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The Apprentice	By : Nerys Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 62961 -:- 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
- 12
- 13
- 14
The Apprentice

Chapter Thirteen

She was five, making her mother scream, because the stuffed toys she was playing with moved around by themselves. … She was twelve, lying to Professor McGonagall about the troll incident to get Harry and Ron of the hook. … She was fourteen, throwing the gold chain of the Time-Turner around Harry’s neck. … She was fifteen, peeking fearfully through her fingers as Harry avoided the blazing fire of the dragon again.

‘I know! I know!’ she shouted, panting, knowing she failed miserably for the zillionth time already.

She was on all fours again. It felt like someone had used a sledgehammer to crack her skull open in order to gain easy access to her memories. The pounding pain made her groan and she clutched her hands to her head, moving to sit on her knees.

‘You’re not trying hard enough,’ Voldemort said, tapping with his wand on his hand.

‘I am trying,’ she said, disgruntled. Really, who was he to complain, sitting on his arse in a comfortable chair?

‘You are trying?’ he sneered, getting to his feet. ‘Then how come I keep seeing all these wonderful memories, Granger? You did not even use your wand once to defend yourself. What did we discuss about defence to Stage Two Legilimency?’ He halted in front of her and hissed, ‘I am waiting for an answer, Granger.’

She swallowed, pulled her hands from her head, and looked up at his towering figure angrily. ‘That, besides from stopping the attack with a curse of your own, there are normally two, but in my case three methods to halt an attack with your mind,’ she spoke through gritted teeth.

He squatted down. ‘Three – no four methods in total and you,’ he poked her in the shoulder with his wand, ‘are,’ another poke, ‘not producing any of them,’ a definite poke.

‘Well, you try concentrating when your mind feels like it’s about to explode,’ Hermione hissed back.

‘Your mind would not be feeling this way if you had kept me out,’ Voldemort said sibilantly.

‘Oh, of course it is my entire fault; dear me, it wouldn’t do for Lord Voldemort to share some of the responsibility.’

Before his hand was around her neck, she knew she’d crossed the line and overstepped her boundaries; but she just couldn’t care less. Her head hurt; she was exhausted; she failed again, which meant she’d be stuck her forever, and his attitude was pissing her off big time. ‘Come on then, strangle me,’ she dared him.

His eyes flashed.

She laughed.

The fingers around her neck tightened, and she laughed louder and louder. It turned into a wild obnoxious cackle, taunting him. He squeezed, making her cough. Those brown eyes turned to him with a vengeful glint. ‘You can’t,’ she coughed gleefully, gasping for air. ‘You’re scared,’ cough, ‘of them.’ Another gasp, and then, she made chicken noises – really annoying chicken noises.

Roughly, he threw her to the ground and swirled away. A few feet away, he turned, raised his wand-

‘Let me guess,’ she hiccoughed, bathing in mirth. ‘Crucio,’ she guessed. An almost hysterical laughter left her lips, while she rolled over the floor, having fun at his expense, not noticing the wand in her hand flashed brightly.

Lord Voldemort’s eyes narrowed, following the curse’s path with clear interest. His fury washed away instantaneously when the mirror above the dresser broke in a million pieces with a sharp pang, and then, crashed down, taking a piece of the wall with it. It struck the warded wall! A triumphant elation rushed through him upon witnessing the forceful impact Hermione’s Cruciatus Curse produced.

Surprised, Hermione looked up from the noise; her face stained with the residue of tears, which had clearly streamed down her face during her laughing fit. ‘Oh,’ she mocked, ‘is the mirror to blame now?’

A broad knowing smirk graced his eerie face. A successful performance of the Cruciatus needed a certain amount of darkness inside the caster. For one to get through His wards though… well, let’s say he was over the moon with joy.

‘Perhaps, it was,’ he replied puzzling, not correcting her misinterpretation on who destroyed the mirror. ‘Let us continue. Prepare yourself,’ he warned, pointing his wand at her.

She froze.

‘Legilimens!’ he cast.

A mist blurred her eyesight and dazed her mind. Flashes of memories stormed past, like a movie on fast-forward without true direction.

She was twelve, solving Snape’s Potions’ puzzle so Harry could get the Philosopher’s Stone. … She was thirteen, ripping a page on Basilisks out of a library book; excited, she solved the mystery. … She was fourteen, stunning the large, fat beetle on the window-sill in the hospital wing before dumping it in a glass jar and getting the hell out of there with a very satisfied giggle.

