Disharmony in the Dungeons

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to JKR. All situations are mine. No $$$ is being made from this fanfic.
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Chapter 34 ~ Night of the Full Moon

When Severus returned that night, he was exhausted. Hermione was already in bed when he suddenly appeared with a crack of thunder. He stared at her a minute without speaking, his black eyes haggard, then removed his robes and mask, put them away and grabbed a pair of silk boxers from the lower drawer of his wardrobe. The Potions Master then walked into the bathroom and hit the shower. He stayed under the spray almost an hour, trying to wash the scent of the women off of him. Finally he exited the shower, dried himself off and pulled on his silk boxers. Walking back into the bedroom, he climbed into the bed and lay down next to his wife. He stared up at the ceiling, silent.

Hermione’s eyes swept over him.

“Are you all right, Severus?” she asked him. The Potions Master turned his face toward her.

“Yes, I’m fine, Hermione,” he replied.

Hermione knew he wasn’t fine. She knew what the long showers after visiting Voldemort meant. She moved closer to him and rested her head on his shoulder. She rubbed his chest lightly

“The Dark Lord accepted your conditions,” Severus said, “Your induction into his ranks will be held the night of the next full moon. All deatheaters will be in attendance. Several other women will be taking the Mark that night.”

“And the ritual?” Hermione asked, her stomach tightening.

Severus looked at her.

“I will be your sole assailant for the ritual,” he said, his voice sounding strained.

“Assailant?” Hermione asked, her brow wrinkled.

Severus turned his whole body toward her.

“Hermione, I will not be playing the part of your husband during the ritual. My job is to totally break you, and subjugate you. You will be experiencing a side of me that you have never seen before. The potion will take away the pain, but not the horror. Do you understand me? You won’t feel the full force of my penetration, my abuse of your body as it happens. However, you will emotionally experience the roughness, the callousness and the cruelty in my treatment of you. Because I am your husband, and I will not be treating you the way you are used to being treated. The ritual is violent, Hermione. And I will be violent.

I will be putting on a show for the Dark Lord, and he expects me to be particularly brutal to you, Hermione. I am going to have to be, or there will be consequences. I will not beat or hit you, but I will handle you roughly, and have to take every orifice convincingly. I wish there were another way, but there isn’t, Hermione. I need you to be prepared for what will happen that night. I only hope…” the Potions Master hesitated.

“You hope what, Severus?” she asked him, worried at the look on his face.

“I only hope you will be able to separate the man I am from the man I become in order to complete the ritual and get you the Mark. I don’t want you to turn away from me afterwards, Hermione. If there were any other way to get you the Mark, I swear I would do it.

“I know you would, Severus,” she said softly, caressing his cheek to comfort him.

As I said, the potion will ease the pain of my penetration of your body when it is occurring. But later, you will feel what I’ve done to you. Hopefully I will have you home and treated before the aftermath hits you. It will require me to use the elixir,” he said quietly.

The elixir? Severus would only use the elixir made from her virginal blood in extreme circumstances.

“It’s going to be that bad, Severus?” she asked him.

“Yes, Hermione. It really will be,” he said. Then he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him so tightly she could hardly breathe. He seemed to realize he was crushing her and loosened his grip. He looked at her.

“I need you to remember that I love you, Hermione. Promise me that you will hold that thought in your head when we are in the Dark Lord’s presence,” he whispered passionately against her hair.

“I’ll remember, Severus,” Hermione said, her heart so full of ache it hurt. Her husband was torn to the point of being emotional. She had an ordeal to face, but so did he.

The Potions Master tossed and turned the entire night, crying out Hermione’s name in his sleep, waking the witch several times. She did her best to soothe him, sweat running down his brow. She had no idea what his nightmares consisted of. She was tempted to slip into his mind as he slept, but decided it was probably best she did not know. She was worried enough.

Hermione was aware there was a very dark side to her husband. A very angry, vengeful side that he kept from her. When he had left her the night she was almost killed by the assassins, and she read about the mutilated bodies found the next day, she knew in her gut that Severus had wreaked a horrible revenge on the two men. The violence of his act had sickened her, but she knew he did what he felt he had to do to protect his own. Her husband was not going to leave them alive to attack them again. Hermione suspected that someone sent the men, and Severus’ method of killing them was meant to send a message. She believed whoever was behind the attack, had gotten that message loud and clear.

This was the alternate world her husband lived in, a world of pain, violence and death. A world where power wasn’t given him in large amounts, and even the direction of his destiny was determined by others. He was a servant of the Dark Lord, a servant of Albus Dumbledore and a servant of the wizarding world at large. Even move he made was within the confines of those boundaries. Hermione realized the Potions Master’s only respite, was her. And now she was being brought into his dark existence, his ultimate hope that she would be able to help him free himself.
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Hermione felt if Severus could be freed, his darkness would recede. Not totally, but enough to make him a happier, more content man. As he was now, he wasn’t free to live or even love as he would like. She had to help him. If that meant going down into the darkness with him, she would do it, and help break the chains of servitude that bound him. As far as Hermione Snape was concerned, Voldemort was as good as gone.

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The night of the full moon was upon Hermione and Severus. The couple had spent the night before making tender and passionate love over and over, the Potions Master trying his best to drive his love deep into his wife in such a way that it would stay with her through the ordeal he was going to put her through.

Severus donned his deatheater robes, but not his mask, then brought her the potion. It was a thick, black concoction and tasted of licorice and coffee. Hermione drank it down, and after warning her not to repeat it out loud, the Potions Master told her the word that would invoke its powers.

“Don’t say the word until I am actually standing before you, Hermione. It is important that you say it just before I take you. Understand me?” he said to her, holding both her hands tightly in his.

