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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
- 18
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The Bittersweet Taste of Victory

What a wicked game to play

To make me feel this way

What a wicked thing to do

To let me dream of you

What a wicked thing to say

You never felt this way

What a wicked thing to do

To make me dream of you

And I wanna fall in love

No, I don't want to fall in love

With you

The world was on fire and

No one could save me but you

It's strange what desire makes foolish people do

I never dreamt that I'd love somebody like you

I never dreamt that I'd lose somebody like you

No, I don't wanna fall in love

No, I don't wanna fall in love

With you

No I...

Nobody loves no one.

Chris Isaak, Wicked Game.

Chapter nineteen

With pure hatred etched on his heart and his teeth firmly clenched upon one and another, Lord Voldemort jabs his wand at Hermione Jean Granger upon thinking that he is never going to allow her to ever trick him again. An incredibly pain strikes directly into his heart as the curse, that is destined to destroy, leaves his wand. It is similar but still unlike the pain he felt yesterday evening, because this time around it feels much worse. Images begin flashing in front of his eyes and he screams in such an earthy, inhuman manner, that it is totally unrecognisable even to his own ears.

It's when everything turns black before his very eyes, and he drops to the floor unconscious. Only, it is not a peaceful, quiet black out. And like yesterday evening he is haunted with images of the people he hurt and the lives he took for his own selfish gain without a single moment of hesitation.

'Why doesn't it work for me, Severus?'

'My – my Lord?' said Snape blankly. 'I don't understand. You – you have performed extraordinary magic with that wand.'

'No. I have performed my usual magic. I am extraordinary, but this wand … no. It has not revealed the wonders it has promised. I feel no difference between this wand and the one I procured from Ollivander all those years ago. No difference. My concern at the moment, Severus, is what will happen when I finally meet the boy!'

'My Lord, there can be no question, surely - ?'

' – but there is a question, Severus. There is. The Elder Wand, the Wand of Destiny, the Deathstick. I took it from its previous master. I took it from the grave of Albus Dumbledore. All this long night, when I am on the brink of victory, I have sat here wondering, wondering, why the Elder Wand refuses to be what it ought to be … I think I have the answer. Perhaps you already know it? You are a clever man, after all, Severus. You have been a good and faithful servant, and I regret what must happen.'

'My Lord!' Snape protested, raising his wand.

'I must master the wand. Master the wand and I master Potter at last.'

And Voldemort spoke in Parseltongue: 'Kill.'

Snape's terrible screams filled the air as the snake fangs pierced his neck.

'I regret it,' said Voldemort coldly. And with no regret or remorse in his heart, he left his faithful servant to die alone.

So why is it bothering him now? He does not feel remorse or regret. He doesn't! He is above those feelings. He did what needed to be done. Severus was the master to the Elder Wand. He had to kill him, he had too. He needed the wand to kill Potter. Only, he didn't … the boy died differently, not by his hand. He killed Snape for no good reason at all. A sting of regret stabs in his chest. NO! NO! He does not regret it! Severus had to die… he had too. He could not let the man live, knowing he was the true master of the Elder Wand. Severus would plot against him; try to take over his place…

Yes, the grease head was smart enough to do so. He probably had already started doing just that to begin with, with his best mate Lucius no doubt. Snape was waiting for him to win, in order to ambush him and take his place. It's why the chemistry freak never told him about the wand to begin with. He must have known. No, Lord Voldemort did the right thing by killing his so called faithful servant.

'If Severus knew Dumbledore had the Elder Wand, why did he not take it on the night he killed the Headmaster?' a daunting voice says in his head. 'Why did he not take over your position straight away? You're just looking to excuse yourself from a murder that was unnecessary and utterly brutal. A misdeed against someone you considered a loyal follower. Someone, who had done nothing to block your path, he was merely a means to an end. That is how you treat people: as pawns that can be sacrificed. You do remember how it feels like to be a pawn, don't you Tom?' the voice snarls viciously.

'Noooooo!' he screams inside his head as images of his childhood flash through his mind. 'No, no, no, I am not them… I am not,' he mutters incoherently.

'Of course you are!' the voice jeers. 'Remember this Tom?'

The old, toothless man, Voldemort was looking down on, was laughing at him scornfully. 'Kill me, then, Voldemort, I welcome death! But my death will not bring you what you seek … there is so much you do not understand …'

And he felt enraged, but not from the feeble old man's words, but from the summons he felt. If they were mistaken, and they did not have Potter, then … they would suffer his retribution.

'Kill me, then!' demanded Gellert Grindelwald. 'You will not win, you cannot win! That wand will never, ever be yours –'

And his fury broke upon hearing those taunting words. 'Avada Kedavra!'

