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The Bittersweet Taste of Victory	By : Nerys Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 37648 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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
- 12
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The Bittersweet Taste of Victory

In my dreams I was drowning my sorrows

But my sorrows they learned to swim

Surrounding me, going down on me

Spilling over the brim

In waves of regret, waves of joy

I reached out for the one I tried to destroy

You, you said you'd wait until the end of the world.

U2, Until the end of the world.

Chapter Thirteen

A cold prickling streak of moonlight is what wakes him. He blinks several times before realising it's still night time. Carefully, in order not to wake Granger, he lifts himself up slightly and checks the clock next to the calendar. It's almost five a.m. on September the first, meaning the midgets will return to crowd the classrooms and corridors of Hogwarts this evening. Though, Lord Voldemort is very much looking forward to witness this year's sorting ceremony. A vile smile is visible on his by moonlight illuminated snakelike face as he watches the tiny witch in his arms. She doesn't know it yet, but he intends to take her with him to the Great Hall.

'Hermione Jean Granger, you will be the guest of honour tonight,' he whispers at her sleeping form.

His hand strokes through her soft curls and he kisses her hair. She really smells delicious. He pulls her in a bit closer and she stirs due to the movement, but does not wake. She is so beautiful when she lies there, such an innocent and vulnerable sight. He just wants to take her right now and he moves his head around to capture her mouth, but he freezes as his lips brush hers. What is he doing? Has he lost his mind completely? Lord Voldemort falls back into the mattress. He can't believe he almost made a blunder of magnificent proportions there. He feels like hexing the blasted cause of his problems. If only she will stop her foolish resistance. If only she will finally see reason and join him. If only…

But today, he is going to show everyone in the Wizarding World that this wonderful witch, this last symbol of resistance, has succumbed to him. The sorting ceremony is the perfect occasion for that. All the students will be there and by tomorrow almost every parent will be Owled about her fall and the news will spread from thereon. Lord Voldemort knows how fast gossip travels in this castle and beyond. The news will be delivered quicker around the globe like this than if he allows the Daily Prophet to print it on the front page. And ironically, those rumours will be taken much more seriously. So what if it is slightly incorrect. Nobody needs to know that. He snickers softly. It will be a beautiful day.

He lies awake for a long time. The sun has risen already and he thinks that Granger has woken up as well, but she isn't moving. Maybe she thinks he is still asleep. How considerate of her. It astonishes even him how little sleep he requires these days, for he is bursting with excess energy. Merlin wasn't kidding when he said that his powers grew tremendously after he came in contact with Viviane. He watches the bushy haired witch in his arms, if she will just be sensible, then he won't have to block his magic from her, but as long as she keeps on resisting him; he will not allow her to feel the benefits of this magical union. All he needs to remember is to keep his wits about him.

'Good morning, Hermione,' Voldemort says ever so happily and he kisses her on the cheek. He is certain today will be just wonderful; victorious. It just feels that way. 'Rise and shine, honey. It's going to be a great day.'

And he jumps out of bed and goes to freshen up. He has an early meeting with Sloan scheduled, and after that he needs to listen to Lucius whine, as usual. But he is absolutely positive that nothing can make him feel upset today. Nothing at all.

'Ah, Sloan come in, come in,' Voldemort says cheerful. 'Want some breakfast or have you eaten at home?'

'I'm fine, my Lord,' Sloan replies even.

'Are you sure?' Voldemort says joyous and he waves a freshly backed croissant under the nose of the Unspeakable. 'They're delicious.'

'My wife made me breakfast this morning and I'm still quite full,' says the slightly surprised Liam Sloan. He is shifting uncomfortable on his feet when he refuses the Dark Lord's offer, but he is certain he has no more room to spare in his stomach and he is even more certain that Voldemort will be more pissed off, if he starts puking all over his carpet, then from him refusing the offer.

'Fine, your loss,' is Voldemort's only response and he continues eating tastefully.

Sloan frowns at this unusual behaviour. Not that he is complaining about this happy go lucky mood, but it feels kind of weird. 'How can I be of service, my Lord?' he asks politely as ever.

'Always straight to business, eh, Sloan,' says Voldemort, wiping his mouth with a napkin. 'Well, let's go into the study and talk. I have something I need done, and apparently, the idiots abroad can't complete the task on their own.'

Lord Voldemort flies to his feet and swirls out of the dinning room toward the study. Sloan is still standing next to the table in shock of his lordship's speed this morning. From the corner of his eye Sloan sees Hermione enter the dinning room too.

