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The Apprentice	By : Nerys Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 62961 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 8
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 17
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The Apprentice

Chapter Eighteen

Hermione had gone over it, and over it, and over it, again, and again, and again in her mind.

No, not about that.

Having had sex with the most evil wizard of all was not what haunted her; she could easily rationalise through the attraction she felt for him. That, at least, had a couple of logical aspects, all things considering – her isolation, captivity, him being her guide, the way he acted around her, and so on. Deep down, Hermione had always known she had a considerable dark place inside and she was very aware she preferred strong men, so she wasn’t beating herself around the bush about what happened. It was, after all, just sex – no big deal. So what if he would gladly kill her friends, her relatives, everything she stood for – she could return that feeling, quid pro quo every step of the way.

Well, he’d saved her the trouble of having to bother with his relatives.

For a brief moment, she relished the sight of eliminating every single one of his moronic followers, but her mind wouldn’t stay in that peaceful state of delicious vengeance. No, it went straight back to focus upon what she was unable to deduce rationally. It was the insane dream that, for some reason, haunted her. It made no sense, no sense at all. She hated it when things did not make sense. Well, the four animals could be seen as the four Houses of Hogwarts that much she gathered, but the rest of her dream? Nuts, absolutely nuts. She brooded over it, wanting to analyse and put it in its rightful place, so she could move on. But she kept turning up empty.

‘Granger.’

The badger built dams to keep the forest safe, and that was important, because well… (she rolled her eyes) to get a snake to do hard labour, something big must happen if it wasn’t completed. But why the lion fought with the eagle, she couldn’t begin to comprehend. It was all just so frustrating. She wanted to pull her hair out of her head. And then, the badger seemed prone to tea, and they all seemed to dislike each other a lot, though-

‘Granger!’

Oops. She looked up and turned pale when she saw Lord Voldemort was eyeing her, while twirling his wand in his hand. Crap, she hadn’t been paying attention. That was bound to become painful.

A slightly curious look crossed his otherwise expressionless snakelike face. ‘Mind telling me, Hermione, what’s apparently more important than what Lord Voldemort is trying to teach you here on Controlled Casting?’ he asked threateningly.

‘Nothing,’ she muttered, shuffling on her feet.

‘Yes, I know that,’ he sneered. ‘But perhaps you can then enlighten me upon the unimportant things you were dwelling upon, wasting my precious time; or,’ he wiggled his wand, ‘should I find out for myself?’

She glared at him, making him snigger in amusement.

‘I just had a stupid dream, alright?’

‘Stupid, how come?’ he asked, interested.

‘It didn’t make sense and it was totally illogically,’ she said, throwing her hands in the air aggravated. It was like opening the floodgates when she started her long tirade. She ended her rant, about everything that wasn’t normal and coherent, letting out a huge breath of air as if releasing the last bit of steam that had been building up inside for these last couple of hours.

Lord Voldemort watched her with a thoroughly blank expression. He made no reply, no remarks on her rant whatsoever. It was a first.

Hermione folded her arms over each other. ‘Well?’ she asked, tilting her head daringly. ‘No infinitely intelligent insightful comments on that?’ she asked mockingly.

He considered her for a moment. ‘You wouldn’t want to hear,’ he said quietly.

‘Since when does that stop you?’

He scratched his neck in doubt. ‘I am not certain you are ready to hear it,’ he said, concentrating his eyes on her contemplatively.

If she had thought she was aggravated before, now she most certainly was livid. He held up his hand to stop the inevitable explosive rant from occurring. Hermione’s mouth was already open and she slammed it shut with an audible pop, waiting rather impatiently for him to open his. It took awhile, but she noticed his eyes were focused on the right side of his brain, so he was truly considering answering her truthfully. It was what stopped her from opening her mouth in the seconds of silence, which seemed to last forever.

His red eyes focussed back on her. ‘Your mind is above all analytic and concrete,’ Lord Voldemort said softly, approaching her slowly. ‘You need everything to be orderly placed, to fit into their respected boxes chronologically, so you can make sense of it. You watch the world and everything in it, all that you see, hear, sense, and read, through these glasses of logic. That which is proven right is a fact, that which is not proven is open to debate. You have very sharp observational skills, so you disregard that which you cannot observe as false, because you know only that which you can observe can be considered a true reality.’

He had halted right in front of her, so she had to crane her neck to keep eye contact. ‘Your analytic, logical state of mind, which values the concrete above all, is both your greatest strength and weakness,’ he said, eyeing her intensely. ‘It allows you to step back and see all without emotional interference. It allows you to determine the best course of action by weighing all the arguments pro and con. But it also paralyses you. It holds you back to take a spontaneous initiative, to explore your creativity for that which is not necessarily useful immediately, to take the time and do a bit of senseless,’ he cupped her cheek, ‘daydreaming about things that do not exist and may never have meaning. It is …’ he halted thoughtfully and changed his wording to something less sharp, ‘your Achilles’ heel.’

