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Necessary Sacrifices	By : magentasouth Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 31254 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
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Chapter List
- 1-Ch 1
- 2-Ch 2
- 3-Ch 3
- 4-Ch 4
- 5-Ch 5
- 6-Ch 6
- 7-Ch 7
- 8-Ch 8
- 9-Ch 9
- 10-Ch 10
- 11-Ch 11
- 12-Ch 12
- 13-Ch 13
- 14-Ch 14
- 15-Ch 15
- 16-Ch 16
- 17-Ch 17
- 18-Ch 18
- 19-Ch 19
- 20-Ch 19b
- 21-Ch 20
- 22-Ch 22
- 23-Ch 23
- 24-Ch 24
- 1
- 2
A/N� Takes place in 6^th
year.�

AR � at the MOM Dept of Mysteries Lucius claimed the
prophecy and apparated out immediately it had touched his hand, leaving the
other D-E�s to fight the order and be transported to Azkaban.� All other D-E�s present are apprehended as in
canon. Sirius dies, Bellatrix escapes.� As a result LV does not assign Draco the task
of dispatching Dumbledore to punish Lucius. �Dumbledore is dying from the Gaunt ring curse. �Story
recognises horcruxes but not Deathly Hallows.�

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He knew the sword was the only weapon Harry could use to
destroy him, but never in his wildest dreams did he believe the little mudblood
would bring it to him willingly.�

In truth, the sword had been the farthest thing from his mind this morning.

When Lucius had conveyed the
message from his son that �the mudblood, Granger� had requested an audience
with him he had thought it an order plot, another machination of the old
fool.�

He had almost rejected the request on that basis alone � any information she
might be forced to provide would be inevitably suspect...

...but the thought of defiling and destroying Potter�s little friend..

...or girlfriend? �

At one or two points he had tasted the boy�s dreams about her. They had been
crude and naive but suggestive of the
boy�s feelings for the bushy haired girl, flavoured as they were with the sharp
desperation of youth. �He had begun in
earnest to seek information on the girl after those dreams.�

However, surely the chit was not his girlfriend if she was
here now.

Unless she was here to beg for his miserable little life �
that would explain the offering of Gryffindor�s sword.. but then... one as intelligent
as she was reputed to be would never
delude herself into imagining he might be merciful to the boy foretold to kill
him!

Had the boy done
something to bring her running to him?�

A delightful notion.. but
entirely improbable. �Why run to him?! �His very campaign was centred on the
destruction of her kind.�

No matter.� He would
learn why she sought him out soon enough. �

The thought of getting his hands on her had been sufficiently pleasant to
warrant a small risk.�

A very small risk.

He had gone to great lengths to protect himself this evening. �The girl had voluntarily met Malfoy�s son off Hogwarts grounds on a Hogsmeade day, at
nine in the morning.� She had allowed
herself to be side-along apparated into the unknown � after a number of
intermediate jumps arriving in this place.�

It was..nowhere. �Nowhere in particular.
�A factory in a dreary
northern England town - temporary, if unusually elaborately prepared.� It would be burned when he was finished with
the evening�s entertainment.

The wards were verging on overkill, extending out in layers
for several hundred metres on all sides of the deserted structure in a dead
industrial district.

Not only was the site under the fidelius, but it bore anti-portkey
and selective apparition wards keyed to blood; and he had invited only a few select
inner circle members to this morning�s gathering in the dingy grey room. �

There would be no unexpected order members dropping in to
interrupt them and if Potter tried to follow the girl here he�d be a dead fool
soon enough. �No living thing that did
not bear his mark could survive outside the small chalked circle in which the
girl knelt, which suppressed her magic even as it exerted a low constant thrum
in her nerves � moderate enough to allow her to communicate, yet sufficient to
faintly discomfort her.

Lucius and his son stood to the
right of the mudblood , wands drawn on the girl, while the three Lestranges, Avery and Mulciber
filled the remaining periphery around her, equally prepared to let fly curses
at his word; and from Bella�s twitching and shifting from foot to foot, she was
already chomping at the bit for his word. �

The small girl shook like autumns last leaf - whether from
pain or fear, her hands around the pommel and blade of the sword she still held
proffered, like an offering to a dark deity.

The unexpectedness of her gift aside, he wanted the sword
urgently. �It was all he could do to
prevent himself from lowering the physical wards surrounding her and summoning
it immediately.

She had drawn it from an impossibly small bag she had
suddenly had in her hand and even as his mind was unwinding in unexpected
pleasure at the welcome surprise of the object that might turn the course of
this war irrevocably in his favour, he was perturbed that she should have had
the chance to bring potentially threatening objects into his presence.

Lucius, it seemed, had realised the same thing.� His posture had visibly stiffened and although
he had not dropped to his knees, choosing instead to hold his wand trained on
the small unworthy creature, the unwelcome anticipation of inevitable
punishment had tightened his face.