'Not a morning person either?' she asks amused.

But Sloan can't reply, because Voldemort is already back. 'Ha, darling, when you're done eating breakfast, I expect you to join me in my study,' he says happy. 'Sloan, are you coming or do you want that croissant after all?'

Voldemort smirks as Sloan shakes his head fervently in response and the Unspeakable bids Hermione goodbye by giving her a courteous nod, before passing the Dark Lord in the doorway. It pleases him sincerely that Sloan has the good sense to always be correct in his manners. He had to enlighten certain others that they were not to disrespect his property by any means without his explicit permission. After his kind, gentle and thorough'explanation' those morons had refrained from harassing the girl.

'Second door on your right,' Voldemort says to Sloan, but he does not follow in after the Unspeakable.

Voldemort remains standing in the doorway, watching Hermione sit down to have breakfast. He still recalls her somewhat silly stand by refusing to eat. Personally, he never thought it was such a good idea to let yourself get weaker and weaker around an opponent you're trying to defeat and he allowed her to continue the foolish endeavour, but when she seemed a bit too resolved to actually killing herself, he had to stop her, naturally. Her death will be his call and his call alone; not hers. He tilts his head. She certainly has gotten her appetite back. Her head turns in his direction. So she finally notices he is still standing here. It is about time. He sees the questionable expression rise on her features as she leans backward in her chair.

'What?' she asks defiantly.

He smiles. It's a tone of voice he has grown accustomed to, coming from her that is. Always defiant, always challenging him every step of the way, Hermione does nothing without a fight. His crimson eyes sparkle at the thought of another verbal sparring match, but he really doesn't have the time. He needs to speak with Sloan about rather important matters, so he settles for a short warning.

'Don't keep me waiting, dear,' he replies ever so casual. 'I'm in a good mood. You don't want to spoil that.'

And he swirls out, his cloak bellowing behind him, making it impossible for her to react in her usual 'subtle' manner. When he enters his study, Sloan is standing with his hands folded behind his back in front of the shelves, reading the titles on the backs of the books.

'So Sloan, sit down,' Voldemort says and he beckons to the chair in front of the desk, while removing a map from the shelves and handing it to the man. 'This is a file of Hermione's parents. I'm through waiting for news from those Aurors abroad, who claim they can't find two muggles. Now, she has already hidden them once in Australia from me, and her mind showed me, she moved them out of there. Unfortunately, she Obliviated the part from her brain quite adequately where she held her memory of their current whereabouts. However, she was in France after the memory gap.'

'So they are not in France or in Australia,' concludes Sloan calm and he skips through the papers, halting at several pictures.

'Exactly what I thought,' Voldemort replies satisfied. He just knew this man is a valuable addition to his ranks and this proofs him right once more.

Sloan looks up from the file. 'They only speak English?' he asks Voldemort.

'And some French. But not enough to not stick out in a crowd and they can't hide behind magic,' Voldemort says and he leans back in his chair behind the desk.

'So Granger has most likely moved them to an English speaking nation in order not to draw too much attention to them being foreigners and all,' Sloan mutters more to himself. 'Canada, the United States of America, South Africa…'

'No, it's either Canada or the States,' Voldemort interrupts him. 'I had her hideout in France checked and they were still able to find Apparation Residues pointing in that direction.'

'Big countries,' Sloan mumbles, 'hmmm, I'm guessing they will be in one of the major cities; nice and crowded. Easy to blend in without people noticing you weren't there before.'

Voldemort nods. 'They used to be dentists and they had that same profession in Australia under the name of Monica and Wendell Wilkins, but that can be different this time around.'

'Maybe another health-care profession,' says Sloan. 'People don't change that much and she wouldn't have had the time to completely alter their personality traits.'

'Even if she would have had the time … I doubt she would have changed them. I don't think she could do that to them. She loves them too much,' Voldemort adds and a devious anticipatory glint flows through his crimson eyes. 'I'm guessing you only have to look for a different name and background, but she will not have altered them. Those pictures will suffice.'

Sloan looks up from the file rather surprised. 'No transfiguration of appearances?' he asks the now smirking Dark Lord.

'No, trust me,' Voldemort says triumphant, 'I know Hermione. I am certain that when you find them; her parents will look as they do in that picture.'

'This is a thorough file. How long have the Americans and Canadians been searching for them?' Sloan asks curious.

Voldemort growls. 'For six months now.'

