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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
- 16
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The Bittersweet Taste of Victory

It doesn't hurt me.

Do you want to feel how it feels?

Do you want to know, know that it doesn't hurt me?

Do you want to hear about the deal that I'm making?

You, it's you and me.

You don't want to hurt me.

But see how deep the bullet lies.

Unaware I'm tearing you asunder.

There is thunder in our hearts.

Is there so much hate for the ones we love?

Tell me, we both matter, don't we?

You, it's you and me.

Kate Bush, Running up that hill

Chapter seventeen

It is pain beyond believe, pain past endurance. Panting, Lord Voldemort clutches on to his head; wanting the pain to stop, willing the pain to stop, and ordering the pain to stop. He growls in fury. All he needs to do is concentrate. Concentrate and it will all go away. He knows this is true, but he seems to lack the ability at the moment.

'Focus damn it!' he shouts at himself.

Frustrated, he slams with his fist against the wall, but that action only achieves in sending a howling pain through his hand and does nothing for his ability to concentrate. Stars are beginning to twinkle in front of his eyes. No, no, no… he can not lose consciousness. And he wills them away. There are no stars. There are no stars. His will is greater than this pain. He is Lord Voldemort; he will not be overcome by this silly incident. Staggering, he gets to his feet and looks around the swirling living room. Furniture is dancing around, the walls are bellowing and the floor is moving like an ocean. He presses his eyelids together.

'Everything is standing still,' he orders.

He opens one eye. A potted plant flies by in a twirling motion and he closes his eye instantaneously. 'Potted plants do not fly on their own. Everything is standing still,' he tells himself forcefully again.

Somewhat anxiously, he checks his surroundings again and sighs relieved, when everything is where it should be. Only a pounding pain is still hammering through his skull and it seems the lighting in this room is way too bright. He flicks his wand at the torches; there, much better. See, all one needs to do is concentrate to overcome these whacky things. It's just a matter of having the power to do so.

And he watches the unconscious girl across the room. She is lying there, crumbled up in a heap against the opposite wall. He takes a step into Hermione's direction, but his step resonates inside his head and he halts immediately. Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath in and out, before starting to walk again. A bit of pain will not stop him from doing what needs to be done. Finally, he reaches her and he squats down on his knees; only to grab a hold of the wall quickly, because everything starts to swirl again.

'Nothing is swirling,' he says angry with himself for his lack of control.

Eventually, the room becomes motionless again. Quickly, he checks Hermione's head. He saw how forcefully she hit the wall with it. And the blood, which is visibly splattered around, gives a good indication that something is definitely off. On the back of her head, he sees the origin of all the blood. The silver snake hairpin has broken into three pieces and the fragments are embedded into her skull, making them the cause of several nasty, open wounds there. He heals it swiftly, before turning her around. Though her breaths are shallow, he is relieved to see them. She'll live. And he strokes her face with his hand, until his eyes fall on the cause of all this: the Amulet of Aine.

He takes a hold of the emerald stone and glares at it ferociously. He was so close. She would have succumbed to him where it not for this horrific piece of Elfin made junk. He can't believe he had not considered this problem in advance. Lord Voldemort does not make mistakes like these and he shakes his head in disappointment. He had overlooked a vital issue in his hurry to heal his soul without having to deal with the nasty side-effects of the Amulet. It had amused him sincerely to bother Granger with those emotions, but now, he is cast out of her, because of them, because of love.

He is thoroughly revolted by this, but he knows it is why he is feeling this aggravating, throbbing pain again. He recognises it, because he felt it before; at the ministry on the night he tried to possess the Potter boy and was unable to stay inside. This … this feels similar. And he realises that the moment, he forced his emotions, his magic and his mind on her, was the very moment that the part of the Amulet's powers he shoved on her, the part he didn't want to be bothered with, struck him with a vengeance. The Amulet reinforced Granger's light side and by doing so, he had been unable to reach the darkness inside of her, but was confronted with her goodness. Lord Voldemort is certain Hermione would not have been able to do this on her own. He had seen her mind and he knows how thoroughly dark a part of her truly is. She carries it along with her and all that he needed to do was incite that part and she would not have been able to return, but that blasted Amulet prevented him from reaching her. It's when he remembers the obnoxious Elf's remarks.