Lucius growled in frustration
internally, once again disappointed in the dear fruit of his loins.�

To shame him..again..in front of the Dark Lord! �His initiation had been a poor enough showing; �the boy had
hesitated for long minutes over the kill and then had screamed and wept like a schoolmaid when he was marked.

He was certain it was the damned Black-family blood that
made Draco so weak and foolish... after all, look at his mother � an insipid
woman if ever there was one...entirely oblivious of events occurring around
her, fearful, prudish and fit only for spending galleons.�

She was stingy in her duties to him, but quick to arouse to passion by the many
men she betrayed him with, he had observed it through some of the hidden
peepholes in the manor.�

Then there was Bella � mad, like a dog continually slavering
after a bone; �too
weak to control her own desire.

Any desire.� She had bedded half the death eaters and more
besides.� Male, female � it made little
difference when she sought relief.�

Her primary outlet, of course, was inflicting pain and she took her pleasure
wherever she could, as often as possible. �It was a wonder she hadn�t cruciated the
mudblood yet � he warranted it would only be another minute or so before she
lost control of herself and widdled on the carpet,
metaphorically speaking.

The other black siblings were blood traitors both. �He would not
allow Draco to take after his mother�s disgraceful family.� Damn
his own father for binding their family to them in the
first place.

He would have to take much closer interest in his son�s progress, he realised. It
might not be too late to steer things back onto course with him.

�Lucius.. your son has been lax in his
preparations.� We will discuss this
matter later.��

Lucius nodded grimly �Yes My Lord�
and Draco, at his side swallowed. �His
wand shook slightly as he steeled himself and glared down at the mudblood that
had caused him to shame himself again.

Bitch. Fucking Bitch...� She hadn�t laid
a hand on him and it was fourth year all over again.�

He would bleed when his father got him back to the manor.

From the way his lips were pressed into a thin white line he was going to curse
seven shades of shit out of him tonight.�

Draco looked down at Granger, who still trembled and held
the sword.� How had she even hidden that
bag?! �He had told her not to bring
anything.� He had checked her.�

He�d cast three revelio spells and even slid his hands
all over her body patting her down.�

She hadn�t had anything. Not even a wand.�
And her body had been so hot and
firm and- .. �

He cut that thought off.� She was filth. �Worthless filthy little piece of dirt. �She wasn�t fuckable
� she was vermin.� And now she was
earning him another beating. �

She was earning him the derision of the one man whose respect he most coveted:
his father.� Everything was for him �
everything! �

Potter.. the Dark Mark.. Granger.. everything.�

Why couldn�t she have just trotted along quietly like a nice
little lamb and let the Dark Lord fucking kill her without any fuss?!�

His father would have received accolades and he would have looked upon his son
with pride.

He would have really seen him.

His father was always absent and when he was there he was so
distant.. preoccupied with
far more important things..like some god on Olympus�
mount.. always just out of reach, no matter how much
you might pray and sacrifice.�

Draco would have done anything to have
all of his attention... even if just for a while.

The Dark Lord observed the thoughts of his servant and the
man�s son with mild irritation.� He was
under no illusions about just who the foppish boy truly served in his heart. �The puerile little twit practically
broadcasted his desperate need on all channels.�

The only reason that he hadn�t truly taken him to task over it was that Lucius was an
extremely useful man whose only weakness, unbeknownst to himself, was his
son.�

He provided financial resources, ministry of magic
connections, he was a gifted wizard and a merciless killer, hell.. at times he was entertaining.. but
Voldemort had seen it in the deepest corner of his mind - there was one thing
and one thing only that might turn the debauched aristocrat from his service,
and that was an existential threat to this long streak of piss at his
side.�

It was simply a variable he worked with.�

When Draco failed, as he was wont to do, the Dark Lord
usually preferentially punished Lucius for the
failure and let him pass the buck or not as he chose. �It really made no difference to him when he
was irate who suffered for the error and besides.. Lucius was a more enjoyable candidate.�

On the few occasions that he had cruciated Draco, the boy
had screamed immediately and slipped into unconsciousness far too quickly. �It was rather a waste. �Like a premature ejaculation on some
level.�

Lucius on the other hand � Lucius
would endure stoically for as long as he could before vocalising his pain.�

It made the experience far more satisfying when he finally did drive the dignified
man to screaming..sobbing.. begging.�

He turned his attention back to the small figure kneeling in
the circle, the silvery blade in her hands.�

Slowly he stalked closer, flicking his wand to raise the
dingy light in the dim room.� He wanted
to see her.�

The girls arms were obviously tiring from holding the heavy sword and she
swallowed fearfully and reverentially lowered it to the ground beside her,
resting back on her heels and looking up at his face with an expression of
trepidation.

He inspected her critically.

A petite frame, just beginning to show the curves of
womanhood, Brown curly hair barely under control, caramel eyes.�

Her dark blue robes were fitted but neutral � flattering but not drawing
attention to her.�

She wore no ornamentation, no make-up, her nails were
short but did not look bitten.

