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The Apprentice	By : Nerys Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 62963 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 8
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 10
- 11
- 12
The Apprentice

Chapter Eleven

‘Interesting,’ Dumbledore said, glancing over the scroll for a moment to look at the boy seated on the other side of his desk.

Despite the summer holiday, he found himself having to remain in Hogwarts almost twenty-four/seven these days. So many things had to be taken care of before September. Having to divide his time between the Ministry, the Order, the Council, Lord Voldemort and his cronies, Horcruxes, Harry, Draco, Hermione, finding Horace, and the normal Hogwarts proceedings, he doubted he would see the inside of his own house at all this year.

‘Very interesting indeed,’ he mumbled, reading on.

Restlessly, Draco Malfoy sat on his chair. He’d been moving from one side to the other constantly, his nerves not quite up to the challenge of having the Hogwarts Headmaster read his essay on Controlled Casting in front of him. So far, Professor Dumbledore hadn’t used the quill in his hand once to correct anything Draco had written down. Draco tensed when Dumbledore made a move with his hand, but the man halted his quill inches from the parchment thoughtfully.

‘No, no, if you take Kolinsky under consideration, it’s also an option,’ he muttered to himself, and put the quill down again without touching the parchment.

Draco tried hard not to keep looking at the shrivelled hand; but somehow his eyes continuously drew to it. Merlin, he’d be doing the old coot a favour, putting him out of his misery. It looked like he had begun to rot before lying down in his grave. Draco wrinkled his nose. It really was disgusting. Why didn’t the man wear a glove to cover it up? Did he have to force his disabilities on others? Yuck.

At last, Dumbledore placed the scroll down. Contemplatively, his bright blue eyes bore over his half-moon glasses into Draco’s eyes. ‘This essay is acceptable,’ Dumbledore said, folding his hands together; his elbows leaning on his desk, which caused the sleeves of his dark-blue robe to drop and reveal his wand. It was attached to the base of his arm in some kind of invisible method.

‘Acceptable?’ Draco thought upset. ‘Acceptable! He hadn’t made any corrections! Acceptable wouldn’t cut it; the Mudblood-’

‘I’d appreciate it if you were to refrain from using such derogatory words in my office, Draco,’ Dumbledore said coolly. ‘I may not be able to monitor your behaviour outside of it, but in here you will show the proper respect to all those around you.’

Draco turned pale; the man had been inside his mind and he hadn’t noticed. For how long?

‘Is this clear to you?’ asked Dumbledore when there was no response.

‘Yes, Professor,’ Draco muttered softly.

‘Good,’ Dumbledore said, turning his attention back to the scroll in front of him. ‘Now as I said, this is an acceptable first draft. You have covered all the basics, so it will most certainly be of enough quality to the other Keepers. However, I fear some of this will prove to be impossible to actually perform and there is a practical exam attached to this essay.’ He looked up. ‘Tell me, Draco, how do you plan to show your skill in Controlled Casting?’

Draco frowned. How did he plan to show his skill? Wasn’t he supposed to learn that shit from Dumbledore? After all, last time he checked he’d been assigned to the – oh so – lucky task of apprenticing to a sugar junkie – not the other way around. So why did he have to think of an answer? Dumbledore should just supply him with it. He was the bloody guide. Merlin’s beard, after all those lemon drops, it was no wonder the man’s hand was rotting; he wondered how much damage Dumbledore’s brain had sustained, considering his boring speeches every year it was bound to be more substantial than the rot in his hand.

Dumbledore chuckled.

See, the man was mental. There was absolutely nothing to laugh about and… Sweet Salazar, not again!

He needed those lessons from his aunt quickly and not just for Snape. But he hadn’t been able to find the damn books on Occlumency in his father’s library. The whole section was cleaned out completely – probably during the ministerial raid on his house, right after his father got arrested. He had to go to Flourish and Blotts after this meeting and buy them again. Pretty weird though, them taking those books, it wasn’t like those were illegal and they hadn’t even found the real dark arts items in the mansion. And why was he thinking this right now? Stupid, stupid, stupid. He needed to deal with the subject at hand.

‘Am I not supposed to learn Controlled Casting from you, Professor?’ asked Draco, fiddling with his hands. He really didn’t have a clue how to get McMullen’s theory to work. He had tried, but nothing.