As the frail old body was lifted from its hard bed and fell back, lifeless, Voldemort turned around to the window feeling utterly wrathful. And not a single ounce of regret flew through his mind upon killing someone merely because his barely controllable fury with his servants needed an outlet.

His teenage role model, Gellert Grindelwald, and he killed the man. Why had he done that? What was the point? It was obvious he no longer had the Wand. It was obvious to him who had taken it from Grindelwald and the man was dying in Nurmengard Prison. He should have busted him out of there. No, of course not, the man was a failure; a weakling, who allowed Albus Dumbledore to defeat him. The man failed where he has succeeded and he has no room for screw ups.

'Because you never do?' the voice taunts. 'You're infallible?'

Loud, mocking laughter reaches his eardrums and it infuriates him. 'Leave me alone,' he mumbles, 'leave me alone.'

'Oh,' the voice mocks, 'is the great Lord Voldemort upset now? Why don't you take another good look at what you did there? The life you destroyed so casually and only, because you couldn't control your temper. Other people are not disposable objects. Yet, you kill without hesitation and for no good reason at all. I guess you proved Mrs Cole and the others right.'

Again, loud laughter swirls around in his mind, while foul images of his childhood pass by. Until they are replaced with the same scene and he hears his conversation with Gellert Grindelwald again. He sees the man die by his hand and shame overtakes him. He killed a feeble opponent. It was pointless. He should have just left. A sting of remorse over that action hits him. NO! NO! NO! He does not want to feel that. Lord Voldemort does not feel that. He is above those despicable emotions. No bloody Amulet will defeat him by screwing around with his mind! He grits his teeth and tries to resist the emotion, but it is powerful and while he fights it, another memory hits to the surface of his mind.

Anger engulfed him as he saw the seven Potters rise up into the sky, but he knew they would protect the boy to the best of their abilities. So Voldemort flew straight towards the Auror, Alastor Moody. The toughest of them all. He would, undoubtedly, be escorting the real Potter to safety. Only the boy on the broomstick next to Moody screamed in terror and Disapparated! He knew Potter would never leave the scene and desert another in a crisis. Lord Voldemort chose wrongly! He should check out the others, but his wrath rose beyond believe.

And with a flick of his wrist he cast the curse he intended for Potter towards the blasted Auror. He felt utterly satisfied, when his curse struck the man straight in the face and he plummeted to the ground, lifeless. Another enemy that would never bother him again. Mad Eye got exactly what he deserved for thwarting him with this insipid plan. And Voldemort flew off to find the real Potter, not caring for a moment about the death of a brave, self-sacrificing man.

Ah, but here he can feel happy about his achievement. No need for remorse or regret there. He killed a formidable enemy that night. Yes, it was a good thing the Auror died.

'Really? So killing a man who did his duty to serve and protect, by preventing an orphan boy from dying is a good thing? Do you have such a bad memory? Need something to jug it up?' the voice sneered.

'Go away,' Voldemort mutters incoherently. 'Your feeble Elfish tricks will not work on me. There is nothing here. None of this is real.'

But he feels utterly distressed for no good reason at all. And he wipes his severely perspiring forehead when he becomes a witness to the next scene.

'Let go of me!' Tom yelled and he tried to free his arm from the vice-like grip the stranger had on him.

'Shut up, boy! Or I'll bash your head in!' the man snarled and he held up the cricket bat to underline the threat.

'Not on my watch,' an angry male voice said quietly.

Tom turned his head upon hearing the voice and he was relieved to see the police officer standing only a couple of feet away from them on the street.

'Let go of the boy, now!' the officer said and he took a threatening step forward.

'With pleasure,' the stranger sneered and he pushed five year old Tom into the bushes roughly. 'If there is one thing I enjoy more than getting rid of little, wandering kiddies then it has to be whacking a Copper.'

Tom scrambled to his feet, while the stranger swung his bat towards the police officer with so much force Tom heard the man's arm break upon impact. The policeman tried to fight back, but to Tom's horror he saw the man fall to the ground, lifeless, as the furious stranger struck him directly in the face with the cricket bat and blood spat everywhere. And he just stood there, frozen, not a single muscle wanted to move. The stranger swirled around; his eyes blood red, madness shining through them and he raised the bat to strike at Tom.

Tom held out his hand to stop the blow from impacting on his head, when the stranger mysteriously hit himself in the face with his own bat so hard he would never wake up again. Shocked and surprised, little Tom looked from the two dead men in front of him to his own hands. What happened? Did he do that? People were going to call him a murderer. He would go to jail! And he panicked and ran back to the orphanage as hard and as fast as he could. Vowing to never tell anyone what happened.

'NOOO!' Voldemort screams inside his head and the terror of witnessing one of his scariest childhood moments makes his body stir slightly.

'Oh yes, see the resemblance here, Tom?' the voice mocks.

