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The Prisoner	By : Nerys Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 63579 -:- Recommendations : 6 -:- Currently Reading : 13
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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I thank my beta Serpent In Red for looking over this chapter, and all of you who read, alerted, faved and reviewed.

The Prisoner

To Ward or Not To Ward?

Somehow, Hermione stared at her notebook, unable for some reason to open it. It was like the thing was hexed, which she knew it wasn’t. He couldn’t perform magic after all. Yet, his parting words kept haunting her. Ominously. Like a dark threat in the night ready to swallow her whole.

As if he’d not done that already, her mind mocked.

He’d told her to read it as soon as she got home.

That wasn’t at all unusual for him. He often regressed to orders when she was on the verge of leaving, like he tried to keep her connected to him even when she wasn’t around. It made her feel wanted. His possessive streak caused her insides to pool with desire and made her ache to stay or come back as soon as she could. So why had she not had this reaction now? Why had she suddenly felt as cold as ice upon remembering those seemingly harmless, common words of his? His orders had never bothered her before, but now, there had been something in his expression—an urgency she couldn’t place. An urgency he had no reason to have, had he? They had all the time in the world.

Hermione frowned, stroking the notebook concerned. She knew that wasn’t all.

There had been more than mere urgency in his demeanour. There had been calculation and … uncertainty!

She gasped, recalling what she’d not wish to see when he was still in front of her. His face was always blank, but it had variations in that blankness, variations she’d learned to see through during their time together. Yet uncertainty was not an emotion he’d exhibited before. Still, she was absolutely positive now that he’d been unsure when she’d left; he’d been unsure when he gave her the notebook, and he’d been unsure when he told her to read it as soon as possible. What on Mother’s Earth could possibly make Lord Voldemort uncertain? And so uncertain that when she’d glanced back at him, she’d seen his eyes stare at her with a longing so overwhelming that it had made her chest constrict in agony. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

She could sense it coming of the pages underneath her fingers: Trouble, with a capital T.

However, there was no use in prolonging her ignorance. She had to open the book and read what he’d written down. Taking a deep breath, Hermione hesitantly unfolded the notebook and skipped through the leaves to the part where she’d ended last time. It was easy to find because he’d skipped a page and the topic was no longer on Transfiguration but had shifted back to Arithmancy. She thought he’d covered her favourite subject completely already. Furrowing her brow, she started reading with an unshakable feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach. Pretty soon, his theory on exponential forces consumed her fully. It was so bloody interesting that she lost track of time.

Why had he not shown her this sooner?

His calculations on what could only be described as calculus inserted into Arithmancy seemed to be the building blocks of an entirely new understanding of the origins of magical powers. This knowledge could greatly improve a person’s magical essence and possibly help understand the occurrence of Squibs and maybe even assist in a cure. Her excitement skyrocketed. Hermione knew many Squibs felt miserable and were discriminated against, never feeling at home anywhere, be that in the Muggle or Wizarding world. It would be magnificent to help them finally fit in. She basically jumped in her seat at the prospect. Besides, this theory would also explain the occurrence of Muggle-borns in otherwise magicless families. She even figured this new Arithmancy theory would become the foundation to assist those who lost their magic due to wizarding illnesses. It would be phenomenal to—

Her heart stopped beating with the shock that travelled through her awareness. Assist those who lost their magic!

Oh Merlin, Morgana and Peverell’s wand, this couldn’t be. She had to be mistaken.

Quickly, she snatched her pen and started calculating. Halfway through she realised she didn’t have enough precise information and summoned the documents from her office concerning the wards surrounding Riddle’s cell. Scratching out several previously wrong assumptions, she inserted everything of the wards to the minute detail into his Arithmancy theory: the suppression factors used to build the wards, the healing compounds, the force of his magic prior to imprisonment, and last but not least, the time period spent underneath those wards.

Then, she began recalculating, biting her lip when she got closer and closer to the outcome. When she got to the final summation, she stared at the result in horror. Five years. It would take him five years underneath those wards before his suppressed magic would exceed them and blast them apart with a force unparalleled to anything seen in history. Her head snapped to the clock on the wall: Six hours, fifteen minutes and thirty seconds counting.