‘Yes, but as your guide, I have the responsibility of teaching you everything in concurrence with the theory you wish to uphold,’ Dumbledore said, leaning back in his chair.

Draco frowned. ‘But what if my theory on Controlled Casting is incorrect?’ he asked, worried.

‘Then you will fail.’

Gasping, Draco stared at Dumbledore. ‘But-but…’

‘Your essay is of acceptable standards; the theory you are following commonly accepted as the truth. However,’ Dumbledore said, rising from his chair. ‘No one has ever been able to use McMullen’s Theory of Everything in reality when it comes down to undoing an already cast spell. Some say it is simply a lack of wizarding powers that causes wizards to fail performing his solution, and there are a mere few who claim the theory is flawed.’

‘If no one has ever been able to do it, then why give us this assignment?’ asked Draco, baffled, and somewhat annoyed with the stupid Keepers. This wasn’t the first silly task he had to make, after all. He followed Dumbledore with his eyes as the man strolled around.

‘It’s seen as the ultimate achievement in Controlled Casting – its Holy Grail if you will. We strive to find the very best to join our council, so sometimes we ask for something we don’t expect to be delivered – just to check the creativity and power of our candidates.’

Dumbledore halted his movement around the room to scratch Fawkes under his beak. The phoenix closed its eyes and leaned his head back in delight, while Dumbledore stared off into thin air. Draco waited, impatiently, for the man to resume his explanation.

‘In all the years of existence of the Council of Fourteen, there has only been one candidate who finished this assignment fully and he wasn’t a particular fan of McMullen’s theory,’ Dumbledore said, a small smile on his lips.

‘Was that you, Professor?’ Draco asked, leaning forward eagerly.

‘No,’ Dumbledore responded, his eyes twinkling. ‘No, it is safe to say it was not me, nor am I qualified or willing to teach you his method. There are certain … drawbacks one must overcome to use it. It is my firm belief the price is too steep.’

Draco slumped down in his chair, disappointed.

‘You can make it to the next round without being able to fulfil this practical to one-hundred percent completion, Draco,’ Dumbledore said reassuringly. ‘But you will need to show sufficient aptitude in controlling your magical powers and the spells you cast. And you need to do it in concurrence with the theory in your essay.’

Draco looked down at the floor, thoughtfully, thinking of the right thing to ask. ‘What would you do, Professor? Keep the essay like it is or would you change something?’

‘It is your path, your decisions that will determine the outcome for you - whether that be light, grey or dark.’

Now what was that supposed to mean? See, this was why he needed another teacher. The man would drive him mental with these constant vague statements.

‘It’s only vague to those who do not know their path.’

Draco closed his eyes, groaning. ‘I know what I want to achieve.’

‘Do you really?’ Dumbledore asked curiously, halting his stroll around the office a few feet away from Draco’s chair. Looking down, he said seriously, ‘Or do you just follow orders, Draco? Tell those more powerful than you what you think they want to hear, instead of listening to your own heart and mind?’

‘I am my own person! I make up my own mind!’ Draco shouted, jumping to his feet so he would be at least somewhat on equal level. He already had this debate with his mother; he didn’t feel like repeating it.

‘My dear boy, I hope so,’ Dumbledore said, sighing tired, ‘because following those bend on pain and destruction will not lead to happiness.’

‘Can we keep this to the point?’ Draco hissed furiously. ‘I may have to be your apprentice, but I have no interest in these lectures.’

‘These lectures could have been avoided had you read my letter,’ Dumbledore said, placing his hand on Draco’s shoulder.

‘I saw what happened to Granger,’ Draco snarled, jerking his shoulder back. ‘What do you think I am, a fool?’

Dumbledore shook his head sadly, and walked away. ‘No,’ he said, halting in front of the window overseeing the Quidditch pitch and the mountains in the distance. ‘No, I would never mistake you for a fool. However, being an apprentice is more than just fulfilling this essay-assignment. The essay is a means to an end, Draco, not the other way around. You will learn.’ He nodded thoughtfully. ‘You will learn, and you are very fortunate that - unlike Hermione’s guide - I take no pleasure in causing pain in others.’

He swirled around, brandishing his wand. Draco Malfoy never even had the chance to blink his eyes before the Dream Charm hit him and he crashed to the floor fast asleep.

