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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
- 17
- 18
- 19
The Bittersweet Taste of Victory

How many sorrows

do you try to hide?

In a world of illusions

that's covering your mind?

I'll show you something good.

Oh I'll show you something good.

When you open your mind

you'll discover the sign

that there's something

you're longing to find...

The miracle of love

will take away your pain,

when the miracle of love

comes your way again.

Cruel is the night

that covers up your fears.

Tender is the one

who wipes away your tears.

There must be a bitter breeze

to make you sting so viciously.

They say the greatest cowards

can hurt the most ferociously.

But I'll show you something good.

Oh I'll show you something good.

If you open your heart,

you can make a new start,

when your crumbling world falls apart.

Eurythmics; The miracle of love.

Chapter eighteen

The Cruciatus Curse is the first one to hit me dead on, but it has never felt this extreme before. I crash to the floor screaming in agony. Only to notice more force is being laid into it. Oh God, someone come in and finish me off. He has completely lost all self-control. The pain is becoming unbearable and I almost pass out cold into blissful oblivion, when the next dark curse strikes and another and another in a consecutive manner.

I feel every bone inside my body shatter one by one, only to heal and start breaking all over again. Then, a blazing fire whirls into me and I close my eyes, before screaming my lungs out from feeling the flames lick my skin and etch into my body. A flick of his wand and it turns cold, delightfully cold… deliciously cold… painfully cold! For the second time I feel like my skin is being ripped off from my flesh, but nothing is visibly damaged. And I scream. I scream and scream and scream some more. Another one strikes and I don't even know where I am anymore. My insides are twisting and turning and it feels like my organs are being shredded inside of me. I taste blood in my mouth and clench my arms around my waist, but there is no relieve from this. Someone better just kill me here and now.

I see the flashing motion like it is cast in slow-motion. A streak of purple flames heads toward me. No, not again. I've spent too long inside the infirmary after Dolohov cast that curse on me. It is going to be unendurable this time around. It still annoys me to a degree, no one will ever be able to understand, that I forgot about nonverbal spell casting when I used the Silencing Charm on him. I should have just stunned the Death Eater. Hell, I should have killed him. I feel how that same curse enters me again and I lose all mobility. I know it follows every neural pathway in your body and I scream in my head when the pain travels on. No one can understand how horrible it is to be this helpless; to see, hear and feel everything without being able to respond. I remember how Harry and Neville were shaking me frightened out of their wits, while I was unable to tell them they should not touch me, because it was hurting like crazy. Oh Merlin, I am right. This time it is so much worse. My head feels like it is about to explode.

I notice the sideway whip and realise what is going to happen next. I read about that curse a moment ago. I just need to remember… remember… remem… Everything turns dark and there is not a single thing I can register; total sensory deprivation. It is frightening beyond believe. I need to feel, hear, see, taste, and smell something; anything. I'm losing it. I'm losing myself. I don't know who I am anymore. I'm slipping…

Reality comes crushing in and I feel my painful body again. My eyes open and my pupils dilate in terror, when I see Voldemort's wand move in a jabbing motion. 'No…' I mutter in shock.

I throw my arms over my head and brace myself for the inevitable impact. An earth shattering scream, that is not mine, reaches my eardrums right before the curse impacts on my chest and my blood sprays through the room. But then, there follows no new one. It all stops. Everything turns silent; too silent. And I dare not move an inch, despite the blood I feel pulsating out of my chest rapidly.

Thud.

Thud?

The heavy dull noise is followed by the clattering sounds of something small and wooden hitting the floor as well, before I hear it roll towards me. My head shoots up and my hand lashes out in reflex to smash on the wand, pinning it down beneath my palm, before it passes me by completely. I don't think I am in a condition to go after it at the moment. Still suffering from the after-effects of the countless dark curses, that have been cast upon me, I can barely get my fingers to go around it, but I manage and with a relieved sigh I roll on my back. I breathe in carefully a couple of times, before starting to heal the bleeding wound on my chest. It is a tremendously large gash and it doesn't heal properly, but I get it to stop haemorrhaging and it is no longer an open wound, so I count my lucky stars and try to sit upwards.

