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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
- 11
- 12
- 13
The Apprentice

Chapter Twelve

Hermione placed her hands at the sides of the top of her scroll and started scanning for his remarks. The first bit of her essay turned out pretty free of any red intrusions, until she started dripping blood all over it. Her fingertips were still severely damaged from clawing at the hard wood floor during the infliction of the Cruciatus Curse.

Ouch! Why did the brain work in ways to make you aware of pain when you took notice of your wounds?

Quickly, she whipped out her wand.

‘Episkey!’

A really hot sensation was followed by a soothing cold one, healing her hands rapidly. She inspected her fingers thoroughly, and satisfied all her nails had returned, Hermione pocketed her wand. She picked up the parchment again and continued scanning it. When she got to the first sentence he’d placed a red circle around, she frowned. It was a logical conclusion derived from what she had written previously. She followed the red line towards the side of the parchment to read, “Explain further, council morons will be reading this.”

Hermione lifted her eyebrow and shook her head. Like he was the only one, who would be able to understand the simple conclusion in one go. His ego wasn’t large.

At the part where she completely trashed McMullen’s Theory of Everything, mocking his statements about reversing the polarity of one’s magic to undo an already cast spell, by explaining (via lengthy Arithmancy equations) this impossible feat could only be achieved if you increased the maximum power of your magic by tenfold, there was only one addition in the by-lines from Voldemort, “You are far too kind; a character flaw we surely will need to correct.”

Then, he’d crossed out two entire paragraphs. “Trying to save Potter by boring me to death with your repetitive statements?”

Okay, perhaps she had been a bit too annoyed with McMullen’s failure to provide her with an answer to her assignment and had rambled on.

For the entire part of her essay that constituted of providing the reader insight into the various theories on Controlled Casting, Lord Voldemort’s additions were reasonably mild. It consisted of telling her to add a few bits here and there. He’d made a couple of funny, deeply sarcastic observations about some of the theories’ more speculative conclusions, which made her giggle; but she was sure it was not something he meant for her to add to a serious essay. And he’d scratched through all her sentences where she repeated herself.

After several red-striped lines in close occurrence, she reached a sentence, which had been crossed out by more than one line of red ink in a seemingly agitated manner, considering the parchment had cracked slightly under the pressure. Next to it he’d added, “For every repetition without a significant reason I read in your next draft, you will find yourself on the receiving end of the Cruciatus Curse for an equal amount of time you have wasted mine.”

Yikes! Talk about an incentive to stick to the point. She swore never to complain about Professor Snape’s teaching methods ever again; hand to God.

However, the really interesting part came when she reached the start of her opinion on Controlled Casting. Since she didn’t believe any of the existing theories were completely correct, she had had no other choice than start speculating on her own. This was problematic, seeing she also had some serious doubts about the validity of the Five Basic Laws of Magic. And to question those commonly accepted truths in her hypothesis would mean she had to deliver some pretty darn good reasoning as to why they were a load of crap to begin with. But she had tried nevertheless and … well…

“What’s your basis for this statement?”

“Are you sure those are ALL the factors which need mentioning?”

“You’re forgetting to name the defining elements here.”

“Can you proof any of this? If so, I’d like to see it mentioned. If not, leave it out.”

“If you want to pull rabbits out of your hat, go to a muggle magic school.”

“Lovely parts on Laws Two, Three and Four; but why did you leave out One and Five? Shouldn’t they be questioned too if you take this standpoint?”

“This bit is in complete contradiction with your earlier statement on Law Three two paragraphs ago.”

“Was your brain on vacation when you wrote this?”

“What would truly define the value of the acceleration? Be more precise.”

“If F=m*a, you need to focus on the mass part more extensively. You can’t ignore it by making it a constant just because it suits your theory.”

“You’re complicating matters unnecessarily by adding Kolinksy’s methods here. They are irrelevant to your hypothesis.”

“Wrong!”

“How would one measure this?”

“Work out whether or not you would say spell-speed is a factor in determining the outcome of cast spells and explain your answer.”

“I am starting to appreciate McMullen’s theory now.”

“Recheck chapter twenty-five of ‘Achievements in Charming’ on the behaviour of cast Charms and then look over this statement again.”

“Not bad.”

“What would determine the operating range of the power of an individual’s magic?”

“You need to expand your definition of a Charm to make this viable.”

“Keep this conclusion, but work on all your supporting arguments.”