'I see you fumbled around with the Amulet's powers,' Silimaurë says haughty.

'Is that going to be a problem?' Voldemort asks.

'Not to me,' Maglor states lightly.

'Not to me,' Voldemort repeats, mimicking Maglor's tone sarcastically.

Stupid elves and their weird sense of humour. He already deemed the Elf way too cosy with Granger, but he didn't want to start an all out war with Everon over something so whimsical in nature. He feels his temper rise, when he realises he should have killed the creature where it stood. And he wants to take the stone and crush it into a million pieces for thwarting him. Only, he needs the other powers the Amulet possesses. He needs the stone to heal his soul. He needs to become immortal again. He will crush it and Everon into the ground after this Amulet has served its purpose. No one hinders Lord Voldemort and gets away with it, not even the Elves of Everon.

He rubs his forehead in a futile attempt to relieve the throbbing pain he is feeling and he wonders whether Granger is alright. She isn't regaining consciousness, despite his healing of the wound on her head. 'Hermione?' he says softly, but there is no reply.

He watches the girl quietly. She completely lost it. Perhaps he should leave her alone. He won't be able to relieve the desperation she felt for as long as she is carrying that Amulet. A sharp pain stabs his heart as he remembers her cries and their conversation.

'Please, just kill me, please,' Hermione cried pleading.

And he had hushed her and told her everything was going to be fine.

'No, please. Please, I can't live like this.'

Lord Voldemort knew the remedy to that and he had been waiting for her to ask. So he had consoled her. And he remembers the hopeful expression on her face, when he had informed her, she didn't have to live like this.

'You will kill me?' She asked, seeking reassurance that the pain would go away.

She had finally broken down, but he would not kill her, he would help her. She would be his for an eternity. Together they would be unstoppable. Darkness would overtake her and make her the most powerful witch that ever walked on this earth. And she would be all his. All she needed to do was surrender the very essence of her being to him. So he promised her, it would all be over. He promised to take her pain away. He promised.

Within a split-second the tip of his wand comes to rest on Hermione's cheek. It's such an easy spell. He cast it a thousand times. Only two words, a jet of green light and it is all over. The sheer elegance of the curse never ceases to amaze him. It is so beautiful. He closes his eyes to cherish the memory. The feel of power as the bolt of green lightning leaves his wand and impacts with a definite finality on its victim. The wondrous manner, in which it takes the light out of the eyes of the person it is cast upon, is a true testament to the work of art its performance stands for. Two words and her life will be over; nice, clean and simple. It's what she wants and he did promise to take her pain away.

'A…' he pauses. No, Lord Voldemort always keeps his word.

'Ava…' he starts, but he muses on her serene expression. She is smiling. Perhaps it was just a temporary break down? But he knows it is a cop out. She is out cold. Her current expression bares no clue to her true emotions.

'Avada Kedrra…' No, that is not it.

'Avada Kad… Avada Kidav… Acda…' He growls frustrated. He knows how to say it.

'Avada Kedavra!' he yells, swirling his wand around at the window.

A dash of green blows the glass away before impacting on the hooting owl that has the misfortune of flying by rather noisily. Satisfied, Lord Voldemort watches the owl freeze momentarily in midair before plummeting out of sight like dead weight in the sky. See, it is like he said: nice, clean and simple. Two measly words and her suffering will be over. Confident that he can do this, he swirls his arm back at the girl. The tip of his wand brushes through her hair and a curl locks itself around it. He stares at it mesmerised. Her hair is such an outward expression of her character, it is uncanny. Wild, jubilant, stubborn, feisty and beautiful. He lifts his wand and the curl bounces back on Hermione's face; resilience springs to mind. She is definitely resilient. What is he doing? Why is he even considering this? Has he lost it completely? She is of no use to him dead!

Lord Voldemort shakes his head in disbelief. So what if she is desperate; she deserves it after speaking to him like that. And his mouth tightens upon remembering what happened earlier on. He was basking in his victory after the incident in the Great Hall with Bellatrix Lestrange. Lord Voldemort orchestrated every last detail of it and it went exactly as he planned, naturally. Sure, losing such a devoted follower was a shame, but the message he had to send to everybody else was more important. Granger doesn't know it, but there had been several incidents in the UK ever since her capture became public knowledge. Some morons, he did not know and was certain Hermione had never seen before, had made several ill-conceived escape plans in order to bust her out of his captivity. They had been captured by the Aurors, of course, but still… he needed this idiocy stopped, before it spread to a person who could actually think straight. So he decided to hit two birds with one stone and came up with a plan that would deal with this and his Bellatrix problem.