Six hours, fifteen minutes and thirty seconds were all that stood between him and his freedom. Today, Lord Voldemort would rise again, more powerful than ever before. All colour drained from her face, her mind rushing over the consequences rapidly.

Harry!

Hermione jumped to her feet, the papers on her lap swirling around her. She had to find Harry!

Quickly, she snatched her coat and put it on, walking to her hearth. A Summoning Charm landed all the evidence in her outstretched hand, which she pocketed. Taking the tin filled with Floo powder of the mantel, she grabbed a handful to Floo to the ministry immediately. As she exited the hearths in the main hall, she paced briskly to the nearest lift, ignoring the dust she spread around. She was the only one waiting in front of the lift to go into the Ministry as most people were not even here yet. It was that early in the morning—or night as some people would still call it. Yet she knew Harry would be here. He was always early. She waited until the lift was finally there, which seemed to take longer than you’d expect at this hour, and entered before the grills closed again.

‘Department of …’

Hermione fell silent, her hand caressing her belly. She suddenly felt like a clad, a traitor. Tom Marvolo Riddle was not one to give his trust to others. He’d always kept everything to himself, all his secrets. None of his followers had ever known all about his Horcruxes, about what he was so ‘kindly’ honouring them with a place in their vaults. Yet, he’d trusted her, trusted her with what had to be his biggest secret to date and she was about to betray him—her husband and the father of her child—in ways unimaginable. This had to be why he’d been uncertain. Trust wasn’t something Lord Voldemort did.

Ever.

Now he had, and she was proving that his previous behaviour had always been the right choice. Her hands shook in confliction as she caught a hold of the bar in the lift. She couldn’t do it. Merlin help her, but she loved him. She didn’t want to hurt him. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t.

She pushed herself away from the bar, ready to walk out, but her feet stayed. She couldn’t let him escape, just like that. She had to do this. Her voice of reason kicked in: her moral compass, her sanity. It was one thing to love the man when he was incarcerated and secured, but another when he was out there, performing his type of magic. She couldn’t allow him to go free, couldn’t allow him to rebuild his empire, and ruin the world and the people she cared about. She couldn’t allow him to kill Harry. She’d never be able to live with herself if she sat back and let it all happen. Betraying his trust, that was something she could live with.

She could.

‘Department of Magical Law Enforcement,’ her voice croaked, and she closed her eyes when the lift moved abruptly, swallowing away the tears that threatened to erupt.

When she reluctantly arrived at the door to the Auror’s Headquarters, she steeled herself for what she had to do and what was to come. Grabbing the door knob firmly, she inhaled once more.

I have to do this. I want to. I have to.

Then, she opened the door and went inside, looking around the cubicles frantically for any sign of Harry. It was relatively silent, only a few cubicles had people in them. The door to the Head’s Office was open, so she walked in. Instead of black hair, green eyes behind familiar glasses, she was confronted with red hair, freckles, and blue eyes glaring at her as if she were a bug he’d loved to crush into the ground.

‘What are you doing here, Mrs. Riddle?’ Ron hissed viciously.

Hermione ignored his adversity and asked, her eyes searching, ‘Where is Harry?’

‘Out.’

‘It’s important. I need to speak to him,’ she said, focusing her attention on her ex.

‘Well, he’s busy in Canada, helping the Aurors there round up your husband’s supporters.’

Appalled, Hermione stared at Ron. ‘Canada? Harry’s in Canada, now! But he can’t be, not now. He needs to be here.’

‘Yes,’ Ron said, leaning back in his chair. ‘A bunch of your delightful partner’s Death Eaters decided to suddenly come out into the open and made a mayhem at a Wizarding Musical Festival. Harry’s there to help identify them.’

Death Eaters, coming out in the open, now. Harry away. Oh Godric, he planned this. What am I going to do now? Ron’s never going to listen.

Still, she had to try. She pulled her papers out of her pocket and spread them out on Ron’s desk.

‘Harry has to come back. This attack in Canada is just a ruse. Riddle is planning to escape today. We need to move him out of his cell immediately.’

