A/N: *scampers in, out of breath*

*proudly holds out a chapter*

*puts her hand over the last updated time-stamp so you won't remember how long this took*

*giggles*

*scampers away again, snickering*

Fervidity

By Kittenshift17

Chapter 26: Instigation

"... when the hope of morning starts to fade in me,

I don't dare let let darkness have it's way with me..."

Hope of Morning (Icon for Hire)

Hermione's evening was not at all going the way she'd planned. She'd come to the Manor intending to shag someone senseless to drown out everything wretched they'd done, and instead she'd been faced with the horrid aftermath of their raiding. The children were scared and hungry. Many of them were crying. More organisation had gone into the task of trying to pair people up with their parents. The gruelling process of learning their names when the kids were scared to give them was beyond tiresome.

She'd been grateful to leave that mess to Alecto. She just wanted to go home. And wasn't that wretched of her? The suffering of these people was too tiresome, and she wanted to just walk away from it all. Goddess, she was such a fraud. Maybe Snape and Dumbledore had been right when they'd thought of putting her into this role for the sake of winning the war. Maybe she was well suited for being a heartless bitch.

"You're frowning," a low voice informed her as she tried to figure out how best to relocate the women from their crammed cells without anyone trying to break free.

Hermione looked over, her eyes alighting upon Rabastan Lestrange as he loomed out of the darkness while she was trying to think of a way to make this whole thing as painless as possible for the openly crying women in the cells she'd been shown to.

"I am," she agreed, turning toward him and drinking in the sight of him, and trying to remind herself that he was the enemy, and more than just an intriguing distraction from an otherwise distasteful task. "They're not going to cooperate all that easily to be moved to individual cells, or to tell me their names so that I might begin to catalogue how best to monitor this heinous breeding program."

"They're not," Rabastan agreed, moving closer and closer until he invaded her personal space, that morbidly curious expression of his affixed upon his handsome face.

"I'm trying to figure out how to convince them to trust me," she said, looking down at herself for a moment and then back up. "To be honest, if I was them, I wouldn't trust me. I'd try to kill me if our positions were reversed."

Rabastan just tipped his head to one side, continuing to regard her.

"You were looking for me?" he said after a long moment.

"When?" Hermione frowned, confused by the change in subject and his lack of comment regarding her predicament.

"When you arrived," he reminded her. "You said you'd come to Malfoy Manor because you were looking for me."

"Oh," Hermione said. "Yes. I was."

She reached out and smoothed her palm up his chest, tracing her eyes over the fine figure he hid beneath his robes, recalling in glorious detail that not so very long ago, she'd gotten to enjoy it without those pesky robes impeding her view.

"Why?" he asked.

Hermione shrugged her shoulders.

"Maybe I missed you?" she offered coyly.

"And now the truth?" he suggested, looking doubtful.

Hermione frowned.

"What if that is the truth?" she asked.

"It's not."

Hermione blinked, lifting her eyes back to his face and frowning at him.

"I was planning to seduce you," she told him seriously.

"Why?" he asked.

"You intrigue me," Hermione shrugged her shoulders, not even lying about that. There was something alluring and intriguing about the man that she couldn't put her finger on. No matter the reminders that he was wretched and twisted and evil - a dark wizard of the most horrific degree - there was something about him that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, and that tightened low down in her belly whenever she was in his vicinity. She just didn't know yet whether it was from fear or desire, and wasn't that the most heinous thing of all?

"Is that right?" he asked.

"Maybe," Hermione replied, smiling a little.

Rabastan didn't return to the smile and she felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, supposing that he might not be thrilled to see her, given than she'd disappeared during the raid and had shagged Rowle in the shower, before almost shagging Draco. She was proved right about her suspicions when he next opened his mouth.

"I take it Rowle intrigues you, too?" he guessed mildly, leaning back a little until her hand no longer rested against his chest.

"He might do," Hermione shrugged her shoulders. "Is that going to be a problem for you, Bass?"

The wizard narrowed his eyes on her, not looking the least bit friendly.

"If it was?" he challenged.

Hermione clucked her tongue, looking him up and down speculatively.

