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Two Steps From Hell	By : Ssserpensssotia Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 30375 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. No profit is being made. No copyright infringement is intended. Everything Harry Potter related belongs to J.K.Rowling.

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
- 11
Hi all!
See, how fast I can update? Considering I write each chapter from scratch, I'd say I'm pretty quick with the updates. Cool, no? ;)
I do my best when I write the story, and it is really nice to know if the story is appreciated or not.

If you're interested, there is a melody that I believe- or hope- will represent this story. The music is much better than my writing, but I do my best.
I'll stop my ramblings as I hate long ANs.
Music theme: Two Steps From Hell by Nero (no copyright intended)
Beta: Serpent in Red
Enjoy.
xxx
Two Steps From Hell
xxx
Chapter 10
Two weeks later
19th September
Looking at the proud brown owl that was sitting in a golden cage on a perch inside her room, Hermione opened the envelope and retrieved a single piece of paper.
A small smile appeared on her face.
Use it wisely.
She could now talk more frequently to her friends, and an owl was a nice companion. And it was a gift, the hidden meaning aside. She wasn't an owl and her cage wasn't golden.
She still had mixed feelings regarding the whole boggart incident, but at least now, she stopped blushing in Voldemort's presence. Ever since her boggart had done that in front of the Dark Lord, Hermione found an unwelcomed blush creep up her cheeks every time she went to see him.
Reaching her hand towards the proud bird, Hermione started their first conversation.
"Hello, beautiful."
It was a good day.
xxx
Beginning of October
After finally accepting the fact that she could not study to be a Spells Architect without also studying the Dark Arts, Hermione had found the guts to approach the Dark Arts Professor.
Professor Alpheus Caelius was an older man, somewhere around Dumbledore's age, and he looked so harmless, so aerial that the first time Hermione had seen him, she'd thought he teached Divinations instead of the notorious Dark Arts.
While Voldemort resembled the Emperor—with his voluminous hood and majestic robes—then Professor Caelius reminded Hermione of a taller Yoda, and there was nothing she could do to get rid of such Star Wars themed association.
Hermione hoped Voldemort would have been amused and not pissed if he knew who the Emperor was.
They would understand each other before Voldemort would off the Sith Lord because according to Him, there could be only one Dark Lord, and he did not share.
What was she thinking?
Lately, Hermione caught herself on the thoughts that Voldemort's constantly raised hood started to really bother her.
Hermione lingered in the dimly illuminated hallway before taking a deep breath and knocking on the door of Professor Caelius' office.
The old Professor happily agreed to explain what his course was about when he heard her name.
"I was wondering when you would come to me, Miss Granger." His voice was wise and patient, like a true teacher, but Hermione noticed he looked a bit different that before.
His eyes shone with sharp curiosity and barely tamed excitement now when usually he looked to be absent most of the time.
"Professor Caelius, may I ask why you believed I would come to you?" Hermione inquired politely while putting two sugars into her cup and lifting the tea to her lips.
Scalding heat washed over her mouth, and Hermione almost spat it out before swallowing quickly.
Dammit, it hurts!
Her tongue and throat burned, and Hermione could not feel her mouth anymore.
Her eyes watered.
The old Professor was now standing near her, his old wrinkled hand on her shoulder and his apologizing but smiling face was bent closer to her.
"Are you alright, my dear? I hope the tea wasn't too hot."
He was sincere, and Hermione smiled in return, her burnt tongue moving with difficulty.
"Oh, I am so happy you finally came to me, Miss Granger. I have been waiting since the day I saw you, hoping you would visit the old Professor soon. And now, you're here."
Swiftly, Professor Caelius cast a healing spell on her tongue, and a second later, there was no trace of the incident left.
"Thank you, Professor," Hermione thanked sincerely before frowning in question.
"I am sorry, Professor Caelius, but why were you expecting me?"
Why would a pureblood, hundred and twenty years old Dark Arts Professor from Illuminus University of Magic wait for her?
"But how could I not?" Professor Caelius smiled before pointing to her right hand that was now holding a cup filled with warm tea, the golden band on her index finger slightly gleaming.
