Poisoned Love

Disclaimer: Not mine, I earn nothing from this! It's just a little bit of fun.

Poisoned Love

ECHOING STEP!

CLINK!

JINGLE JANGLE!

RATTLE!

CREAK!

SWING!

CLANG!

SCREECH!

Hermione Granger awoke in a dark, damp dungeon with these sounds playing in her head. She turned over on her straw bedding, and tried to get back to sleep in her cell. She had been captured days before and now she was as good as dead. She had lost all sense of time; she didn’t know how many days; weeks; or months that she had spent in this first floor of hell. No, she corrected that term. Possibly tenth floor of hell, the first floor of hell would be a lot warmer than this cold hard stone floor.

She was grateful for her bushy hair. It was her comfort, it cushioned her somewhat against the harsh, jagged surface of the flag stone flooring. She gathered as much of the straw as she could and tried to make a suitable pile of bedding. She had tried to seek for her wand, as she thought to transfigure it into a comfortable bed. But her captors had taken that away from her. It was the final humiliation.

She decided to ignore any sounds she heard. They were the sounds of despair. The sounds of failure, she had failed. She had one simple job to do and the know-it-all failed at it. She knew that no one had come to see her anyway. Why would they? Her captors were Death Eaters. She was a Gryffindor. But one they didn’t harm or kill. She briefly wondered over that remarkable piece of evidence before she felt her stomach roil and burn. She got up on her hands and knees and puked on the floor next to her bed, but as she hadn’t eaten for goodness knows how long she vomited acid. She gagged at the after taste and her legs shuddered with weakness and pain.

“Our Master wishes to see you,” a muffled voice spoke.

She looked up and saw the imposing figure of a Death Eater complete with mask. It was difficult to determine who it was. She bowed her head in shame as she realised how she must have looked to the Death Eater. The mask intimidated her as it gave her no hint of emotion. The muffled voice was blank.
She scrambled up quickly. And the Death Eater turned on its heel and opened the cell door, and she followed obediently. She felt frail and weak. If the Dark Lord wished to kill her then so be it. It would be better for her to die now than live in conditions that even a pig would turn his snout up at. She kept her mouth shut. Although the questions that buzzed around her brain threatened to explode out of it any minute now.

The Death Eater led her up a winding, curving stairway. She shrank away from the damp moss covered walls, the fires burning in the brackets leant no light but the greenish cast of the fire leant an eerie spectral glow to the room. It didn’t inspire her to remain calm. The Death Eater opened a heavy oak door at the top of the stairwell. Before he let her through it turned to her and tilted its head. It raised a gloved hand and removed its mask from its face. Hermione gasped as she stared into the face of Severus Snape. All resolve to remain obedient left her as she stared into the dark, glittering eyes of the traitor/murderer/spy.

“You – you vile, murdering son of a bitch!” she exclaimed.

He sighed. He had resigned to that now. There was no return for the act that he had committed. He could only offer two words to the understandably angry young woman before him:

“I’m sorry,” he said, two simple words spoken with the most complex emotions playing across his face. “I’m sorry.”

Hermione watched as the cacophony of emotion played across his face. It was like watching Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring in the eyes of a human. He only shook his head. He sighed heavily, his shoulders drooped and he held out his hand.

“Well, that won’t change anything will it?” she asked with such venom that Snape felt that there would be no amount of antidote to relieve him of its spite.

“No, you’re right, it won’t.”

She furrowed her brow and decided to let it go. Whatever Snape meant by that he was truly sorry. His eyes and voice showed that to her. She picked up on the subtlety of his emotion. She accepted his hand as he led her through the door.

He shut it and led her through a grand hallway complete with grand staircase. She wondered where she was exactly but didn’t have time to ponder long before Snape opened the door and walked through it.

“Ah!” A cold voice exclaimed, “I see you got my little prize.”

“She came willingly, and obediently, Master.”

“Willingly and obediently?” Lord Voldemort sneered. “You must have omitted the reason why I have kept her alive then, when it is more within my nature to have killed her on the spot.”

Hermione looked curiously at Snape. His face was expressionless; passive, unreadable. She decided to keep her eyes on Snape.

“I thought it wise not to, my Lord, she would not have been as compliant had I explained.”

She hung her head low. Her eyes on the floor, it seemed she was alone in the world.

“Oh well,” Lord Voldemort sighed. “Come forward, girl.”