After the events of tonight, enough doubt regarding Granger's loyalties will be spread into the minds of those out there. And no one will be risking their lives over someone, who may turn them in on the spot, if they make it. Everyone in the Great Hall saw them kiss. After which he tortured and killed his most loyal follower for her, and they left together in a manner that made it seem Hermione had changed sides. No one knew he had to threaten her with the deaths of defenceless, little children in order to get her to come willingly and comply with his wishes. He set Hermione up perfectly and no one will dream of coming to her rescue now.

It's one of the reasons he picked Bella for his little show and tell. Lord Voldemort knows the impact on others would be the greatest, if he targeted someone whose loyalty to him was unwavering; unquestionable. Not only will it achieve in convincing those who may oppose him, it also sends a message to his other Death Eaters. One, that he is certain of, they will take to heart. Not a single one of them will dare to question his plans for Granger now. Not after seeing what he did to Bella. And he needed to get rid of Lestrange anyway. Bella would have become a burden to him the moment she would realise his plans for Granger went further than just torturing and killing the girl.

He remembers Granger's response to the letter. Her childish trustworthiness in others was almost endearing where it not for her harsh remark after that. You can never, ever show another your weaknesses. This, he knows. It is why he killed Bella. And yet, somehow, he let something slip to Granger in that cave. Why did he tell her about his childhood? Why had he let his guard down? The only one you can trust is yourself. And tonight's events have proven that once more. It was like someone threw a bucket of ice down his spine when she spoke those venomous words.

'Oh, let me guess, another sob story of your dreadful childhood,' she sneered in fury. 'Well, you know what, Riddle, there are more people out there, who didn't have it easy when they were children. But I don't see them all turning into megalomaniacal, world conquering, power-hungry, uncaring bastards.'

It was all so familiar that he didn't know how to respond. A memory he repressed a long time ago came thundering back to the surface, and instead of cursing the living daylights out of Granger, he had acted like a fool and ran out of the room similar as he had done as a little boy. Sister Betty, he remembers her name like it was only yesterday. She seemed really nice and he had trusted her enough to confide in her. It was something that even back then didn't come natural to him.

'Tom, there are more people out there, who don't have it easy. You should be thankful Mrs Cole and the others have provided you with a roof over your head and food on the table. It's not nice to make suggestions about inappropriate behaviour that can place them in a bad light.'

'But … but I am not saying … It's not them …'

'Don't you realise how something like this can cause the orphanage to lose all its funds? An act of the devil I say. All the children will be out on the street, because of you. You don't want to turn into Satan's little helper, now do you?'

'But Sister Betty Dennis…'

'You're an ungrateful, bad boy and I want to hear nothing more of this ever again. Is that clear, Tom? Now leave or I'll inform Mrs Cole of your irresponsible accusations!'

A blast echoes through the room and in a daze Voldemort looks at the furniture he just blasted into pieces subconsciously. Oh, how he got even with Sister Betty. He made sure she screamed for days before killing her. He smiles as he recalls telling her to stop whining, that there were more people out there who didn't have it easy. Knowing the woman was as religious as hell itself, he had shown her what he could do to dead bodies. And till this day on he savours the horror in her eyes, when he informed her, he would do the same to her after she perished. She had been begging for salvation and he had told the good Sister that as the devil he was not inclined to accommodate her. Nothing ever pleased him more than to see that foul bitch die without any hope of ever going to that ridiculous place muggles believe to be heaven. Well, maybe Potter's death would have been more pleasurable had he done it himself, but alas, no such luck was granted to him.

He glares at the woman on the floor; Potter's little helper. Why did he tell his enemy a weak spot? She'll pay for making him remember how helpless and alone he felt that day. He will make her pay. Calling him a coward. Yes, he heard her. She is so going to regret using his moment of negligence against him. Lord Voldemort can't believe he was considering helping her out of her misery. Hermione Jean Granger deserves every moment of despair she feels and he will cherish every bleeding second of it. The hatred he feels towards the bushy brown haired witch on the floor grows tremendously, when, suddenly, he clutches to his chest. A sharp pain stabs him straight in the heart and stars twinkle in front of his eyes, just before everything turns dark all around him and he crashes out cold on top of said girl.

