Dance with the Devil

Disclaimer: JKR? I don’t think so. Money? Only in my dreams.

Chapter One: The Devil’s Offer

Hermione Granger lay on her bed, a physics book splayed open on her chest, and stared at the ceiling of her bedroom. It was a year to the day since the final battle and for once she allowed herself to think about it.

Everything had gone as planned. They had followed Dumbledore’s advice, collecting and destroying all the Horcruxes. Then, as per the prophecy, Harry had met with Voldemort in a dramatic confrontation in the Great Hall of Hogwarts.

There had been insults tossed, hexes thrown, Death Eaters and members of the Order hurt and killed. Even Crookshanks had entered into the fray, slashing at the legs of as many Death Eaters as possible. As usual, Hermione had missed the major battles. She had been helping Professor McGonagall shepherd the students out of the school via the secret tunnels shown on the Marauder’s Map. However, she had arrived just in time to see Harry’s throat crushed by the silver hand of Peter Pettigrew.

As Voldemort’s triumphant laughter filled the hall, Hermione realised that the late Albus Dumbledore had not been omniscient.

She did not remember the next three weeks. Remus had grabbed her and taken her to Grimmauld Place. He had carried her up to her room and laid her on the bed where she had stayed, comatose but with no physical injuries. Not knowing how to deal with this, the others had taken her wand away and, as far as she could tell from what was revealed later, had largely left her alone whilst they dealt with Ron and Ginny’s grief, together with their own plans of survival. The Order did, however, ensure that she was fed and cleaned regularly whilst in her comatose state. George and Fred Weasley had even occasionally read to her from old text books left lying around the house.

When she finally made her way down to the kitchen by herself, Ron told her that everyone had seen Pettigrew circling behind Harry, but believed what Dumbledore had said – Peter owed a life debt to Harry. So no-one had touched the rat Animagus, to their everlasting sorrow and regret.

He had no knowledge of what happened to Crookshanks.

It was every creature’s instinct to flee to a safe haven and recover from their wounds, and Hermione was no different. So, instead of following the rest of the Order and going into hiding and making further plans to bring about the downfall of Voldemort, Hermione returned home. It was safe; the Order had seen to that when she had left Hogwarts to help Harry. Every record of her parents and their address had been eradicated from the wizarding world. Her only real obstacle was Ron’s vehement opposition to her leaving. However, the Order convinced him that, as a Muggleborn, she would be in more danger than any of them if she stayed.

She used magic to conjure up false Muggle schooling records for herself.

Then she had broken her wand and thrown it into a dog waste bin.

Her parents had initially been worried and concerned, but once she enrolled into a sixth form college and began bringing home grades fitting to their station, they decided all must be well. They never asked her why she left the wizarding world and she never volunteered any information about the war or Harry. She merely told them being a witch was no longer the life she wanted. They did not question her. In truth, she was quite the stranger to them. Most of her growing years had been spent in the wizarding world, either at school or spending holidays with the Weasleys and, although they loved her as parents are obliged to, they really had little space for her in their lives. As always.

So here she was – studying for her A-levels and crying herself to sleep nearly every night.

Throwing her book carelessly onto the floor, she rolled onto her stomach and, burying her face in her pillow, let out a scream of frustration, failing to hear the distinctive pop of someone Apparating into her room.

“Still sulking, Miss Granger? I would have thought a Gryffindor would have had more backbone than this,” a snide, well-remembered voice sneered.

In shock, Hermione’s eyes snapped open as her body froze, still lying with her face buried in her pillow.

Another voice answered the first.

“Well, what do you expect from a Mudblood? And look at the size of her bum!”

That whining voice was also too familiar.

Slowly, knowing that when she turned her nightmares would become reality, Hermione rolled onto her back and pushed herself up against the bed-head.

Severus Snape and Draco Malfoy stood in identical poses at the end of her bed, arms crossed over their chests and sneers curling up their lips.

“Get out of my house,” she ordered, her voice low and intense as her wand hand twitched involuntarily.

“Make us,” Draco taunted. “Oh, you can’t! You broke your wand, didn’t you, Granger?”

“Draco,” the older wizard growled warningly.

Draco smirked, but stayed quiet.

“Miss Granger,” Snape began, only to be interrupted.

“I said, get out, you filthy murderers!”

“You are in no position to demand anything, you impudent girl!” Snape roared as his temper snapped.

