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

Chapter List
- 12
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- 14
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Beta: Serpent In Red
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Two Steps From Hell
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Chapter Thirteen
Tormented green eyes were watching the huge screen above the crowds, and they could not believe what they were seeing.
This was Voldemort?
Hermione had told him that he was the Master of Death. For real.
She did not explain how she found this out, saying only that she was bound by oath to silence, and that the only thing she could say was that Voldemort had destroyed all three Hallows.
And now he finally believed it.
He had received the invitation but had not planned on attending the show before he found out that Voldemort himself would be here.
Voldemort had invited him as a guest of honor to the final show of "The Duel".
Looking at the burning red eyes that illuminated the dimly lit arena, Harry wasn't sure what he felt.
Why were the fates so unfair?
xxx
"Abructo!"
The blue curse left Aurelius Magenta's wand and flew towards Lord Voldemort, and she forgot how to breathe.
She could not watch quietly—even though she had to—because the Demolishing Curse was incredibly hard to block, especially if it was a close-up curse to the First Triangle.
The Pink Lord wasn't kidding.
She could laugh all she wanted about his stupid face, but he truly was a possible Dark Lord. It wasn't easy to create such a triad even if it were for practice sessions, let alone a true, life and death duel.
It was legendary for a reason—the Dark Art's First Triangle—and she could count on one hand all the people she knew who were able to produce it.
Abructo was a close-up curse to the built chain of the two main destruction spells. The tricky part was that while a powerful curse by itself, Abructo, when used exactly as the Pink Lord had done, would act as an in-spell rune activator and change their direction, catching the victim from all sides.
This was a fight of magic and knowledge between two Masters of the Arts. The Pink Lord was a Dark Art's Master—just like she was!—and Lord Voldemort ...
Lord Voldemort was a god.
But what she was watching wasn't something she could call casual.
The spells have been flying right and left, smashing into magical barriers that protected the public, for the last ten minutes, and she was torn between freezing from fear and burning in ecstasy.
But only now was she truly afraid.
What if—it wasn't even questionable that her Lord would block the spell—but, what if …
She has lost him once already.
Her hand was suddenly squeezed in a death grip, and she tore her mad gaze from the duel for a second to see Lucius lean close to her face.
He looked like he always did—all sleek and shiny like his beloved peacocks around the Manor—but his eyes were dead serious as he whispered, "Quiet."
Yes, she had to stay quiet. She didn't dare to endanger Lord Voldemort's concentration.
It was her Master who had started the duel with a simple Maleo Sensa, and Bellatrix had wondered then as to why would he choose such a light Dark curse as beginning?
All the times she had seen him duel—and he taught her how to duel, so it were many—he had used a curse from a different branch of attacking magic as an entrance.
And no matter how insane everyone thought her to be, Bellatrix wasn't stupid.
Not even half a minute into a duel, she could see his handwriting clearly on the step-by-step introduction to the Dark Arts. Lord Voldemort was egging the Pink Lord with catchy spells that were insane in their power but weren't really serious.
A head-cutting spell that could be blocked was nothing compared to what she had seen Lord Voldemort do.
She recognized her Lord's lesson when she saw one.
Bellatrix promised herself to take a closer look at the Mudblood.
Not that her Master would touch something so filthy.
She wouldn't have been so worried hadn't the Mudblood had a part of her Lord's soul inside of her filthy body. This filthy creature carried her Master's soul around as something casual—like a fucking scarf—when it was a blessing of such magnitude that Bellatrix would have killed anyone and everyone to have this honor.
Despite the bone-crushing strength with which Lucius had been gripping on to her arm, Bellatrix had been prepared to scream, simply because she couldn't hold it anymore. However, before she could, she heard a scream from her left.
"Watch out!"
The Mudblood.
Bellatrix quickly looked over and saw the priceless moment. The Mudblood's face was horror-stricken when she realized that she had screamed out loud, and the people present in the deadly-silent stadium were now looking at her.
"Davine Ectra!"
Before she could think about the implications of such an outburst, Bellatrix heard her Lord's cold and serious voice, and she breathed out in relief and happiness.