All in all, you could say she had her work cut out for her, and he’d said he’d be back in four hours. She’d never get it finished on time! Quickly, she scrambled to her feet, placed the written essay on the side of her desk and got a new scroll to write on. She skipped the first bit of the essay and started on her theory, since this was the primary part still in need of “work” as he so gently called having to rewrite basically everything. HA! She’d show him. She put her nose in the air and did a pretty good imitation of his haughty attitude, while she quoted him perfectly, annoying tone and all, ‘“I am starting to appreciate McMullen’s theory now”.’

Ugh. That remark was so below the belt. She was not wordy in her answers; she was precise, making sure she included everything that mattered. Her written pieces always had… a–a comprehensive coverage. Yes, that’s the word – comprehensive. She was not wordy. She sniffed indignantly. No, she was not wordy.

There, however, was someone else she knew who just loved the sound of his voice. Anyone cared to venture a guess?

Good on you. Here, have a cookie.

Oh no, no more cookies in the land! Too many correct replies.

After awhile she was done letting of steam and started to work seriously on his comments. Very reluctantly, she had to admit they were pretty darn good, unlike the ones Professor Snape had made on her scroll on Calming Draught. Completely forgetting her solemn oath, Hermione felt herself getting pissed again, because Snape’s remarks had been so unfair. She’d rechecked everything in her textbook, and she hadn’t been wrong at all. Hermione was certain afterward that Snape had gone through great lengths to misinterpret everything that he could possibly misinterpret in her writings. She hoped he’d enjoyed wasting his evening to not give her the Outstanding she had deserved for it. Miserable old bat.

Voldemort’s comments, though lacking any subtlety, were not spiteful but to the point and not made in a fashion that gave the answer straight away too. You had to think for yourself how you had to improve the contents. It reminded her a bit of the method Professor McGonagall used.

Great, something else in her mind to worry about not revealing. It was becoming quite an extensive list. Pretty soon, the alphabet alone would become classified information.

She’d got a long way theorising and writing, scratching certain things through again and building upon existing information in other places. But when she got to the part of the acceleration she claimed existed in the velocity of spells, she was thoroughly stuck. She’d been staring at it for awhile now and just couldn’t connect the dots.

‘The acceleration has to be based on the force behind the spell. If you cast the same spell its mass would have to be the same; but if you want it to travel faster, you have to place more power behind it,’ Hermione muttered out loud, scratching her neck. She had already stated that previously, and apparently, it had not been enough. ‘The power of the individual – er – you cast a spell on something; it moves through the air and then it… Oh that’s rubbish. Spells don’t have to travel through air per se,’ she mumbled, annoyed with herself.

Scribbling all kinds of meaningless figures on the edge of the parchment, she stared at the enchanted window again. A deer walked out the forest and looked at her. ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘You don’t happen to know the answer, do you?’

The deer began grazing at the grass. ‘Didn’t think so,’ Hermione added, rubbing her neck. ‘So spells get cast, they travel… They travel through something! Water, air, shields! Resistance, she had forgotten about resistance! The amount of acceleration would depend on the amount of resistance the spell comes in contact with,’ she concluded triumphantly.

‘That sounds about right,’ his voice came from right above her.

Hermione yelped in shock; her body jerked and she tossed over her inkbottle. ‘Oh damn it,’ she grumbled, pulling her wand. ‘Tergeo!’ The excess ink on her parchment disappeared as the last stubborn residues of snow in the spring which met the increased powers of the sun reluctantly.

‘I had no idea Gryffindors were this jumpy,’ Voldemort mocked.

Hermione turned her seat around and looked up. ‘Do you always have to sneak in?’

He snorted. ‘What I did hardly qualifies as sneaking, my dear; you need to learn to pay more attention to your environment if you plan to survive this war.’

‘I wasn’t aware it was an issue right now,’ she responded coolly.

He placed his hands on her chair’s armrests, leaned forward and halted inches away from her face. ‘Survival is always an issue, Hermione Granger, always.’

She looked at his nearly translucent snakelike face, his slit-for-nostrils absentee nose, those red slit-pupil eyes, and had no idea how to respond to that statement. So she said nothing. That strategy hadn’t got her in trouble, yet.

‘And there certainly are ways to greatly improve your chances, Hermione,’ he added smoothly, stroking a lock of her hair out of her face before placing his hand back on the armrest.

