Augury & Ardor
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Snape/Hermione
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
23
Views:
29,446
Reviews:
72
Recommended:
2
Currently Reading:
1
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Snape/Hermione
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
23
Views:
29,446
Reviews:
72
Recommended:
2
Currently Reading:
1
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Augury & Ardor
Disclaimer: Do I really need to clarify that I have no claims on these characters? They belong to J. K. Rowling and it's on her brilliance I'm building this story. It was Rowling who imagined the structure that is Severus Snape. She is the one that put flesh to his bones and dressed him all in black. Since the moment I 'met' him, I've been wanting to unbutton her tightly controlled Potions Master and see just what's under all that billowing fabric.
A/N:This story, in its entirety, is posted to Ashwinder. I'm adding it here at the recommendation of a reader there. I hope you'll enjoy it! :)
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Severus Snape strode across the lawn of Voldemort’s latest headquarters, brow furrowed and mouth compressed into a thin line. At the mouth of the hedge maze, he swept his black woolen cloak aside to avoid contact with Peter Pettigrew who was standing sentry. The smaller man cowered, his shoulders hunched and his eyes watchful. “He’s waiting for you.”
Severus shot the smaller man a look of obsidian derision without slowing. He could have satisfied his curiosity and asked Pettigrew why the Dark Lord had summoned him with such haste. Pettigrew was an obsequious, unctuous little rat, however, and undeserving of even that much of his attention. He’d soon find out what was on Voldemort’s mind.
As he walked, Severus rubbed a hand over his forearm. The pain was gone now, but only a half hour ago the scar had burned like a coal imbedded in his skin. A summons that persuasive couldn’t be ignored, no matter how much he wished it.
After a five-minute walk, Severus rounded the last turn in the labyrinth of greenery and stepped into a wide, open courtyard. He stopped short, one eyebrow quirking in surprise as his eyes skimmed over the crowd. Was every blasted Death Eater in Europe in attendance?
Lucius Malfoy’s blond head and patrician profile, bent in conversation with Fenrir Greyback, were unmistakable at the edge of the crowd. To Severus’ surprise, the blond man turned to address someone behind him, revealing his son, Draco, by his side. Whatever was happening was important, indeed, if the second generation of Death Eaters was participating.
“Ah,” Voldemort’s cold voice cut through the babble of the crowd like mist rolling off a graveyard, “Severus, you’ve finally arrived. Good, good; I did not want to begin the . . .festivities without you.”
Severus took the Dark Lord’s proffered hand in his and bowed over it with the obeisance expected, tamping down the curiosity that tempted him to ask questions. The Dark Lord didn’t like to be questioned and more than one Death Eater had felt Voldemort’s displeasure in the form of a curse or hex for his presumptuousness.
As he rose, Severus was once more struck by how pale and bleached the Dark Lord’s skin appeared, even against his own alabaster complexion. Then, Severus dropped the cold fingers and directed his attention to the wizard’s even colder countenance. “My Lord, I came as soon as summoned.”
Voldemort smirked at the man in front of him, as if amused to think anyone would dare hesitate to obey his orders. Laying one long-boned hand on Severus’ shoulder, he guided him through the throng. “No doubt you’re curious why you were called from your duties in Eastern Europe.”
“I’ll admit I am,” Severus conceded, giving a cool nod of recognition in return to those fellow Death Eaters who silently greeted him. Even as they met his eyes and nodded, ebbing away from Voldemort’s path only to regroup as he passed, he knew there was no real camaraderie in their greeting. They weren’t a group that maintained allegiances to anyone but their Master and their own desire for power.
At the moment, Severus was de rigueur to affiliate oneself with because he was in the Dark Lord’s favor. However, the black-haired, black-eyed man who walked at Voldemort’s side was not popular with anyone but the Dark Lord. His fellow Death Eaters silently scorned him. Severus Snape, unlike the rest of the group, did not play the byzantine internal game of Death Eater politics. He not only didn’t enter the game of intrigues, alliances and stratagems, he refused to even pretend to be social.
“As of three nights ago, a new jar has been added to Hall of Prophecies in the Department of Mysteries. I was able to learn the contents.”
Severus raised an eyebrow to indicate interest, but he wasn’t surprised. Voldemort had managed, in the past, to obtain information from the Ministry of Magic that most Ministry members couldn’t. Of course, the Dark Lord had loyal spies within the Ministry’s structure who knew where to put pressure and who could be intimidated.