Sloan raises his eyebrows. 'Then I am scratching Canada,' he says to Voldemort's surprise. 'Canada is a well organised country; a phoney paper trail would have been located by the Canadian Aurors within two months. They have to be in the United States. It's much easier to disappear there, with everything being run so tremendously chaotic on a State level. Though, I sometimes wonder whether they are doing it on purpose to hinder us.'

'If you run into problems down there, use whatever force you deem necessary to get the job done, Liam. I am through waiting. I want this search to become a number one priority to all.'

Sloan looks back at the file. 'I will have to look into our muggle records, but this won't be too difficult. I'll make certain the U.S. Aurors understand that it is within their best interest to get this over and done with. We've had some problems in the past due to their lacking collaboration; maybe another cleansing of that Office is required again. They truly can be quite annoying. However, I'm guessing it will take me less than a month to find the Grangers and bring them before you.'

'And make certain everyone understands that I need them alive and well, Liam,' Voldemort adds warningly. 'I will not be pleased if some idiot spoils my plans by killing them.'

'Consider it done,' replies Sloan certain and they shake hands.

A knock on the door interrupts them. 'Such a nice and polite woman,' Voldemort says grinning, while directing Sloan to the door.

He had to teach her a lesson of course, before she stopped disrespecting him in front of others, but there was no need to enlighten Sloan about that. The first time Hermione badmouthed him, was in front of a couple of journalists. He had seen the horror in her eyes when he killed every single one of them and he made her a promise to do this every time she disrespected him again before an audience.

So when Lucius came to bring him another boring report Granger just had to make a few remarks. Voldemort snorts at the memory. She had been glaring at him rather snotty, practically daring him to make good on his word and kill his grovelling Death Eater. Well, he wasn't particularly attached to Lucius, but still he wasn't going to do Granger a favour. So after Lucius had left, he had Apparated them in an invisible state to Oxford Street in London, right before Selfridges; a muggle warehouse.

Muggles, there are still too many of them around. They're like rodents. You kill one of them and ten pop up out of nowhere to visit its funeral.

However, it had been a very satisfactory experience, for him, when he told her to pick a muggle who was going to die. She had refused, of course, which meant he had to inform her that, if he had to do the picking, he wouldn't stop at one. Her despair had been utterly delightful. He still relishes at the memory of her trembling body, how she had pleaded with him to spare those filthy bugs lifes.

'It's not their fault. I can't, please don't make me do this. I won't say anything ever again.'

'Oh, I know you will respect me from now on, Hermione. That's what this little lesson is for. You need to be punished. Now, pick one fast, because I am through standing here among filth,' he said harsh.

It was when the most enjoyable part of the lesson came about. He still is very pleased with how he handled things there.

'And I really don't understand what your problem is,' he continued lightly. 'You see, dearest, it doesn't actually matter which one of those ignorant busybodies dies. You can do it like this.'

And he had pointed his wand at a way too cheerful four year old girl. 'Eeny,' he said. It was clear in his mind that anyone who wore pink ribbons in their hair definitely needed to leave this earth immediately. 'Meeny,' he added joyful, and his wand was now directed to a mother who held on to five tiny brats. Well, a muggle who bred this fast should be eliminated, period. 'Miny,' he whispered in Hermione's ear. And he made a dismissive motion to a snogging couple that in his mind definitely counted as one and deserved to die for being so weak and disgustingly in love en public. 'Moo,' he finished. He reserved that one to draw Hermione's attention to the little baby that lay in one of those annoyingly, ankle busting perambulators, which definitely should be made illegal. Or otherwise the ridiculous women who used them as bulldozers to get through a busy street should all be killed instantaneously. Hmm… he knew what he was going to do.

'I've made my choice Hermione, so what's it going to be? Your choice or mine?' Lord Voldemort said devious.

She had finally pointed to an old man who looked like he was on the verge of collapsing, anyway.

'Too late, honey,' he said smiling over his victory.

And he had killed the girl, the mother and her five children, the couple, the baby and the perambulator-pusher and … the old man. She had gasped when he killed the old man she had pointed out too. He had known that would strike hard; it was the sole reason he had been waiting in the first place. Lord Voldemort never was going to allow her any choice in this matter.

'Well, you were quite right,' he said viciously, adding hurt to injury, 'he shouldn't pollute this earth any longer either. It's a good thing you brought him to my attention. I might have missed that waste of space otherwise.'

It's when his wonderful reminiscence ends. Sloan opens the door to exit the study and seeing Hermione stand there brings Voldemort back to reality and out of his delightful daydream.

'Enter dearest.' Voldemort says smirking.

