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Entwined	By : serpentinred Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 6067 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and I don't make any money from these writings.

Chapter List
- 1-Entwined
- 2-Chapter 2
- 1
- 2
A/N: This story was written for StBrigit for GC 2014 Secret Santa fic exchange. Thanks to Nerys for looking over the story for me!
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Chapter 1
She hid behind a tree, her heart pounding against her chest and the flask in her hand clasped close to her. She didn’t bother attempting to Apparate; she knew it wouldn’t work. Voldemort would’ve placed wards around the area to prevent her from Apparating the moment he’d joined in the chase.
Breaths came out of her mouth in loud pants, and she quickly put her free hand over it, attempting to muffle the sound. She nearly stopped breathing the moment she felt the air around her shift.
It was almost imperceptible, and despite the situation she was in, she couldn’t help but be in both awe and fear with his prowess in magic. She had yet to hear about someone who could Apparate and Disapparate without making a sound; it would certainly come in handy when he wanted to sneak up on someone.
Someone like her .
“I do not have time for your pesky games, Hermione Granger,” a cold, high voice said. “Come out now, and Lord Voldemort might consider letting you live.”
If she weren’t busy hiding, she would’ve laughed out loud at his words. Like she would ever believe the lies that were being sprouted from his mouth. She wasn’t that gullible.
A crack resounded throughout the air.
“My Lord, the perimeter has been secured,” the words of Lucius Malfoy reached her ears.
She would’ve rolled her eyes upon hearing the groveling voice Lucius had used, if she hadn’t been frightened by the information that he had just delivered. She hoped desperately that Lucius was being his usual, blundering self and had made a mistake when it came to securing the perimeter, or else she would never get out of here alive.
“Excellent,” Voldemort said.
The predatory tone of voice he had adopted reminded Hermione of a wild animal, or perhaps the basilisk itself, waiting to strike down upon its prey. It bespoke of restlessness, of endless fervor, and of the wild need to conquer. It laid Voldemort’s final goal out in the clear: He wasn’t going to give up. He wasn’t going to walk away from this without capturing her; she had signed her own death warrant, and now Death himself was coming to claim her soul.
Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to surrender. It wasn’t part of her nature. No, instead, she hugged the item that brought her into this situation closer, as if she wanted to absorb it into her body.
It had been approximately five years since the battle of Hogwarts. Though Hermione never believed in fortune-telling, it nearly broke her down when the one thing that proved her correct was her best friend’s death. Everyone had thought that the final showdown would’ve been between Harry and Voldemort. Despite what the defenders of Hogwarts did, they knew—they believed that the final battle would have been between Harry and Voldemort. That was what the prophecy said. That was whatDumbledore had said.
Until Harry died. It wasn’t even by a curse. No. It was a simple matter of gravity and the fact that the body of a human, magical or not, could never sustain the deathly blow of a giant falling on top of them. But nobody could believe that Harry’s end would be so anticlimactic. Even the Death Eaters waited for Harry to stand up, ready to defy their lord and master once more, but he remained still, never to move again.
The following battle had been messy. People who fought against Voldemort’s regime fled, attempting to make a run for it before they got captured by the Death Eaters. Many of them failed and were taken prisoner. A small group of them still managed to escape, but it wasn’t without a price—a price that each and every one of the survivors paid until this day. The guilt of not dying was worse than any other torture, and though it was never spoken out loud, Hermione could easily see it in the eyes of her companions as well as in the mirror when she woke up in the morning.
A crack resounded throughout the area, signifying that Lucius had Disapparated from the area again, perhaps sent on another mission while Hermione had been immersed in her own thoughts.
“You hear that, Hermione Granger? You’re trapped,” Voldemort said softly. “I confess that though I can be a patient man, I’m not very fond of waiting today. Be the intelligent witch that you were often rumored to be and come out. You should know that letting Lord Voldemort come and fetch you would be an … unwise decision.”
She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek and tried to stop herself from shaking. She would’ve been a fool to be unafraid. There was nowhere she could run now, not with Voldemort in such close proximity. Though she had summoned enough courage for this mission, she hadn’t prepared herself enough for a direct confrontation with the darkest wizard in history.
Without warning, a curse hit her on the side, causing her to fly through the air and onto the ground. She would’ve noticed that the spell was cast by a Death Eater if the sound of glass breaking hadn’t reached her ears. Horrified and certain that it was caused by the flask shattering, she sucked in a deep breath and mildly registered Voldemort’s scream of rage. An eerily cool sensation traveled through her nostrils, down to her lungs, and into her system before she realized that something was very wrong.
