They were greeted at the thick oak doors by Theo, who kissed both women on the cheek before saying quietly, “Drake and Lucius are already inside. I was instructed to wait for you out here.”

Hermione nodded, positioning herself behind Narcissa and beside Theo, right before the heavy doors swung open with a groan.

They completed their normal ritual, kneeling on the ornate rug, and it was mere seconds before the Dark Lord’s hissing voice slithered through the room.

“Oh, my pet, you are a sight for sore eyes.”

Hermione’s gaze lifted and she could see the strangest expression of worry on the Dark Lord’s snake-like face. She wondered if it was true concern as he gestured for her to come forward.

As she walked, she noticed Lucius and Draco standing beside the dais, both men the picture of poise with their hands clasped behind their backs. On the other stood a wild haired woman Hermione recognized from photos in the Prophet as Bellatrix Lestrange, whose mouth worked furiously for a moment before appearing to be unable to control herself.

“Cissy I thought you were joking ,” the woman screeched, causing Hermione to halt in her tracks. “A mudblood ?! Surely, my lord–”

Whatever the end of her sentence was, they would never know as the Dark Lord cut across her.

“Careful, Bella,” he hissed. “You are already in disgrace for what happened at the Ministry. Surely you are not also questioning your master?”

Bellatrix’s dark eyes widened and the Dark Lord gestured for Hemione to stay where she was.

“Is it true then, my lord?” she gasped, her hair moving about her like a sentient creature. “You mean to honor this filth .”

The Dark Lord slashed his wand in a wide arc, forcing Bellatrix onto her knees.

“Apologize,” he said in a dangerous tone.

The woman spluttered, her hands splayed out on the floor in front of her, her face shielded by her hair.

“I… my… my lord ,” she panted.

The Dark Lord’s wand angled up, her back arching painfully.

“I… sorry… mudblood ,” she gritted through her teeth.

“Not good enough,” the Dark Lord said.

With another wave of his wand Bellatrix began to crawl forward as if against her will, until her curling medusa snake hair brushed the front of Hermione’s robes. Bellatrix’s body shook with the effort to resist whatever the Dark Lord was forcing her to do, Hermione could see beads of sweat sliding down her temples through the parting of her hair .

“You kneel before a mudblood who has not yet failed me, Bella – unlike you,” the Dark Lord said. “She is a witch who is to be honored among all others. And yet you call her filth .”

After a long moment of silence, broken only by Bellatrix’s spluttering, her arms splayed wide on the ground and her lips touched the tips of Hermione’s shoes where they peeked through her robes.

“Better,” the Dark Lord mused, releasing the spell with a flick of his wand. “Though it would have been less painful had you done it yourself.”

The woman scrambled away from Hermione, who continued her journey towards the Dark Lord.

When her toes hit the dais, she slid back onto one knee, a soft wince marring her expression for a moment.

“My lord,” she said as smoothly as possible, as if the interruption had not occurred. Her eyes on the reflective lacquered floor.

The Dark Lord’s gaze turned murderous as he saw her obvious discomfort.

“There are no words that I could use to fully express how pleased I am with you,” he said. His praise smoothed the pain and worry inside of her. “Indeed, of all my followers, you have served me best.”

There was a jerky movement to her left as Bellatrix seemed to physically recoil from the Dark Lord’s words.

“It is an honor to serve you, my lord,” Hermione replied.

Sharp fingertips caressed the side of her face. She took a slow breath as the Dark Lord tilted her chin up to meet his gaze.

“Show me what happened, the night you were harmed,” he said, a promise of violence dripping from every syllable.

She pulled the night to the surface of her mind, relaxing slightly as the boy Tom Riddle stepped into the memory. He watched with an even expression as Dolohov and a smaller Death Eater crashed into the office, his eyes darkening as Dolohov slashed his wand through the air and purple flames passed into her.

Bony fingertips tapped her cheek.