---

As Lord Voldemort locked the door behind him, Hermione realised she felt a whole lot better about herself and her abilities now; even though she was tired as hell, felt a pounding headache coming up, and was a bit nauseated. She smiled satisfied and rose out of her chair. She would lie down on the bed for awhile to rest and then undertake the now seemingly impossible hard task of showering. She was glad when she plummeted in bed and felt the soft pillow caressing her head. This was so much better.

Still, it had been an insightful day. She didn’t think she ever learned that much on a practical subject this quickly. You could really tell Lord Voldemort knew an awful lot on the subject. At least she hadn’t made an absolute fool of herself, while trying to keep him out. She’d been worried about it beforehand, while reading the books on Legilimency and Occlumency. Worried she wouldn’t be able to keep him out for even a second. He was known for his skill in this area after all, and with her being his apprentice and a Muggle-born and so on, it would have been devastating if she had failed. But he’d actually complimented her. It was such a huge relief. She pulled the other pillow over and hugged it to belly. Perhaps this wasn’t going to be as bad as she had envisioned it to be. He’d actually been quite civilized to her – he’d been civilized to her, she repeated slowly.

Shocked, her eyes widened as the truth of the cause of her emotions began to sink in. He’d seen her fear of failure; she’d shown him that memory herself and he hadn’t taken advantage of it. He hadn’t taken advantage of any of her horrible weaknesses she had shown him. Instead he had reassured her, made her feel good about herself. He’d complimented her, a Mudblood! He had to be plotting something, no doubt something involving Harry. She was his best friend after all. Suspicion became her new primary emotion, followed quickly with anger at herself.

By Merlin, that man really was a Master Manipulator and she had fallen for it.

She slammed her hand to her forehead for being so stupid to let Lord Voldemort reassure you and buy it. Agh! She had to be really exhausted if she fell for nonsense like that - really, really exhausted. After everything she’d heard from Ginny about Tom Marvolo Riddle, she still had walked straight into his trap – not noticing for a second, he was feeding her a load of balls. He probably had laughed at her expense afterwards, making fun of her gullibility.

God, why had she even wanted his approval? It wasn’t like it mattered what the likes of him thought of her. Really, was she ever going to stop caring so much about what everybody else in the whole, wide world thought of her? Irritated with herself, she rolled to her other side. She had to make sure this was not happening again; she’d see to it; this would not happen again – never, ever again. She was only here for that blasted assignment and that was it. She had to keep her eye on the ball or it would drop on her head and kill her for sure.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Still angry about her stupidity, she fell fast asleep, not knowing it would take her more than forty-eight hours to recover and wake again. Not knowing this simple fact had strengthened the resolve of a certain Dark Lord that she was worthy and that he had to speed up his plans for her.

---

Hermione woke, feeling a bit dazed. She swung her legs out of bed and sat up, looking at a blurry Buckingham Palace in the enchanted window. She sighed and rubbed her eyes out, trying to get them to focus. It didn’t help much.

After Lord Voldemort had left, she had wanted to lie down and rest a moment before taking a shower; but, apparently, she had fallen asleep in her clothes instead. So now, she definitely needed to shower. She sniffed at her clothes. Ugh, she stank.

However, she didn’t feel particularly well. Carefully, she scooted over to the corner of the bed and used its post to stand up. A bit wobbly on her feet, she held it with both hands, waiting for the room to stop spinning. It seemed to take forever, so she closed her eyes and rested her head against the post, too.

Okay, how was she going to get to the bathroom without falling down?

Sheer willpower, she decided. The room was after all stationary. This was only her mind, playing tricks on her. She took a deep breath, opened her eyes, let go of the post, stepped away, and fell flat on her face.

So much for willpower.

Well, she guessed crawling was also a method of getting there. She was about to start when his cold voice came seemingly out of nowhere.

‘Resting comfortably?’ he mocked.

‘Early morning exercise,’ she sneered.

A snort was followed by a chair creaking, as Lord Voldemort abandoned his seat and walked towards her. His robe bellowed around his shiny black shoes when he halted nearby her head. She truly hoped he was wearing something underneath it if he planned to get any closer, because that so was a visual she didn’t fancy to implant in her mind.