Again, the floor turned out to be her best companion. She lay on her side, curled in a foetal position; out of breath, her hands once again clutched to her pounding head, and she knew for certain she hadn’t been responsible for the damn spell’s end. This time she hadn’t even been ready for its casting; she’d expected an unstoppable Cruciatus hit.

‘What was that bit with the beetle?’ asked Voldemort curiously.

He’d moved around to face her, while she tried to get to a seated position and controlled her breathing back to normal. Quickly, Hermione lowered her eyes. ‘Nothing,’ she said, thinking rapidly. He lifted her chin. Damn, one, two, three. Rita was her secret. Four, five, six.

‘Ah, that’s better,’ he said. ‘Finally some progress, for I couldn’t quite get that. However, your defences at Stage Two are still naught, and since it is the most common form of Legilimency to be used...’ he trailed off, thinking. ‘What defence did you choose to try this time?’

Hermione bit her lip. She hadn’t been trying any.

He groaned. ‘Granger.’

‘I was expecting something else to hit me,’ she said softly, blinking with her eyes to get them to focus. ‘Why is the world spinning?’

Lord Voldemort tilted his head. ‘Perhaps you need a break; we will-’

‘No, no!’ she yelled. She needed to learn this. She’d go insane if she was cooped up in this ugly pink room forever. ‘No please, I can do this. I have to do this.’

He rubbed his forehead and sighed. ‘You’re of no use to anyone if your mind breaks, Hermione; we will continue to practise in an hour. Right now, you need to get some fluids inside of you, preferably isotonic, and some food.’

‘But-but,’ she objected.

‘We’ll discuss the theory again, while you’re eating and drinking. Perhaps we can clarify the cause behind your inability to exhibit even a mild form of Occlumency when with Stage One you did so well.’

She grabbed the outstretched hand in front of her face and he drew her to her feet. Hermione staggered, grabbing a hold of the robe around his torso to stay standing. He stiffened, standing still like a wooden board, unused to people touching him out of their own volition.

‘Oops, it’s worse than I thought,’ Hermione muttered, leaning with her forehead against his chest. ‘I guess you’re right. I do need a break.’

She took a deep breath and straightened out. Carefully, she let go of him, checked to see if she remained standing, and then, walked to the table and chairs cautiously. This whole Occlumency thing so did not agree with her. By Merlin, she could still hear herself lecture Harry. “Dumbledore doesn’t want you to have dreams about that corridor at all, or he wouldn’t have asked Snape to teach you Occlumency. You’re just going to have to work a bit harder in your lessons.”

You’re just going to have to work a bit harder… She groaned. Like it was nothing, no biggy, just work a bit harder. Oh man, she owed Harry big time, like a new racing broomstick kind of big. Slowly, she sat down in the chair and looked up to see Voldemort still standing in the same spot.

‘I thought this wasn’t supposed to hit me so hard?’ she questioned, ‘with my weird mind and all?’

‘It isn’t,’ Voldemort replied softly, distracted. ‘These are mild symptoms compared to my other victims.’

Mild? Mild! Okay, scratch the racing broom, she owed Harry a whole Quidditch stadium and his very own team.

A cracking sound.

Nebi, the Keepers’ messenger owl, apparated in. It held out its paw to Lord Voldemort. He glanced at the envelope, “Tom Riddle.” It didn’t do wonders for his temper, seeing the name accompanied with the overly familiar handwriting. He snatched the envelope from the paw and ripped it open.

Disgruntled, the owl flew to Hermione, landed on her shoulder and rubbed its feathers against her cheek. ‘Alright, alright,’ she said laughing, ‘give me a moment.’ She picked a plate from the table and said, ‘Owltreats and a dead mouse.’

Excited, Nebi hopped on her shoulder, flapping its wings in anticipation, while Hermione placed the plate on the floor. A second later, a very happy owl snacked away.

Meanwhile “Tom Riddle” read his letter.

Dear Tom,

Miss Granger is expected at the Weasley residence four days from now. Considering these arrangements were made some time ago and the need to keep Miss Granger’s candidacy as well as the Council of Fourteen a secret, I am positive you will acknowledge the necessity for her to maintain this previously set engagement. I’ve taken the proper security measures for her transfer to me at the Keepers’ location in Leeds, Yorkshire at 11:09 a.m. Please confirm meeting point, time and date.

Yours sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore.

A fine tremble ran visible through him, as Lord Voldemort tried to keep his temper in check. His hand wrinkled the parchment in his hand, while he closed his fist around it. Albus Dumbledore, always Albus Dumbledore. Whenever he ran into a complication on his quest for power, those irritating twinkling blue eyes were behind it. He had to get rid of the man; somehow, he had to find a method of really eliminating this constant pain in his arse. Preferably sooner than later, but at least before the expected takeover of the ministry he had planned for next summer.

