Special Delivery for serpenscript, Part 2 Title: Our Lives Erased Author: Recipient's LJ name: parseltonguepen/serpenscript Pairings: Snape/Hermione, Rookwood/Hermione, Travers/Hermione, Remus/Luna Rating: NC-17 Summary: In an England where Voldemort has won the war, Wizarding slavery, which was abandoned centuries before, is reinstated. Former enemies of the regime like Hermione and Luna have to adjust to a life as the slaves of Death Eaters. But, as Hermione has to learn, not everyone is what he seems to be. Word Count: ~ 14,200 Warnings/Content: Non-con, dub-con, Master/slave, bondage, whipping, spanking, public nudity, implied torture, violence Disclaimer:Harry Potter, its characters, and settings belong to J.K. Rowling and her publishers; no money is being made with this fanfiction.
Some weeks go by, and Snape is more demanding than he was before. He’s started to train her for serious, and now he is constantly giving her orders. Get him this, bring away that, serve tea, kneel perfectly motionless for x amount of time. Even the smallest mistake provokes punishment.
The first time he’d hit her, she’d become angry, but however much she dislikes it, the other Death Eaters must not doubt them for a second, and she can’t feign fear of something she has never experienced.
“You’ll be safe with me, and we’ll be able to achieve something.” That’s what Snape promised. “But at a price. Everything comes at a price.”
How right he is.
There are other punishments too – being bound and blindfolded, left to lie on the carpet next to his bed for hours, or being spanked on her bare arse, either by hand or with a thin, supple rod. It’s preparation, she suspects, for what might be asked from her by some Death Eaters, and maybe even Snape himself. When she asks, he confirms it without hesitation. If anybody had asked her before, she would have told them that of course, everyone was free to enjoy what was after his tastes, but that surely, this was not for her. Now, she is not so certain anymore.
She would never have imagined, but there is something about this kind of treatment – approval or even praise when she does well, punishment when she doesn’t – that is appealing. It is, as she thinks one evening, kneeling at Snape’s feet and unbuttoning his robes to please him with her mouth like many evenings before, not dissimilar to the points system at Hogwarts. Back as a student, she had been proud at being praised and awarded points for correct answers, and the removal of House points had seemed an adequate punishment. This is more personal, though, more intense, more tangible, and that’s what makes it both, more enjoyable and more effective.
And there are more rewards than there is punishment by far. Snape saved her for her brains, he said it himself, and now he finally acts upon it. Beside training her, he brings her books from the library. Books on war, on tactics, and on all she needs to know about Wizarding slavery and pureblood society. He expects her to learn, and she does it with enthusiasm – after months of being locked up in a room with hardly anything to do, this is a breath of fresh air.
In the evening, Snape will still make her sit by his feet and pet her hair every day. She has come to cherish this time – it’s relaxing and almost gentle, and she no longer feels guilty about it.
In the course of the next three months, she gets taken to several official occasions, including a banquet with the Dark Lord, and they’re both pleased with how she is perceived by Snape’s fellow Death Eaters.
“A pretty little thing,” Avery tells Snape after the banquet. “And well-trained too. I wouldn’t mind taking her under my wing for an hour or two.”
To Hermione’s relief, all Snape does is throw him a disdainful glance and leave, leading her with him. Avery, fortunately, does not belong to those who can’t be denied.
With each time, she feels more secure, more at ease with her position, although she always has to be on her guard, and the few slaves like her and Luna who are treated well – sometimes even have influence on their masters, as she learns – can’t talk at big events when they’re locked into waiting rooms with all the others. It’s too much of a risk; one of the other slaves could get suspicious and tell his or her master. Too many are broken and live in constant fear of punishment.
But there are the small events too, dinners, teas, and lunches with only two or three slaves present. She meets Percy at one of these occasions, when Snape is invited to dine with the Minister of Magic, Lucius Malfoy, and his wife. Percy looks healthy, his collar is glittering golden, and he reveals to her that both, Lucius and Narcissa, are quite taken with their slave.