And the scene becomes visible before his eyes again. The police officer plummets dead to the ground and everything freezes. Curious, Voldemort moves towards the frozen scene. His younger self is standing in front of the bushes, while the mad man is frozen in his swirl around towards him. He looks down at the dead man, knowing somewhere deep inside he shouldn't look, but he can't control himself, he has to look. And he sees … grizzled, dark grey hair and a vivid blue magical eye that rolls around in its socket independently.

Panicking, he looks up, straight into the face of the stranger that once attacked him, but it is not the stranger. Crimson eyes and snakelike features are staring right back at him and the bat has turned into a wand. The boy in the bushes! And he closes his eyes, because he doesn't want to witness this, but somehow that isn't helping. So he still sees emerald green eyes, messy black hair and a lighting bolt scar. He grabs a hold of his head and tries to get rid of the pounding pain that he is feeling.

'No, no, no,' Voldemort mutters.

He wants to shake the feeling. He needs to shake this feeling. It is despicable and weak and it hurts in his chest! Why is it hurting so much? He has never been bothered by any of this before. 'No more, no more,' he mumbles, determined to push the emotions away. 'I will not let this get to me.'

'Think you can beat me at my game?' the voice sneers. 'Why don't you remember this?'

Voldemort braces himself for the next flashes of memory and they come hurtling into his mind in Technicolor. He sees himself and how he sat in Malfoy Manor at the table surrounded by his followers and his one, still very alive, victim of the day. And he hears himself speak.

'We are joined here tonight by Charity Burbage who, until recently, taught at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Yes … Professor Burbage taught the children of witches and wizards all about Muggles … how they are not so different from us. Not content with corrupting and polluting the minds of wizarding children, last week Professor Burbage wrote an impassioned defence of Mudbloods in the Daily Prophet. Wizards, she says, must accept these thieves of their knowledge and magic.'

A terrified, helpless woman rotates in the air as she pleads for help that does not come.

'Avada Kedavra,' said Voldemort, and the lifeless body of yet another innocent person plummeted to the ground.

'Dinner, Nagini,' Voldemort added softly. And the snake slithered from his shoulders onto the ground to eat a kind and generous woman.

Voldemort looks at the scenery confused. This doesn't bother him at all and he laughs out loud. 'Don't you elves have something better to show me?' he snarls victorious. 'That woman got exactly what she deserved for her foolish statements.'

It remains silent upon his taunts and he snorts triumphant. He knows he will beat this stupid Elfin trinket. Nothing and nobody beats Lord Voldemort. He feels no regret for killing a person who stood up for people who are unworthy and despicable creatures. Mudbloods, pffttt… they shouldn't be allowed to breathe for one single minute.

'Then, how do you explain the fact that one of those unworthy and despicable creatures is your magical equivalent?' the voice jeers. 'Did Hermione nick your powers? You state that Muggle-borns steal their magic. So Hermione must have stolen yours to obtain hers? Did the Great Almighty Lord Voldemort let a little baby girl steal his magic? How pathetic.'

'Do not drag her into this,' Voldemort hisses desperate.

Fear washes over him, but he can't stop it and Hermione's figure becomes visible. She is looking at him with that calm and serene expression on her face and those big brown eyes draw him in, instantaneously. He grabs a hold of his head again and wills the image away, but his own words begin to torment him and it isn't working. Why isn't it working? He knows Hermione is not there. She can't possibly be. He just cursed her into oblivion. But those brown eyes are still following him, and against his will, he starts to speak to her. His own mouth is moving beyond his control and it is repeating every foul thing he ever said about Mudbloods to her. He just wishes he could stop now and shut the hell up, but words keep on coming out of him.

And he sees two very hurt brown eyes look at him. Why doesn't she stop him? She has the power to do so. She is an incredible witch. He knows this to be true. And while he thinks this, more vile words slip from his mouth. Oh great, he remembers when he said those. He was only twenty-five at the time. And he is still talking on and on and on. Merlin, if this rubbish continues until he has repeated everything he ever said about Mudbloods then he will be here for an eternity.

Annoyed, that he can't overcome this and control his own speech, he gazes at the girl in front of him. She is crying now. Tears are falling down on her cheeks continuously, but she doesn't avert her eyes. He wishes she would. It's beginning to upset him to look at her, while he is saying these things. Perhaps he can look away. So he tries and discovers that also seems to be an impossible feat.

'Come on Hermione, just hex me. Do something. Stop me. Don't just stand there, woman,' he thinks, becoming utterly embarrassed and ashamed of his behaviour toward her.