Breathing heavily, he jabbed his wand at the broken mirror. It flew up in the air and mended itself back to perfection. Another flick of his wrist and the wall repaired itself, the nails screwed back in, and the mirror hovered into place with a click, as the iron wire on its back made contact with the steel nails. Almost in a trancelike state, he slowly turned around, his eyes falling on the girl in question. Hermione observed him with a cautious expression. She sat very still, tense. He had less than four days to teach her Occlumency against Stage Two and Three. It wasn’t impossible, he was an excellent teacher after all; but still… it wouldn’t be enough if the old coot pulled out all the stops.

‘Reread the theory,’ he ordered coldly. ‘I have something to take care of first.’

Abruptly, he apparated away.

Hermione and Nebi looked at each other. ‘Professor Dumbledore?’ she asked, amused.

Nebi let out a long hoot in confirmation before the small Tengmalm owl disappeared too, having finished his lunch. Snorting, Hermione picked up another plate to get something to eat for herself.

---

Lord Voldemort didn’t return that afternoon. She’d reread the bits on Occlumency and had started on her essay once more, feeling a bit restless. Later in the evening, she rewarded herself with a nice, long, hot, calming shower. As she got out the bathroom in her dark-blue bathrobe, twisting a towel around her wet hair, she saw she had company; plural. Lord Voldemort she met before, but not the other one. He was an old man in seemingly bad condition, frail-appearing, skeletal thin, long messy grey hair and deep sunken eyes. A mocking laugh left his lips when he saw her.

‘You are so full of it, Tom,’ the man snarled, exposing Hermione’s parents’ worst nightmare - an almost toothless mouth. ‘No way, no way.’

‘Still, you will prove my claims to be correct,’ Voldemort said coldly, folding his arms over each other.

‘Alright, hand me your wand,’ the man she didn’t recognise barked, stretching out his left hand to Voldemort demandingly.

Hermione arched an eyebrow. What, the man got away with that? No crucios now?

‘In your dreams,’ the Dark Lord mocked, snorting.

‘If I need to verify your ridiculous statement that this Mudblood has the skill to compartmentalise her mind to such a degree, then you’re going to have to.’

‘You can do without,’ Voldemort replied shortly.

‘No, in order to check for the signature signs, I need to be precise and for that I need a wand.’

‘You’re not getting it, Gellert, so move along.’

‘Fine, then hand me hers,’ Gellert said, holding out his hand to Voldemort once more. When nothing arrived in it, Gellert turned around. ‘Look, you asked me here. It’s not my problem Albus won’t believe a single word that comes out of your smooth lying mouth.’

‘Ask her,’ Voldemort said, nodding his head in Hermione’s direction.

Gellert’s jaw dropped. His head swivelled back and forth between Hermione and Lord Voldemort in sheer confusion.

‘You’re letting her have a wand while you’re away?’ Gellert hissed disbelievingly to an unruffled Dark Lord, who merely smirked condescendingly back. ‘Are you insane? How many times do I need to tell you to watch out for Albus and his schemin-’ He took a deep breath and raised his hands to the air. ‘Oh, why do I even bother?’ He shook his head and turned to Hermione, barking, ‘Give me your wand.’

However, it didn’t sound like a sane suggestion to Hermione either. Not to mention that she felt it lacked a certain amount of etiquette to demand someone’s wand without even introducing yourself first. She saw Lord Voldemort’s lip quirk when she made no move to hand anything at all. Worried, her eyes darted between the two; Lord Voldemort and Gellert Something. Considering the man’s age, his attitude, and his wonderful original name-calling, she had a pretty good idea that Something should be replaced by Grindelwald. Nobody else called their child Gellert ever since he’d been around.

Wonderful, this was just wonderful; she really needed to have a long meaningful chat with fate. Because wasn’t having to deal with one of them enough? She had to get two for the price of one?

And even more so, shouldn’t Grindelwald be in Nurmengard? Well, he did need someone else’s wand; prisoners didn’t get to keep their wands. Did Voldemort bust him out of jail?

Nah, he wouldn’t want the competition.

Perhaps he was a Keeper too? Just how many dark wizards were in that Council? No, hold it; stop right there; there was no need to get an answer to that question immediately; she really didn’t want to try her luck with fate any further. It was bound to help her find out in a most horrendous manner.

‘Look here, girlie, I don’t have all day. It’s been awhile since I last checked the number of bricks on my walls, so … hand it over,’ Gellert ordered, gesturing at her with his hand.