"Perhaps you ought to convince the Dark Lord to induct a few of these ladies into the ranks," she suggested mildly. "Pick one of them that most appeals to you and make her your plaything instead of me."

"That wouldn't bother you?" he asked.

"I don't own you, Bass. A sexual encounter or two doesn't give me the right to dictate what you do, or with whom. What's more, I don't have the right to be bothered by the choices you make when, currently, we mean so very little to one another," she reminded him.

"You could," he pointed out, his head tilted to one side as he continued to regard her with that curious expression that she wasn't entirely sure she liked. "You are aware that the Dark Lord means to marry off all of his followers, after all."

"I am," she nodded in agreement. "And I'm aware that it's your intention to marry me. And Draco, I believe?"

His left eye twitched like he wasn't sure how she'd come by that information.

"Are you just?" he asked. "You're sure of that?"

"Yes," Hermione said with certainty.

"And yet you're suggesting that Rowle intrigues you, and that I ought to pick a witch from the cells instead," he pointed out.

"I've made no promises," she reminded him.

"Do you want to?"

"Not if you're planning to be tetchy about boring things, like shagging Rowle," she replied.

His mouth twitched.

"Boring, was he?" he sneered.

"Thorough, actually," she tossed her hair over one shoulder, eyeing him challengingly. "Particularly after Draco showed up and joined in."

"Did he, now?" Rabastan asked.

"Mmmm," Hermione nodded, smirking a little. "I don't suppose you've got a problem with that, too?"

"If I do?" he asked.

"Unless you've a Time Turner, there's nothing to be done about it," she shrugged her shoulders.

Rabastan narrowed his eyes on her coolly.

"You are a feisty little thing, aren't you?" he asked, stepping closer again and boxing her up against the wall.

"Perhaps," Hermione answered.

"Do you plan to make a habit of screwing whoever takes your hand?" he asked.

"Do you?" she asked in return.

Rabastan just stared her down, waiting, and Hermione returned the stare without flinching. After several tense minutes, Rabastan made a soft sound of amusement before closing the distance between the two of them, his hands lifting to thread themselves through her hair as he tipped her mouth to his. He kissed her forcefully, his mouth demanding, his tongue plundering her mouth and sparring with her own intently.

Hermione kissed him back enthusiastically. Lifting her hands to tangle them in his hair, she moaned into his mouth when he pushed her up against the wall forcefully enough to knock the breath from her lungs. He ground into her cogently, and Hermione arched against him, desperate for friction and distraction from the horror and frustration permeating the other facets of her life.

When Rabastan's hands wandered down her front to cup her breasts through her dress, she arched into the touch, pulling at him hungrily. She didn't even care that they were in the dungeons, surrounded by crying prisoners. All she wanted was to lose herself in his touch.

He didn't say anything as his hands travelled lower, beginning to gather up the heavy skirt of her dress until it was bunched at her waist and he could slide a hand between her legs.

"Oh, god," Hermione moaned in his ear when he broke their kiss to trail a line down her neck, his fingers finding a home for themselves deep inside her.

"You like that?" he asked against her neck.

"Yes," Hermione admitted. "God, I want more."

He gave her more, sliding another finger inside her and beckoning with them. Her legs almost gave out, her knees buckling intensely. Only his grip on her kept her from sliding down the wall to puddle at his feet, the sensations overwhelming her entirely. Hermione gave herself over to the act of depravity, uncaring about anything but the pulses of pleasure and desire coursing through her. She was too far gone with pain and sickness and fury over all the evil she had committed to resist the perfect distraction Rabastan made.

"I'm going to fuck you right here," Rabastan murmured in her ear, nibbling her earlobe as his fingers worked magic within her.

"God, yes," Hermione moaned, her eyes closed as she clung to him. "Please, Bass."

His low chuckle was wicked, and Hermione knew that her surrender pleased him and intrigued him. He didn't waste anymore time, and her didn't stop her when Hermione slid her hands to his belt, unbuckling it hurriedly and peeling open his trousers to get at his cock within. She stroked it surely, fervid now, her pulse racing, her breath coming in sharp gasps. She needed him; needed distraction; needed to forget all the horror she'd committed for just a little while. Goddess, Snape had been right that she needed to feed her good wolf, too, and in the absence of anything else good, pleasure would have to do.

