A Mudblood's Treachery. NEW CHAPTER up! Finally.

Beginning of Seventh Year, HPDH

Hermione could feel the cold rain through her wool sweater. It was a slow, infrequent rain, similar to tear drops. It was fitting that the funeral would have appropriate weather. The flowers were blood red, vibrant and lush geraniums, intertwined with white orchids. The setting seemed tropical and bright in the dreary and cold cemetery. If she died, she would want to be heather, something wild and darker in hue.

She clasped her gloved hands together and stared across at gleaming oak coffins, sitting next to each other in perfect harmony. Muggles were particular about burial processes. She imagined it would be different in the Wizarding world. She guessed there was only so many ways to bury someone.

Voldemort had murdered her parents. The couple had been dead on arrival at the Sydney airport in Australia. She had received the message a few days ago, on the run with Harry. Hermione was so broken hearted that she knew that she would be no use to Harry and Ron. She returned to Muggle London to bury them despite the fact that it was foolhardy and suicidal. To be honest, Hermione as clever as she was said to be, felt burnt out. The pain from the loss of her mother was gut wrenching. The truth was that it was her fault, all of it.

They both were unaware of the dangerous lifestyle that they were granting their daughter in that first year. She hugged the tweed jacket closer and she caught a whiff of her father’s cologne. Hermione felt a tear mix with the raindrops that had been soaking her face. She was calling on something deeper inside of her, to face what was sure to be next. Harry and Ron had tried so hard to persuade her, to convince her to stay with them, to stay relatively safe. She just did not have the heart to be a party to it anymore.

Unknown to her, she was being watched. The Dark Wizard stared upon the crying girl with a look of interest gleaming in his obsidian depths. Never had he witnessed her in a state of such pain before. It was interesting thing to witness; the honest, naked suffering was an elixir that to his knowledge could not be duplicated. Her hair was beginning to frizz in the soft rain and her expression was contorted with self-loathing and anguish on her plain, exhausted face.

She had been running the gambit with Potter, Weasley until now. She made a catastrophic mistake in his opinion. Then again she always did. She was a Gryffindor. It was in her nature to mistakenly believe that Voldemort would leave her alone, out of respect for her parents. She was a fool. He paused as Hermione bent down to kiss the double coffins with her pale fingertips, and then stepped back, her head downcast.

“Was it worth it?” a soft deep voice intoned from behind her, as Severus Snape stepped out of the shadows.

The Potions Master looked more pale, and gaunt then before. Stringy black hair, hawk-like nose, and thin cruel lips, made up into an interestingly sinister face, with a rangy and oddly muscular build. He wore Muggle clothes, and the tight black jeans and wool sweater seemed to fit him almost as completely as his Deatheater Robes.

Hermione sighed, a puff of smoke exhaling from the cold air. Her plump lips begin to look faintly blue under the gray, winter sky. The chit stayed annoyingly silent. She generally was a chatterbox without parallel.

Snape shifted his feet and strode towards her, jabbing his wand in the back of her neck. “You knew of course, that we would come for you, Ms. Granger.”
“Of course,” sneered the dark eyed girl, her curls bouncing wildly about her head as she surveyed with a cold disdain and apathy.

“Was this a rather pathetic attempt at ending your life?” queried Snape, with a speculative look.

“No,” replied the girl, staring at the two Muggle men that now dumped dirt over the coffin.

Snape shifted uneasily at her flat tone. The girl was damned smart, and he would be a fool to underestimate her. He grimaced slightly at the thought of what she could be planning. “You are to come with me to Hogwarts,”

“So they can torture me? How riveting, How original, Snape,” hissed the girl softly, her gloved hands shoving into her coat pockets.

“Such disrespect, someone ought to teach you some manners,” Snape said silkily, pressing the wand deeper into the flesh at her neck.

“They did, but sadly, I think their lessons may have died with them,” Hermione laughed, but it sounded broken and wild. It gave the Dark Wizard pause for a moment.

