Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

The Rise of the Dark Age	By : witch Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 8643 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
- 4
Chapter 3

After that decisive incident, Hermione Granger's life took a sharp turn towards the unknown.
As the time finally ceased to blend together, the young woman began to distinguish days from nights once again. Meals continued to magically appear within her sleeping chambers three times a day, as regular as clockwork. Her first taste of the provided dinner revealed it to be roasted lamb, the deliciousness of which was beyond any possible words or doubt. She wolfed down everything to the last morsel, savouring the lingering texture of succulent meat with a confidence that she had never tasted anything like it before.
The rest of her light-filled days were spent at her bureau, writing and drawing aimlessly upon parchment after parchment. It was on the second day that she had located the blank papers and quills upon the wooden surface of the writing table. Grabbing the chance to part with her consuming thoughts, even for an insignificant period of time, she snatched the offering and had not parted with it since.
But then came the nights and, with them, the nightmares of twisted facts.
On the sixth morning, she awoke to discover a book lying on the table's surface.
Upon the seventh day, her consciousness took its first step toward changing its perception of reality.

~*~

Without warning, the young witch's eyelids snapped open.
Panting, Hermione continued to stare unseeingly at the carved ceiling above her. Somewhere at the back of her mind, she was very much aware of her sopping-wet face and the tears that still lingered there. Despite herself, she briefly closed her bloodshot eyes and began to replay the dream over and over again within the confines of her exhausted mind.
Scattered remains of the school she had come to treat as a second home...eternal fields of destruction and grass over the familiar lands of her childhood memories...her loved ones...whispered accusations...Harry...Ron.
Breathing heavily, the witch once again opened her eyes and frowned. Since the night of her capture, her dreams had consisted of the same nightmare that constantly replayed itself, worsening with every passing day of her continuing existence. Guilt had morphed itself into her personal brand of plague that ate its way through her reasoning until barely anything of it remained intact. However, it created a trail of thinking that she had learned to understand and treat as the righteous one.
But this time around, her night's scenario had...shifted.
Harry and Ron remained silent.
Not one word of accusation.
Nothing.
There must have been significance behind the abrupt change...a fundamental reason for the halt of the justifiable accusations. Hermione Granger of old would have instantly latched onto possible theories, exploring the deep corners of her mind for possible clues and probabilities.
But that eager girl no longer existed. As it was, she felt no inclination to explore her consciousness' pitiful pits in order to discover the basis for her hallucinations. There was nothing philosophical in the nature of fantasy realms. All she was ready to perceive was that it was the calmest night of all the restless ones. And may her logic be damned if she couldn't bring herself to be thankful for that.
Hermione uttered a faint groan as she finally lifted her perspiring body from the tangled bed sheets. Her squinting eyes could just distinguish a hint of sunlight through the wooden panels of the window. However, she could neither tell nor care what time of day it really was. Instead, the witch stood up rather shakily from her four-poster bed and padded her way to the bathroom, candle flames flickering in her wake. With her mind firmly fixed upon her sole desire for a much-needed shower, the witch absentmindedly hooked her fingers around the edge of her silk nightgown and let it slide towards the floor.
She did not have the vaguest idea of how much time she spent standing naked under the blissful sprays of hot water. The seemingly timeless period within the dungeons created a water-worshipping element in her. Even now, leaning against the dark marble wall of the shower, the witch had a look of utter bliss upon her face. Eyes closed, she basked in the sensation of the pure liquid cascading over her face, craned neck and down the rest of her body.
Later on, with her hair made up of heavy wet curls, Hermione leaned her arms over the sink. After a moment's hesitation, she lifted her head and looked directly into the face of her reflection.
Though that was one of her unwritten daily rituals, she genuinely did not know what she sought in it. Wasn't one supposed to perceive the aftermath of agonizing months, physically marked by his or her struggles? However, that was not what she saw staring back at her. Her skin was as ivory as it had ever been, her body nourishing itself back to its femininity with every passing day. At first glance, she would have been easily mistaken for any carefree twenty-one-year-old the world had to offer.
That is, before one chanced to look into her eyes.
The grimness within them would have taken the breath away from an individual decades older then her.
Unable to suppress a shaking sigh, Hermione lowered her eyelids and turned away from the mirror.
Opening the door wide, she exited the bathroom in a cloud of hot vapor. Slowly making her way towards her dresser on the other side of the room, she did not even bother to look around herself.