‘Riddle is planning to escape,’ Ron said incredulously, his eyes darting between her and the tiny scribblings in front of him.

‘Yes, as you can see here, here, and here—’ She pointed to the three most pivotal outcomes. ‘—all the numeric foretellings give the same results. The wards won’t hold.’

‘So your solution is to move him out of his cell?’ Ron continued, looking at her as if she had a screw loose. ‘Out from under those wards that you say won’t hold. Isn’t that like the same thing?’

‘No, no,’ she said feverishly. ‘When we take him out, er ...’ she paused, scratching her head, because Ron did have a point there; removing Riddle from his cell was inherently dangerous, given the bond she shared with him. ‘Well … I suppose he doesn’t have to be conscious leaving the cell.’

Ron stared at the papers again, before pushing them away with a shrug. The numbers clearly meant nothing to him. ‘I can look at this forever and not know what you’re talking about. In case you’ve forgotten, I never took Arithmancy, and I don’t see why those wards would suddenly fail without any outside influence. That cell held him contained for ages.’

‘Yes, that’s exactly the problem,’ Hermione said, her face getting red from irritation at Ron’s lacking trust in her intellectual capabilities. It wasn’t like it had been an easy decision for her to betray Tom. ‘It has accumulated his magic to the point that it will breach through everything in its path. We need to remove him for at least thirty minutes to undo the effect. Fortunately, he doesn’t need to be taken very far, just outside those specialised wards.’

‘Sure, Mrs. Voldemort, whatever you say,’ Ron sneered. ‘We’ll move him outside the wards that kept him in for all those years so you can help him escape.’ He rose from his seat and leaned forward on his desk. ‘Really, Hermione, how stupid do you think we are?’

She pointed feverishly to the papers between his hands. ‘I’m not trying to help him escape. It’s all in there. Just bloody well read it, or get someone who understands this subject to read it for you. I did all the calculations, several times to make sure I wasn’t mistaken. The wards won’t hold him anymore. We don’t have much time. At noon, they will collapse under the force of all his accumulated magic.’

‘He doesn’t have any magic now,’ Ron countered, annoyed, ‘because of those wards. I may not have taken Arithmancy but I can do simple calculations: nothing times nothing is still nothing. You’re talking rubbish.’

‘For Merlin’s sake, Ron, listen to me! This isn’t about us.’

‘Nothing bloody well ever is.’

Hermione threw her hands in the air, a frustrated noise escaping her throat. ‘Fine. Be like that.’

Without any hesitation, her silvery otter raced away with a message to Katie before she folded her arms over each other in silent annoyance. However, her annoyance merely rose in that silence and she snapped. ‘Harry would’ve listened to me. Of course the convenient timing of Voldemort’s followers causing him to leave the country isn’t a factor to listen to what I have to say at all. Let’s just be Fudge and sit back.’

‘Hey!’ Ron objected.

‘Weasley, good to see you. You’ve met my aid, Mr Terry Boot, before, haven’t you?’ Katie McGregor’s voice boomed, interrupting what had the makings of a full-blown row. Not waiting for a reply from Ron, Katie continued, ‘So, Granger, what’s this about Riddle escaping? And why aren’t you in my office, bringing this news? Last time I checked I was still in charge of Riddle’s incarceration and you were still an Unspeakable, not an Auror.’

Hermione was happy to see Terry Boot. Katie wouldn’t have brought her aid if she’d discarded her theory about Riddle escaping as quickly as Ron had done. That was a huge relief.

‘I wanted to warn Harry first. I didn’t know he was abroad, chasing after suddenly out-in-the-open, mayhem-causing Death Eaters,’ Hermione replied, giving Terry a quick wave and a smile as acknowledgement.

He nodded in response.

‘Hmm ...’ McGregor mumbled, clearly taking that in as well. ‘So these are the calculations you did that prove the wards are somehow functioning as some sort of storage unit for his magical powers?’

At Hermione’s affirmative response, Katie grabbed the papers off Ron’s desk and began reading quickly. ‘This is unusual. I haven’t seen Arithmancy done like this before.’ She raised her head to Hermione. ‘Did Riddle supply you with the theory that led to these calculations?’