The duel would be over in a second—her Master was now serious.
The curse of the damned.
Lord Voldemort's signature curse.
She had seen him use it many times, and each time, it made her magic, heart, and mind thrash in ecstasy.
It was his own invention, a creation of five masteries—the Dark Arts, Runes, Transfiguration, Charms, and Necromancy—that leaked into one's magic and sucked it out, binding the core to the Lord Voldemort's wand before he would rip it out, and the victim would die slowly and painfully.
It was the most powerful curse Bellatrix knew, and it wasn't used often only because of the power necessary to cast it and the power drain it had on one's magic.
But it was divine.
Even if the Pink Lord did manage to somehow block it, it would then blow up and create a crater in the place where he stood.
Only Lord Voldemort knew the counter spell—if there was one!—and he did not share.
It was over.
xxx
Hermione saw bright red eyes look at her quickly. Honest surprise appeared in them before disappearing behind a laughing expression, and she suddenly realized that she had said it out loud.
Screamed it.
In the otherwise silent stadium, the magnified echo was still flying around the tribunes when Hermione felt the force of the gaze of twenty thousand people on her.
My god! What have I done?
But it was the "Hood", her "Hood", and Hermione just could not watch as the Demolition Curse sped towards her mentor, finishing the First Dark Triad, which was described in the book Voldemort had given her.
It wasn't Lord Voldemort fighting; it was the "Hood", who now had a face she did not associate with Lord Voldemort yet. The initial Lord Voldemort had a serpentine face, no nose, and a skeletal body.
The "Hood" was teaching her an academic lesson, and Hermione recognized a lesson from the "Hood" when she saw one.
The extremely knowledgeable, sarcastic Hood who'd provided her with everything she could only want, who joked with her and had a sense of humor she appreciated, and whom she had met every three days for the last half a year, was showing her what magic really meant and how it was possible to bend one's magic to the will, when Aurelius Magenta fired off that last spell combination.
And Hermione lost control for a second.
I didn't mean to!
She wanted Lord Voldemort dead, but she did not want the "Hood" gone.
What have I done?
Hermione was pale-white, and her panicked eyes were trained on one figure on the arena, so she did not see shocked green eyes look at her from five balconies up.
Hermione did not see the figure of Harry Potter lean over the parapet, but Harry Potter saw everything.
xxx
Harry wasn't sure who looked more terrified—Bellatrix Lestrange or Hermione Granger as they stood side by side, watching Voldemort's impossibly suffocating dark magic—and when he heard Hermione scream, Harry felt something bitter in his mouth.
Bile was rising up his throat, and he wanted to vomit from the realization that Hermione—his best friend Hermione—screamed at Lord fucking Voldemort to watch out.
How he hated him.
It was all his fault!
xxx
"Abructo!"
Finally.
He could finally finish the Pink idiot, now that the final spell had been cast.
He didn't have to kill him, as Girard could be useful, but he had to make a point.
He didn't have to kill the pink failure, but he could and he wanted to.
And that was a deadly combination.
Girard had good, quality knowledge of the Arts, and he was a good dueler, but Lord Voldemort found himself disappointed. He had awaited for more.
Apparently, one could not trust reputation anymore.
Just like with Potter.
Only Albus Dumbledore could make his magic dance in rave, and Albus Dumbledore was dead.
He wished to see the old fool's face now so he could gloat and laugh at him, and Lord Voldemort had to squash his obsessive thoughts about one deranged old coot.
There was no serious competition left at all, if this was the possible Dark Lord, Voldemort thought with a sigh.
Even Lucius had better Occlumency shields, and Lucius was many things, but a talented Occlumens he was not.
It was pathetically easy to manipulate the fight and predict every single move of his opponent, and Lord Voldemort wanted to finish this mock duel now. He had his fun.
As he gathered his magic to shield off the attack and interfere with the casted spell, he heard a panicked "Watch out". For a second, he thought just how brutally he'd punish Bella for screaming something so imbecilic to him—did she think that, what, he may have forgotten how to fight off serious spells?—when he realized it hadn't been Bella.