She held her breath for a moment, but then, anger swirled through her body like a black cloud. ‘I like my chances just fine the way they are,’ she replied, tight-lipped, eyes narrowing. As far as she knew right now her life was not at risk.

He smirked.

Oh no, crap. Perhaps he’d found away around the rule preventing him from killing her? If so, she was really going to haunt Albus Dumbledore’s quarters after she died. If they thought Moaning Myrtle was annoying, then they ain’t seen nothing yet, baby.

‘Forgetting what we’ve been practising about Legilimency and Occlumency?’ he taunted, sniggering.

Her eyes widened. Abruptly, she looked down at his right hand. Damn, how did he get his wand in there without her noticing? She was certain his hands were empty when he placed them on the chair. Oh, that’s what the gesture with her hair had been about – such a relief.

‘Ugh,’ she huffed, looking sideways in annoyance. She couldn’t believe she had let him trick her like that. She should have seen it coming. ‘Not fair.’

‘Life is very unfair,’ he replied calmly. ‘You must learn to always keep your thoughts in check around known masters. This can only be achieved by practise.’

‘I wasn’t aware we were practising,’ Hermione said, folding her arms over each other defensively, while keeping a steady look on the very interesting pink wall.

‘If I’d made you aware beforehand, it would have defeated the whole purpose of this little exercise. Now, as much as I appreciate your diligence in making your studies a priority, Hermione, I do suggest you shower and change before we continue; because that smell you produce is really revolting,’ he said, letting go of the armrests and taking a couple of steps back to get some fresh air.

Eh, if the effect was Him moving away, perhaps she should consider bottling it. Fred and George could make her a fortune.

‘Meanwhile I will read what you wrote,’ Voldemort added.

‘It’s not finished yet,’ Hermione said quickly; she did not like it when people read her incomplete drafts.

‘Try looking into my eyes, my forehead, or at a lower point on my face from time to time while you talk, it will appear more natural than constant avoidance. You can’t act like this in company or they are going to know why you do what you do, and you can’t draw too much attention to your Occlumency skills or they are going to wonder why you need it around them. You have too many Aurors in that Order for it to go unnoticed.’

How did he know that? Had she let something slip before? She couldn’t recall.

‘And you need to work on keeping your posture steady, too. You’re an open book, Hermione. If I had been guessing just now, I’d know it was true by your demeanour alone.’

Crap.

‘Shower and change,’ he repeated, gesturing at her to get out of the chair. ‘I’ll read what you got so far.’

Hermione rose and walked to the dresser. Well, he did have a point. She stank. If there were any skunk trophies to be won, she’d be a sure winner. When she received her scroll back, she’d forgotten about her previous resolve to go to the bathroom no matter if it meant crawling there. But now that she recalled wanting to shower, she really wanted to shower. The chair’s wheels made a screeching noise as Lord Voldemort sat down and rolled back toward the desk to read her writings. Hermione went through her beaded bag to get out her stuff, but decided she could choose more comfortably in the privacy of the bathroom and swung it around her shoulder.

‘Hermione?’

‘Yes?’ she asked, turning around in the door opening, facing him directly. One, two, three. Her eyes darted sideways briefly. Eh, he wasn’t fooling her a second time. Five, six, seven.

‘Emmeline Vance was very forthcoming before my Death Eaters killed her,’ he stated casually, as if he informed her of the condition of the weather outside. ‘She knew quite a large number of names, as I expected, seeing she was in that Order previously, too. Dumbledore really should be more careful in restricting the overhaul access of his members to vital information. I don’t hold parties to introduce all my Death Eaters to one another either. The less they know the less they can give away.’

Hermione stood there, frozen in the doorway, completely forgetting to count again. But Lord Voldemort had already turned back to face the scroll in his hand.

‘Not that their brains could hold more than one thought anyway,’ he muttered under his breath, slightly irritated. When he noticed she wasn’t moving, he shooed her away with his hand. ‘I don’t have all day, Granger.’

Yeah, a Dark Lord’s day is never done – all those people to torture and kill; busy, busy, busy.

Hermione shook her head and walked into the bathroom. She had never met Emmeline Vance, but she felt horrified to hear about her death and the subsequent leak of information. So many lives were at risk, and she was here, taking lessons from him. It was obscene. All of the sudden, she was in desperate need of that shower.

However, during the shower Hermione realised she was being silly. As a matter of fact, she had a wonderful opportunity here. She was up close and personal to the man. He felt secure enough in their magical confidentiality agreement to chat away. She had till October, which would be the end of this Controlled Casting-assignment, to find out as much as she could about him and his entire operation. Even though she couldn’t share the info, she would know; and she would bloody well use it to help Harry.