“Would you like to glimpse the future, Severus?” Voldemort’s voice was an eerie mix of icy sibilance and good humor as he handed Severus a small piece of folded parchment.
The rhyming couplet was in three uneven stanzas, the words deep red gashes against the snowy parchment.
Virgin blood, spilled and smeared
Upon the sheets by one she’s feared
Deadly snake shall claim her ‘head
Upon their stormy wedding bed
And of this union one shall rise
Of lion’s mane and serpent’s eyes
She of power, born of men
She will bear the world a pen
Mightier than the sword is he
Formidable, hybrid progeny
Beneath his hands he’ll mold the clay
Turn the wheel to make his way
Lightning, supine, at his feet
The stag accepts his sound defeat.
And he whose veins rush with blood
Mixed of dark and gritty mud
In his hands he holds the turning
Of light and dark’s tidal churning
Men who spurn his father’s master
Caught in the maelstrom, ever faster
Crushed and drowned ‘til none remain
But those who serve the one unnamed.
Severus frowned as he quickly read through the lines, some insight flirting just on the peripheral of his conscious. Certain sections of the prophecy were startlingly clear and some were ringing a bell in his mind, but he couldn’t say why. At the last line, his eyes flew up to the beginning to read through it again, but he never got the chance. Voldemort had stopped their forward movement, indicating they’d reached their destination. Severus raised his head and the ringing bells became a cacophony.
Even dirty, disheveled, and with her hair tangled around her face, Hermione Granger’s form was unmistakable. It had been his misfortune to watch her grow into it for the past six years.
It was years of schooling his features to reveal nothing that let him look on with bland indifference as young Crabbe and Goyle roughly lifted her from the ground. Like puppeteers, they forced her into a bow before the two men, then pulled her upright to face them by a handful of hair. When her eyes met his, Severus recognized pain, fear and hatred swirling in their depths. Her face was bruised, one lip swollen and bleeding.
Severus cut his eyes from hers and turned to face the Dark Lord. Voldemort studied the girl before them with relish, obviously enjoying her indignation and helplessness. Noticing the girl’s glare focused on Snape, he smiled at the man. “You know Miss Granger, I believe.”
“Yes, my Lord. She was a student of mine at Hogwarts, as I’m sure you’re aware.”
“An adept mind?”
“She’s bright,” Severus acknowledged, gazing down the length of his nose at her for a moment before turning his attention back to Voldemort, “but much too eager to prove that to the world.”
“And a friend…shall we say a comrade of Harry Potter’s, is she not?”
“Yes, that’s correct,” Severus replied slowly, wondering just where the questioning might be leading. “She and one of Weasley’s brood are the Potter boy’s closest friends.”
“Her parents: neither are magical?”
“Both Muggles,” Severus replied.
“A powerful witch born to Muggles or born of men,” Voldemort mused, circling Hermione as if considering her from all angles. He stopped as he came full circle and met Severus’ flat, obsidian gaze with his own cold, avaricious eyes. “Not only a Gryffindor but with hair like a lion’s mane. We believe she’s the one spoken of in the prophecy – the one who will bear ‘the pen’ who will rewrite history and bring a turning of the tide. The one who will bring forth the man who will crush and drown my enemies until all serve me.”
“I see,” Severus replied, his mind in turmoil as he tried to recall the exact wording of the prophecy he’d hastily read. Virgin blood spilled. A stormy wedding bed.. The man who bedded her a deadly snake. A Slytherin, apparently, was to bring about this ‘golden’ age of power for Voldemort.
“I’ve gathered everyone tonight to bestow the honor of this task upon one of my faithful followers. One of you will father the man who will raise me to power. The rewards for this, as you may imagine, would be multitudinous.”
It was at that moment that Severus registered an important fact about the crowd – one he hadn’t until that moment. There was not a woman among them. A frown deepened the ever-present furrows between his brows. “Some of these men are already married, my Lord.”
“Yes, some of us are.” Lucius Malfoy’s voice sounded by Severus’ left shoulder, then the man appeared beside them. “But it doesn’t follow that we aren’t interested in being…involved.” When Severus lifted a scornful eyebrow, Lucius’ mouth twisted into a wry smile. “I’m here to petition for Draco, of course.”
Severus returned the blond man’s smile with a smirk of acknowledgement. He’d been a Death Eater long enough to know that Lucius Malfoy’s interest wasn’t completely altruistic.