The feeling of something heavy being dropped into her stomach nearly made her throw up, and she doubled over in pain with both of her arms wrapped around her middle. She didn’t even notice it when Voldemort sent a flash of green towards his follower, preventing the latter from causing harm to her. She bit down hard on her inner cheek, drawing blood, to stop herself from screaming, and that was when she noticed that the “something” in her stomach was— were moving around.
She couldn’t even attempt to struggle away when Voldemort grabbed her by the arm and Apparated. Once they’d reached wherever Voldemort had meant to take them to, her arm was dropped like a hot potato, and she slumped to the floor, still overwhelmed by agony.
She had no idea how long it was, but slowly, the pain started to subside until there was only a dull feeling at the pit of her stomach. Suddenly, her chin was grabbed and she was staring into blood-red eyes.
He spoke, though it wasn’t a language she understood, and somewhere in the back of her mind, it registered that he was speaking in Parseltongue. It wasn’t the harsh, forced pronunciation she had heard from Harry before; instead, it was very much like the animal the language had been named after. The syllables wrapped around her like cold silk and released her before she could begin to wonder how the sounds could be produced by human tongue.
He must’ve seen something he wanted to see, since a ghost of a satisfied smirk appeared on his face. Fear surged through Hermione’s body, giving her enough strength to push herself away from his grasp. He allowed her to move away, though his eyes remained on her, taking in her movements and facial expressions, as he slowly straightened himself up to standing position.
What the hell was inside the flask? Her mind quickly analyzed the situation before coming to a horrible conclusion.
Crap, crap, crap.
Voldemort opened his mouth, apparently to talk; however, Hermione beat him to it.
“Your soul pieces were inside that flask?” she asked, her tone of voice much higher than usual and close to a squeak.
Surprise flashed over Voldemort’s face, and though it disappeared just as quickly, it was enough to confirm Hermione’s suspicions.
“You mean I have you inside me now!?” she nearly shrieked, horrified, ashamed, and angry at the situation she found herself in as she, too, stood up. “How the hell do I get you out of me!?”
She raised her wand, but before she got to cast a spell, the wand was magicked out of her hand. It made a perfect arc across the air and landed in Voldemort’s pale, white hand. The urge to stomp over and pry her wand out of his filthy hand was tempting, but she pushed it down.
“Not with amateur magic,” Voldemort answered, rather condescendingly.
At that moment, her temper flared, and without thinking, she responded, “Oh really? Then let’s see the magic of the ‘greatest’ dark wizard since Grindelwald. What are you waiting for? Please get those splintered pieces of immortality-obsessed, bigoted souls out of me. Nobody wants them.”
It was after those words left her mouth that she realized that it was probably unwise, but then she remembered that with most of his souls inside of her, he might not very be inclined to kill her on the spot. With that thought in mind, she tilted her head upwards, glaring at Voldemort challengingly.
The murderous look on Voldemort’s face might’ve caused Hermione to run for cover in any other cases, but currently, she honestly felt that death might be preferable to this. With his soul inside her, she felt tainted. Even if it meant that he would kill her immediately after retrieving his soul pieces, Hermione felt that it would be worth it.
Voldemort closed his eyes, and suddenly, she felt something stir inside her. She glanced downwards and found no change. However, the strange feeling of things circling inside her body continued. It pulled and pushed, as if the things inside her—she supposed they were the soul pieces—were searching for an exit but to no avail.
Beads of sweat started to form on Voldemort’s face, and the magic in the air was thick. The things inside her started to move even faster, and Hermione swayed on her feet. It made her feel dizzy, and the urge to vomit grew stronger by the second until she couldn’t hold it in anymore; she dry-heaved on the spot. The soul pieces lurched and she retched again.
She wanted to tell Voldemort to stop, but her pride forced her to remain silent as she endured the torture. Finally, the stirring stopped, and she slumped to the floor, breathing heavily. She kept her eyes on Voldemort without speaking.
A deep scowl was now on his face as he, too, glared back at her.
“Well? They’re obviously still inside me,” Hermione said.
“Obviously,” he replied, annoyance appearing in his voice for the first time that night.
She stared, a bad feeling as well as dread washing over her at the same time. “You—you—you do know how to get those soul pieces out, don’t you?”
“Are you questioning my magical skills, Granger?” he asked, irritation more apparent than ever.
