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“Fill me, from the crown to the toe, top full, of direst cruelty.”—William Shakespeare, Macbeth

“Wake up, pet,” a voice cooed, bringing her gently into consciousness. “We have a surprise for you today.”

Hermione opened her eyes and peered up at the raven-haired witch smiling down at her, the other woman’s lips twisted into some mockery of a smile that chilled her blood. She stretched slowly under the soft Egyptian cotton sheets; the fabric was draped artfully over her nude body and it felt delicious on her heated skin.

“Is it morning already?” Hermione murmured, shoving her hair off her face. There was no window in the room to gauge the time of day, and clocks were not to be found in the Dark Lord’s palace.

It shall be a long, long time before I see the light again.

“It is time for you to wake up, pet,” Bellatrix said, grabbing Hermione’s hair and pulling her up sharply. “Up we go,” she purred.

Hermione sat up, naked, and Bellatrix took the opportunity to scratch her nails lightly down Hermione’s chest, pulling roughly at her nipples. Bellatrix leaned down and kissed her, swallowing Hermione’s moan. Hermione reached her arms out to catch Bellatrix’s arms and pulled her back to her, nipping the black-haired witch’s lips.

“Mmmm,” Bellatrix purred, “I see we’ve trained you well.” She bit Hermione’s lip back, stopping short of drawing blood.

Hermione stood and Bellatrix tossed her a sheer black robe. Tugging it over her head, she left her hair down and looked expectantly at the older woman. “Where are we going?” she asked curiously. She was led through the corridors into a chamber at the end of a hallway she had never seen before.

The room was curious; it was a circular chamber with a central raised platform, and two posts that were attached to the domed ceiling and the dais. A skylight in the dome provided a shaft of light that illuminated the platform, although the rest of the chamber was engulfed in shadows. The only other furniture was a chair and a table covered with a black cloth, on which rested a black whip and a wicked-looking knife.

This is the Dark Lord’s torture chamber. Or one of them, at any rate.

“There you are,” a voice said, and Hermione turned her head and saw a figure walking from the shadows of the room into the light. Rodolphus was dressed in a simple plain black robe and his arms crossed over his chest. His dark hair was swept back from his face, and his dark eyes were heavy-lidded. His full lips were smiling softly, although the soothing expression did nothing to lessen Hermione’s anticipation. Rodolphus could smile gently and cut your heart out at the same time.

Besides, Hermione no longer feared the pain. When they had taken her, when they had broken her…she had learned that the pain was freedom, the pleasure was a secondary reward. Her senses had become confused; anymore there simply was no pleasure without pain.

Bellatrix walked over to Rodolphus and leaned up to kiss her husband. It was a gesture that was strangely gentle, and Rodolphus ran his hand down her raven hair almost reverently. Hermione watched, amused; she knew the gentleness was fleeting, would be replaced by the pain soon enough. She had recently learned the lesson that pain was pleasure, but these were her teachers in such masochistic delights, and long had they known the secret.

Sure enough, his hands tightened in her hair as Rodolphus ruthlessly pulled her back to devour her mouth—Bellatrix groaned and fell backwards as if collapsing, allowing his hold on her hair to tighten. Hermione’s breath escaped on a sigh at the sight of them, twined together, dark and violent and perfectly content.

“Come here, pet,” Rodolphus murmured, his voice pulsing with warmth. Rodolphus had a voice like the spring earth—deep and rich with the promise of life. It was one of his greatest contradictions, this voice belonging to a man who strangled life like a gardener pulling weeds.

“Don’t you wish to give me a proper hello?” he continued, and Hermione walked over to him to be enfolded in his harsh embrace.

We will teach you, pet, that violence is a caress, that darkness is your salvation.

“Yes,” Hermione whispered, moving close to his warmth. She cried out as Bellatrix yanked at her curls, hissing, “yes what, pet?”

“Yes, sir,” Hermione said, giving Rodolphus an amused look as she leaned her face up to his. Bellatrix liked her little games, and they liked to humor her.

Rodolphus kissed her—his embrace was no less rough than his wife’s had been, and he released her lips with a husky laugh. He tangled his free hand in Hermione’s curls and pushed her towards Bellatrix, watching as his wife kissed their young lover.