“Thank you, that was exactly what I needed,” the Dark Lord said, sliding from her mind.

With a snap of his fingers the oak doors swung open again and the man in question strode into the room, dark robes billowing behind him. His stride was confident, almost arrogant as he stepped into the drawing room.

The Dark Lord extended a hand towards Hermione, helping her to stand before gesturing to Theo and Narcissa that they take their places beside Draco and Lucius.

“I have a gift for you, sweetling,” the Dark Lord said confidentially, rising from his throne with a snake-like grace and descending the steps of the dais.

His ink black robes swirled around him and Hermione made to move to the side, closer to the Malfoys, but a skeletal hand pressed into her low back – holding her in place.

Dolohov paused in the center of the room, frozen in surprise. He was a large, burly man with all the features of his face coming to a point under bushy black brows. Upon seeing her attacker fully, Hermione’s heart beat wildly in her chest. All parts of her body locked down as if preparing for the final killing curse to spring from his wand.

The Dark Lord appeared to sense this, as placed his other hand upon her upper arm as if in comfort.

“My… my lord?” Dolohov asked in question, his eyes fixing on Hermione.

“Ah, Dolohov. I see you recognize my protégé?” the Dark Lord said in a dangerous tone, taking a few steps towards the man and drawing Hermione with him.

A small gasp pulled their attention towards Bellatrix for a moment, before the Dark Lord looked back to Dolohov, who was falling onto one knee in a jerky, panicked fashion.

“I… I do not, my lord,” he lied unconvincingly.

Hermione could see a small sheen of sweat break out over his forehead as the Dark Lord gazed at him and could not help but relish a little in his fear as well as the Dark Lord calling her his protégé .

“Do not lie to me ,” the Dark Lord said in a low tone. It was even more terrifying than if he had screamed. “I have seen the girl’s memories and heard Lucius’ account. You directly disobeyed my orders.”

“But… but she is Potter’s mudblood , my lord!” Dolohov tried to reason. “She was fighting against us at the Ministry!”

“She was the reason the Potter boy was at the Ministry, Dolohov,” the Dark Lord replied, smoothing a loose curl away from Hermione’s face. “Hermione Granger is my most loyal servant and you damaged her.”

Dolohov began to stutter, his arms reaching out placatingly towards the Dark Lord.

“I did not – I had no – my lord, you must –”

The Dark Lord waved a skeletal hand, wandlessly silencing the man before turning towards Hermione.

“Have you been tutored yet in the unforgivables, pet?” he asked conversationally.

Hermione dipped her chin.

“Not yet, my lord, though Lucius had discussed the theory with us in preparation,” she answered quickly, wanting to make it clear Lucius had every intention to, as to not anger the Dark Lord.

“Good,” he looked over his shoulder at Lucius. “Very good. Well allow this to be your first lesson – as a treat for all your hard work. Please draw your wand.”

Her stomach twisted with nerves as she pulled her wand from the slim inner pocket of her robes, making sure to point it directly at the floor rather than anywhere near the Dark Lord. She could not imagine how torturing a man would be a reward for all she had been through, no matter how much pain he had caused her.

The Dark Lord paused, appearing to contemplate.

“Perhaps a short demonstration first?” He turned in a flurry of robes, pointing his wand at Bellatrix. “ Crucio. ”

Bellatrix fell to the ground, her back bowing under the intensity of the spell but she did not scream. Hermione could not imagine having that much control and begrudgingly admired the witch.

“Oh Bella, Bella, Bella,” the Dark Lord crooned. “There is no impressing me now. Not when you have failed so miserably.” He twisted his wand, pulling a small scream from the woman. “And you know how your screams please me.”

One more twist of his wand and Bellatrix broke apart, her screams piercing the night darkened room. Hermione was surprised the chandelier had not fallen in reaction to the woman’s screeching sobs.