It was only when she reached the middle of the chamber that her peripheral vision registered an inferior presence.
Hermione nearly choked on her gasp as she came to an abrupt halt. For seven days she had lived in her own little world, undisturbed by anyone from outside her sanctuary. She would have been a fool, however, to assume that she would remain alone forever. With her heart hammering a rabid beat, the only thing the young witch could discern at first was a patch of blackness. It took a number of moments for her to fully realize who sat mere feet away from her.
Languidly reclining upon her bed was none other than Severus Snape.
'You were in there for so long that I began to suspect you of attempting to drown yourself,' drawled her former professor in his silky voice. In his hands he held her discarded blood-red nightgown, stroking it distractedly with his long, pale fingers.
The dark wizard before her remained the same as she remembered him through all of her student years. Tall and lean, he half-lay upon the covers of the bed as if he had no other care in the world. Only his usual black teaching robes were absent. They had been replaced by the attire of a marked Death Eater, his midnight cloak sprayed wide enough to reveal his dark breeches and knee-high polished boots. Obsidian eyes watched her unblinkingly from between black shoulder-length locks. With the exception of the paleness of his features, everything about him appeared to have been made out of darkness itself.
The Devil's minion had decided to pay her a visit, and she had no knowledge whatsoever of his intentions.
Reluctant to move a single muscle, Hermione continued to stare cautiously at the man. But even as her vigilance held her body immobilized, her mind refused to succumb to the same predicament. Unable to find solace in physical protest, she nonetheless unleashed her unwillingness to fall to the fear that was undoubtedly expected of her.
'Tried that five days ago. As you see, the attempt proved to be quite futile,' she said.
The answering retort came in a form of a low, rumbling chuckle. Remaining stock still, the young woman absentmindedly wondered what it was that made her so absolutely hilarious in the eyes of the most menacing wizards of her time.
'I see that Malfoy's accusations were well founded. You are as untamable as a lioness. A streak that he did not succeed in destroying.' Snape's eyes made an in-depth route over her body before focusing their burning gaze back on her face. 'Wonderful.'
It would have seemed impossible, but Hermione felt herself stiffen even further under his perusal. She recognized that look in a man's eyes. A searing lust that brought pain so unbearable that even the distant reminder of Malfoy's actions caused an uncontrollable shudder to seize her. She convulsively clutched the black towel tighter around herself, the only garment that shielded her naked body from the wizard's intense scrutiny.
'Do not fear me, girl. I assure you that I will not cause you any intentional harm,' said Snape in a low voice, his obsidian eyes fixed firmly upon hers.
All of a sudden she found herself getting exasperated. Before she knew what she was doing, she opened her mouth without being aware of what she was about to say in the first place.
'You have always had a clever way with words, Professor. But a pledge is a tricky notion, isn't it? Once a person becomes a traitor, the stain of their betrayal sticks with them forevermore.'
The wizard moved so fast he was but a dark blur in Hermione's eyes. In a blink of time she found him looming above her. Before she could draw her next breath, his pale hand shot out and wrapped itself around her neck. Clutching the hand squeezing her windpipe in both of hers, her anxious eyes started to water from the applied pressure. Her captor, meanwhile, brought his face dangerously close so that his next words were hissed right into her face.
'How dare you lecture me about betrayal! You do not know the first thing about the meaning of that word! Before you actually start comprehending the reality of the world around you, heed my words and keep your smart mouth shut.'
Never had she seen such potency of outrage in the man in front of her. His upper lip was pulled back from his teeth, and his eyes stared at her with such savagery that they caused the witch to shudder further in his suffocating grasp.
Eventually, black dots started to dance in front of her vision as the last remnants of breath began to leave her. However, before she succumbed to unconsciousness, the hand squeezing the life out of her retracted as if burned. Gasping, Hermione staggered back on her shaking feet until her back collided with a wooden surface. Reclining her quivering body against the bedpost, the traumatized young woman continued to watch the man with heightened alertness.
Snape remained standing where he was, his fingers lightly massaging his temples and his forehead slightly furrowed. As if sensing her scrutiny, he snapped his head up and looked straight into her eyes. For a moment, Hermione could have sworn she saw a flash of attentiveness within their dark depths before his countenance became blank once more.
'Indeed, do take note of my warning, Hermione. Words possess an unpredictable effect on people. It would be a pity if you were to get your head bashed in accidentally before you even gain your new status.'