She was altogether too calm for her current position.�

He did not see adult
pureblood wizards in his own service gaze upon him with such composure. �

A mudblood child affiliated with his enemy should be incoherent with fear.

It was entirely unacceptable to see her restrained trepidation even if it did perhaps arouse his curiosity
just a fraction.

�Filthy Mudblood
whore! � how dare you look upon the Dark Lord! �CRUCIO!�� Bellatrix screeched, apparently having reached
a similar conclusion - as always unable to restrain herself.�

He watched with resigned impatience as the mudblood crashed
to the ground and writhed, panting but, as yet, silent.

Bellatrix danced up on her toes, obviously deriving physical pleasure from her
curse.

After a minute, and still no screams, he spoke mildly �Bella...�

�Bellatrix, chastened, dropped the curse
and simpered at him.�

He looked at her with an even measured stare. �He had not given her permission to curse the
chit yet and she knew it ...but Bella had always been very protective of
him.�

Not to say fanatical.. obsessed.�

He had passed her off on Rodolphus many years ago for
that very reason.�

Bellatrix was a capable enough witch, inventive in her way, certainly loyal.. but she was not worthy of his physical
affections.�

Her blunted mind and bludgeon of a personality overwhelmed any visual charms
she might once have possessed.

A decade of futile pursuit had not dimmed the glow of adoration in her eyes,
nonetheless.

He would deal with her later.� There were other subtle punishments more
suited to the twisted black haired woman than physical torture. �

The small figure was struggling up off her side slowly, back
onto her knees.�

He would not display it but he was impressed.� She had made a better showing of herself than
many of his servants.� Bellatrix�
cruciatus was well honed. It was not a small matter to remain silent beneath
it.�

The girl lifted her angular little face and looked up at him
again, fearful but determined.�

He held a hand up to still Bella, who had already leapt forward to curse her
again.

What an interesting
child.�

�Hermione Granger...� he said softly.� �I have heard a great many things about
you...�

He watched her eyes widen with an expression that did not look as horrified as
he expected.�

He continued..� �I am quite aware of your academic and
magical aptitudes � the highest OWLs in almost fifty years, my ministry
contacts tell me...

...I am also aware of your ..rather hypocritical rule breaking proclivities
� the children of my servants have reported you to be an officious little swot
dictating the rules to them constantly ..but Severus tells me you lie..steal..curse as it suits you..whenever you feel you will not be caught.

Draco here even claims that you were
the one who led poor headmistress Umbrage
into the forbidden forest ..and we all know how that ended.��

The blond fop on her right sneered at her and he was amused
to see her lower her eyes. �Her cheeks
flushed slightly in shame or guilt.�

Clearly it was true! How lovely! The
repugnant woman had died and the
little mudblood was apparently somehow responsible for it.�

He went on with a nasty smile �I have been well informed as to who you call friend
or acquaintance, child...

...and where you and they...are
commonly to be found.�

Incidentally, whatever did you do with your muggle parents?� Their house and practice has been
conspicuously abandoned for the last few months. The aurors
have even ceased to guard it. All of the family photographs are gone.. I was most disappointed.��

The girl�s eyes widened even more at the thought that he had
been inside her house.

Technically he hadn�t - he had had two of his more pedantic expendable recruits
go through the place and had sampled their memories.�

�Oh yes.. I possess a wealth
of information about you, Hermione..

Nothing I have learned however can account for your apparent sudden decision to
end the war in my favour and bring me Potter�s greatest weapon.�

...Somewhat out of character, wouldn�t you agree?...�

How am I to understand this?�

Is the object cursed?� Did you intend to
use it against me?

Do enlighten me as to what you hoped to achieve here this morning. �

I can only imagine you sought death, but that does not explain why you saw fit
to condemn your friends..�

Hermione looked up at the serpentine figure looming over her
on the far side of the wards.�

All her hours of research; the brief glimpse of the back of
him she had had across the foyer of the Ministry of Magic last year, before he
vanished in a whirlwind; �even her most ambitious imaginings...had
not prepared her for this man..this..entity... for he
was scarcely man at all.�

His skin was marble-white and unnaturally smooth, stretched
over the bones of his skull.

He was impossibly tall and slender, wrapped in expansive black robes of silk
and when he moved he almost seemed to drift, unfettered by gravity.

His gestures were sinuform and understated.. His entire being
was terribly, frighteningly, graceful in fact - right down to the delicate
manner in which he held his wand at his side, caressing it absently with a thin
white finger.�

His wand looked like a twisted bone.� It
was as pale as he.

But the most shocking aspect of him, the most inhuman aspect was clearly his
face.�

She had known of his appearance before coming here.. she had been researching Lord Voldemort..
or rather - the Dark Lord - as she�d come to think of
him, for four years now after all.

