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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
- 18
- 19
- 20
Adult code: SPANK (well, should be flogging, but still, I am sure the code will be necessary in future chapters). Well, I think I got the rest of the codes mentioned before, but this chapter does contain BDSM in a more explicit way. And to point out the obvious, I just want to say this is not a practical guide to BDSM. It’s fiction and not always too realistic.

The Apprentice

Chapter Nineteen

Li Mei looked interested at the man sitting at the opposite end of the dinner’s table. His features blurred and altered continuously. It was an impressive enhancement to the Disillusionment Charm; Mei was certain others would not be able to describe who had sat opposite from her nor would they be able to tell the man’s physic had altered. She’d even seen the waitress almost forgetting his presence when she took their orders. She had to applaud the ingenuity, even if the show was totally wasted on her. But she didn’t feel the need to inform the man she could see right through his little disguise. He had a cute little brown beard and amazing eyes, and this way she could stare without being considered impolite or obvious.

‘What do you mean you don’t know?’ she sneered. ‘Aren’t you Nathaira’s closest confidant?’

She knew perfectly well Nathaira’s only confidant was, well, Nathaira; but the man had to have something – she was told he was a part of her inner circle and it wasn’t like You-Know-Who didn’t stick out in a crowd.

‘I haven’t seen him nor has she eluded she was meeting him,’ the cute bearded fellow said with a voice that changed pitch and timbre too.

Real impressive charm indeed. His true voice was nice though.

‘I doubt this rumour is true,’ Mr. Amazing Eyes continued. ‘She despises the man and his blood. More than once I’ve had to listen to her tirades about the idiocy of his pureblood supporters, considering how grossly unworthy the man they are following is. I can’t think of a reason for her to suddenly change her credo. You can say a lot about Sharasvati, but she has never been a hypocrite. Her actions and words have always been in complete accordance.’

He leaned back and shook his head. He couldn’t believe he was risking his cover over something this insane. If the dark witch found out he was an Unspeakable, life as he knew it was over. Nathaira didn’t take kindly to being stabbed in the back. One of his colleagues had now taken permanent residence in a padded crib; there, he did nothing but lay on his side, sucking his thumb, making baby noises all day long. They’d never found a remedy and had no clue to the original curse used that caused his condition. Wishing his minister would grow a spine and tell the Chinese to piss off and clean their own houses, he still spoke reassuringly to the Chinese lady across the table. Well, he did have a thing for Chinese women and there was something about the way she held herself that screamed power to him. He loved powerful women. It’s why he had volunteered for the Nathaira assignment after all. But Nathaira was too dangerous to bed; she was known to kill her lovers rather creatively after she got bored with them. He might think with his dick from time to time, but even it was frightened of her. It was, however, very happy right now, while he watched the cute, petite witch across the table. Thank Isis for wide robes.

‘Besides, Sharasvati can go around her business mainly undisturbed,’ he explained further. ‘She is not killing people left, right, and centre. The only ones she tortures are those stupid enough to go near her. She is not opting to take over the world. This is why my government is content with keeping low level tracks on her actions. If she allies herself with Him, well, that would change things rapidly. She can’t afford it.’

Mei sighed and leaned her face in her hands. Merlin, this was useless. As ridiculous and unlikely as it sounded, Albus wouldn’t have warned her if he had no solid intelligence on the possibility of an alliance between these two dangerous individuals. Riddle and Nathaira together, the threat that concept held made her skin crawl. It must not come to pass. And she most certainly didn’t want that man anywhere near her candidate. She’d not picked Nathaira as a guide to Luna Lovegood only for her logical mind; the fact that the witch was the only dark Keeper not afraid of Riddle and stationed at the other end of the planet had been another reason. To think that now the uptight bitch was considering working together with him, so she could use his altered Nightmare Curse on Luna, made Li Mei want to go caving in order to be able to curse Nathaira’s hypocritical arse all the way to that famous ancestor of hers.

‘Our intelligence sho-’ Li Mei fell silent. For a brief second, a red owl flashed behind the man’s back. ‘My apologies for disturbing you,’ she said politely, rising from her chair abruptly. ‘I hope this was not too big an inconvenience for you. My government is very grateful for all the assistance that’s been provided.’

Crack.

Baffled, the man stared at the empty spot before him. ‘Bloody Chinese,’ he muttered with a severely disappointed appendage.

---

His arms were firmly locked around her waist, holding her tightly. ‘If this is supposed to be helpful,’ Hermione said through gritted teeth, ‘then it’s not having the desired effect.’

