Chapter Text
Pledge of Loyalty
'I still want—'
'As amusing as watching you worm in secondary conditions after the fact may be, I’m quite a busy man and do have other … activities to attend to than you. You should’ve thought about all of the above before you gave me your word, Hermione Granger.'
Hermione felt the blood drain from her face.
'Unless you care to prove to me how lowly and dishonourable Mudbloods—especially allegedly brave Gryffindor ones—truly are,' he added snidely.
Well, that brought it all back.
Anger rose inside of her, and she jumped off the bed, pacing to him in short, abrupt steps. Halting right in front of him, she crossed her arms in front of her chest and lifted her chin.
'I’ll have you know that I’ve never broken my word,' she said with a decisive nod of her head.
The corner of his mouth curved up ever so slightly and his eyes glinted as he replied, 'Good. Then you won’t mind getting undressed.'
With that, he swirled away, whipping his wand around above his head.
What?!
Did she hear that correctly? She couldn’t have. He’d just reassured her only minutes ago that he wasn’t interested in her that way. He’d even mocked her for making such an assumption. She thought she was safe. Horrified, Hermione stared at his back as a cloud of thick, black smoke erupted from the tip of his wand and attached itself to every surface in sight.
Soon, she couldn’t see a thing anymore and his order was the last thing on her mind with that cloud of smoke all around, attempting to suffocate her. She tried raising a ward or casting it away, but none of her spells had any effect on it whatsoever. She tried holding her breath, covering her mouth, but that only lasted for so long. When she finally took a panicked breath, she realised that yes, the smoke was everywhere, and no, it wasn’t killing her. She could breathe normally and it didn’t smell like any ordinary type of smoke. Mildly reassured, she pocketed her wand and waved her hand in front of her face in wonder. It didn’t make an ounce of difference in the density of the smoke. She saw no change; she didn’t even see her hand. What kind of magical smoke was this? None of any type she’d read about; she knew that for sure.
So, something to do with the Dark Arts then. Duhuh, big surprise there.
A fierce wind suddenly erupted, making her close her eyes and scrunch her face. Her hair and clothes flapped around, changing direction with the wind. When it settled and she peeked through her eyes to check if it were safe, she found herself into a surreal new environment; though she hadn’t moved and she was still in the cabin, judging from the familiar, thick, white rug underneath her feet. Seven candles floated in the air, providing her with the necessary light source to even see. A couple of feet away stood Lord Voldemort, his hands clasped together with his wand between his fingers as he faced her. Behind him, there was nothing but smoke. If it weren’t for his stark-white complexion, he and his dark robes would’ve vanished in that background easily.
Curiously, Hermione looked around, tilting her head to check for the ceiling, which wasn’t there. Well, she guessed it was, but it just wasn’t visible. All around her, everything had vanished into darkness. Not a single piece of furniture was visible. She knew the bed was on her right side, only a couple of steps away. As she reached out towards the smoke on that side, wanting to check if the bed was still there, Lord Voldemort’s voice stopped her.
'Don’t,' he said evenly.
Her hand still out, inches away from the smoke, she turned her head to him, curiosity overwhelming every sense of her being.
'Unless you care to lose that hand,' he added upon seeing her nonverbal question.
Instantly, Hermione lowered her arm.
'What is this?' she asked, gesturing to the smoke.
'A ward to ensure we won’t be disturbed.'
Hermione’s head swivelled around, her keen mind rapidly going over every ward theory she ever read. This was nothing like it.
'Is that all?' she asked, unable to keep the suspicion from seeping through her voice.
A shimmer of devious amusement passed through his red eyes, while—what Hermione assumed was—a mock thoughtful expression took over his snakelike facial features.
'Well,' he said, pausing as he glided towards her, 'it also stops you from bolting.'
On that threatening note, he looked down expectantly.
She blinked fast several times, her face burning as his previous command suddenly was back at the forefront of her mind with their suddenly intimate closeness. To be this close near someone with that amount of magical power was like standing next to a burning stove—no, a blazing forest fire. It was fascinating, entrancing, warming, energising and addictive. Yet, it would burn you up if you didn’t move away. Too close, he was too close. She didn’t want to …
Hermione swallowed nervously and couldn’t resist the urge to take a step back. His spidery hand lashed out like a striking snake, grabbing her blouse at the front of her chest and yanking her back before she had a chance to fully move away.
'Watch it, Granger,' he said coldly, nodding behind her.
Hermione turned pale when she looked over her shoulder and realised she’d almost stepped into that cloud of black smoke.
