Happy Springsmut, tourniquette! Author:caelianokawaii Recipient:tourniquette Title: We Are Such Stuff as Dreams Are Made On Rating: NC-17 Pairing(s): evil!Lucius/Hermione, Hermione/Lord Voldemort, Severus/Hermione(implied), many others! Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended. Summary: His breath ghosted over her shoulder as he whispered menacingly, "I assure you, Granger. I take no pleasure in what I am about to do. I have no wish to dirty my body with the filth that coats your blood." Warnings: AU-ness (Voldie won! And some deaths are not DH compliant), Non-con, dub-con, Latin, allusion to torture, small bit of blood/knife play, mindfuckery, and general distaste for Weasleys. Word Count: 10,300 Author's Notes: Thank you SO much to my wonderful beta, W. She took a coagulated blob of pretty words and did a spring cleaning of epic proportions. Any mistakes here after are, naturally my own. And thank you also to the wonderful mods for being so very, very patient with me and my bothersome technology failures. You were amazing!
This was my first fest, my first smut, and—to be completely honest—my first fic. I wanted to give you everything you asked for, tourniquette, and I didn't want to disappoint. This began as something completely different but just progressed as my mind went on a tailspin of sorts. I really hope you enjoy it and that your spring is filled with flourishing Gurdyroots to keep those pesky Gulping Plimpies away!
We Are Such Stuff as Dreams Are Made On
"Two gates there are for our evanescent dreams, One is made of ivory, the other made of horn. Those that pass through the ivory cleanly carved Are will-o'-the-wisps, their message bears no fruit. The dreams that pass through the gates of polished horn Are fraught with truth, for the dreamer who can see them."
- Homer's The Odyssey, Scroll 19
Hermione Granger snarled as she was hurled into the dingy dungeon. She jumped to her feet, her untamed tresses billowing about her as she turned to face her captor. "Really, Macnair, I don't see the need for you to hide behind that mask any longer."
She found her voice easily, her tone steady. "It's no use thinking it hides who you are. Your odour precedes you by metres. Dead giveaway, did you know?" The witch sneered in what she hoped was a formidable fashion.
The sound of laughter from behind made Hermione spin round. Bollocks. Walden Macnair's greasy hand snaked its way into her hair. He pulled back roughly, causing her spine to contort unnaturally as she attempted to pry his fingers from her scalp. He slipped off his mask, forcing her to stare into his eyes.
He grinned at her…sharp and menacing teeth glinting in the wand light. Leaning down, he made sure his mouth was resting just above the nape of her neck before he spoke—breath hot against her flesh. "Just for that, Granger, I'll make sure to win you."
He sniffed the air around her, letting out a husky breath. "What I wouldn't give to be the one to break you. To taste that dirty blood of yours, fresh from my whip." Macnair gave a dark laugh as he threw her to the ground. Licking his lips, he turned quickly to leave, slamming the door in his wake.
What in the bloody hell did that mean? Hermione mused with a frown, rubbing her temple as she stared at the oaken barricade.
"Hermione?"
She spun round to meet the voice, eyes still attempting to focus on the moonlit quarters. Someone short. Sandy hair…big eyes.
"Colin?"
The elder Creevey brother smiled gaily. "Hermione! You're all right! Everyone was so worried when you weren't brought in with the rest of us. We thought…well, you know."
She stared at him for a moment, "Brought in? Brought in where? Colin, what the devil is going on?" She tucked a stray bit of hair behind her ear, biting her lip as her eyes began to adjust to the light.
There were maybe fifty or so witches and wizards in the cramped dungeon, all in various stages of disarray. "How did they manage to capture all these people? Where is everyone else? Are they fighting?" She gasped as the thought struck her. "Harry! Where's Harry? Is he all right?" Her questions came out in a barely discernable string of vowels.
Colin blinked, his smile still shining brightly even when missing a few molars. "They've got most everybody from the Light side, Hermione. We lost, remember?" He looked at her, the humour seeping quickly from his features. "What…you…you didn't know? I mean…it's been a month now. They've managed to capture nearly everyone. Kingsley Shacklebolt, Mad-Eye Moody, Professor Lupin…" As he rambled off the names of countless other students and Order members, Hermione felt her legs begin to give. She fell to the floor heavily, her mind racing.
What had happened? All the work they'd done over the last three years. All the conquests, the battles fought. They had been so close to success. She ran a shaky hand through her hair.
"…Ernie Macmillan, Terry Boot, Cho Chang, the Patil sisters, Professor Flitwick, even my boss is here somewhere—"
Hermione held up a hand to silence him. Her voice came out in a hoarse whisper as she tried to formulate a coherent sentence. "What. Happened. To. Harry." Naturally, that was first and foremost in her mind. All the other details could fall into place after that.
A rough voice from across the room piped up, "He's got him. No one from this lot's seen him, but we've heard through the Half-bloods that he's still alive. But the shape he's in…that's not common knowledge."
She breathed a sigh of relief. Harry was all right. Well, "all right" was circumstantial. But he was alive. That's all that mattered. Her eyes trailed up from her hands to find the speaker. She squinted slightly before breaking into a small smile.
"Justin!"
The Hufflepuff gave out a loud barking laugh. "Can still tell who I am, eh? That's always a good sign. Haven't seen my reflection since before the end of it all, and Creevey keeps telling me that the Death Eaters' experiments have been pullin' a number on me."
Colin ducked his head and spoke defensively; "You said you wanted the truth. And Rita always taught me that the truth was best written with as much detail as possible. So it should be spoken the same way."
Justin Finch-Fletchley had always been fair-looking in Hermione's opinion. Deep brown eyes, tanned skin, supple lips. But this man before her certainly wasn't the same boy. His eyes were sunken, flesh taut against his bones. There were scars up and down the entire length of his body and quite an ominously large gash on his forehead.
She exhaled audibly, making the bickering pair draw silent. "I still don't understand what's going on. Why has everyone been taken captive as opposed to killed? Why did you say that the Half-bloods know about Harry but none in our 'group' have seen him? Why have we been separated into groups? Are we supposed to be waiting for something? What experiments? And how in Merlin's name did we lose?!" She paused, calming herself before continuing. "Just…please. Someone explain to me what I've missed." Or how I've missed it in the first place, she thought.
The boys exchanged a glance, both speaking wordlessly in a way Hermione found incredibly bothersome. After what seemed like an eternity, Justin finally looked at her, his voice flat.