Why is he acting this way? Why does he even care? It's not like this is real. The girl isn't really there. He knows this. He does. And he takes in those brown eyes thoroughly again. It pains him to see her sorrow. The sadness he is causing her to feel. He clutches on to his chest and plummets to the ground, but still, his pain doesn't make him stop talking and he screams in his head for someone to stop him. To make him stop talking, so he won't have to continue to look into Hermione's eyes and see her anguish. He feels his own desperation and his pain is unbearable. Please, someone just stop him, please.

Two soft hands take a hold of his and this time, he doesn't pull back. He can't bring himself to do it. As he looks up, he sees her concerned expression. It is quite similar as before.

'I am sorry,' he hears her say.

Why is she apologising? He is the assailant here. The sincerity of her words strikes him hard and he stares at her. He just can't stop staring at her. She is the first one who ever really meant those words when speaking them to him. He knows, because she is a dreadful liar. And he cursed her for it. He hurt her for it. Oh Merlin, and he screams out in pain, while letting go of her hands. A brush of cinnamon scent fills his slit for nostrils. How can he smell her, if she isn't there? He feels her arms wrap around him and she pulls him into a hug. Why is she even there? She should kill him, now that she has a chance. Why is she comforting him? Why does he feel comforted by her presence? This is all way too confusing. What is wrong with him? And he opens his eyes.

The first thing he misses is her smell and then her arms. She isn't there anymore. An empty feeling overwhelms him as he takes in the wooden beams at the ceiling. It wasn't real, none of it was real. But somehow that is not a comforting thought to him. It is almost like there is something missing right now, but he can't identify what and it pains him. The bones in his body pain him. It's when he realises he is lying in painful contact with the hard floor of his study. Did he pass out? Again? And he sits up abruptly. His eyes widen in shock as he notices Hermione standing in the middle of the room with his wand in her hand. He sits there, frozen still for a couple of seconds, before realising that she is unresponsive, staring into thin air like she is seeing something that isn't there.

It appears he isn't the only one who is having problems with that Amulet. So, he scrambles to his feet and watches the destruction in the room with some amusement. He swirls around and paces into the hall to check on the familiar looking hole in the wall. One glance through it confirms his suspicions and he snorts at the visual of Lucius on the floor who is still out cold. Stupid idiot. He must have tried to hex Granger, but … why did she stop him? The puzzling question etches on his brain, while he slowly turns around and contemplates on the situation.

He stares at the girl who is just standing there. Her face is utterly pale and her eyes seem distressed to him. She mutters something incoherently as he calmly moves toward her. He definitely needs his wand back. No matter what … he cannot allow her to keep a hold of it. It is too dangerous. She may realise…

He practically jerks from the suddenness of Hermione's next move. She falls down on her knees and hits the ground pretty hard. Her hands fall in her lap and she is still staring into thin air. She doesn't notice him or she doesn't care. And he carefully lowers himself next to her, determined not to make any sudden moves that may draw her out of this stupor.

'I didn't, I didn't,' she says distressed, 'I couldn't … I couldn't.'

Slowly, Lord Voldemort takes a hold of her wand hand and removes the wand from it. He is pretty certain now that she is aware he is there, but she keeps on talking and he hears the fearful undertone in her voice.

'That's not me. It isn't,' Hermione says.

It sounds like she is trying hard to convince herself. What, on earth, could that Amulet have shown her? Did he miss something in her mind? She has darkness inside of her of that much he is certain, but she hasn't committed any serious acts yet. Or has he missed something? He couldn't have, but she is shivering. And he remembers how only moments ago Hermione held him in her arms and how that felt, even though it was not real. He can gain a definite advantage here. And he wraps an arm around her shoulder and pulls her close. The corner of his mouth tugs upward as he feels her cling on to him, and he decides it probably will not hurt if he reassures her a bit.

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

She doesn't respond, but he doesn't need her to. So he sits there, holding her trembling body in his arms. It is oddly nice and wonderful to do, even though his left leg has fallen asleep underneath him and his right is beginning to prickle and sting from the uncomfortable position it is in. But he does not let little inconveniences bother him. He is Lord Voldemort and physical restraints do not count for him. So he keeps holding on tightly to Hermione, while contemplating on everything that happened to him.

How on earth could he have passed out again? He realises it must be the Amulet, but it is impossible. He blocked those powers, so they would not reach him. They were supposed to only be cast upon Granger, so what was the reason for the exception? He stares at the broken window that is obviously been hit by the Killing Curse, when it hits him. Both times when he passed out, he was feeling absolutely ferocious towards her. He hated her.

Hate? Could that have been the trigger? And he barely nods his head. It has to be. Hate is the emotion the Amulet thrives upon and it … Oh Salazar, how could he have been so stupid? The bloody magical pathway from Granger to him. He wants to hit himself in the head, but his arms are quite full at the moment. So he settles for mentally scolding himself and going over the possibility that he got hit with those icky feelings due to their connection.

