am devoted to him, lady," Carmen murmured gently. "It changes nothing."

"Carmen is ashamed of the Mark," hissed the woman across from Hermione. "He is ashamed of belonging to our lord."

"I am not ashamed, Bellatrix," Carmen said.

"Merely uneasy," Voldemort interrupted. "Your loyalty is unwavering, but you are independent. Still, you had no place with the Black Dogs, and the Cat's Paws are not for you. You were truly one of my Death Eaters before you took my Mark. Because I allow you a certain degree of candor does not mean that you are disrespectful or disloyal."

Hermione tasted an old conflict.

"And you, Hermione? Are you ashamed to belong to our lord?"

The question came from the man sitting next to Bellatrix, swarthy, unobtrusive, and quiet, she could not remember him speaking when she was in a room.

"She does not belong to me," Voldemort said quietly. "Not anymore."

There was a significant silence along the table.

Hermione glanced at the Dark Lord, who was still eating. It was an odd thing to watch him do, like watching him sleep in a bed. She felt his restraint in her stomach, the contradiction of what she was and what she used to be, the effort to reconcile the two and respect her new position.

"That's not entirely correct," Hermione replied slowly. She took her first bite of the meat, forcing herself to remain calm and collected. Her Dark Mark hummed as Voldemort's eyes flit to hers. "There is a reason why I will always be referred to as your Medicus. However, you are my client, so I suppose it goes both ways."

"Then the question stands," the man next to Bellatrix said. Hermione felt uncomfortable under his gaze - not the way she felt uncomfortable with Lucius and Wormtail, but like she felt when Snape looked at her for too long, or the Dark Lord himself.

Bellatrix smiled, and the smile transformed her face into something indescribably wicked; Hermione realized that the man beside her was her husband, Rodolphus Lestrange. Knowing the history of the Lestranges, Hermione felt it best to answer - especially if she was going to be with these Death Eaters for the rest of her life or the Dark Lord's.

You don't have to hide anymore, Hermione. You don't have to beg and kiss their boots and plead for the torture to stop. If you are his, you aren't his like you were before.

The words were hers and not hers. There was a decided tinge of the Dark Lord there, but the rest was her. She wondered if her thoughts would always be like this now - her own with him in the background, the memory of him, the strength of his will behind his eyes, the feeling of him around her when she delved deep into his magic. Or whether he had always been there. It scared her.

He is waiting.

These words were his, and Hermione saw him hide the curve of his mouth.

"Not like this. No, I'm not ashamed to be what I am and do what I am supposed to do for him," Hermione said, looking at her plate, then at Rodolphus. "Before, yes. But that isn't much of a surprise, I guess."

"I suppose not," Rodolphus replied. "However, I know you are not ashamed of being a Medicus. None of them are. But are you ashamed to be a Medicus for our lord?"

Hermione put her fork onto her plate and looked at Rodolphus straight in the eye. "I know what you're really asking." She pushed her chair back and stood up. "It's been eight years, eight whole years. I decided early after my freedom to be nonpartisan, and even if in my heart and head I don't want to be simply because of the blind chance I fell in with Harry, I gave my oath when I became a Medicus. In my actions, I will be every bit of the full Medicus that is expected of me. This means that I hate you, I hate him, and I hate everyone in this room as much as you hate me for who I am and what I was, but I cannot do a fucking thing about it. This means that I am completely bound to help your lord with his health, his well-being, everything but the war. And if you dare to keep me from what I am bound to do - namely, being your lord's Medicus - if you even touch a hair on my head, I won't wait for the Medicus Order to hear about it, I'll decimate your ranks myself."

She heard a snort to her right. "You know, you should not keep all your emotions locked up inside. You should let them out every once in a while," Carmen said. "Have some fruit."

"You still haven't answered my questions," Rodolphus said. "You answered about yourself."

