Inside the Blackest Heart (Edit, Not Update)

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to JKR. All situations are mine. No $$$ is being made from this fanfic.
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Chapter 35 ~ The First Night at Voldemort’s

Hermione sat on the edge of the beautifully carved king-sized four-poster bed Voldemort provided for her comfort. Her rooms were quite nice. She had a living room and a separate study/library. Her bathroom was huge, with a sunken marble tub and several scented spigots, and a large enclosed standalone shower. She checked the titles in the study and found some interesting ones about magical theory, spell work and potions, even a few muggle titles, which surprised her. Did the Dark Lord appreciate muggle literature?

The female deatheater Delilah had brought her to the rooms, showed her about and offered to help her bathe. But there was something in the woman’s eyes that made Hermione decline. Delilah attempted to persuade her as she took Hermione’s cloak and started to unbutton her robes for her, her dark eyes shining excitedly. Hermione caught the woman’s hands and told her she would undress herself and that she was fine now. Delilah had looked very disappointed when she exited Hermione’s room. Hermione, on the other hand, breathed a sigh of relief when the deatheater left. Delilah was giving off signals that Hermione wasn’t ready to receive. As far as the Primordial knew, she preferred men sexually, and wasn’t ready to experiment with a woman. Plus sex was the last thing on her mind. Until she suddenly received an image.

It was a quick vision of Professor Snape standing in front of Voldemort and the deatheaters, his fists wrapped in the hair of a woman on her knees. He was driving his cock into the woman’s mouth roughly, his head tilted back, eyes closed with pleasure as everyone watched, approval evident on all their faces. He moved faster, let out a silent shout and stiffened, looking down and jerking the woman’s face flush to his pelvis, grimacing from his release. The crowd cheered and the dream faded.

“What a twisted bastard,” Hermione snorted. “Fucking exhibitionist.” But she felt a twinge of jealousy and fought it back. Snape could not even be considered her lover. She didn’t know what he was. A fuck-buddy? No, he was nobody’s buddy. She pushed him out of her mind.

Hermione removed her robes, pulled the white t-shirt beneath over her head, and then stepped out of her sweatpants. Apparently her magic had dressed her for comfort. Hermione noticed the wardrobe and walked over to it. Inside were beautiful dresses in her size, all rather low cut and shimmery. Probably what Voldemort liked to see women in. She would wear one tomorrow for him. She’d decided to try to stay in good graces with the wizard. She pulled out the drawer and it was filled with lingerie, pretty matching bra and panty sets, and silk nightgowns, both short and full length. She picked one up and rubbed the fabric against her cheek. It felt smooth, and delicious against her skin. She removed her underthings, walked into the bathroom and used the shower. The showerhead had little dials on it, where scent could be released into the spray. They even had jasmine scent. Hermione adjusted it, and took a long wash. When she stepped out of the spray and dried herself off, she felt invigorated. She wondered if the water had replenishing potion integrated into it. She slipped on the nightgown and as the silk dropped over her flesh, she felt delicious sensations shoot through her body. It seemed the nightgown was charmed to feel extra good against the skin.

Hermione realized that she felt a little puckish. As soon as thoughts of hunger hit her, two of the saddest looking house elves she had ever seen winked in.

“Hello Miss. I am Hansel and this here’s Gretel,” the brown house elf said, gesturing to its green companion, “We will be serving you during your stay with the Master.”

Hermione looked at the elf.

“You don’t speak the elf dialect, Hansel,” she commented.

“No Miss. Gretel and I have never associated with other house elves, only humans, Miss. So we don’t talk like them.”

“I see,” said Hermione looking down on the dismal pair.

“Why do you look so unhappy?” Hermione asked the elves. They both looked at each other, rather frightened.

“We are proud to serve the Dark Lord, Miss,” piped up Gretel, who look stricken at her question. Hermione understood. They probably lived a miserable existence here. Sympathetically she reached out a hand to pat the house elf, and the creature drew away as if she were going to hit her.

“Gretel, you don’t have to be afraid of me,” Hermione said softly, “I wouldn’t dream of hurting either of you. I like house elves, though I think you should be paid for your work.”

Both house elves looked up at her, suspiciously.

“House elves are never paid for their work, Miss. They are slaves,” said Hansel. Hermione thought she detected a bit of bitterness in the elf, though she had never heard an elf call itself a slave. They always referred to themselves as servants.

“I know one. His name is Dobby. He is free and works in the kitchens of Hogwarts for pay,” she said to the elf, who looked excited for a moment. So did Gretel.

“He is free?” Hansel asked, his brown eyes glistening.

“Yes,” Hermione replied.

The elf looked wistful for a moment, then frightened that he had shown that emotion to Hermione.