Stalking around the bed, he grabbed the young witch off the bed and shook her fiercely. “We’re here to help you, you idiot,” he hissed before dropping her back onto the bed.

Turning, he strode over to the window and gazed out, clenching his fists and drawing in deep breaths to calm himself.

Hermione, with her gaze darting between him and Draco, hurriedly fixed her clothing, pushing everything back into place. Draco watched her, disgust blooming on his face.

“Gods,” Draco spat out. “You can have her, Snape! I renounce my claim. No revenge is worth seeing that every day.”

He then stepped forward and Apparated out of the room, leaving the saturnine wizard alone with an angry and confused Hermione.

“Why are you here?” she asked, anger thick in her voice.

Snape swooped back across the room and stood silently, staring down at the young woman on the bed.

“That is complicated,” he finally answered.

Hermione frowned. “How did you find me then?”

He sneered. “Miss Granger, I had been your teacher for six years – do you not think I would know where one of my students lived? Especially one so close to Potter?”

At that, all Hermione’s rage and frustration with her life coalesced and focussed onto the one person who had destroyed her faith in him.

“Don’t you say his name!” Hermione exploded off the bed and launched herself at him, beating her hands against his chest. “Don’t you even speak of him!” she continued screeching and sobbing as everything poured out of her. “How could you do it? We trusted you and then you just …”

“Better a live dog than a dead lion,” Snape informed as he grasped her flailing hands, deftly spinning her around, pinned her to him.

“Now, if you have quite finished with all these ridiculous, Gryffindor dramatics,” he panted, breathless from the struggle to keep her still, “we need to talk.”

With that, he thrust her away from him, spinning her slightly so she fell on her back onto her bed.

“You … you … you …” she sobbed, unable to find an epithet which fully vented her anger, frustration and sorrow.

“Yes,” Snape asserted in a bored tone. “I am the devil. I am a traitor. I must be punished. You will destroy me. It will involve great pain, and I will weep and wail and gnash my teeth. I believe I have now verbalised your inner feelings with the same amount of finesse that you would accomplish which, I might add, is minimal.”

Swirling his robes around himself, Snape sat down on the edge of the bed next to Hermione’s hip. Uncharacteristically, he let out a deep sigh before pinching and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“From what I can gather, you have had no contact at all with anybody in the wizarding world since you left it three weeks after Potter’s death. Is this correct?” he queried.

Wordlessly she nodded, mopping her face up with her sleeve.

“Then you know nothing at all about the … initiatives … Lord Voldemort has set up for the pureblood families,” he stated.

Again, Hermione nodded.

There was no response from her former teacher. Instead, he stared fixedly across the room at a small, Muggle photograph of her and her parents. It had been taken on their tour of France in the summer before the Triwizard Tournament. Seeing him thus distracted, Hermione carefully edged up the bed, hoisting herself upright and surreptitiously fumbling for the cricket bat she kept tucked between her bed and her bedside table. Just as the tip of her fingers felt the comforting, rubber handle, Snape spoke again.

“Please do not insult my intelligence or power, Miss Granger. I could turn it into a toothpick before you could even raise it for a good swing.”

“What has this got to do with me?” Hermione said dully, all fight gone. “I’ve left it all behind – I don’t care what that insane sociopath does anymore.”

“You should, Miss Granger, you should,” Snape murmured absently, his gaze once again fixed on the photo. “Those are your parents, are they not?” he asked abruptly.

“Yes,” she replied cautiously. Suddenly she drew in a deep breath. “Don’t you DARE think of hurting them!”

“Why on earth would I want to hurt a couple of Muggle dentists?” he asked, genuinely confused.

“Why else would you check if that was them?” she shot back.

For a long moment, Severus Snape gazed at his former student, carefully guarding his face against expressing any of his thoughts or feelings.

“Miss Granger,” he finally began, before pausing to draw in a deep breath and rub his forehead. “I shall start at the beginning, and I would appreciate it if you just listen. I will answer any questions you have at the end. Is this understood?”

Wide-eyed, Hermione nodded, completely flummoxed by the wizard who perched on her bed.