The man’s sexual appetites were as profligate as his appetite for cruelty. The Malfoy family, in general, was known for their contempt of magic-users not of pure bloodlines. A ‘Mudblood’ such as Hermione Granger would never be considered suitable as a life mate. Likely, the girl would be passed between son and father for entertainment and then conveniently disposed of once she’d produced the offspring their Dark Lord desired.
Severus glanced back toward Hermione and saw a look of revulsion seize her features. The same expression warred for a home on his own saturnine face, but he kept it an emotionless mask. If it wasn’t bad enough that this young woman would likely be passed around as an amusement to their friends, it was chilling to contemplate what would happen if the prophecy came true.
“Draco is yet a boy,” Severus replied in a slow drawl, turning back to Voldemort. “With a task such as this at hand, perhaps it would be best if our Lord considered a more . . .seasoned individual for the enterprise.”
“Youth shouldn’t be considered an affliction here, but as beneficial,” Lucius argued, shooting Severus a dirty look. “What he might lack in experience, he would make up for in . . .enthusiasm.”
“It’s been my experience, as a teacher, that enthusiasm can do as much to sabotage a project as it can to accomplish it. Enthusiasm alone is not a substitute for patience and experience.”
“Ah, could it be our phlegmatic friend is interested in this task himself?” Voldemort chuckled, his eyes cutting between Malfoy and Snape. Contention between his followers was always a delicious diversion.
All heads in their small group turned as Hermione fought against her captor’s grip. Her brown eyes flashed as she raked her ex-Potions Master with a look of disgust. “I’d rather die than allow the man who killed Professor Dumbledore to touch me!”
Voldemort waved a hand at the girl and froze her in mid-struggle. Although she couldn’t move, her eyes burned with fury. “Ah, yes,” the Dark Lord murmured with amused sibilance as he grasped Hermione Granger’s battered face in one pale, skeletal hand. He lifted her chin as if to present her to the dark-haired wizard beside him. “I have yet to reward you for that vital service, Severus, and here is the perfect opportunity. Do you want her? Say the word and she’s yours.”
Severus barely registered the sound of Draco’s squawk of complaint from behind him as he looked down into Hermione Granger’s face. He watched fear replace outrage in her dark brown eyes and curled his lip in response.
The girl was barely eighteen years old and, until just recently, his student. She was a nuisance and a stubborn know-it-all with more courage than sense. On top of that she was a close friend of Harry Potter and his buffoon of a sidekick, Ron Weasley. Add to all those repellent items the fact that she reviled him, and the last thing he wanted was to bed her. Unlike his contemporaries, he found nothing appealing about an unwilling virgin.
His eyes narrowed to slits. Despite all that, he knew if he left her to the questionable affections of one of his fellow Death Eaters, the repercussions for the wizarding world would be formidable. The only chance to thwart the prophecy was for her to avoid being impregnated by a Death Eater.
The Order of the Phoenix was in tatters, Albus Dumbledore was… Severus straightened his spine and squared his shoulders. He refused to entertain the memory of Dumbledore’s face – his last words – again. Not while awake, at least. When he was asleep there was little he could do to keep the man’s broken plea from echoing in his mind.
The fact was Hermione Granger was at the mercy of Voldemort and his ilk with no hope of immediate rescue. There was nothing Severus could do, at the moment, to help her - except be the man to torment her.
Before Severus could speak, Lucius Malfoy spoke up. “You’d give her to a man old enough to be her father? Draco is young. He’ll sire a strong child to do your bidding.”
Voldemort dropped Hermione’s chin, leaving her to shudder in the grip of Crabbe and Goyle. With a cold smile, he regarded Lucius. “Strength such as he showed when it came time to finish Dumbledore? No, I think not, Lucius. The one who rid me of that old meddling fool will have the prize. What say you, Severus? Do you want her?”
Severus raised his eyebrows in affected indifference. “If its what you desire, my Lord, then I’ll do what needs to be done.” He didn’t react to Lucius Malfoy’s snort of derision.
“Then take her,” Voldemort said with a terrible smile. “Rape her, draught her with potions so she’s your willing slave, break her mind and her will - whatever your whim. Only make sure her body remains intact to host the key to my victory.”
Severus hardly noted the quick sham of a ceremony that followed. He stood and repeated the vows he was fed but hardly knew what he spoke. Less than a half-hour prior, he’d been sharing a relaxing whisky with Durmstrang’s new Headmaster. Now, a matter of minutes later, he was married to a girl barely more than a child and expected to get a child from her.