Before Hermione could start questioning him, the wizard slowly began to walk towards her. With his every silent step, she unconsciously pressed herself closer against the bedpost. When a mere foot separated her body from his, the young witch wished momentarily to fuse with the wooden frame behind her. Instead, she wrapped her hands securely around it and willed her heart to cease its nagging hammering.
The Death Eater halted only when the hem of his cloak brushed against the tips of her toes. In stubborn contradiction to her heavy breathing, the young woman raised her chin and met the man's eyes unflinchingly. With him standing as close as he was now, unmoving, it was impossible to ignore the difference in their heights. At best, she barely reached his shoulder, and his black attire simply amplified his dominating presence. The two of them continued to scrutinize each other from their respective positions, neither of them seemingly willing to back down first.
All of a sudden, Hermione's face contorted with dawning horror. The towel, which had miraculously survived her previous ordeal, was now sliding agonizingly slowly down her sleek body. Her hands convulsed in indecision of what to do. Detaching herself from the post would surely distract her concentration. Thinking fervently, she nonetheless continued to stare defiantly back at the dark wizard. However, as she watched, Snape's own eyes flicked towards the slowly shifting towel. Snapping it back up, the man cocked his eyebrow, his black gaze mocking.
One could have interpreted it as a challenge.
And she would curse herself before she let the likes of him succeed even in something so frivolous as a glaring match. She was no coward.
Locking her arms more securely around the bedpost behind her, the young woman preyed to whoever would listen that her body pressure would be enough to halt the movement of the thick cloth. However, it appeared that no one was willing to hear her pleas, for in the next second she felt only too well how the soft fabric began to unwrap itself from around her.
Her brown orbs were still determinedly fixed upon Snape, but it was he who no longer looked into hers. His expressionless obsidian eyes surveyed the towel as it first slid down her chest, revealing her upper right breast to his gaze. Triggered by her rapid breathing, the material slid further and bared a rosy nipple that peaked to attention the instant the cool air of the room hit it. Closing her eyes in silent mortification, Hermione could sense how the bloody towel fell farther and uncovered her soft stomach, as well as the whole right side of her body.
Upon hearing nothing but the unnatural stillness of the room, she hazarded to crack one of her eyes open. As it was, Professor Snape did not attempt to make a single movement towards her. He was as still as a marble statue, only his glittering eyes caressing the naked contours of her flesh. Even though his features were as harsh as ever, his escalated breathing clearly betrayed the truth of his physical state.
'Such flawless skin. The fullness of your breasts...the apex of your thighs.... simply divine,' he whispered huskily and then smirked as he finally took in her flushed condition.
'I've told you already; you have nothing to be afraid of. I do not obtain satisfaction from forcing the unwilling. It's so much more pleasurable when your partner reacts to your touch, screams out your name with every forceful stroke...isn't it?'
Whatever scheme Snape's treacherous mind had devised, it appeared to be coming to fruition. Her anxiety levels lowering with every calming breath, Hermione was becoming increasingly aware of the male scent surrounding her. The silky drawl of the hypnotizing voice only managed to escalate the incomprehensible sensation building within her. The quiver that overtook her heated body next wasn't a result of any variety of fear but a product of something else that the young witch wasn't ready to acknowledge.
'I wouldn't know the answer to that, would I?' she managed to grind out, cursing her deceitful body.
Snape brought his face closer to hers, leaning forward until he was practically pressing her against the bedpost, yet his body not once touched hers. Only his lips, when he spoke next, sensually brushed her ear with his every whispered word.
'There will come a time, Hermione, when you will not just forget the brutality of your first copulation but will come to welcome a man between your thighs. You will master the satisfaction of being fully stuffed with a cock...your cunt begging for it with wet anticipation. Your hoarse moans will consist of only the most brutal want, and you will beg to be pounded to the very inch of your life. Mark my words, witch.'
With her eyes shut as tightly as she could master, the young woman in question felt his cruel mouth shift from her ear. Before she had a chance to draw a staggering breath of relief, she sensed him right in front of her. When he spoke next, the wizard's lips brushed lightly against hers, and she involuntary inhaled the minty breath out of his mouth and into her own.
'The Dark Lord graciously invites you to dine with him this evening. An escort shall collect you at nine p.m. Be ready by then.'
And then his presence was gone, the sound of a shutting door soon following.
He left in his wake a shuddering and confused Hermione Granger, who couldn't help but be assured of one factor at that moment in time. It seemed that her life had not deemed it necessary to simply take an unpredictable turn towards the unknown. The stretching path before her was full of cryptic dangers of which she didn't have a grasp.
What was more, if the clenching of her inner muscles was anything to go by, she had just found herself in a hazard that was well over her pitiful head.