But that meant she had to complete this assignment in such a matter it would secure her candidacy as a future Keeper, because once you were cast aside as a viable candidate, you were obliviated of all knowledge you had obtained about their very existence. So, she had to beat Draco Malfoy – she just had to. It was true for so many more reasons than just helping Harry.

However, it meant she had to pay close attention to everything Lord Voldemort could teach her. She swirled her wand around her head, having kept the dreadful task of drying her hair last. Normally, she’d prefer a towel wrapped around her head to give her hair potion time to prevent the subsequent explosion of frizz she was now dealing with. But call her silly, somehow she had a feeling Lord Voldemort would be unsympathetic to her hair issues; especially if she had to tell him the potion took a whole hour to settle. She snorted. He’d probably vanquish her hair and tell her, ‘Problem solved.’

Hermione took one last look in the mirror at the disaster area that was her hair and tied it together in a ponytail. It didn’t help much. Bits and pieces were somehow sneaking out, escaping their confinement stubbornly. ‘Gah!’ she barked.

She made a disparaging gesture at the mirror and turned away. She’d given just about anything to have Lavender or Ginny’s smooth locks – it was so much less work every morning. Not that one would say so when they occupied the girls’ bathrooms at Hogwarts. Hermione stuffed everything back in her bag and walked out, dressed in black pants and red T-Shirt. She shrieked as she almost ran into Lord Voldemort. Waiting for her heart to return to its rightful position a lot lower in her chest, she looked up, while dumping her bag back on the dresser with a distinct thud.

Couldn’t he like stamp his feet or something; or was he deliberately trying to give her a heart attack every bleeding minute?

‘You have your wand on you, I assume?’ Voldemort questioned, looking down at her completely unfazed. ‘No need to show me,’ he added when she made a move with her hand to her pocket. His eyes darted to her hair, lingering there; his lipless mouth curled.

Sure, like you are entitled to laugh about other people’s appearances. Pel-lease.

She was very proud she remembered not to look into his gaze while thinking all that. One cookie for her.

However, her hair was a sore topic, and she didn’t enjoy to be made fun of. So next thing, she glared directly into his gaze without as much as a little attempt at Occlumency. ‘One word,’ she thought warningly over and over again, gritting her teeth.

His grin widened, not leaving his snakelike face for a second, while he handed her the necklace with the pendant that had his mark visibly inside. The one she wore to get into this bedroom. ‘Put it back on. We need to leave for some place a bit more spacious.’

Confused, Hermione accepted it. Why would they need more room to practise Occlumency?

‘I said we would continue practising; I didn’t say on what,’ Voldemort replied, while she put the necklace back on. ‘Though, I do remember stating you needed to keep your thoughts in check around known masters.’

Yeah, yeah, she knew. She could barely resist the eye-roll that felt as a very fitting gesture right about now, because really, any sane individual would have questioned the need for space; it wasn’t like the thought was a huge secret to keep.

‘Then stop forcing me to repeat myself and act like you know,’ he replied to her first thought after his remark. ‘Follow me.’

Abruptly, Lord Voldemort turned and paced to the door. A wave of black robes trailed his skinny form as if it could barely keep up.

Hermione blinked. They weren’t Apparating, but walking?

Quickly, she took a few half-running steps to catch up with him at the door. Finally, she would see some more of her surroundings. He gestured her through and she walked into the corridor, looking around curiously. There was not much to be seen, just your typical long corridor lighted by shiny crystallized chandeliers. The same wood panelling as in her room decorated the wall, but here the wallpaper above was moss-green; although it did have the same square discolorations visible, positioned in mathematically correct intervals. On her right side, the corridor showed several doors and, at the end of it, another window. No doubt it was enchanted too, since she was certain she saw a peacock sitting on an extravagant copper fountain.

Peacocks, okay; welcome to Balmoral, Miss Granger! Your High Tea with the Queen will be served at five-thirty p.m.

Giggling, she turned to the other side where the corridor went on for about ten feet, before it abruptly ended in a thick black mist-like environment. Every now and then, vicious lightning strikes occurred inside it, causing black clouds to bellow and reform. She had a feeling it was not a sane idea to stick any body part you valued in there, mark or no mark.

‘This way,’ Voldemort said, opening the second door on her right.