“You wouldn’t believe,” he says with a small smile, “how many of the Minister’s decisions, especially the Muggle-friendly ones, came to be while he was in bed, and not alone.”
It’s comforting Hermione that she isn’t alone, that there are others, like Percy and Luna. Not everyone she knew is dead like Harry and Ron, defected like Remus and Ginny, or broken like Neville. And although Remus is a Death Eater now and doesn’t know where Snape’s loyalties truly lie, he loves Luna, treats her well, and is a valuable ally in all matters concerning the humane treatment of Muggles and wizards who’re not purebloods.
There is hope, however small it may be – at the moment, it is all they have.
.-.-.-.
“Hermione!”
Snape’s sharp voice interrupts her comforting words to another slave in the waiting room, and she hastily gets to her feet.
“Yes, Master?”
“Come, your presence is required.”
She nods and leaves the room after him, a queasy feeling in her stomach. They’re attending a dinner party at Rookwood’s, and this is the first time that she has been called away from the other slaves while their masters are having a meeting.
“We’ll go to the study now,” Snape informs her in a low voice as they slowly walk down a long corridor. “Travers and Rookwood are waiting for us there. They’re two of the most important members of the Committee for Mudblood Questions, which is currently debating whether or not to pass a law that would give Muggle-born witches and wizards the same status as Half-bloods in comparison to the Muggles. It would be a large step forward and protect them from many dangers. Lupin asked for my support in this matter, and Luna managed to get Percy Weasley to convince Minister Malfoy that it was an idea worth bringing up in the committee.”
With a sinking feeling, Hermione realises what he is getting at.
“The two just told me that they are willing to speak in favour of the law, which would decide the matter. But they request a favour of me, and this is where you come into play. Once we arrive, you will do as they say, whatever they may ask of you. Do you understand?”
Hermione knew it would happen one day, but now that the time has come, she isn’t sure if she can go through with it. She has no illusions about what will be asked of her, and the idea is terrifying. She hasn’t had sex before. She has pleased Snape with her mouth and her hands, but they hadn’t progressed to him touching her yet. It was something they had planned for the next few weeks.
“Couldn’t…somebody else…” She feels like a coward for asking, like she were betraying whoever else would take her place, but Snape cuts her off immediately.
“It’s not an option. They made it very clear that only you would suffice.” He stops and turns around to her, briefly taking her hands. “I know this is unfortunate, considering your inexperience, and I hadn’t expected it so soon, but there is no other way. If you wish, I can Obliviate you later, but right now, you will obey.”
She nods and he lets go, now resuming his walk with quicker steps. It takes only another minute until they have arrived at the study.
“Wait,” she whispers as he puts his hand on the door handle. “Will you watch?”
“Yes. It’s safer that way.”
“Good.” It does make her feel safer too, although she knows he probably won’t interfere unless she were to be truly harmed – and that certainly doesn’t include a black eye or some bruises. But maybe it won’t be this bad; maybe Rookwood and Travers have more conventional tastes.
“And do you like it?” She has no idea where the questions comes from, now of all times. “To watch?”
Snape stares at her intently, and she wonders what he is thinking. Maybe whether or not he should tell her the truth.
“I do,” he finally says, and she believes him. Does this make things better or worse?
“Now come.”
Without waiting for a reply from her, Snape opens the door, grabbing her arm to lead her inside. She complies, lowering her eyes to the floor as is expected from her in the presence of her master and his companions.
“Look at me!” a rough voice commands, and she obediently looks up to face the tall, grey-haired wizard standing before her. He has cold blue eyes which he now lets roam over her naked body before a smirk appears on his face.
“She really is something to look at, Severus. I’m sure we’ll have fun with her.”
He reaches out to touch her, but is interrupted by the second Death Eater, who is sitting in a large armchair by the fireplace.
“Julius! As the host, don’t you think it should be my turn first?”
The grey-haired wizard lowers his hand, and the Death Eater who must be Rookwood beckons Hermione to come closer. She kneels down before the armchair, and a few seconds later, her chin is lifted so he can look her in the eyes.