Well, well, well …
What a nice surprise.
Voldemort barely held back a laugh when he imagined Potter's facial expression, if his little Horcrux's pretty paper-white face was of any indication. He quickly cast a glance up, meeting horrified green eyes he knew so well, and Voldemort's mouth twitched into a now honest and genuine smile.
When he had invited his biggest mistake to enjoy the show, he hadn't planned on his little Mudblood's possible outburst.
The evening was getting better and better.
"Davine Ectra!"
Only Dumbledore had managed to block it once and he was already dead.
Pity.
Greetings to Albus Dumbledore, Voldemort mentally pushed the thought to the Pink Lord, and he saw his brown eyes widen in realization.
There could be only one Dark Lord and he did not share.
xxx
Lucius let go of Bellatrix's arm when Aurelius Magenta fell to the floor, his body twitching in agony, his magic ripped away from him as he slowly died.
Blinking a few times to fight off the euphoria—he was high!—Lucius saw the still shocked Mudblood—now that had been interesting!—and quickly looked up to see Potter's twisted face.
Still high from the amount of magic on the arena, Lucius could feel the corner of his mouth twitch in a coming laugh at the stupid expression on Potter's face.
His Lord was a genius.
Not that he doubted it even for a second, but it was always something special having the privilege to see such power so closely and know that you were the second-in-command.
Lucius never wanted to be the Dark Lord simply because he did not have the magical power to pull it off; only his Lord and Dumbledore had been powerful enough to claim their respective titles of Dark and Light Lords. But he wanted to feel the power anyway, and that was why he had joined the Dark Lord; the benefit of doing whatever came to his mind when dealing with Muggles was just that—a benefit.
While he was a sadist, Lucius had to admit he wasn't as blood-thirsty as his sister-in-law or many other Death Eaters. He was more pragmatical—he enjoyed causing pain as much as the next sadist, but he had his boundaries.
Unlike some, Lucius thought while sparing a glance at Bellatrix who looked so high that he doubted she knew where she was.
Lucius was similar to Severus in that way, drawn by power and knowledge, but unlike his once best friend—never trust a snake!—Lucius honestly and truly believed the cause, and while he was slithery, he was loyal to his Lord.
That was the only thing that saved his and his family's life. Lucius knew that for sure, as Lord Voldemort basically raped his mind after the whole incident in the Forbidden Forest and then Narcissa's and Draco's.
He was useful and he was loyal, and that was why he was now standing on the best possible balcony, watching his Lord triumph over that tasteless—why magenta when there were more fitting pink tones?!—fraud who claimed to be a Dark Lord.
While Lucius didn't doubt now that Aurelius had the magical power to try for the title, he lacked followers and structure.
It had taken Lucius one month to infuriate the French Ministry and only four months to plan and execute everything, and the so-called Dark Lord of France didn't even notice.
Looking at the golden watch in his hand, Lucius noted it was quarter to midnight.
Fifteen minutes.
Right on schedule.
xxx
As the body of Aurelius Magenta hit the floor after the unknown spell from Voldemort, Hermione saw the Dark Lord slowly walk over to the twitching body with pale-pink hair, his shoes clicking on the smooth surface.
No one dared to even breathe.
Voldemort's bright red eyes were shining on his handsome face as he stepped on Aurelius Magenta's body, leaning his arm on his leg that was holding the twitching head of the fallen wizard under his black shoe sole.
Just as he had done with me that day as I had failed with the first practical test, Hermione realized, her mind still reeling from shock. Did I really care for the Hood that much?
"This is how you do it, Pink Lord." Voldemort's voice was now again light and mocking, laughing eyes looking down at the fallen figure with a sadistic smirk.
"I am Lord Voldemort."
The Dark Lord removed his foot from the still twitching body of Aurelius Girard as he slowly walked around, his voice quiet but powerful as he addressed the silent crowds.
"And I am the only Dark Lord."
Voldemort made a pause to watch the silent crowd, still slowly making wide circles on the arena, both monitors showing his elegant form from all angles.