Hermione walked towards him, glancing back over her shoulder at the violent mist. ‘What is that?’ she asked, frowning.

‘Just a little something to make sure we’re not disturbed,’ Voldemort replied vaguely.

‘That’s not an answer,’ Hermione retorted.

‘Why, I had no idea you were that interested in the Arts,’ he said happily.

Hermione glared at him. Unfortunately, it didn’t make the obnoxious smirk on his face disappear. On the contrary, it seemed to enhance said smirk. ‘Inside if you please,’ he said, putting his hand on the small of her back and guiding her into the chamber.

Well, chamber. Chamber didn’t quite cut it as a descriptive term, Hermione decided. For the room was huge. It had about the same size and grandeur as the Great Hall of Hogwarts. Though it missed an enchanted ceiling, the ceiling it did have was situated a lot higher than her room and the corridor she just vacated. Enormous copper chandeliers lit the place. It was completely empty of furniture, making the candles sparkle their light in the mirrored walls undisturbed. It had a parquet floor, which in combination with the mirrored walls made her assume it once had to have functioned as a ballroom of sorts. From what little she had seen of this house, it had an aura of old age and posh vanity about it.

‘I’ve noticed in your essay you are unaware of the most important and basic element of casting,’ said Voldemort, removing his hand from her back when they almost reached the centre of the room.

While he stepped away from her and whipped out his wand, Hermione turned to face him with a puzzled expression. She clearly recalled all of Professor Flitwick’s classes on the subject, and she wasn’t aware she missed naming an element. What could he possibly mean?

‘It’s imperative you learn to recognise it or everything else you do will be meaningless,’ he said, flourishing his wand around.

A dash of red left its tip and charged around them. Hermione turned her head around, trying to follow the motion of the spell. It quickly formed a perfect copy of the existing chamber’s walls in red light. Another swoosh and a blue spell flew past her, in an almost exact duplicate of the first red one. It, too, formed a cubicle of light and expanded until it was about three feet away from the red box.

Next, he jabbed his wand in a short motion directly at it. A forceful white jet raced past her; her clothes and free tufts of hair danced around her body, following the direction it charged to. She even could feel the gravity of the spell he cast inside herself. No wonder inanimate objects wanted to follow it. The white dash flew unhindered through the blue box, but impacted upon the red one without getting through. It bounced back. Hermione resisted the urge to duck, but it didn’t get past the blue confinement again. It started clashing between the two boxes violently, weaving a web of bright white light between them. Lord Voldemort turned to face her.

However, Hermione was far too busy following his cast spell’s completion with her eyes. She didn’t see him smile when he noticed her keen interest. ‘Why are you placing bridges between two different character wards?’ she finally asked. ‘Isn’t that counterproductive?’

‘Why would it be?’ he retorted.

‘Well,’ she said, shrugging, ‘if they are connected and one goes down, it could take the other ward with it.’

‘That’s the generally accepted theory on wards,’ Voldemort said calmly. ‘Can you explain exactly why the second ward would collapse when the first one goes down?’

‘When a ward collapses, all its powers are set free into the air around it in a harmless manner due to the wide dispersion – except when there is a bridge. Then, the power will not travel at random. It will be attracted by said bridge and crash into the second ward with all the force of the first ward plus the added force of that which made it collapse in the first place. It’s what makes the attack on the second ward even more forceful than on the first one.’

‘Correct; now look again at what is forming over there and tell me why that theory doesn’t apply here.’

Hermione watched the white beams again, continuing to form more and more connections. It seemed like a spider web. Her mind raced, going over possible solutions. Furrowing her brow, she bit her lip. Why wouldn’t it apply? There were like a zillion bridges already. The power would still travel over the bridges and hit the other ward, whether it went through one or more connections.

‘Both wards have opposing field polarities,’ Voldemort hinted. He’d conjured a luxurious armchair and sat down.

Opposing field polarities? She watched the dash of white bounce back of the blue wall and hit the red when there was a bright flash. All beams lit up and pulled both wards to one another. The box turned purple. The unusual ward-colour was the only clue left that there were two wards instead of one in place. Wait a second.

‘One way direction!’ she exclaimed. ‘Because of the different field polarities, those bridges are differently charged during formation. Only half of the bridges would transfer power from red to blue and the other half only transfers power from blue to red. Oi!’ Her head swivelled from the ward to Voldemort in surprise.

‘Oi what?’ he stated, amused by her excitement.