"I wasn't finished," Hermione said, sitting down at Carmen's coaxing. Mantras ran through her head, and she managed to relax again. "It's difficult for me to be here. It would be difficult for anyone spat upon, licked, kicked, tortured, and basically forced into bed with anyone willing to take me. However... I have a duty here now. You'll never see me in chains, and for that alone, I will be more than accommodating for your lord. The newspaper slandered me and I received enough insults from the wizarding world that I could not care less what they say about me. They called me a Death Eater's whore then, they're going to call me a Death Eater's whore now. And I sincerely don't give a damn. I'm not ashamed of being his Medicus, to finally get to the point of the question. It is a great honor to be selected by the Oracle for a permanent contract, and although this was the last place I wanted to come back to, I'm not running, am I?"

She took a bite of the apple slice that Carmen offered without looking at it or even tasting it.

"Spirited lady," Carmen muttered, looking pointedly at the Dark Lord, "and opinionated. Just what you need. The Oracle chose well."

Voldemort laughed. He actually laughed, and there were a few other snickers along the table from people trying to hold back their mirth at the image of the diminutive witch "decimating their ranks," especially when juxtaposed with the image of Hermione as the little pet of the Dark Lord. As more and more of them could not restrain themselves, the room swelled with laughter.

Hermione froze, looking at the looseness of the Death Eaters at the table, a looseness that she never expected to come from servants always in fear of a Cruciatus curse or one of its derivatives that Voldemort had created.

"There is more to us than torture," Carmen whispered in her ear. "You are allowed to laugh. And well said, lady."

"Carmen, are you flirting with my Medicus?" Voldemort asked.

"Shamelessly," Carmen said, touching her hair gently before floating aside. "Because, of course, I'm smitten with her, as you've said."

"Sarah's going to be jealous," Macnair said.

"If she loves me with all of my flaws and faults, I don't think a simple attraction to a beautiful young lady would arouse her ire," Carmen said, grinning. "And I would not complain if her ire was... aroused."

Hermione paled.

"I'll be right back," she muttered. She pushed her chair back and began to leave the table, but she hesitated half-standing. Slowly, she sat back down.

"Good girl," Voldemort murmured, his fingers brushing the fabric over her Dark Mark. It hummed under his touch.

She jerked her arm away, but she did not protest. He was baiting her - she would not take his bait.

"I have to start somewhere," she said.

"And you did well."

His praise should not have made her feel this way.

---

When Hermione finally excused herself, genuinely wishing to retire for the night, she was stopped in the corridor by Bellatrix.

"Mudblood," she hissed.

Hermione whirled around only to see that Bellatrix said it to get her attention.

"Medicus," Hermione corrected her coolly.

"I would not risk the wrath of my lord and say otherwise," Bellatrix said just as coolly.

"What do you want?"

"A few words," Bellatrix replied. She took Hermione's shoulder and led her into a dark, empty room. Magical globes burst to life around them, and Bellatrix released her grip on Hermione. Hermione would not be surprised if there were bruises, but she did not think they were meant as an insult, merely a veiled threat - Hermione did not take offense.

"Mudblood or not," Bellatrix said, "you were called to be my lord's Medicus, and he accepted you. You may be bound by oath, but I want to hear it from your mouth. You will treat the Dark Lord with the respect he deserves. You will cater to his needs. You will... help him with... whatever he needed a Medicus for. His powers have grown, and he has achieved a tenuous immortality that is strengthening with every passing day, but something is clearly wrong if he needs you. You will help him."

Hermione looked at Bellatrix. "You're... concerned for him?"

"I was loyal to him even when he was believed to be dead," Bellatrix countered, leaning down so that she and Hermione were eye-to-eye. Hermione could see the intensity in her countenance, intensity that accentuated what was left of her beauty, making Hermione see how beautiful she could have been if she was never imprisoned in Azkaban. "My family was proud of me when I joined the Dark Lord, but I left them for him. I married Rodolphus at his bidding. I was his in every way but his lover. Even if there is weakness within him beyond his power, I will follow him until the end, unlike some of the other Death Eaters. It is for them and how they might react to my lord requiring a Medicus that I am concerned."