“Don’t worry, Hansel. Everyone has dreams. It isn’t bad to want to be free,” she said, and she caressed his head lightly. The elf’s eyes closed in pleasure and he rolled his head beneath her palm, as Gretel looked on, her green eyes shining.

“This Miss is not like the others,” the elf thought.

Hermione stood up.

“Are you my servants?” she asked the elves.

“Yes Miss, as long as you are here,” Hansel replied, bowing. He looked a little less unhappy now.

“Well, you will not be mistreated by me, ever,” she said to the elves. The creatures actually smiled. Everyone abused them. Hermione was the first to say she wouldn’t.

“Yes, Miss,” the elves said in unison, looking at each other and back at Hermione, eagerly now.

“What can I bring you, Miss?” Hansel asked, almost trembling to serve the witch.

“Can I get two ham sandwiches with lettuce, tomatoes and mustard? And a glass of cold pumpkin juice?”

“Certainly Miss,” Gretel replied, curtseying. Both winked out.

Several minutes later they returned with Hermione’s food, and set it on her night table.

“Do you need anything else, Miss?” Hansel asked.

“No, I’m fine now. Thank you so much,” she replied.

The elves both quivered with joy.

“What?” Hermione asked before biting into her sandwich. She was starved.

“No one ever thanks us,” Gretel said.

“Well I will. I appreciate your service,” Hermione responded, smiling at them, “now good-night.”

They quivered a little more at this declaration and winked out.

Hermione finished her meal and was about to turn in when her door opened and the Professor walked in.

“Haven’t you ever heard of knocking?” Hermione said irritatedly as she slid under the silk sheets.

The Professor walked over to her bed and looked down at her, his black eyes glittering. He sniffed.

“I see they’ve provided you with jasmine. And quite a room,” he commented.

“Yes, the residence is quite nice, and the library well stocked,” she responded, then she frowned at him. “I saw you were provided with something ‘nice’ too.”

The Professor looked at her, perplexed for a moment, then he realized what she was referring to.

“Ah, you mean my little brown-haired reward. Yes, she was quite proficient,” he replied, smirking. “You seem a little jealous, Primordial.”

Hermione sat up, scowling at him.

“I am not jealous. Why would I be jealous of a black-hearted exhibitionist like you?” she spat.

The Professor actually grinned, although a bit unpleasantly.

“If it is any consolation to you, Miss Granger,” he purred silkily, “She was nothing compared to you.” His black eyes grew hot at the memory.

Hermione blushed. She couldn’t help it. She felt a little pulse of warmth between her legs. Damn him.

The Professor looked at her and licked his lips.

“I came here to ask you if you would like me to spend the night with you. It was the Dark Lord’s idea. He wants to make sure all your ‘needs’ are met. He said to tell you that you have your pick of deatheaters to indulge yourself with, if you develop a taste for something ‘different.’ Snape said, a slight frown on his face.

He didn’t care about Hermione per se, but he was like most men, territorial. He was the one who broke her in, after all.

“You don’t like the idea of me fucking other men, Professor,” Hermione said with a smirk.

“You can fuck whom you like,” he replied, looking at her blackly. If she wasn’t under the protection of Voldemort, he’d fuck her right now, whether she wanted it or not, the cheeky twit.

“So do you want me to stay?” he asked, hoping she would say yes so he could knock a new hole in her.

Hermione looked around the room, then smiled evilly.

“Yes. Yes I do want you to stay,” she said looking up at him.

The Professor quickly began to disrobe, his eyes hard as he looked at her.

“Right there in that armchair,” she finished.

Snape looked at the plush armchair pushed against the wall.

“What?” he said angrily.

“I want you to spend the night in the armchair and watch over me. I am in a new place and I feel out of sorts. Your presence will make me sleep better,” she said sweetly.

“I will not sleep in an armchair!” he said, scowling at her.

Hermione crossed her arms and scowled right back at him.

“You WILL sleep in that armchair, or else I will complain to the Dark Lord you refused to do what I asked of you,” she responded smugly.

Snape fought the urge to wrap his hands around her neck and choke her to within an inch of her life. She had him, and she knew it.

“In fact, I want you to come here every night and watch over me,” she said vengefully.

“You are an evil bitch,” Snape snarled, stalking over to the chair and sitting down in it, looking as if he wanted to hit her with the Killing curse.

Hermione smiled at him.

“You must be rubbing off on me, Professor,” she smirked, “now dim the lights. I’m going to sleep.”

Hermione made a large production of snuggling down into the comfortable bed, while Snape shifted around to find a comfortable position in the armchair. He was too long for it. He waved his hand at the torches and they dimmed.

“Good night, Professor,” Hermione’s voice floated over to him, full of sugar.

“Fuck you, Miss Granger,” Snape snapped.

He’d get her for this.

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A/N: Lol. Hermione is something else. Vengeful little kitten, isn’t she? Please review.