‘This means if the red ward goes, half the bridges would transfer its power to blue, which would then transfer the power back to red over the other connections,’ she said slowly. ‘It would reinstate the red ward to full power. No-no,’ she shook her head before he could speak. ‘It means the wards’ strength would increase, because it would have absorbed the power of the attack too.’ She stared at him, baffled. ‘The more power you feed them in your attack; the lesser are your chances of bringing them down.

‘It’s what I find most convenient about this method of ward-creating,’ he said smugly.

‘I bet,’ Hermione replied. ‘How do you take them down?’

‘Now, now, you figure it out. Or do you want me to hand you all the answers to defeat me?’

‘Sure, why not?’ she replied cheeky, grinning. ‘Waiting,’ she joked, tilting her head daringly.

‘Don’t hold your breath while you do,’ he advised, shaking his head. A quick flick of his wand and a pedestal with a glass vase on top appeared in the distance. ‘Blow up the vase,’ he ordered, leaning back in his chair lazily.

Baffled, Hermione looked at the vase. ‘Erm… okay,’ she said. Casually, she pointed her wand. ‘Expulso!’

The vase blasted apart; glass shattered down on the pedestal and the floor nearby. Questioningly, her eyes darted to Lord Voldemort. Why was she blowing up a vase? It seemed pretty pointless to her, especially since the thing reassembled itself back in pristine condition a second later.

‘Again,’ Voldemort said.

After a couple of tries, Hermione began to feel rather silly blowing up a vase for no good reason at all. When Voldemort kept gesturing at her to continue, she scratched her neck with her wand. ‘Why am I blowing up a vase?’

‘As I said before, your essay shows you were not taught about the most important element of casting; hence,’ he gestured toward the vase as if it was all the explanation she required.

‘Expulso!’ Another bang; the vase cracked on the table and fell to pieces, but even before parts of it had reached the ground, they flew up and welded back together. ‘And this is helping me, how?’ asked Hermione, not getting the point at all.

‘It won’t help if you’re not paying attention.’

‘Attention to what?’

‘What you’re doing,’ he said, nodding to the vase meaningfully.

Quickly, she blew up the vase and turned back immediately to question him. To her surprise, Lord Voldemort had conjured a round side-table in the mean time. The door opened and a tray with a tea set and some magazines flew in, landing on the table. Hermione arched an eyebrow.

‘It seems I’ll be here awhile,’ he explained mockingly. Demonstratively, he made himself extremely comfortable in his seat, waving his wand around to pour tea into a cup, while picking up a magazine.

Suddenly, numerous other possibilities to consider blowing up came to mind – they were very, very, very satisfying possibilities. Irritated, she whipped her wand in the direction of the vase. ‘Expulso!’

It blasted apart. A torrential rain of little glass pieces poured through the room violently. Her shield was up just in a nick of time.

‘Perhaps not that long after all,’ Voldemort remarked from behind the article he was reading.

Hermione noted his area had stayed completely clear of glass. How had he done that? He hadn’t conjured a shield or what. Oh, never mind. If he wasn’t telling her, why she had to blow up the damn vase, he sure wasn’t sharing that. ‘Expulso!’ she said carefully, not wanting to get showered in glass again.

The vase cracked and almost didn’t fall apart.

‘Then again, maybe I will,’ sounded dryly from the chair.

‘What? Not violent enough for you? I suppose to you the basic element of casting would be violence.’

‘Perhaps,’ he replied sniggering. ‘But the amount of violence is not the real focus here, though it is related,’ he added puzzling.

‘Look if you have a point,’ Hermione said, holding her hands up exasperated, ‘I’d like to hear it.’

Abruptly, Lord Voldemort flew to his feet. Hermione staggered a few steps back in shock at this sudden chance in temper, but he had a hold of her wand-arm before she knew it. He swirled her around in his arms and pulled her back against him with the arm he, swiftly, wrapped around her waist. ‘Now,’ he hissed above her, causing her to stiffen in fear. ‘If for but a moment you would have paid attention to what you were doing, Hermione, like Lord Voldemort so graciously told you to do, but instead you decided to concentrate on that useless babbling of yours, then you might have already noticed what it is you need to learn.’

She flinched at the venom in his tone of voice, but even more due to the bruising grip he had on the wrist of her wand-arm.

‘Now, cast the damn charm and pay attention,’ he ordered, raising her arm.