Their magical compatibility has to be why the Amulet responded to his feelings of hatred towards her and acted upon that. Now, under any other circumstance the Amulet's powers of remorse and regret would be cast on Granger and he would benefit from the soul-healing part alone. Only, his feelings of hate were towards her and this must have, inadvertently, activated the magical pathway from her to him, making it possible for both the powers of the Amulet to hit him.

Damn, he should have considered this in advance. This must be it. The answer to his embarrassing fainting experiences. So that means that … if he is right … he can prevent it from happening again. He just needs to keep his emotions in check. He can do that easily, piece of cake. If she aggravates him again, all he needs to do is prevent himself from starting to feel hatred. He can always leave if push comes to shove. Good, good, he has solved the problem. No more silly and disgusting feelings for him. Not to mention those bleeding memories won't be bothering him again.

He holds in a relieved sigh when he considers how much more that Amulet could have shown him. Snape, Grindelwald, Moody and that stupid teacher. Please, would anyone mind if he laughs mockingly now? And he rolls his eyes to the ceiling. Of all the things to choose from, this is what that Elfin trinket comes up with? Amateurs. They really need a lesson in how to manipulate people, because this certainly isn't going to achieve the results they want. Once his soul is healed and he can remove this Amulet from Granger's neck, he is going to create a nice little Horcrux upon killing Maglor. Yes, he most definitely is. And he cherishes the wonderful thought. Such a delicious prospect, he is already looking forward to the day when he will be able to achieve it.

He strokes Hermione's hair absentmindedly. Once he has removed the Amulet of Aine from the premises, she will join him easily. If there is one thing this Amulet is showing him, then it is that her darkness is even bigger than he assumed. He looks down at the woman in his arms. She is still clinging on to him. He likes the feeling, and he plans to take full advantage of this momentary display of weakness from her. His eyes dart back to the window. She cast a Killing Curse when he was out cold. That makes three of them. Only two more and she will be hooked to the Dark Arts indefinitely. You can't cast that Unforgivable without repercussions to your magic, even when you don't hit anyone. It's the intention that counts. And the neural response that curse gives you, makes it too luring to continue to resist it after a couple of tries.

Lord Voldemort smiles when he realises she hasn't cast it on him. She must have wanted to; otherwise she wouldn't have hit the window out of frustration. So she was unable to kill him herself, and for some reason, she has also prevented Lucius from killing him. A satisfied and pleased glint darts through his eyes. He is getting closer to sway her. A part of her wants to take him up on his offer. He knows this has to be the case. She is just being foolish. Held back by her upbringing and the silly morals she has been thought at Hogwarts. But he will get her to join him. It is only a matter of time. Once that Amulet is out of the way and he has her parents…

Then, it will be all over. Victory will be his in the end as it is supposed to be. They'll live happily ever after; and forever. Let's not forget forever in that ending, because he most certainly will never die. A happy feeling swirls through his body as he daydreams on this lovely prospect, while the sun sets on the horizon.

'I cursed Malfoy,' Hermione suddenly whispers hoarse.

'I saw the hole in the wall,' he replies shrugging.

'I think you may need a new window too,' she says timidly.

It amuses him, but now is not the time to upset her. Now is the time to be considered and kind and disgustingly understanding.

'Shall I be in need of a new supply of owls as well?' he asks, making certain to give her a joyous look, so she won't feel more burdened than she already is feeling.

'What?' she asks bemused and he sees her frown at him.

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

He pulls her up, but she flinches in pain, so he halts abruptly and gazes at her questionably.

'Where are you injured?' he demands to know.

'Like you don't know that,' she replies resentful.

Oh good, it seems her usual perky spirit is already returning, but what to tell her? He'd rather she isn't aware of everything that just happened to him, but if he doesn't answer her question, it will spoil his opportunity here. She is no fool after all. So he decides on the truth to be on the safe side.

'I remember which curse I cast, but I did not see it hit,' he responds softly. 'So where are you injured?'

And he notices her discomfort and indecisiveness in this manner, so he gives her some time to consider her only option, which is to tell him what happened, naturally, by escorting her back to the couch. She is staring at the ground, but he can still see the doubt on her face.

'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 her 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.'

Lord Voldemort places enough force and pressure into those last words for her to comply to his wishes, because he needs her to tell him. He cannot afford to lose her. She is too important for his future plans. He wants her there. She is his. And he never relinquishes what belongs to him. A rush of delight strikes him when he sees her nod affirmatively in surrender. He hears the quietly spoken words that tell him, his curse struck her in the chest, but he relishes in her sudden apprehension and the way she is definitely averting her eyes. It is obvious she understands he is in control here.