Questioningly, her eyes fell on Lord Voldemort. He nodded his head in the direction of Grindelwald, wordlessly ordering her what to do. Hermione sighed and pulled her wand out of her bathrobe’s pocket. As she held it out to Gellert, she couldn’t help but notice from the corner of her eye that Lord Voldemort had drawn his wand, while keeping a considerable distance between himself and the other man. Not to mention that his posture and stance had gained an alertness she had not seen in him before, not even during his duel with the Aurors at the playground. It didn’t make her feel much better about what she was about to do.

But Gellert took her wand before she could withdraw her hand. He weighed it and rolled it in his hand before making his wrist swish and flick in practise. ‘Vine wood with a dragon heartstring core,’ he spoke underneath his breath. ‘Feisty. A bit too flexible to my taste, but it will have to do. Incendio!’ he cast at the flowery bed-draperies.

In a crackling noise, they burst into flames, leaving nothing behind but ashes on the ground. Remarkably, the four posts were still intact. Gellert smirked, satisfied. ‘Horrible curtains,’ he commented. ‘They had it coming.’

‘You missed the chandelier coverings,’ Hermione noted dryly.

It was taken care of in no time.

‘If you’re done redecorating,’ Voldemort trailed off, sounding somewhat annoyed.

‘Not really,’ Gellert said, looking around, shivering in an exaggerated fashion. ‘But with this place it would take me forever to finish. My advice, burn it down to the ground and start over,’ he told Voldemort before turning toward Hermione. ‘Now, let’s see whether or not you’re capable of doing what he says you are.’

Involuntarily, she took a step back when her own bloody wand got pointed at her.

‘No Stage Two or Three Legilimency, Gellert,’ Voldemort said warningly. ‘Or I will have to make sure my apprentice doesn’t die by killing you.’

Gellert’s head swivelled back in surprise. ‘Isn’t that interpreting our rules a wee bit too broad? Brain death is not the same as actual death. I doubt the charter will allow you to kill a fellow Keeper to prevent it.’

‘Wanna take your chances?’ Voldemort said, smirking. ‘Be my guest. Personally, I believe I have a very strong case claiming brain death is actual death. Since I have a duty to protect my apprentice from such a horrible fate, I guarantee you that if I notice one move that resembles any Legilimency attack on your end, I will find out just how far my options to fulfil that duty reach. Either way, you - my friend - will have to decide whether or not you want to take the risk of dying. I do recall the story of Peverell protecting his apprentice from one of the other Keepers successfully under similar circumstances.’

Gellert growled and turned back to Hermione, frowning. ‘Fine, no direct form of Legilimency. But if I need to use Stage One, there is only one way to determine it quickly.’ He whipped her wand. ‘Crucio!’ Gellert cast.

Once again, it felt like white-hot knives were being pushed into ever inch of her skin. She screamed, while collapsing to the ground. She clutched to her stomach, which suddenly felt like it was being ripped apart.

Terrific, sure Granger, just hand your wand over to the nearest dark wizard – nothing bad will happen, promise.

Overhearing the sarcastic comment, Gellert giggled, while she thrashed and writhed on the floor. The towel around her hair dropped. Her bathrobe twisted around her legs, its cord turned perilously loose.

‘That’s quite enough, Gellert,’ Voldemort’s voice spoke calmly, barely to be heard over her loud, agonising screams.

Yeah, she couldn’t concur more. Gosh, she needed shipping to St. Mungo’s already; she agreed with Lord Voldemort. No cookie today.

‘Gellert,’ Voldemort warned a bit louder. ‘You heard the girl; you have your answer.’ He raised his wand at the other wizard.

Gellert dropped his head and sighed, lowering the wand in his hand. ‘It seems I need the practise; I am obviously too rusty with curses like this.’

Oh, you poor baby.

Hermione took a deep breath, pulled her bathrobe back around herself and tied it together with shaking hands, feeling thoroughly embarrassed. Fortunately, none of the wizards present even remotely acknowledged her temporarily semi-nakedness.

‘And?’ Voldemort asked.

‘Fine, fine,’ Gellert said, sounding slightly put-off. ‘I’ll talk to Albus.’ Gellert pocketed the wand, turned, walked to Voldemort and whispered, ‘But this is all the more proof to the truth of my statement that you need to stop jerking around with this girl. Stop before you put her in the vacant seat on the bloody Council. We already are stuck with three of Albus’s protégés; there is no need to add to our collection.’

Voldemort smirked knowingly. ‘You’re entitled to your opinion, Gellert.’