"How could I not notice it? Your ring bears the signature of the caster, and trust me, Miss Granger, that signature I'd recognize anywhere," he explained with an air of dotage, and Hermione's eyes widened in realization.
He knows Voldemort.
"I see, Professor."
Which should have been logical, but for some reason, Hermione had never thought about it.
Her Dark Arts Professor knew Lord Voldemort, and apparently, he was also a fan.
Wonderful.
What was she supposed to say? Hermione didn't even know if anyone was aware of just who her guardian was.
Well, at least she didn't have to ask if he would accept her late registration to his classes and allow her to participate in the studies next semester.
After the whole fiasco with her first practical exam, Hermione had to finally accept that she needed the knowledge provided by—and the possibility to cast—the Dark Arts. She didn't have to take the course next year, as it wasn't her mastery, but she had to learn Dark Arts for one semester. She wouldn't go crazy in one semester, would she?
Hermione didn't say anything to Harry or the Order, and she wasn't planning on sharing this little detail anytime soon.
What they don't know can't hurt them.
And she still hadn't told Voldemort.
Hermione didn't want to imagine the Dark Lord's reaction when she told him she wanted to study the Dark Arts.
Would he laugh at her?
Most probably.
Her internal musings were interrupted by the old Professor.
"I met him almost fifty years ago when he was just a young man. And I still haven't found a mind that could rival his in brilliance, nor even a close match to the magnificence that his magic is." Professor Caelius' eyes now had a faraway look in them, and his voice sounded almost adoring.
Definitely a fan.
However, if the Professor put it that way, Hermione couldn't not agree.
Judging straightly on intellect, Voldemort was the most brilliant man Hermione had ever met. It was just too bad he decided to use his genius on evil doings.
And his magic … well, the lesson on the cliff was still fresh in her mind even after all those months, and Hermione had to agree that magically, Voldemort was just as brilliant as he was intellectually. If not more.
It were all other sides of him that proved to be difficult.
"I am so looking forward to our lessons, Miss Granger!" The old Professor now seemed to be full of life and unrestrained happiness.
Who would have thought Voldemort could have such an effect on people?
But she needed to know something before she would approach the Dark Lord, and she hoped the Dark Art's Professor would clear some things for her.
"Professor Caelius, may I ask a question about the Dark Arts?" Hermione asked carefully, not knowing how he would react to such a question. She wasn't worried as much about the curriculum as the Arts themselves.
She didn't want to end up as her boggart—an insane Death Eater to the boot—and Hermione needed to know the risks of using Dark Magic. The old Professor didn't look, well, crazy, and Hermione wondered how he had remained sane while teaching Arts like Dark Magic.
Professor Caelius leaned back in his chair, one hand stroking his silver beard—short and well-cared for—and the other lying on the wooden table, one finger drumming slowly.
"Let me try to guess, Miss Granger," he said after a minute and Hermione smiled in return.
"You are wondering if studying Dark Arts would make you a Dark Witch—"
At Hermione's attempt to put in a word he raised his palm, telling her silently to wait.
"—and if the Arts will influence your mind. You are scared to lose yourself in them. Am I correct?"
Hermione could only nod and add a "Yes, Professor."
"Trust me, Miss Granger, every year at least half of my students ask me the same question—"
At Hermione's disbelieving expression, he chuckled good-heartedly before continuing.
"—and every year I tell them the same thing that I am going to tell you."
Hermione was all ears.
Looking Hermione in the eyes—his eyes were light blue, and not red—Professor Caelius explained in calm and unrushed tone what Hermione had come here to hear.
"Dark Arts is a form of our Magic; it is a natural part of us. Like light needs shadows, the Light Arts need the Dark Arts. When we say Dark, we don't mean evil or bad, we mean Shadowed. It is the Ministries of Magic—like yours, for example—that used to ban and shame this branch of magic, twisting its true meaning to fit their goals." The Professor paused to take a sip of his tea, and Hermione couldn't wait for him to stop drinking so she could hear the rest.