But in person.. it was
different.�

His face actually offended reason.�

It hurt the mind to look upon him. �

The red eyes were frighteningly alien..
the utter absence of a nose, in favour of slender
reptilian slits was like something out of a surreal dream. �And he had a kind of...gravity.. an energy to him that was
captivating; �hard to look away from. ��

He was so much..more..
close-up in person than in the descriptions of Harry or
the recorded information she could lay hands on.� Closer to what Ginny had described when she
had finally persuaded the girl to open up to her about the Tom Riddle in the
diary.�

She stared up at him, quite hypnotised.�

He wasn�t handsome, like Ginny had described his younger form and she had
verified in the prefects photographs from 1945.. not at all.

Handsome was not a word that could be applied to this gestalt..

But he was attractive in some
peculiar way; a way that defied analysis.�

Perhaps it was simply the idea of him, she wondered.�

When she had begun her research she had thought it would be
useful to understand the foe.� She had
imagined she might find a weakness if she looked hard enough.

But searching out more and more information, in both the wizarding and the
muggle records, she had started to build an image of an actual person.� He had ceased to be the two dimensional
bogeyman and become something more.�

He was indisputably the most powerful wizard alive
today.� She was almost certain that he was
more powerful than professor Dumbledore, despite the headmaster�s advanced age,
and had been for some time.�

This man probably knew more across a wider range of disciplines than any other
in the world.�

In her fourth year when she had learned that Tom Riddle had
once sought a teaching position at Hogwarts she had fantasised for a while
about how it might have been to have such a man for a teacher.

Not that the teachers at Hogwarts were not gifted.. but..she supposed by that point she
had already begun to feel a little differently about the entire notion of Tom
Riddle.�

When she was a child she had been attracted to appearances.. but the debacle in second year
with Gilderoy Lockhart had illustrated how ridiculous
it was to value a handsome face over substance. �She had found herself in near pole-shift,
dreaming about Professor Snape � who although not the most conventionally
handsome man, was certainly the most gifted and knowledgeable man in his field;
not merely an expert but a genius.

She realised it was
silly to have a thing for professors.. for teachers... It was irrational.�

She supposed it had to do with what she personally found arousing.�

There was nothing
more exciting to her than knowledge, intellect, skill, ability and.. yes even...power.�

She fantasised about teachers because she liked to look up at her desired.� She liked to feel they were more powerful.. she liked to be in their power.�

She knew it and felt herself stupid.�

Knowing that it was foolish changed nothing whatsoever
though.�

This man.. this man was the ultimate end of
that spectrum.� The
most powerful teacher imaginable.�

From the moment in fourth year when she had started to
fantasize about him as her DADA teacher, she had probably been lost.�

The fantasies shifted and soon in her mind he was not teaching her defense against dark arts but the dark arts themselves..

It was really a very small
shift.�

She felt it highly probable that if Tom Riddle had been given the position as
DADA teacher, it would have been a short time until there was a secret dark arts
club under his tutelage anyway.�

The fantasy shifted from taking his classes, to being in
such a club, to being in one-on-one tuition with him..
and then, without noticing the shift she was just
dreaming about being with him.�

It all got out of hand and she felt awful most of the
time.� She felt like she was betraying Harry,
betraying Professor Dumbledore, betraying everything she believed in, just
because she was thinking of this man with what she could no longer deny was desire.�

She felt like someone would find out...�

There was something wrong with her, obviously.

When Harry would gasp and clutch at his scar in pain she would experience a
weird little frisson of excitement.� It
felt like he was nearer in those
moments.��

And then at some point she had thought..
what would happen when Professor Dumbledore finally
managed to manipulate Harry into a position somehow where he might defeat this
great wizard.

That was, after all, what they were all working toward.�

That was what she had been working toward
in her research..surely � even if she had in the end,
never shared any of it with Harry as she had initially planned to.

What would happen when Tom Riddle was defeated..was dead �
permanently this time?!�

She knew she should want that � how could she possibly not
want that?!� The man had people killed, daily, for nothing whatsoever.. for the crime of having the
wrong parentage.�

He would kill her if he had the
chance.�

Her impression of him was skewed by her own ridiculous fetishes and probably to
some degree by her loneliness.�
Nevertheless she couldn�t quite manage to truly desire his death.� On some entirely reprehensible level she felt
very confused about the idea of Harry defeating him.�

Harry was in many ways a wonderful person and he was
magically very talented � she just wasn�t sure how much of his raw talent came
from his own innate skills and how much was bestowed upon him by Tom Riddle
when he gave him his scar.�

His parents had both been quite capable magically but nothing like as strong as
Harry � and there was the parseltongue thing.�
He should not have been able to speak it � there were no parselmouths in his lineage.�

If that was a token of Tom Riddle�s influence upon his magic, then what else
might he have gained?�

In all probability, without intervention, Harry would have
been a mediocre wizard.� He was not
particularly learned in any subject, with the exception of flying perhaps.� He did make an effort for DADA but even there
his breadth of knowledge was lacking.� He
had magical potency but little real understanding..little
application of his mental faculties.� He
went through his life like a pinball in a machine, bouncing off the bumpers and
being channelled down this or that path by outside forces.�

She had tried to explain to him logically why Professor
Snape deserved respect and he brushed it aside.�

She had tried to point out each and every rational inconsistency in Professor
Dumbledore�s behaviour toward him � why he should be careful in trusting the man, and all that had resulted was Harry throwing a snit and
refusing to talk to her for a fortnight.�

So she had stopped.�

She had simply ceased trying to help him to take control of his life � she had
ceased trying to chase after him and talk him around to seeing reason.