An annoying prickling sensation in his snakelike face is what wakes Lord Voldemort. Disoriented, he blinks at the sunlight that shines and stings on his face, because the curtains in his bedroom are standing slightly ajar. His bedroom! He flies upward, seating himself in order to look around rather shocked. The bedcovers fall down to his legs and he realises he is lying in his bed. This is so not the place he remembers being in last. Someone must have brought him here and whoever it was even went through the trouble of getting his pyjama on and tucking him in? Who, what, how, why, when, where? The last thing he can recollect was the very humiliating experience of fainting in the living room. Lord Voldemort does not faint, anywhere. It's so… so… disgustingly human.

And where is Granger? His wand! He flicks his hand to make it appear, but nothing happens. Shit. The little witch couldn't possibly have nicked it while he was out cold, could she? He growls in frustration, because he knows she probably would have. He swirls his legs out of the bed and his eyes fall upon the nightstand. A breath of relieve escapes him, when he sees the familiar sight of his wand lying there and he quickly picks it up. He strokes the wood as he senses the brief charge of magic flow through him upon the moment of contact. Lucius must have been the one to find them. But where has he left Granger? He gets to his feet and swirls his wand around to change into a set of his favourite black, silk robes. Lord Voldemort storms out of the bedroom in order to find Lucius Malfoy. That pureblood better not have harmed the girl in any manner, otherwise he will have to 'explain' himself more thoroughly than yesterday evening.

'Malfoy!' Voldemort shouts impatiently.

He has summoned the Death Eater after he checked the bathroom, the living room and the guest bedrooms. Currently, he is standing in the dining room, but there is no sign of anyone there. Hurried footsteps are approaching the door, but he has already smashed it open before Lucius has a chance to enter.

'Where is she?' he snarls.

Lucius eyes widen in fright and he stares at his Master in confusion. 'Who?' Lucius whispers, obviously fearing the answer.

'Granger, you idiot. Where have you taken her?'

'Master?'

'We were both unconscious. You brought me to my bedroom. Now I'd like to know…' he halts upon seeing the utter astonishment in Malfoy's face. The idiot has no idea what he is talking about.

'My Lord, I have not …'

Voldemort waves his hand around to halt Malfoy in his speech. 'If it wasn't you, Lucius, then who has been inside my quarters last night?'

Lucius is shaking his head. 'My Lord, no one has requested an audience with you last night. Henceforth, I have not acknowledged anyone the right to pass the painting.'

'You are certain of that?' Voldemort asks, and his penetrating gaze falls upon a pair of fearful grey eyes.

'Yes, my Lord. I know how much you hate being disturbed in the evening.'

It is silent for a while. Malfoy is clearly uncomfortable with being forced to look into that all-knowing, all-seeing gaze, but eventually Voldemort is satisfied he is telling the truth and he lets Lucius of the hook. He registers the suppressed, relieved sigh coming from Lucius as he starts to pace the room. If Lucius did not put him to bed and he let no one enter, then, there is only one other option. He scowls at the ridiculous thought. She wouldn't have. His wand was there. She could have killed him. She tried before.

'Master?' Lucius asks.

'Not now, Lucius, I have to focus,' he replies.

Lord Voldemort concentrates and releases the tendrils of his magic in order to locate Hermione Granger. She will not escape him. Within seconds he finds her location and his jaw drops in astonishment. Apparently, this is a day for surprises.

'You're excused, Lucius,' he says offhandedly as he swirls out of the dining room in a whirl of black robes.

Absolutely stupefied Lord Voldemort stands in the doorway of his study. He is pretty certain he looks utterly ridiculous at the moment, but he just doesn't care. This is unbelievable. It just is. He presses his eyelids together and pinches himself. He must be dreaming. This has to be a dream. Or else he has lost all his marbles altogether overnight. For Hermione Jean Granger is sitting comfortably on the couch, her legs crossed in front of her and a book in her lap. A Dark Arts book to be more precise and from the looks of it she is almost halfway through it. He blinks again and rubs his slit-pupil eyes. Did he forget something that transpired last night? Because if his memory serves him correctly, he was thrown from her, his darkness was cast out. This makes no sense at all. Why is she reading those books? Yes, books plural, because he has suddenly noticed the pile on the floor. How long has she been up and about already? And why on earth had she not taken advantage of the opportunity she had to … well … get rid of him?