“Over the years,” he began in his best lecturing voice, the one that often made the girls in all his classes think totally inappropriate thoughts about their Potions master, “many of the pureblood family lines have become so inbred that their offspring’s magic, and in some cases sanity, is becoming progressively weaker and weaker. Fertility in most of these families has also declined dramatically. Lord Voldemort, as I am sure you are aware, is very concerned with keeping the sanctity of the older families intact. He has therefore instituted certain laws to ensure the survival of these families and to also solve the problem of Muggleborn children.”

“What’s the problem with us?” Hermione burst in.

Snape sighed and continued on. “The problem being, of course, that they are forced to straddle two distinctly different worlds. Over time, this has caused many disasters in both worlds, the most well known in the Muggle world resulting in the Dark Ages and World War II. When Muggleborns decide to return to the Muggle world, they cannot help but begin to use their magic to enhance certain aspects of their life. The others, who stay in the wizarding world, begin to bring in objects and concepts that are not compliant with that society. Much of the Ministry’s time, not to mention money, has been utilised to clear up the disasters resulting from these people’s actions.

“There is also the problem of those Muggle children who wish to stay in the wizarding world to escape from the abuses they suffer at the hands of their uncomprehending Muggle family. You would be amazed, Miss Granger, at the number of Muggleborns who are abused and even killed as their parents or guardians believe their powers are of the devil, or some such rubbish.

“Thus, the Dark Lord has instituted the following policies: all Muggle children with the magical ability to attend Hogwarts are taken from their families, who are Obliviated of their memories of that child, and adopted into a pureblood family …”

“That’s not possible,” Hermione gasped, interrupting again. “I mean, schools, social workers, friends – they all know …”

“And are also Obliviated,” Snape finished. “It is possible, Miss Granger, with the use of certain spells which were previously considered the Dark Arts.”

“But,” Hermione began weakly, only to be cut off.

“The second policy,” he continued, “involves those Muggleborn who have attained adulthood and are too old to be adopted. They are given a choice: they may willingly marry a pureblood or, in certain cases approved by the Marriage Board, a half-blood whose wizarding side of their heritage is sufficiently pedigree enough; or they are auctioned off to the highest bidder who may then hire them out to breed with whichever pureblood family requires new blood, or keep them for their own use. In both these cases a chastity charm is placed on the female, pureblood or Muggleborn, to ensure that no other man can interfere with their breeding. However, if the Muggleborn marries a pureblood or approved half-blood, they will have the full rights of any spouse. ”

Hermione gazed at him, dumbstruck.

“Of course,” Snape concluded, “the older Muggleborn’s family is also Obliviated and their presence is erased from the Muggle world.”

There was silence in the room.

“Well, thank you for coming all this way to tell me that, sir,” Hermione stated whilst pushing herself off the other side of the bed and striding over to her bedroom door, yanking it open. “I choose neither. I am staying in the Muggle world and, as I have no wand, no-one can find me! So, good day, Professor Snape, and please leave now.”

Snape stood slowly. “I am not the only wizard who knows where you live. No, not Draco – I tandem Apparated with him. However, the Dark Lord has a new … assistant … who is very eager to please and has knowledge of your whereabouts.”

Hermione’s brow creased in confusion as she tried to think who knew where she lived, aside from the members of the scattered Order of the Phoenix.

“Dolores Umbridge?” she guessed.

Snape’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “No, not her, although I did not even think of her.”

“Then I don’t know who! In fact, you’re probably just trying to scare me!” Hermione snapped, and gestured for him to leave out the open door.

Snape just stared levelly at her. “Come, Miss Granger, use that apparent prodigious intelligence of yours.”

Hermione’s face fell as the truth hit her. “Percy Weasley – the rat,” she muttered.

Snape nodded sharply.

“Then why are you here?” Hermione questioned. “There’s no way you’re going to help me escape from your new master. And what did Draco mean, ‘I renounce my claim’?”

Disconcertingly, Snape did not answer her. Instead he swept over to where she stood, still holding her bedroom door open, and sank down on one knee in front of her. Pulling out a small box from his robes, he opened it, revealing a silver coloured ring embedded with a light blue stone she did not recognise, all the time keeping his gaze firmly fixed on her feet.

“I offer you the protection of marriage to me, Miss Granger.”

*~*

A/n: A dog waste bin is a bin that all public parks in England have where you can put your bags of dog poo.

Thanks to the omnipotent JuneW for her usual exemplary beta work and encouraging support (and alerting me to the fact that not everyone would know what a dog waste bin was)!