'I'll be in touch,' Sloan says and he leaves the study with the file under his arm. 'Miss Granger.'

'Mr Sloan,' Hermione replies blank.

The door closes behind Sloan and Voldemort smiles inwardly. If only she knew what he had just sent that man out to do. It's when he notices Hermione is watching him rather suspiciously. Hmm… she is always way too observant for her own good.

'Why the suspicious glances, dear?' he asks, while he moves next to her and brushes her hair to the side, uncovering her neckline to him.

He rather enjoys intimidating her like this, simply by his mere presence and their proximity. Hermione turns her head to face him, but she does not answer his question. Instead she merely glares back. Oh, so she wants to play. He doesn't mind that at all, because naturally, he always wins. He wraps his arms around her and pulls her against him. She blinks. See, he has already won. His crimson eyes take in every aspect of her appearance and he caresses her face with the back of his hand, before leaning in closely to whisper in her ear.

'If you were on my side, you wouldn't have to wonder about what I was planning to do to you,' he tells her, making sure to have his breath brush her sensitive skin. 'There would be no need for those glances and you could be happy, just as I am right now. Don't you want to be happy, Hermione?' And he pulls her even closer, before kissing her in the neck. He smirks in victory when he feels her shudder. 'Don't you like being wanted?' Kiss. 'Needed?' Another kiss. 'There are so many who crave my attention, but here I am, giving it all to you, darling.'

Her cheek brushes his, and he thinks that it feels rather wonderfully soft, when she turns her head to whisper back into his ear. He sees the smirk on her face as she responds rather viciously.

'Feel free to hand it to them, dearest. I don't want or need any of it.'

Voldemort leans backward to lock her deer brown eyes with his and as another staring match begins, he allows their magic to flow to his hands while he moves them from her waist up her body and down again, making certain to hit her susceptible areas with it. The corner of his mouth twitches upward, when he can feel her tremble against him.

'Your body tells me otherwise,' he softly says, before magically brushing her again. This time he maintains it longer and he smiles when she grabs a hold of his arms to prevent from falling. 'You need some support, baby?' he says smiling and he uses one arm to hold her to him.

She is beginning to shake no and tries to push him away, but his other hand is targeting her weak spots. She moans and her fingers dig deep into his skin, when he hits her clit more intensely. He can practically feel her come and he enjoys how she keeps eye contact with him through it all. How she refuses to yield even though her body is betraying her. It feels so right to hold her in his arms, the way her chest moves and feels against him, when her breathing becomes heavy and erratic, the way her lower body starts to push against his. And he can feel his own arousal at her closeness, her body's readiness and wontedness to let him in.

'Hold on, dear,' he says and he lifts her up.

Hermione instinctively wraps her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. He groans at the contact. If it isn't for these blasted clothes, he can already be inside of her. But alas … he has his arms full at the moment. Though … it may be nice to take her standing, but he needs some support to do that and the damn walls are all filled with books. Why did he need those again? He can't quite remember what there usefulness is at the moment. He is about to blast the walls clear, when inspiration strikes. The door!

'Collorportus,' he mutters with a small wave of his hand to the door, just before they slam into it. His forehead is leaning against the wood, while Hermione's back is pushed into it. His breathing has become rather rapid and shallow, and he definitely needs to relieve this blasted tension he is feeling inside of him now. He hits his forehead against the door several times. He needs to keep his wits about him. She needs to surrender first, otherwise he is in trouble. Lord Voldemort needs to be the one in control of this situation. But the blasted woman isn't saying anything.

'Come on, Granger,' he thinks. 'I'm still a man, granted an exceptional one, but even I can't keep this going forever.'

It's when his and her clothes are disappearing and reappearing on the desk. Voldemort is certain he hasn't done anything. Granger has cast them away. That counts as surrendering, doesn't it? He decides that it is good enough in his book. For he knows, that he will explode if he doesn't get any satisfaction soon. He blocks her upper body with his against the door as he moves his hands to her hips and trusts inside of her. Granger lets out a frustrated groan, when he holds himself there and savours how she feels around him. She is so deliciously tight. Voldemort moves his hands up to her breasts and he realises how perfectly they fit in his grasp. Hermione is holding on to him tightly and her legs are nicely wrapped around him. Why has he refrained himself from taking her again for more than a month now? He must be barking mad.

'Look at me,' he says intense, 'I want you to look at me all the way.'