She took a deep breath before she spoke. Her voice trembled too much and the charm failed to accomplish its task. She closed her eyes; pretty sure she was bound to be on the receiving end of a not so legal curse now, but he merely said, ‘Good; do it again and observe what’s happening.’

She swallowed and spoke, more firmly now, ‘Expulso!’

The vase blasted apart, glass debris flew around the pedestal.

‘Did you notice the significant difference between this one and the one where you failed to blow it up?’

Hermione frowned. She still had no idea what he was getting at. ‘I don’t-’

‘Try again.’

‘Expulso?’ she said questioningly.

The vase cracked, but didn’t fall to pieces.

‘Now then?’

Oh Godric, see, this was exactly why she hated practical surprise examinations. It was like that stupid Boggart all over again. If she hadn’t had enough time to study the theory to its every minute detail and practised said theory in reality till she was blue in the face, it was like every bit of knowledge completely left her mind and she drew an utter and whole blank on even the simplest of questions. And she was certain this wasn’t the simplest of questions at all. She was never going to get it. She just knew she’d fail. She was so useless.

‘Granger, try to breathe, will you?’ sounded a lot calmer above her.

Lord Voldemort released his strong hold of her wrist and placed his hand on the arm he had wrapped around her waist. He sighed, leaning his head back. Really, this personality flaw of hers needed correcting before it would drive him up the wall. The problem he faced with these kinds of baseless insecurities was that they were easy to trigger, but almost impossible to extinguish. How was he going to get it into her thick head that Lord Voldemort wouldn’t be spending all this bleeding time on a Mudblood if she was truly as useless as she at times considered herself to be?

His mind went over all the possible solutions to determine which strategy to deploy. It had been a very long time ago, since he had to use his considerable charm and manipulative skills into getting people to do what he wanted them to. Nowadays, he had quicker methods.

Yeah, that’s one.

Though he might be out of practise, he’d never lost the capability to be disgustingly understanding and considerate and do all those necessary things he had to in order for people to see everything his way, which was the only right way naturally. No, it had been a considerable while since he last played the part of Tom Riddle. He tightened his arms around her waist, hugging her to him briefly.

‘Okay,’ he said soothingly. ‘Now that you’ve calmed down a bit, let me say this once.’

Slowly, he turned the distressed girl around in his arms. Merlin, how much he hated emotional people. Fortunately, she had the good sense not to start weeping. He absolutely abhorred the sound – he’d given those who had the audacity to torment his eardrums with it something to really weep about. He took a deep breath and made sure he had her full attention before he continued his smooth speech.

‘You are not useless, stupid, slow, or unable to come up with a solution at a moment’s notice. The alterations you already made in your essay in the little time I gave you are an absolute proof this is a faulty vision you have of yourself. The clown statue you threw between the Auror and me is a sure sign that you can perform under pressure, and not just when it’s on paper but also in practise. You are doing fine as long as you don’t think someone is evaluating your movements, because then you freak out, Hermione. It’s your fear of failure that is not doing you any favours. Fear and the panic this fear invokes are what’s paralysing you from acting. Fear is stopping your ability to learn and process the information. Fear is what’s keeping you from achieving greatness. Well, see that vase over there?’

Hermione nodded timidly.

‘It’s not going to care whether you need to blow it up once or a dozen times.’

She looked at him, raising an eyebrow. Sure, it was the vase’s fault now – it had been very vocal after all.

He sniggered. She did bounce back quickly from her panic attack. ‘Very well, Lord Voldemort apologises for teasing you with the tea and the reading.’

‘How ’bout those impatient remarks?’

‘Don’t push it, Granger,’ he spoke warningly.

She grinned.

‘I only made those remarks, because I know you’re intelligent enough to make the connection quickly,’ he added seriously.

She looked down. A brief flash of doubt went through her eyes, but he spotted it.

‘Yes, Hermione,’ he emphasised, lifting her chin with his hand. ‘You are smart. I don’t waste my time teaching idiots this.’ He grinned when he realised it. ‘I have never taught anyone this. You are the first candidate I’ve seen on that Council who’s not such a huge dolt to believe McMullen is right. The theory you came up with on your own, though in need of work, is the only way of achieving the termination of an already cast spell. A mind such as yours is a terrible thing to waste. It’s why I gave you so little to go on. You will connect the dots yourself and when you do, it’s something that stays with you forever. When you get told the answer, it’s easier for details to slip later on.’

‘I don’t let details slip which are told to me,’ Hermione retorted, folding her arms over each other.