“How…stimulating,” a cold voice drawled, and Hermione pulled back from Bellatrix in surprise. The other woman, who preferred her to be submissive (Hermione did not tell her of the games she and Rodolphus played at night, where he made her tell him what she would do to Bellatrix if she were not required to play the submissive), nipped at her neck in annoyance for being the first to break their embrace. Her mouth traveled up Hermione’s neck and she began to run her tongue up her young lover’s inner ear.

“I told you we had a present for you,” Bellatrix murmured.

“Did you hear that, Malfoy? Bellatrix says you are a present,” Rodolphus said, hands stroking the backs of the two women standing pressed together before him. “Have a seat,” Rodolphus said pleasantly, gesturing towards the room’s sole chair. He turned to Hermione and ran his finger over her lips; she opened them obediently and sucked lightly on his finger.

“Malfoy has pleased our lord greatly,” Rodolphus said, closing his eyes briefly as her tongue caressed his finger. “His reward is to watch what we do to you, how we have been preparing you these many months to be the Dark Lord’s bride.”

Rodolphus suddenly moved and put his hands on her waist, lifting her easily and placing her on the slightly raised platform in the center of the room. He vaulted easily onto it and pulled Bellatrix onto it as well, before pushing Hermione lightly toward the two poles. This close, she could see there were arm shackles on the tops of the poles. Rodolphus waved his wand at them and murmured quietly, and they descended to slightly above her head.

He gestured towards them, and Hermione obediently held her arms up to placed in the shackles.

“See how easily she acquiesces, Malfoy? We’ve spent months teaching her these lessons, ever since we first broke her.” He slipped her hands in the restraints, drawing a hand down her hair briefly before stepping back. Like with Bellatrix earlier, she knew it would be the last tender gesture she was shown for quite some time.

“Bellatrix,” Rodolphus said simply, and gestured towards Hermione. He pointed his wand at the table and said, “Accio knife,” and handed it to his wife, who was licking her lips slowly as she stared at the blade.

One day I’ll wield that blade, Hermione thought, amused. She will beg me.

She thought she might have heard a soft laugh in the darkness. I must have imagined that.

“Cut her clothes off,” Rodolphus said, voice changing from dark and warm to harsh and impersonal. He crossed his arms, moved out of Malfoy’s view, and watched with an arched brow as Bellatrix stepped in front of Hermione, knife raised.

“Pretty pet, are you ready?” Bellatrix’s voice throbbed with eagerness.

“Yes,” Hermione said, breathless. She felt the wetness between her thighs and shifted restlessly. The restraints pulled her arms up and she was almost on tiptoes, so it was slightly uncomfortable.

It was intoxicating, as always.

“Pretty little pet of mine, she is already ready for what we will do to her,” Bellatrix cooed, and rubbed her fingers lightly on the mound of her sex. Hermione bit her lip, and Bellatrix’s midnight eyes narrowed slightly.

“Don’t you hide those moans from us, pet. We have worked so very hard for you to learn to let go, to submit to us.” She held the knife up, running it over her own palm, back and forth, back and forth, and Hermione was unable to stop the restless shifting and breathy cries escaping her.

“Good,” Bellatrix said, and placed the flat of the blade on Hermione’s robe. “Shall I do this slowly, Rodolphus, or quickly?” She caressed Hermione’s body through the sheer drape, rubbing the flat of the knife over her nipples, which stood hard beneath the fabric.

“Mmm. Let us ask our guest. After all, this is a show for Malfoy, is it not? What say you, Malfoy? Do you want Bellatrix to cut that cloth off her slowly, or quickly?”

Malfoy’s voice, when he spoke, was hard as diamonds. “I want her to bleed, Lestrange,” he said.

Bellatrix giggled madly—the sound was almost obscene, as she did so while licking the sharp blade of the knife.

“You heard her, Bellatrix. Cut her so she bleeds,” Rodolphus said, and Malfoy spoke once more from his seat in the chair in front of the dais.

“Slowly, Bellatrix,” he hissed, pleasure in his voice at the thought.

He has never liked me, Hermione thought, remembering. This will be exciting for him, to watch my pain. The thought was mildly disturbing, but the lesson she had been taught over and over by her capable teachers flitted briefly through her mind—

Through pain we are reborn.