Hermione groaned inwardly. ‘Yes, but—’

‘Terry, get Moore and Hewitt to pick up Peyton and Professor Middleton from Avalon Academy. Tell them there are to be no delays and to bring them in no matter what or how, my responsibility. I want them here, in this office, yesterday.’

‘Yes, Ma’am,’ Terry replied, immediately walking out.

Katie put the papers down. ‘I know a bit of Arithmancy, but I can’t say I’m an expert. I’ll need someone else to look at this, Hermione.’

‘I understand, but we’re short on time.’

‘When did Riddle share this delightful bit of information with you?’

‘Last night, but his writings were general, not aimed at wards at all. He couldn’t have known I would make the connec—’

‘Please, Hermione, I’m not a fool and neither are you,’ Katie interrupted, shaking her head. ‘You know it’s the only reason he gave you that information, because he wanted you to make the connection before it would happen. I bet he even insisted you’d look into it straight away.’

Hermione wrung her hands. ‘That doesn’t mean I’m not right. His huge ego is probably not even considering I’d turn him in.’

Katie snorted.

‘Or he did anticipate this, and you’re doing exactly what he wants,’ Ron said.

Hermione slammed her hands on the desk, leaning forward. ‘You know me, Ron. You know I wouldn’t have brought this forward if I weren’t absolutely certain that that theory and my calculations were right. I know what this looks like. I’m not stupid.’

Ron shifted in his seat, his ears turning red, as he quietly muttered, ‘I never said you were.’

‘Weasley is right. We can’t ignore the possibility that Riddle’s plan revolves around us moving him out of his cell.’

Hermione shook her head. They were wrong. She could feel it in her bones. The way he’d acted, looked at her, she knew Riddle had given her the correct information. She didn’t understand why. After all, he’d taken a huge risk by telling her. Was it to test her loyalties? Because that was rather pointless. She’d warned him time and time again that she wouldn’t assist him if he tried to break out. She’d told on him before.

Oh Merlin, she’d told on him before! That door he could open had been a leak! He needed it shut for this escape. Damn, her telling had helped him; that’s why he’d shown her he could open it.

Still, despite that having helped him, she still told, so he should’ve realised she would tell on him about this, too, or did he really think he had gained that much influence over her? Remembering all her moments of hesitation and the constant nagging undercurrent of her thoughts that screamed ‘traitor’ in her mind, she had to be honest with herself and acknowledge that his influence was far greater than it had been months ago, far greater than she would’ve liked. Still, no matter how much she loved him, she didn’t want him free. The threat he posed to the world … to her ...

‘But I can’t risk ignoring this information for it to turn out right when it’s too late,’ Katie continued. ‘That’s why I need Peyton and Middleton to look at this. We need an objective, specialised opinion.’

‘Peyton isn’t objective,’ Hermione countered, focusing back on the conversation at hand. ‘He created these wards; they made him famous—the man who incarcerated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named successfully. It’s still supplying him with new work all around the world. He stands to lose a lot if they are found to have a serious design flaw.’

‘He stands to lose a lot more if they fall, and he withheld information that could’ve stopped it,’ Ron said.

‘Given the destruction that Tom’s going to cause when that happens, there won’t be much evidence left on how he escaped. Peyton can easily point fingers at third parties like Azkaban’s personnel. We’ve already had that incident of the slacking ward maintainer. “How the UK is fucking up again” was headline news worldwide for weeks.’

‘Let’s just see what they have to say first,’ Katie said, sitting down in one of the chairs.

‘And while we wait, time keeps ticking away,’ Hermione said, pacing to and fro. ‘It’ll take us time to get to Azkaban, not to mention all the way down to his cell and then the difficulty of moving him out, we’ll need a strategy for that, too.’

‘You already said it,’ Ron said, watching her closely. ‘He doesn’t need to be conscious.’

‘But magic won’t work before the wards are down,’ Hermione countered, wringing her hands.

‘One potion to knock him out,’ Ron said, shrugging.

‘Like he’s going to take that willingly.’