‘Now she gets cocky,’ he said ironically, like it was way past due for it to happen.

‘That’s not cocky, it’s true. I recall every letter of every book I’ve ever read. I can even tell you what is written on which page. I remember exactly which professor said what during which lesson. Professor Snape, for instance, said in our first lesson the following exactly, “For your information, Potter, asphodel-” (she continued quoting in a perfect mimic of Severus Snape’s speech) “-they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren’t you all copying that down?”’ she ended, nodding her head shortly as to say “there, told you so”.

‘You have a photographic mind?’

She nodded, more serious this time.

‘Convenient.’

‘Very.’

‘Perfect.’ He twirled her around by her shoulders, so she faced the vase again. ‘Then use that skill on observing the difference inside of you when you cast the Blasting Charm at various levels of power.’

The difference inside of her? That was all? He’d made such a big hullabaloo about that? Drama Queen.

However, it was incredibly hard to pay attention to how you feel inside and still be able to concentrate enough to perform a charm. A lot of sparks came out of her wand; but to her utter frustration, a Blasting Charm wasn’t among them. This frustration began to heighten when she felt the tremble of stifled laughter travelling through his body in the hands on her shoulders. ‘Enjoying yourself?’

He snorted. ‘Very much.’

She placed her hands in her sides, and sighed. The length and depth of his remorse were so tremendously immense; you’d be quicker in spotting the proverbial needle.

‘Why don’t I do the casting, while you pay attention to how it feels?’ he suggested. He whipped out his wand and did the same as he did at the school’s playground. He pushed both wands in her hand and wrapped his fingers through hers.

‘Erm…,’ Hermione mumbled doubtfully.

‘Oh, so you did pay attention to what happened back then, and here I was, thinking I’d done all that for nothing. But don’t worry,’ he sniggered, wrapping his arm around her waist, ‘I’ll be gentle this time.’ And before she had time to respond. ‘Expulso!’

It felt like someone tugged on a small elastic band inside her chest as the charm left their combined wands. The vase blasted apart into a million pieces, and those pieces scattered to the ground within a five feet radius of the pedestal. A little while later, the pieces reassembled and the vase became whole again.

‘Now if I happen to be emotional,’ Voldemort explained, ‘like for instance say angry, it will feel more like this; Expulso!’

Suddenly, the small elastic band had multiplied and its entire offspring was clinging to mummy, while being pulled out of her by a freight train. Shocked, she grabbed a hold of his arm, but she didn’t keel over this time. It wasn’t as draining as it had been then. The vase, on the other hand, completely obliterated. Glass debris smashed into the wards, proving their existence was merited. Hermione wondered again why nothing came within range of him. She looked at the pedestal, but no reformation was visibly starting.

‘Did you feel the difference?’ he asked rather superfluously.

‘No not really,’ she replied sarcastically.

‘Oh in that case.’

‘No, no!’ she shouted hastily. ‘I got it.’

‘Sure?’ he teased, making swish and flick motions with the wands in their joined hands. ‘I’d be more than happy to demonstrate again.’

‘There is no need for it. I get it. The most basic and important element of casting is the person performing it – his or hers emotions are a cause of differentiation in the outcome of the performance.’

‘Indeed. You and everything about you – not just emotions, but also physical condition, concentration, level of skill, intelligence, power, believe in oneself, and so on – is what defines the control you are able to have over your casting.’

‘So, this is why the same individual can cast the same spell twice with various results,’ Hermione said, thinking of Neville. She’d been wondering about his erratic performances for quite some time now.

‘Yes, it’s the most often overlooked factor in spell-casting.’

‘Because it is so obvious,’ Hermione added. ‘You don’t stop and think about it. When something is not working as it should, you take a look at the charm, the outcome of it, the way you spoke the words or moved your wrist and wand, but you don’t evaluate yourself. That you take for granted.’

‘Exactly,’ he said approvingly, kissing her on the top of her head. ‘Now, before we even begin to evaluate and practise your casting skills in all its foundations, we really need to rehearse your Occlumency against Stage One Legilimency. I want to start with Stage Two tomorrow, so I’d better see some progress,’ he threatened, while twirling her around to face him.

Gee, very encouraging.

‘Granger,’ he warned.

Fine. One, two, three.

Hermione felt certain she was never going to be able to look at a single number in a normal fashion ever again.

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- 11
- 12
- 13
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The Apprentice