"You're not going to like what I'm about to tell you."
Oh great. That made her feel all warm and fuzzy inside. She merely nodded stiffly, preparing herself.
He gave her one more hesitant glance before talking as casually as possible. "When the final Battle occurred, Vold—"
“Wait a minute, wait a minute” Hermione interceded. “The final battle…but, that’s impossible.” Her brows knitted in frustration. “I would have been there. It was going to be Severus, Ron, Harry and I! We were going…going…somewhere…”
Creevey frowned. “It was you, Ron, Harry and…Snape that went.” He paused, glancing at her. “You really don’t remember?”
Hermione merely shook her head. How was this possible? Either she had hit her head extremely hard or someone had Obliviated her. Why would they need to? There were three other people there…did they have their memories erased, too? What was so scandalous that it had to be wiped from her mind?
Justin sighed. "The Dark Lord demanded that everyone on the side of the Light be kept alive and transported here."
Hermione couldn't stop herself chirping in again. "Where's here?"
"We don't know."
"Then why did you say, 'transported here,' if you didn't know where here was?"
"Because we know that he said, 'Bring them to this undisclosed location,' all right? I don't bloody well know! I'm just trying to make things as clear as possible for you."
"Right. Sorry. Go on."
He shot her a small irritated glare. "Well, we were all to be brought somewhere together. Obviously, no one took to the idea kindly. There was a lot of blood. Some people were just Imperiused but others…others made trouble."
He glanced around the room pointedly, Hermione taking the initiative to look at the crowd once more. Many had taken to listening to their conversation, others choosing to remain in their corners, rocking on their heels. It was easy to tell who the troublemakers had been.
"So then we were separated. Into three groups: Blood-traitors, Half-bloods and Muggleborns. We haven't heard too much from the other packs, just snippets from those who are taken out for the experiments." He held up a finger to stop her interrupting.
"Experiments. Apparently, Muggleborns are a different species.” He grimaced in disgust. “Or at least that’s what they’re calling us. They've been using all sorts of…things on the ones they pick. Magic and tools alike." He gave an involuntary shudder that made Hermione cringe. "We've all come back, though. Just…different." Justin looked down at his marred body for emphasis.
Her heart began to sink further and further with every word he spoke. This must all be a dream. Justin was so casual about things! Only her irrational mind would write circumstances such as these off as casual. That had to be it. They could never have lost. The tips of her mouth crinkled into a smile as the idea struck her.
Colin looked at her as though she'd completely lost it. "Ah…Hermione?" His own lips twitched nervously.
She merely giggled, "Yes, Colin, please, keep going."
Another look shared between Finch-Fletchley and Creevey. Those looks could be awfully exasperating.
"Hermione," Colin began, "Like Justin said before…a lot of people fought against the idea of captivity." His eyes took on a look of pity. "Really fought against it."
She cocked her head at him. "Please, if you don't mind, get to the point, Colin. I have to be waking up soon."
Hermione rolled her eyes. Just how much could the two imaginary prats have to say to one another? And enough with those damned looks!
He cleared his throat, hands tugging awkwardly at his tattered robes as he avoided her eyes like the plague. "Ron…Ron didn't make it, Hermione. He fell to Bellatrix Lestrange. He refused to be taken alive."
The hand that was playing idly with a lock of hair dropped immediately to her side. Hermione froze for a moment, her mouth ajar. "Ex…Excuse me?"
Justin rubbed the back of his neck. "Hermione…I'm truly sorry. He fought valiantly. Dennis Creevey was there. He said that Ron's last words were about you. I…" He broke off, unable to figure out what to say.
The fact that Ron was dead was not what scared her most. The fact that Hermione hadn't even thought about Ron since being captured—that truly frightened her. What sort of girlfriend was she? Or rather, had she been? Ron was supposed to have been the love of her life, right? Almost instantly, images of a pair of stark green eyes swirled through her mind. She clenched her eyes shut tightly. Best to avoid that particularly irksome matter at the moment.
It also bothered her just how calm her voice was. "But the war. How did we lose the war?"
The room was now stiflingly quiet. All eyes had turned their attention to the trio, no one daring to breathe for chance of missing the next bit of the discussion. Hermione shifted awkwardly. "Colin…Justin. I've got to know."
Colin's face was stony. When he spoke, his voice was cold and empty. Nothing like the Creevey Hermione had known before. "We were betrayed."
She sat quite still for a moment.
No one made a sound for a long while. Finally, Justin cleared his throat. "We had…we had no idea. But of course, we were so certain."
Hermione had already made up her mind as she clasped her fists tightly; "I'll kill him. I'll kill that bloody Malfoy with my bare hands. How dare he? How dare he?! I told Harry! I told him that it was no good! 'People can change,' he said. 'Snape changed, why couldn't Draco?'" She rose to her feet, anger coursing thickly through every vein.
Colin looked at her first with confusion then with something mildly resembling pity. "No, Hermione," he shook his head. "Draco wasn't—" The sound of a creaking door made them all tense.
Hermione sighed. Another cloak. Another mask. Cowards, the lot of them. Even when they've won, they still insist on hiding.
It was man's voice. Another familiar man's voice that came behind that pale, bone coloured mask. He pointed at Hermione with one yellow and sharpened fingernail. "You. You'll come with me, pup."
Pup? "And if I refuse?" Hermione hissed.
The noise that Greyback made resembled something similar to a madman's giggle. "Then I get to use force. So please, refuse me."
She rubbed her neck, thinking for a moment. She looked at Justin. His head was lowered and his mouth twitched. She looked at Colin. For all his bravado, even he refused to meet the lycan's eyes. What had happened to these two in such a short time to make them so…so…broken?
She stood gingerly after weighing her options. It would be best to cooperate for now. At least until she fully understood what she was dealing with. Justin grabbed the hem of her robes as she moved to join Fenrir at the door. She bent down so that her ear was level to his mouth, her eyes still locked on the werewolf.
"I've heard rumours about what they've been doing to members of the Order," Justin whispered quickly, urgently. "Don't take this situation lightly, Hermione. You're one of the brightest people I know. But that's not enough right now. Just…just be careful, alright? Bravado won't get you very far."
Hermione looked at him for a long while before nodding and patting his shoulder. She turned around and raised an eyebrow at Greyback. "Shall we?"
***
The walk through the muted and slimy halls seemed to take ages. Hermione tried to remember each turn and twist, but lost count after twenty minutes or so. Fenrir had still insisted on prodding her in the back with his wand and she couldn't help but roll her eyes silently.