‘Which means you disagree with me. Bah!’ Gellert let out a disparaging bark and walked to the exit. ‘I’ll warn Albus he can’t use the full force of his Legilimency on the Mudblood, but you need to start growing a brain.’

‘Gellert?’ Voldemort said sweetly.

‘What?’ Gellert snapped, turning around – door in hand.

‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’ Voldemort taunted.

The door flew from Grindelwald’s hand and rammed shut. A light flashed behind Gellert; a clear indication that an additional ward had just bumped in place. Next, Voldemort had his wand pointed straight at the man. Gellert glowered in his direction; his stance turned alert.

Hermione figured now would be a good time to be elsewhere, and she quietly scattered back on her butt, until she reached the desk and could go no farther. She hopped sideways to get behind the more solid looking bed. If push came to shove, she could always roll underneath it. Though frankly, the moon wasn’t far enough away to her satisfaction if these two started duelling.

For a second, Grindelwald seemed to consider his options; but when Voldemort made a small move with his wrist, Gellert held up his hand in surrender. After all, the wand was not his; it was firmly pocketed, while the other wizard had his already pointed; and he was very out of practise in the duelling arena. Tom Marvolo Riddle wasn’t the person to start with. ‘Hold your horses,’ Gellert grumbled.

His left hand fiddled through his pocket and he pulled out Hermione’s wand. ‘Oh well,’ he shrugged. ‘It was worth a try.’

He tossed the wand to Hermione, who sat behind the bed now and peeked just over the rim. ‘Just two little words,’ Gellert advised her as she rose somewhat and caught it. ‘It’s pronounced Ke-daaah-vra, not Ked-avraaah; and afterwards, we will all thank you from the bottom of our hearts. I guarantee you it will work. From what I saw you’re powerful enough to produce that curse to its full extend.’

‘Are you done?’ Voldemort asked, amused. His wand flourished, removing the added wards he had set in place.

‘Now I am,’ Gellert said cheerfully, swirling out. ‘Wait till his back is turned!’ Hermione heard him shout from the corridor right before the wards kicked back in place and the door closed.

It became very quiet in the room, a prolonged uncomfortable silence.

‘Well,’ Voldemort said, breaking the silence in an even tone of voice, ‘at least you have the good sense to find cover. Finally something I don’t have to teach you.’

He walked toward her, and casually, flicked his wrist; the towel flew in his other hand. Hermione used the bed to get to her feet, and as she straightened out, Voldemort held out the towel to her. For a split-second, she looked at it, surprised; but then, she accepted it. ‘Thanks,’ she whispered, whipping the towel a few times to clear it from dust particles before twisting it around her head again.

‘You’re welcome,’ Voldemort said, and then, ‘I wouldn’t want to be held responsible for such a dreadful hair occurrence again.’ He snickered.

Hermione’s jaw dropped in astonishment. ‘Funny,’ she finally muttered, shaking her head.

‘Now it seems that we have only limited time to teach you Occlumency against at least Stage Two. Gellert will make sure we don’t have to worry about Dumbledore trying a Stage Three attack or an extended Stage Two on you, but he still will check your mind with a mild version of it when you go to the Weasley in three days, which means-’

Hermione didn’t hear the rest of it. She was going to the Weasleys in three days? As in she wasn’t going to stay here forever? Yay!

‘Granger.’

Oh thank Rowena, she would see Ron and his parents and Ginny and Fred and George again, and would Harry be there already? But what about her assignment? She wasn’t finished by a long shot. And she still needed-

Someone grabbed a hold of her shoulder and shook her. ‘Granger!’

Hermione’s head swivelled up. ‘Sorry, I was thinking.’

‘If I am not satisfied with your Occlumency skills three days from now, Dumbledore will be waiting for you in that factory for nothing. I don’t care how many Keepers I upset by holding you here; frankly, I’d call it an added bonus. Is that clear, Hermione?’ he threatened.

She grimaced. ‘Well, since I suck at it,’ she trailed off.

‘Yes, about that, I figured we may have been going about it the wrong way. You know what the defences entail, but you might understand better how they work if you see them in action once. Take out your wand,’ he ordered, stepping away.

Crap, she’d already showered to get ready for bed. If she’d known she was in for another fun round of attacks on her mind, she wouldn’t have bothered with the useless endeavour of showering. She reached into her bathrobe and pulled out her wand. Voldemort gestured at her to move away from the bed and more to the centre of the room where he was standing. When she was a few feet away from him, he halted her with his hand.

‘Okay,’ he started. ‘Now when you cast the Legilimency spell you need to make sure to keep eye contact with me; once the spell is cast, it’s a matter of focusing your mind on mine continuously in order to see. It takes great concentration to hold on when another’s memories start bombarding your mind. A bit of wavering on your end and I will easily block or cast you out.’ He halted seeing the look on her face. ‘Something the matter, Granger?’