'I can only replace a certain amount of limbs before death is inevitable.'
'I’m not interested in obtaining any silver prosthetics,' Hermione snapped.
'Then, I suggest you do not step into that ward,' he said evenly. 'Now, I believe I told you to do something. Do I need to repeat every order I give you before it gets processed by your insignificant, Mudblood brain or do you require assistance?' he added viciously, giving a demonstrative tug on her blouse before letting go and stepping back, clasping his hands together again as he scrutinised her.
Hermione felt her discomfort rise to unbearable heights.
'I—I— Why do I need to undress?' she blurted out.
'So, this is you not making a fuss?'
'No, I—I just … I think … I don’t want to ... You said you weren’t interested in me for … that .'
Watching slitted pupils roll in annoyed disbelief as if she were making the silliest statement of all time would’ve been a funny sight under different circumstances, but right now it did nothing to entertain or reassure Hermione. She really didn’t want to have sex, with him!
'I’ve not asked you to undress in order to rape you, silly girl,' Voldemort hissed; his fury was scalding hot against her skin. 'However, if you keep testing my patience, I assure you, that can be arranged.'
Trembling, Hermione lowered her head, letting her hair cover her face from direct view as she bit her lower lip and struggled to keep the upcoming tears from falling down her cheek while she unbuttoned her blouse with unsteady hands. How had she got into this situation? She shouldn’t even be here. She should’ve been at Hogwarts, with Harry and Ron, doing her homework and scolding them for not doing theirs. She should do all the things that other wizarding teenagers did: joke around, have fun and be carefree. Instead, she was undressing in front of the epitome of evil, a man—well, hardly a man—who could’ve been her grandfather. As she dropped her sock on the rug, she looked up pleadingly, hoping he’d be satisfied with this and not force her to remove her bra and knickers, too. Surely, this would do?
The blank stare she received back said otherwise.
'I—I—' she stuttered, her tear-stained cheeks flaming red.
'Merlin, Granger, I already told you that I’ve every inch of this property under my surveillance. It’s not like there is something you can show me that I’ve not seen before.'
Hermione wanted to sink through the floor in embarrassment. Sure, she’d known he had, but she’d still taken solace in the opportunity that he might not have been watching at precisely those moments when she was doing her things in the bathroom. Getting confirmation wasn’t at all reassuring, and his lacking respect towards her privacy didn’t make having to undress when he was standing within arm’s reach any easier.
Apparently, she’d been standing there, unmoving, for too long because Voldemort said in a sickeningly sweet, taunting voice,
'There are three ways of fulfilling your pledge to me; two of them don’t require your … compliance and freely given participation, and both of those do require direct intercourse. I’m beginning to see the value of those more and more with each passing second that you waste my time.'
Hermione felt her anxiety rise another notch with that threat; her lip trembled and tears streamed from her eyes as she pulled the bra’s straps over her arms one at the time. Keeping her head down to avoid any and all eye contact, she pulled the fabric down and exposed her breasts, quickly pulling the bra around so she could unhook it. As she let it drop to the floor unceremoniously, she could practically sense that penetrating gaze scrutinising her. Closing her eyes, she swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat.
Merlin, she needed to get a grip. Telling herself in no uncertain terms to keep it together, that clearly he had something else in mind than sex, that he’d indeed already seen her naked body—probably more than once—and that it was terribly unwise to show this amount of weakness, including which buttons he could push, in front of Lord Voldemort, she took a couple of deep breaths before grabbing her knickers and pulling them down.
'It’s rude to spy on people like that,' she grumbled to herself.
'What was that?'
'Nothing.'
Peeping Tom, she added mentally as she stepped out of them. Staring at her tiny pile of clothes on the floor, she realised she’d need her wand to make a vow and bent over to retrieve it from her pocket. It was then that her clothes vanished. Surprised, Hermione looked up.
'My wand was in there.'
'You won’t be needing it,' Voldemort said calmly, gesturing at her to come closer.
Reluctantly, Hermione approached him, very aware of her body and every flaw she perceived it had. Her eyes were yet again focused downwards, not wanting to see his reaction to her.
'Why, perhaps I should’ve you walk around in the nude all the time; it surely is a big improvement to your demeanour. Finally, you’ve acknowledged your rightful place.'
His taunt caused her hands to ball into fists in anger. Yet, she wasn’t impulsive enough to actually take a swing at him under the current circumstances without considering the immediate backlash such an act would instigate. Even if she’d still had her wand, he grossly outmatched her. She was completely at his mercy, and there was nothing she could do to stop him now. There just was no beating him in a fair fight. So, she decided there and then, unfair it would’ve to be. Like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders, she unclenched her fists and relaxed.