The world starts swirling and, quickly, I lie down again. Shit, too much blood loss. I should have realised this in advance, considering the pool I am currently lying in. I aim the wand at nowhere in particular. We're at Hogwarts. The infirmary is somewhere beneath me and I know the school nurse always keeps a steady supply of what I need.

'Accio Blood-Replenishing Potion,' I cast and wait.

And as I wait, I glance at the immobile body that lies a few feet away from me. Nice and quiet, like we all prefer him to be. I don't know what happened. I have no idea why he, suddenly, screamed his lungs out or why he plummeted to the ground out cold. And frankly, I don't care. All I care about is that he is motionless and I have his wand and he is not getting it back this time around. I stick out my tongue. He can come crawling on his hands and knees for it, and he still isn't getting it back. I am not a fool. HA!

What is keeping that blasted potion? And it is as if my thought makes it appear. The door opens; a bottle flies through it and lands in my hand. I uncork the stone bottle and down the entire liquid at once, while I am still lying down. Eww... I wrinkle my face in disgust. Poor Arthur Weasley, this potion tastes absolutely revolting and he had to drink it every hour after that snake bit him. I give the potion some time to get through my system, before sitting up and scrambling to my feet. That is so much better. I move my sore limbs around carefully and stretch out. I can't believe I am standing upright. I spent a long time in the infirmary after Dolohov struck me down with the same curse Voldemort just used on me, and Voldemort made it feel ten times worse. How did he render the effects of every curse nonexistent upon casting the new one on me? I've got to research that; later.

Right now, I have more pressing matters, like an unconscious Dark Lord. I walk over and stare down at his snakelike face. His complexion looks even whiter now. I never thought that could be possible. If it gets any whiter he'll become translucent; ghostlike. I snort. He'll probably welcome anything that makes him look more frightening and I roll my eyes to the ceiling. Well, he doesn't look this intimidating, when he is lying flat on his back on the ground. I clutch onto the wand in my hand. Actually, he does. Damn, he better not find out about that. His ego is already like way up there. Mountaineers will never be able to reach the peak of it.

I roll the wand in my hand, while contemplating on what to do next. I already cast away the thought of regaining control over his body after experiencing his emotions, his darkness inside of me. There is no point in trying to take over his body and by doing so gaining control over his magic, if it is going to consume me. And yesterday evening I also told myself that my dark side wasn't going to prevail by me killing Lord Voldemort. He will win by default, if I do. Only now, I am not so sure anymore. I don't know how much longer I am going to be able to stand his ridiculous, immature hyper-sensitiveness. I apologised for crying out loud and he goes all berserk on me. His emotional instability is such a huge obstacle into… Oh gosh, this stupid Amulet is turning me into a delusional witch. He'll never change. I have to kill him. This has to end. I can't possibly be on the receiving end of his wand ever again. I'll break, if it happens. So I'll just have to do this, I do.

I don't know why I feel so confused about this or why I am stalling for time. It's not a difficult choice to make. It is not. And I have to act now, before he wakes. He is breathing, isn't he? I don't see any movement. That will solve everything. I bite my lip and I look at his chest. I really don't see any movement at all. You've got to be kidding me. Shocked, I kneel down and check his vitals signs for the second time in the last twenty-four hours. My hand is on his chest and I don't feel any signs of breathing. Oh I so am not doing mouth-to-mouth here. However, when I search for a pulse, I find one. It's faint and weak, but it is there. A relieved sigh escapes my lips. Appalled, I realise what I am feeling. No, I am not relieved that he is not dead. This stupid Amulet is overdoing things. Too bad, too bad, that is the right feeling. Yes, much better. But what am I going to do now? Well, I suppose I can always dump him out the window. That ought to take care of removing that pulse permanently. I chuckle.