Although it hardly seemed real, it was legally binding according to wizarding law. The fact that two silver rings appeared on their fingers at the end of the ceremony was evidence of that. Of course, the Ministry had recourse for women on whom the Imperius Curse was used to make them a more ‘willing’ bride. Unfortunately for Hermione, Severus doubted Voldemort had even considered giving her a chance to petition for divorce.
A/N:This story, in its entirety, is posted to Ashwinder. I'm adding it here at the recommendation of a reader there. I hope you'll enjoy it! :)
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Severus Snape strode across the lawn of Voldemort’s latest headquarters, brow furrowed and mouth compressed into a thin line. At the mouth of the hedge maze, he swept his black woolen cloak aside to avoid contact with Peter Pettigrew who was standing sentry. The smaller man cowered, his shoulders hunched and his eyes watchful. “He’s waiting for you.”
Severus shot the smaller man a look of obsidian derision without slowing. He could have satisfied his curiosity and asked Pettigrew why the Dark Lord had summoned him with such haste. Pettigrew was an obsequious, unctuous little rat, however, and undeserving of even that much of his attention. He’d soon find out what was on Voldemort’s mind.
As he walked, Severus rubbed a hand over his forearm. The pain was gone now, but only a half hour ago the scar had burned like a coal imbedded in his skin. A summons that persuasive couldn’t be ignored, no matter how much he wished it.
After a five-minute walk, Severus rounded the last turn in the labyrinth of greenery and stepped into a wide, open courtyard. He stopped short, one eyebrow quirking in surprise as his eyes skimmed over the crowd. Was every blasted Death Eater in Europe in attendance?
Lucius Malfoy’s blond head and patrician profile, bent in conversation with Fenrir Greyback, were unmistakable at the edge of the crowd. To Severus’ surprise, the blond man turned to address someone behind him, revealing his son, Draco, by his side. Whatever was happening was important, indeed, if the second generation of Death Eaters was participating.
“Ah,” Voldemort’s cold voice cut through the babble of the crowd like mist rolling off a graveyard, “Severus, you’ve finally arrived. Good, good; I did not want to begin the . . .festivities without you.”
Severus took the Dark Lord’s proffered hand in his and bowed over it with the obeisance expected, tamping down the curiosity that tempted him to ask questions. The Dark Lord didn’t like to be questioned and more than one Death Eater had felt Voldemort’s displeasure in the form of a curse or hex for his presumptuousness.
As he rose, Severus was once more struck by how pale and bleached the Dark Lord’s skin appeared, even against his own alabaster complexion. Then, Severus dropped the cold fingers and directed his attention to the wizard’s even colder countenance. “My Lord, I came as soon as summoned.”
Voldemort smirked at the man in front of him, as if amused to think anyone would dare hesitate to obey his orders. Laying one long-boned hand on Severus’ shoulder, he guided him through the throng. “No doubt you’re curious why you were called from your duties in Eastern Europe.”
“I’ll admit I am,” Severus conceded, giving a cool nod of recognition in return to those fellow Death Eaters who silently greeted him. Even as they met his eyes and nodded, ebbing away from Voldemort’s path only to regroup as he passed, he knew there was no real camaraderie in their greeting. They weren’t a group that maintained allegiances to anyone but their Master and their own desire for power.
At the moment, Severus was de rigueur to affiliate oneself with because he was in the Dark Lord’s favor. However, the black-haired, black-eyed man who walked at Voldemort’s side was not popular with anyone but the Dark Lord. His fellow Death Eaters silently scorned him. Severus Snape, unlike the rest of the group, did not play the byzantine internal game of Death Eater politics. He not only didn’t enter the game of intrigues, alliances and stratagems, he refused to even pretend to be social.
“As of three nights ago, a new jar has been added to Hall of Prophecies in the Department of Mysteries. I was able to learn the contents.”
Severus raised an eyebrow to indicate interest, but he wasn’t surprised. Voldemort had managed, in the past, to obtain information from the Ministry of Magic that most Ministry members couldn’t. Of course, the Dark Lord had loyal spies within the Ministry’s structure who knew where to put pressure and who could be intimidated.
“Would you like to glimpse the future, Severus?” Voldemort’s voice was an eerie mix of icy sibilance and good humor as he handed Severus a small piece of folded parchment.
The rhyming couplet was in three uneven stanzas, the words deep red gashes against the snowy parchment.