Such a delightful, clever woman, and he gazes at her intently, drowning himself in her submissive appearance. He follows the contours of her face with his finger. Mine is the only word that occupies his mind as he lowers her onto the couch. He pretends not to notice her anxiety and trembling as he cleans her up with a simple Scouring Charm and unbuttons her blouse to take a look at the damage he inflicted upon her. He frowns when he sees the wound. Merlin, he is lucky she survived that one. And he shakes his head in disbelieve of his own foolishness.

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

Intuitive magic is what truly healed her. He will recognise the signs anywhere. He can see the casting of the Healing Charms she performed, but they were not what saved her. It was her magical instinct of survival. She intuitively used the Force and healed the vital damage with it. She really has no idea how powerful she is. How powerful she can become with proper guidance. One day he will show her who she can be. Oh yes, he will. He is so looking forward to the day he can finally begin teaching her.

But first, he needs to heal her properly. There is only one way to remedy the curse he used and he is glad to have obtained it from Le Fay's secret hideout. It was easy to find, if … you looked in the right area. And the fools, who searched for it previously, misinterpreted the clues Morgan Le Fay left in her writings. Or rather, they overlooked the one vital hint that was in there. He had, of course, made sure the hint became lost after discovering the tomb. So now it has become impossible to find the place by anyone ever again. The knowledge is all his and his alone.

And he starts to perform the chant. It takes all his concentration, because the language of the chant is a combination of Parseltongue and the Elfin language, as well as ancient Celtic and Hindi. And it is quite the complex chant that calls upon the powers of the Kundalini. Invoking the snake, that lays dormant around the spine to become active and start its self-healing mechanism, is quite a challenge to perform right. But once he has it moving, it will slither around in order to retract and distribute the chi from the inhaled air to the damaged areas of the body. It will heal the wound without leaving behind any marks or lasting physical problems.

His wand is swishing back and forth, while he focuses on the wound and he keeps chanting in deep concentration. He can feel the snake start to move and begin to heal, when it suddenly disappears. For a second, he doesn't understand why, since he did everything right, but then he notices Granger is panicking. And Kundalini requires serenity and a certain amount of calmness of mind. So he stops the chant and tries to get her attention.

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

'What … are … you … doing … to … me?' she says gasping for air between words.

He takes a look at her and embraces her with his hands. 'I am healing you. I know it is a rather unconventional manner and somewhat creepy.'

'Somewhat?'

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

And he is utterly pleased when he hears the totally expected rant that follows. It is so nice of her to admit it is such a high achievement of him to find and be able to use said chants. Arrogantly, he watches the little one on the couch, until she halts and squints her eyelids in clear suspicion at him. A growl escapes her mouth and she snarls: 'Been nicking artefacts again?'

He smirks. '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, longing for the day to finally be able to make a new Horcrux. '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. Let's just keep all the useful knowledge hidden. God forbid someone will benefit from it.'

Oh, she really can be so naïve; not to mention she is so adorably innocent at times when she forgets his true nature and objectives upon hearing something that contains knowledge. He'll have to set her straight on the matter, because as cute as she is in her naïveté, it quite pities him that she assumes he plans on sharing something this powerful with the idiots out there.

'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. '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 her lips to stop her from speaking up any further. And Lord Voldemort sends her a clearly irritated warning glance. Their eyes lock and, fortunately, she gets the message, because otherwise he would have had no other choice but to use the Imperius Curse on her. He focuses his attention back on the wound and starts to heal her.

After a while, his magic gives him the signal that the snake is returning to his spot along the spine. Its work is done. Now, all he has to do is make the finishing touches. He places his hand on Hermione's chest, closes his eyes and focuses on administering heat to the newly formed cells in order for the metabolism to speed up, which will prevent any internal scarring. A sudden stir underneath his hand informs him Hermione is freaking out again, but he is able to reassure her quite easily. And he enjoys the power his mere presence is beginning to have on her state of being. It makes him decide to play a little game with her after he finishes healing her completely. The verbal sparring that follows is quite enjoyable to him and she walks right into his trap. He laughs inwardly as she sticks her nose in the air and folds her arms over each other as if she has won the argument. It is so nice of her to confirm his assumptions. She is such a dreadful Occlumens when she is angry.

With a swift move, he pulls her toward him and passionately captures her mouth with a kiss. He feels her arms sneak around his waist and he withdraws from her lips to look her straight into the eye. They stare at each other quite heatedly, when triumph and desire surges through him.

'Liar,' Voldemort says feeling thoroughly ecstatic.

He pulls her soft body tightly against his and another all-consuming kiss follows, while he lifts her from the couch to go to the bedroom. Without the window in place, there is too much of a draft in here and he doesn't feel like fixing it at the moment. He has far better ideas to spend his time on, far better.