There is definitely something fishy about this. He narrows his eyes at the Gryffindor who still has not noticed his entrance, so entranced is she by the book she is reading at the moment. Although that does not surprise him considering which volume she has in her lap. He smirks in recognising it. Contrary to popular believe, not all Dark Arts Volumes are dangerous to read. Most of them are actually like normal books, just plain explanations of the theories and subjects in question. Only a relatively scarce amount has a direct and significant effect on the reader. The one Granger is currently engaged in definitely being one of the more luring and ensnaring tomes. Stealthy, he approaches Hermione and takes in the books beside her on the ground. The book on the bottom of the pile is the one he had been trying to get her to read for ages now. He summons it in his hands to check and is most pleasantly surprised when the book shows him she has read it from cover to cover. But why? Why would she, suddenly, completely out of the blue, read it? He is certain she is aware of the threat this book beholds to her.

His suspicion and curiosity is going through the roof as he takes in the stunning visual of Hermione reading Ensnaring The Arts. She has been fighting him tooth and nail on this subject. She has resisted every form of torture he threw at her and she denied herself from reading a single word, while he dangled the salvation to her agony in front of her. So why is she…? The answer hits him like a ton of bricks. In a fluent motion he takes Hermione's chin and lifts it. She jerks in shock, having not noticed his presence before he touches her, due to the book's dark enchantments.

'Look at me,' he whispers, before he adds: 'Leglimency.'

He barely needs to hold her chin, for she does not resist. She is not attempting to block him, to close her mind underneath one of the layers. She is not trying to avert her eyes from his gaze. On the contrary she is allowing him access. He can tell the difference from all the other times before, when he had to breakthrough her mental barriers. And he sees it all and it is rather shocking to him.

…Hermione wakes and crawls out from underneath his lifeless body…

…She is checking his vitals after turning him around carefully and nicking his wand…

…She is pacing the living room up and down, while occasionally glancing at his unconscious form…

…She is standing beside him, nervously tapping with his wand on her leg, obviously contemplating on some of her options…

…She is biting her lip, while looking at the Amulet of Aine, before she flicks his wand around in order to cast a Hover Charm on him and he sees her levitate him to his bed, changing his clothes into nightwear and tucking him in…

…She is in his study, pulling The Dark Arts Persona of the shelf and stationing herself on the couch, before opening it with a slight, nervous glance at the Amulet. 'This better work,' he hears her mutter…

And Lord Voldemort leaves her mind at once upon confirming his suspicions. Hermione is gambling the Amulet will protect her from the threat some of his books pose to her. His eyes glance to the volumes on the floor she has read and he gazes down at the girl's appearance meticulously. She is out of breath and perspiring, but those are after-effects from the Leglimency. It is not what he is looking for. It is not there. He can not sense any growing darkness, anywhere. Slowly, he sits down before her; narrowing his eyes at the clever, little witch.

'Planning to speed-read yourself through my entire library, before I return that Amulet to its makers, Hermione?' Voldemort says amused.

She shrugs calm with a small smile on her face and he thinks he sees a slightly Elfish twinkle inside of her eyes, but it must be a trick of the light. For it is gone the next moment. Her pupils dart to his hand that is caressing her hair, before they meet his gaze again. He marvels at her ability to remain calm and collective underneath such scrutiny. Ensnaring the Arts is lying open in her lap and he takes the book from her to glance at how far she has read it already.

'Interesting choice,' he comments, 'any thoughts on the contents you'd like to share.'

'Beside what a foul piece of work it is?' Hermione replies casually.

Throwing his head backwards, he laughs out loud. She really is something. He doubts anyone in history has ever been able to read that book and still make a derogatory comment about it. The enchantments on it are some of the most powerful around. Anyone who reads it for purposes of learning to defeat instead of using The Arts has been in for a ride, and here she sits, making a casual remark that clearly defies all The Arts stand for and nothing happens. That Amulet is an even bigger pain in the arse than he already envisioned and he smiles at Hermione.