‘How come?’ Voldemort asked teasingly.

‘You are distracting me.’

‘I am?’ he said in faux amazement and acting positively delighted.

She scowled.

He sniggered. ‘You needn’t let unimportant trivialities enter your mind when you are concentrating on your casting.’

Now, it was Hermione’s turn to act positively delighted. ‘So, you admit you’re an unimportant triviality?’ she teased, shaking with laughter.

He scowled.

‘Self-control is an essential factor in Controlled Casting. It’s obvious from your cheek, you have very little of it. Perhaps I should improve your self-control by,’ he moved her hair to the side and whispered against her skin, ‘punishing you?’

A shudder ran through her and she closed her eyes in anticipation. Oh Merlin, yes, that was exactly what she wanted. The last time he had taken her he’d been so bloody careful. Sure, he’d been dominant; he always was, and it had been nice, but she felt like she needed something more, something not nice – surely, Lord Voldemort could provide her with that. If not, she was kind of running out of ideas on eligible candidates.

‘Yesss,’ he hissed softly. ‘You need to be taught to respect your superiors.’

‘Going to introduce me to one?’ Hermione said cheeky, adding fuel to the flames. If this response didn’t give him a clue, she was going for cursing him next.

‘You naughty little witch,’ he hissed, realising full well she’d baited him on purpose.

His wand flashed, and she swayed on her feet as the world around her became less and less solid. He’d taken away her ability to comprehend what was happening logically. Everything around her would seem strange, unrecognisable, frightening, surreal, and out of control. He was her only anchor. Smirking, he stepped away, pulling her wand from her hand. Without any means to undo her current situation, he let her standing there, alone, in a haze. In an arc he strolled around her, just out of her reach but close enough to witness her every expression and gesture.

Confusion was the predominant emotion she exhibited, confusion mixed with apprehension and if he was not very much mistaken a hint of excitement. He frowned. He was not mistaken. Perhaps he had been too careful with her the last time. He’d recognised her need to be dominated and her obvious masochistic nature, but he hadn’t taken it very far. She was so young, inexperienced, and he still needed her for his future plans. It wouldn’t do to scare her away by pulling all the stops.

And it would scare her away; he had plenty of experience with either not caring about the damage he did or easing women into his preferred sexual endeavours slowly, so they could satisfy him multiple times. He had taken a step back when he had taken Hermione for the first time with a clear head on her part, but it seemed to have been an error of judgement to only dominate her without anything else. It wouldn’t do to bore her to death. Patience wasn’t exactly one of her virtues. He smirked. When had he got into the ridiculous situation, that he – Lord Voldemort – actually had been too careful around someone?

He stretched his arms above his head and folded them in front of him afterward. Rolling his wand between his clasped palms, he contemplated on how to proceed, while he observed the little witch in front of him meticulously. She wanted to be submissive, but she wouldn’t be to just anyone. If you showed weakness, she would rain on your parade big time. So, he could be as controlling and domineering as he liked to be. That was not an issue. Both physically and magically he outmatched her, so he wouldn’t even have to cause harm to restrain and subdue her. However, she obviously wanted him to punish her, but the question remained how much could she take right off the bat?

Carving? Too soon. Whipping? Nope, too damaging too; anything that caused serious damage was out for a first-timer. The body’s endorphins would not be able to make such experiences pleasurable yet – not without conditioning first. A flogger might do. He narrowed his eyes. Or it could be too much. Still, flogging could be varied in intensity easily. Spanking would be the obvious choice to start, but Hermione was everything but obvious. He had a feeling it would bore her. When he had bitten her, she had enjoyed it. He had licked her blood away and she hadn’t been revolted. No, spanking was too tame for her. It wouldn’t scare her one bit. Flogging, it was … with a safe-word.

He rolled his eyes. He absolutely despised the idea of safe-words. Whenever someone made one up beforehand, he made it his mission to push them further and further, until they said it; after which he would show them exactly who they had relinquished themselves to, because then, the show would truly begin and he only stopped when he was good and well done, which was never when the other party wanted it to be over.

But he wasn’t going to destroy Hermione, so a safe-word was a viable method to make sure he didn’t go too far with her. The corner of his mouth curled upward. Time to get this show on the road.

Hermione knew it wasn’t real. Her mind kept telling her she was still in that same mirrored room, that she had been cursed by Lord Voldemort, yet her senses told her differently. She stood in this fogged world, or was she sitting, lying? She couldn’t tell. Just when she thought she had an idea, it slipped from her grasp. Her eyes wouldn’t focus; she looked at her hands, which she knew had to be there, but she saw a blur. She touched her face with her fingers and it felt like she pushed against clouds. Was she even here? Her ears picked up this high continuous whistle that seemed to come from all sides. She couldn’t determine the origin or if the sound was real. Was she real?