Finally, the sound of echoing voices began to reach her ears. It took a few moments before she could distinguish the prominent voice over the chatter but its words made her shiver.
"…Very well, Dolohov. You have proved your worthiness. You will bring your property back here in three months time to assure me I have made the correct decision. Do not disappoint me. I expect complete success. You may leave."
Another voice.
"Thank you, my Lord. You will not regret it."
A pause.
"Up. NOW!"
A grunt and whimper.
Then footsteps coming their way.
Hermione hesitated a moment, earning a quick stab in the back with Greyback's wand. As she rounded the corner, Hermione collided with another body, both figures falling to the ground heavily.
"You stupid git!” The other body was ripped away from the tangle of limbs, the voice continuing to berate it. “You clumsy whore! Get moving! You’ll be paying for this, make no mistake!"
Hermione stumbled to her feet, attempting to gain her bearings and figure out what exactly had just happened.
"Trouble with your property, Dolohov?" Greyback smirked. "And it's only been thirty seconds."
Antonin Dolohov merely growled in response as he shoved the naked figure in front of him brutally past Fenrir. Hermione gasped as Ginny was heaved forward, but the slight redhead never let her eyes stray from the ground. The scrapes and bruises that adorned her pale flesh shone malevolently in the flickering candlelight.
Hermione swallowed heavily as she continued to watch her friend's progression through the corridor. What the hell was going on?
One more push from Greyback and she went flying through a grand set of double doors and onto the cold stone floor.
"Miss Granger, how kind of you to join us."
Hermione let out a small gasp as red eyes met hazel. Perhaps it was not who she was staring at that shocked her—she had well expected coming across him tonight—but rather how who she was looking at…looked.
She was not gazing at the sunken, serpent-like face she had come to associate with pure evil. Oh no. She gawked at the dashing man before her, slender long fingers laced together atop crossed legs.
A brilliantly tailored robe of onyx colouring was fitted snugly to his slender form, clasps made of emeralds embellishing the cuffs and lacing the pieces of fabric together.
His skin was pale, but not sickly. His eyes were red, but not slanted. His nose was no longer merely two slits but rather a sculpted, strong ledge that reminded her of a Grecian god. She gazed at his dark, thick hair that came just below his ears, styled immaculately.
He smirked. "You find something amusing, Ms. Granger?"
She swallowed. Just the fact you've turned into…into… Her stomach flipped.
"Into what?" He asked, intrigued.
She cursed herself. She knew she should have spent more time with Occlumency.
"How?" She chided her voice for sounding so meek.
"A very good question." He leaned back in his throne of ornately carved…ivory. She hoped to Merlin that was ivory. It was completed by a large arch of the same material bordering it, snakes etched to cover its entirety. She grimaced.
Voldemort looked down and to his left. "Harry, why don't you explain to the girl how I became what she sees."
Hermione's chest constricted. Harry? Her eyes darted to the Dark Lord's side and she jumped to her feet. "Harry!"
She covered the large expanse between her and the throne in four large leaps before arriving metres in front of her best mate. The man whose eyes haunted her dreams and thoughts. Even her fantasies. The man who knelt, dazed and shirtless without his glasses at the feet of his mortal enemy.
She made the final few steps in a rush, only to be blasted backwards, skidding ungracefully across the rutted floor and tumbling into Greyback's legs.
"It's quite an interesting tool," Voldemort conceded. "The age line. We've had many attempt the same thing. Unfortunately, you must be past your seventh decade of existence to cross." He gave her an ersatz look of apology before turning to Harry once more. "I asked you to explain to your friend why I appear this way, Harry. I do hope you are not planning to disappoint me."
Harry kept his eyes on the floor as he spoke, his voice devoid of emotion and the story well rehearsed. "After each Horcrux was destroyed, The Dark Lord's soul was weakened. After the diadem was demolished in the Fiendfyre and Nagini was killed, Master was left with only one: Harry Potter.”
Okay, so far so good. Hermione thought. I know all this.
"At the final battle three years later, The Dark Lord was in disrepair. It seemed that Harry Potter would be inevitably victorious. But Master had a spy, a hidden ally. He strengthened The Dark Lord with unicorn blood and performed a blood ritual before Master and Harry Potter's final confrontation. No one suspected this clever plan was in the works.”
Hermione’s eyes scanned the room. She saw no one other than Harry and Voldemort, which was most likely a good thing. If Draco had been there in that moment, she would have killed him. But how in the world could someone like Draco know to use blood magic?
"When Harry Potter arrived, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger and Severus Snape at his side, The Dark Lord was waiting with his most faithful,” Harry continued, his eyes dulled. “Master and Harry Potter met in the centre of a large field—a field that had been chosen by The Dark Lord and his ally.
"They waited, watching each other. No one spoke but all wands were held tightly, hidden under sleeves. Master made no move, his mind at ease. Harry Potter, unnerved and unknowing, finally shot out a curse. The ancient blood magic blazed with power on the grassy hill and Harry Potter fell to the ground. He was ignorant, confused. He felt something leaving him, being sucked out.
"His body was racked with pain and it shook as the earth grew brighter, archaic symbols glowing crimson and lime. He felt himself become weaker and watched with fear as a mist began to rise from his body. He began to black out as the last of the vapour left him and absorbed into The Dark Lord's waiting flesh. The last he saw was the beautiful man, permanently left in a state of perpetual youth and red, flashing eyes. Thus was Master born again."
Harry became silent once more though Voldemort paid him no mind, his unblinking eyes locked on Hermione.
She took a shaky breath as she shuddered. How could she not remember any of this? She had been there, thank Merlin. She wouldn’t have known what to do with herself if she hadn’t. What had gone so wrong? How could they have been so foolish? What had happened to Harry? What was Harry now—other than a shell of his former self? And could the traitor really have been Draco? The plans of the conspirator were too complex for him, regardless of what he may or may not have achieved in their sixth year.
Voldemort chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "Such an inquisitive mind for a Mudblood. That's something I've always found intriguing in you. A thirst for knowledge can be more vital to success than bravery at times. But so many questions…" he clicked his tongue, "where to begin?"
"Perhaps, my Lord," a voice came from the shadows, "I might explain a few things if you'll allow me."
"Of course, Severus. You've well earned the right."
Hermione followed Voldemort's gaze to the corner shrouded in darkness. Surely she must be mistaken. She couldn't have heard 'Severus' spew from that monster's lips.