"Today, wizards and witches, is a good day. Today, we finally say 'enough'. Today, we take what is ours by birthright."
Hermione saw many onlookers lean closer, mesmerized by the Dark Lord and the show they had seen.
"Our right is to cast any magic we wish to, when we wish to, and where we wish to. No more restraints!"
Many people started to get up and their faces were illuminated by disbelieving, happy smiles.
Purebloods, Hermione realized with unease.
More and more were getting up, and Hermione now saw at least half of the stadium stand up.
"Six months ago, I have freed Britain from the chains that Muggles had set on our magic many centuries ago, and today, I free France."
No.
Was this evening going to end?
How many shocks Voldemort had in store for her today?
Hermione's mental torture was interrupted when ear-shattering, euphoric cheers filled the air.
"The French Ministry of Magic is now fully under my control, and I free you!"
A roar so powerful that it shook the tribunes erupted from the now raving Dark Arts fanatics and purebloods, that Hermione had to sit back down into her chair.
She couldn't stand. Her knees were shaking, and her heart was beating so fast she thought for a second if she was going to get a heart attack.
Voldemort was taking over France.
"We, those who are blessed with a gift like magic, are superior to anyone and everyone. Our pure blood is filled with magic and we are all powerful."
Voldemort was manipulating the crowd—he was telling them exactly what they wanted to hear, Hermione realized with a sense of doom.
His elegant form, handsome face, and his incredible magic were doing half of the job for him, and his powerful but mesmerising voice was drawing people to him like moths to fire.
Voldemort was using all his arsenal now, the beautifully sculptured human face giving him even more power.
With tears in her eyes, Hermione could see so many faces staring at the huge screens with such joy and devotion that she felt sick.
Voldemort wasn't only taking over France, he was taking over people's hearts and souls, building a far bigger army than he had now—he was gathering followers.
Hermione swallowed hard.
She wanted to wake up.
"Mudbloods—" Voldemort's eyes caught hers for a second, and Hermione could only stare back, her brain in override mode. "—if you denounce your filthy heritage and prove us, your superiors, that you are worthy, we will welcome you to our magical world."
Hermione's shocked eyes noticed many other people get up, their faces now eager and ready.
Half-bloods and Muggle-borns. Dear god, how many!
"One ruler, one community, one religion!" Voldemort paused and pointed his wand in the air, up. "Magic! Morsmordre!"
With disbelieving eyes, Hermione saw Lord Voldemort shoot a Dark Mark into the air above the stadium when the crowds started to chant, the green mist of the Dark Mark illuminating their ecstatic faces.
"Our Lord, our Lord, our Lord …"
It wasn't happening!
As Hermione saw some people on the tribune where Aurelius Girard's friends—followers—sat get up with determined faces, Voldemort pointed his wand in their direction.
"Expulso Morde!"
The balcony exploded with a blast so powerful that half of the tribune fell to the ground in small pieces, and between the deafening screams from the crowds, Hermione saw Lucius Malfoy look at her with a mocking smirk on his refined face.
"Would you like some champagne, Miss Granger?
Looking at Malfoy's face, Hermione saw a mad glint in his normally sane eyes shine brightly as he started laughing.
Am I dreaming? This couldn't be happening!
And then one after one, Dark Marks started appearing everywhere, illuminating the dark sky with a bright green color, and a horrible skull with a slithering snake was now everywhere she looked.
"Bow before me and nothing will stand in our way!"
How did he know what to say? How did he know the exact words that would—had—reached almost everyone in the stadium, the destroyed lounge of Aurelius Magenta being the only big exception?
Hermione felt her hands shake and she needed air.
The people started to go on their knees, one by one, until only a few kept standing here and there; the full stadium was on their knees before Lord Voldemort.
Just as she thought nothing could shock her anymore, Hermione saw with almost a heart attack a new figure appear—the magenta-colored sleeve of the robe giving his identity as a follower of Aurelius Girard away—from somewhere around the arena, and the next second, he shouted.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Voldemort was standing with his back to him, and Hermione saw Voldemort turn to see who dared, a strange expression in his red eyes. Hermione almost screamed again when the Killing Curse approached the Dark Lord .