There foreheads collide as he moves back and forth inside of her, slowly picking up the pace. And he stares into her beautiful eyes as she continues to make even more desperate, little sounds. She is his; his to have and hold; forever. He feels her hands caress his back, while her upper arms are leaning on his shoulders. So soft and delicate, he closes his eyes to bask in his moment of glory and he feels how she comes to completion around him as he spills himself inside of her. It's when he opens his eyes that he turns thoroughly cold, because for a moment he thinks he sees a rather calculative and victorious glint in Granger's eyes. Did that little witch just trick him? She couldn't have. He is certain she surrendered first. Yeah, he knows he is right. He looks at her again, but the glint is gone. He must have imagined it; maybe it was a trick of the light. Yes, that must be it. After all, this is supposed to be a beautiful day.

A swiftly cast spell cleans them both up and another one is responsible for their clothes returning back around their bodies. Granger is about to pass him, when he is suddenly certain for no reason at all that he had seen that triumphant glint correctly. He quickly grabs a hold of her from behind and pulls her tightly against him. A gasp escapes her lips, but he has already blocked her motor skills before she is able to do anything.

'Now, why do you all of the sudden appear so pleased with everything, Hermione,' he quietly says. 'You wouldn't have tried to trick me, now would you?'

Voldemort reminisces on the possibility for a moment. If she has tricked him, he needs to correct it straight away. He hears her deny the accusation somewhere in the back of his head, but he realises he can't leave it up to chance. He has to make certain he has not unwittingly surrendered himself to her. He finally remembers why he had not taken her before. He had been planning to wait, until she had completely submitted herself to him. Why has he deviated from that path? Oh well, there is no point in hindsight. He places his hands on her hips and whispers softly in her ear.

'Care to relinquish your hold over my body freely, Hermione?'

There is no reply. He smiles into her hair. 'Darling, I can make you very uncomfortable, and right now, you are unable to move. Hence, you can do nothing to stop me. It will be prudent for you to release me.'

'I don't think so,' he hears her say firmly. Damn, he judged her mood correctly after all.

'Torture me all you want,' she suggests.

'Because you can stand the Cruciatus Curse so well, dear, I'll think I'll have to say no to that useless idea,' he says calm and he hits her clit again with their magic. And he waits and waits, while he notices her perspiring and hears her cries becoming more vocal by the minute. 'How long can you stand this, Hermione? To be on the brink of a precipice, but never be allowed to fall into it. How long till your body screams in agony instead of delight? It must be murder to be unable to move a single muscle at the moment. I can't even begin to imagine how you must feel.'

'Screw you,' she says wrathful and he laughs out loud at the obvious despair that rings through those crude words.

'Release me and I will allow you a proper release, darling,' he offers smoothly. 'No? Well, I guess I can wait.'

A flick of his hand and she is tossed into the couch. He strolls to the immobile witch and stares down into her flushed face. Slowly, he shakes his head. 'You won't win this, Hermione. I'm not going to allow you to spoil my wonderful day.'

'You can't keep up your concentration forever,' she hisses.

A casual gesture of his hand has a quick reward.

'Ooooohh.'

He plants his hands between her head on the back of the couch and leans forward. He already sees the first signs of discomfort in her eyes, while she still moans in delight.

'I'm betting I can keep this up longer than you can. And you know that I need to give up my hold over your body, before you can even think of attacking me. So give it up, Hermione, unless you are under the mistaken impression that an orgasm, which lasts for hours, is a pleasurable experience.'

He smiles at the fury in her eyes. This truly is fun. He should have tormented her like this sooner. Why hadn't he considered this before? She is so pretty with her flushed cheeks, while she makes those ecstatic, uncontrollable sounds at his handiwork. He places his hand between her legs and he sees the fear in her eyes. He enjoys her scream as he overloads every nerve down there.

'Do you like this feeling, Hermione? You want to relieve yourself, now don't you? You want to be able to move…'

But a knock on the door interrupts him. Lucius, perfect. He watches Granger smilingly. 'That is my ten o'clock appointment with Malfoy, darling.'

He can practically taste her disgust at the moment. 'I'm sure he is going to enjoy watching you like this.'

He tilts his head slightly and watches her meticulously. She is going to fold now. He knows she is. He has seen her memories of Malfoy and the derogatory remarks he made to her. She is not going to want to be beaten by Lucius Malfoy. She is going to choose to forfeit to him, which is, of course, far less demeaning.

'Let me go, now,' he orders shortly.

Another knock on the door.

'In … a … minute,' he grunts angrily at the door, but when he turns his attention back to Granger the most beautiful, silent tears are dropping down from her eyes. He leans in closely.