But it was to her great displeasure that the crooked-nosed potions master stepped into the torchlight, his billowing form casting an intimidating shadow across the floor.
"S-Severus?!" Hermione stuttered. "No! Impossible! H-How could you be?" Her fearful eyes stared him down in disbelief. Her most trusted confidant. The man who had become her mentor throughout the years was the double-crossing scum?
The fear in her amber eyes quickly turned to hatred. She rose to her feet slowly feeling the rage course through her body. He merely stood, looking at her with distasteful detachment. She growled. "Tell me why. Tell me why right now. Or do you not have an excuse?"
Snape shrugged. "The Dark Lord offered many things to me. Things that the Order could never guarantee." He paused, giving her a nasty smile. "You being one of the elemental…perks."
She froze, severely shaken, as he continued. "Life and existence are intimately connected with magic. In some cases, they can be treated as the same energy. Blood represents life force, and ultimately, power. It can give and it can take away just as easily. I spoke to my Lord about this, and he agreed it would be the best plan of attack.
"Being a member of the Order, I knew where and when Potter was going to make his move. So, having strengthened Lord Voldemort with unicorn blood over the last year, we arrived at the meadow and combined our blood for the ritual. We used runic symbols as old as magic itself to create a circle of power. Power that would transfer as soon as a spell was released from the wand of the caster into the intended recipient.
"Potter, being the naïve, cocky fool that he is, cast his infamous Expelliarmus and was instantly victim to his own stupidity. Both his spirit and his soul were sucked from his weak form and travelled into the supreme Dark Lord. Neither you nor Weasley could cross into the circle that controlled the magic. The Order of the Phoenix, blinded by their illusions of grandeur, sent three children to kill the most powerful wizard that has ever come into existence. Well," he added with a smug grin, "three children and a Death Eater."
She began to lunge but Greyback grabbed her by the hair to keep her restrained. How could Snape have the audacity to talk to her like this?
She frowned as her mind clouded with the image of Harry squirming on the dead grass, Voldemort standing above him, his body contorting as it altered. Where did that come from?
He resumed after a hefty pause for effect. "The saviour of the Wizarding world writhed on the ground as he was emptied of his will to fight and his very essence. The Dark Lord's final Horcrux was returned to his body with interest. It worked in a fashion similar to that Fountain of Youth the Muggles speak so fondly of. Slowly, he transformed into what you see before you—an immortal fit to rule the world.
"And the Boy Who Lived turned into a mindless, subservient play thing for our Lord, who was gracious enough to allow him to live. He remains at The Dark Lord's side, willing to serve him because that is the only thing he knows. His soul is in possession of his Master and saviour."
"As to your memory," Voldemort interceded, "it was…removed after you were captured."
Hermione's mind was frantic as she tried to take everything in. "Why? What is the point of you telling me now??"
"You were the subject of many debates, Miss Granger," Voldemort said. "Ronald Weasley was killed by my ever-faithful Bella. That left only you as the sane leader of the revolution.
"And you are Mudblood no less! So, as soon as you were restrained and Stupefied, you were led back to my dear Lucius' abode. Severus had already proclaimed his desire for time alone with you. But there was much to learn about your kind.”
Hermione swayed as another rush of images passed before her mind’s eye. A dungeon. Manacles. A stale piece of bread which she kicked away. Her teeth sinking into the arm of Rodolphus Lestrange. She grinned. That was a memory she hoped was true.
"How could creatures such as you exist? You are by far more talented and intelligent than half of my servants yet you are an inferior being—not worthy of our attention or the title of witch.
"It was decided that he would receive you as his prize for one month, over which time he would be required to study you, experiment on you. He was granted his wish of complete isolation and I will admit it was a long four weeks for many of us. Although he used much of his time to…experiment in another way." Voldemort's eyes were filled with an emotion Hermione did not want to recognise.
"The other Mudbloods went through many of the same experiments, though none as extensive as yours.” He grinned. “Would you like to see?”
Hermione shook her head but before she could stop it their eyes met and she was forced to watch as Justin was bound to a wall and whipped, the thin braided straps slicing his pale flesh relentlessly. She tried to break his gaze; close the gateway between their minds.
She managed to turn away, growling as her eyes focused on Severus. Oh no.
Voldemort grinned once more, following her gaze. “Would you rather a recount of your last thirty days? Perhaps that would suit your fancy.”
She closed her eyes, making sure to keep her head firmly turned to the side. Until she heard Harry scream. Her eyes flashed open, searching out her friend and the cause of his agitation. Bollocks.
She shuddered as once more Voldemort stole her vision, replacing it with scenes from some horrific movie. Hermione watched as Severus laughed and she cried, pleading with him to stop as he ravished her viciously against the dungeon’s wall. Her eyes burned as her small fists pounded against his chest to no avail. He slapped her, silencing her momentarily.
A moment later she observed herself stretched across an examination table, nude, her back arching as the Cruciatus took effect. Snape gloated and lavished in her misery, a bulge very visible through his tight fitting black trousers.
Her scream echoed through the hall and Voldemort released his hold on her, a satisfied expression on his face.
"I couldn't have your mind troubled with thoughts of our findings, or of Severus' activities, so I made the choice of having you Obliviated. Makes things much easier."
Hermione was seething. Her hands clenched and unclenched. How dare they violate the sanctity of her mind and body? How dare Severus Snape even think to touch her? She felt physically ill. Had she really been raped? Used? By that man?
Voldemort allowed her a moment to realise her position. "As you may have been informed and have obviously come to understand, we have been courteous enough to allow Mudbloods, Half-bloods, and Blood traitors alike to live. You may be wondering, however, why that is.
"Well, my faithful have worked very hard and sacrificed much. They needed gifts," a chill went up her spine at his smirk, "treats to reward them. What better reward than a wizard or witch to keep their beds warm, their dungeons active, and their whips wet?
Hermione could take no more and interrupted. She spat the words out with venom, “You're sick. You're all bloody ailing in your twisted minds! Humans are not property. We are all equal, no different than you! How dare you be presumptuous enough to think you can hand us out as…as…party favours!?
"Do you know that slavery is illegal? That rape is a disgusting tool that cowards use to make themselves feel strong? No one will endure that from you! Our bodies and minds are ours to give as we please!"
Severus looked ready to strike but Voldemort held up a hand and halted his progress. Voldemort spoke placidly, though his eyes gleamed dangerously.