Hermione walked towards the Dark Lord with slow, hesitant faltering steps. She sank on her knees as her fear took over her.

“What are you going to do to me?” she asked, her lip quivering. She wasn’t afraid to die. But she had always wanted to die old, lying in the arms of the Wizard she loved. Not young, and certainly not with fear being the last thing she felt.

Lord Voldemort slithered up to her, when he reached her he laid a hand on top of her head.

“Every war has to be won at some point, and every winner gains the spoils of that war. I have won! I have also the right to any flotsam and jetsam that can be found; I have the right to the good and the bad and divide equally amongst my followers. You were tricky. For although you are essentially Dirt Skirt, you’re also very powerful and intelligent Dirt Skirt, I found you lying on the ground and I was shocked at the amount of power that radiated from you even though you were somewhat weakened. In my eyes you’re equal parts good and bad.

It was tough thinking upon your fate, but I knew that casting the Killing Curse was not an option. No, not for you my pretty,” he stroked her face with his long skeletal fingers and tilted her chin up so that she was looking at him. She was still on her knees; the position rather charmed the Dark Lord. “No, how could I do that to you? Even now, in your subservient position you still command some sort of respect. Believe it or not I respect that, Miss Granger. I know what it is like to be you.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes and they shone with scepticism. “I can no more believe that than if you told me you helped old muggle women across the street!”

Snape cringed from her defiance. Lord Voldemort smiled however, and his red eyes glowed. Hermione decided to let the last thing she felt defiance. She would die defiant.
“Very droll, Hermione, I may call you Hermione?”

“You’re the Dark Lord,” she answered dryly. “You can do whatever you wish.”

“Excellent, I was told you were a quick learner. And that is why I am not going to kill you. I could always do with the right sort under my wing.”

“What makes you think that I am the right sort?” Hermione asked.

“By all that Severus has told me about you,” he replied. Hermione turned her face to the other man in the room. “It seemed that you even managed to get him to like you. That is an accomplishment in itself. You have always fascinated me, I must admit. At the age of eleven you solved that Potions riddle. A riddle that took the man to write it, several months to fully work out properly. You worked out it was a Basilisk and how it was used to purge the school of scum and vagrants. You have faced many dangers and perils… and all for whom? Harry Potter! How loyal you were to a boy that was not special by any stretch of the imagination, a boy that became too complacent with luck.”

“So,” she said. “What has this to do with now?”

“Oh yes forgive me, “ he said. “I often like to explain in full detail. What has this got to do with you, my dear? Well, as I said, you are partly good and partly bad – and somewhat the best. I had a dilemma thinking of what was to become your fate. But then an idea popped into my head. Did you note how I greeted you when you walked into the room?”

“You said, ‘I see you got my little prize,’” she said with a hint of disdain in her voice.

“Yes,” he hissed. He tilted her chin up further. “You are to be my Queen. Such a powerful little thing like yourself should only unite with someone as powerful, i.e. me.”

Hermione’s jaw hung open in shock. “But – but, I am not your equal.”

“You are in most things, as I said, I feel power radiating from you.”

Hermione looked at Snape. He turned his face away from her accusing eyes. She was betrayed by the one man she felt she could trust with her life.

“Do I have a choice?” she asked.

“No,” the Dark Lord replied. “Not unless you choose death?”

He stepped up to her and she felt the rustle of his clothes. “Severus, you may leave!”

Hermione watched her last hope of sanity walk out of the door. She was left alone with HIM. He raised her up by her hand. He circled around her; evaluating her body with wide speculative eyes. He stepped behind her.

“You are the last of the survivors, Hermione,” he said. “You are the last of that insipid Order. Your mission failed. You are the only one left. What is there left of your Gryffindor courage now? What is the use of your nobility now?” he snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her towards his body. She was suppressing in a sob. He could almost feel her anguish, and her pain. It gave him a thrill. “Succumb to me, Hermione. Don’t let ALL you lived for die with you. Live so that there will ALWAYS be a reminder of what once was.” He pressed his flat lips against her skin. She tried not to shudder with disgust. “Live as my Queen and remain immortal. I have the Potion right here.” He produced a phial from his robes. “It is yours to drink when you’ve given me the ultimate sacrifice.”

“What is that?” Hermione asked him.

“Your body,” Lord Voldemort said passionlessly.