When he withdrew his fingers from inside her and hiked one of her legs up over his hip and then paused, Hermione sighed expectantly, opening her eyes to meet his gaze. He was watching her. Of course, he was watching her. It seemed like all he ever did was watch her, but Hermione was getting used to it. Unbidden, the song she's taken to humming in his presence sprang to her mind and she smiled slowly at him before beginning to hum it all over again.

His pupils dilated in response before he slotted himself into her silken heat, his body penetrating hers unforgivingly, never once breaking their stare. Intensity rolled off him in waves, and the shiver of his magic rushing against her own made her tense as he seated himself deep within her, before slowly withdrawing.

"You good?" Hermione asked softly when she'd finished humming though he hadn't picked up his pace at all.

He didn't answer, just kept on staring at her like he was drinking her in and memorizing everything about her. Hermione would never admit it, but his intensity scared her, and after a while it became too much to hold his gaze. Closing her eyes, she leaned forward, burying her face against his neck and sucking at the flesh there until she drew blood to the surface, marking his skin with her brand of love.

His pace quickened then, his hand on her ass tightening while the one he used to lean against the wall balled into a fist. Beyond him, crying in their cells, terrified women looked on and Hermione opened her eyes to peer over his shoulder as he fucked her realising subconsciously that the only way she would get through dealing with them and overseeing the horrors that would be inflicted upon them would be to let them see what she too had to endure for the role she was forced to play amid this wretched war.

Many looked disgusted with her as Rabastan's hips thrust into her hard, his pace and his force increasing the longer they persisted. Hermione wanted to melt into the floor, because confound it all, he felt so good inside her and yet he was so very wretched.

"Do you enjoy an audience?" Bass's voice curled into her ear after a little while and it occurred to her that he was trying to slip into her mind, aware that she had her eyes open.

"Not particularly," Hermione confessed. "But feel free to change my mind."

Another of those low chuckles left him and he changed his pace, grinding into her harder before he scooped both hands under her ass, hiking her up his body and leaning her back into the wall, altering the angle he struck within her.

"Oh, gods," Hermione whispered, her head dropping back as the sensation washed through her in combination with what she realised was his signatures pleasure spell. "Don't stop, Bass…. Gods, don't ever stop."

He hummed in approval.

"Never," he murmured against her neck and Hermione cried out when she plummeted over the edge into orgasm, the low sound echoing off the walls of the stone dungeons.

For those brief seconds, Hermione managed to forget everything she'd done and all the horror she and her fellow Death Eaters had caused. She managed to forget her concerns about her friends in the Order, and her worry that Remus was still inarticulate, and her fear that Ron might not have survived his first transformation.

And then those seconds were over, and Hermione opened her eyes to the sight of crying, scared, imprisoned women and she watched over Bass's shoulder as they turned away in horror and disgust while Bass thrust harder and harder, his movements growing erratic as he stretched for his orgasm and groaned softly in release. He stood there panting, holding her up against the wall for a few short minutes and Hermione let her breathing and her heart rate slowly return to normal while she smoothed her hands over's Rabastan's shoulders and up the back of his neck, carding them through his hair.

"Is that what you came for?" he asked quietly when, eventually, he let her down, lowering her back to her feet. Her knees wobbled a little beneath her, and Hermione took a deep breath before looking him in the eye once more as he withdrew from her, letting her dress-skirts fall back to the floor while he tucked himself back into his trousers and refastened them with muttered cleaning charms.

"Perhaps," Hermione answered seriously, looking him dead in the eye. "Is that what you want to hear?"

He held her gaze for a long time without a word and Hermione stared him down, suddenly feeling more wrong-footed in this mess than she had, thus far. She didn't like that about this wizard, she decided when Rabastan turned away without a word and walked off down the length of the corridor without looking back, leaving her to her task of separating out the witches now under her care. She didn't like his ability to unsettle her so effectively and she didn't like the way he left her second guessing everything.