'My Lord, I…'

My head snaps up and I see Lucius Malfoy standing in the doorway staring at the scene before him in disbelieve. I suppose he never expected this turn of events, because he is not moving. From the corner of my eye I look down at the defenceless man on the ground next to me. If Malfoy curses me that curse will follow the magical pathway to him and Voldemort doesn't look like he can take another blow to his physique at the moment. It will finish him off; for good. But Malfoy is standing there, frozen to the ground, useless as always. His mouth is ajar and his pointed face now carries the most dumbfounded, astonished expression I ever witnessed on anyone.

Suddenly, his sense seems to return to him and his hand flies to the heft of his cane to retract his wand in a tremendous haste. Only … I am already holding mine and my fingers clench around it upon realising what is going to happen. I am about to commit murder-by-proxy! Is this really the approach I want to take? Doubt begins to fill my mind as I tilt my head and smile ever so charming and triumphant at Lucius to challenge him to give it his best shot. He raises his wand at me, and in a split-second of insanity, I change my mind. I blast his hateful pureblood arse to Kingdom Come with extreme satisfaction. Oh the joy of cursing a Malfoy. I'll probably never get tired of it.

Once more the walls of Voldemort's chambers are decorated with the fine outline of the pureblood wizard. It reminds me of the cartoons I watched on television as a child. There was one with a wolf that got hurt continuously. What was the name of that show again? I can't seem to remember it. Roadrunner! Yes, that is it. Hmmm… I'll only have to add some dynamite to make the resemblance between Lucius and the wolf complete. Nah, it probably is of no use anyway. Lucius is the wolf. He will always be back for the next episode. I snicker in amusement, when the root of all evil is stirring underneath my hand.

I jump up and point my wand at Voldemort. Ouch, my chest. I must make a mental note not to move to abruptly. He shifts somewhat again. Shit. Why was I wasting my time dwelling on my revenge at a Malfoy? Oh man, I should have just let him curse me. Shit. Bloody hell. This is not the time to develop a conscious and go all ethical, Hermione. You already tried that approach. It got you cursed into oblivion.

Lord Voldemort is muttering something inarticulately, but he doesn't seem to waken. Alright, fine… I will do it myself; Amulet or no Amulet. I am not going to be controlled by some stupid stone. I can do this. I'll have to do this. I'm the only one here who can do this.

'Ava…' I start to say, but he seems still again; motionless. However, it doesn't matter. It needs to be done.

'Avada Kedrra…' No, that is not it.

'Avada Kad… Avada Kidav… Acda…' I growl frustrated. I know how to say it.

'Avada Kedavra!' I yell, swirling the Elder Wand around at the window.

A dash of green blows the glass away and whirls out into the clouded sky. I marvel at the sheer power it makes the caster feel upon leaving the tip of the wand and I track the path of the curse with my eyes. It has a strange resemblance to a reverse lightning bolt of a thunderstorm in this manner. Only this one is green, but equally deadly. I stare at it in wonder as it disappears into the clouds; death absorbed into heaven. And I see the tip of the wand I am holding in the peripheral vision of my eyes. It's strange. I have cast this Unforgivable before, twice, but due to the stressful circumstances on those occasions I never noticed the pleasurable feel it gives the caster. The rush of magic that sears through your body leaves a nice tingling sensation in its wake. One can get accustomed to that feeling. I close my eyes and savour the moment. Oh yes, this is definitely delightful.

I gasp as a sharp pain stabs my heart and I grab onto my chest, panting. A black mist swirls before my very eyes and I hear voices, anxious voices.

'We're losing her,' says Dumbledore sorrowful.

'No, we can't. She won't…'

I smile on hearing that last voice. 'Harry?' I shout. 'Harry, is that you?'

'Hermione!' Harry yells and he sounds frightened.

'Harry, where are you?' I can't see a thing in this blasted mist, but I have to get to Harry. If he is scared, it must be something really, really bad. 'Harry!'

'No, Hermione, no!' Harry screams.

And I know those screams. I recognise those screams. He is in pain. I've yelled like that a thousand times while being on the receiving end of that hateful curse and I know Harry is being tortured.

'Harry, where are you?' I yell frantic, and I swivel my head left and right, while pointing my wand at the mist. 'Evanesco!'