'You can't possibly hold this up indefinitely. Why lose your dignity over it, when it is all too clear you will surrender to me in the end?'

He has not tortured Granger in front of others before, because he doesn't want his Death Eaters to see her in a vulnerable state, but she needs to release her hold over him, now. Otherwise he will have no other choice, but to expose her like this. He looks at her again; he can tell she is weighing her options. All he needs to do now is provide her with an out and she'll fold.

'I can make it all go away, Hermione,' he whispers and he strokes her hair. 'All these symptoms and signs that can inform another about what you've just been through. I promise you, Lucius will never know.'

She is still debating the issue. 'Fine, on your head it is,' he says harsh and he turns away from her.

'No.'

He can barely hear the whispered word, but it's such an exquisite sound coming from her lips. He thrives on it as he slowly turns around. 'No?' he asks teasingly.

Her lip trembles, for she is having a hard time conceding to her loss. Voldemort can tell he needs to make her more comfortable or she may change her mind. And he is a forgiving Master after all. He sits down on the couch next to her. A wave of his hand and the stimulating feelings disappear.

'There, and I'll clean you up, Hermione,' he promises, reassuring her. 'All you have to do is say it.'

It's barely a nod, but he still sees it and he places his hand on her cheek. 'Repeat the following,' he orders. 'I, Hermione Jean Granger, will relinquish the body of …' he falters in his speech, because he realises the damn charm won't work unless he uses his given name. He is going to have to make her pay for making him say this later on. '…Tom Marvolo Riddle back to his own mind and soul.'

Hermione blinks and frowns for a second.

'Come on woman, it's not such a difficult sentence. You don't want to make me repeat that despicable name again,' he thinks cross.

Fortunately, she has come to her senses and repeats his words. 'I, Hermione Jean Granger, will relinquish the body of…' Did she just smirk there for a moment? '…Tom Marvolo Riddle…' Yes, the sheer emphasis is telling him, she is definitely having fun at his expense now. Oh, he is so going to relish punishing her for that. '…back to his own mind and soul,' she finishes. And he notes she bites her lip and glances sideways, when she is done. She is clearly not pleased about having to forfeit this.

It's when Lord Voldemort feels the control returning back to him. He can't believe he actually missed noticing that it was drawn from him. He will never, ever let his guard down around that sneaky, little Gryffindor ever again. Perhaps she should have been sorted into Slytherin after all. He smiles down at her and he sees her flash of concern as she considers he may not hold up his end of the bargain, but he is not that foolish. A wave of his hand cleans her up and another wave enables her to move again. She sighs relieved and pushes herself into a more seated position.

Voldemort summons the book he wants her to read and pushes it back into her hands. Like yesterday, and the days before that, it is folded open on page one. He sees the amused quirk of her eyebrow, but he is certain that she will not be able to keep up her resistance to reading it indefinite. She has already glanced at a few words. The book told him that much. She has to be dying to know what is on those pages. He knows he would be. She is just being foolish again. Testing him, when she knows he will beat her in the end. Well, he can wait. Once he has her parents, she will do whatever he asks of her anyway. It truly is a victorious day.

'Come in, Lucius,' Voldemort says impatient, while he gets out of the couch and moves back to sit behind his desk.

He shakes his head in amusement, when he sees Granger is demonstratively watching in another direction as the book is lying in. 'Whatever works for you dear,' he thinks snorting, 'but looking elsewhere won't make the temptation go away.'

On the contrary, it merely shows him the seduction of the book is already making it difficult for her to look in its direction and refrain from reading it. The few words she has, no doubt, read accidentally, have thus far began to enthral and fascinate her severely. There is no escaping it in the end; she will fold. It is only a matter of time. He is after all the most powerful wizard of all time and he, surely, has much more experience than her in dealing with everything that's magical. And Lord Voldemort has to admit he kind of enjoys her silly stand altogether. It's rather endearing and it alleviates the boring routine he became accustomed too. Actually, if he is truly honest with himself, then, he'd have to say, he hasn't had this much fun in ages. He smirks and his eyes glint with pleasure. Stubborn, little one.