"As his Medicus, I am not allowed to harm him and he is not allowed to harm me - at least with the intent to harm," Hermione explained. "I cannot keep him from the blows of politics and power struggle, but when he comes to me, I can cure him, if that is what you wanted to know."

"It isn't," Bellatrix snarled, snatching Hermione's chin and digging her nails in slightly. "I'm asking whether you are willing to give my lord what he needs... and possibly what he wants. Are you willing to do more than what is required of you?"

Hermione brought her left hand to Bellatrix's, extricating herself from the woman's hold. "You are very close to being cursed - and you wouldn't be allowed to curse back, Bellatrix Lestrange."

"Answer my question," Bellatrix snapped, wrapping her fingers firmly around Hermione's wrist and baring her forearm to show the Dark Mark. "Are you willing?"

Hermione realized she was trembling with fear and anger and confusion. Bellatrix was insane, but Hermione had seen her with a wand before in the middle of the audience chamber. She, Rodolphus, and Rabastan were talented in the art of physical torture, worse when Macnair joined them with his knives, and she knew that Bellatrix would not hesitate to kill her slowly, consequences be damned.

"Willing and waiting," Hermione whispered. "I may not like it, but I don't do anything by halves. I will make every effort to be the Dark Lord's true Medicus. After all, it was what I was called to do. You can let go of me."

That wicked light in her eyes gleamed again as Bellatrix smiled like a cat, smooth as butter and honey. Quick as lightning, Bellatrix brought Hermione's forearm to her mouth and ran her tongue along the Mark before releasing her. Hermione took a quick step back.

"You're right to be afraid, Hermione," Bellatrix said. "But my lord does not want you harmed. So I will not harm you." She laughed deep in her throat before kissing Hermione on the forehead and backing out of the room, her hooded eyes practically dancing. She drank in Hermione's discomfort and disquiet, her eyes not leaving her face until she reached the corridor.

"Bella is my prize," Voldemort said from the shadows. Hermione jumped and turned to face his amusement. "One of my favorites among all my followers. Remarkably effective in whatever endeavor crosses her mind, quite creative."

"I've seen," Hermione replied.

"I heard your answer," Voldemort said.

Hermione refused to look away.

"Do you hate me as much as you say?" Voldemort asked, stepping out of the shadows. "Think carefully, Hermione. Your words are vehement, and you carry resentment, but I feel no hatred in you. I have felt it only once, right before you broke before the contorted bodies of your parents. Never before and never after. Fear, loathing, fury, but never hatred."

Hermione did not answer. She could not think of anything to say.

Voldemort lifted his chin at the lack of response, pleased.

Hermione searched for something, anything to take the topic off of what she wanted so desperately to avoid.

"If it's no different from any other cloak, then why do you persist in keeping it when you have a cloak of your own rather than his?"

"Lord Voldemort..." she began. Voldemort folded his arms, waiting for her question. "Why did you need me?"

Hermione watched his face darken. His eyes narrowed to slits of crimson, and she sensed a strange, furious urgency that did not belong to her - she could feel what he was feeling through their connection. The silver-white thread between them vibrated as though it had been stroked by his frustration. She found herself inadvertently walking toward him, reaching for him, for something. Before she could reach him, he swept around her, avoiding the confrontation between a Medicus and her client. Hermione quickly pulled back her hand, and the haze of her oath cleared.

"We will speak of it tomorrow morning. Not now," Voldemort said, not looking at her, but striding to the door.

"Lord Voldemort..."

"Not now," he snapped, whirling on her, eyes blazing. "You've established yourself as my Medicus with the binding and your speech in the dining room, but now is not the time for diagnosis." He forced his voice back to a more polite, if colder, tone. "You must be exhausted, Medicus, you should go to your chambers and prepare for tomorrow's work. And there will be work to occupy your time, I can assure you."

And he left the room in a swirl of robe and cloak that would have made Severus proud.