Malfoy would watch this, and enjoy it—and when it was over, he would accept the old Hermione was dead and gone, and the woman who would emerge from this chrysalis of pain would be the woman who was worthy of being the Dark Lord’s bride.

One day perhaps I shall make even him beg.

As Bellatrix began to cut the fabric off her, careful as always to draw the blade down her skin hard enough to draw blood and cause pleasure at the same time, Hermione remembered the Dark Lord’s words to her after she had taken his Mark and climbed from the bed upon which she had been broken.

You have not died, Hermione. I shall make you immortal. You shall rule and the world shall tremble beneath your stare, as it shall mine. Help me and I shall give you all that you desire.

One day, this proud blonde wizard, the clever Rodolphus and cruel Bellatrix—one day soon they would bow to her, and she would wield the knife.

Again, she thought she heard a hiss of laughter in the darkness.

When Bellatrix finished with her work, the black drape lay pooled at her feet, and there was a bloody trail on Hermione’s skin from her neck to her sex, a thin red line from which blood spilled red onto the floor below.

Malfoy hissed at the sight, and Rodolphus smiled. “Lick it off her, Bellatrix,” he ordered, the harsh command at odds with the quiet smile on his face.

“My pleasure,” Bellatrix said, and dropped to her knees. Bellatrix twisted her body sinuously as she ran her tongue up Hermione’s body. The gesture was both graceful and erotic, twisted and obscene.

“Bellatrix, move behind her,” Rodolphus ordered, and Bellatrix did so without hesitating, walking around until she was behind Hermione.

“Well, Malfoy?” She said as she moved Hermione’s hair to the side to kiss the girl’s neck. Her mouth was still bloody; she was leaving stains on Hermione’s neck from the kiss. “Are you enjoying your show?”

“Assuredly,” he said. “I must say, it was most satisfactory to watch her moan while you bled her.” His usually cold voice was warmer than usual from his growing arousal.

“You want to see what is even better?” Bellatrix murmured, her hand sliding down the front of Hermione’s body—she took care to score her long nails down the knife scratch, and Hermione’s moan was loud in the room. Her hand tickled slowly down to Hermione’s sex, where she rubbed one long finger in her slit, laughing huskily.

“She’s so wet, Malfoy,” Bellatrix murmured, and then bringing her finger up she put it in Hermione’s mouth. “Taste yourself, Hermione, taste your arousal from the cut of my blade.”

Hermione did so unthinkingly, closing her eyes and licking the other woman’s finger slowly, tasting her own muskiness and feeling her arousal increase. Bellatrix laughed softly and returned to stroking Hermione’s distended clit, rubbing harshly.

I can smell you…. the strange words ran through her mind like a caress. It sounded like him, but he was not here—only those he had chosen to prepare her, to make her ready for him.

The thought of surrendering not to Bellatrix and her blade, or Rodolphus with his harsh commands and gentle smile, but rather to him—that cold voice and horribly chilling touch….Hermione’s back arched as the pleasure tore through her, as she came hard, pulling on her restraints and twisting, pushing back into Bellatrix’s body.

Rodolphus’ laugh was quiet in the room—Malfoy said nothing, but Hermione thought she heard a rustle of clothing and when she opened her eyes she saw he had divested himself of his outer robe and was wearing a pair of black trousers and a plain white shirt. She had never seen Malfoy in anything other than dress robes—and here he was now, with his face was flushed, his hair tousled as if he had run his hands through it violently, breathing rapid and shallow.

I bring you to heel by doing nothing but submitting, Hermione thought, her eyes downcast so the blond wizard would not see them gleam in triumph. The Dark Lord would be pleased at how well I’ve learned this lesson. The impeccable Malfoy was completely disconcerted, and it was all her doing.

The thought was pleasurable; as was Bellatrix’s mouth on her neck and the sight of Rodolphus stepping towards her, tugging his robe off until he was dressed in simple black trousers and a black shirt.

He pressed his body against hers; she could feel his hardness through the cloth against her naked skin and shivered deliciously.

“I can feel how wet you are,” Rodolphus murmured, and put his lips next to her ear. Quietly, so that Malfoy could not hear, he murmured, “Are you excited by what Bella and I do to you, or by ensnaring Lucius in the web you spin with your exquisite submission to us?”