“Yes, I am because your damned soul pieces are still inside me,” she spat out.
He was suddenly in front of her, and before she could back away, his hand grasped her throat, constricting it. What happened next took Hermione by surprise. The fact that he was threatening her, strangling her, should’ve made her frightened, perhaps even made her angry. However, the sudden need to lean into his touch both revolted and confused her.
Must be the soul pieces , the answer flew by in her mind.
Nonetheless, the thoughts were quickly thrown to the side when he started to tighten his hold, and she began to fight against him. She clawed at his hand while attempting to kick him, but he didn’t seem to have any intention of letting her go at all. Her struggles became more and more desperate as he applied more and more pressure to her neck, nearly cutting off her supply of air. Her life flashed before her eyes as sudden grief and fear washed over her.
I don’t want to die like this!
“Don’t test my limit, Mudblood,” he said quietly, his red eyes glinting ominously, as if he didn’t notice her struggling. “You had enough common sense to deduce the very obvious reason why I did not kill you on the spot, but do not assume that I will hold back in torturing you whenever I feel a lesson to put you in your rightful place is required. Your shell is the only thing that is useful to me at the current moment. It wouldn’t matter very much to me if you remain in one piece or if your sanity gets lost somewhere along the line of being tormented. Do we understand one another?”
Hermione opened and closed her mouth, attempting to breathe in air.
“Do we understand one another, Mudblood? And do not make me ask you a third time,” he hissed.
She nodded with difficulty, her eyes watering, and his fingers slowly loosened. She crashed on to the floor when she was finally released, coughing. Her hands shakily went to her neck, and she winced when she touched the area where his hand had been. Her heart pounded painfully against her chest, and she inhaled deeply, appreciating the ability to breathe for the very first time in her life.
“While you are here, you are not to leave this room,” he instructed, as if he had not just manhandled her a few seconds ago.
She wasn’t about to tread on the line between life and death so soon after he’d nearly strangled her, so she quietly nodded. However, that didn’t seem to put him at ease at all. Without another word, he swirled around and waved his wand, putting up wards. With another flick of his wand, one of the two doors inside the room disappeared. Though the windows were covered by curtains, Hermione betted that they had vanished, too.
“The bathroom is through that door,” he said, nodding his head towards the only door left in the room.
His actions frightened her. They implied that she might be staying here much longer than necessary, and because of that, she could no longer hold her tongue.
“But I—the soul pieces—they wouldn’t stay that long in my body, would they? I mean, if you were to—if you’d wanted to get your soul pieces back from Horcruxes, it shouldn’t be that difficult, should it?” she asked, her voice hoarse and sounding foreign to her own ears.
He gazed at her, his eyes unreadable pits of red. “The soul pieces in the flask were not meant to be kept in Horcruxes.”
A sense of dread washed over her, but she recomposed her emotions, ignored the discomfort in her throat, and rasped, “But it doesn’t matter if they were going to be kept in Horcruxes or not. Perhaps however you extract souls from Horcruxes doesn’t work. Big deal. There has to be other ways to extract souls from things that aren’t Horcruxes.”
Voldemort sat down in one of the two armchairs inside the room. “I think you’ve misunderstood my meaning, Miss Granger.”
He did not elaborate, and Hermione had no idea if it were because he didn’t want to share the information or if he didn’t know how to put his thoughts into words. Nonetheless, Hermione wasn’t one to sit back and let her questions stew.
She stood up and slowly made her way to the empty armchair, despite the fact that her body was still slightly shaking. She sat down in the chair and looked at him expectantly, waiting for an answer.
“But you’ve said souls,” she said when he didn’t answer. “Isn’t a person or an object that holds a fragment of the soul of another person considered a Horcrux?”
A wry smile appeared on Voldemort’s face. “If things were only that simple.” His expression slipped back into impassiveness. “I wasn’t planning on putting those soul fragments into another object … or person.”
Silence reigned. It was so prominent that Hermione was sure that she could’ve heard a pin drop as the underlying meaning to his words formed a picture in her mind.
“You mean …” she enunciated slowly, “... you mean, you were planning on merging the fragment of soul inside your body … with those fragments …?”
She ogled at him, watching his expression and hoping against hope that he would shake his head, proving her wrong.
“Yes.”
That single syllable word sounded more like the sound of a bomb dropping on top of her head. She slumped into the chair as if all the energy had been sucked out of her.
This had to be some kind of joke.
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The next couple of weeks went by so slowly that it was bordering on torture. Voldemort had tried various different methods to get the soul pieces out of her body but to no avail.