'Yes, beside that,' Voldemort adds.

'I haven't finished it yet.'

'So I noticed.'

She folds her arms behind her head and sighs. 'The title is kind of a farce,' she replies. 'Whoever wrote this book clearly meant to lure unsuspecting readers into a life they would not have chosen on their own accord.'

'You believe that someone who decides to read a book called Ensnaring the Arts is unsuspecting?'

'They could be just curious.'

'Curiosity killed the cat.'

'Yes, and in this case you can take that quite literally,' she says, while eyeing the book with a disgusted expression. 'Ensnaring the Arts, pfftt… Ensnaring the reader into the Arts is a more appropriate title and if said reader remains unwilling, simply kill said reader by activating the nasty Cellular Degradation Charm that is on the pages.'

'Oh, it already tried to kill you?' Voldemort asks cheerful.

'Thrice,' Hermione mutters annoyed, 'what it lacks in intelligence it sure makes up in persistence.'

'Did you use Willinsky's or Tyler's counter chant?'

'Willinsky's,' Hermione answers, 'Tyler's is…'

'…too wordy,' they say in unison.

Hermione smirks and Voldemort snorts. 'Yes, like someone has the time to say four sentences before the kill,' he adds sarcastic.

An awkward silence falls like a blanket of snow over the inhabitants of the study. Hermione is looking upward. Automatically, he also glances up, trying to see what Hermione finds so interesting at the ceiling. Oh … nothing. Their eyes meet again.

'It is going to make some more attempts on your life, if you continue reading it,' he says softly. 'Especially the attack on the final page is rather vicious. Though I have to agree with you, it does get rather tiresome having to counter the same charm over and over again. I considered finding the author and killing him for boring me to tears with that chant, but, apparently, Gellert Grindelwald had already beaten me to that task.'

'Why would this book want to kill you?' Hermione asks bemused. 'Those enchantments are only set to kill someone who is not willing to delve into the Arts of this book.'

'Do you honestly think I'll allow a book to possess me, Hermione?' Voldemort says smirking. 'I read them to obtain the knowledge inside. I have no desire to become a circus animal that jumps through a hoop. I always take the necessary precautions upon reading a new Dark Arts Volume.'

'Oh,' she merely says.

'But I love to see how your precaution turns out,' he says lightly. 'Feel free to browse through it all,' he adds waving at the volumes on the shelves nonchalant. 'I can't wait to find out if that piece of Elfin junk can stand up to the more powerful tomes.'

'Your concern for my safety is quite touching,' Hermione replies ironically.

'I didn't push those other books in your hands, dear. You picked them out all by yourself,' he reminds her smiling.

'Touché,' she says acknowledging.

'I would have…' and he smirks viciously, because a wonderful idea springs to mind. 'I'll be right back.'

'Don't hurry!' He hears her say in jest right before the door slams shut behind him.

A couple of minutes later he re-enters his study chamber carrying an enormous thick and ancient tome. With a loud thud it lands on the coffee table and he smirks as he sees Granger's eyes widen upon recognising what the general public calls the book of the devil. The book itself bares no title whatsoever. Only a circle of undecipherable runes are visible on the weathered brown leather cover.

'Why don't you try out the powers of the Elves against this one,' he suggests deviously and he roars with laughter upon seeing her glare at him through narrowed eyelids.

'No?' he asks and seats himself next to her again. 'Not even the slightest bit curious about the contents?'

'I think I can live without it,' she replies.

'It may not even open up to you,' he says, deliberately targeting her angst of failure, of not measuring up. 'It is said to only reveal its contents to those it deems worthy. History has shown that has not happened often.'

Unfortunately, she is ignoring his taunts. 'Did you read it?' she asks interested.

'Naturally,' he replies smug.

'At what age?' she continues, seating herself more upright.

'Trying to determine if it is the devil's book that is the cause for all my evil deeds?' he asks snorting.

She shrugs and is observing him rather intently. Gosh, she is actually considering this. 'I was your age at the time; twenty-eight,' he replies, squashing that notion to bits and pieces.

'That was right before you returned to Hogwarts to hide the Ravenclaw Horcrux in the Room of Requirement, was it not?' Hermione asks frowning.