I try the Vanishing Charm to no avail several times. Why isn't it working? I need to get to Harry. I need to help him. His screams are getting worse and worse by the minute, but I can't pinpoint his location. 'HARRY!' I yell desperate as I run through the dense clouds of blackness.

My movements are strangely unhindered, because the pain in my chest has miraculously disappeared. Suddenly, I bump into a hooded figure and I crash to the ground backwards. Leaning on my elbows I look up as the figure turns and pulls of her hood. She smiles as she looks at me. And I smile back, because I am looking at myself. I don't understand how it is possible, but I can sure use some help in finding Harry.

'You are nearly there,' says the woman that is not me, but yet she is. 'This is all I have left to vanquish.'

And she turns or is that me turning?

'Crucio!'

She casts, or is that me? Terrible screams fill the air once more and I peek around the long black robe my other self is wearing. Who is she Crucio-ing? And I see messy black hair, a pair of broken glasses and emerald green eyes whose pupils roll to the back of his head.

'Nooooo!' I yell and I raise my wand at myself.

She turns to me. 'Don't be a fool. It's all for the greater good. Harry understands. Don't you Harry?'

I look at Harry frightened beyond my wit. He is going to hate me. He will hate me.

'Answer me, Potter!' She yells furious. 'You couldn't do it, could you! You and your stupid heroics … walking into the Forbidden Forest without back up. You let us all down!'

'No, he didn't let us down,' I cry out. 'You didn't Harry. I know why you went. You did the right thing.'

She swirls around and smirks at me condescendingly. 'But he did let you down, Hermione. You're in this mess with Lord Voldemort, because the Great Harry Potter failed,' she snarls.

I can't believe how much I remind myself of Professor Snape there and I make a second mental note, one a bit more firm than the previous one, stating that I need to always remember to apply the proper hygiene to my hair. Gosh, some version of me is torturing Harry and I am worried about hair care? I am going nuts. Well, I am seeing myself, so… But this isn't real. This can't be real. I will never torture Harry, will I?

'Now, you are forced to finish what he started, unless you prefer to suffer at Voldemort's hands, because of Potter's failure to succeed,' she speaks venomously. 'You know what you have to do, dear. You know the spell. It's just two little words. Two delightful, little words and that muggle-hating bigot can rot for an eternity in hell. So why don't you do your job and get rid of Lord Faint-a-lot … I'll do mine, so Harry Potter's image will never haunt us again. And we can both rise to the challenge and become greater than anyone ever before. Crucio!'

My hand is stretched out to Harry, but I can't reach him. I try to curse the maniacal me, but I am unsuccessful, because for some reason no spell exits the tip of my wand. 'Harry!' I yell. 'Stop, you need to stop. He is our friend.'

'I have no use for witless friends who continue to disappoint me BY FAILING TO LISTEN TO MY ADVICE! I can take care of my own. Now, leave woman … you have a Dark Lord to kill. Crucio!'

'No, don't… stop… Harry, oh my, I am sorry!'

The mist whirls around me and I see them no longer, but I still hear the screams and I cover my ears to block out the sound. 'No, no, no,' I mutter.

The wooden floorboards are hard as my knees painfully come into contact with them, but that is nothing compare to the pain from my chest wound or the pain that I am feeling in my heart right now. I lower my hands in my lap as the screams silence, but I still hear their echo whirling through my mind. I must be losing my mind. Yes, it's like Ron said, hearing voices is not a good sign, not even in the Wizarding World. And there is no way I will ever Crucio Harry, no way. But I can't seem to shake the visuals I just saw.

'I didn't… I didn't…' I repeatedly say as I stare into thin air and the image of Harry writhing and twisting on the floor due to my curse is etched on my retina. 'I couldn't… I couldn't…'

A hand falls on mine and I feel how the wand in there is taken away from me. I don't care anymore. I don't care what happens to me. Let him curse me, maybe then I'll stop seeing those dreadful images.

'That's not me. It isn't,' I say, trying hard to convince myself.