Virgin blood, spilled and smeared
Upon the sheets by one she’s feared
Deadly snake shall claim her ‘head
Upon their stormy wedding bed
And of this union one shall rise
Of lion’s mane and serpent’s eyes
She of power, born of men
She will bear the world a pen
Mightier than the sword is he
Formidable, hybrid progeny
Beneath his hands he’ll mold the clay
Turn the wheel to make his way
Lightning, supine, at his feet
The stag accepts his sound defeat.
And he whose veins rush with blood
Mixed of dark and gritty mud
In his hands he holds the turning
Of light and dark’s tidal churning
Men who spurn his father’s master
Caught in the maelstrom, ever faster
Crushed and drowned ‘til none remain
But those who serve the one unnamed.
Severus frowned as he quickly read through the lines, some insight flirting just on the peripheral of his conscious. Certain sections of the prophecy were startlingly clear and some were ringing a bell in his mind, but he couldn’t say why. At the last line, his eyes flew up to the beginning to read through it again, but he never got the chance. Voldemort had stopped their forward movement, indicating they’d reached their destination. Severus raised his head and the ringing bells became a cacophony.
Even dirty, disheveled, and with her hair tangled around her face, Hermione Granger’s form was unmistakable. It had been his misfortune to watch her grow into it for the past six years.
It was years of schooling his features to reveal nothing that let him look on with bland indifference as young Crabbe and Goyle roughly lifted her from the ground. Like puppeteers, they forced her into a bow before the two men, then pulled her upright to face them by a handful of hair. When her eyes met his, Severus recognized pain, fear and hatred swirling in their depths. Her face was bruised, one lip swollen and bleeding.
Severus cut his eyes from hers and turned to face the Dark Lord. Voldemort studied the girl before them with relish, obviously enjoying her indignation and helplessness. Noticing the girl’s glare focused on Snape, he smiled at the man. “You know Miss Granger, I believe.”
“Yes, my Lord. She was a student of mine at Hogwarts, as I’m sure you’re aware.”
“An adept mind?”
“She’s bright,” Severus acknowledged, gazing down the length of his nose at her for a moment before turning his attention back to Voldemort, “but much too eager to prove that to the world.”
“And a friend…shall we say a comrade of Harry Potter’s, is she not?”
“Yes, that’s correct,” Severus replied slowly, wondering just where the questioning might be leading. “She and one of Weasley’s brood are the Potter boy’s closest friends.”
“Her parents: neither are magical?”
“Both Muggles,” Severus replied.
“A powerful witch born to Muggles or born of men,” Voldemort mused, circling Hermione as if considering her from all angles. He stopped as he came full circle and met Severus’ flat, obsidian gaze with his own cold, avaricious eyes. “Not only a Gryffindor but with hair like a lion’s mane. We believe she’s the one spoken of in the prophecy – the one who will bear ‘the pen’ who will rewrite history and bring a turning of the tide. The one who will bring forth the man who will crush and drown my enemies until all serve me.”
“I see,” Severus replied, his mind in turmoil as he tried to recall the exact wording of the prophecy he’d hastily read. Virgin blood spilled. A stormy wedding bed.. The man who bedded her a deadly snake. A Slytherin, apparently, was to bring about this ‘golden’ age of power for Voldemort.
“I’ve gathered everyone tonight to bestow the honor of this task upon one of my faithful followers. One of you will father the man who will raise me to power. The rewards for this, as you may imagine, would be multitudinous.”
It was at that moment that Severus registered an important fact about the crowd – one he hadn’t until that moment. There was not a woman among them. A frown deepened the ever-present furrows between his brows. “Some of these men are already married, my Lord.”
“Yes, some of us are.” Lucius Malfoy’s voice sounded by Severus’ left shoulder, then the man appeared beside them. “But it doesn’t follow that we aren’t interested in being…involved.” When Severus lifted a scornful eyebrow, Lucius’ mouth twisted into a wry smile. “I’m here to petition for Draco, of course.”
Severus returned the blond man’s smile with a smirk of acknowledgement. He’d been a Death Eater long enough to know that Lucius Malfoy’s interest wasn’t completely altruistic.
The man’s sexual appetites were as profligate as his appetite for cruelty. The Malfoy family, in general, was known for their contempt of magic-users not of pure bloodlines. A ‘Mudblood’ such as Hermione Granger would never be considered suitable as a life mate. Likely, the girl would be passed between son and father for entertainment and then conveniently disposed of once she’d produced the offspring their Dark Lord desired.