Confused, she waved with her hand through the mist. She wanted to step forward, but couldn’t remember how. Somewhat apprehensive she realised she had no control at all about what was happening to her. She had no control over anything. By Godric, that really shouldn’t turn her on as much as it did. But her fluids stained her knickers, betraying the true extend of her arousal. Her heart picked up the pace, adrenaline pushed through her veins, and she licked her lips. Her mouth felt dry; or was that an illusion too?

Long, spidery fingers touched her cheek. She knew they were real. He made her skin feel real where he touched her. Her eyes followed the line of the extremely white, almost translucent skin of his arm till she reached his elbow where the black sleeve of his robes had dropped to, and she traced that line of darkness all the way up to his burning red eyes. He was right there. Perhaps if she touched him, everything would feel normal again? Instinctively, she stepped toward him, but his other hand landed on her chest, holding her at bay.

‘No, my dear, you haven’t earned that privilege yet,’ he said quietly.

Oh. Hermione bit her lip and swallowed apprehensively. She hugged her arms around her waist, but it didn’t feel right.

He smirked at her. His eyes sparkled and he stepped closer. She could see him fully now, but she still was unable to make sense of everything else, including her body with the exception of where he touched her. Slowly, the hand on her chest moved to join the one stroking her face. Hermione closed her eyes and sighed. It felt nice. She could feel him move to her and her hands moved to him.

‘Don’t,’ he ordered coldly, grabbing her head firmly between his hands.

Her eyes flew open and she froze, seeing the icy and warning glare he sent her way. Her heart pounded in her throat. Merlin, this was really happening. It wasn’t a safe fantasy or harmless daydream. Doubt began to mix into her darker desires. Should she want this to really happen? She probably shouldn’t. This wasn’t something you were supposed to want. People would be disgusted with her. She was suppose to be a-

‘Good girl,’ he purred, disrupting her internal dialogue. ‘Now listen very carefully, Hermione, because I will only say this once. Your continued insolence will stop here. I will not stand-,’ he lowered his hands to her collar, making sure not to hold the chain of the necklace between his fingers, ‘-for any more defiance or backtalk.’ She jerked slightly when he ripped her shirt to pieces violently. The bits of fabric fell all around her to the floor; one piece remained stuck behind the bra on her back, tickling her skin. His hands returned to her head. ‘I will, however, be lenient to your previous indiscretions.’

Lenient? What was wrong with him? Had someone used Polyjuice Potion to try to pass - rather pathetically if you asked her opinion - as the Dark Lord? Lenient, pah! Screw lenient; if she wanted lenient, she’d taken Krum. Fine! If her previous actions would not do it, she’d give him some new indiscretions to take under consideration. Let’s see how long it would take her to shred this newfound, totally undesirable and unattractive leniency of him. Seconds, she betted on seconds; milliseconds if she could strike a nerve. Oh, she knew just the thing.

‘Leniency?’ she mocked. ‘So, Tom Rid-’

Fury flew through his snakelike features, his body, and his magic; everywhere around her the air charged violently. It pounded against her, made her sway on her feet. His fingers pressed her lips together before she could finish the name or utter anymore sounds. ‘Do not even attempt to provoke me with that name, Granger,’ he hissed, digging his fingers into her skin painfully, while his left hand closed around her throat.

Milliseconds. Time to collect her winnings.

‘Remember you are at my mercy. And even though killing you is not an option at the moment, I could make you wish it was.’

He leaned into her face; the closer he got, the more invasive his magic flowed against her skin. She didn’t think he was doing it deliberately at the moment, which made it all the more terrifying, especially since he wasn’t even holding his wand now. His right hand stroked her cheek roughly before settling at the back of her neck, while his other hand was still in place around her throat; and he whispered against her lips, ‘I could make you beg for death.’

Hermione swallowed and looked down. Okay, too big a price, definitely no Polyjuice around anywhere. Silence thrummed around her, making his threats even more ominous. The lack of control she had over this situation was exciting and frightening to her. She was an inherent control-freak, but she longed to let go and be in that peaceful position again where things were not her responsibility. Anxious, she met his eyes again; his face turned expectant – apparently, he waited for something. Oh, of course.

‘Sorry, my Lord, I forgot myself.’