The next morning Lord Voldemort walks through the corridors of Hogwarts feeling utterly rejuvenated. He actually feels like skipping, but he contains his impulse in order not to display such a disturbing, happy visual to the students. His state of mind isn't anybody's business. A loud scream flares through the corridor, coming from the Restricted Section of the library. He glances through the doors and sees one of the little midgets is being devoured whole by a book. Snippets of paper are flying all around the eleven year old and the child is being attacked and picked at by more than a thousand paper birds that are eating him alive. This really is a terrific day. Opening up that Section to everyone has truly been a splendid idea. The entertainment it provides… Not to mention the nice cleansing of true talent it gives him.

His mood even further up, he continues to walk when he, suddenly, hears someone huffing and puffing behind him. He swirls around and sees Lucius Malfoy limping towards him. He smiles brightly and can't help but thinking that it is delightful Malfoy has finally got a good reason to walk around with that posh cane of his.

'Lucius,' he says, nodding courteous towards the blond, because it is such a beautiful day.

'My Lord … the Aurors have entered the Smith's residence, but there is no one present anymore. It seems they left in a hurry, since the manor has not been emptied completely,' Lucius says panting.

'I see,' Voldemort replies slowly. 'Has their vault at Gringots been secured and sealed up already?'

Lucius coughs uncomfortably. 'The Unspeakables can't get near to it. There … eh … apparently … is a badger that stands in their way.'

Voldemort just stares at Malfoy, trying not to laugh out loud at the concept of a fury, little, earthworm eating creature stopping fully grown, mature wizards and witches from doing their job. 'A badger?' he says snorting, holding out his hands apart to indicate the average size of the creature.

Malfoy shrugs. Clearly, he isn't getting the problem either.

'What's next? The attack of the fuzzy, cuddly, pink bunnies?' he adds laughing.

Really, sometimes he wonders about the standards and qualifications of their employees that the Unspeakable's Office holds dear. And he continues his walk towards the castle's front doors, while Lucius tries to keep up with him and keeps on informing him about the Smith situation.

'You know, Lucius,' Voldemort says joyous and he slaps the shocked pureblood on the back. 'Why don't we take a little look in the Smith Manor ourselves? I have nothing to do. Not until later today anyway, and I sincerely doubt Hermione will be up any time soon.'

Lord Voldemort snickers softly. Even if she is up and about, she won't be moving easily after last night. He certainly kept her entertained for hours. A broad smile, along with a sigh, escapes him as he remembers how incredibly noisy she became. And for someone who doesn't exercise, she sure is flexible. He still wonders how she managed to… Ah well, it doesn't matter. And he tries to shake the visual and considers whether he can leave her alone here for a brief period.

She knows he can find her wherever she goes. And there is nothing here; he can not live without if she destroys it. Besides Hermione will undoubtedly spend her precious time by going through his library, while she considers herself protected from the Arts by the Amulet of Aine. But he is not concerned about her reading the volumes without being affected by them. In the end, the knowledge alone will be a sufficient enough lure to her and he doubts she will be able to refrain from using it. It will be safe to let her be for a little while. So he paces on towards the cleverly disguised, and heavily warded, Apparation Portal on the grounds of Hogwarts.

Finally, he turns around and sees Lucius struggling to keep up. Without him noticing, Malfoy has fallen behind considerably. His otherwise pale face is completely red and his right leg is definitely bothering him. Well, that serves him right for trying to curse Granger after his specific orders to leave the girl alone. Lord Voldemort doesn't feel like helping out Lucius and his little leg issues at the moment. He leans back against the oak tree next to the Portal and starts twirling his wand around. He is looking forward to some action. Hopefully, he can find a clue to the Smiths' whereabouts in their mansion. Killing them will certainly make this wonderful day even lovelier.

He sighs impatiently when Lucius has reached him at last and they both Apparate to the Smith's Manor. He smirks upon noticing the iron gates in front of the house are decorated with the Hufflepuf Badger. Like anyone needs the reminder to whom the arrogant fools are descendants from. He remembers very clearly how impossible it was to hold a conversation with any of them without it being mentioned, at least, give or take a dozen times. He flings open the gates with a flick of his wand and strides towards the imposing house. Malfoy is following with some difficulty in his wake. At the large, wooden, heavily decorated, carved doors, he is welcomed to the premises by the Auror in charge of the scene, Miss Donahue.

'My Lord, it is an honour to meet you in person,' the Auror lady says. 'We are currently in the process of cataloguing and investigating all possible items and writings that may give us an indication as to where the Smiths have taken refuge.'

'I'd like to take a look around myself,' Voldemort says courteous.

'Naturally, if we can be of assistance…' the Head Auror stops talking when one of her colleagues passes them by in a hurry.

'Don't forget to sign out at the office, Dora!' Donahue shouts out after the rushed woman, who looks over her shoulder and waves in a somewhat apprehensive manner.