Hermione was almost going to spit on him but realised that would only aggravate him. She was going to say no! but she felt something hard press against her back. She felt cold skin on hers. He turned her around and she was staring at a naked Dark Lord. He disrobed her with the charm and he glanced appreciatively.

“Why now?” she asked.

“Why not when I was younger, and more human?” he asked, as he stepped closer towards her. “I still had my ambitions to fill. Now, they are almost filled. I have immortality, the Wizarding world is in my grasp and now I feel the need to have a co-ruler, and mate. It does seem like the final irony that my perfect mate should be you.”

Hermione gulped. She was standing in front of him naked. The fire reflected off her body; he noted with glee that even imprisonment in a cell for many weeks hasn’t made her skin any the less appealing. He took her hair and placed it behind her ear. He smiled lasciviously at her young, supple flesh. He knew it would remain supple and young forever. She was his for eternity.

He leant in and licked her skin; he was delighted with the knowledge that she had already begun to sweat, either with fear or passion. He had no idea. He never felt either of those emotions personally.

“Oh,” she moaned. He wrapped her tender young body into his embrace. She opened her eyes for a small moment. He stroked her back causing her to shiver. She wanted to let go of her heart. He was right, what use was a heart to her now? The emotion of love was no poison to her. There was no such thing left in this world.

One of her legs rode up his body. He took the hint and picked it and its twin up to wrap around his waist. He lost a vestige of control as he slammed her against the nearest surface he could. It was a table. She was sprawled naked under him. She was like a sacrificial lamb. He smirked at that analogy. She was a sacrifice.

He stroked her body tenderly, and the red eyes now blazed with hunger. Hermione laid her head back. There was no point in feeling anything now, she thought, let him do what he wants. He is right. What is the use of a heart, in a world without one? He sucked and nipped on her breasts. But she felt nothing. He tasted her liquid but she only gave a slight shudder at the feel of his fingers on her vagina. He stroked the silk of her thighs and she gave a low moan. Not showing anything. Not fear, nor passion. She was dead to those feelings.

“Come on,” he urged. “Show me the passion that is within you.”

She stared down at him, her eyes blank. She had shut that away.

“Is that what you want?” she asked in a monotone.

“You can switch your emotions on and off just like that? When you first came in here you were full of fire and spirit. I want that.”

“Is there a point to them now?” she asked. “If what you say is true, is there truly a point? Wouldn’t love just be a poison to hold under your rule?”

He smirked. She was a quick learner. If she had kicked back and gave him passion he would have killed her. What he truly wanted was her spirit to be locked safely away. He wanted her passionless and empty of feelings that could only get in the way.

“Then lets rely on animalistic urges,” he hissed sibilantly. He took no time in spreading her legs further apart as he thrust smoothly into her with one fluid movement. He didn’t want to waste anymore time kissing than he had to. This was going to be just a simple mating.

He continued his cold, heartless thrusts. Taking her within an inch of her life. She screamed with pain as his fingers gripped her hips as he pushed her forward to meet his needs. Hers were forfeit. He pushed her forward as he thrust himself further into her depths. She was crying with absolute pain, as the more he took from her the less emotion she was feeling. The more he impaled himself into her the further her resolve to never love again crept into her slowly freezing heart. He eventually had enough of their mating and called out her name out of ritual rather than feeling.

He slid out of her and she placed her two feet firmly on the floor.

“You performed well, my dear, now here is your Potion!”

He handed her the phial and she placed it to her lips. She drank it down in one gulp. She felt her body freeze over and she collapsed cold and lifeless on the floor at the feet of the Dark Lord.

The Dark Lord frowned and picked up the phial and sniffed it. SEVERUS!

~*~*~

Severus was sitting in his kitchen at Spinners End. He felt the moment that she died. It was a specific Potion that would alert the brewer to the intended victims demise. He shook his head and opened a bottle of the same Potion.

He found a picture of Hermione Granger in the Daily Prophet. He offered the phial up in the gesture of a toast.

“I couldn’t let you live in a world with love as a poisonous emotion, not the fire of Gryffindor. It is my last good deed.”

He drank down the phial… “I’m sorry,” were his dying words.

A/N I had this little dark story come to me during today when I was writing some other chapter of one of my other stories. This is a ONE SHOT. I hope you like it... I feel you could hardly make a comedy of a love story with Lord Voldemort.