“They’ve latched onto your magical core,” he had informed her grimly.
At least she’d now figured out why she’d gotten the flask so easily. The soul pieces were kept in the flask after they had been “prepared” to reunite with the bit of soul still left inside Voldemort. Therefore, any magic used near and around the flask might cause some kind of reaction to the soul fragments kept inside. Too bad she’d found out about this information a bit too late.
She theorized that this was also the reason why she reacted the way she did whenever he got too close to her. The pull towards him was undeniable, and Hermione had a feeling that he knew it, judging from the faint smirk that appeared on his face whenever that happened. It made her want to dig a hole in the ground and hide there forever.
She knew that it was because of Voldemort’s soul inside of her, reaching out to the soul inside him, but it didn’t make it less embarrassing— traumatizing and utterly horrifying — whenever she unconsciously leaned towards him before she caught herself.
What made it nearly unbearable was the fact that the room turned out to be hisroom. Hermione refused to sleep in the same bed as him, of course.
“It’s not a problem. I actually don’t mind if you sleep on the floor,” Voldemort had condescendingly informed her.
“I don’t mind either, since it seems like Transfiguring something to a bed is just a bit too advanced of a magic,” she’d quipped.
Voldemort had narrowed his eyes at her, but in the end, he’d still Transfigured one of the armchairs into a bed for her. She would’ve seen it as a triumph if she hadn’t noticed the three shelves filled to the brim with books surrounding said bed. So other than suffering Voldemort’s presence, she also had to fight off the urge to grab all the rare tomes on the shelves and read them. Needless to say, she hardly got any sleep and was, therefore, more irritable than usual. Voldemort didn’t seem to be faring much better either, judging from the ire on his face that seemed to grow with each passing day.
After the thirteenth day (and after trying the fifty-sixth different method to get the souls out), Hermione was tired, frustrated, and on the brink of completely breaking down.
“How difficult could this be?” she snapped when Voldemort stopped with his spell-casting.
He froze on the spot, and his expression was, again, unreadable. Instead of scaring her, it raised her anger another notch.
Some “greatest wizard in the world” he was! He couldn’t even get his damned soul pieces out of her!
“Granger—”
“I have had enough of this! We’ve tried fifty-six different methods—yes, I’ve been counting—and other than giving me pains all over, they didn’t work. If your final goal was to torture me, I would’ve rather you told me right from the beginning instead of—”
“If I’d wanted to torture you, Mudblood, I would’ve done so without giving you idiotic reasons. Use that head of yours—”
“—telling me that it’s because of your stupid soul pieces. Oh right, I’m the one who’s not using my head now, aren’t I? I’m not the one who came up with fifty-sixuseless methods—”
“—It doesn’t hurt your brain to think once in a while. The standards must be pretty low if they’re calling you the ‘brightest witch of her age’. I’ve already told you that this hadn’t happened before and it wasn’t meant to have happened. If you hadn’t stolen the flask—”
“—though I assume it’s easy for you, since you’re not the one who has to go through the methods. If you hadn’t decided to take over the world and kill everyone, perhaps I wouldn’t have thought about blocking your way to immortality! For all I care, continue with your stupid obsession, but no—”
“—none of this would’ve happened. Did you think it was easy, thinking of ways to extract the soul pieces? It’s not my fault that they found your magical core compatible in magic, and I don’t need to explain the reasons for my actions to a Mudblood.”
“—let’s kill Harry and destroy the lives of everyone he cares for. Such a healthy way to work out your childhood issues. Compa— what ?”
They stared at one another. Voldemort was sporting that indecipherable face again, though his hand had tightened into a fist around his wand.
“You said—no,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re lying.”
Though that was what she said, the first thought that went through her head was “That was why he refrained from using magic to torture me, to prevent the souls from becoming more firmly attached to my magical core. ”
A cold smile appeared on Voldemort’s face. “And that would benefit me in what way?”
“I don’t know,” Hermione replied bluntly.
But you always lie, so I’m not putting that past you , was left unsaid.
Voldemort remained silent, as if he were waiting for her to speak. When she failed to deliver, due to the turmoil her mind was going through, he Disapparated from the room.
He had to be lying. Hermione just knew he had to be.
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“You’ve cheated,” she said sourly as she stared at the chessboard.
He waved his hand towards it. “Pray tell, how did I cheat?”