It was exactly the moment when he gently placed two fingers under her chin and lifted her face to meet his eyes. His magic coiled around her, reminding her of a snake and how fitting that resemblance was as she stared back into those slitted pupils. A small smile grew on Voldemort’s face as he softly said,
'So, you do have a sense of the magic that’s around you, unlike most of the dimwits that cast spells and dare call themselves magical. That’s promising at least.'
Did he just compliment her?
'Kneel.'
Kneel? How much more debasing would this become?
Abruptly, his fingernails dug into her jaw painfully, making her yelp in shock. His anger became ever so visible upon those otherwise blank features, instilling back that sense of fear that had briefly left her. She could sense his wrath coming, could sense the build-up of magic before it lashed out. Hermione braced herself a split second before a scorching pain travelled from her jaw over her spine to her legs, causing her to buckle and cry out for real. Desperate to make the pain stop, she attempted to dislodge her jaw from his grip, but he wouldn’t let go. He kept sending burst after burst through her, forcing her into the position he’d required of her while keeping eye contact throughout her entire ordeal. It seemed to last forever before he finally quit, still holding onto her jaw.
'What did I tell you about disrespecting me, Mudblood?' he hissed.
'I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,' she repeated, a sobbing mess.
'I, Lord Voldemort, am granting you, a filthy little Mudblood,' he spat, 'the honour of serving me. I offer you my time, knowledge and even patience, and you dare—' His fingernails once again dug deep into her skin, causing droplets of blood to drip down her throat. '—you dare waste it?'
'No, no, no, please,' she cried out, now truly panicking. If he retracted his offer, she’d be a corpse before nightfall—a severely mutilated and abused corpse undoubtedly. 'Please, I’ll do whatever you say. Please, I want to learn. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I’m just …'
She swallowed, pushing away her embarrassment and pronouncing her next sentences clearer and in a firmer tone of voice.
'I’m naked and I’m scared. I’ve never done anything like this and it makes me uncomfortable. I didn’t mean any disrespect.'
She took a deep breath.
'Please, I’m really, really sorry. Please,' she whispered the last word, reaching out tentatively and then dropping her hand before she touched him for fear it would be seen as another act of disrespect.
He gazed at her, that blank mask firmly back on his face. Hermione didn’t avert her eyes; she knew she’d spoken the truth. There was nothing to hide.
'I suppose you’re not to blame—'
Hermione closed her eyes and exhaled in relief.
'—for your lack in proper manners with the abysmal upbringing—'
That tensed her up again, which he seemed to notice because his voice turned additionally vicious as he continued with emphasis.
'— your disgusting, Muggle parents —'
Okay, she couldn’t let that slide.
'—gave you.'
When she opened her eyes, she realised he’d been goading her because he was watching her expectantly. Still, they were her parents. She loved them. They’d always been good to her. No, she couldn’t let it slide—no matter that he was now caressing his wand with his hand threateningly.
'Please,' she started, thinking rapidly on how to word her sentence, 'I’d be extremely appreciative if you wouldn’t refer to my parents as disgusting … my Lord ,' she added, bowing her head demurely. She nearly choked on those last two words but, considering her previous experience, felt they were rather imperative to be added.
'Extremely appreciative,' he spoke the words as if he were tasting their meaning on the tip of his tongue. 'And exactly how would you be showing this … remarkably uncharacteristic act.'
Her face fully obscured by her hair, Hermione’s eyes shifted rapidly from side-to-side.
Ermmm... where exactly was this going?
'Anyway you please … my Lord,' she said, still trying to act demurely but having more and more trouble keeping that up.
'Anyway I please … Well, that’s certainly satisfying. However, being the merciful Lord that I am—'
Sure.
'—I shall remember this—'
Oh crap, he was storing it for later!
'—at a more convenient time and place. It’s time we begin.'
Hermione looked up, questioningly. Sighing, he placed his hand on top of her head and guided it back to its previous position.
'Place your hands on your legs and keep this posture until I tell you otherwise,' Voldemort ordered.
Obeying him, Hermione placed her palms on top of her thighs. They were rather sweaty, so she reflexively attempted to rub them dry, which failed miserably because she wasn’t wearing any clothes. Then, she stilled when she felt his fingers caress the top of her head. Lord Voldemort was stroking through her hair as if she were a pet of some kind! Still, it was, surprisingly, a rather nice and soothing experience.