"The Dark Arts allow you to reach a part of your magic that is more volatile but more powerful. Self-control is what separates those who get addicted to the Dart Magic and those who don't. Self-control and intention—those are the fundamentals of Dark Arts and only those two factors will decide whether you fly or you fall." The Professor was now looking at her curiously.
That was exactly what Voldemort had told her on the cliff!
"And if you're afraid to fly, you fall," Hermione repeated the Dark Lord's phrase, and she saw Professor's eyes shine with barely hidden amusement.
"Wise words, Miss Granger, and I sincerely hope you'll listen to them." His pointed glare wasn't reprimanding; it was more like an advice from a person who knew what he was talking about.
Maybe it wasn't so bad after all?
She'd talk to Voldemort tomorrow.
xxx
"Would you repeat the question, Miss Granger." The Dark Lord's amused voice made Hermione wiggle in her chair. It wasn't like she had a choice.
"I would like to study the Dark Arts, sir."
Hermione also needed to hear it the second time just to be sure she wasn't dreaming.
She, Hermione Granger—a Member of the Order of the Phoenix—was asking Lord Voldemort—the Dark Lord—if she could study the Dark Arts.
A short, cold laugh just like she had expected and then a calm but serious "I don't think so".
What?
"I beg your pardon, Miss Granger, not what. Don't be so plebian," Voldemort reprimanded her and Hermione almost blushed. "You have no respect for the Dark Arts, and unless I am mistaken, last time you'd declared your profound hate and disgust for the same Arts you so desperately wish to study now." The Dark Lord was standing with his back to her, looking out of the window.
His cloak and hood were as always present, and Hermione wished—not for the first time—that he'd stop wearing them. It was better to see his serpentine face and be able to decipher at least some emotions in his creepy red eyes than trying to guess what he was thinking while looking into darkness where his face should be.
"Tell me, Miss Granger, are you bipolar by any chance?"
Shut up, Hermione, shut up!
Hermione thought she caught herself before she voiced her comeback in her mind.
Hermione pursed her lips when Voldemort turned to look at her.
The Dark Lord tsked before moving away from the windows.
"And what made you change your mind?" The Dark Lord sat himself opposite of her.
"I understood that I need to learn the Dark Arts to study Spell Creation and other classes, sir," Hermione answered with a bit of shame that Voldemort had been correct. She had acted like a stubborn child then.
"And?" The Dark Lord's voice held a note of impatience and Hermione continued quickly.
"And I had spoken to the Dark Arts Professor. His name is Alpheus Caelius, sir." Hermione so wished to see the Dark Lord's expression now!
Hermione saw Voldemort slightly nod his head a few times.
"Does the old man still offer obnoxiously scalding tea without warning first or had he learned how to cast the Temperature charm after all those years?"
Hermione wasn't fast enough to hold her laugh back.
Did that mean that … She didn't dare to voice her question, but she so wanted to know!
"Yes, you aren't the first one, Miss Granger." Voldemort's voice was amused and light and Hermione caught on the fact that the Dark Lord had shared something private for the first time.
And he was joking with her.
It made her feel peculiar.
"And he's a definite fan of yours, sir," Hermione said sheepishly, smiling a bit.
A short, but genuine chuckle left the hooded figure and Hermione wondered if his eyes shone with amusement.
What was she thinking?!
It was strange, but Voldemort didn't comment on her inner thoughts very often now; it felt to Hermione as if he was trying not to hear them at all.
"Then the old man hasn't changed at all. Give him my regards, Miss Granger, when you see him the next time. Just don't take fanmail." Voldemort drank his wine, and Hermione had to stifle another laugh that wanted to escape.
Voldemort had a unique sense of humor—dry, sarcastic, and really funny if it wasn't directed at her.
What was wrong with her?
Was she crazy?!
"It will be difficult, Miss Granger, very difficult seeing that you don't even have a basic knowledge of the Dark Arts." Voldemort was now twirling his wand between his leather-gloved fingers, and Hermione wondered if he was going to curse her.
"We are talking about your studies, aren't we?" His voice sounded calm but a bit annoyed.