‘Yes, you did,’ he replied, waiting.

‘It won’t happen again,’ she said humbly.

He tilted his head questioningly.

‘Master,’ she added quickly.

He observed her, unmoving, weighing her obedience, before he moved his right hand into her hair. ‘You will be punished,’ he continued evenly. ‘But I feel…’ he tilted his head, ‘forgiving,’ he said with a mocking undertone in his voice. ‘So you will be allowed the privilege of a safe-word.’

‘A whaa?’

Hermione coughed. Air rattled past her closing windpipe, as Lord Voldemort squeezed his fingers around her throat calmly. ‘I did not give you permission to speak,’ he said coolly.

She turned light-headed; the world became a dizzying place; she gasped for air, but he quickly captured her mouth with his; her eyes fluttered as her lungs protested; he pulled her against him when her legs caved and he let go of her neck. Her chest expanded and tried to pull in as much fresh air through her nose as possible, but through her mouth she breathed in so much more than mere oxygen. She witnessed the electrifying sensation of his dark magic swirling down and she couldn’t stop it. Her body was in an automatic protect mode, determined to stop the undesirable lack of oxygen situation. It didn’t care what else came with it.

And when the world became a shining blinding darkness, a melting thing, Hermione stopped caring too. Noises passed her lips into his mouth that were too primitive to be screams; she shuddered in his arms, trembling as waves and waves of endless pleasure rolled through her. She was done. You could stick a fork in her to prove it. She was definitely cooked. Her muscles wouldn’t cooperate at all, and she basically hung in his arms feeling boneless. He removed his mouth from hers and looked down smirking.

‘And this is just the beginning, my dear,’ he whispered, laughing when he saw her distraught expression at that.

Something hard and cold clasped around her wrists. He let go of her at the same time her arms flung upward, and suddenly, she found herself dangling in the air on her arms. She looked up and was just able to see the metal chains, which disappeared into that mist that surrounded her – though, the fog stayed at a considerable distance now and no longer invaded her body and senses. Hermione wondered why those chains wouldn’t cut into her skin. Her full weight hung on her wrists. She frowned. He had to have done something to those shackles. It should hurt, shouldn’t it? Not that she was complaining, but it intrigued her.

However, what was uncomfortable was the feeling in her shoulders. It felt like her arms were trying to pop from their sockets and dislodge themselves from her torso, so they could stretch out further. Her body swayed back and forth from her movements and she looked around, but all she saw was that stupid mist. Where had he gone off to? Merlin, he wasn’t going to leave her hanging here, was he?

A stream of profanities inspired by years of being near Ron’s not so eloquent vocabulary left her lips. Yep, she knew who was to blame for her decline in word choice. She still remembered the appalled looks and reprimands her parents gave her after she came home for her first summer vacation. “Cursing shows a lack of intelligence, young lady. If you have nothing better to support your statements with, it might be prudent to say nothing.” And, of course, the one very suited to her situation now, “Thou shalt not take the Lord’s name in vain.”

Ugh. Well, she knew one alleged Lord she wanted to kick into his vain butt, and there was nothing holy or divine about him. She glanced up again. Perhaps if she yanked hard enough, she could break those chains?

Yeah, yeah, she wouldn’t put money on it succeeding either. But eh, she had to try. In the end, she regretted putting more strain on her shoulders, which began to throb threateningly with a slow increasing ache. Hermione growled.

‘You do realise you can stand if you stop swinging around?’ an amused voice spoke behind her.

She collided into him and strong arms wrapped themselves around her waist, steadying her. ‘Standing?’ she commented sarcastically over her shoulder when she noticed her toes were all that reached the floor.

‘Well,’ he said, looking up, ‘I can raise them if you prefer?’

‘Or you could lower them,’ she suggested.

‘Nah, that’s no fun.’

‘My shoulders and I have to disagree with that,’ Hermione complained; but she wasn’t complaining about his arms holding her tightly around her waist, supporting her weight, and by doing so, taking some of the pressure of her joints.

He smirked. ‘No pain, no gain.’

‘Got yourself a phrase and saying day-to-day calendar?’ she sneered.

He clicked his tongue, while shaking his head. ‘You should really learn to rein in that mouth of yours.’

Her eyes widened when he removed one of his arms from her waist, causing her to be slightly less supported again. She felt his fingers roam through her hair next and she waited for the inevitable yank that occurred not much later. Why did she always go weak in her knees when he pulled on her hair? She had no logical explanation for that. He used it like a fucking leash and she was no bloody animal – it was degrading, definitely sexist. She shouldn’t enjoy it. It shouldn’t make her feel safe, at ease, and peaceful. Pulling on your hair did not constitute any of those things. It didn’t. He moved his fingers through her curls.