‘You want me,’ she said, slapping with her hand on her chest in clear disbelief, ‘to use Legilimency on you?’ she questioned, looking at him as if the world had turned upside down.

‘Ah, glad you catch on so quickly,’ he said lightly.

Hermione’s eyes widened. ‘Erm, but-but...’

Somehow this didn’t sound like a safe and sane plan to her. No, this was definitely going to bite her in the arse.

‘But what?’ he said, smirking as if he already knew why she wasn’t jumping up and down at the opportunity to get even.

She threw her hands in the air. ‘Well, I think one crucio a day is more than enough, thank you very much.’

He grinned, gave her a shallow bow and said, ‘you have Lord Voldemort’s word that there will be no retribution for any memories you may come in contact with.’

‘U-huh,’ Hermione mumbled reluctantly, and not buying.

‘Besides, this is your first shot at Legilimency and I have years of practise at occluding my mind. You will see only what I wish to share. So, remember the right incantation is Leee-giliii-mens. Repeat it, please.’

‘Leee-giliii-mens,’ Hermione repeated perfectly.

‘Good, remember to keep eye contact at first, concentrate and stay focused on the memories. Try to make sense of what you see first. I’ll give you access and we’ll practise every one of the blocking strategies later.’

Hermione raised her wand, wavering away with her eyes.

‘A little more steady and sure of yourself, please,’ Voldemort said. ‘Concentrate and focus.’

She took a deep breath, made eye contact, concentrated, flicked her wrist and cast, ‘Legilimens!’

A funnel formed in front of her eyes, pulling her in. Images chased past, flashes so short she couldn’t see.

‘Concentrate Hermione,’ she heard his voice in the back of her mind. ‘Focus on just one image that passes.’

Focus on one image? But they raced by so quickly, she couldn’t tell what they were about. How could you focus on them? Was that Hogwarts?

She blinked, more images flew by. Hogwarts! It was something she could recognise. She needed to see something of Hogwarts. She focused on finding those in the blur that passed.

He was eleven, sitting on a stool with a dusty old hat hanging over his eyes, having a completely meaningless yet lengthy discussion on the relevance, or as he saw it irrelevance, of the three Houses he wasn’t interested in at all. … He was twelve, sneaking into the Restricted Section to search for information on the Chamber of Secrets. … He was fourteen, swindling some Potions ingredients from Slughorn to be able to brew something highly illegal. … He was seventeen, opening the Chamber of Secrets.

Hermione staggered back. Voldemort had cast a Shield Charm to push her out. It was not a pleasant experience. For a brief moment, her memory got targeted by her rebound spell and he got a few recent glimpses back.

She was sixteen, flying on a bloody invisible animal utterly terrified. … She was sixteen, casting the Protean Charm on the coins. … She was sixteen, jinxing the DA-parchment so anyone who dared to betray her would be in for a nasty surprise. … She was fifteen, smart-mouthing Professor Umbridge as she’d read the entire book already. … She was fifteen, standing in some obscure hellhole being questioned by strangers about a parchment she poked a hole in.

‘Protego!’ Hermione cast.

Lord Voldemort swirled out of its way, making sure the spell wouldn’t rebound on him again. The memory train died instantaneously. Panting, Hermione took the support of the desk behind her and leaned against it. This was really unfair. Even as the caster she’d become the bloody victim of this spell.

‘Much better,’ Lord Voldemort said appraisingly. ‘Just one example and you copy the defence perfectly. Let’s do this again.’

Hermione took a deep breath, shook her head to clear it, and stepped forward.

‘I’ll let you in again, and then, I’ll show you the first mental defence where you clear your mind of thoughts, feelings and emotions; making them a blind wall to the other if you will. This is the most commonly known Occlumency method, and I think it’s the most insane one to choose, because you have to be an automaton to succeed in it for a long duration of time. Are you ready?’

Hermione nodded.

‘Go,’ Voldemort ordered.

She whipped her wand at him again. ‘Legilimens!’

It took her awhile to make something out of the mumbo jumbo of images, but Hogwarts turned out to be a fine point to focus on.

He was thirteen, duelling with one of his moronic classmates in clear boredom while Professor Galatea Merrythought made notes about their accomplishments. … He was fifteen, three people at a dinner table looked up in utter surprise at seeing him standing there; his wand flashed green. … He was sixteen, talking to Professor Slughorn after having given him a can of crystallized pineapple!