“Both,” Hermione whispered. She thought she heard that hissing laugh, the sound excited her unbearably. His voice in her mind made her body chill and cold; pressed against the warmth of her two lovers the sensation was pure bliss.

“I thought so,” Rodolphus murmured, rubbing himself against her as Bellatrix did the same from behind. He raised his voice to address Malfoy. “What would you like to see from our pretty pet next? Shall I have Bellatrix fuck her for you? Shall I have her suck my cock? We await your pleasure, Lucius.” His eyes closed as the three of them writhed in tandem, excitement growing as they moved languidly against each other.

“All in good time, Lestrange. I must say, I wish to see some more pain. I believe it would please me to watch you whip her.” Lucius voice was huskier than Hermione had ever heard it. Gone was his usual imperious tone of cold command, he sounded primal and male.

You break him with nothing, not even a smile. It was as if she could feel his pleasure; tendrils of ice seemed to wrap around her, caressing her neck. It was not Bellatrix, who had moved to the table to procure the whip, and Rodolphus was grasping her hips and rubbing himself against her, but he was not touching her neck.

I want—she could not finish the thought, though her desire ran thick through her veins.

I know. The cold tendrils went further, licking over her heated skin.

The whip Rodolphus wielded as skillfully as his wife did the blade; he moved behind her and Hermione trembled in her restraints.

He will want you to scream.

She did not know if she imagined that cold sibilant voice in her mind, but when the whip fell, she followed the suggestion. The screams felt delicious in her mouth, like chocolate; bitter and dark.

“Yes,” Malfoy hissed, “hurt her, Lestrange.”

Submit….Lestrange has skill, it cannot be doubted, but mine is greater still. Perhaps a taste, since you learn so well, submit so beautifully….

Yes, yes…

She did scream, loud and longingly, because the whip ceased to be a lash of fire and instead felt like the sting of ice on her back.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Hermione sobbed, and felt herself on the brink, as Rodolphus whipped her. She saw Bellatrix, having torn her robe from her thin, knife-sharp body, seated on the floor with her legs spread, fucking herself with the hilt of the knife. Malfoy was leaning forward in his chair, eyes glittering, and the flush on his high cheekbones highlighted the wildness of his slate eyes. Rodolphus was breathing harshly behind her.

This pleasure is not for you, not yet, the voice said in her head, amused. The icy cold of the whip was gone, and the fiery sting returned. It was exquisite and beautiful pain, but she felt bereft of the sadistic pleasure of that icy pleasure it had previously delivered.

Soon, Hermione. Soon you will feel the sting of my lash.

“Show me how she likes you to fuck her,” Lucius said tightly, his hand moving over the bulge in his trousers with a slow, languid movement.

“You heard Malfoy,” Rodolphus said. “Untie her, Bellatrix.”

Bellatrix, who was sprawled on the floor in the aftermath of her orgasm, climbed to her feet with a lazy, satisfied look on her face. She removed the restraints and carefully helped Hermione stand on her shaking legs. “You are so clever, my pet,” she purred, drawing her hands down her body.

“Where would you like her, Lucius?” Bellatrix said over her shoulder, still idly caressing the other woman’s body as she waited.

“Anywhere, just fuck her,” Malfoy growled. His trousers were open, his long fingers moving over his hard length, eyes narrowed in lust.

Rodolphus laughed. “On your knees before me,” he said, hands working at his trousers. Hermione did as he asked—and Bellatrix pushed her down roughly, then moved to stand behind her and stroke her hair.

Hermione obligingly opened her mouth as Rodolphus thrust himself inside, his hands tangled in her hair as he moved his hips.

“Yes,” Bellatrix murmured, her hands caressing Hermione’s breasts. “Harder, Rodolphus” she said, excited, and he complied.

There was silence in the room as Rodolphus moved in and out of Hermione’s eager mouth, Bellatrix’s hands slipped between Hermione’s thighs and twisted her clit almost violently. Lucius Malfoy’s breathing was harsh as he stroked himself, watching the scene before him.

“That’s good, pet,” Rodolphus said, voice thick with lust. “On your back, now. Hold her, Bellatrix,” he hissed.

Hermione leaned back in Bellatrix’s arms, and the two women kissed each other while Rodolphus moved between Hermione’s spread thighs. He grasped her knees and pulled her against him harshly as he thrust into her. His eyes met his wife’s; the two of them stared at each other as he fucked Hermione, as Bellatrix’s hands twisted Hermione’s nipples.