"Yes, sir," Hermione answered quickly, unsure why he was asking.
"Then stop squirming in the chair and calm down. You know the rules, don't you?"
The "Hood" was back.
Thank god!
"Sir, may I please study the Dark Arts?" Hermione repeated, feeling more at ease with the "Hood" back.
If Voldemort said no, she'd be in big trouble with all her studies.
"Eager, aren't we today?" The Dark Lord had again crossed his feet and laid his head on his gloved hand, its elbow on the armrest.
Hermione preferred to remain silent.
"Every day for two months you'll be studying the basic Dark Arts," Voldemort finally said after a minute.
Before Hermione could voice her concerns that Dark Arts had to be supervised in order for the process to be fluent and not succumbing, the Dark Lord continued.
"Under my supervision. If I deem your progress to be sufficient, I will allow you to study the Dark Arts at Illuminus."
Hermione wasn't sure how she felt.
What horrible things he could make her learn, what obscure-
"I'll make it more clear to you, Miss Granger. As your beloved Muggles say: It's my way or the highway. You either learn what I think you should learn, or you can forget about the Dark Arts forever."
While Voldemort was the best possible teacher, he still was a Dark Lord.
But she really had no choice now!
She didn't trust him in general, but as far as her academic life was concerned, he had her tentative trust.
Life is going to get even more interesting.
xxx
Mid-November
It was past midnight and Hermione found herself standing on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, its woods dark and full of dangers, and the night was also so dark that no moonlight reached the soggy ground. The rain had just stopped and it was cold outside.
Hermione's outer robes were keeping her warm even without the Warming charm, and her feet were clad into ankle-high leather boots with soft fur inside and on the outer brim.
"It's the Forbidden Forest, sir." Hermione's voice sounded a bit incredulous as she looked at the hooded figure of the Dark Lord.
"Is it really?"
Hermione gritted her teeth in annoyance as she waited for Voldemort to continue.
She couldn't even see where he was looking with the hood shadowing his head completely!
"Why are we in the Forbidden Forest, sir?" Hermione asked, looking at where his eyes would be.
The hood was starting to really annoy her.
"What better place could there be for a romantic picnic in the dim moonlight, Miss Granger?" Voldemort's voice wasn't as cold as it could be and he sounded almost light.
Several months ago, Hermione would have already started to panic at the innuendo, but now, after spending so much time in the company of Lord Voldemort—the Hood!—she could already decipher his moods pretty well.
Today—or now, at least—he seemed to be in his rare playful mood.
Good.
Hermione did not know what she felt when he showed this side of him—not a maniacal Dark Lord, but an extremely powerful and knowledgeable sorcerer with a wicked sense of humor.
She felt peculiar.
"I forgot the picnic basket, sir."
After so much time in his presence, Hermione also felt when she was allowed more than usual.
And today was such a day.
"I would have thought that you were by now familiar with food searching in the woods, Miss Granger. I'm sure you'll manage to not let us starve."
Voldemort was now facing Hermione, and she tried to hide a small smile that appeared in the corners of her mouth.
"I am afraid my cooking would not be to your standards, sir."
Hermione's inner profiler smiled in pleasure when Voldemort chuckled silently.
Was he smiling? That hood-
"Miss Granger, you have your practical Dark Arts test today and all you're thinking about is the hood of my robes," the Dark Lord mocked lightly, and Hermione felt her cheeks heat up.
"Sir, but why are we here? I thought that the Forbidden Forest was prohibited for attendance after midnight and until four in the morning," Hermione asked, seriously intrigued.
She wasn't evading the topic of her thoughts!
She had wondered about the rules before and came to a conclusion that they ensured that no students from Hogwarts would enter the Forest at night, looking for adventures. Like before.
Hermione thought that "not allowed" would not be questioned when the Headmaster was a notorious Death Eater.
It was very considerate of the Headmaster. Or Voldemort.
"And who's going to tell me where I can go and where I cannot, Miss Granger?" Voldemort continued his way into the forest, and Hermione had to speed up her steps to not get left behind.