She had just stopped bothering.�

The idea of intelligent, probably psychotic but
extraordinarily talented and powerful Tom Riddle dying at the hand of churlish,
impulsive, kind yet undeniably Dumbledore�s sock-puppet, Harry Potter, grated
against her.�

Leaving the pureblood agenda aside (it didnt
quite make sense to her to begin with in light of Tom Riddles own parentage),
looking at the two wizards in contrast and what they might achieve in their
lifetimes.. it was
clear.�

Harry was a good kind boy and if left to his own devices he might become an
auror perhaps (which was nice.. in its way, she
supposed. Society needed aurors.� They didnt actually..advance wizarding kind..much.. but they were quite necessary) and he would marry and
reproduce and grow old and die.� Probably without every really contributing anything more than
having erased Tom Riddle from the world.�

Tom, on the other hand, if he prevailed, and ignoring the whole.. blood purity crusade, �would without a doubt develop spells, potions,
uncover lost knowledge, translate languages unattainable to others, experiment
and further wizarding kind�s knowledge.� Generations
might benefit from his contributions.�

If he succeeded in his quest for immortality � and it seemed like he was doing
a fairly passable job since the man was currently a seventy year old, looked
half that and had been killed at
least three times already - he might continue to contribute to the pool of
wizarding knowledge for a very long time.�

In essence his contribution to humanity and to the wizarding
world, despite the horrible things he had done and continued to do, was infinitely
greater than Harry�s.�

The viewpoint made her nervous.�

She felt it was wrong to think in this manner.�
Bad.. wrong.. wrong to see the world in terms of power and utility.� She should be viewing things in terms of
moral rights and wrongs..

...but to be honest, she had always been less morally bound than her two
closest friends.�

Harry was always their moral compass.�

Hermione would come up with ideas and if they required group participation she
would imagine what Harry might say when she was deciding whether or not to run
the plan by the others.�

Left to her own devices she had no qualms about doing some rather reprehensible
things in the pursuit of her goals.

The sorting hat had first offered her Slytherin but in light of her parentage,
and since Harry had seemed quite nice on the train, she had asked for Gryffindor.

But she had done several things that,
objectively seen, might be considered by some to be quite bad, she admitted to herself.

Aside from what had happened to Dolores Umbrage (she had deserved it!),� for most of last
year she had kept Rita Skeeter in her beetle animagus form in a jar.�
Marietta Edgecombe would wear the visible
scars of her betrayal on her face for the rest of her life.� Hermione had deliberately used a curse
without a counter in that case. �She had
once obliviated a third year who caught her using her
time turner.�

She was no saint.�

Half the things she had done, she could never tell Harry
about, for fear of his reaction.�

Harry knew she could be a holy terror when it came to forcing
Ron and himself to study.. but
he still seemed to insist upon viewing her as some sweet untouchable flower.�

He tried to leave her out of anything that sounded remotely dangerous, whenever
he could.

It irritated her.� She was a more skilled
duelist than he.

�And.. and she wasn�t untouchable,
damn it!

Lord Voldemort watched her mind circle around itself.� So much desire, guilt and resentment � he had
suppressed the visible manifestation of his utter shock that the girl had quite
apparently come for him..

The strange little junior sociopath had apparently, one
sunny day while she sat on the grass (with a transfiguration text two years
more advanced than the current stand of her classes) and watched Potter and the
other ridiculous little children fly around on brooms whooping and yelling, made
the executive decision to jump the ship of fools.�

He could see the memory.�

She had been so frustrated with the
endless wasted time and constant stream of idiocy and had dreamed again of how
it might be to be truly challenged... To learn great things, rather than merely be utilised as a means of keeping
Harry and Ronald on track in classes; correcting their homework, practically
writing their essays for them �thinking for them constantly in their scheming. ��No matter how she tried, they both continued
to do foolish things.�

She had been thinking of him
again, and for once she had allowed herself to imagine whether it might be
possible to actually enact her desires; �whether she might be able to come to
him somehow.� �She had theorised about the possibility of stealing
the sword of Gryffindor with the calculated hope that he might allow her to
live for bringing him such a valuable object.

Slipping through her memories of the intervening time, he
was inordinately pleased. �

Her plan had been flawless and even more delightfully, she had used the imperius with no more hesitation than she might use a confundus. It was deemed useful and necessary and she
carried it out automatically.