However, it stopped as quick as it had started and a small part of her mourned the loss of that splendiferous feeling. The rest of her was wondering what would happen next. She’d no idea what he planned to do now. Well, most likely cast some Dark Arts enchantment forcing her to maintain the vow he’d have her take later, but she wished he’d not left her in the dark about the details. It was nerve wracking.
From the corner of her eye, she noticed the spray of blood falling on top of the white rug. That wasn’t hers. It had to be his.
Some kind of blood vow then. How utterly barbaric.
Hermione almost turned her head to the left, trying to follow where it was going but just in time recalled that she was supposed to stay still. Her legs were cramping. She wanted to shift ever so slightly, yet didn’t dare to actually attempt doing it. Besides, even though she wanted to move, she was pretty sure she couldn’t. That painful curse he’d cast on her when he’d been furious had locked her spine and legs into position. Ever since he’d cast it, she’d only been able to move her arms and head freely. That spray of blood became visible again on the other side of her, and Hermione quickly deduced that his blood was circling her kneeling form.
Twice.
'Give me your wandhand,' Voldemort ordered matter-of-factly.
Feeling it was incredibly rude to just stick out her hand like that, she looked up with what she hoped was an appropriately demure expression even though she was practically bursting inside with curiosity as to what he was doing.
He snorted as he accepted her hand, and she felt a small jump of victorious joy when he didn’t order her to look down again. The tip of his wand touched the inside of her wrist, right on top of the spot she knew a major artery was located. It didn’t hurt when her blood suddenly left her body in a graceful arc from where his wand was touching her skin. He had to be casting nonverbally, Hermione realised as she followed how her blood settled between the two circles he’d made around her with his. When her blood had made a full circle, Voldemort removed his wand from her wrist and pushed her head back down with his other hand. He didn’t remove his hand when she was back in position, though. He kept his palm flat and his fingers spread wide as he gripped her skull. Words she couldn’t understand flowed from his mouth as he chanted, whisking his wand almost absentmindedly at the circles of blood on the floor.
From her peripheral vision, Hermione witnessed how the blood rose straight up in the air, until it was at her heart’s level, and then, the two outer lines—made up of his blood—began curling around the centre line of her blood. It kind of unnerved her, as it started to move faster and faster, engulfing her blood farther and farther until there was only one continuous line of his visible. Her heart started to race; her face turned hot; and she would’ve swayed on the spot if she’d not been immobilised or if he hadn’t had his hand on her scalp, keeping her head in place. The world began to swirl around her; her blood pounded through her body faster and faster; her heart pumped harder and harder, supplying her organs with more and more until every inch of her pulsated by the force of it, by the power of it.
Dazed, she licked her tingling lips. Everything was out of focus. She felt like she was boiling. It was hot, so-so hot. Her body shone from perspiration, trying desperately to quench the all-consuming heat. Her breaths came out hampered, short and shallow. The power roared around her; magic so dark, so dangerous, it burned with desire, wanting to incinerate every last cell of her until there was nothing left but ashes. Heightened awareness and near unconsciousness exchanged one another at a pace she couldn’t keep track of. Her ears were ringing; echoes of his chant shimmered through her brain.
She was going to be sick; she felt nauseated. It was too hot. She had to vomit.
Then, something clashed on top of her head. Hermione gasped, her eyes flashing open as the coolness spread all over her body.
Relief. Utter and total relief.
She leaned forward, her hands touching the bloodied rug as she panted until her body slowed down to normal again. He’d stepped back and was no longer chanting, she realised as she brought her hands to her face, wiping the moisture away from it. It was when she moved her hands away that she noticed for the first time she was covered in blood and the circles were gone.
That was what he smashed on my head: our blood.
It didn’t repulse her as much as it would’ve normally. The fact that she no longer felt as if she were about to ignite was by far more advantageous than the bit of discomfort a skin covered in blood gave her. One shower and it would be gone.
Then, the seven candles died out and darkness was around her.
She could practically hear her heart beating in her chest, worrying about what was next when the 'smoke ward' fell and daylight entered the room. Blinking at the sudden enhanced brightness, Hermione looked around confused. Crookshanks meowed at her from the top of the Vanishing Cabinet. Everything stood where it always had been. Yet, she was a mess. Malfoy’s priceless rug was a mess. Lord Voldemort, on the other hand, seemed utterly composed and … positively smug.
Yes, smug.
She was sure of that as she took in his posture and facial features.