Hermione felt stupid for even voicing such a question.
Really, who?
"You need a test subject for the practical part of the test and where else would we find such a selection as here? Unless your resolve to not use Muggles crumbled, I see no other way." The Dark Lord now stopped on a small meadow and a bit of moonlight reached his hooded figure.
Hermione wondered if he was frowning in thought.
Hermione crushed the thought about his hood with a heavy mental hammer before it could even raise its annoying head again. Hearing a wolf howl—it's wasn't a full moon—Hermione looked at her companion who now started walking into the thick of the dark, dangerous woods.
Hermione took her time looking around—unlike all her other visits to the Forbidden Forest,she wasn't scared now.
What was there to be afraid of if she had a Dark Lord as her guide?
Well, she was afraid, but not for her life—more for the well-being of the creatures that would cross their path.
Suddenly, several wolves and wild cats approached the path on which they were standing and Hermione unintentionally took a step closer to Voldemort.
As the animals started approaching, something stopped them in their tracks, and Hermione looked up at the Dark Lord's tall form.
He looked almost bored, his wand not even in his hand.
Hermione relaxed.
The animals suddenly whined, and with tails between their paws, they started retreating, not turning their backs at them even once.
And Hermione understood.
There was only one hunter in the woods tonight; everyone else was a prey.
"How did you do that, sir?" Hermione asked curiously. She hadn't felt his aura change.
It was a question about magic and she could ask without fearing an outlash.
"It's one of the benefits of being the Dark Lord, Miss Granger." Voldemort's voice was very relaxed and calm with a slight hint of humor in it.
Hermione wondered if she dared.
"And what are the other benefits, sir?"
Hermione wondered if his playful mood was still present or had it already disappeared.
Crucio or no Crucio?
It wasn't like I can decipher his expression, can I?
She hoped for the best.
"I don't have to stand in line to see the Weird Sisters."
Hermione's hand covered her mouth as she tried to stifle a disbelieving giggle. She couldn't imagine the Dark Lord attending a teenage group's concert. Hermione just had to ask.
"What kind of music do you prefer, sir?"
Voldemort took a step closer and Hermione licked her lips.
"Why the sudden interest, Miss Granger?" His voice was lower now, more silky and sensual.
Did she just think that?
"I'm simply curious, sir," Hermione answered while looking into his hood, where his eyes should be.
"Are you now?" A mere whisper, but Hermione shivered.
It was cold outside.
"Very much," Hermione hissed back, her voice quivering a bit.
She told herself she was afraid.
"We'll discuss my musical taste at another time, Miss Granger. Your test awaits you." He switched to English, and Hermione released a breath she wasn't aware she had been holding.
"Yes, sir."
Xxx
"Sievera!"
The spider twitched as its legs were torn from its body.
Hermione felt horrible, but a spider was better than a deer. Or a human.
Voldemort demanded that Hermione used three Dark Spells that would cause harm and pain, but he left the choice for the test subject to her. While he could have simply stated that unless Hermione used a human as her test subject, she would fail, Voldemort had taken a completely opposite route and it really bothered Hermione.
Dark Lords did not give so many choices without a hidden agenda, and he allowed her to chose a huge Acromantula instead of what could have been a human. Hermione didn't know what to think.
Other than those three spells, the Dark Arts studies with the Dark Lord weren't that bad.
The Dark Arts were so much more than just the Unforgivables, and Hermione appreciated all the complicated charms and spells when they weren't meant to cause harm.
Like now.
She had to perform those spells to pass the Dark Arts test that would decide if Voldemort would allow her to study the Arts at the university or not.
She had to pass!
"Purgis Verta!"
The spider's body convulsed as blood started seeping through the skin.
Hermione wanted to cry.
She was torturing a spider with the Dark Arts in the Forbidden Forest with Lord Voldemort standing a few steps behind her.
Had anyone told her that—what, where and, with whom—half a year ago, Hermione would had advised them to immediately turn to St. Mungo's ward for the mentally unstable.
Hermione did not understand how it was possible to enjoy the Dark Arts. She appreciated them and even respected them, but obsessing over them? Definitely not.