Two crimson eyes are gazing at me intently, when suddenly he wraps an arm around my shoulder and pulls me to his chest. And I grab a hold of him, because I need some comfort no matter from whom. It's not like I am a good person myself. I cursed Harry. Oh Merlin, I cursed Harry.

'Whatever it was you saw, it's not real, you know,' Voldemort says quietly, caressing my hair. 'It's that Amulet. You're right here. None of it happened.'

I want to believe that. I really do, but it felt so real. It was so real. It can become real. That I know for certain. It's why that Amulet must be showing me these hateful things. I have to remember. I have to resist the Arts, especially around him. I can not become him. I don't want to become him. We sit there, silently, as he holds my trembling body in his arms. I don't know how long, but behind the clouds I see the sun starting to set, so it must have been some time.

'I cursed Malfoy,' I finally whisper hoarse.

'I saw the hole in the wall,' Voldemort says shrugging.

'I think you may need a new window too,' I add timid upon remembering what curse I cast there and how much I enjoyed it.

'Shall I be in need of a new supply of owls as well?' he asks amused.

'What?' I look up bemused and see a pair of joyous red eyes with round pupils smile at me. Since when are his pupils round?

'Oh nothing,' he says smirking. 'Come, let's get you cleaned up.'

I flinch in pain as Lord Voldemort pulls me up and he halts his movement to gaze at me.

'Where are you injured?' he asks in his usual, answer me right this instance, tone of voice.

'Like you don't know that,' I reply resentful.

For a second he seems to debate something with himself. 'I remember which curse I cast, but I did not see it hit,' he responds softly. 'So where are you injured?'

What does he mean he did not see it hit? And I recall his scream and I still don't know why he blacked out there. Shall I enquire … Ah, he is never going to share that information with me. I can tell by the guarded expression that is currently on his face. So I stare at the ground as he guides me back to the couch. I'm not convinced it is a sane idea to tell the Dark Lord where I am hurting. My doubt must be written all over my face, because he starts to talk again.

'I won't hurt you, Hermione,' he whispers reassuringly. 'You obviously healed the bleeding already, but the damage underneath will be more severe.' And he lifts my chin to meet his eyes. 'You need my help to heal this. It will get a lot worse the longer you wait. Let me help you.'

And I don't know whether it is the oddity of him asking my permission or the sincerity that seems to shine through in his voice and his eyes or the simple fact that if I say no he'll probably do what he wants anyway, but I nod affirmatively.

'My chest,' I say quietly.

My stomach clenches in discomfort and, apprehensively, I avert my eyes, because for some inconceivable reason this feels more like I am surrendering myself to him than all those times when we had sex. He traces the lines of my face with a finger, before lying me down on the couch. And I watch him as he cleans my clothes with a simple 'Scourcify', and moves on to unbutton my blouse. My palms are getting sweaty and I am trembling slightly. Why am I so anxious? It is not like there is something here he hasn't seen before. Well, there is this humongous gash, which I healed rather clumsily and I really don't want him to witness the botched up job I performed there. Oh my, how pathetic am I? Now, I am concerned about not getting his approval. Yuck, Granger.

Lord Voldemort stares down at my healed wound and he frowns. This is so embarrassing. I knew I made a mess of things. See, he is shaking his head.

'I can't believe you were able to mend that on your own,' he utters admiring.

What? Astonished, I just stare at his face, but he is not looking me in the eye. He is concentrating on the wound and starts to chant in a strange, foreign language, while whipping his wand around from left to right above my chest. Slowly, I begin to feel somewhat odd inside. It's almost like something is moving in there. What is he doing? Distrust is beginning to seep into my mind. I've been hurt and healed many times prior to this and it never felt anything like how it feels now. What if…?

I clutch onto whatever is in reach and gasp as the next sensation hits me. I can't describe it. It's not pleasant, but it is also not painful. And now I know for certain there is definitely something moving inside of me. It's just frightening me enormously and I panic. What was I thinking? I should have got rid of him the moment I had the chance. Why do I allow some piece of Elfin made junk to decide what is best in this no good situation I am in? The Elves themselves are bloody well safely hiding behind the wards of Everon! I don't see any of them lying on a couch with a wound so large you can split them in half without effort.