"First, Miss Granger, I will remind you that I may do whatever I like and there will be no consequences. I might also suggest you hold your tongue…I contain the power that decides your fate. Now," he continued softly, "you say no one will take to my idea.
"I believe you've forgotten that a month has passed since your side’s tremendous failure and capture. Many have had no choice but to cooperate. Even more importantly, many have embraced and even relished in their new positions. Harry has, haven't you, Harry?"
He continued to look at Hermione, his eyes piercing her soul, but Voldemort knew even as he watched her that Harry was nodding his head submissively beside his throne.
"Draco has also accepted his position as Severus' pet. Though he is lucky to be alive at all. Miss Granger," he studied her carefully, "the time for discussion has ended. We will now have the auction."
"Auction?" Hermione refused to remain silent. "What auction?"
"I have decided you will be given a very special privilege. All Mudbloods and Half-bloods are given as slaves to those who choose them; used for labour or an object on which to explore their more devious tastes.
"On a first come first served basis, I suppose you could say. But the Blood traitors are kept as servants, required to attend to their Master's every need. They are broken and trained accordingly, though the degree of their training depends entirely on their chosen Master.
"The men surrounding me will offer me tribute and explain why the property up for claim should be theirs. Shall we begin?"
Hermione moved without hesitation. She attacked Snape with his death in the forefront of his mind. She thought of how he had betrayed her, all of the Order and the side of the Light.
He was the reason Harry bowed his head in the presence of these unworthy monsters. She tackled him, screaming as she clawed at his face, at his body, at anything she could reach. She punched and she kicked, set on killing the treacherous scum. She was left with only primal instinct and urge.
"Depulso!" Snape yelled, managing to point his wand at Hermione's chest.
For the second time that evening, Hermione went soaring through the air, this time crashing into the farthest wall, making a loud cracking sound as she collided. She slid to the floor, her body aching and the breath knocked out of her.
Snape stalked towards the crumpled mass which was Hermione, his chest heaving with fury. He stood over her, his eyes murderous. "You'll pay, Mudblood."
"Crucio!" he shouted, and the bushy-haired girl thrashed about with pain she could barely withstand. White hot blades seared though her chest, her stomach, her legs and arms. She could not hear herself screaming but knew she must be. Her mind began to darken as she lost control of her thoughts, the agony wracking her body bringing her blissfully into the blackness of unconsciousness.
***
"Aguamenti."
Hermione gasped as her body was drenched in water that chilled her to the bone. She tried to stand—somehow she had been placed in a seat of some sort—but was unable to shift. She squinted, trying to adjust to the light of the flaming torches. Why can't I move?
"You seemed to be a little too lively. I felt the need to restrain you." She recognized Voldemort's voice without having to look up. "You do look so wonderfully tantalizing bound."
Once she regained her vision, Hermione took in her situation. She had remained in the hall, and Voldemort was still on his throne. Harry knelt beside him, though now he was completely nude. Chairs had been lined along the wall opposite her, forming a crescent moon-like circle with her as the centerpiece.
All the chairs were filled. Every Death Eater wore their robes, but many did not have their masks on, apparently comfortable with their safety in their Lord's presence. On the floor by several of the Death Eaters were witches and wizards in various stages of undress.
Some had gags in their mouths and others had collars adorning their necks. She saw that Neville Longbottom knelt at the feet of Bellatrix Lestrange, his body bruised and marred, his face emotionless and exhausted, and his form naked.
Kingsley looked strangely out of place genuflected next to Yaxley. His black skin stood in stark contrast to his pale captor. He wore only a pair of trousers, his hands cuffed in front of him.
Hermione looked down at herself and gasped. She sat in her knickers and bra, though the thin, white pieces of cotton did very little to hide her modesty, soaked as they were.
Her ankles were bound one on each front leg of the cool, armless chair. Even flexed, her feet only made it half way down to the floor and she could tell she was rather high up. Her arms were tied with what felt like course rope behind the back of the seat, pulling her body taut against the uneven surface of the chair, her pert breasts thrusting forward.
Hermione wondered just what sort of chair she sat on. The legs were sharp and pointed, sinking into the ground slightly. It was a pale sort of white, and in fact, the entire thing felt like it was made of long, pointed round…somethings. They must be horns. Judging from the way they were able to pierce the stone floor of the hall, Hermione deduced they must be Erumpent horns. How completely dramatic.
She shivered as the crisp air in the vast room sought out her goose-pimpled and soaking flesh. Her long hair hung limply around her shoulders, thankfully covering some of her chest.
"Where were we?" Voldemort mused.
Snape spoke from the chair directly to the Dark Lord's right. "Alecto had just suggested we play a game of Exploding Snap, winner receiving Granger."
"Or Gobstones!" Amycus Carrow interjected. "I'm brilliant at Gobstones…and Alecto and I want to share her."
Macnair spoke up. "Personally, I believe it should be like the other Mudbloods. I asked for her first, I should get her."
"I claimed her when I came back to our Lord!" Snape hissed at him.
"And you also betrayed us for nearly eighteen years!" Macnair growled back. Others mumbled words of agreement.
"This will not turn into an arguing match, gentlemen." Voldemort sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I have no patience for it. Severus, we have already agreed that though you were ultimately the pinnacle of our rise to success, your penance for your betrayal would be limited time with her."
Snape said nothing, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.
"Do not pout like a child. You received young Malfoy, did you not?" Voldemort quirked his brow at him.
"I am very thankful, my Lord," Severus said, trying to restrain the contempt just beyond his lips. "You are too kind."
"I don't see why we can't just do it the same way we did with that Lovegood girl." As Fenrir spoke, he ran his jagged nails through the sandy hair of Remus Lupin who was bent on all fours at Greyback's side. He, too, was naked.
"That is quite an interesting idea, Greyback. One I believe might work perfectly here," Voldemort approved.
Throughout this entire debate, Hermione had been left to her thoughts. Her protests were vanquished in her throat. They must have put a silencing charm on her while she was unconscious.
Both her mind and pulse were racing as she began to understand the gravity of her position. Here she was, tied to a chair in her knickers and bra, soaked in water which would surely give her a cold, and surrounded by a circle of Death Eaters who were deciding who would take her home and keep her as property.
She would laugh if she could make a noise.
For once in her life, Hermione Granger did not have the faintest idea of what to do.