She stared at the damned chessboard for so long that she was pretty sure she could burn holes through it soon. However, for the life of her, she couldn’t think of an answer. She had stated that accusation as an immediate reaction; she’d known that she wasn’t good at chess, judging from the many times she’d lost against Ron, but she’d never suffered such a quick loss.
“... Never mind,” she muttered in the end, still glaring at the chessboard. “One more game?”
A snort came from him and he shook his head. “No thanks, Granger, I’ve had my ego boosted up enough for the day after beating you seven times, though I suppose it’s not much of an ego boost when your opponent is so horrible at the game.” He shot her a condescending glance.
“Yeah, yeah, keep rubbing it in,” she grumbled.
Hermione couldn’t very well remember how they’d started playing chess with one another; it would’ve been far less odder if they had been friends or even acquaintances. But they were enemies, the worst kind of enemies there were. Nonetheless, for the past couple of days, they’d managed to hold civil conversations while playing chess out of all things.
It had opened Hermione’s eyes to the things that Voldemort knew. It became apparent after a couple of conversations that he wasn’t just well-versed in magic; he had a firm understanding in Muggle things as well, much to her surprise. Though she would deny it if anyone asked, she secretly admitted to herself that she enjoyed having these conversations with him. Surprisingly, she seemed to be getting slightly better at chess. At least she didn’t lose within five minutes into a game nowadays.
“Are we going to try a different method today?” she asked, none too enthusiastically.
He didn’t immediately answer, and Hermione was under the impression that he was deep in thought. She gazed at him curiously, wondering what he was up to this time. It took nearly a full minute before he realized she was observing him, and he looked back at her questioningly, which she answered to with a roll of her eyes.
“Are we going to try a different method today?” she repeated.
“No, not today,” he replied. “I will need to do some research in Malfoy’s library—no, I don’t have to raid Lucius’s library. He may be rich, but he doesn’t exactly have the intelligence to figure out where Merlin hid his possessions.”
A self-satisfied look appeared on his face, but it was thoroughly ignored by Hermione.
“Why don’t you just bring all the books here then?” she asked.
He crossed his arms over his chest and theatrically peered over her shoulders at his book collection. “So you can stare at the titles and salivate all over the floor some more?”
A blush tainted her cheeks and she crossed her arms over her chest, too. “I was just being curious.”
“Curiosity kills the cat, Granger,” he said.
“But satisfaction brought it back,” she replied snarkily.
A mocking glint appeared in his eyes. “Satisfaction? According to the piece of soul that was in Potter, he wasn’t … adventurous enough to give anyone satisfaction.”
She sputtered, not missing his underlying meaning. “I didn’t mean it that way!” Attempting to steer the conversation back to safe waters, she added, “And besides, cats have nine lives.”
He gave her a look that clearly told her that he knew what she was doing. Nonetheless, he answered, “Metaphorically.”
Nonetheless, his words made her head reel. She’d previously thought that there were only two soul pieces left inside that flask—the one from the diadem and one from Nagini. But apparently, there were other soul pieces in there as well, not to mention she’d never known there was a soul piece in Harry. She was pretty certain that Voldemort himself didn’t know this either, so how did he retrieve that soul piece from wherever it had gone after Harry died? Perhaps he’d performed some kind of dark ritual to reacquire all the soul fragments that had been lost due to his Horcruxes being destroyed?
He tilted his head to one side, seemingly surprised that she didn’t answer. Upon seeing this, Hermione threw those speculations to the back of her head for a later time.
“Seeing that I currently have your soul pieces in my body, I do think that I don’t necessarily have to worry about my personal health at the moment,” she said smugly.
He leaned forward, his red eyes glinting almost challengingly. “If you were as certain about your health as you claim to be, you would’ve touched those books on the shelves instead of spending your time staring hungrily at them.”
She could almost feel her cheeks turn a darker shade of red. Recomposing herself, she retorted, “Perhaps I just didn’t want anything to do with dark magic.”
Instead of answering her, he laughed, and Hermione had the unpleasant feeling that he was laughing at her .
“What’s so funny?” she demanded.
It took a while for him to stop laughing, much to Hermione’s displeasure, and even when he did, he still had that annoying smirk on his face.
“You’re an atrocious liar, Granger,” he remarked.
“I’m not lying,” she protested.
“Hm …” he replied.
“I’m not lying,” she repeated.
“If you insist,” he answered mockingly as he got out of his armchair. “I’ll be back later.”
It was after he Disapparated that she realized, she didn’t know what Voldemort was accusing her of lying about.
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Entwined