~*~

The cracking of burning logs within a stone-carved fireplace was the sole sound penetrating the stillness of the surrounding chamber. However, even that sound appeared to have been muted, seemingly unwilling to disturb the figure sitting in the depths of a grand armchair. Serving as the only source of light, the fire cast an eerie play of shadows upon the wizard's cloak-covered body. Staring unseeingly into those blazing, yet cool flames, the figure's only movement was the idle play of his gloved fingers as they absentmindedly rolled a chain between thumb and forefinger.
The room's wooden door opened soundlessly as another dark-cloaked figure slipped inside.
Lord Voldemort had no intention of turning his gaze away from the mesmerizing dance of the fire just yet, for he already knew who was standing behind him. Amongst all his countless followers, only one had permission, and the backbone, to enter the Dark Lord's study without so much as a knock.
Placing his elbow upon the arm of the plush chair, the dark wizard finally switched his attention from the blaze in front of him and glanced at the object hanging from the seemingly delicate chain in his hand. By lifting it higher, the firelight managed to cast its glow upon the golden locket, a dazzling glint of the only true colour within the chamber.
'Don't you find it fascinating, Severus, that such an insignificant object as this determined the outcome of a war?' he mused out load, his voice low.
'Indeed, my Lord,' was the confirmation behind him.
For a few prolonged moments, Voldemort continued to scrutinize the object in his hand before closing his fist firmly around it. Rising up, the dark wizard placed the chain unhurriedly around his neck before securing the locket itself carefully underneath the confinement of his cloak. That done, he rounded on the only other occupant of the room.
'Am I to assume that your mission was a success?'
'Yes, my liege,' Snape drawled out, inclining his head respectfully. 'Everything went as you designed it. If I may be so bold as to say that any lingering doubts I might have harboured before have been ultimately put to rest. An ability of such magnitude is practically...unnerving. And dangerous. For her.'
'That shall not come to pass, my servant. It will not be long now until the time arrives...and when it does, none shall dare to cross the line.'
'There is one that might be foolish enough, my Lord. Lucius Malfoy.'
A hiss of outrage escaped Voldemort's lips at the mere notion of what his servant was implying. The swirling wrath within his soul desperately clawed against the confinement of his control, seeking to break out through any means possible. However, he quickly suppressed the impulse to punish his most loyal Death Eater. It wasn't a time for torture but a possibility of obtaining information. Severus Snape was too much of a formidable spy and a crucial figure in his plans to be subjected to senseless torture.
'Continue,' he ordered tensely instead.
'Malfoy has spent too long in her company. He was rather unstable to begin with, but the prolonged exposure has made him virtually unhinged. The unfortunate...incident is proof enough. His subconscious is aware that the blame for his condition lies with her, even though he might now know the reason behind it. I have been meaning to tell you that I have caught him in the corridor of her chambers two times already. If he gets his hands on her one more time, my Lord, it shall be her death.'
It was right then that Voldemort nearly lost his restraint.
As his body stiffened with suppressed outrage, he felt the miniature waves of power beginning to escape his magical ward. He succumbed to his base emotions so rarely that it was easy to forget that he was in a constant state of concentration, holding his wild energy back from the rest of the world. However, the Dark Lord's anger rose high enough for it to start escaping through the seams. The dark wizard had to literally bare his teeth in order to prevent his barriers from slipping off completely.
When the pulsing waves collided with his body, Snape gave a violent shudder but managed to bow in meek surrender. His ability to sense how one should behave in various situations in the Dark Lord's presence was one of the many reasons why he had managed to climb to a place of great power within the Inner Circle.
It took Voldemort a significant amount of time to mend his personal wards back to their pristine condition. Only when he was confident of his control did he speak again.
'I want you to spread my command, Severus. I wish every Death Eater in my service, whatever rank, to be present within the Shadow Chamber at midnight. Every one. A failure to appear will result in swift punishment performed personally by me.'
With damnable emotions still flowing in his veins, Voldemort whirled back towards the fireplace, the cloak swirling in his wake.
'I believe we have a revel to prepare for,' he hissed.
A momentary silence followed his words before Snape enquired graciously, 'By your leave, Master...'
Raising his gloved hand in sharp dismissal, Voldemort waited until he heard the soft sound of the closing door before he allowed himself to take a deep breath in order to reinstate the last metaphysical barricade around himself. Only when he was secure in the knowledge that all the 'leakage' had been taken care of did he lift both of his hands towards his head. Agonizingly slowly, the wizard took hold of the black cloth and lowered his hood.
Without tearing his crimson gaze away from the fire, he gave an inward, knowing smirk.
The upcoming revel was going to be like no other that any Death Eater had ever had the privilege to attend.
And that was simply the second phase of his plans.
Feeling his facial muscles stretching, the dark wizard began to softly chuckle to himself. Soon enough, those chuckles transformed into full-blown laughter as the Dark Lord tilted his head backward and let the overwhelming emotion consume him. For the time being, at least.
The dying fire became the only witness to a laughter that held genuine mirth for the first time in decades.