“Very pretty indeed.”
The same can’t be said about him – his shoulders are hunched, his face disfigured by deep pock-marks. Hermione hastily looks down again when he lets go of her face – she surely doesn’t want to look at either of them longer than necessary.
“Now,” Rookwood says, rustling with his robes, “suck me off, my pretty girl!”
“Yes, Master.” It’s barely a whisper, but Rookwood isn’t displeased. Instead, he laughs.
“You subdued her well, Severus. Tell me, pretty girl, does he punish you often?”
Hermione hesitates for a second, then she nods softly.
“Yes, Master.” It’s what he wants to hear, and it can only reflect well on Snape.
“Very good, it seems to work. Now let’s see if he taught you other things as well. Get started!”
Raising her head, Hermione sees his hard cock in front of her. It’s as big as Snape’s, but of a darker colour, with thin, greying hair around it. Everything in her screams that she can’t, that she won’t do it, but she ignores it. Slowly, she leans forward, beginning to caress his balls and the base of his cock while she puts her mouth on the head, drawing small circles around it with her tongue, like she usually does with Snape. Just like with him, she tells herself, do this like you would if it were him, and maybe you can forget that it’s not.
For a while, it seems to work – Rookwood is soon rocking his hips in the rhythm of her sucking. But then he starts groaning, a hoarse, ugly sound in comparison to Snape’s soft, quiet gasps of pleasure. It makes Hermione painfully aware that this is not Snape, that the cock in her mouth belongs to a man who would kill her without a second thought, and for a moment, she feels the almost irresistible urge to gag and pull her head away. But it won’t do, it will only get her punished, and she forces the urge down and instead sucks faster, hoping to get it over with.
There is a yank at her hair that makes her eyes water, and she yelps in pain and surprise.
“Not…so fast!”
She hastily nods, and he lets go again to let her resume her work. As ordered, she returns to a slower rhythm, and after just a few moments, Rookwood is groaning again. It seems to drag on forever, and when he finally comes into her mouth, she can’t help but gag for real this time, his slimy seed running down her chin onto her breasts.
Luckily, Rookwood seems only amused by it, for he chuckles, watching her with a smirk.
“Now it’s your turn, Julius. Maybe you’ll be more to her tastes.”
Travers beckons her over to him – he has sat down in another armchair, and after he cleaned her chest with a quick spell, he, too, tells her to suck him off. Her mouth is hurting after only a minute, the muscles in her lips protesting against the prolonged activity, but after another minute or two, there is a numbness settling in – she doesn’t taste his cock anymore, doesn’t truly feel the warmth of his flesh in her mouth; everything is mechanical.
Travers hasn’t come yet when he stops her.
“I’ll have her now,” he tells Rookwood. “I wouldn’t be able to take much pleasure in it once you’re done with her.”
The words make Hermione shiver – what will Rookwood do? But before she can think about it any longer, Travers orders her to lie down on the couch on her back. She obeys, her legs shaking when she approaches the couch, and even when she has lain down like he told her, she can’t stop trembling.
Travers leans over her, cold eyes shining brightly.
“What is it?” he whispers into her ear, his hot breath making her shiver even more. “One could almost think you had never done this before.”
The words to the trick: Hermione can’t hold back the tears anymore, although she does her best not to burst out sobbing, instead crying quietly – before he has even touched her.
“You haven’t, right?” Travers murmurs with a delighted smile. “Oh, I promise I’ll make it good for you.”
Slowly, and surprisingly gently, he lets his hands roam her body, caressing first her cheek, then wandering down her neck, her breasts, and her stomach, until he arrives at the nest of curly brown hair between her legs. Hermione goes stiff – she can’t help it – but he doesn’t go further, instead moving his hand back to her right breast, pinching the nipple slightly. It hardens almost immediately, and then his mouth is on it, sucking softly, teeth nibbling and teasing. Hermione can’t help a gasp of surprise – and, as she realises with horror, also of pleasure. She has never felt anything like this before; his sucking causes a strange, urgent feeling between her legs, and it only intensifies when he starts stroking and pinching her other nipple.