“Harder, do it harder,” Bellatrix cried out, and Hermione felt her body tighten, causing her to throw her head back.

“Do you like it, Mudblood?” Malfoy asked from the chair, his hand moving faster on his cock. “Do you like it when he fucks you, while she urges him on? Do you like that I’m watching you, that I will come when you do?”

“Answer him, pet,” Bellatrix said, voice cruel, and bit her shoulder, hard.

“Yes!” Hermione screamed in her pleasure, hearing Rodolphus moan and feeling him spill inside her.

Not for the reason you think, Malfoy, she thought with a satisfied smile as she heard him moan as he found his release.

The room was heavy with the scent of sex as they lay there catching their breath, replete. Malfoy was the first to recover, putting his clothing to rights and pulling his robe back over his clothing. Hermione noticed his trousers were stained, and she did not try to hide her smile.

He walked up to the dais where they were sprawled, Hermione idly playing with Rodolphus’ dark hair, as his head lay upon her as he caught his breath. Bellatrix was still stroking her breasts lightly, and Rodolphus was gently kissing her stomach.

She saw the moment that Malfoy understood—he had watched them hurt her, watched her submit, but it was they who now submitted to her. Instead of a woman trapped between the bodies of the ones who had broken her, Hermione was surrounded by those who adored her flesh, who worshipped her through the pain they inflicted. Malfoy was no different—he too had submitted to her, without even knowing.

How clever you are.

Malfoy stared at her a long time, and then bowed neatly. “Miss Granger,” he said, inclining his head civilly. His mussed hair fell over his savage face, but his grey eyes held no malice, no hatred.

Your pain has cleansed him. You have won over another one of my followers.

She smiled at him, slowly, serenely. “Malfoy,” she said, as if she were not naked on the dais with her lovers caressing her like some pagan queen on a throne of decadence.

“I believe I have received my reward,” he said coolly, voice returning to his normal impersonal coldness. “I shall leave you, my lady,” he said, the words coming easily from his cruel mouth.

“Thank you,” she said, and watched as he left.

Rodolphus stood up and fixed his clothing, throwing his robe to Hermione as hers was ruined. “The Dark Lord has indeed chosen well. I shall be most pleased to report the result of this most recent lesson to him.”

“That shall not be necessary, Lestrange.”

Bellatrix and Hermione arose quickly at the sound of the voice that came from the shadows, at the figure that appeared from the left of the dais. The light pouring in from the dome seemed to darken, as if a cloud had passed over the sun in the moment he stepped forth.

His eyes glowed red, dark in the shadows like flames in the night. “Well done,” he said, and inclined his head. “Well done indeed.”

Hermione felt her knees weaken, her breathing quicken as she stared at him. He walked past the dais with his back to them, but he turned when he reached the doorway.

“Soon,” he hissed, and she did not know if the others heard it; or if they did, if they would even understand. He left the door open behind him and moved out into the hallway.

I understand. She thought, smiling slightly.

“Did you know he was there?” Rodolphus asked Bellatrix, who stretched and shrugged her shoulders. She pulled her robe over her head, and lazily twisted her hair into a topknot.

“No. I doubt he wanted us to know, Rodolphus, or we would have. Not even Malfoy knew, I wager.” Bellatrix grinned suddenly at the thought. “I wonder if we should tell him?” She laughed, the sound made her seem younger. “He’d be horrified, the proper Lucius Malfoy, that he’d done such a thing in front of the Dark Lord.” She laughed harder.

Rodolphus opened his mouth, but Hermione held up a hand.

I knew he was here. “We do not need to tell Malfoy,” she said quietly. Bellatrix fell quiet as they stared at her. “He has done what he needed to do. This task is finished—for all of us. I require a bath,” she said, stepping off the dais. She turned back towards Bellatrix, who was watching her with a mixture of respect and annoyance in her dark eyes.

She’ll need another pet. I won’t be around for much longer, Hermione thought, amused. As she waited for her companions, she looked back at the whip lying on the dais, the lash curled sinuously and draped over the crimson-tinted blade of the knife. She felt her body heat as she remembered his words….

Soon.

~Finis