She had researched and planned the timing very carefully,
waiting (with some kind of map that showed the location of persons within
Hogwarts) for Dumbledore and Harry to be elsewhere.�

When they had both departed the school grounds, she had wrapped an imperiused first year in Harry�s invisibility cloak and flooed her into the Headmaster�s chambers through the grate
in Pomona Sprout�s chambers.�

A large portion of her months of planning had apparently been taken up with
checking which teachers had the weakest wards, cracking the herbology
professors inadequate defense arrangements,
transfiguring a duplicate sword from a silver sculpture in the room of
requirement, imbuing it with false magical signatures as best she was able and
locating a spell that detected founder�s objects.�

When she had via a mask and the floo, remotely steered a
tiny invisibility cloaked first year to use the charm and had found the sword
warded in behind a portrait she had pulled the attempt, taken the small girl�s
memories and obliviated her.�

On her next attempt a month later she had successfully retrieved the sword,
placed it inside the tiny bag she had brought with her, erected dampening, disapparition and notice me not charms and had hidden it in
the room of requirement.�

It was, he estimated, a patient and well considered plan.

She had alibis for each event and had covered her tracks well when researching.�

What a pity the chit could likely not be persuaded to simply
eliminate potter.�

He presumed that if she had been amenable to doing so, she would have already
done so.� Bringing him the sword was the
next best thing; a non-confrontational sabotage of Harry Potter�s destiny.

He should not be so surprised, he supposed.� She was tainted with moral baggage and guilt through
the poor company she had been keeping � but he had tasted the darkness in her
mind.�

What might she do.. what
might she become in a more permissive
environment?�

Admittedly, her blood was not ideal..keeping
her alive would not sit well with his followers.�

But it was problematic only in an instrumental sense. He had
himself never been foolish enough to place worth on blood.� It was the continual whine of the pureblood
aristocracy.

In his formative years he had built his most influential and valuable contacts
within that environment by playing on those old strings of fear and
prejudice.� It was quite simply too late
to abandon the core of his campaign now.

Nevertheless he knew that while purebloods were frequently quite capable � take
Lucius and the Lestranges
as a case in point, half bloods were where the true brilliance tended to occur.

He thought again about Severus and what a shame it was that events had unfolded
as they had.� The man was a genius.

At the end of the day.. it was not where you came from, but where you were
going.�

He was not entirely certain where the girl might go.�

In all likelihood to an early death if she proved troublesome, but for the
moment his interest was piqued.

Bringing him the sword of Gryffindor was a gamble.. She
certainly had courage. �

He decided he was going to keep her for the moment, no matter what anyone might
say.

�I am waiting for your answer, child..�
he prompted with only the faintest razor edge behind the words.�

She swallowed and looked up at him wide eyed. �I..I realised.. that
is.. I thought..� she faltered.�

He suppressed a smirk.� Perhaps she only
had balls when it came to non confrontational situations.�

Even better.�
Her discomfort was satisfying. ��

At that moment she seemed to internally pull herself up by her bootstraps.

�With the greatest respect..I am no
child...I want to serve you... please let me serve you..
my Lord�

Her voice was soft and breathy and affected him more than he
felt it should.�

He was unsurprised at the expletive that issued from the
other female in the room.� With a flick
of his wand he banished Bella to his chambers as the woman leapt forward
seeking to curse the chit for a third time against his expressed will.�

He did not not miss the quickly hidden smirk that
flitted across Lucius face at seeing himself proven correct about her behaviour, or the equally
swiftly sublimated frown that Rodolphus flashed before
moving slightly to even the circle in her absence.�

With a series of complex flicks, sketches and twists of his
wand he pulled the wards down around the circle the girl resided in, rendering
the room safe for her.� The death eaters
arranged around her seemed to redouble their focus.

He spoke softly, his head tilted slightly, appraising the
small girl at his feet.

�If that is so, show me your respect.�

The girl frowned slightly but he could tell it was not
disapproval, merely confusion.� She did
not know what he wanted her to do.�

�Come to me� he instructed.�

She crawled on her hands and knees to his feet.�

He approved.� Had she tried to stand, he
would have punished her.�

�You may first show your devotion by kissing my robes, ...Hermione.��

The girl immediately leaned down, curling herself prostrate
before him and pressing her lips to the hem of his robes.� The expression on her face was painfully
perfect. �It seemed to flicker between
ecstatically pleased and wretchedly guilt stricken. �

He felt a faint stirring in him where usually was quiescence.�

He probed lightly at her mind and what he found there
definitely added to the warm pressure at his groin.� The girl was imagining orally pleasuring him.
�Her dark aching desire was intermingled
with sharp strands of guilt and self recrimination.��

He smirked and released the catch on his robes, drawing them
apart sufficiently to free his cock, now hard and insistent.�

�And now-� he instructed her �-you may show your devotion in the manner most
appropriate to those of your blood status.��

He looked down at the curly haired almost-child with
glittering-red half-lidded eyes, catching in the periphery the shocked,
off-balance expressions exchanged among his servants.�

It was to be expected. �

This was not usual.�

He had not cruciated this mudblood- not even once, in fact he had pulled Bellatrix
off her thrice and now he was inviting her to partake in his flesh?!