'What do you want me to vow to?' she asked, tired.
'Nothing,' he said dismissively.
Annoyed, Hermione inhaled, counting to ten before exhaling.
'You’ve made me utterly sick. I’m covered in … blood.'
Now, she shook her hands in disgust before attempting to wipe them on the already destroyed rug.
'And I’m positively exhausted. Please stop toying with me and tell me when you want me to take that pledge.'
'You already have,' Voldemort replied, smirking.
That got her attention. 'What? Bu-but I didn’t say or swear anything!'
'Actually, you did … quite extensively, too,' he added, his smirk turning positively gleefully.
Staggering to her feet and falling over again immediately when she attempted to take a step in his direction, Hermione coughed into the hairs of the rug at Voldemort’s feet.
'Not that I don’t admire your dedication to finally take your rightful place,' he taunted, 'but I believe you need to be gathering your belongings so we can go.'
'What did you do? How can I pledge to anything if I don’t have the first clue of what it is?!' she yelled in despair and anger, scrambling clumsily to her knees and glaring upwards. He had to be lying to her. She’d not promised a thing. 'Pledges don’t hold when they’re one-sided.'
Voldemort leaned down until his flat nose almost touched hers.
'It’s not one-sided if one party agrees and doesn’t fight the conditions the other party stipulates,' he said barely above a whisper.
Hermione gasped and drew back.
'I wasn’t aware of any conditions or anything being stipulated. I thought you were casting to set the stage for the pledge, not make the pledge right there and then. You didn’t say so.'
'Your ignorance is of no consequence to me. Well ...'
He tilted his head mock thoughtfully.
'I suppose it is now. However, with regards to the pledge, it truly isn’t my responsibility to protect silly, little girls from engaging in matters they don’t fully comprehend,' he said sickeningly sweetly before barking, 'Now get up.'
He watched her attempting to do so and failing again, falling on her butt this time and cursing vehemently, before he grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet impatiently.
'Eep!' Hermione yelped as she collapsed against him, not noticing she accidentally struck him in a sensitive place with one of her hips since she was too busy trying to stay vertical and grabbing his robes for support so she wouldn’t fall down again. At least her arms were doing what her brain told them to do.
'Oh, for Salazar’s sake, Granger, try to stand on your feet,' he hissed, his face scrunched in pain, while his other hand grabbed a hold of her waist, pushing her hip outwards.
'I am trying,' Hermione retorted, feeling slightly more safe now she had her arms around his neck. 'My legs won’t work properly. Mind telling me why, or is that a secret, too?' she snapped.
That was when she cursed her 'blurting out everything' ways, because she found herself flailing on the rug again. When she finally got her posture under control by leaning on her elbows and not attempting to rise farther, she glared up.
'You know what’s wrong with me. Why do you ask the impossible?'
'How long do you think I’ll allow you to continue talking to me like that before I cut out your tongue?' Voldemort suggested quietly.
Hermione opened her mouth and then shut it with an audible snap.
'Much better,' he taunted. 'Now clearly, your …'
His eyes raked over her nude, blood-stained body from top to bottom and up again.
'—filthy Mudblood body can’t take the heat—'
Hermione turned utterly red, her embarrassment flushing not only her face but parts of her chest as well.
'—nor the power, so allow me …' he said snidely, his wand cracking through the air like a whip.
A thunderstrike shook the floor and all her belongings sucked into the created vortex. Crookshanks’s meow broke the silence.
Baffled, Hermione’s eyes flickered around. Did he just …? Oh Merlin, no.
'You banished all my clothes, too. What am I supposed to wear now, or do you expect me to travel like this?' She pointed at herself in aggravation.
He shrugged, uncaring.
'I’ve already seen the show, Granger, and your nudity doesn’t inhibit my Apparition skills. Now—'
He held out his hand, swooshing his wand over her. A rather creepy tingle travelled through her body.
'—let’s go.'
As she took his hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet, Hermione noticed she was able to coordinate her legs properly again.
Mentally, she grumbled, You couldn’t have done that right away?
However, she was able to keep her sharp tongue under control. Given that she probably already had been pushing her luck and was currently still in a recovering state, she didn’t fancy a round of 'Crucios' to be added to the list of today’s entertainment. Just when Lord Voldemort pulled her in his arms and spun on the spot to Disapparate, Crookshanks meowed and jumped in between them, his nails tearing up Voldemort’s robes before Hermione caught him.
A crack was the last thing that echoed through Malfoy Manor, and then, all was silent.