Hermione spun around and slapped him in the face with a great deal more speed then Snape would have accounted for. The glove prevented any sound from escaping but it did connect soundly.

Snape grabbed her wrist and pressed his thumb into the soft flesh, with a malicious sneer.

“Fighting like a Muggle, how typical of a Mudblood,” purred out another dreadfully familiar voice, this one belonging to a younger man.

Hermione turned to face Draco, her eyes empty of heat. “Just like a pureblood, to be too much of a pansy to fight back. You are bloody poufs, both of you,” whispered Hermione hatefully.

The Muggle men became stunned and fell over, as Bellatrix appeared behind Draco suddenly.

Bellatrix stared down at her with a sneer, coming from behind.

Snape tugged her up against his chest, holding her there in his arms tightly. Hermione forced herself to calm down. She focused instead on the beating of her heart. What was left of it.

Hermione stared across at Draco’s beautiful, smirking face and then turned to Bellatrix; she could feel Snape’s hot breath shooting down the back of her neck, as he held her in place.

“The Dark Lord will be pleased we have one of the Trio,” crowed Bellatrix Lestrange.

“Voldemort has decided to give the Mudblood’s handling to me, Bella,” Snape’s replied coldly, and Hermione shivered slightly from the tone.

“My reward for killing Dumbledore,” purred Snape menacingly.

Hermione stared at the cold, black eyes of Bellatrix and she snapped, “I hate you, you fucking cowards! All of you are so pathetic, especially you Snivellius, The Marauders had it right about you, that is what makes you so mad, Well, I will see all of you dead, do you hear me?!” screamed Hermione. She suddenly went crazy and grabbed the wand from Snape’s hand.

Hermione stared at Bellatrix, knowing that she had murdered her parents. She knew it was that bitch, the smug cat like grin on her demented face, sealed it.

“AVADA KEDAVRA!” hissed Hermione, and she blasted Bellatrix suddenly.

The hex threw the witch back nearly six feet, until her head slammed into a tombstone and finally stopped. The only sound was the rain falling between the other two Deatheaters. Her eyes were glassed over in white film, and her pallor became yellowish and waxy with death.

Hermione turned on Snape and she advanced upon him but suddenly a shout of ‘Expellerimus’ yanked the wand from her grip. Draco deftly caught the wand, and turned back to Hermione, although his pale, silver gaze was widened in shock.

“You killed her,” whispered Draco, his mouth slightly open. His eyes rounded in disbelief.

“I intend to kill more people before the night is through,” whispered Hermione. She shuddered as she felt the cold deep into her bones.

“Well, well Ms. Granger, you’ve been practicing the Unforgivable’s, how distinctly unlike you. I look forward to seeing what other talents you possess now,” Snape sneered and grabbed a hold of her wrists again, and pulled her up against his chest. Hermione gasped as she felt him Disapparate with her in tow.


When Hermione regained her sense of balance, she realized that Snape had released her and she was in a bedchamber. Although it appeared nondescript, it was clean enough all over, and books seemed to run rampant through the chambers. A hard wood desk was in the corner and low-slung candelabra seemed to light up the chambers.

Snape was on the other side of the room, and she watched as he transfigured his Muggle clothes back into his customary button up collar robes.

He looked across at Hermione studying her face. She did not appear to be shock, but merely silent. She looked about the room with interest for a moment before turning back to regard him warily.

“Where are we?” Hermione picked up the quill off the desk and wondered if it was long enough to pierce his black heart all the way through. Her fingertip pressed into the tip and a droplet of dark red blood bubbled to the surface.

Snape smirked seeing her thoughts as obviously, as if she had spoken them. “My bedchambers,” he responded coolly. He folded his arms and studied her face for a reaction.

He was rewarded with a look of pure malice. “You’re a filthy despot, but you are no rapist. What are we doing here?” Hermione licked her lips thoughtfully.

“As amusing as your faith in me is, I must remind you that I am a Deatheater,” Snape glided over towards the desk, removed a bit of parchment, and handed it to her.