Hermione swallowed. She looked down, furrowing her brow, thinking hard.

His other hand came to rest on the other side of her face, and he bent forward, kissing her on the top of her head. ‘You’d become even more spectacular if you’d explore those parts you think are irrelevant. Let go once in awhile, Hermione, and simply dream.’

He walked away after that, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

---

‘One-thousand-eight-hundred-and-fourteen, one-thousand-eight-hundred-and-fifteen, one-thousand; AAAH! Crap, you made me lose my count.’ Annoyed, Gellert Grindelwald glared at the red-flashing owl-shaped light bulb and scattered to his feet, muttering, ‘It’s not like the others will let me help anyway.’

---

‘Next school-year you’ll learn how to perform Apparation,’ Voldemort lectured softly, strolling around the mirrored chamber, while Hermione tried to regain her composure from the after-effects of his numerous Legilimency attacks only seconds ago. Her Occlumency skills were improving rapidly with every single session. But every time he would just up the stakes a bit higher to have her clutching at her head, kneeling on the floor, in agony again, while he took a walk down Granger memory lane, the Extended Deluxe Edition – Director’s cut.

However, he was obviously switching topics now – back to casting exercise. And she had found out quickly it was better for your health to pay attention as fast as you possibly could; otherwise you were bound to be on the receiving end of his wand again. Not to mention he was not one to repeat himself, and she actually didn’t want to miss a single thing he said to her, because he seldom made idle conversation.

‘They will make a really big deal about it,’ he said with a slight sneer in his quiet voice. ‘Get you specialized instructors just for this subject alone. They will tell you Apparation is about the three D’s; determination, deliberation and destination. Well, I’d hate to burst their bubble of importance, but everything in magic is about the three D’s.’

He turned around and seemingly satisfied with her attentive expression, he continued, ‘You can only have so much control over your casting to the extend you are concentrated on the wanted outcome, which means every spell you cast needs to be deliberate or planned intently, determined or focussed on the conclusion and destined - which is knowing where it needs to go. The only difference between Apparation and your common variety charms is you don’t end up Splinched with a charm if you’re not focussing on those three casting basics, you’ll just be less effective in the outcome of it. To be less effective,’ he said quietly, halting in front of her, ‘may be acceptable to some twits out there. However, here, you will strive to use your skills to their full extend every single time you cast. Is that clear, Hermione?’

She nodded quickly.

‘Mmm,’ he contemplated, looking at her. ‘Well, I will soon see if that’s true.’ He pointed his wand over his shoulder and conjured the pedestal with the glass vase again. ‘At least this time around, you’re not forgetting to block my Legilimency. Though, should you keep bothering me with that insipid love song, I may be forced to resort to something a bit more invasive than just a Stage One attack.’

‘Sorry,’ she muttered, disgruntled. ‘I do not like it much either, but it’s stuck in my head.’

‘Unstuck it,’ he ordered, walking away.

Hermione rolled her eyes. If she knew how to “unstuck” it, her mind wouldn’t be humming the stupid chorus over and over again. She’d been trying to just count numbers unsuccessfully. She’d hummed other songs, she knew and liked better, to get rid of it; but every time those three silly lalala lines kept popping up their ugly heads right in the middle of it. She didn’t even know the rest of the words to the song – it was maddening. She felt certain it had to be more annoying to her than to him. He could escape it by just staying the hell out of her mind.

Lord Voldemort stopped approximately halfway between her and her target, but a little to the side. He moved his wand in a small circular motion and a round one-way ward rose around the pedestal. His wand flipped back into his sleeve instantaneously when he was done. Folding his arms over each other, he said, ‘The Blasting Charm, keeping deliberation, determination and destination in mind.’

Okay, so she had to plan what she did, reach a decision on how, and make sure to finalise said decision. Hermione tilted her head left and right, loosened her neck and shoulders, and placed her feet slightly apart. Concentrate, but relax. Expulso needed a slight twist of the wrist to the right; less was more. She took in the vase for a moment. ‘Expulso!’

Tiny bits of glass struck the ward Lord Voldemort had erected forcefully. Quickly, they scattered back to the pedestal and reassembled themselves. He nodded thoughtfully, while gesturing at her to continue. Hermione got another set of blows in, while he began moving around her. It was kind of distracting. ‘Expulso!’ she cast with a lot less result.

Irritated, she shook her arms lose, while her nose wrinkled. She took a deep breath, got ready and raised her arm. ‘Wait,’ Voldemort ordered, pacing toward her.

She froze.

‘Destination you’ve got covered, but you need to work on both deliberation and determination,’ he said calmly at her back, while moving her body into a slightly different stance by pulling her shoulders back and tilting her hips. ‘Keep your posture straight. The impact of your spells is a lot less when you hunch forward like that. And less wand-waving with basic charms like these, only a slight twist of the wrist is required for this one,’ he’d grabbed her hand and moved it about one eight of a turn a couple of times. ‘You’ve got it?’