She only realized the senior Malfoy was standing in front of her when he backhanded her. The sound of flesh meeting flesh echoed ominously throughout the cavernous hall.
"You'll give me your attention when I debase myself enough to pay you any notice, Mudblood." Lucius Malfoy looked at her with utter disgust as he spoke, like she was a spot on his extremely shiny shoe.
Even sitting as she was, her brown eyes met his gray.
He turned to look at the throne that held his lord. "My Lord, I must once again reiterate that I would prefer to—"
"I understand your reluctance, Lucius," Voldemort interrupted him tersely. "You have brought it to my attention many times. But I believe I have made it clear I intend you to do this. Do not test my fortitude with your impertinence."
Lucius bowed his head shortly. "I apologise my Lord. It was not my intention to question your judgment."
"But you seem so keen in doing so," Voldemort said darkly. He said nothing more, simply motioned for him to continue.
Malfoy turned to face Hermione after once more nodding to Voldemort. His eyes were filled with a mixture of anger and loathing. She did not want such a hateful creature near her let alone touching her. She had learned throughout the years that it was best to avoid any hostile being because their anger was most usually unleashed upon the nearest object.
Hermione was too close for comfort.
He bent down, his hands reaching behind her back, feeling for the clasps of her bra. As he did so, his head was level with her ear. His breath ghosted over her shoulder as he whispered menacingly, "I assure you, Granger. I take no pleasure in what I am about to do. I have no wish to dirty my body with the filth that coats your blood." He was quiet for a moment as his fingers toyed idly with the back of her bra.
Then he added as more of an aside to himself. "I’ll probably be scrubbing myself clean for weeks. At least the others were pure-blood. This is too much."
His nimble fingers finally undid the gossamer white brassier as he snapped out of his thoughts. He reached into his robes and pulled out a long and very, very sharp dagger. Hermione flinched.
Lucius straightened as he rubbed the blade against his slender fingers. "I suggest you not move, girl. If you value your life."
Hermione took that moment to listen to direction. Lucius barely moved as he cut the straps of her bra, letting the cool metal run across her collarbones, but drawing no blood. She hissed a sigh of relief.
He pulled the worthless fabric away from her body, swiped her hair off her shoulders and stepped aside so that the room might admire his work. A few spoke to one another in appreciation of the view. As the cold air met her nipples, the still wet buds rose to attention. Her small dark areolas made a faultless circle around them. Hermione's breasts stood out like firm globes, decently sized and perfectly symmetrical.
Even Lucius could not fault her as his eyes dropped to her rising and falling chest. She wanted to scream bloody murder, but still her voice would not come. She tried to pull against her bindings frantically, the state of affairs taking a turn she refused to admit possible. Her struggle only brought on a sheen of sweat and a round of cruel laughter.
He frowned as he felt the room fill with even higher expectations. His hand reached for her remaining white undergarment and Hermione struggled with all her might, her mouth moving in a silent scream as his hand reached her most private area.
Lucius clenched the fabric in his fist and pulled it roughly upwards and outward, the flimsy undergarment tearing loudly.
Hermione began to cry, frustrated but it only seemed to fuel their lust. All except Lucius’. He sighed, taking his wand out and pointing it at his now exposed trousers.
"Impendo," he whispered and Hermione watched in horror as the cloth at the apex of his pants began to grow taut and point outward. Next, he pointed his wand at Hermione's throat. Her breath hitched in her chest and she met his eyes, pleading.
"Do not make me regret this, Mudblood," Lucius growled. "Finite."
The brunette cleared her throat and found her voice had returned. She looked at him then said, her voice small, "Please."
He stared back with no pity in his stormy gray eyes. He once more moved to the side, this time behind her, so that all of the observers might feast upon the spectacle before them.
Hermione saw that some of the Death Eaters were having their…property pleasure them as they watched her abuse in motion and felt ill once more. She began to panic, her words blaring proof of that.
"You can't do this. You can't! This is wrong! Stop! Stop now and let me go. Let us all go! You've won this war on false pretenses. Don't you see? Not on true valor! You—"
She immediately silenced herself as the tip of Lucius' blade came to rest against her nipple. He once more leaned down to her neck and spoke venomously. "Slaves are punished when they do not do as they are told." He let the blade trace her nipple, successfully instilling a state of panic in Hermione's mind. He let out a breathy laugh as she trembled beneath him.
"I will say I'm going to enjoy this part. Your terror brings me pleasure."
Hermione didn't breathe for fear of causing the dagger to slice her tender flesh. She felt the tears return to dampen her flushed cheeks.
She clenched her eyes shut tightly and prayed to the powers that be as the blade took a serpentine path around both breasts, over her ribs, her heart, her toned stomach and slowly found its way lower. She let out a soft whimper as the blade reached her lower lips.
Her mouth quivered as Lucius' hand stretched from his place still behind the chair and felt the cool tears from her cheek. "Scared, Mudblood? I wonder what colour your blood is. Is it brown, filthy like you? Or perhaps it's not blood at all, but a coagulated form of dirt? Should we find out?" He let the hilt of the blade dip lower, slightly parting her labia.
She gasped, her breathing now laboured. Oh god…please…please no. This can't be happening.
"D-Don't do this. You don't have to do this," she pleaded softly.
"Unfortunately." Lucius grimaced into the nape of her neck. With that he bit down, drawing blood and eliciting a long scream from Hermione.
He slowly circled back to face her as he bit his way down her chest, following the same path as the blade. He stopped at her breast once he was facing her and clenched his teeth around her tender nipple. She screamed again which only seemed to bring him more pleasure.
Without pretense, he unbuttoned the expensive fabric of his trousers, freeing his rampant erection. It was as pale as he was, the head round and velvety, a vein spiraling down its considerable length. He smirked as her eyes widened.
"Incumbo," he muttered and Hermione jumped as the chair she remain perched upon began to recline, the back leveling out to be nearly parallel with the floor. The rope around her feet tugged painfully as her legs attempted to accommodate the stretch.
Lucius stepped forward. He climbed gracefully onto the chair, placing one knee next to Hermione’s side on the amply exposed bit of seat. The other he let hang loosely to the ground, his strong thigh remaining still with controlled ease.
Taking the blade in his left hand, he positioned himself with his right hand at her entrance. She shook her head violently, her body straining once more. "No," she yelped, "No! Merlin no! Please! Stop!"