After a while, he pauses, again smiling at her. “Like that, don’t you? I can tell.”
She wants to yell at him to shut the fuck up, that she doesn’t like this, but fortunately, Snape’s training was good – no contradicting, whatever outrageous insult or insinuation he threw at her. So all she does is close her eyes, hoping it will be over soon. It’s not, though, because suddenly, her legs are forced apart, and then his mouth and tongue are between them, licking and sucking where nobody but she has ever touched before. It’s an incredible feeling, and it’s impossible to hold back the small gasps and moans coming over her lips. It’s no use telling herself that she can’t be aroused by this, that she mustn’t – she is, more than she has ever been, and this betrayal of her own body is worse than what Travers is doing to her.
He’s still at it, and while most of her wishes that he would finally stop, there is a tiny part that wants him to go on, do anything but take his mouth away. She’s still moaning, but suddenly, she cries out in pain as she feels a sharp, ripping pain where there had been pleasure only seconds ago – then the pain repeats itself, once, twice, again, and again, and she understands what happened.
Travers is fucking her hard now, all fake gentleness gone, and she is soon once more crying weakly, unable to pull herself together even when he comes after a last thrust and quickly pulls out of her.
“Silly virgins,” he murmurs, slowly putting a finger inside her, slicking it with his come, before he draws it over her wet cheek. “No matter how nice I am, they always cry.”
If only it were over now, but it’s not, and as Hermione curls up on the couch instinctively after Travers has moved away, she’s reminded of it. Her arm is grabbed roughly, and she is dragged to her feet.
“You can sleep later, pretty girl. Now it’s time to play.”
There is something warm running down her legs, and it hurts to stand, but she doesn’t dare disobey.
“We’re going to play a game,” Rookwood informs her. “You have been a very bad slave, and now you’re awaiting punishment, do you understand me?”
“Yes, Master.” She can imagine where this is going, and she dreads it.
“Very well. Kneel.”
She does as he says, kneeling down in front of him, eyes lowered to the ground.
“You’ve been a naughty girl.” Rookwood is almost purring. “Isn’t that so?”
“Yes, Master.” She has no difficulties sounding appropriately contrite in this situation – she couldn’t speak louder or make her voice shake less even if she tried.
“You’ve been impertinent, contradicting me.”
“I…I’m very sorry, Master.”
There is a quick movement at the periphery of her vision, and then she’s slapped hard enough to make her sway to the side, and she has to support herself with one hand against the floor.
“Sorry!” Rookwood snaps. “Being sorry doesn’t change what you did, does it?”
“N-no Master.” Hermione’s cheek is burning, and she is sure this was only the beginning.
“And what do you suggest I should do, then?”
“I…I…” She can’t say it, can’t ask for it, and her silence earns her another brutal slap.
“Well?”
“P-please…” Hermione draws a deep breath. “Please, Master, punish me?”
“Oh, I will, believe me. Get up!”
She struggles to her feet, still looking down on the floor, and like before, he lifts her chin to make her look at him.
“Do you think a few slaps are enough, pretty girl, or does your misbehaviour warrant more drastic measures?”
For a few moments, all she can do is stare into his eyes in silence – there is a look of cruel anticipation on his face, and she knows she’ll only be hurt even worse if she doesn’t play along.
“More…” Her voice fails her, and she swallows hard, trying to hold back the tears once more burning in her eyes. “More, drastic measures, Master. A few slaps won’t teach me my lesson.”
He grins, nodding slowly. “How right you are.”
Before she knows what is happening, he’s grabbed a handful of her hair, hitting her hard with his fist in the face, then driving it into her stomach. She gasps for air, her legs giving in under her, and there is another cruel pain as she’s held up by her hair alone.