Hermione repeated the motion on her own, memorising the feel, and nodded.

‘Good,’ Voldemort said, looking over her shoulder at the vase. ‘Remember with low level spells the rule is, the more you move, the more of your energy is used for the movement and not for the performance of the spell. It may look mighty interesting to others seeing you flourish your wand around, but we’re not here for entertainment purposes.’

‘How do you distinguish between low and high level?’ asked Hermione curiously, since he had already told her that for high level spells the opposite was true. Then, movement added power.

‘They feel different,’ Voldemort answered, stepping back.

Hermione frowned. Feel different? That was so not helpful. ‘But-but… so many things affect the impression of a spell, so how-?’

‘First deliberation and determination,’ Voldemort interrupted. ‘As long as you haven’t incorporated that fully into your system, Hermione, it’s a futile action on my part to explain magical perception to you.’

Hermione sighed but knew a lost cause when she saw one. Deliberation, determination. She concentrated and blew up the vase again. The outcome was a lot more spectacular than before, but Lord Voldemort was unimpressed. ‘You need to WANT to blow up the vase, Granger.’

‘Well, it’s getting a bit repetitive,’ she sneered. ‘My intense hatred toward it seems to be diminishing rapidly.’

‘All the more reason to want to do it right and be done,’ he retorted, smirking.

She shuffled on her feet, retook her stance, and focussed.

‘You can always pretend it’s something other than a vase,’ he suggested deviously. ‘Just think it’s one of your enemies.’

Hermione lowered her arm and scowled at him over her shoulder. ‘Why waste my time on the vase then?’ she mumbled sarcastically, turning back, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. Really, much better targets were available after all.

She. Did. Not. Hear. Chicken. Noises. Behind. Her. Now.

Her body tensed and the grip on her wand tightened. Oh, she was deliberating it. She most definitely was.

Ugh. Now he was sniggering; and to make it even worse, it sounded like a very, very condescending mocking snigger, too.

Fine! He wanted to see determination, he could get determination. Hermione swirled around. ‘Expulso!’

The charm burst from her wand with the force of lightning and charged to Lord Voldemort. He, swiftly, moved his wand diagonal over his chest to catch and redirect her spell back. Hermione dove to the ground. It raced just over her head.

‘Protego!’

Lord Voldemort’s Shield Charm flew around her, handing her much needed additional protection from the immense blast that followed. It shredded not only the vase but the pedestal to pieces as well. The circular ward around it was next to be obliterated and it sounded like the chiming of thousand little bells when the debris impacted on his Shield Charm. The violence of the blast was so enormous the debris that scattered around had the size of grains of sand without any identifying features to their origin at all. Stunned, Hermione looked at the empty spot that had contained her practise target. It wasn’t reassembling yet. It still wasn’t reassembling. A pair of black shiny shoes stopped beside her head.

Crap. This was going to hurt.

‘Much better,’ a satisfied voice said above her. ‘I’d better not see a repetition of those feeble castings you did before, now you’ve shown you are capable of this.’

Of course, she’d been unable to repeat it. After which her first assessment of what would happen got proven right. ‘Crucio!’ Lord Voldemort cast loosely.

With a soft clatter, her wand bounced across the floor before Hermione crashed down on it. Quickly, she clenched her hands into fist and focussed her mind on not doing anything stupid with them. She’d learned the hard way you needed to keep your hands away from your face, clothes, and hard surfaces in order not to do any lasting damage on yourself. The Cruciatus Curse left no physical marks, unless you counted the self-inflicted ones. On previous occasions, she had pulled out huge chunks of her hair, clawed her arms open until they bled, tore some of her clothes apart, scratched her fingernails off on the floor, and would have likely done some serious damage to her eyes had he not restrained her that time around.

And as that unimaginable pain swirled through her body again, Hermione couldn’t help but wonder how much of a mixed blessing her ability to keep thinking was. If only she could block out the pain, now that would have been useful; but nooooo, her ability to compartmentalise only supplied him with the knowledge he could indulge himself endlessly in one of his favourite curses. She writhed and thrashed on the floor, letting out another high-pitched scream in agony, while her ears picked up his cold, detached tone of voice that spoke ever so calmly.

‘I do recall warning you, Hermione Granger, Lord Voldemort does not take kindly to any performance not done to the best of your abilities. Since you so nicely showed the true extend your casting can reach, I. Will. Not. Allow. You. To. Settle. For. Anything. Less,’ he said with clear emphasis on every word, lowering his wand at the end of his sentence.

A relieved sigh left her lips when the curse was lifted. She’d ended up on her belly; her fists dangerously close to her face. She unclenched them, stretched her fingers, and leaned her forehead on them, taking another deep breath. Slowly, her muscles ceased the curse’s aftermath tremble, until no evidence of the horrific occurrence remained. Hermione almost relaxed when he stepped above her – a foot placed on either side of her body. She tensed. Now what?