Now, it is his time to frown. She really knows way too many details about his personal life. He keeps forgetting the old coot had been digging in his past and told Potter all about the things he found out about him.

'Yes, right before I returned her,' he replies stiff.

He will not make the same mistake twice and trust her again with something personal. Why is she staring at him like that? He returns the favour, because he wants her to stop badgering him in that manner. It's when she opens her mouth that he receives another surprise today.

'I am sorry,' she apologises sincerely.

He gazes at her in shock. He is used to people saying they are sorry to him, but not used to them actually meaning those apologies. It is always uttered out of fear for his wrath. So many times his followers have apologised to him for their incompetence, their failure, their lack of proper servitude. Every time someone told him they were sorry it was in a feeble hope to save their skins. So why is Granger saying it at the moment? He can't begin to comprehend that. She knows she is placing herself at risk for even bringing up last night's events again. She is not doing it to stay out of harms way. On the contrary, she is placing herself directly in its path.

'I was out of line with what I said to you last night,' Hermione continues softly. 'I had no right to diminish your childhood experiences in the orphanage, because I can't even begin to imagine what you went through.'

Several painful images flash before his eyes and he tries to bury them as fast as he can, but somehow he is unsuccessful to close the lit on them.

…

'You might want to reconsider adoption, Mrs White, the boy is … peculiar. Why not go with Alan?'

…

'I would appreciate it if you were to examine him, doctor. I believe there is something seriously wrong with him.'

'What could be wrong with a four year old, Mrs Cole?'

'Well, Tom seems to lack emotions others have. He never shows any. He never cried as a baby and I believe he enjoys hurting others a lot.'

…

'You killed that rabbit Tom. I don't know how you did it, but I know it was you. You're a rotten, evil, little boy.'

…

'He will amount to nothing.'

…

'Mrs Cole should call an Asylum and have them take him away.'

…

'He is got accepted into some boarding school I never heard of,' Mrs Cole said.

'Shouldn't you investigate whether it is a legit institution?' Sister Betty asked her.

'No, it's good riddance, I say.'

'Mary,' Sister Betty said in mock admonition. And both women laugh quietly.

…

Alright, Granger needs to shut up now. How dare she bring on these memories? He clenches his hands to fists and feels like seriously hurting someone. And the cause of his current agony comes to mind. How dare she impose him with her … her … self-serving comments. Yes, that is what it has to be. It's not a sincere apology. He had to have been mistaken in his observation. She doesn't mean a single word she says. No one ever does. She has to have an ulterior motive. They always do. She is trying to weaken him. That's what she is doing, but he will not be fooled by her phoney caring expression again.

He startles when he feels soft hands taking a hold of his. In a blink of an eye he pulls away from her and jumps of the couch, his wand at the ready. He sees her withdraw her hands in something he can't quite identify, but there is definitely fear in her eyes now. Yes, that's it Hermione. Be afraid, be very afraid. He is not someone to toy with. He clenches on to his wand in fury. She has got too comfortable around him, too at ease. Is that concern in her eyes? That little, traitorous wench.

'Don't you use your feminine wiles on me!' he yells.

Granger gasps, her jaw drops, and she stares at him confounded and astonished. Somewhere in the back of his mind he realises how utterly ridiculous his outburst is with respects to the woman in question, but then … she snorts; rather loudly. And she starts to giggle uncontrollably. She is laughing in his face! His temper grows exponential and he does what he feels he should have done yesterday evening, instead of running for cover.

'Crucio!'

There, now she is no longer laughing. Lord Voldemort watches with great satisfaction as Hermione plummets of the couch onto the floor, writhing and screaming in extreme agony. Every ounce of skill that he has gets mixed with her own and he inhales the sheer delight he is feeling, while she is on the ground crawling before him, where she belongs. The sheer force of the curse as it is cast with their combined magic exhilarates him and he takes great pleasure in seeing the overwhelming effects it has on her. All his fury overtakes his rational mind. And he thinks with his teeth firmly clenched upon one another:

That (a flick of his wand)

Girl (a twirl)

Will (a second flick)

Never (an underhand flip)

Trick (a casual flash)

Him (a sideway whip)

Again (a jabbing motion).

An earth shattering scream, blood sprays everywhere, and then … silence; total and heartbreaking silence.
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The Bittersweet Taste of Victory