Eww… Eyes firmly on the floor, Granger.

Thank Merlin, she was lying on her belly. It was relatively easy to place her forehead on her clasped hands and not see a damn thing.

‘Investigating the floor for woodworm infestations?’ he continued.

‘Nope, but someone definitely should mop underneath this bed,’ she quipped back.

‘I’ll get you a broom,’ he replied loosely, squatting down.

‘I don’t like flying.’

‘Is that so?’ Voldemort said, suddenly interested. ‘As in you don’t like it or … you really don’t like it?’

Too much info, Granger, just keep your big mouth shut for once.

The silence made him snigger. ‘Oh, you really don’t like it,’ he concluded rightfully, while planting a vial with a filthy-brownish, cloudy syrup in front of her head.

Hermione lifted her head slightly on hearing the soft clang. ‘What on earth is that?’ she asked, wrinkling her nose.

‘A combination of Wit-Sharpening Potion, Memory Elixir and a little something extra,’ he explained vaguely.

‘Looks delicious,’ she commented, putting her forehead back on her hands, not touching the vial.

‘It’s the something extra, isn’t it?’ he asked, amused.

‘No, it’s basically the entire contents of that vial altogether.’ Constant vigilance. Even lying face down on the wooden floorboards in a swirling world with the Dark Lord squatting beside you.

‘Maybe you’ll feel better about it if I told you Severus Snape made it?’

‘For whom?’ Hermione asked suspiciously. She was definitely not taking it if Professor Snape made it for him. She didn’t fancy dying a slow, painful death – thank you very much.

Voldemort laughed. ‘For himself. I never drink another’s potions, unless I have observed them brew it.’

‘Paranoid much?’

‘I am not the one face-down on the floor, refusing to take something that would relieve my symptoms immediately.’

‘Touché.’ Hermione looked up briefly, and placed her head back.

‘Still not convinced it is not poisonous?’ he taunted.

‘It’s not looking any better upon a second glance.’

He snorted; she heard his robes ruffling near her head; a “pop”, which she reckoned indicated the uncorking of the vial. ‘Do you prefer the Imperius Curse or should I use physical force to pour it down your throat right this instance?’ he threatened.

Hermione sighed, withdrew a hand from underneath her head and held it out. The cool, smooth surface of the glass vial was pressed against her palm immediately. She closed her hand around it and brought it to her mouth. ‘So nice to have all these choices,’ she muttered sarcastically, before downing the potion at once. ‘Ugh,’ she shivered. ‘Not to mention it tastes just as good as it looks.’

‘I’m sure you will greatly enjoy sixth year’s Potions classes after I’ve informed Severus that Hermione Granger stated his potion needs improving.’

‘Tattletale.’

‘Whenever it suits my interests.’

They remained silent for awhile, motionless. Hermione waited for some horrible pain to set in. Sure as she was that Snape would have found a method to slip something in there without Voldemort noticing, thinking the man was lying about needing the potion for another. Lord Voldemort, on the other hand, was just waiting for her to move again. Sure as he was that Snape would not dare to mess with a potion he required from him, even if he never told the man who it was for.

‘Feeling any better already?’ asked Voldemort, his impatience finally kicking in.

Surprisingly to Hermione, the answer was yes. The daze, blurriness and even her fatigue subsided – she hadn’t noticed how tired she still felt, until it was gone. Carefully, she pushed herself up to her hands and knees, and moved her head around. Nothing swirled anymore. A hand came into focus in front of her face. She took it.

Eh, if by some dastardly deed this potion contained slow-working venom and was contagious, she’d take him down with her.

But nothing dastardly happened as he pulled her to her feet. She never felt better. It was amazing. ‘Salamander blood?’ she asked Voldemort, remembering it was a vital ingredient in Strengthening Solution.

He nodded. ‘And what else?’

Hermione frowned. It couldn’t be, but it had had some of that same odour that Ron’s arms had had for awhile. ‘It smelled like Dr. Ubbly’s Oblivious Unction, but that’s an ointment,’ she said doubtfully.

‘An ointment against scarring by thoughts,’ Voldemort said explanatory. ‘Ten times diluted, you add three drops to your potion, and it helps to depolarise the neural fibres of the brain after extensive Legilimency attacks.’

Oh.