He squatted down and wrapped his right hand in her hair. Knowing he was occupying his wand-hand there didn’t make her feel more at ease. From her standpoint it was impossible to see if he had pocketed it. Though his left-handed casting wasn’t nearly as effective as his right-handed, it was still way above average and nothing to desire to be on the receiving end off. He yanked her head back roughly. His left hand was empty. YAY Gods!

‘Care to explain, Granger, why you can be deliberate and determined when I am the target?’

Oh man, she was a dead woman now. ‘Erm… oops?’ she whispered, trying to make light of it.

The second yank on her hair was far more forcefully. Hermione yelped in pain and surprise; her back crashed into his upper body, for he had pulled her up on her knees. His left arm wrapped around her waist quickly, holding her tightly, while he used the firm grip he had on her hair as a method of keeping her under control. He pulled her head back, so she had to face him.

‘Oops,’ he repeated softly and ever so threateningly; his red eyes glared down at her.

‘I didn’t think it would really hit you,’ Hermione spoke with an apologetic smile, trying to appear as harmless as possible.

Lord Voldemort seemed to think about that, for a second; then, out came, ‘So you embarked on a meaningless endeavour knowingly?’

Worried, Hermione’s eyes darted around, because that sounded very much as a trick question to her.

‘Answer me, Hermione,’ Voldemort ordered slowly.

‘I suppose,’ she muttered hesitatingly.

‘You suppose,’ he repeated as if he was testing the suggestion on his tongue. ‘You suppose you tried to do something futile AFTER Lord Voldemort gave you an explicit order NOT to be less effective in your casting.’

See, there was a catch. ‘I did try,’ she objected.

‘So you lied to Lord Voldemort when you said you were under the assumption the Blasting Charm would not hit me.’

‘No, I-I,’ she stuttered, realising the trap he had spun.

‘Then you lied when you said you did try,’ he concluded, smirking.

Hermione groaned, recognising that expression. Now she was utterly convinced she was screwed either way.

‘No amount of groaning will help you now, witch; explain yourself,’ he hissed.

‘I-I,’ an idea came to her. ‘I did try to be at my most effectiveness,’ Hermione said and added rather slippery, ‘however, I would never presume that my casting could ever reach my Lord’s lofty heights.’ Ah, she deserved an ingenuity medal for coming up with that bull.

Of course, said bull would have sold better had she not plastered a huge smirk on her face and had her eyes not been dancing with triumph. Not to mention that her mind was pretty much screaming “got you there; your turn” at a well-known Master of Legilimency. Said Master stared down at her with a completely blank expression, silently. The longer the silence lasted, the more Hermione’s amusement grew. He tilted his head, thoughtfully, and opened his mouth only to close it again without a word. Hermione snorted and couldn’t hold her giggles in anymore. She shook with laughter in his arms.

He glanced down condescendingly, clicking with his tongue disapprovingly. ‘Dreadful act, Granger, probably the worst display of verbal and nonverbal communicatory congruence I have ever seen.’

‘Ah, perhaps, but I got you there,’ she sniggered.

‘So you think you’ve won?’ he asked with a wicked glint in his eyes.

Lord Voldemort let go of her hair; a flick of his wrist and his wand swung back in place. Hermione gasped when the non-verbal cast spell hit her. An overwhelming sensation charged through her, leaving her panting, wet, and ready for him instantaneously. Slowly, he teased her by tracing her body with the tip of his wand, not doing anything to relieve her symptoms to remind her who was in charge here. Damn it, she wanted – no – needed him right now.

‘Fine, you win,’ Hermione conceded, moaning.

‘Really?’ he asked tauntingly, as if it had ever been a question in his mind. ‘I think it is custom to reward the victor.’

He flicked his wand at her lower regions. Hermione arched her back and bucked in his arms; her legs kicked out in front of her; she grabbed a hold of his arm around her waist but landed on her butt nevertheless, screaming as he made her orgasm without even touching her.

‘So,’ he said suggestively as she caught her breath, ‘reward me.’

‘How?’ she asked, still dazed.

In a blink of an eye, her clothes were history and he twirled her around in his arms magically. Smirking at her, he waited till she caught her balance in a stance on her knees before he lay down on the floor and vanished his robes, too.

‘You, on top,’ he ordered, folding his hands behind his head leisurely.

Uncertain, Hermione looked around. How did he fancy that to work?

‘Can’t figure it out, Granger?’ he sniggered. ‘I thought you were supposed to be intelligent?’

She felt her face burning with heat and glared at him. He’d conjured a pillow underneath his head. Apparently, his highness wasn’t comfortable enough before. He eyed her merrily; she opened her mouth to say something disparaging, but a slight change in his expression stopped her. She froze. Slowly, he raised his upper body to her, took a hold of her head and halted inches away from her.

‘Bad idea, Hermione,’ he whispered to her lips, ‘You need to occupy that insolent mouth of yours differently.’