Voldemort frowns as he sees the other lady Auror Disapparate. He had no idea that it is already time for a shift change? Donahue notices his frown and explains. 'Dora Figg has some family problems and since it technically is her day off, we agreed she could leave for home during work in case of an emergency. She'll be back shortly, though.'

He nods understandingly, and enters the house after Donahue, but for some reason he looks back over his shoulder and glares at the now suspiciously empty garden path. Why does he have this sudden strange, uncanny feeling of danger?

Lucius, who is standing behind him, is now looking at him with a frown. 'Problems, Master?'

'Maybe,' he says hesitatingly. 'Lucius, go check out the Auror that just left for me, will you?'

'This Dora Figg woman?' Lucius asks.

Lord Voldemort nods affirmatively and he feels somewhat more at easy when Lucius leaves to check the credentials of the young woman. If there is something out of the ordinary with her, Lucius will figure it out. The man is after all not completely hopeless. And his contacts in the Wizarding World have always been quite valuable to him.

'My Lord?' Auror Donahue asks politely and she holds out the door to the large living room chamber. 'We found that this room is basically left intact. We assume the Smiths were interrupted when they were on the verge of emptying the mansion and hadn't got around to this chamber yet.'

'That sounds like a plausible explanation,' Voldemort replies evenly.

And he strolls casually through the completely emptied hall, taking in every detail. Only a large crystal chandelier is still hanging from the ceiling, but they even took the paintings on the wall with them. He can tell because of the discolouration that is visible on the ugly flowery wallpaper. Why would anyone choose that to burden their eyes upon day in day out? He halts beside the Auror and stares into the living room in shock. It is thoroughly filled with all kinds of wobbly furniture in all sorts of ridiculous colours. Little statues of all kinds of creatures are to be found on everything that has a flat surface. And he sees stuffed animals, knitted table-cloths, overly decorated torches and lamps, a piano with a huge angel on top that has spread out his wings, and so many more disgusting items he doesn't even know how to begin to describe them. He wonders how on earth anyone could live here.

'It's a bit overdone,' says Miss Donahue in a clear understatement.

'I'll say that,' Voldemort adds snorting, 'and I thought Hepzibah was bad. These people are definitely related to her.'

A loud high shriek sounds through the living room and in the back a man in dark blue robes is jumping up and down excitedly holding up a small figurine in his hand. 'I found it Marvin,' the man mocks, 'my endless search is over. My long life wish fulfilled. My quest is done. Behold thee for the arrival of the dancing bear in the pink tutu. My wife will be so pleased that I finally obtained this priceless artefact.'

'Tell Lucy I'll be her witness during the divorce proceedings,' Marvin responds dryly, while eyeing the figurine in amusement.

'A disbeliever!' shouts the man and he backs away from Marvin slowly. 'Beware thou for the wrath of the Holy Roar! It will fall upon thou ignorant mortal flesh.'

And Voldemort sees the blue robed man place the figurine on a stone pedestal and kneel down before it. 'Oh almighty …'

'That's quite enough Alvin,' Donahue says amused and she enters the living room after the Dark Lord took a hold of the door for her and gestures her to enter first. 'Let's try to uphold some form of professionalism while doing ones job, shall we?'

Alvin gets back on his feet snickering. 'Sorry, Mary, but I've been in this room for more than twelve hours now. Any minute longer without a release and they can ship me to the permanent ward of St. Mungo's directly.'

'Too late,' mutters Marvin softly.

'I heard that,' Alvin responds, grabbing the figurine and holding it out threatening towards his colleague.

Marvin holds his hands up in the air in mock fright. 'Have mercy oh Holy Bear.'

'Holy Roar,' Alvin corrects.

'I beg your pardon, your Bearness.'

Donahue shakes her head and sighs, before turning around back to him. 'I apologise for them, but we seem to be having problems in hiring normal individuals these days,' she says tiresome.

Lord Voldemort smirks and is about to hand over his deepest sympathies to her for having to deal with such dreadful company, but when he steps through the doorway and feels the magic around him shift in temperament, he freezes. It turns violent, dangerous. How did he miss those wards? In a blink of an eye, all the doors and shutters in front of the windows slam shut. And it turns utterly dark. Merlin, this is not good. Swiftly, he pulls out his wand.

'Lumos,' Donahue casts.

'What the devil?' shouts Marvin in the back, while Alvin is standing dumbfounded with the figurine in his hands before realising it is not his wand and making the switch quickly.

Voldemort swirls around, trying to focus on the magic that is about to attack. He closes his eyes and, with a fluent motion, he whips his wand above his head. However, the magic has not taken a stationary position and he feels it oscillate out of his reach when, with a tremendous crash, the Smith Mansion implodes, leaving nothing but debris in its wake.
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The Bittersweet Taste of Victory