Seriously, Lord Voldemort’s eyes gazed up and down her body. ‘You’re sure you’re alright?’

Hermione nodded. ‘I feel fine, better than fine actually.’

‘Name all the ingredients of Polyjuice Potion,’ he ordered.

What? Why? She made a face.

‘Humour me.’

Hermione raised her shoulders, but complied anyway. ‘Lacewing flies stewed twenty-one days, leeches, powdered bicorn horn, knotgrass, fluxweed picked at full moon, shredded boomslang skin, and a bit of someone you want to turn into,’ she finished, watching him puzzled.

‘That’s all seven, not including the details; your memory is undamaged.’

‘Undamaged?’ Hermione asked wide-eyed; as in there was a doubt?

‘You’ve got one of those few minds that can compartmentalise to such a degree that you either totally shutdown or you still function. It’s the only explanation for these symptoms you just had, and it tells me why you were able to continue occluding me so long. It’s a good thing we had to stop. I was planning to search for the boundaries of your mind; see how long you could last, but that’s too risky given the physiology of your brain.’

‘There is something wrong with the physiology of my mind?!’ Hermione exclaimed, worried.

‘On the contrary, it’s a very useful trade to possess. It means that - with the proper training - you can outlast an attack on your mind to a point others won’t expect anyone to be able to. It means your body can take extreme duress without compromising your ability to think.’ She noticed the peculiar glance he gave her, while speaking that last sentence; but she had no time to question it, because he continued, ‘The downside is, Hermione, you will have almost no warning sign before a total neural shutdown occurs. Others will experience severe symptoms, but with you they will be mild, seemingly insignificant – like a little forgetfulness here, minor errors you normally wouldn’t make there – until boom!’ He clapped his hands together in front of her face, making her jump. ‘It’s all over, permanently.’

Hermione turned pale, stumbled back, and sat down on the bed for support. Did that mean he couldn’t teach her Occlumency anymore? Oh God, she was going to be stuck here forever!

Lord Voldemort began pacing the room to and fro. ‘I’ll have to inform Dumbledore,’ he said in a tone of voice like he had tasted something extremely foul and rotten. ‘His Legilimency powers are far too extensive to have him use them on you at full force. And he will use them to his full extend, because he will think I would have done or am going to do so, too. He will turn you into a vegetable upon searching for your mental boundaries. It’s a too steep a risk to consider taking it.’

Voldemort halted in front of the mirror, loosened his shoulders, took a deep breath and continued pacing. ‘But he won’t take my word for your mental state. He’ll think it’s a ruse – a ploy from me to stop him from checking the weaknesses in your Occlumency skills, so I can later extract every little secret of his Poultry Order from you when you return.’ He stopped, tilted his head and smirked. ‘It would have been worth a try under normal circumstances,’ he said, sniggering, before he started pacing again.

‘Still, this is quite fortunate. It will mean I only have to worry about another Master in Legilimency once we’ve trained you thoroughly enough in Occlumency, and he’ll only get the information from you if he’s willing to destroy your mind completely. Besides Dumbo and myself, there are only four who qualify for the title. Both Li and Volkova are far too holy to even consider risking another. Gellert has no wand, which leaves him incapable of doing his worst. That means we only have to worry about Nathaira and Dumbles. Nathaira,’ he trailed off, tapping with his wand-hand on his leg. ‘Nathaira could become a problem.’ He swirled around. ‘And Dumbo … how to stop him?’ he mused, stalking the room.

It began to crate on her nerves, seeing that swirl of black robes pass again and again and again, while he mumbled on and on and on about the possibility of her turning brain-dead.

‘Do you mind!?’ she finally yelled, jumping to her feet, thoroughly agitated out of fear for her possible mind-numbing future.

He came to an abrupt stop and, slowly, turned to face her. ‘Excuse me?’ he asked quietly.

She had yet to learn he was at his most dangerous when he spoke in that controlled, soft tone of voice. Harry could have warned her not to continue, to take cover and hide; but Harry wasn’t there, and she started ranting. ‘Really, do you think it is easy to hear I am at risk of losing my mind?! Or that I might be trapped here, due to that risk. And then, you just keep moving back and forth,’ she said exasperated, copying his movements with her arms in a blur. ‘Moving around like some energizer bunny on speed without coming up with any solutions at all. You’re driving me–’

‘Crucio!’