Merlin, if he removed his hand from her hair, she was going to kick him in his shin – hard.

But all he did was get a tighter grip, and she met that blank stare of his in quiet expectation. ‘But don’t worry,’ he continued softly, ‘you and your insolent tongue will be taught respect and reverence soon.’

Hermione raised an eyebrow. Reverence? Okaaaaay, someone in this room was in desperate need of a reality-check and it wasn’t her. Reverence, pffttt… the combination of that word in relationship to the person standing behind her… well, she would snort if she wasn’t worried it would turn into an outburst of mocking laughter. And it wasn’t nice to make fun of the mentally ill.

‘Once more your Occlumency has dropped significantly in performance,’ Voldemort observed smoothly. ‘Something else you want to add to the growing list of punishment reasons? I don’t mind,’ he added blankly, letting go of her waist and inspecting his fingernails in fake interest.

Hermione swayed on her toes, grimacing as she swung away from him, which put undo pressure on her hair-roots since he had not let go of her hair.

‘I have all the time in the world and … it’s not me, who has to suffer through it,’ he ended deadpan.

She glared at him.

‘You ask, I deliver, my sweet little Gryffindor. Perhaps next time you’ll think twice before badmouthing me on the off chance I may punish you. And I strongly apprise you to remember to only speak when given permission.’

Lord Voldemort pulled her against him again. Only now his arm was locked around her back and her chest pressed tightly to his. Her feet no longer reached the ground and he’d pulled her head back so far, she worried her neck might snap from the strain. She only had a partial view on his face, since her arms were now very much in the way; but his blank expression didn’t supply her with clues even in full view, so it didn’t matter much. Hermione was able to bend her arms now and she took full advantage of the possibility to relieve her shoulders.

‘Now before we got distracted I believe I offered you the option of a safe-word. Since Lord Voldemort always keeps his end of the bargain that option will remain available to you, even though your impudent actions and saucy responses after my most generous offer clearly indicate said option is unearned and unwarranted.’ He waited briefly, but Hermione wasn’t foolish and she didn’t open her mouth again, even though her curiosity went through the roof and she was practically bursting with questions. ‘Perhaps there still is one functioning brain-cell in there?’ he questioned, glancing at her forehead mockingly. ‘You may speak.’

‘What’s a safe-word?’ Hermione blurted out immediately.

‘If the pain becomes too much and you need it to stop, you say your safe-word and it will end,’ he explained.

‘Why-?’ she halted. Crap, she did it again.

‘One more indiscretion,’ Voldemort counted happily. ‘It’s becoming quite an impressive number, Hermione; you might want to stop, while it’s still in the two digits arena.’

Why, on earth, was he adding them up? What possible use could that have? Anal, definitely anal that desire of his to keep track of everything. But she still had loads of questions about this safe-word-thingy and he wasn’t explaining it.

‘Go ahead, ask.’

‘Why not simply use stop?’

‘Anything that could be used for pleading is unacceptable,’ he said, smirking down at her.

Pleading? In his dreams.

‘Also “stop” or “no, please don’t”,’ he mimicked the despair of others mockingly, ‘tends to … fuel my desire to up the ante.’

Gee, surprise, surprise.

‘So wha-?’ she shut her mouth and closed her eyes when his cheerfulness reached new heights.

‘You’re going to need that safe-word, little blabbermouth,’ he sniggered. ‘Let’s make it “golden” for you, since you obviously are a dim-witted Gryffindor and to remind you what silence is worth.’

See, definitely a day-to-day calendar.

She frowned; the inherent flaw in that safe-word system had come to mind. Smirking triumphantly, she opened her mouth uncaring, ‘So if I say golden, everything stops?’

Wow, this punishment thing was going to be soooo hard.

‘Only if you truly can’t take anymore. If you abuse the privilege, it will be taken away,’ he crushed that plan smoothly. ‘And that was another one; want to add two more and reach the three digits or…?’ he added, pausing threateningly, ‘are you going to be smart and enquire to what it entails first?’

Several smart aleck remarks danced temptingly at the forefront of her mind and it pained her to swallow them, but she figured something that made him rejoice in glee at her expense was definitely worth figuring out first. His continued silence and her building curiosity made her want to scream out in frustration, but that would be a waste of a perfectly fine wisecrack she hadn’t made.