~*~

With indecision in her eyes, Hermione observed herself rather critically in the full-size mirror in front of her. Possessing no clothes or wand of her own, she had no other choice but to wear whatever was provided for her. However, what had been so graciously offered was a ten-foot-tall wardrobe consisting solely of ballroom dresses. She did not have anything against that type of clothing, but her particular selection would have given pause to any self-respecting woman.
Indeed, the bodice of every dress was so low that once upon a time she would have surely been flung into a permanent state of blushing unconsciousness.
The young woman must have been digging through the dresser contents for over an hour, cursing whatever the world stood upon, until she finally found what looked to be relatively modest. Even though the garment was in a loathsome green colour, the cut in front appeared to be harmless enough.
Further inspection proved just how far from truth she really was.
The moment Hermione pulled the dress over her head she knew that something was amiss. The same modest cut that had first caught her attention now appeared to be so low that her ample breasts were in serious danger of spilling out from the front. Changing was practically pointless, and she had a nagging feeling that whatever dress she chose would have changed itself to whatever it thought was suitable...in that case, the deeper the cleavage, the better.
Remaining stock-still before her reflection, the witch almost jumped out of her skin when there was a sudden knock on her door.
'Come in!' she called out automatically and then cringed at her audacity.
True to her word, two Death Eaters entered her room and placed themselves on either side of the door. Both wizards eyed her somewhat cautiously for a few silent moments before the bulkiest of them elected to speak.
'We are to escort you to the Dark Lord. Move along.'
Steeling her resolve for the inevitable, the witch lifted her chin and, without sparing either Death Eater so much as a glance, floated through the open door into the dim corridor beyond.
The two imbeciles gathered their wits quickly enough, and soon enough, she found herself flanked by one man behind her, with the other leading the way in front of her.
Nevertheless, with every echo of their steps, Hermione felt her heart beginning to hammer faster within her constricted chest. She was becoming acutely aware of the actual nature of her upcoming destination, with nowhere near a realization of what Lord Voldemort wanted with her. Escorted by Death Eaters in her emerald gown, the young woman had an inkling that soon, very soon, nothing would ever be as it had been before.
And may Merlin help her.
- 2
- 3
- 4
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

The Rise of the Dark Age