As he entered her, he let the dagger's edge run down the length of her arm, deep enough this time to draw a small bit of blood which juxtaposed the chair brilliantly where it fell. "I said be quiet, you whore! Your pleas are not worthy of my ears. I will slice you to within an inch of your life." He spoke in a feral growl as he felt her warmth clamp around his cock.
She could not stop herself weeping as he began to rut against her. With no lubrication, her insides burned with the friction. He was too long. Too wide. She was going to rip.
She was not a virgin—Ron had taken that honour—but Ron had also been smaller than average and barely able to satisfy her. Now she was trapped between the chair and Malfoy's hard body.
Lucius purred. "You're so very tight. Are you a virgin, Mudblood? No, that Weasley must have broken you. Am I better than he is? Are you ready to come under my ministrations? Such a pity he's gone. He would have been tantalising broken and bloody…"
Hermione merely bit her lip in response, still struggling to get away, still letting her tears flow freely down her cheeks. She wouldn’t give him the pleasure of a response. He’d only enjoy it more.
He molested her breast, cupping it in his long, delicate hand and mauling it roughly.
"That's it," he groaned, his voice raspy, "cry and struggle. It will get me there twice as fast."
Hermione felt the heat building in the room. She could tell every pair of eyes were on her and could hear moans of exertion. Malfoy thrust in and out of her brutally. Varying the speed and relishing in her pain as he pulled out to just his head and slamming back in, her still dry orifice was rubbed raw.
She sensed he was getting closer. His eyes closed and his pace quickened. His motions were frantic as his balls slapped against her splayed thighs. Both were sweating under his ministrations, their breathing sporadic.
He pressed the blade against her neck; hard enough to dent the skin but unmoving so that no blood was drawn. With his other hand, he reached down between them and pinched her clit between his manicured nails.
She let out a high pitched shriek as her passage constricted around his cock.
That was enough for Lucius. He let out a shout of pleasure and reared his head as he let his seed fill her. She sobbed, her head now falling dejectedly as the blade was removed. He bucked a few more times; milking his cock until it was empty. He stood there for a moment, trying to regulate his breathing. Pulling out, he performed a cleaning spell on himself before replacing his spent length back in his trousers.
One more look of revulsion at Hermione's quivering form and he turned around to face his lord, completely composed.
Voldemort's eyes were aflame with lust as he stared at the used girl. "You have certainly whetted my appetite, Lucius. Your debt has been paid."
Malfoy bowed. "Thank you, my Lord. It was a pleasure."
Voldemort studied Hermione for a while as the room remained caught in a expectant silence. Slowly, he rose to his feet. He paced gracefully towards her, her exhausted waif form still shaking. He stood at her side just above her head. Her eyes remained clenched shut, though drops of liquid still escaped through her thick lashes.
His voice was quiet as he towered over her. "Perhaps I shall keep you as my own. You and Harry may make a perfect pair. And perhaps I may even allow you two to pleasure one another." He gave a smug grin. "Your mind screams how much you love him."
His hand reached for her face, brushing the hair away. She withdrew as if burned which brought forth a snarl from Voldemort.
"You obviously are no fan of compassion, so I shall show you none."
Wrapping his hand in her hair, he yanked her head back, putting the vulnerable skin of her neck on display. His mouth latched onto the bite on her neck, licking at the wound and nipping all around it.
Voldemort’s long, slender hand made its way down her body and he thrust two fingers into her already tender opening, making her let out a small cry. He forced her to meet his crimson eyes as he forced her lips apart with his probing tongue. She tried to turn her head away but could not move. His tongue darted around every inch of her mouth, sampling her, searching her.
She could taste the warmth of her blood on his tongue. She retched hollowly. He withdrew from her mouth, biting her lip and pulling it before he stood.
He pulled his wand out of his robes, snaking his hand behind her back and pressing its tip to her raw wrists.
"Finite Incantatem." The coarse rope unravelled itself and pooled on the floor. He repeated the incantation on each of her ankles, though his other hand remained firmly gripped around her neck, keeping her immobile.
She pulled her arms forward, her limbs all aching from the stress of their positions. She gingerly rubbed her wrists, keeping herself from whimpering.
He lifted her by the neck and her breathing hitched, she walked on tiptoe, trying to balance herself as he pulled her around to the back of the chair. He prodded her entrance with his wand, mumbling a cleansing spell and Hermione felt Malfoy's essence leave her. She breathed a small sigh of relief.
It was short-lived as Voldemort draped her pliable, lean form over the horned seat, her body still facing him. Her back arched and her head fell over the edge of the ridged seat to stare at the gathered crowd upside down. Blood rushed to her already flushed face. He walked round to the side of the chair, hand still at her neck, eyes transfixed on her squirming body.
Voldemort grinned once as he lifted his gaze to the onlookers staring intently at him and his prize.
The Dark Lord's hand left her neck and instead captured both of her slender wrists. She attempted to kick out, but he merely spread her legs farther apart.
"You can watch their faces; see their pleasure while I ravish you," he whispered in her ear before darting his tongue into it. He climbed over her, his arm trailing through the puddled bit of blood on the chair’s seat and guided his cock into her opening. She flinched as it entered her. His girth was less than Malfoy's, but his length was unbearable. The head of his erection collided with her womb with every lunge of his hips.
He laved at her breasts as he fucked her manically. His tongue trailed quickly over her nipples as he sucked one and then the other alternately in his mouth.
Hermione closed her eyes and begged for this to be a dream. Suddenly, she moaned as Voldemort's length brushed against something inside of her. Surely she couldn't be feeling pleasure from this? This was rape. Undeniably. But as Voldemort rubbed against that spot once more, she felt her body begin to respond. This only made her tears fall heavier.
She opened her eyes and somehow met Snape's. As she began to feel her pleasure mounting, she looked deeper into the man's dark eyes. She felt confused as visions passed through her mind's eye. Snape merely continued to meet her gaze, his hand resting on Draco's head. In a moment, the world around her disappeared and she was trapped in a place that looked very familiar to her. Forgotten memories came in flashes—like a film whose reels were changed in fast procession.
"Hermione," Snape reassured her for the thousandth time, "it's going to work. I promise you, I know it will."
"But why?" She responded urgently, "Why must we sacrifice the sanity of our people? Surely Harry can succeed on his own."
"Impossible. He will fall to The Dark Lord and every member of the Order and so many innocents will die because of it."
"How can you be so sure?"
Severus averted his eyes. "I can't tell you that. You must promise me you're with me, Hermione. It will all fall to pieces if you don't. You're the only one that can save us now."