Was he angry at her for seeking him out? Angry with her for having shagged Rowle? Jealous that she'd done so? Offended that she'd come looking for sex, rather than the dubious pleasure of his company? Was he already growing bored of her now that he'd had her, and she'd proved that she was willing to shag him? Had she taken the thrill of the hunt out of it for him by not playing hard to get? Or was he annoyed that she knew of his intentions to marry her and Draco? Had he changed his mind? Should she run after him and do a better job of intriguing him in return, well aware that her entire mission in this terrible place hinged on marrying him to gain access to the Lestrange family vault for the sake retrieving the horcrux stored within?

Running her hands through her hair in frustration, Hermione turned her eyes away from his retreating figure, refusing to play his games. She would not run after him. She was there to intrigue and infatuate the men of the Death Eater ranks, and she would not subject herself to something pathetic and needy like grovelling to learn his mood or endear herself to him. One thing she had learned throughout her life thus far was that strong men rarely appreciated snivelling women. Vulnerable at time, yes; soft in all the right ways, perhaps; but not weak. Weakness in the view of men such as Rabastan Lestrange and the other Death Eaters was nothing but an invitation to be ripped apart at the seams. Weakness was like blood in the water when surrounded by sharks, and she refused to let any of hers show.

Turning her attention to the women before her, Hermione pulled her wand out of her pocket and did the one thing she hoped she might never have to do for the sake of this war.

"Imperio," she whispered, aiming her wand at an over-crowded cell full of crying women.

One by one, the ladies within fell under the influence of her spell, and all of them walked like zombies out of the cage when she opened the cell door. They moved slowly, heavily controlled and Hermione could feel the urges of many to throw off her spell. A few almost managed it, but soon she had the first ten separated out into individual cells.

"What's your name?" she asked of the first one she locked in.

"Sarah Wells," the witch replied, her voice distant and placid with the control of the spell.

"I'm sorry about this," Hermione whispered to the woman as she fashioned a sign for the cell door sporting the woman's name. "Do you have any children, Sarah?"

"Three," the other woman answered. "Billy, Anna, and Mae."

"Thank you, Sarah," Hermione murmured before releasing the Imperius curse upon her. She watched as Sarah Wells blinked slowly, coming back to herself.

The witch's eyes filled once more when she looked around her new cell and Hermione could tell she wanted to scream at her, but didn't dare. Fear glittered in her eyes, and Hermione sighed. She flicked her wand at the inside of the cell, cleaning it and casting warming charms, before flicking a cleaning charm at Sarah, too. She had been raped, Hermione could tell. Her night-gown was torn and bloody, stained with fingerprints before Hermione's cleaning charms took them away.

"There will be food and healing potions, soon," Hermione told the witch quietly before she moved on to the woman in the next cell.

Magdalena Chisolm had four sons. Bridget Mallows had a daughter. Bethany Blake had no children yet and was unmarried. On and on it went, and Hermione felt sick to her stomach as she carefully recorded the names of each woman and her progeny on the door of their cells. She made marks on the signs on the doors for those who had been raped and would need to be tested for pregnancy and paternity in the coming weeks.

Many of them swore at her when she released the Imperius curse. Some held up their hands before she could even cast it, recognizing that she was willing and able to take away their choice, and choosing to cooperate rather than continue to fight when they saw the way she was trying to help each of them.

"What's going to happen to us?" Caroline Bixby asked fearfully when Hermione led the other woman into her cell. She was small, with pixie-like features, and wispy blonde hair. Her eyes were too large for her face. She was newly married, she'd told Hermione, and already three months pregnant.

"Your bodies will be used as incubators for the Dark Lord's next generation of soldiers," Hermione told the listening women sternly.

"But I'm…" Caroline began, indicating to her pregnant belly.

"I know," Hermione nodded. "Your son or daughter in there will save you from the attentions of my brethren until such time that he or she is born."

"And then what?" Caroline asked, her eyes filling.