Now that was not something he was willing to share. Shocked, he threw up every barrier he had in place immediately. His mind turned blank; his emotions cleared; Hermione met nothing but a blind brick wall. Her spell bounced off of it.

She was seven being teased by a bunch of bullies who pulled on her hair; a moment later they were all gone, permanently. … She was twelve, running to the bathroom after overhearing Ron tell Harry nobody liked her. … She was fourteen, having a panic attack about all the homework she still had to do; the Time-Turner around her neck twirled. … She was fifteen, feeling very invisible when Ron discussed with Harry which pretty girl to ask out to the Yule Ball. … She was fifteen, kissing Viktor in an abandoned corridor…

Yikes! Hell no, she was not sharing that.

‘Protego!’ Hermione cast. With all the emotions the visuals triggered, she had no idea how on earth to create that blind wall Voldemort just threw up.

‘Good,’ he said, rather unexpected; and while she recovered, he explained. ‘You didn’t try the impossible “I will clear my head of all thoughts, feelings, and emotions”, but you resorted straight to your best means of defence. You need to know about all the defences possible, but I don’t think this one is suited for you. Now the next defence I am going to show is mixing the memories with each other, taking bits and pieces of one and putting them in another, as well as using memories of stories other people told you, or events happening to others you witnessed, and even plain fantasy events you stored in your mind to make one big incomprehensible mess of it to the attacker.

You will see this is the most effective means of defence against a Stage Two Legilimency attack for two reasons. One, it is almost impossible for the attacker to make sense of what he sees and only you will know whether it is real or not. Two, you can fool the attacker into believing you're not occluding him at all, especially if it is someone with little knowledge of your life, so they may give up their attack thinking you're telling the truth.

This defence is also not demanding you to become a robot and show no emotions, but you have to keep in mind that if you feel distressed, you need to show a fake visual which would corroborate with that emotion. If the spell bounces back at you, I want you to try it out too; alright? No more Shield Charms then, just mix and match your memories.

Hermione nodded.

‘Okay, let’s do this again,’ Voldemort said, gesturing her to step forward.

Hermione noticed somewhat annoyed that he seemed totally unfazed by the two attacks on his mind, while she was already feeling a bit feverish and she hadn’t even taken the full blow of it. She gritted her teeth, focused once more, stared into his eyes and cast the spell.

This time she was much faster. She had no idea why, but she saw a little boy and caught the visual.

He was nine, laughing as the swing Mary was on picked up speed, going higher and higher, until it swirled over the bar and she crashed to the ground. … He was nine, talking Dennis and Amy into an incredibly terrifying and dangerous climb down of a high cliff. … He was nine, standing in line with a bowl trembling in his hand, while asking, “Please, sir, I want some more.”

Hermione frowned. He didn’t just use what she thought he did?

He was still nine, walking to London talking to his latest friend Jack Dawkins, who tells him about an old gentleman named Fagin who will help him.

Hermione’s frown deepened, while she added a scowl to her features. Merlin, he had.

He was eleven, getting sorted into Gryffindor. … He was thirteen, hugging his favourite teacher Albus Dumbledore. … He was seventeen, saving Myrtle’s life by making the Basilisk turn at the right moment.

Hermione yelled in frustration, lowering her wand.

Loud laughter rolled of the walls, as Lord Voldemort had his little fun. ‘As you can see,’ he hiccoughed, ‘this defence is the most annoying one of all to deal with.’ He continued laughing. ‘Think you can manage it, Granger?’

‘According to some, I should have no problem in being aggravating,’ she snarled, irritated by his continued snickering. It really wasn’t that funny. She bit her lip. Well, perhaps him hugging Albus Dumbledore… She started giggling. ‘So, Gryffindor, eh?’ she teased. ‘I should have known. It fits with your eyes.’

‘Indeed,’ he replied, smirking. ‘So what’s it going to be for you?’ He raised his wand.

‘Eh, give me a second,’ she objected, frantically searching her mind for something equally annoying to show him.

‘Time,’ Voldemort said, and he cast, ‘Legilimens!’

She was eleven, walking nervously to Professor McGonagall… the visual blurred and McGonagall disappeared. She sat on the stool and a much younger Professor Dumbledore placed the Sorting Hat on her head. …

Voldemort frowned. Had she just nicked his memory?

She was thirteen, duelling a blond boy, feeling insanely bored, while Professor Merrythought made notes.

Voldemort scowled. Yes, the little witch was using his memories against him.

She was seventeen, opening the Chamber of Secrets.

She isn’t even seventeen yet nor is she a Parselmouth. Ugh, this was more disturbing than he could imagine.