Immediately, he made that statement come true by ravishing her mouth with his tongue thoroughly. She moaned; her hands reached his waist and she caressed his smooth skin softly. Almost certain he had tensed for a split-second there, she withdrew her hands; but he let go of her head, grabbed her wrists, yanked her hands back against him, took a hold of her head again, and continued that delicious investigation of her mouth even more ferociously.

When he finally allowed her to take a breath, her head fell back and the world swirled. She held on to his shoulders as he placed feather light kisses across her throat, skimming past his necklace that she still wore. His hands moved down on the side of her body, avoiding all those places she really wanted to be touched. He traced the entire length of her bent legs all the way to her ankles before moving back up and stopping at her thighs, massaging them. Abruptly, he slapped the outside of them harshly, making her shudder.

‘Those need to be on the outskirt of my legs, dear,’ he tutored, nibbling on her jaw, trailing her skin with the back of his fingers from her legs to her waist. It was extremely distracting. His remark about her legs didn’t quite register.

‘Now!’ he hissed, digging his fingers into her sides and lifting her abruptly.

Hermione yelped; she clutched to his shoulders, afraid she was going to fall; her head swung up, and she watched him reproachfully when he laughed at her expression. ‘There,’ he said, patting her head in a condescending manner after he had put her down. ‘Now, you’re in the right position.’

Hermione looked down and noted she straddled his legs now. Lord Voldemort lay back down, one arm underneath his head on the pillow; the other beckoned her forward with his index-finger. ‘It would be convenient if you moved that delicious body a bit more this way,’ he said, waving with his hand over his crotch and his already erect member.

Blood rushed to her face once more. Yep, she was definitely ripe for the picking. He scratched his chin slowly with his fingers. A devious smile erupted on his face, as she crawled closer. For a brief moment he considered it, especially when her soft hair came in contact with his skin. But he filed it away for a later occasion. Too soon, he deemed that activity to be. After all, he had the tendency to get carried away when someone pleasured him orally. Those brown eyes watched him somewhat apprehensively now. No, definitely not ready for such a punishment, yet.

‘Kiss me,’ he ordered coolly, pulling his other arm underneath his head, too.

She placed her hands on either side of his head for support and leaned forward, kissing him hesitantly on his lips. He made no move, no initiative, so she withdrew slightly. ‘Tsk, tsk, tsk,’ he clicked with his tongue. ‘Surely, you can do better,’ he sneered and added threateningly, ‘and I strongly advise you not to disappoint Lord Voldemort again. Now, kiss me like your life depends on it.’

Looking at the blank expression on his face, Hermione realised it wasn’t all that hypothetical. Carefully, she placed her lips on his again, parted them and asked for access with her tongue. He granted it and she began exploring his mouth. Their tongues danced around each other, applying pressure while sucking in each other’s fluids. All her fears, embarrassment, restraint, and apprehension of not doing things right, it all flew out the window as they kissed longer and deeper. Their bodies came in contact when she lowered herself further. Her stomach clenched upon the sensation of his naked skin against hers and that little emerald pendant stuck between them.

His hand was suddenly in her hair, yanking her mouth from his. ‘I believe you’re wet enough now,’ he whispered barely audible, tossing her back up roughly. ‘Fuck me, Granger,’ he demanded; his crude order made her insides clench again, ‘Lower yourself over my cock on your knees. I want to see that petite body of yours moving above me. I want to see you work for me, little one.’

Hermione scooted back to his hips. She was a little clumsy in getting them connected, but he let her muddle through. Eventually, she slid herself over him - slowly, because she had to adjust to this new sensation. It felt sharper, deeper from this angle, and she gasped, stilling when he was fully sheathed inside of her; her hands rested on his abdomen.

‘Move for me, Hermione.’

Lord Voldemort gazed at her intensely, in his leisurely laid back position, and she moved for him. She couldn’t take her eyes of him as he guided her, controlled her every move with that soft commanding voice of his, even while he lay beneath her. She rode him, but she was never in charge. And she loved every minute of it.

‘Look up, Hermione, and watch yourself,’ he demanded.

Hermione tore her eyes away from his and did as he said. She hadn’t realised before this room had wall to wall mirrors. She stared at this bushy-haired naked girl dressed only in a Slytherin-fashion necklace, who straddled the darkest wizard of all, and she hardly recognised herself. Her face was flustered and covered with a wild, freeing, unguarded expression that she’d never seen in her reflection before. Embarrassed, she lowered her eyes.

‘Don’t,’ he spoke softly, bending at his waist to meet her eyes, leaning on one elbow. ‘You are glorious.’ He took a hold of her jaw and kissed her softly. ‘This is who you could be all the time if you got out of your own way, Hermione,’ he lifted her chin, while lowering his body, so she’d see herself again. Certain, she was watching, he traced his thumb over her lips. ‘It is nothing to be embarrassed about. Look at yourself, Hermione, look while you let go. Watch how beautiful you are when you lose yourself like that.’