"And then your baby will be taken away and given to another woman to raise, where I've no doubt he or she will learn about the Dark Lord's movement at the knees of a pureblood witch from a reputable and allied family," Hermione explained, steeling her heart. "And you will be subjected to the attentions of whichever of my brethren take a liking to you until such time as you fall pregnant again."

"You… you're going to steal my baby?" Caroline asked, clutching her small baby-bump in terror.

"The Dark Lord thanks you for your contribution to his regime," Hermione answered robotically, feeling sick to her stomach.

"You can't!" Caroline shook her head. "Please! I just want to go home. I'm already pregnant. I'll be of no use to you for months! Please don't take my baby!"

Hermione didn't answer her. Instead, she marked the door of Caroline's cell with a glowing red X and placed additional locking charms upon it to prevent anyone from opening it from either side, no matter their skills with locks.

She returned to her work, having to resort to the Imperius curse again to split out the next cell block when the women all began shouting and cursing her for a traitor and a monster that she would do such a thing to her fellow witches. Hermione tried to block them out, but her stomach churned with bile and all she wanted to do was run away. But she couldn't run away. She had a job to do, and she had to protect these women as best she could. It took everything in her not to set them loose; not to scream at them about how much worse it could be for them without her intervention; not to screech about how she was as much a prisoner as them, and how they had all just better get used to their role, as she must do, if they wanted to survive.

For hours, she slaved, moving each witch to her own cell, casting charms to clean her, heal her, warm her, and mark her door with her vital information. She lost track of how long she'd been at it and how long it'd been since Rabastan had found her before going on his way once more. She had come here for a distraction from how wretched she felt, and but for the few brief seconds of relief Bass had offered, she'd found nothing but more misery.

Was this how witches like Bellatrix had become so heartless? Was it easier to simply destroy one's own humanity than to live with this sickness and pain inspired by a decimated conscience?

"Mina?" a low, familiar voice interrupted her some indefinite amount of time later and Hermione turned to look at the speaker, her brow furrowed.

Severus Snape stood a few feet away, his expression grim and his eyes fixed upon her.

"Papa?" she asked, well aware that there might be others watching from anywhere within the dungeons, unseen and spying on the two of them.

"Come here," Snape commanded her quietly and Hermione's stomach flipped with fear when she traced her eyes over his face, trying to make hide or hair of his expression. Was he going to impart bad news? Were the Order all dead?

Goddess, she couldn't take much more.

"What is it?" Hermione asked, trying desperately to keep any emotion from her tone, and hoping the dimness of the dungeons hid the way her bottom lip trembled.

Snape waited for her to close the distance between the two of them. He still didn't speak when she stood less than a foot from him, aware that he might be planning to whisper something to her. Hermione blinked when instead he brought his hand up carefully and smoothed his palm over her cheek.

"Breathe," he murmured, curling his hand around the back of her neck and drawing her closer until her forehead rested against the centre of his chest.

Hermione did as instructed; and her breath caught on a sob. Unbidden, her arms lifted to curl around his middle and she burrowed into him, hugging him tightly enough to make her arms ache.

"We're not alone," he breathed by her ear before propping his chin atop her head and Hermione nodded, recognizing that he didn't mean the women behind her, but that somewhere nearby another Death Eater or maybe even the Dark Lord lurked, watching their interaction.

That he'd drawn her into a hug made her think it must be the Dark Lord, whom he hoped to convince of his paternal link with her, rather than any of the brethren, whom he would not want believing that she could be used to hurt him, or vice versa.

"How are things progressing here?" he asked in his normal voice.

"Slowly," Hermione answered into his chest, refusing to let him go, no matter who might be watching. "The prisoners are uncooperative and displeased by the new circumstance of their lives."

"I imagine they are," Snape answered, nodding. "Have you spoken with Rabastan or Draco?"

Hermione nodded.

"With Bass," she answered. "Hours ago."

"Are you close to completing your task here?" he asked, his hands lifting to her shoulders before he gently pushed her back from him, forcing her to release him from her embrace.

"There are so many more cells," Hermione shook her head, biting her lip on the urge she had to vomit.

"Another wand would make the work faster, I presume?" he asked.