Some nervous ruffling of clothes on the other side of his desk brings his attention back to the task at hand; Lucius. He is irrefutably going to be more bored than if he had to listen to Gilderoy Lockheart drawl on about his achievements in the diverse fields of Wizardry. A yawn escapes him as Malfoy reports on a number of totally unimportant matters. There was some silly attempt oversea to kill his appointed Prime Minister in Belgium. Some moronic witch in the Netherlands thought she could mix Bubotuber pus with Daffodils and Tulips and by doing so she blew up more than half of her equally dumb country. But he felt truly sorry for the witch in Sweden who tried to charm her bike so she could go ice-skating on it. He wished he had been there to catch her, when she fell. Hmmm… Swedish women. He definitely needs to make a trip abroad soon. A wonderful daydream starts to cloud his mind as he hears Lucius whine some more about some monk who left his monastery. Really, like he needs to hear about other people's travel plans, unless of course they are the plans of Scandinavian...

'And Sloan reports back that he has told the U.S. Aurors that they are, so to speak, fired,' says Lucius, finally ending his rant and shaking him out of his stupor.

Hallelujah, he has survived it again. And even better, Sloan got rid of some annoying Americans for him. This surely is without a doubt the best day of his life. He smiles at Granger, who has turned her attention to Malfoy and him. Certainly, she can't be interested in anything his Death Eater just told him? Pfftt… maybe he needs to re-evaluate her intelligence. He sees her look slightly puzzled at him and she raises her eyebrows and smirks, before eyeing the wall on the opposite site of the couch once more. Now, what was that for? She has heard reports of killings before and she has never showed this much interest in it.

'If that is all, Malfoy, then you are excused,' Voldemort says, while he stares intrigued into Granger's direction and he waves to the door dismissively.

It's when he suddenly notices that Malfoy is not moving. Instead, the man is staring at him rather anxiously. Does he need to spell it out for him? Gosh, he is beginning to consider killing the bloke nevertheless for his continued presence alone. He needs to find out what Granger was so interested in and he can't use his bleeding Death Eater around, when he questions her.

'Do I need to explain the concept of "you are excused" to you, Lucius?' he asks ever so sweetly and kind. It pleases him sincerely that his tone unnerves the pureblood extremely.

'No, no, Master. It's just…'

'Just what?' he adds in the same demeanour.

They say luck favours the prepared, but he is so not ready for the response from Malfoy.

'You haven't given me an order concerning the Knight of Silence,' Lucius says scared.

Furiously, his eyes dart to Granger, who is now definitely watching the exchange between him and Lucius with an inquiring mind.

'What Knight?' he hisses underneath his breath and his eyes narrow tremendously.

'The monk from the Tibetan monastery, who has…,' Lucius starts dead frightened.

'I understood you the first time, you idiot. I'm inquiring to the monk's identity,' he interrupts Lucius furious.

Lucius shifts on his feet again and his pale, grey eyes are darting left and right, searching for an escape route.

'Don't tell me, you have no idea which one of those mumbling, nature loving, fairytale dwellers has found a reason to leave their precious and sacred home!' Voldemort yells and Lucius jerks as he rams with his fist on the desk.

'The Tibetan Office has sent me a picture, Master,' Lucius whispers meek.

'Show me,' he orders and he holds out his hand.

A trembling hand offers him the picture. Voldemort snatches it away and glares down at the very familiar face that is smiling and waving at him. It makes him feel ferocious, wrathful. He feels the need to kill someone, preferably the stupid fool in the picture. He is absolutely certain that chocolate pie loving moron has never left the monastery before in his life. Besides, it is some sort of cockamamie tradition that the Lead Knight always remains within the compounds of the premises. And they never break with their absurd customs, never! So why start now?

'Where is he?' he asks Lucius, but his eyes remain on the picture.

The loony monk is mocking him. He knows he is right about that. He crumbles the photograph in his fist and glares back at Lucius.

'Well, what's keeping you? Answer the bleeding question!' he howls.

'The Aurors lost track of him,' Lucius says barely audible and the pureblood closes his eyes waiting for the inevitable impact of the curse.

His wand has already made it to his hand, but a snort comes from the couch, followed by a couple of uncontrolled hiccoughs, and finally, Granger starts to roar with laughter. He glares in fury at the girl who is desperately clutching on to her belly, because her guffawing is beginning to cause her muscles to cramp. His knuckles turn white from clutching on to his wand and he moves around the desk slowly, advancing on the wretched woman who has the nerve to laugh into his face. Malfoy scatters backwards bowing in terror, and Voldemort turns briefly toward the idiot to inform him that he needs to find the whereabouts of the blasted monk a.s.a.p. if he values his continued existence.

'Now, get out of my sight!' he snarls. 'And don't feel obligated to return to me, until you can tell me where he is!'