“I’ll teach you to obey your master!” Rookwood snarls, letting go of her hair, and she slumps to the floor, where she instinctively curls up tightly. But after just a few seconds, her arms and legs are forced apart, she’s turned on her back, and then Rookwood is taking her, his trusts even more painful than Travers’ before, his fingers digging deep into the flesh of her upper arms and shoulders.
“Look at me!”
She’d closed her eyes, and when she doesn’t obey immediately, she receives another hard slap in the face.
“I want you to look at me, or you’ll regret it!”
Opening her eyes, she sees his ugly face only inches apart from hers, his alcohol-laden breath rolling over her with each of his thrusts. It seems to drag on forever, and after a while, a merciful numbness clouds her mind – she feels strangely detached from what is happening to her. She doesn’t truly notice when he comes and pulls away, and only the pain when he grabs her arm and drags her to her feet again makes her realise that it’s finally over.
“Now, pretty girl,” Rookwood drawls in a low voice, still holding her up by one arm, “do you think you’ve been appropriately punished?”
Hermione is barely able to concentrate on the words, only nodding weakly when he stops speaking.
“Answer me!”
“I…y-yes, Master.” Let it be over now, please, don’t let him start again!
“Well…” He lets his eyes wander over her excruciatingly slowly, then he shakes his head. “I think there’s still something missing.”
He lets go of her arm, but before she can fall, his fist connects with her chin, sending her crashing into the wall. There are more blows, but she barely feels them anymore, and then, thankfully, everything fades to black.
.-.-.-.
When Hermione awakes, the first thing she is aware of his pain. She feels battered all over, her pulse is throbbing unpleasantly in her ears, and there are a soreness between her thighs and an ache in her abdomen which make her curl up on her side with a small whimper.
“Hermione. Come, look at me.”
The voice is soft, and when she cracks her eyes open to take in her surroundings, the first thing she sees is Snape, sitting on the edge of the bed she’s lying in, looking down at her with a concerned expression. She is in his bed, she realises now - why would he let her into his bed? And why does he seem so worried?
“How are you feeling?”
She sighs, closing her eyes again; even the soft light of the candles hurts and makes her head ache.
“Sore,” she murmurs. “Everything hurts. What happened?”
“Wait.” Her head is lifted carefully, and then a glass is held to her lips. “Drink this. It will help with the pain.”
She drinks obediently, and Snape lays her head down on the pillow again, beginning to rub her back in slow, gentle motions. It’s soothing, and together with the potion, it helps her feel a little better within a few minutes.
Finally, she looks up at him again, and he takes away his hand.
“You don’t remember what happened?”
“No, I…am I sick, or—” But even as she speaks, her memory returns, and she instinctively sits up, backing away from him slightly.
“Rookwood…” Her voice is trembling all of a sudden, and her body, too, is shaking. “Rookwood and Travers, they…” She can’t go on speaking, instead pressing her hand on her mouth tightly, her eyes filling with tears.
Snape reaches out to touch her, but she backs away again, frantically shaking her head. She knows he probably wants to help her, but all she can think of is what the two Death Eaters did with her, and if he touches her, she knows she will scream. There is a weird dizziness clouding her mind, a sharp voice cutting through it after a few moments.
“Breathe!”
She doesn’t understand, and then her arm is grabbed painfully.
“Breathe, Hermione!”
She gasps, trying to pull away from the grip on her arm, but it’s too tight, and instead, all of a sudden she is clutched against Snape’s chest, her face pressed into the thick fabric of his robes. Again, she tries to free herself, but can’t, and then she is sobbing uncontrollably, taking deep, shuddering breaths, with Snape holding her tightly and petting her head until, after a long while, her sobs die down and she’s only sniffling weakly.
“You’re safe now,” he tells her, still stroking her hair in the way that she’s grown so accustomed to and that right now comforts her more than his words. As if of their own volition, her hands have worked their way into the folds of his wide robes, clinging to the fabric.
“I wanted it to be you,” she whispers. It doesn’t matter that his tastes are in fact quite similar to what his fellow Death Eaters did. “The first time…I just wanted it to be with someone who…who cared.”