Carefully, he lowered her to her feet, well, toes, and vanquished her skirt. Since it was summer and damn hot, she had no stockings on and was left in her open shoes, knickers, bra, that stupid piece of cloth still dangling on her back, and his necklace. His eyes moved from her face to her feet and up again, and he tucked at the elastic band on her knickers teasingly. ‘With ninety-eight I doubt those will provide much protection. You can keep them on.’

Protection? Okay, she was beginning to get worried.

He stepped away from her and whipped his wand to the side, conjuring an almost alive-looking mannequin. He twirled it around, so its back was to her. Another swish of his wand and he held some kind of many tailed whip in his hand. He had to be shitting her.

But he swung it around expertly, and she jerked when, with a sharp crack, it impacted on the doll. Crap, ninety-eight. While he disposed of the dummy rather violently, she felt the blood drain from her face. Mummy! He turned his head to her, gloating. Slowly, he stepped sideways, twirling the handle of the whip causing the endings to land in his other hand softly. Maliciously, he held it out in front of her, so she got an up close and personal look at the black suede that formed the many cords.

‘You can’t whip someone ninety-eight times,’ Hermione blurted out fearfully. ‘That’s lethal, especially with so many – er – tails.’

‘Flog someone ninety- … nine times,’ Voldemort corrected her, smirking. ‘This is called a flogger not a whip; those are falls not tails. And I promise you, dear, it’s all in the wrist. You’ll live, and I won’t damage you beyond repair.’

Lord Voldemort sniggered at how aghast she seemed and stepped right next to her, tracing her curves with the falls teasingly. Abruptly, he yanked the leftover cloth of her shirt that still dangled on the back of her bra away, making the elastic snap back in place with a sharp sting. She let out a shocked yip. Leaning into her ear, his breath brushed her skin as he whispered, ‘You will feel my wrath, Granger, and I will remind you not to cry uncle or in your case “golden” before you really need it, because Lord Voldemort will know when you lie and,’ he traced her jaw with the flogger, ‘you don’t want to lose your safe-word privilege, now do you?’ He pushed her chin up and she met his eyes in clear resignation.

‘Granger?’

She shook her head quietly in response, and bit her lip when he moved behind her. Trying to see what he was doing, she turned her head, lost her footing, and swung back and forth in her bounds.

‘Eyes forward,’ he barked, withdrawing his uplift swing in haste. ‘If I hit your face, it will take weeks and some very ghastly Dark Arts Potions to undo the damage.’

Even more frightened now than before, Hermione kept her head in position as she tried to catch her footing again. When she did, her muscles tensed from the stress. She closed her eyes and grinded her teeth together, waiting for that first blow. And she jumped when Lord Voldemort placed his hand on her shoulder. She looked up sideways where he stood. He watched her intently before he squeezed her shoulder reassuringly, and she sent him a weak smile in return, relaxing a bit. It was when the first blow hit her buttocks. Her shocked reaction was more in surprise than pain, because he hadn’t struck her hard.

‘One,’ he said evenly and another soft blow hit her at the same spot. ‘Two.’ He continued to flog her bottom with those less forceful swings, while his other hand rested on her shoulder. It steadied her, feeling his hand there, and she began to relax. Her skin tingled and heated up where he flogged her. Her eyes fluttered and her lips parted in reaction. A sensation of loss overcame her when his hand left her shoulder and he began moving around her, targeting her upper back now. Counting every swing out loud, so she’d know how many more there were to come.

‘Feel free to yell, scream, shout, or whatever when you need to, my little apprentice; just make sure not to disrespect me while doing so,’ he spoke ever so detached, while her back blossomed with red marks, which began to take hold. ‘Fourteen.’ Another low key swoosh had her quivering from head to toe. Her back wasn’t the only place to be heated and tingling now. She licked her lips. The idea of getting punished by someone capable of overpowering her had always been a secret, dark fantasy of her, but she had no idea in advance it would be this erotic.

‘Fifteen,’ he paused for a moment. ‘Hmmm…’ she heard him contemplate. ‘This was supposed to be punishment I believe,’ he said in an amused tone. Lord Voldemort flourished the flogger around, and with a sharp sound of something heavy hitting flesh, he upped the ante indeed. ‘Sixteen,’ he commented calmly through her pain-filled shriek.

Hermione blinked; low on her shoulder-blade, a stinging pain thrummed in her skin, enhanced further by every breath she took. She swore. Air moved against her skin and she tensed just before the second swat struck her mercilessly. She cried out. ‘Seventeen.’