"No!" Bellatrix screamed in a deranged voice as Voldemort made no move to step aside as the Killing Curse was now not even a meter away from him.
Then again, the spell was too fast. There was no way he could've sidestepped it even if he wanted to.
Hermione couldn't breathe.
The bright green curse slowed down when it almost touched Lord Voldemort's immobile form and then, it just passed through him, as if he weren't even there, before hitting the barrier behind him with a loud bang.
He was the Master of Death and here was the proof.
Hermione looked at the stranger's shocked face when she heard Voldemort's chilling laugh.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Hermione closed her eyes when Voldemort shot a Killing Curse at the follower of Aurelius Magenta, and she heard a thud a second later. She was going into shock, and her mind and body was not cooperating with her.
"This is how you do it," Voldemort added, laughing out loud, his voice triumphant and euphoric.
The crowds cheered like mad, their new idol standing tall before them. And it looked like this idol would not be killed so easily. If at all.
Hermione felt someone's hand around her arm, as someone—Lucius Malfoy—made her stand up. Her legs weren't listening to her, and her mind was numb with shock.
I just wanted to see the show. Am I truly damned?
He was holding her tight when the tribunes shook again after an explosion sounded somewhere outside of stadium.
The Death Eaters started Apparating away, their full Death Eater robes on, prepared to go to their assigned destination to wreak havoc all around France, and Hermione was Apparated away by Lucius, but not before seeing the huge screens illuminated with a Dark Mark instead of the raven with a scroll.
France had fallen.
xxx
Hermione was sitting in her apartment, her numb hand holding a glass of wine—her sixth!—and her eyes unmoving.
She just wanted to see the show.
As her hand reached out to refill her now empty glass, Hermione saw the bottle fly over to the figure standing in the shadows.
Hermione didn't need to hear his familiar voice to know who it was.
"And here I thought you'd drink something stronger."
Hermione's drunk brown eyes looked at Lord Voldemort's unhooded figure as he slowly approached the sofa opposite her and sat down, his form elegant and relaxed, a few buttons of his silvery silky shirt opened, and his eyes ice-blue again as he looked over her crouched form.
Hermione was already drunk and his presence—after the evening of shocks—did not help the matters.
He snapped his fingers, and a second later, a house-elf appeared, holding a bottle of Ogden's Firewhiskey.
"Would you like a drink, Hermione?"
Her brain still numb, Hermione caught on the fact that Voldemort had called her by her first name for the first time.
One more drink would not kill me, Hermione thought, trying to get up, only for her unsteady legs to give up. The next second, she fell into Lord Voldemort's lap, and those piercing, pale eyes were watching her from only centimeters away from her face.
She was face to face with Lord Voldemort.
Hermione could only stare into his eyes, her mind drunk and numb.
His sensual lips were almost touching hers, as she leaned closer, and Hermione felt a hand in her hair.
Her palm moved on its own and now lay on his smooth shirt—it was silk!—and she could feel the steady heartbeat under her fingers. Her other hand slowly crept up to lie on his vest-clad shoulder, her drunken eyes taking in every little detail of his refined face.
Her heart was replaced with some loud pump that missed a few beats, and her brain was foggy.
Hermione didn't know what would have happened, had she not heard the Dark Lord whisper quietly "Sleep" to her lips, and she immediately fell asleep, unaware of arms that picked her up and laid her on the sofa.
xxx
As Voldemort looked over Hermione's now sleeping figure, he placed the bottle of Firewhiskey on the table—she'd need it— and smirked before disappearing just as quietly, as he had appeared.
Our celebration would have to wait for another time, Lord Voldemort thought while returning to the French—his!—Ministry of Magic.
He'd let his Mudblood sleep off her shock and drunkenness.
He was very merciful.
Today was a good day.
xxx
a/n He's such a show-off! Tsk :)) Please let me know what you think! Waves!
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Two Steps From Hell