She was sure now she would not get addicted as she felt no pleasure in them. They were magic as usual.
As Hermione prepared herself to cast the last spell—the most complicated and harmful—she felt Voldemort's presence directly behind her.
Her heart sped up.
Suddenly, her wand hand was covered by his gloved one and her wand was now held in their joined hands. Hermione could feel the hem of his robes surround her, and the solid presence behind her back let her know just how closely he was standing now.
Hermione swallowed hard.
"Feel it." A shudder ran through her body at the voice in her left ear.
"Maleo Sensa!"
And Hermione's already galloping heart almost jumped out of her chest as the feeling of pure euphoria raced through her veins, clouding her mind with pleasure.
Voldemort's hand was holding her own, his gloved index finger on top of hers—directly on her wand—and Hermione leaned back from the sensations that were overwhelming her. His magic became hers as well, and for a second, Hermione thought she had died.
Her back was now fully pressed into the Dark Lord's chest, and Hermione closed her eyes.
The spider stopped twitching after the analog of the Cruciatus—just milder and not an Unforgivable—and was now dead.
"I find your performance acceptable," Voldemort said slowly as he stepped back from her, and Hermione looked at the spider.
She'd need to analyze her thoughts when she got home.
At least she passed!
Hermione felt peculiar as she approached the Dark Lord and took his outstretched gloved hand.
She preferred his way of Apparition.
xxx
End of November
Hermione closed the book she had been reading and cast a glance towards the hooded figure.
After talking to Harry yesterday, Hermione could not concentrate on anything else.
She had thought about the Hallows all night, trying to find a way to approach the topic without immediately finding herself on the receiving end of Voldemort's wand as the question wasn't studies related, and Hermione doubted the Dark Lord would simply provide her with answers.
Hermione would have preferred to wait for a better opportunity, but Harry had almost begged her to find out, and Hermione could not find it in her heart to say no.
And she was curious.
While they had known all along that Voldemort now had all three Deathly Hallows, Hermione had never seen him use the Elder Wand.
What had he done with the Hallows? Did he hide them somewhere—what spells would he use to protect them?—or did he …
It was useless to guess and Hermione decided she would ask him. Now.
"Sir, I have a question that is magic related but not study related." Hermione liked her wording. She was free to ask magic related questions, was she not?
The Dark Lord closed the book he was reading and put it on the table.
She had his attention now.
"Very Slytherin approach, Miss Granger, maybe there is still hope for you."
Hermione heard a small smirk—she couldn't see it, could she!—and watched as Voldemort leaned back into his spacious chair.
If only she could see his face!
"You may proceed," the Dark Lord drawled almost lazily.
Hermione gritted her teeth at the tone, but quickly voiced her question.
"Sir, I was wondering about the Deathly Hallows—" Hermione watched for any reaction—the hood wasn't helping!—and only a tilt of his head showed Hermione that she was allowed to continue.
"I was wondering what you have done with them, sir." Hermione thought her eyes would start watering if she stared any harder: shoulders relaxed, one gloved hand on armrest, the other under his chin—damn hood!—feet crossed—so far, so good.
The Dark Lord tilted his head to the right—his usual gesture when thinking—and Hermione tried not to fidget.
Voldemort raised his hand and a heavy tome flew into his opened palm.
Hermione stared at the book, wondering what was going to happen now, when the next second, the book was in her lap.
'Mala non timeam', Hermione read the cover with greedy eyes and lifted her astonished gaze to look at the Dark Lord.
Was it really …
"If you want to know what I had done with the Hallows, you will find the answer by yourself. This book will help you." His voice was pensive and slightly curious, as he waited for her reaction.
Hermione looked at the book again before closing her eyes for a second.
She had one of the most rarest and obscure Dark Arts books in her hands now, and she had to read it if she wanted the answers.
Looking at the title, Hermione didn't feel so sure anymore.
'I will fear no evil.'
xxx
AN: I sincerely hope you enjoyed it. Your comments and constructive criticism are highly appreciated. Waves!
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Two Steps From Hell