'Hermione.'

The crawling, wriggling, slithering sensation has stopped.

'Hermione, look at me,' says Voldemort demanding as he takes a hold of my head with one hand. 'I need you to calm down. It's alright.'

'What … are … you … doing … to … me?' I say gasping for air between words.

Two hands are now embracing me and he gazes down at me. 'I am healing you. I know it is a rather unconventional manner and somewhat creepy.'

'Somewhat?' I interrupt him indignant.

'However,' Voldemort continues without acknowledging my resentful comment, 'Le Fay's Healing Chants are the only remedy to this particular curse.'

'Morgan Le Fay's Healing Chants? Do you take me for a simpleton? Those chants are a myth. They were never found and…' I halt my rant, when I see the smug expression on Lord Voldemort's face and I growl frustrated. 'Been nicking artefacts again?' I snarl.

He smirks at me. 'You know … that is a lovely idea. I hadn't considered doing that, yet. However, once this Amulet has healed my soul, I do need a new object to cast a fragment into,' he says pining on the prospect. 'But before … Well, there was really no need to raid the tomb. From the amount of dust and debris it was clear that no one has ever entered it before me. I believe the scrolls are quite safe where Le Fay hid them.'

'Oh yes, quite safe,' I sneer sarcastically. 'Let's just keep all the useful knowledge hidden. God forbid someone will benefit from it.'

'Do you honestly expect me to share the knowledge on how to undo the damage to some of my more advantageous curses, Hermione?' Voldemort says, eyeing me with clear pity. 'Anyway, you are profiting from the knowledge now. So please remain still, while I finish this chant. It takes a lot of concentration to perform.'

'I be…'

His finger presses down on my lips, halting my speech. And he is now giving me a clearly irritated warning glance, before focusing his attention back on the wound. Somewhat more at ease with the weird symptoms, now that I know their origin, I am able to ignore them and I watch as Lord Voldemort chants again, completely engrossed in the task at hand. It's quite something to see him perform magic. It's truly watching an expert in action. It's all shown in the tiny details. In the way he moves and guides the power with such ease and elegance. In the way he always immerses himself straight into the magic; even with the simplest of spells. Not that he needs to with those, but it's the manner in which he must have grown accustomed to use his magic. It all appears to come natural, even casually to him. I don't think he is aware it is a rare capability. It is so second nature to him, I doubt he notices. I guess he developed it in the orphanage before knowing what he did was called magic.

Age seven, I still can't believe it. To consciously be able to perform and control your magic without even knowing you're a wizard to the degree he told me about … it's unbelievable. And considering how he uses magic even when he is holding a wand I don't think he ever lost the capability to do wandless magic. I suppose that by the time he came to Hogwarts it was already such a conditioned behaviour that no amount of teaching him the'proper'method could oust it out of him. I smirk as I recall Professor Snape calling it 'silly wand-waving'. He never knew how right he was about that. I suppose the Knights of Silence must have been absolutely thrilled the first time Voldemort stepped through their doorway. It is very rare for them to meet an outsider who already practises magic in the intuitive manner they do. Well, thrilled… at least until they realised they were unable to get him to separate from his dark ways.

Hmmm… I'm pretty certain Voldemort was the one Yoda referred too, when he said there was only another who achieved results faster than me. Voldemort knows too much of the Knights for it to be second hand knowledge. I wonder if Jareth would have been his mentor. It was the monk I saw Voldemort talk to when he came to the monastery while I was there. And I suppose Jareth would make sense considering his dark background before he became a Knight. To be or not to be, that is the monk's motto. I should have called him Hamlet, but I already baptised him Jareth before knowing he practically carried that phrase on his lips as an answer to everything. It was most annoying at times. Perhaps he needed to remind himself what he was and can become again. Perhaps it is a phrase I need to keep in mind.

The squirming motion inside my chest becomes overwhelming and I tighten my hold on the leather fabric of the couch, but then the creepy feeling fades. Voldemort halts the swish swash motion of his wand and places his hand on my chest, while closing his eyes. Now, what?