"It would," Hermione nodded. "I'm having to Imperius them to keep them from fighting or trying to run. And I've been getting their names, marital status, and whether they have children. Those who are currently pregnant, I've locked off from both sides to protect them until their babies are born. And applied charms to their cells so that if they go into labour, I will be alerted."

Snape nodded and Hermione desperately wanted to ask about the fate of their friends but knew she could not.

"Did you complete your potion?" she asked instead, playing into the story she'd told the Dark Lord, lest they be caught in a lie.

"The Lust Potion needs additional time to simmer and mature," he answered and Hermione tried to read between the lines, hoping like hell that he meant that the Order was still re-grouping and trying to figure out what casualties they might have taken.

"The batch is not ruined?" she confirmed, her heart in her throat.

His dark eyes flashed at her in the dark.

"It was a near thing," he said seriously. "But proper time to brew should undo any damage done."

Relief so poignant, it stung, filtered through her and Hermione nodded, breathing shallowly.

"Come," he commanded. "We will complete this grim task together and retire to Lucius's drawing room for a warming brandy when we are finished. Are you cold down here?"

"Yes," Hermione answered miserably. "Chilled to my core and numb from it."

Snape cast her a sideways glance as they strode toward the next cell overflowing with witches, catching her meaning loud and clear. He nodded his head in agreement and flicked his wand, casting a warming charm that chased some of the chill from the frigid corridors but did nothing for the numbness of her soul.

They returned to work, splitting out the witches in relative silence after that but for the casting of spells, and the interviewing of women for their names and circumstances. After a short while, soft footsteps filled the corridor and Hermione looked around to find the Dark Lord moving in their direction with Nagini draped around his shoulders like a scarf.

"Ah, Severus," he purred in the silence and Hermione watched Snape turn toward his master calmly. "You have returned."

"Good evening, my Lord," he answered, bowing slightly in greeting without taking his wand off the collection of twenty women he was spreading throughout the cells.

"Your brewing goes well, I trust?" the Dark Lord enquired.

"Indeed, my Lord," he nodded. "My apologies for my absence. The Lust Potion I'm brewing at your behest reached the stage of continual stirring for several hours in a counter-clockwise direction whilst routinely adding heart of newt every twenty-one minutes. I could not leave the cauldron without ruining the batch."

He inclined his head to the Dark Lord, offering the memory for his perusal.

"We will have need of it soon," the Dark Lord nodded, not bothering with Legilimency, instead simply waving his hand dismissively at Snape's offer. "Isolation for the sake of evading international Aurors is imperative, and you know how our friends grow restless when they are confined."

"Yes, my Lord," Severus agreed, though he looked haughty and a little disgusted at the idea.

"And young Mina will be in attendance," the Dark Lord said. "You have informed her of our expectations, I trust?"

Snape made a show of gritting his teeth at the idea of his daughter being used in such a manner.

"She understands her responsibilities, my Lord," he answered evenly, with an undercurrent of hostility and disapproval thrown in.

"Ah, Severus," the Dark Lord smirked, sensing his ire. "It is most refreshing to see you emotionally invested in someone like this. You must be a rare witch, Mis Graziana-Snape, to have swayed so stoic a man as our Severus to care for your well-being so soon."

Hermione turned to look at the man as she locked the final witch of her group into her cell.

"I am his daughter, my Lord," she reminded him. "Rarity aside, the bonds of blood between us are sufficient to explain his protectiveness of me."

"And yet there are so many amid our world who can turn their back on blood in the blink of an eye," he said, and Hermione wondered whether he thought of his own mother and father in that moment, or perhaps the uncle and grandfather he had murdered.

"We all act to what is true for us and the circumstances of our lives, my Lord," Hermione offered calmly.

"Indeed, we do," the Dark Lord murmured before his red eyes focused upon the two of them when Hermione moved over to stand beside Snape. "What reports from amid the prisoners here?"

Hermione sighed.

"There are six hundred and ninety-one witches in your captivity, my Lord," she offered, having counted them. "Seventy-three of them are already pregnant."