“Yes,” she said nervously. Then Severus kissed her tenderly. “Don’t eat or drink anything you are given,” he said. “Just decline it.”

She nodded.

Severus gasped, and grasped his forearm as the Dark Lord’s summons made itself known.

“It’s time, Hermione,” he said, pulling on the half-skull mask and putting up his hood. He took her by the arm. “Remember everything I’ve told you. And remember, I love you.”

They disapparated.

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They reappeared in a great, circular throne room. In the center of it sat the Dark Lord, resplendent in a shimmering scarlet robe with the image of Mors Mordre embroidered in golden thread on his breast. His red eyes glowed with excitement. He loved ritual nights. The room was filled with masked, hooded deatheaters, milling about excitedly and talking to one another. Several looked at Hermione hungrily. Severus took her and walked her toward the throne.

“Remember to curtsey and not to rise until he gives you leave,” Severus hissed at her. “And always address him as ‘my Lord.’”

Hermione swallowed as they approached the most evil wizard in existence.

They stopped before the throne, Severus bowing and Hermione curtseying.

There was a moment of silence as the Dark Lord studied the couple.

“Rise,” he said, and both Hermione and the Potions Master straightened.

Voldemort’s red eyes fell on the witch and glittered.

“Ah, Spells Mistress. Welcome to my abode, and in a little while, my ranks,” he said in his high-pitched voice.

“Thank you my Lord. I am grateful for this opportunity, particularly since I am a muggle-born,” she responded.

“Nice,” Severus thought with approval.

“The misfortune of your parentage is not something you can help. In your case, it is of little consequence. Your intelligence and accomplishments make you worthy to be one of mine. You will be under my protection,” he said, his eyes sweeping over her. It was unfortunate her conditions stated she was not to perform for him. She was a pretty little piece.

“As long as you produce, that is,” the Dark Lord added, his eyes narrowing.

“Then I should be under your protection for the rest of my life, my Lord, for I intend to use all of my resources to serve you,” Hermione responded, curtseying again.

The Dark Lord smirked with approval. Severus kept his face studiously neutral.

“Very well, Hermione. We shall see,” he said, clapping his hands. Two female deatheaters approached and took Hermione away.

The Dark Lord looked at Severus with a glint in his eye.

“Your wife is quite lovely. I shall enjoy seeing her broken,” he lisped at the Potions Master, “Do not disappoint me, Severus. Go and prepare.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Severus said, bowing and walking away.

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Hermione was taken through a door into a large, empty room with several other new inductees. A bench wound around the wall, and several large, fragrant tubs sat on the floor. Next to each tub was a small bottle. The witches escorted Hermione next to a tub and began to undress her.

“What are you doing?” Hermione asked, pulling away from them.

“You must be prepared for the Mark,” the red-haired woman said, eyeing Hermione. So this was Severus’ wife. She was very small. How did she handle such a wizard?

Hermione submitted as the women stripped her naked, surreptiously looking her body over. She was small but very well formed. The Dark Lord would be pleased.

The women bathed Hermione, then oiled her body until it gleamed. Then they brought out what looked like a black leather harness and fitted it over her body. It criss-crossed between her breasts, separating and lifting them slightly and was fastened at the back with hooks. Two leather garters were slipped over her thighs and attached to the harness by two leather straps. Then a silk robe was draped over her. It was scarlet and only had two fasteners.

The other inductees were all dressed the same as she was.

Another deatheater female entered with a platter that held several drinks. She offered one to Hermione, who shook her head.

“It may be a long while before you have the chance to have a drink,” the woman said, trying to persuade her.

“No thank you,” Hermione said. The woman looked at the other deatheater females for a moment. They shrugged, and she moved on to the next inductees, who all took a glass and drank thirstily.

“When you are called, you will enter the throne room and go through the ritual. Afterwards, you will receive your Mark and be free to go. There is a recovery room for those of you who will require it,” the redheaded deatheater said with a rather nasty smirk. All of them would require it.

All of the deatheater women left.

The women all sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Hermione felt slightly restricted by her harness. It was so tight, it was restricting her breathing somewhat. She looked over at the other women. They looked a little flushed. She wondered if she looked the same.

They sat there for half an hour before the door was flung open.

“Cecilia Mumsforth, arise and be counted,” a male voice called.

A tall blonde haired witch stood up, took a deep breath and proceeded to the door, walking through. It closed firmly behind her.

Hermione listened closely, but couldn’t hear anything. The room must have a silencing charm on it to keep them from knowing what was going on. But Hermione knew. The woman was being ravished in front of Voldemort and the deatheaters.

After about forty-five minutes, the door opened again.

“Vanessa Evans-Horthwards,” the voice bellowed. “Arise and be counted!” A short, rather chunky witch with black hair exited the room. The door closed again.

Hermione watched as witch after witch was called and the room emptied out. Finally it was her and another witch left. Hermione noticed the witch squirming slightly and rubbing her hands along her thighs.

“Lust potion,” she thought, “Obviously the Dark Lord wanted the inductees hot and panting.

The door opened again.

“Liza Figglesworth,” the male voice said. “Arise and be counted.”

Figglesworth? Hermione knew that name. Was this witch related to the Minister of Magic?

The witch rose and almost ran from the room. Hermione watched her go.

Now it was only her in the room. Hermione guessed Voldemort wanted to save her for last, being that she had only one deatheater fucking her. Severus.

For some reason she shuddered.

It seemed like hours before the door opened again.

“Hermione Snape, arise and be counted!” the voice said.

Hermione took a calming breath, and exited the room.

It was showtime.

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A/N: Oh my. The show is about to start. Hope you can handle this Hermione. Wow, they dressed her sexy didn’t they? Wonder where Severus is. Ah, well…next chapter. Please review.