Malfoy starts running to the door, but he is not out fast enough too Voldemort's liking. So he decides to help Lucius move a bit faster by blasting the pureblood right through the wall. Granger, who had just regained control of her senses, starts to lose it again as Lucius plummets spread-eagled through the wall, leaving a nicely Malfoy shaped hole in his wake. Even the cane can be made out in the wall, since the fool clearly couldn't part with the vain accessory. Voldemort swirls around and pushes his wand in Hermione's hiccoughing throat. That catches her attention and halts her dim-witted snickering.

'Crucio,' he whispers ruthless, using her own magic as a conduit to hit her with his as well.

He hasn't tried that before with the Cruciatus Curse and the effects are magnificent. That'll teach her. And he will show her, and anyone else, who has the nerve to spoil what is supposed to be an excellent day, that he will not be trifled with. He lowers his wand. The girl is cowering up on the floor before him; wonderful.

'Did you think I am going to sit back while you laugh in my face?' he hisses, 'Crucio!'

And he circles her, before halting the torture.

'Do you expect him to come to your rescue now, Hermione? Do you think Yoda cares?' he says mocking, but she does not respond. 'He knew it all, but he did not prepare you for it, did he? All the Knights care about is their precious believe system and maybe they'll make an exception for some stupid ant that crawls on the ground, but he won't be coming for you, dear.'

'I never said he would,' Granger replies panting. 'Those are your own delusional conclusions.'

'Crucio!'

Her screams fill the air around him once more and he rather enjoys it at the moment. He is savouring every ounce of wrath he feels towards the monk and he is channelling it all at Granger. She will pay dearly for everything and everyone that has been bothering him. It turns silent. In shock, he lowers his wand. He hasn't overdone it, has he? He drops down beside her and grabs her chin to take a look in her eyes. Relieve floods him as he sees she is still there, and he sighs. It is foolish of him to think Lord Voldemort will make a beginners error like that.

'I'm going to find that teacher of yours, Granger, and then, I am going to kill him,' he informs her.

'Good luck,' she mutters, exhausted.

It amazes him how she is still defiant despite the ordeal she just went through and he smiles.

'Maybe you are not completely in on the loop here, Hermione, but those Knights aren't nearly as impressive when they are outside on their own. Sure, they have a gigantic blabbermouth about love and peace and other despicable concepts, but they do it all from within the safety of the confinement of their precious building. Where they can all work magic together as one. They won't dare attack me on neutral ground. They know I will pulverise them.'

A knock on the door interrupts Granger who is about to respond to his statements. Lord Voldemort gets back on his feet and tells Lucius to enter, but it turns out to be Bellatrix Lestrange. Apparently, Lucius doesn't dare to grace him with his presence again or maybe he simply is unable to. That idea is rather satisfying and he smirks demoniacally. Bella kneels down, despite her now humongous belly, which is due to deliver another Lestrange brat any minute these days.

'Master,' she says, making a small bow with her head.

Voldemort thinks it is probably the only part of her body that can still make a forward motion. An irritated, small gesture of his hand beckons her up.

'What is it, Bella?' he replies disturbed, when he sees her struggle to get back on her feet. It's a good thing he 'helped out' Rodolphus. This will be the last time he has to witness this weakness.

'We don't understand how he passed the wards, my Lord.'

Voldemort sighs. This will be, undoubtedly, another massive screw up from his so called dangerous followers. He sees Bella's dark eyes dart anxiously to the left. Wow, that must be some blunder, if she is nervous about it. Why does he always have to do everything himself, if he wants it done correctly? Can't they handle the simplest of tasks?

'Who passed which wards where and why?' he asks quietly.

It remains ever so silent. He notices Hermione is frowning at Lestrange unusual behaviour too. And this was such a nice day. He should have never let those dolts near his residence or near any other place for that matter. He should have killed them all.

'Will you get on with it, Bella,' Voldemort says impatient and a hint of danger becomes ever so eminent in his voice.

Bella has spotted it and is now wiggling on her feet. Pathetic, really pathetic.

'There is a visitor downstairs waiting in the Great Hall and he demands an audience with you, my Lord,' she whispers.

'Demands?' he asks softly. 'And who may be foolish enough to enter my domain and demand things?'

Upon hearing the answer, Lord Voldemort throws a right, little tantrum, which to his utmost revulsion makes him witness Bellatrix's water break. And it was supposed to be a wonderful, beautiful and victorious day for the Dark Lord. Nothing was going to anger him today, nothing. He guesses he was mistaken, because today is beginning to feel like it has the makings to become the worst day of his life.
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The Bittersweet Taste of Victory