She doubled over, crashing to the floor, while clutching her belly. Pain unlike she ever felt before swirled through her body; it felt like her skin got scraped off with a blunt knife. Her organs twisted, like they were ripping apart inside her. An unearthly scream left her mouth continuously.

Mental note; do not call Lord Voldemort an energizer bunny on speed again.

The thought flew through her mind as she clawed at the floorboards, causing her nails to break and her fingers to bleed. The pain overwhelmed her every limb, her entire body, and it just kept continuing on and on and on. Her back arched violently, almost lifting her off of the floor. Another high-pitched scream left her lips.

If this took much longer, she could say hi to Neville’s parents.

She crashed down in a crumbled heap, shivering and breathing heavily, when he released her of her ordeal.

‘As I warned you, Hermione Granger,’ Voldemort said softly, leaning with his shoulder against one of the bedposts casually, while twirling his wand in his hand, ‘a mind such as yours can take extreme duress to its body without the risk of going insane.’ He smirked. ‘It’s a very convenient thing for me to know. I won’t have to be careful or hold back on my power with any of my…’ Loosely, he whipped his wand in her direction, ‘Crucio!’

Another round of her screaming and thrashing around on the floor occurred, until he seemed to have enough of it and lifted the curse. He pushed himself away from the bedpost and approached her slowly.

‘And there is really nothing that helps Lord Voldemort think and consider all his options better than performing a nice couple of rounds of the Cruciatus Curse,’ he said, keeping a low, sibilant tone of voice, while circling her panting body like the predator he was.

Hermione didn’t dare move or speak or do anything that might provoke him to start again. She just lay there, on her side, rolled up like a ball, tense; bracing for what could be the next impact. Something she felt was a very likely scenario, especially since the nutcase had just begun referring to himself in the third person again.

‘It would be best to remember this, Hermione. You wouldn’t want to … make Lord Voldemort repeat himself, would you?’ he threatened in that same cold, quiet tone.

Crap. Was she supposed to respond now or would opening her mouth be inadvisable?

If she didn’t reply and he wanted her to, then she would make him repeat himself, which would surely be the excuse he needed to continue his torture. However, it could be that he just wanted to see if she remembered why he started cursing her in the first place, and her opening her mouth would then be the pretext for him to curse her again. Ah damn, this was a trick question! There was no right answer.

Since her big mouth was the reason she was in this predicament right now, she decided on staying silent. Godric only knew what little remark would set him off again.

Lord Voldemort sat down on his heels beside her, causing his long spidery hand holding onto a piece of yew wood to fall within her line of sight. She wished it would snap in two right this very instance. But she hadn’t seen a shooting star or rubbed a bottle trice and spoken to its genie inside, so – alas – no such luck.

He raised his wand at her face; she held her breath and closed her eyes; her muscles tensed to the point of near rupture. Meticulously, he traced the edge of her face with its tip, continuing along the carotid artery in her neck, passing the hollow of her collarbone, before moving back up the same path. It was too close a resemblance to her nightmare to be accidentally, wasn’t it? Oh please, don’t let him know. Please, please, please. Trembling severely, Hermione let out a ragged breath when he pressed his wand a little deeper into her neck.

‘It seems you finally know your place, little apprentice,’ he whispered coldly into her ear; his breath caressing her skin, moving her curls. ‘When you’re done shivering on the floor like a stinking pig, I recommend you correct your writings. I’ll be back in four hours, and I’ll expect to read something of quality then instead of this Troll-worthy rubbish.’

A long scroll of parchment landed on top of her head, while he rose. ‘Four hours,’ he hissed warningly, and stalked out of the room.

Hermione let out a relieved breath when she heard the locks fall in place. She opened her eyes, finally having the nerve to do so again. Still shaking somewhat, she reached for the scroll and pulled it off of her head. Turning it around to the side which occupied her writings, she noticed it was filled with red annotations, cross outs, criticisms, and underlinings with arrows directed to questions, commentaries, or explanations he had scribbled on the side. She blinked and sat up instantaneously. Her previous ordeal shoved to the back of her mind as an insignificant memory, she moved quickly to the beginning of her scroll and began reading vigorously the many additions Lord Voldemort had written down on her essay.

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The Apprentice