The Dark Lord seemed to relish this, his eyes closing in a lazy way before he pulled the tip of his wand up, stopping the spell. Hermione could not imagine doing this, could not imagine causing someone so much pain, regardless of how she was treated.

With a small flourish of his robes the Dark Lord turned back to her.

“Now, we will practice crucio upon our friend here, hmm?” He gestured towards Dolohov who knelt stood, still frozen in fear in the center of the room. “What is the most important rule when using an unforgivable curse, Miss Granger?” the Dark Lord asked as if he were merely her Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

“You must mean it, my lord,” she replied, hiding the shake in her voice as best she could.

“Very good, pet,” he said, moving closer to her. “Close your eyes.”

Though it felt like the exact wrong thing to do in his presence, she complied. She could feel his knife like fingertips grazing her cheek, brushing away a wayward curl. Strange, the feeling of being touched by evil.

“Remember the pain this wizard caused you. Remember the agony. The fear. You did not believe you would ever see your beloved Draco again, did you? You thought you would die and this wizard is the reason. He is the reason it hurts to breathe, the reason you now feel weak .” The Dark Lord’s putrid breath skittered across her face, his sharp teeth right at her ear. “Take his strength. Do. It.”

Anger swelled inside her at the Dark Lord's words. Her magic began to crackle beneath her skin, sparking along the edges of her hair, saying yes, yes, yes. He was the reason she struggled to catch her breath, the source of her pain, her weakness. But it wasn’t just anger for him, it was anger that she’d been targeted. That she – not Harry or Neville – had been the one he’d chosen. Not the boys with their pure blood.

The mudblood.

The filth.

“ Crucio! ” she cried, her eyes flying open as she twisted her wand.

Red light reflected off the shiny floor as it hit the man, his screams bouncing against the chamber walls.

Dolohov fell to the side, his hood flying back as he writhed on the floor. She watched, half in horror and half in fascination as power surged through her. It was a delicious, incredible feeling as her magic responded to it.

The dark magic skittered up her arm, spilling through her body – erasing all pain, all weariness, all sadness. It was just pure power .

Twisting her wand again, Dolohov’s back bowed. She could feel her hair coming loose with her magic swirling around her, heat sparking with her rage.

It felt… good. More than good. It felt right.

“Very good, sweetling. But we still may have a use for poor, Dolohov,” the Dark Lord said, gesturing for her to let up the curse.

But she did not want to let go. She didn’t want to lose this feeling, control without compromise. Power without pain.

Then a bone while hand closed over her wrist and a hissing laugh cut through the din of screams more clearly than before.

“Ah-ah-ah,” the Dark Lord chided as he might to a small child whose hand had been caught in a biscuit tin. “ Enough , pet. So eager, so strong.” He drew a knuckle across her cheek.

Hermione pulled the curse back, panting in exhilaration and horror.

“Don’t worry,” he said softly at the look on her face. “There will be more to come if you continue to please.” Without looking away from her he snapped his fingers towards the woman still pulling herself from the floor. “ Bella , take this pathetic excuse for a wizard back to his home.”

She watched mutely as the wild haired woman scrambled forward, practically dragging Dolohov from the room while the Dark Lord rested his hand once more upon her back. When the heavy doors closed with a slam, he guided her back to the dais and took his seat upon the throne.

“Tomorrow you, Draco, Theodore, and Blaise will take my mark,” the Dark Lord said, his red eyes twinkling in the firelight. “And I will welcome you with open arms to my inner circle.”

Hermione nodded, dropping into a deep curtsey.

“Thank you, my lord. It is an honor,” she said, her voice not betraying the storm swirling inside of her.

With a crack the Dark Lord and the throne disappeared.

Hermione knelt for a long moment without moving, staring at the place the Dark Lord had been. She remembered the feeling of being tortured the first night she met the Dark Lord. Remembered the excruciating pain. Now here she was, doing the same.

And she had liked it.

And he had deserved it.