“Of course, My Lord.”
Hermione found Snape's cold, bottomless eyes peering down at her. She didn't have any strength left to try resisting as he sank into her consciousness.
He didn't bother with her early memories. He went directly to the war and swept through the memories quickly but thoroughly. He seemed to have specific categories he pursued. Healing. Potion brewing. Order meetings. Research. Conversations with Harry and Ron. Fighting. The final battle. Whenever Snape came upon a locked memory, he seemed to pause and consider its surroundings before trying to break into it.
His invasion was dramatically less traumatic than Voldemort's, but Hermione was still weeping and shuddering by the time he finally slowly withdrew. Her hands clenching spasmodically where they were strapped in place.
“Fascinating,” he said, staring down at Hermione with a somewhat conflicted expression.
“Any insight?” Voldemort's hand tightened on Snape's shoulder, and his tone was suspicious.
Snape turned from Hermione and lowered his eyes. “To be honest, My Lord, the Mudblood and I had very little contact during later years of the war. The Order meetings I was privy to are all there. The little else I knew of her was that she was kept away from the fighting, acting as a healer and potion mistress. Those memories appear intact. I am at a loss as to what she could be hiding.”
“If the Order had any remaining secrets left, I want to know them,” Voldemort said, his scarlet eyes narrowing.
“Indeed,” Snape said, his tone silken and demure. “Unfortunately, most of the highly informed Order members are dead now. Either during the final battle, or from torture or escape attempts. Aside from Miss Granger herself, there is likely no one else still alive carrying the information.”
Voldemort stared down at Hermione. His red eyes were enraged and calculating as he ran a finger slowly along his mouth. Then he looked sharply over at the mind healer.
“Is there any way to recover these memories?” Voldemort said, his wand hanging from his fingertips with casual menace.
“Well, th-that's very difficult t-to s-s-say.” The healer paled. “It's p-p-possible. Now that the circumstances causing it-have been removed. With t-t-time, th-they may restore themselves.”
“What about torture? I have broken through to obliviated memories with torture in the past.”
The mind healer looked green.“It m-m-might work. B-b-but — there'd be no telling which ones you'd unlock. You m-m-might only get a f-few b-before she went insane.”
Voldemort stared speculatively down at Hermione. “Then I want her watched. Carefully. By someone who will know the instant they begin to return. Severus, I shall leave her in your charge.”
“Of — course, My Lord.” Snape bowed low.
“You object?” Voldemort using his wandtip to force Snape upright. He tilted Snape's head back until their eyes met.
“Never. Your wish is my command.” Snape's collected expression rippled under the scrutiny.
“Yet you have objections,” Voldemort said, withdrawing his wand and turning back to stare down at Hermione.
“I am departing tomorrow for Romania,” Snape said, “to investigate the rumors of insubordination we have heard about. The trip, as you noted when you assigned it to me, will be a delicate task, complex and rigorous even without the addition of a prisoner who requires careful monitoring. I — am reluctant to disappoint you in either of these matters.” He placed his hand on his chest and bowed again.
Voldemort paused and seemed to be considering, resting his hands on the table beside Hermione and leaning over to study her. As he stood there, a movement on Hermione's other side caught her attention. The female healer in charge of Voldemort's breeding program had approached and was whispering a question to the mind healer.
“M-My Lord,” the mind healer said, stepping hesitantly closer, “Healer Stroud has brought to my attention a p-point that m-m-may interest you.”
“Yes?” Voldemort's interest appeared negligible. He did not look up toward either healer.
“Magical pregnancy, My Lord,” Healer Stroud said with a proud smile. “There are a few cases on record which indicate that such pregnancies have an ability to break through magical fugues. The magic of a child is compatible but dissimilar enough to its mother's to have a corroding effect on built up magic. It's nothing conclusive, given the rarity. It's possible, however. Miss Granger has exceptional magical ability — you yourself noted this and wanted her included in the repopulation effort. If you leave her within the program, there is a chance that a pregnancy may result in unlocking her memories. But—,“ she hesitated slightly.
“What?” Voldemort looked up sharply at Healer Stroud, causing her to pale and flinch.
“You — you would be unable to inspect her mind during the pregnancy.” Healer Stroud said, speaking quickly. “Invasive magics such as legilimency carry a high risk of miscarriage. It's often so traumatic that it can result in permanent magical infertility. You would have to wait, even if you knew the memories were returning, until the baby was born. Unless the father, who would share a familiar magical signature with the child, were the one performing the legilimency.”
Voldemort stared down at Hermione thoughtfully, his fingers sliding over his chest as though he were soothing an injury.
“Severus.”
“My Lord.”
“The High Reeve is an exceptional legilimens, is he not?”
“Indeed, My Lord,” Snape said. “His skill is likely equal to my own. You had him trained quite carefully.”
“His wife has been found magically barren, has she not?”
The question was directed toward Healer Stroud.
“Yes, My Lord,” she answered immediately.
“Then send the Mudblood to the High Reeve. Let him breed and monitor her.”
Stroud nodded eagerly. “I can have her there in two weeks. I want to ensure her condition and have her trained.”
“Two weeks. Until she is found pregnant, I want her brought in every other month so I can examine her mind personally.”
“Yes, My Lord.”
“Take her back to Hogwarts, then.” Voldemort dismissed them with a wave of his hand.
Hermione's body was still spasming slightly as the restraints on her were spelled off. She felt as though she ought to do — something. Spit. Or refuse. Or — beg.
Anything but just lie there while Voldemort casually delegated her off for breeding.
Her body refused to cooperate. She couldn't do anything as careless hands dragged her up off the table and levitated her down a hallway.
Chapter 3
The bed Hannah had occupied was empty when Hermione was returned to the hospital ward in Hogwarts.
Healer Stroud poured a potion down Hermione's throat as soon as she was placed in the bed. The pain in Hermione's mind subsided slightly. She blinked, and the dancing black spots that kept obscuring her vision finally started to fade away.
Hermione felt nauseous. Her insides were roiling and cringing like she had poison inside that her body couldn't expel. She was still shaking. She wanted to roll over and curl into a ball, but she couldn't summon the strength to manage it.
“Guard her with your lives. If anyone wants to touch her or so much as look at her, they will require permission from me,” she heard Healer Stroud say.