It’s an admission that makes her feel flushed and like a silly little girl. If she is to survive and be useful, she can’t afford such weaknesses.
“I would have liked that as well,” Snape answers, holding her a little tighter. He sounds sincere, and it’s comforting. “Do you want me to Obliviate you? Then we could do it like you wanted it to be.”
It takes some moments of thinking, but in the end, she shakes her head. “No. The next time I have to do this…it would be just as bad as this time. Now at least I know how it is.”
Snape is silent for a while, but in the end, he gently makes her let go of his robes, distancing himself from her slightly to look her in the eyes.
“I’m proud of you,” he says, and while she still feels miserable, a small, pleasant warmth spreads out in her chest. Slowly, she leans forward, her eyes never leaving his, and when their lips meet for the first time in a soft kiss, she knows what she wants instead of being Obliviated.
“I want you to do what they did,” she says when they break the kiss, and she is surprised at the determination in her own voice. “Everything. That way, when I have to think of them, I can think of you too. It will help.”
Snape nods, pulling her close to make her rest against him again.
“All right.”
For him, she knows, it will be a pleasure. But she refuses to think about that, and about the fact that he might have enjoyed what he saw the other two doing. He does care, he protects her as much as possible, and she can’t allow anything else to matter.
.-.-.-.
It’s almost a year since Hermione came to live with Snape, and while she has seen Luna a few times at official occasions when they both had to accompany their masters, and Luna has visited her a few times at Hogwarts, this is the first time that Snape lets her visit with Luna.
“We’ve got a surprise for you,” he tells her before he Floos her over to leave her in Remus’s care for the next few hours.
When Snape is gone again, Remus leads Hermione out of the study with the fireplace connected to the Floo.
“They’re in the living room,” he says with a small smile, and before Hermione has time to think about it, they’re there. She stops dead in the doorway, staring in silence at the two persons sitting on the couch.
“I’ll leave the three of you alone,” Remus says behind her. “I’ll get you at five.”
She nods mechanically, unable to take her eyes off Luna and Neville. He looks better – he’s dressed in robes and not quite as thin anymore, although he still seems pale and fragile, and there is a soft, black cloth wrapped around his head, hiding the terrible scars where his eyes used to be.
“Hermione.” Luna smiles at her, but makes no move to get up. Neville is leaning against her, her arms wrapped loosely around him. “Come, sit with us.”
Slowly, Hermione approaches. It’s been months since Snape and Remus discussed saving Neville, and she’d already feared that it was impossible, that they’d discarded the idea again.
“So, is she…” Hermione doesn’t want to say Bellatrix’ name in front of Neville. “I heard Snape and Remus talk about it. It seems they succeeded.”
Luna nods. “Yes, two months ago. We were lucky that there were no problems. The Dark Lord gave him to Remus immediately.”
Neville hasn’t moved yet, hasn’t shown at all that he is aware of Hermione’s presence. As she carefully sits down next to him, Luna raises her hand to caress his cheek.
“Neville? Come, wake up.”
It takes a few moments until he reacts, whispering something so softly that Hermione can’t hear it.
“We’ve got a visitor,” Luna explains.
Hermione can see him tense immediately, but Luna reacts quickly, murmuring soothing words and petting his hair.
“It’s only Hermione,” she says in the end, when he’s more relaxed again. “She came to see for herself that you’re with us now. That you’re getting better.” She briefly smiles at Hermione, but it looks sad. Hermione can imagine why – it will take a long time until Neville will truly be better.
“Luna is right,” she now agrees, trying to keep her voice as soft as possible. “I came to see you. I’m glad you’re with her and Remus now.”
There is silence for a little while; Neville doesn’t move, nor do Hermione or Luna. Then, finally, he slowly sits up, turning away from Luna, one thin, trembling hand reaching out into Hermione’s direction. She carefully takes it into her own. At first, Neville winces, but then he squeezes lightly, and, to Hermione’s utter amazement, attempts a small, shaky smile.
He will get better, she is sure of it now, and it gives her hope. While their old world and their old lives are erased, not all is lost.