He raked his nails down over her body, cupping her breast and massaging it. Her erect nipple caressed his palm and he gave it a good pinch. Hermione gasped; she thrust her head back, and to his delight her walls tightened around him. He twisted inside of her and if he wouldn’t have had his wits about him, he’d have come right then and there. But he couldn’t afford that now; he wanted her to see first.

‘Move, Hermione, make me come.’

She complied and began riding him again, watching herself doing so. He’d lain back completely, but both his hands were on her body. He raked his nails up and down her sides; her eyes unfocussed briefly.

‘Clench your walls when you rise, Hermione, try to hold me as long as possible before you go down again.’

Her obedience was delicious. He knew she could see it in the mirrors. How hard her muscles worked to please him; her perspiring and flushed body; his mark she wore around her neck; her hair dancing around her head; his hands on her breasts, massaging them – harder and harder. He felt her movement falter and he pinched both nipples forcefully. She yelled; her entire body shuddered in delight, and she closed her eyes briefly.

He felt her lean on his chest, and he gripped her hips to help stabilise her body. Shaking her head wildly, Hermione continued riding him though her movement was shaky and disjointed this close to her completion. He steadied her, helped her keep up the pace, while his fingers forced her pelvis to tilt, so he would enter her at a different angle. It did the trick. Her face went slack, that moment of total abandon, as she climaxed around him; quickly, he flicked his wrist and whipped his wand at her.

Sex Charms were so useful, he felt, especially this particular one. It forced her to keep moving up and down on him, rotating her hips and milking him for all she was worth. He kept her in that moment, making her quivering body experience wave after wave of unbelievable pleasure – never allowing her to lower the state of ecstasy she was in.

She rubbed her hands over her face, combing her hair away, panting for air. His cock hit her G-spot over and over and over again. She felt him spasm inside her and cried out. Seeing herself in the mirror like this was an out-of-body experience. Her face shined with the pleasure she could feel; every reflection showed her merciless how much she enjoyed what happened; how completely her surrender to him was, and she didn’t care. God, as long as he made her feel this way, she really, really didn’t care.

She heard him cry out and his hot semen struck her womb. Upon his completion, the charm broke and she collapsed on top of him, utterly exhausted but very satisfied. Her head rested on his chest and she could hear his heart pounding inside. It was a soothing sound; it made her sleepy. His arms wrapped around her and he kissed her on the top of her head. She raised her head and smiled at him.

‘Absolutely beautiful,’ he said, smiling back, while caressing her face softly.

She’d never seen herself look so happy and relaxed before. She placed her head back on his chest. Mesmerised, she stared at her telling reflection in the mirror. Seeing is believing, but this was ridiculous. What was that man doing to her? She knew she was in deep trouble when even that thought didn’t erase the goofy smile on her face. So, she closed her eyes; at least then, she wouldn’t have to see the fool in the mirror. Besides, she was tired anyway. Feeling very content and safe, she fell asleep fast.

His body shook with triumphant laughter as he levitated the sleeping witch off of him. It was all coming together quite nicely. He truly was brilliant. He threw a hand-kiss in thanks at the useful mirrors and rose, using a Scouring Charm on his body before his robes reappeared with a swish of his wand and enveloped him again. He didn’t dress nor cleansed her as he brought her back to her room and put her to bed. There was no need to help her ignore what had happened. Pulling the necklace over her head, he smirked at dangling pendant in his hand and turned on his heels. Time to see what his useless followers had been unable to achieve.

---

Nathaira strolled around the frozen in mid-air spell. If she wasn’t seeing it with her very own eyes, she wouldn’t have believed it. But there it was, a solid beam of purple positioned motionless in her laboratory – not getting any closer to the alleged target. This was impossible. She had only seen this done once before. Surely, this blonde nutcase couldn’t have? … Possibly? … No way!

‘It’s the Virola; they infect your magic – make it dysfunctional,’ Luna said sadly. ‘They are very wicked creatures. It’s best to avoid them; but it’s hard, especially after they tasted your magic once. They can be very persistent, as my mum found out.’ She seemed upset. ‘I clearly failed today.’

She failed? Failed!

By Merlin, she wanted to strangle the witch, or better, smash her head in, hoping it would help restore the logic that clearly went on vacation in the girl’s mind. If that blasted half-blood Riddle didn’t deliver what she needed soon, she was not responsible for the consequences.

‘We shouldn’t use magic for now. It’s too dangerous. The Virola multiply and gain strength from it,’ Luna added, pocketing her wand.

‘The what?’ Nathaira asked sweetly, weighing her wand in her hand, while considering it.

Oh, she was considering it. No matter if she had to take them all on afterward, she was considering it, seriously. This girl would be the death of her if she had to hear one more, just one more incredibly stupid insane incomprehensible strange explanation! Didn’t the idiot realise she just accomplished the impossible? And what was Lovegood looking at now? Did she need to owl an exterminator to get rid of some more invisible creatures?