‘One scrawny bloke against a group of well-trained professionals, I like our odds,’ Ron replied.

‘I wish I liked our odds, too. He’s stronger than he seems.’

‘Way too much information.’

‘Oh, grow up, Ronald. Katie, this is taking forever. We should move.’

‘Why don’t you sit down, take a breath and try to relax, Hermione. We’ve got time. There is no need to throw yourself into a rightful state.’

‘Yes, please sit down, your nervous pacing is giving me the heebie-jeebies,’ Ron added.

‘Well, can you blame me? I’m married to him through a Moirae bond. Do you have any idea what he can make me do? My only protection right now is that cell he’s in. If he breaks free ...’

Katie’s eyes widened, pondering about the additional problem Hermione had just supplied her with. ‘You’ve got a point there, Hermione.’ She moved sideways into her chair, attempting to broaden her visual of the space outside the office. ‘Where’s Boot? He should’ve been back by now. TERRY!’

‘Arriving, no need to make my eardrums burst,’ Terry said dryly, as he just entered. ‘Moore and Hewitt are underway. Anything else I can do?’

‘Yes, you can. Take Hermione to the Vault.’

‘What!?’ Hermione snapped. ‘I’m not going to sit in that hellhole, not knowing what’s going on.’

‘You just said it yourself, Hermione. You’re not in control when you’re around him. I need you to be somewhere safe, somewhere he can’t reach you, in case something goes wrong.’

‘You’re going to need me if something goes wrong, and especially, if you’re going to move him.’

‘No, we really don’t,’ Ron said.

Furious, Hermione turned on him, but before she could lash out, he already spoke, ‘It’s the safest place for you, Hermione. I don’t want you to get hurt.’

Closing her mouth, Hermione swallowed away the objections that were suddenly stuck in her throat. The concern in Ron’s face was more painful than she could bear.

‘I’m sorry, Hermione, but this is not open for debate,’ Katie said. ‘You’re going to stay in the Vault until this is resolved, one way or another. Terry, take her there.’

‘Now?’ Hermione asked, surprised.

‘That’s an order, Granger,’ Katie interrupted.

Waving at the papers, she continued, ‘But I might need to explain—’

‘Professor Middleton has been the Arithmancy go-to expert for the last five decades, Hermione. I’m sure she can deduce the value of this without assistance, but should she require it, we’ll forward you the questions, all right?’

The value of this.

A horrible thought entered Hermione’s mind as she left the Auror Office with Terry. The theory Riddle had created was based mostly on the writings of Rosenberg’s ‘Arithmancy of the Darkest Art’—a terribly controversial book in the field of Arithmancy. Many claimed Rosenberg’s numeric foretellings were unreliable, biased calculations because they came from the Dark Arts. That this was a biased, normative thought all by itself didn’t seem to occur to those claiming it. They revelled in their high moral stance and ignored the gap they kept alive in Arithmancy as a whole. The world wasn’t all sunshine and daisies. In real life, dark and light were represented equally. In order to perform Arithmancy as accurate as possible, it had to be all-encompassing. To deny one origin was to deny them all. Your results would no longer be statistically significant. At least that was how Hermione viewed it.

Alas, she had never read an article by Professor Middleton on this topic, so she had no way of knowing which stance the professor took. Middleton had specialised in an uncommon, narrow, and highly complicated field of Arithmancy. All the publications Hermione had read from her had been about that. The more she thought about the situation, the more she began to realise Riddle hadn’t taken such a big risk after all by sharing his escape plan with her. He would’ve known they wouldn’t take her seriously. She had no choice but to stop him herself even if that would cause her to land in a cell beside him.

‘Department of Mysteries,’ Terry said, upon entering the lift.

Hermione reached into her pocket, clutching her wand. ‘Sorry, Terry. Imperio!’

Making sure Terry would report back that she was held up safely in the Vault, Hermione rushed out of the Ministry for Magic, thinking about what she needed to do to stop Riddle. He probably would’ve covered all magical options, but she doubted he’d considered Muggle solutions. Yes, Muggle weapons were the way to go with him.

So little time, so much to do.
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The Prisoner