'Oh, come on, get a grip, Hermione. He isn't going to kill you, while he has his emotions under control,' I think firmly.

'No, but he can sure hurt you,' another voice inside my head says.

'Morgan Le Fay was most famous for her unrivalled healing abilities. This is just a part of that.'

'And you know that, because…?'

I now practically rip the leather off in fear, because I feel heat radiating from Voldemort's hand into my chest. Did he just heal me, so he can curse me some more? I consider to get away from him now, and I am about to move, when his other hand falls on one of mine and he squeezes it gently. For some inconceivable reason it reassures me enough to remain still, and after a while, he opens his eyes and nods at me smiling.

'How do you feel now?' Voldemort asks.

Staring down at my chest, I am amazed with the result, because there isn't even the smallest bit of evidence of a wound remaining. The wiggling motion is gone and I feel quite fine. Morgan Le Fay sure was brilliant to invent something like this. I feel a hand on my cheek.

'Hermione?'

'I'm fine,' I reply distracted.

This chant mystifies me. How would it work? And what was that language? Perhaps the rumours about Le Fay's heritage are correct and she wasn't completely human after all. Still, it didn't sound like the language of the Elves, but then again, Morgan lived ages ago and languages alter in time. I surely won't mind browsing through her archives one day, but I halt my inward questions on the matter, when I notice Voldemort is smirking at me.

'Curious, dear?' he says taunting, while closing up my blouse with a simple gesture of his wand. 'You know if you were to join…'

I interrupt him with a tired sigh. When is that man going to stop being delusional and just give up? The man in question, suddenly, leans forward and the mischievous twinkle in his red eyes makes me quite uncomfortable. He kisses my neck, before whispering in my ear.

'If I really would have been delusional about you, Hermione, I would be dead now. So thanks for saving my life, darling,' he whispers, nibbling at my earlobe in between words; an action that sends several undesired shivers down my spine.

'What are you blabbering about?' I respond resentful and I turn my head to face him. 'The fact that I didn't struck you down with that Unforgivable only proves my point that you are wasting your time.'

'Ah,' he says joyous, 'but I wasn't talking about your inability to cast the Killing Curse on a living being, yet.'

I don't miss the huge emphasis he places on yet' and the triumphant expression it is accompanied with, and I am beginning to get incredibly irritated by it.

'Then, by all means, do enlighten us, simple folks, with the brilliance of your deductions,' I sneer.

'Lucius Malfoy,' he merely replies and he strokes my face, caringly.

'What has Malfoy got to do with anything?' I say now thoroughly annoyed.

'You cursed him, didn't you? You stopped him from casting a spell at you and by doing so you stopped him from hitting me. And I'm pretty certain I would have died, if Lucius' curse had struck me while I was down already.

I gape at him and he laughs in triumph.

'You would have been of the hook had Lucius killed me in that manner, Hermione. It would have been his doing, not yours. Not a single threat did it pose to you. You cannot become ensnared by the Arts through another's actions. So I don't think I am delusional at all. No, I think you're tempted to take me up on my offer and you didn't want that option to, suddenly, become unavailable to you upon my death, so you protected me. Thanks dear, I really appreciate it,' he adds taunting.

Oh, that man is so bloody aggravating. I just want to wrap my hands around his bony neck and squeeze real, real hard.

'I didn't try to save you,' I say, determined to wipe that victorious grin into the next era. 'I merely was stupid enough to forget I couldn't be cursed by anyone else but you. I forgot about the little pathway you created, by draining on my magic, when Malfoy raised his wand at me.'

And I fold my arms over each other and stick my nose in the air snobbishly. There, take that, Mr Know-It-All.

With a swift move, he takes a hold of me and tugs me toward him. His lips crash down on mine and the most passionate kiss ever consumes me thoroughly. I don't even notice I've moved my arms around his waist, until he pulls away from the kiss and looks me straight in the eye.

'Liar,' he says ecstatic, before pulling me into another, all-consuming kiss.
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The Bittersweet Taste of Victory