Hermione merely nodded.
The reel changed.
They were on the field. Everything had been going according to plan so far. Only she, Ron, Harry and Severus knew of what was to come. Harry steeled himself as he walked into the enchanted circle he knew was there.
Hermione couldn't bring herself to watch as his life was drained from him.
The reel changed.
Hermione cried over Ron's lifeless body. His eyes watching the night sky unseeingly.
The reel changed.
She paced the confines of the dungeon of Malfoy Manor in impatient isolation. What was taking him so long?
Finally the door opened wide and two figures entered the room. She cast her eyes downward, for fear of smiling when she saw Severus' familiar face.
They were still all right.
The reel changed.
"No, no, no!" Snape yelled in frustration, rubbing his temples. "You must be completely relaxed and in a state of elation!"
Hermione sighed, falling heavily back into the tattered couch. "This is difficult, Severus! It takes years for one to become a competent Legilimens, not one month!"
"That is all the time we have!" Severus snapped in return. "Or have you forgotten?"
"I understand!" She replied testily. "Let's try again. On the count of three. One…"
The reel changed.
Hermione picked at the collar of her robes nervously. "Severus…are you sure I'll be able to remember?"
He held her reassuringly. "I'm certain. You're ready. And more than capable. You'll be able to go through with it?"
"I know I have to. For Harry. For you. For everyone."
"The images I will have shown him of our time together will shock you, Hermione."
She swallowed heavily. "I know. It’s what you have to do. I understand. J-Just—" She looked up at her mentor. "Just promise me that it’s not real. Once it’s over, promise me that they were images you implanted. Make me swear I realise that."
He nodded and stepped back to take her hand.
"Just don't forget." His voice filled with urgency. "He must release inside of you before you speak the incantation."
She nodded.
"Repeat it to me, Hermione."
"Ex porta per ivory quod cornu, permissum vestri somnium postulo amplitudo exitus per ivory. Permissum universitas somnium postulo licentia obduco per is cornu!" Hermione screamed as Voldemort simultaneously groaned, his seed spilling from his aching cock.
It took him a moment to realise that something was wrong. The chair beneath them began to glow green where her recently spilt blood lay splattered. Soon the glow spread through the entire seat.
Voldemort backed away and hissed, "What have you done, girl? What is this?" He began to panic as his throne shone a crimson red. "No." He shook his head. "No. I'll kill you! I'll kill you, you Mudblood scum!"
He raised his wand, the Killing Curse on the tip of his tongue, but he could not act. He was pulled backwards on the balls of his feet towards his perch of ivory. His body made a loud crunching noise as it collided with the back of the throne.
Slowly, the intricate structure began to collapse into itself. Voldemort struggled, screaming to his clan to save him. Kill the Mudblood. Do anything. But they were all held immobile by the spell Severus had silently cast only moments ago.
An all-too-familiar mist began to seep from his body and travel towards the boy kneeling at his side. Voldemort's features began to distort, his skin turning sallow, his body contorting, his beautiful form now growing more and more grotesque.
Harry began to sway as he felt his body burn with power.
Voldemort was no longer a man. He was barely a creature. The ivory was sinking into the ground, still encasing its prey, crushing it into non-existence. His screams echoed through the halls, his pain palpable. All that was left visible now was his head.
Only Harry, now on all fours at Voldemort's side wavering in and out of consciousness, could hear his final words. "The Dark Lord shall be reborn. He will have his retribution."
One final mangled sob and Voldemort sunk into the ground, defeated and entombed—his ivory crypt travelling deep into the earth's core.
***
Hermione batted away Severus' hand once again. "I told you, I'm fine. Stop fawning over me."
She sat wrapped in a blanket on the decrepit couch in Grimmauld Place.
Harry rested his head on her shoulder. "Shouldn't we call a Mediwizard?"
He had become his old self two days after Voldemort's demise. Even better, perhaps. He had absorbed Voldemort's life force as well and it left him stronger than he had ever been.
Draco nodded his head in agreement, putting his tea down on its saucer. "We can fire call. It won't be a problem, Hermione."
She rolled her eyes. "I'm sure it's just the flu. It will pass."
It had been a little over a month since that evening. Hermione had just gotten used to being in her skin once again. For the first few weeks, she'd withdrawn; isolating herself and sitting for hours in the shower, scrubbing her skin until it bled.
Slowly, though, she began to join the group at dinner, forcing herself to eat for their sake. She was more comfortable with human contact now and allowed others to be in close proximity with her.
Remus leaned against the wall next to Tonks, his arms crossed. "You've been retching for a week now, Hermione. You haven't kept anything down—"
Tonks cut him off. "I'll pop over to the apothecary and get an elixir. That way we won't have a doctor called and all of you badgers can leave the poor girl alone." She gave Hermione a wink. She smiled back.
Nymphadora pecked Lupin on the cheek as she grabbed some Floo Powder and hopped into the licking, sparking flames. "Alastor's Apothecary!" She disappeared in a puff of smoke.
Hermione grabbed her stomach under the blanket as she lost herself in thought.
Giving up, all but Harry took to the kitchen, Severus going to make Hermione a soothing tea.
They sat in comfortable silence for a while. Finally Harry looked into her brown eyes. "What are you thinking about?"
"Hmm? Oh, just a dream I had last night."
Harry moved around so that his head rested in her lap, his legs hanging over the couch's arm. He looked up at her with pure admiration and love. "Tell me about it."
Hermione smiled down at those docile, shining emerald eyes.
"Well, it was the strangest thing. I was walking through the forest and heard a small cry. I ran towards it and found a baby wrapped in an ivory-coloured blanket.
"I picked it up and it clung to me with its tiny arms, calling me mother. Then I realised it was a snake and threw it to the ground. It spoke to me but I could not understand. It constricted around my stomach and slowly dug into it.
"My belly expanded and I could feel it was the baby once more. Then I woke up." She chuckled. "Interrupted by illness. Just my luck."
Harry turned to stare at the ceiling. He laid there for ages, just staring. "Did you ever read Shakespeare?"
She nodded. "He was one of my favourites. Why?"
He paused for a while, thinking. "He has this play, The Tempest. And this guy at the end has a monologue." He stopped again. "Shakespeare was a smart man."
She grinned curiously at him. "What did the monologue say?"
He sat up slowly, turning to face her. He gazed into her eyes for what seemed like eternity before reaching under the blanket and placing his hand on her stomach.