Only Lucius had ever
seen him enjoy sexual favors with either sex and that
was some time ago; many years certainly.

It was not that he did not indulge..
he did occasionally.. but
never in front of the others and the unions invariably ended in a bloodbath.

Literally.� He
found the liquid very soothing on his skin in this form and had made a habit of
bleeding out his toys and bathing in their blood mixed with hot water.�

By the time he bled them, his partners were usually only too happy to end the
pain.� His tastes tended to run to
extreme sadism with those he considered disposable - and those were the only
partners he engaged with. �

But the girl was not to know that..

From her absence of unrestrained proud disbelief she
obviously assumed he carried out such a ritual with all those he took into
service. �

He watched her lick her lips nervously, rising up on her
knees and darting an overawed glance up at his face. �He could tell she had not done anything of
this nature before.�

The thought of her innocence served to only render him harder and more
impatient.�

Hermione looked up, wide eyed at the first example of that
part of the male body that she had ever seen..

- to tell the truth, the first example that she had
ever truly fantasized about seeing too.�

She freely admitted that she was out of her depth.� She had no idea how to please a man � it
hadn�t even crossed her mind..� Logic had dictated that if she were not
killed outright for her presumption in contacting Lord Voldemort through Draco,
some form of horrible abuse would be likely, but she had assumed that would probably be at the hands of others though.�

This was beyond what she�d dared to expect �

She wished she were able to please him.�

She had not wanted
to approach any of the boys at Hogwarts � she had not dared to proposition Professor
Snape.� But to be faced with the prospect
of.. of satisfying Tom.. of
performing oral sex for the first time upon the Dark Lord himself...she
suddenly wished she�d been more of a slut.�

She hadn�t expected to have the chance to actually touch the object of her debauched little fantasies.. and now the worst thing she
could imagine in the world was failing in this.

She reached up, shooting a nervous glance up at the
serpentine face watching her with low burning lust in his unnatural eyes. �He appeared to be acquiescent to her touching
him..there..
with her hands.�

She hesitantly stroked her barest fingertips over the pale skin of the organ
currently slightly above eye level.�

She almost imagined the man had shivered at her touch.�

His penis was as intimidating as he himself. It was long and
pale and thick.� Like something carved
from stone.� His skin felt slightly
cooler than she expected.� She stroked
her fingernails up his shaft and heard his breath catch.�

�You are trying my patience, mudblood� he muttered.�

She flinched and leaned in, pressing her lips to the hairless
base of his penis, inhaling slightly out of curiosity, taking
in his scent.�

He smelled strange.. a mix of
different scents.. something like dry leaves or
pressed flowers overlaid with a slight spiciness.. not
at all similar to how Harry and Ron
smelled after quiddich.�

She found she liked it.�

Flicking her tongue out experimentally she found he tasted
of nothing in particular; very faint saltiness but it was not unpleasant.�

Relieved she began to lick up his length in earnest, bathing him with the flat
and the point of her tongue alternately and sucking the side of his shaft here
and there.�

He sighed almost inaudibly and she felt his posture shift.�

Apparently she was not yet displeasing him.�

When he was nicely slicked she turned her attention to the
head of his penis.� She kissed the tip of
it and flickered her tongue over the underside.

His breathing changed again and she flinched as she felt his fingers delve into
her hair behind her head and tighten. He urged her forward and there was no
mistaking the instruction.

She licked her lips and parted them, taking the head of his cock into her mouth
and sucking.

The girl was understandably nervous, he observed, but was taking
to felatio like a duck to water.

She was exploratory and appeared to enjoy this.�
If he were not quite as impatient, it might be interesting to see what
she would come up with on her own.

He fisted his hand in her curls and dragged her forward. �She seemed to get the picture and took him
into her mouth.

When she sucked on the head of his cock he nearly groaned in pleasure, tipping his
head back and closing his eyes.�

It would not do to lose control like that, but she felt
divine.. her mouth was so
deliciously hot and slick, her untutored tongue delightful.� He thrust against her lightly.�

He felt he should probably be brutalizing her mouth, choking
her on his length as was expected..but he found he
preferred that the little mudblood enjoy this experience.� Her surprise and awe at being allowed to
touch him was like a delicious little tingle in his mind. �

She wanted to be here on her knees
before him. She wanted his cock in her mouth, although the shame at her own
desire stabbed at her.

The girl worshipped him almost against her own will. �It was magnificent.

The one thing that might possibly increase his pleasure at
this moment, as the girl began to try to take him deeper (clearly having
difficulty coordinating sucking, swirling and flicking her tongue while
preventing heself from gagging when he hit the back
of her throat) would be if Harry Potter and his puppet-master could watch while
the Gryffindor darling eagerly swallowed his length.

He knew for a fact, whatever had or had not passed between them, Potter desired
the chit.