Nathaira turned her head, and Luna was no longer the only one seeing the little red owl. Nathaira flashed her wand around and apparated away instantaneously.

‘Oh-oh,’ Luna said, shaking her head, while her purple dash struck its target without any effect. ‘I warned you not to use your magic around the Virola. They just love power.’

---

Hermione was sixteen, tossing and turning in bed, unable to gain sleep before she solved their dilemma on how to keep their DA-meetings secret. She should have thought of this problem beforehand, but she hadn’t realised exactly how blatantly conspicuous it was, until every single member from the other Houses started targeting Harry with questions about when they would have their first meeting. Their constant visits to the Gryffindor table would be a waving red flag for Umbitch. They needed a secure method of communication.

The hearths were out. Owls could be intercepted. Hogwarts’ House-Elves had to answer to the wicked witch of the west, too. Any system that involved messengers that talked could be compromised. Really, who would you trust? And again, it would be noticed if Harry or she were suddenly found more often near any other dormitory than theirs. She pulled the pillow over her head to stop the frustrated yells she felt like making. There had to be a method to communicate safely to so many different people. Surely, if Vol-

Abruptly, she sat up.

The memory of Cornelius Fudge recoiling away from Severus Snape as he showed him the tattoo on his forearm sprung to mind. She jumped out of her dormitory bed, excited.

Something pushed at her mind, and suddenly, she was back in the infirmary, sitting on Harry’s bed, while Snape spoke to Fudge. ‘There,’ said Snape harshly, ‘There. The Dark Mark. It is not as clear as it was, an hour or so when it burnt black, but you can still see it.’

It confused her. She’d been so excited with the idea of maybe having a solution. She was running down the staircases to go to the library. She’d skimmed through a NEWT charms’ textbook last year that contained the Protean Charm. She just had to double-check if she still remembered it correctly.

A slight pressure in her mind.

‘Every Death Eater had the sign burnt into him by the Dark Lord,’ Snape continued.

No, no, wrong memory. No.

‘It was a means of distinguishing each other, and his means of summoning us to him. – As I was saying before Potter interrupted, Professor Lupin has left no record of the topics you have covered so far -’

‘Please, sir, we’ve done Boggarts, Red Caps, Kappas and Grindylows,’ Hermione said quickly, ‘and we’re just about to start-’

‘Be quiet,’ Snape said coldly. ‘When he touched the Mark of any Death Eater, we were to – I was merely commenting on Professor Lupin’s lack of organisation. – Disapparate, and Apparate, instantly, at his side. This Mark – Miss Granger, I was under the impression that I was taking this lesson, not you. And I - This Mark has been growing clearer all year. Karkaroff’s too. Why - Silence! Well, well, well, I never thought I’d meet a third year class who - do you think Karkaroff fled tonight? We both felt the Mark burn. We - Five more points from Gryffindor for being an insufferable know-it-all,’ Snape said coolly.

The painful emotion grabbed her again, enabling her to ignore the small push against her mind. She had never felt more insignificant in her life. The pressure became harder. But Snape’s comment had stung to the very core of her being. She was only trying her best to learn everything. Hermione clutched her hands to her head, suddenly aware she was on her knees on the floor and not in that classroom. The awareness almost pulled her back to the infirmary, but that memory held no sting to her. She felt the soft shift in her mind, knew what was happening, knew she was losing, and she grabbed the pain Snape inflicted that day and wallowed - no - rolled in it, held it tight with both hands to not let this memory slip away again. Hermione watched the classroom floor, eyes full of tears, trying to hold them back so no one would notice and she’d feel even more humiliated.

Ron spoke loudly, ‘You asked us a question and she knows the answer! Why ask if you don’t want to be told?’

She could feel the entire class holding its breath, waiting for Snape’s inevitable response; but all she felt was gratitude to Ron for taking the attention away from her, for sticking up for her, for simply being her friend.

‘Detention Weasley,’ Snape spoke silkily. ‘And if I ever hear you criticise the way I-’

‘Impressive,’ Voldemort spoke softly, lowering his wand, staring into thin air.

He hadn’t seen anything Severus hadn’t already informed him about happening, but there was something about seeing it from Granger’s perspective that didn’t make the scene with Fudge sit quite as well with him as it had done seeing it from Severus’s point of view. Too bad Granger, apparently, decided to fight back right when he hit a memory he’d preferred to see undisturbed. It wasn’t strange, considering he was very well aware the girl deemed Snape to be on the side of the Order. Lord Voldemort, on the other hand, was still undecided.

Snape had returned with his memory intact. Dumbledore hadn’t obliviated him, so he hadn’t told the man about Hermione Granger being here. Of course, that wasn’t one-hundred percent foolproof evidence either, since he wouldn’t put it past the old coot to see through the reason why he hadn’t obliviated him, and had left Severus’s memory intact in order not to destroy his cover. And there was always the chance Severus was on no one’s side but his own. The man was slippery enough to try to balance between the two of them to keep his options open.