When he reached twenty, he halted in front of her, smirking at her infuriated indignation. ‘Kiss me,’ he ordered.

‘Are you crazy!?’ she hollered, enraged.

‘One-hundred in total,’ he proclaimed triumphantly, cupping her cheek. ‘Still not enough self-control; tsk, tsk, tsk. What am I to do with you?’

Hermione gaped; her mouth opened and closed like a fish on land. He couldn’t be serious. He couldn’t!

‘Care to withdraw five of the total?’ he offered, leaning into her. ‘Just one kiss,’ he added lightly.

Quickly, Hermione kissed him on his cheek and leaned back, grinning. He hadn’t specified a location after all.

Voldemort snorted, shaking his head. ‘Ninety-five,’ he conceded. He wrapped his arms around her waist; making her flinch, as he pulled her against his body. ‘Five more for a real one.’

Narrowing her eyes, she considered it. ‘What constitutes as real?’ she asked finally, not wanting to fall into that trap.

‘You’ve spoken out of turn.’

‘You said I could yell or whatever as long as I was not disrespectful,’ she retorted. ‘My Lord,’ she added quickly.

‘Slippery Granger,’ he complimented. ‘One that satisfies me.’

‘Very subjective terms.’

‘Take it or leave it,’ he breathed on her lips, tightening his grip.

‘You’re hurting me,’ she breathed back hoarsely, captured in his gaze and arms.

‘Excellent,’ he whispered. ‘Last chance to lose those five.’

With a sigh, she pressed her lips to his and opened her mouth obediently. He nibbled on her upper lip, trailing his tongue over it, while she licked his lower lip. Hermione tilted her head and they deepened the kiss. Fingers trailed over her pink, and at some places deep red back; he silenced her whimpers by demanding her full attention with that delicious thing he was doing with his mouth. In the end she let out a moan, even though he was just trailing a more ferocious red stripe underneath her shoulder. He stepped back, keeping her steady by her shoulders, until she caught her balance.

‘Ninety,’ he said softly.

He Accio-ed the flogger with one hand, while his other hand moved down the front of her body. She gasped when his fingers delved into her knickers, playing with her curls briefly. ‘It’s quite wet here,’ he said, smirking down at her, while he pushed her folds apart and rubbed his fingers between them over that sensitive nub.

She let out a strangled sound, bucked against him, and dangled from her wrists again, not able to keep her legs from supporting her on her toes alone. With a sharp crack, the falls impacted on her back again. She swayed back and forth. Her strangled cry of pleasure mixed with a loud pain-filled yowl. Quickly, he slid his finger to her entrance and investigated the opening. Pleased with how wide she was, he glanced at her. ‘Still willing and ready. You are quite the little closet masochist, aren’t you? Well, let’s see how much you enjoy the rest of your disciplining, Granger.’

More sharp cracks landed on her back and buttocks with small pauses between, so she felt each blow to its full extend. ‘Twenty-two … twenty-three … twenty-four.’

She yelled, cried, and howled in pain. Not attempting to gain her footing anymore, she just hung there as her backside became one blur of continuous stinging, like it was filled with long scratches all over. Yet, she felt no blood trickling down. She flinched as he stroked her back; his fingers against her skin felt smooth – extremely painful but still smooth. He blew his cold breath across her spine, making her shiver from head to toe again. His hands came to rest on the base of her neck. He followed the path of his necklace from back to front, snaking his hands through the narrow opening her arms left him. Hermione leaned her head back against his chest. His hands lowered further, skimming past the lace of her bra before he hissed, ‘Lose the underwear and I’ll cut the total number in halve.’

Halve? Immediately, Hermione nodded her head in agreement. It wasn’t much protection anyway. The last of her clothing vanquished with a little twirl of his wand. ‘Forty-five in total,’ he said, replacing the wand for the flogger in a fluent motion. ‘And we are at twenty-seven,’ he yanked her bruised back against him; she bit her lip not to scream. ‘I’m going to make every single one of those blows count, Hermione,’ he hissed. ‘After all, your success in casting is at stake here. And in order for you to remember this is to teach you self-control, you will thank me in a polite and respectful manner from hereon after every strike. Is that clear?’

‘Ye-yes,’ she stuttered.

‘Yes, Master,’ he corrected.

‘Yes, Master,’ Hermione repeated.