She was fourteen, swindling Slughorn into parting with some Potions ingredients.

‘Enough!’ he yelled, lowering his wand.

It was Hermione’s turn to laugh out loud and she did it exuberantly. At some point, Voldemort interrupted her. ‘Well as bothersome as it may have been, this was your first successful Occlumency attempt against Stage Two Legilimency. I feel it is a most convenient moment to call it a night. We’ll continue this first thing in the morning.’

‘O-O-Okay,’ Hermione hiccoughed.

She sat down on the bed, still enjoying her ploy when Voldemort had long apparated away.

---

‘Granger, wake up.’

Someone shook her. She wished he would go harass someone else. She slept so nice. The bed was so soft. Hermione moaned and turned around. Cold water poured on her with the strength and quantity of a waterfall. The violent stream lifted her up. She yelped as she flooded out of bed, got thrown through the room and crashed into the dresser on the opposite wall – elbow first. ‘AH!’

Lying on the floor, looking like a drowned cat, she rubbed her arm with a painful expression, while the water drained away from the room. Lord Voldemort halted above her, looking down with a wicked smile. ‘I don’t like to repeat myself,’ he said, whipping his wand around.

Her scrolls, books and other writing equipment, she had left on the desk, were airborne. He grabbed her bag from the dresser and opened it. A flick of his wand and all her stuff flew in there. He pulled out a Hogwarts’ robe and let it fall on top of her. ‘Put it on, now, we need to leave.’

Hermione scrambled to her feet and wanted to move to the bathroom. But he grabbed her arm, flicked his wand around, and the robe flew over her head – straight over the long, now soaking wet shirt she’d slept in. She was dressed, though it hardly felt like it. Her robe began to stick to her wet shirt. His wand flashed, and every Hogwarts’ label on it vanished, making it a simple plain black witch’s robe.

‘Where is your wand?’ asked Voldemort, dumping a pair of shoes on the floor in front of her.

‘Erm…’ Hermione questioned, looking around the bedroom, while stepping into her shoes. Well, her wand had been under her pillow, until someone found it necessary to turn her bed into a waterslide.

‘Accio wand!’

Voldemort caught it and pressed it into her hand immediately. A Hot-Air Charm flew around her next, drying her. He tapped his wand on her head. It felt like an egg dripping down over your head, but as she faced the mirror she saw how her features changed dramatically.

Suddenly, her hair was long, smooth and incredibly black. Her eyes turned grey; her skin colour paled; the bone-structure of her face altered; she wouldn’t have recognised herself in the mirror – let alone another person would. But she didn’t have time to study her new looks, because he pressed her beaded bag in her hands, dumped the necklace with his mark around her neck, grabbed her arm, and paced to the door.

‘Stay close to me at all times,’ he barked. ‘Don’t say a word, not to anyone, unless I tell you to. And keep your posture straight, your hands on your back, because you have quite telling mannerisms and Severus is there.’

‘What – Professor Snape?’ Hermione blurted out, worried.

Where were they going? Lord Voldemort whipped his wand around as they walked into the corridor. The violent black mist disappeared. The wards around her room dropped. Paintings flew past and positioned themselves back on the wall, but she didn’t have time to investigate their contents, because he yanked her on her arm and dragged her down with him. She had to half-run to keep up.

‘Did you hear what I just said to you?’ Voldemort asked shortly.

‘Yes, stay close, keep my mouth shut and don’t be me,’ Hermione repeated quickly, and immediately disproved her not being Hermione by asking, ‘But why am-?’

Her question cut short when the whole house vibrated. ‘That’s quick,’ Voldemort said, looking up, while moving down the stairs with Hermione in tow. ‘They are attempting to take the Malfoy wards down, Narcissa,’ he called out.

They’d reached the hallway. To Hermione’s utter shock, it was crowded with what she assumed were Death Eaters. She recognised only a three of them, Severus Snape and both Malfoys. Narcissa was flourishing her wand above her head. Voldemort halted, grabbed Hermione by both shoulders, and positioned her next to a door. ‘Stay right here,’ he ordered.

She held her bag in her clasped hands behind her back, remembering to keep her posture steady, straight, and non-Hermione-ishy. Although what she’d rather be doing right this instance was make herself scarce and invisible.

Yeah, invisible and elsewhere sounded great, especially when she saw Bellatrix Lestrange swaying around the group with an excited, hopeful expression on her face. The woman stretched out her hands, holding to her wand above her head, dancing around on her toes almost dreamily; happy about the possibility of a fight, maybe even a kill or a wonderful torture.

Yeah, being elsewhere would be so much better.

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The Apprentice