How beautiful would it be to watch in his eyes the rage war
with horror and loss?!� ��

At that thought he did
moan softly and Hermione, spurred by this amazing sound that the man above her had emitted, redoubled her efforts to
try to make him repeat it.�

He opened his eyes and looked down upon her once again and began to guide her
with the hand in his hair, adjusting her rhythm and pulling her deeper.

She gagged once or twice but he gave her no quarter.� The wet shimmer of her eyes was pleasing to
him.�

�Look at me..� he murmured and she did, turning her
eyes up to meet his own. �There was still
that strange innocent longing in them.�
It was intensely arousing and he began to fuck her mouth harder.

She did her best to keep up with his relentless thrusting.�

When she suddenly seemed to catch on and sucked harder,
compressing her mouth with the flat of her tongue he hissed in pleasure at her
�Yesss.. like
that..� good girl...�

It was less than a minute before he expressed a long guttural groan and spilled
himself deep in her throat, his hand holding her tight against him.�

He held her there in his afterglow until he felt her swallow around him.� At that he stroked her head as if he were
petting an animal.�

He felt inordinately relaxed and generous.� It had been an eminently satisfying climax. �

�Very good..little mudblood.� He murmured.� �you have pleased
me�

He withdrew his softening penis from her lips and put himself away, refastening
his robe.�

The small smile of wonder on the girl�s face was gratifying.
�It seemed pleasing him pleased her greatly.�

Perhaps he would allow her to please him further later.�

He looked up absently at the various expressions on the
faces of his servants.�

Avery and Mulciber seemed focussed on the girl, no
down anticipating that she would be turned over to the others shortly.�

They would be disappointed.�
He was not finished with her and he did not share.�

The Lestrange brothers wore twin
expressions of dismay.�

Dismay was not strong enough � they were aghast.�

He supposed it was not so much the fact that their distant
and untouchable Master had had a girl in front of them..
or even that it was a mudblood, but the manner in which he�d had her.

It had almost certainly been apparent to all that the pleasure in the act was
mutual.

That in and of itself was very nearly a taboo.�

Mudbloods and muggles were
not here for their own pleasure � they were here to be tortured and brutalized.. they were here to be punished
for having the gall to exist in the first place.��

Lucius, he noted, had schooled his
face into a neutral expression.� His mind
was noticeably silent.�

Apparently he had thoughts about what
he had just seen; thoughts of a nature that warranted occlusion.�

His son, Draco, seemed more in tune with Avery
and Mulciber.�
It seemed that now the Dark Lord himself had declared the mudblood
suitable sport, he was aching for a turn.

He too would be disappointed.�

Perhaps when he was finished with the chit he might give her to them...if he
chose to let her live...

Hermione reeled.� She
had just given Lord Voldemort a blowjob.�

The phrase didn�t make any more sense if repeated.�

It seemed there was no rational line that could be traced between sitting in
arithmancy yesterday and her current position on her knees at the feet of this
man.

Correspondingly, she felt irrationally pleased with herself.�

When he spoke she jumped slightly.� He was once again the embodiment of
authority.�

�Lucius, I will see you in my
chambers directly.� Your son is excused,
as are the rest of you, my servants.�

You will keep the events of this meeting to yourselves. You will not speak of
them to your wives or your fellow death eaters, you will not discuss among yourselves what has transpired
this morning � you would do best not to so much as think of this meeting loudly
in an empty room. �

Should I discover that any
other has learned of the mudblood�s presence today,
you shall all taste my anger.� The girl is as
yet undiscovered by the order � and as such, a valuable tool. �

See that it remains that way.

The four men on the left of the room bowed
slightly and apparated away.

Draco too snapped off a hasty bow and with a final confused look at Hermione
and anxious look at his father, disapparated.

Lucius waited.�
He would not disapparate until his Lord was
safely away from this site.�

�Rise...Hermione� the Dark Lord
commanded softly as he summoned the Sword of Gryffindor.�

It did not seem to like being held by him.�
There was a whine of tension in the air like a noise beyond the audible
range when his hand closed around it.�

She climbed to her feet with as much grace as she could muster.� ��

Even standing, she was still forced to crane her head back to look up at the
pale man before her.�

�Closer, my dear.� Unless you wish to be splinched�

She stepped closer still.�

Now their robes were touching.�

From here, she thought, if she were to tilt her head back and rise up on her
toes she could place a kiss to the man�s jaw..

...theoretically.�
Not that she would.. but
it would be logistically possible, that�s all.�

She lowered her eyes again, focusing on the silken chest
before her.� The Dark Lord�s arms
enfolded her and pulled her closer still, till she was forced to turn her head and
lean it upon his chest.�

Trying not to show how pleased she felt at being this close to the man the
entire world feared, she gingerly wrapped her own arms around his waist and
held on.�

His body felt firm beneath the layers.�

She felt bizarrely peaceful in this embrace, even if she
knew it was just for the side along apparition.�

It felt right to be exactly where she
was.� Wrong as that must
be.��

A moment
later the sharp compression point of apparition snapped them away.

Author note.

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Necessary Sacrifices