Hermione’s curiosity got the better of her and she unrolled the paper. Hermione scanned the contents and looked at him in annoyance. “Is this a joke?”

“I assure you Ms. Granger, no one thinks it’s less humorous then I,” murmured Snape, still watching her curiously.

“I AM Head GIRL? This makes absolutely no sense. Shouldn’t you be torturing me or something despicable like that?” shrieked Hermione, crumpling the paper into small pieces.

“Education is very important to Voldemort. He believes that you are not a talent that should be wasted. You will be enrolled immediately. You are already behind in classes by roughly three weeks. So, undoubtedly, you are still ahead by four,” purred Snape with a malicious smile.

“Does Lord Voldypants, realize that I am a bloody Mudblood?” growled Hermione, in frustration. “I am clearly the last person who should be at this school!!! This is madness.”

“Deatheaters are not known for their sanity, dear Ms. Granger. However, to alleviate your fears of acceptance in this new Hogwarts, do not worry, Your Head Boy will do anything he can to make sure you are comfortable,” a snarky smile played on his thin lips as Snape regarded her with unconcealed dislike.

“And who is that? Harry Potter?” cried Hermione sarcastically.

“Not exactly, Mudblood,” whispered a voice behind her. Hermione turned around and stared hard.

Draco Malfoy who was currently filling the doorway much to her annoyance. His hair was dry and fell in silky blond waves to his chin, framing a beautiful face, with slightly darker slanted brows, and piercing silver eyes that now looked cold, and hard. His lips were full but seemed pressed together with disgust.

“HIM? He is a weakling! He couldn’t control me if he had Crabbe and Goyle backing him, I think I would rather throw my lot in with you Snape,” smirked Hermione.

Draco was across the room and his forearm pressed hard into her throat, cutting off her air supply, and Hermione gasped, pushing against him. Since when did Draco Malfoy get so bloody strong? Hermione growled and pressed back against him, trying to push him off, and her tits got in the way.

Draco sucked in a breath as he felt her big jugs shoving against his own hard chest. He felt the beginning of an erection much to his disgust.

“Oohhh I like how you fight Granger. Very stimulating. I promise you, I can definitely handle more of your fighting prowess,” purred Draco in her ear as he held her choking against the wall.

Hermione felt a flicker of fear at his words that superseded the suicidal mood that she was in right now. Draco was crushing her windpipe; he could technically end it right now. No one would care about it, if she were dead. She did not think he had it in him. He had surprised her.

Draco read all the emotions rolling through her cinnamon brown eyes, and convulsive tears from the pain began to shimmer despite Hermione’s best efforts. He saw her defeat and surprise and it aroused him even more. The filthy little Mudblood always had thought she was better then him, ever since she had cogged him on the nose. Hah, the little witch was always trying to one up him in class, but this was brute force, and he was a wizard after all. Of course, he could overpower her.

Hermione slumped back against the wall, a soft noise of pain escaping her throat and Draco cupped her breast over the sweater, his thumb rubbing the tip until she finally broke. Her lips parted and she breathed out a word.

“Please,” whimpered Hermione, “I concede.”

Draco released the pressure from his forearm and he slowly ground his erection against her with a leer. Hermione’s face echoed the shock that was beginning to set in.

“I’m glad there are some things you are still afraid of Mudblood,” murmured Draco and he pulled off her.

Hermione looked like he had struck her; her mouth was open in shock and her legs were parted as she leaned limply against the wall, red with embarassment.

Snape’s eyes glittered in amusement. “Draco, show her to the Head Girl’s quarters.”

“With pleasure, Headmaster Snape,” replied Draco, and he pinched his hand around her upper arm and dragged her with him out of the room.

Snape watched the door close and wearily dropped his head into his hands. This was such an unexpected nightmare. Voldemort expressing interest in Hermione was bad, very bad. Killing the witch was one thing, but using her to lure in Potter was a death sentence for all the children involved. Snape would think of something. He always did.





Tbc – Yay, my new Dramione fic.

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