"By my Death Eaters?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"By their spouses," Hermione corrected him. "With your permission, my Lord, I would like for those witches to remain immune to the attentions of your men until their babies are born. We can work out the kinks of how to house the pregnant women and care for them to term for the sake of growing your army in that manner, if it pleases you, my Lord."

"Why should we not simply force them to abort?" he asked.

"The gene pool can use all the additional members it can get, my Lord," Hermione reminded him gently. "Inbreeding would largely expound upon stupidity, and we have more than enough of that already."

The Dark Lord' mouth twitched like he might laugh before he looked to Severus.

"She's not wrong, my Lord," Snape offered.

"Indeed," he answered. "Very well, upon falling pregnant, a witch will be left to her own devices unless she requests otherwise – I'm told pregnancy makes some women incredibly interested in sex, after all – for the sake of birthing viable offspring and to protect against additional imbeciles joining my ranks."

"Very good, my Lord," Hermione smiled. "I would also like to suggest that the captives are subjected only to certain members of your brethren. It would not do to have, for example, Mulciber, siring children with fifty different women all in a single year due to a voracious sexual appetite and no self-restraint."

"Our goal is to grow my army to exponential numbers, Mina," Voldemort reminded her, looking a bit baffled.

"I understand that, my Lord," Hermione said. "But we must think not just of the next generation, but the one after that, and the one after that. If Mulciber sires fifty children, his line will undoubtedly flourish in the short term, but who are those fifty children to breed with when they reach an age where doing so is appropriate? If Scabior sired fifty as well, and so on, there would be an abundance of spouses for that generation, but the next generation would be more closely related – many of them cousins or half-cousins, and so on depending on who they marry. This is not some quick-fix, short-term goal we are enacting to swell the ranks for a single generation, my Lord. We are building you a dynasty to carry on for the length of your reign, and I don't imagine you would suffer fools any better fifty years from now than you currently do."

The Dark Lord eyed her for a long time in silence when she stopped speaking, and it took all of Hermione's self-control to keep from squirming beneath the intensity of his gaze. Snape remained stoic at her side, silent as Lord Voldemort pondered her words.

"You are a shrewd young woman, Mina, my friend," the Dark Lord said finally.

"Thank you, my Lord," Hermione murmured. "I confess, I do not suffer fools, myself, so my reasoning is somewhat selfishly motivated in the event that I live long enough to remain in your service when the fruition of today's plans comes about. Additionally, I will have children of my own, one day, and it would not do to endure some moronic spouse for my progeny as a result of poor planning, my Lord."

A high laugh like rattling bones filled the dungeons and Hermione fought the urge to shiver in terror at the sound at the Dark Lord chuckled at her statement.

"So very much like Severus," he murmured, looking pleased. "Very well, Miss Snape. I will leave the disbursement of prisoners amongst my Death Eaters up to you, and on your head be it should they object."

"They won't, my Lord," Hermione said determinedly. "At least, they won't for long. Do I have your permission to use whatever means necessary to enforce my plan in the event of resistance?"

"If I say no?" he asked, looking wickedly amused.

"Then I'll need to be a little more creative in my arrangement of "accidents" for those who give me grief, my Lord," Hermione answered softly. "As I mentioned… I do not suffer fools."

Another laugh erupted from Voldemort and he turned to walk away.

"Severus, see to it that she doesn't do too much damage to my brethren," he commanded as he walked away. "And we'll be needing some kind of school for the sake of educating these wretched brats, what with Hogwarts off-limits."

"I'll begin looking for an appropriate building immediately, my Lord," Snape offered.

"Tomorrow," he waved a dismissive hand. "Finish up down here and join me in the Drawing Room. I'm in need of one of your bracing teas, my friend."

"Of course, my Lord," Snape answered and they both watched him go before Snape turned to look at her.

She still wasn't sure they were alone, but she offered him a mean smile and he nodded in approval. Hermione blinked when he stepped closer and leaned down, pressing a kiss to the middle of her forehead; the only demonstration of his pride in her. They returned to their heart-wrenching task with their prisoners in silence, but Hermione could feel that despite the horror, she was feeding her good wolf alongside her bad, knowing she might offer these women at least some semblance of protection.