Severus glanced back toward Hermione and saw a look of revulsion seize her features. The same expression warred for a home on his own saturnine face, but he kept it an emotionless mask. If it wasn’t bad enough that this young woman would likely be passed around as an amusement to their friends, it was chilling to contemplate what would happen if the prophecy came true.
“Draco is yet a boy,” Severus replied in a slow drawl, turning back to Voldemort. “With a task such as this at hand, perhaps it would be best if our Lord considered a more . . .seasoned individual for the enterprise.”
“Youth shouldn’t be considered an affliction here, but as beneficial,” Lucius argued, shooting Severus a dirty look. “What he might lack in experience, he would make up for in . . .enthusiasm.”
“It’s been my experience, as a teacher, that enthusiasm can do as much to sabotage a project as it can to accomplish it. Enthusiasm alone is not a substitute for patience and experience.”
“Ah, could it be our phlegmatic friend is interested in this task himself?” Voldemort chuckled, his eyes cutting between Malfoy and Snape. Contention between his followers was always a delicious diversion.
All heads in their small group turned as Hermione fought against her captor’s grip. Her brown eyes flashed as she raked her ex-Potions Master with a look of disgust. “I’d rather die than allow the man who killed Professor Dumbledore to touch me!”
Voldemort waved a hand at the girl and froze her in mid-struggle. Although she couldn’t move, her eyes burned with fury. “Ah, yes,” the Dark Lord murmured with amused sibilance as he grasped Hermione Granger’s battered face in one pale, skeletal hand. He lifted her chin as if to present her to the dark-haired wizard beside him. “I have yet to reward you for that vital service, Severus, and here is the perfect opportunity. Do you want her? Say the word and she’s yours.”
Severus barely registered the sound of Draco’s squawk of complaint from behind him as he looked down into Hermione Granger’s face. He watched fear replace outrage in her dark brown eyes and curled his lip in response.
The girl was barely eighteen years old and, until just recently, his student. She was a nuisance and a stubborn know-it-all with more courage than sense. On top of that she was a close friend of Harry Potter and his buffoon of a sidekick, Ron Weasley. Add to all those repellent items the fact that she reviled him, and the last thing he wanted was to bed her. Unlike his contemporaries, he found nothing appealing about an unwilling virgin.
His eyes narrowed to slits. Despite all that, he knew if he left her to the questionable affections of one of his fellow Death Eaters, the repercussions for the wizarding world would be formidable. The only chance to thwart the prophecy was for her to avoid being impregnated by a Death Eater.
The Order of the Phoenix was in tatters, Albus Dumbledore was… Severus straightened his spine and squared his shoulders. He refused to entertain the memory of Dumbledore’s face – his last words – again. Not while awake, at least. When he was asleep there was little he could do to keep the man’s broken plea from echoing in his mind.
The fact was Hermione Granger was at the mercy of Voldemort and his ilk with no hope of immediate rescue. There was nothing Severus could do, at the moment, to help her - except be the man to torment her.
Before Severus could speak, Lucius Malfoy spoke up. “You’d give her to a man old enough to be her father? Draco is young. He’ll sire a strong child to do your bidding.”
Voldemort dropped Hermione’s chin, leaving her to shudder in the grip of Crabbe and Goyle. With a cold smile, he regarded Lucius. “Strength such as he showed when it came time to finish Dumbledore? No, I think not, Lucius. The one who rid me of that old meddling fool will have the prize. What say you, Severus? Do you want her?”
Severus raised his eyebrows in affected indifference. “If its what you desire, my Lord, then I’ll do what needs to be done.” He didn’t react to Lucius Malfoy’s snort of derision.
“Then take her,” Voldemort said with a terrible smile. “Rape her, draught her with potions so she’s your willing slave, break her mind and her will - whatever your whim. Only make sure her body remains intact to host the key to my victory.”
Severus hardly noted the quick sham of a ceremony that followed. He stood and repeated the vows he was fed but hardly knew what he spoke. Less than a half-hour prior, he’d been sharing a relaxing whisky with Durmstrang’s new Headmaster. Now, a matter of minutes later, he was married to a girl barely more than a child and expected to get a child from her.
Although it hardly seemed real, it was legally binding according to wizarding law. The fact that two silver rings appeared on their fingers at the end of the ceremony was evidence of that. Of course, the Ministry had recourse for women on whom the Imperius Curse was used to make them a more ‘willing’ bride. Unfortunately for Hermione, Severus doubted Voldemort had even considered giving her a chance to petition for divorce.