There had to be a way to force Severus’s true allegiance out in the open. This ridiculous risk he was taking had to end, soon. Lord Voldemort turned his attention back to the girl on the floor before him and smirked. He supposed Hermione Granger could assist him in flushing out Severus. Considering their history together, he could actually kill two birds with one stone. Yes, it was time they met again without disguises. He was going to enjoy watching that a lot.

Hermione had let out a relieved sigh when she felt the push against her mind disappearing. Rubbing her hands over her face, she groaned. The last couple of days had been one big festivity of attacks after another. At some point, she had “kindly” reminded him of his previous words stating there was this little thing called a risk of brain damage occurring. He had “kindly” retorted with a full-blown Stage Three Strike, replying He – unlike others – knew what he was doing, so there was no risk. It hadn’t made her feel at ease at all.

Then, the day arrived she was supposed to go to the Weasleys, and said day had passed as all others. Nebi kept popping in, bringing first letters and later Keeper Howlers. Hermione had so far counted eight different angry voices, but was unable to identify them since the Howlers never lived long enough to express their entire message. Gellert Grindelwald arrived at the most inconvenient of moments over and over again, expressing the Council’s utmost disapproval before slouching himself in the nearest chair and yawning, while Voldemort replied Dumbledore could wait, until he was good and well done. Although, perhaps he did not use those exact words.

He’d mix and match Occlumency lessons with Controlled Casting ones and Hermione didn’t think he’d ever be completely satisfied with her performances in either field. He’d upped his Legilimency from Stage Two to Stage Three attacks and it was pointless to remind him he’d made sure others would not perform said attack to begin with.

Once you block this, you can block anything.

Sure, he did it for her benefit.

Hermione had a sneaking suspicion he probably just got a kick from watching her squirm on the floor since he often moved to Occlumency practise, after she’d botched up on her casting, which with his standards was easily done. A bit higher this, a bit lower that, do you have to stand like a dork? Stand grounded, feet slightly apart, be firm but keep your muscles lose at the same time, take a deep breath, concentrate on your target. Do you need to make those stupid twitches over and over again? Focus on yourself first, then cast. Pull the magic from within. Are you trying to hypnotise me with all those silly wand-waves?

It was even more annoying when the comments came from behind whatever book he was reading from within his lazy chair. She was sure he did that on purpose to get a rise out of her. She had not given him the satisfaction. Though if she had to blow up, summon, levitate, banish, vanquish, or do whatever other charm to one more glass vase, chances were high he’d get lucky again one day soon.

‘Very impressive,’ she heard Lord Voldemort commending her resent Occlumency performance. Hermione didn’t share the sentiment; she felt he saw far too much of the Snape-Fudge conversation, even if she managed to juggle another Snape memory into it and eventually was able to hold onto that one.

But Lord Voldemort circled her, demanded her attention in the here and now, as he continued to speak in that soft, quiet tone of voice. ‘Finally you begin to show some resilience against a Stage Three Strike. But I’d say it is time we resume your casting practise now.’

Oh please, who did he think he was kidding? Sure, she’d buy that load of crap, especially when he was still acting like a predator about to strike. No, Hermione kept her eyes firmly to herself.

A soft snigger sounded above her. ‘And you finally start to realise just because someone says it’s over doesn’t necessarily make it so. Get up,’ he ordered, pacing away.

Hermione groaned when she saw the damn pedestal reappear in the distance.

---

‘Ah, but your aim and will should be alike to gain the best effect of your casting. It’s not just moving your wrist around in little swish and flick motions,’ Albus Dumbledore explained, walking to a very attentive Draco Malfoy. ‘You need your mind to stay extremely focussed at the task at hand for it to truly come to completion.’ Dumbledore drew his wand. ‘Allow me to demon-’ he halted, looked up concerned at seemingly nothing, and then, clashed his hands together above his head.

Draco yelped in fear and ducked when a huge phoenix-shaped fireball travelled through the room. When he looked up, Professor Dumbledore was gone. Stunned, Draco rose and checked everywhere – even behind and under the large desk. Well, you never knew with that man.

‘Professor? Professor!’ he shouted.

Feeling duly trapped in the firmly sealed office, Draco plummeted in the Headmaster’s chair. A second later, he saw something very upsetting appear before his eyes. He pressed his eyelids together and rubbed his knuckles over them; sure, he was going insane. Too much proximity and exposure to Albus Dumbledore had made him lose his marbles as well, and he hadn’t even touched the damn lemon drops once!

When he reopened his eyes, however, Draco knew the Headmaster’s condition had to be contagious somehow, because True Malfoys do not see red owls.

Fawkes cried out when Draco slammed his head on the hard wooden desk repeatedly.

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The Apprentice