Abruptly, he pushed her away. She caught a glimpse of him whipping the flogger through the air. It was a short moment to come to terms that his technique looked different when, with a resonant thud, the falls drummed on her buttocks. Her scream was ear-piercing, agonising, and came from the top of her voice. This was a more broadly felt deep muscle impact, so unlike the ones he’d administered before, and tears sprung in her eyes. Hermione tried desperate to hold them back. No, no, no, she was not weak. He wasn’t going to make her cry; she could do this – she’d show him.

‘Twenty-seven,’ he counted.

She heard him tapping the flogger in his hand, while she grasped at straws to regain her composure and catch her breath. From the corner of her eye, she saw him standing; his black robes swayed around his tall frame, while he now stroked those falls through his long fingers, waiting casually for her response, seemingly unobservant to her internal struggles. He lifted his head and looked straight at her, waiting.

Oh no! No, no, no, he was really going to make her say it. Her face turned red and the air seemed suffocating all of the sudden, oppressive, demanding and unmovable. She inhaled again and again and again, but there was no relief. Inhale. She choked. Inhale. Air, she needed air. Inhale. A purple dash impacted on her chest, pushing her ribcage together. All surplus air wheezed out in a laboured exhale; she could breathe again. She could breathe again.

‘You have a safe-word, Granger,’ Voldemort said, eyeing her intensely to see if the panic really subsided.

She shook her head. ‘Don’t need it,’ she muttered, closing her eyes and shaking her head again. Her hair flew around her face.

‘Already you’ve held on longer than I expected you to,’ he added quietly.

She smiled with pride behind curtains of frizzy curls. She was going to hold on longer. Hermione Granger was no quitter. She’d started this; she would finish – till the end. It was just three little words; it wouldn’t hurt her to speak them. She was strong enough to do this. Determined, her jaw was set. Hermione looked up and met his eyes, unwavering. ‘Thank you, Master,’ she spoke clearly.

They gazed at each other silently. Finally, he bowed his head in a nod and whirled his wand around to conjure a new flogger with slightly thicker and longer strands. She had no time to examine it, because he jabbed his wand at it and it flew through the air on its own. Lord Voldemort folded his arms and watched her meticulously. It didn’t make the wait any easier. ‘Twenty-eight,’ he said, snapping his fingers, and with a dull sounding swoop, she got struck again.

These swoops were harsh, overwhelming, but less variable in impact as when he administered them himself. And as he continued, counting further and further; traitorous tears fell down her cheeks; her throat was sore; her voice hoarse from all her screams; the pain too much to bear on both her back as well as in her arms or her calves, but she did not use her safe-word nor was she going to beg. She wasn’t going to. No, no, no.

‘Thirty-five.’

Just ten more, she could hold on – it was just ten more.

A blinding flash, two hands gripped her underneath her armpits, and she collapsed against him; her arms fell over his shoulders when the shackles sprung lose. A sob left her lips and she trembled severely, as he pulled her along with him to sit down in the chair that hovered into his knees. She straddled him, a leg on each side of the chair, facing the back against which he calmly sat, holding her gently, stroking through her hair. Her arms hung uselessly around his neck, while she’d buried her face into his robes. The tension of having to hold on disappeared in his arms, his caress. Her shoulders shook, and she began sobbing uncontrollable. With a quick wand-wave, the flogger remained motionless in midair and the chair tilted back; so she was more lying than sitting on top of him.

‘Shhhh,’ he hushed, patting her, ‘it’s alright; I’m right here; it’s alright. You’ve pleased me, my pet.’

He held her like that for awhile, stroking her hair. Hermione had moved one arm to his front. Gripping the fabric of his robe next to her face, she clung to him, calming down slowly. ‘You understand now what’s expected of you as an apprentice, don’t you Hermione?’ he spoke soothingly.

Silently, she nodded in quick short bursts.

‘Tell me, my sweet.’

‘Let go,’ she replied hoarsely, barely audible.

‘To achieve what?’

‘E-explore all of me.’ Her nose sniffed.

‘Where lies your path?’

‘With you.’

‘Very good,’ he purred. ‘You will be given some additional material to study and you will practise casting every spell mentioned in that book. Is that understood?’

‘Yes, my Lord,’ she whispered, rasping. Her throat was dry and it hurt when she spoke from all her screams. The tip of his wand pricked into the side of her neck. It felt like a hot draught glided down her throat, followed by delicious soft and cold ice-cream. She closed her eyes and savoured the feeling. He removed his wand silently. ‘Thank you,’ Hermione said, her voice back to normal.

‘We will finish your punishment now,’ he said quietly, feeling her still against his body immediately.

Hermione bit her lip; she could feel tears threaten to start flowing again. She thought it was over. She thought he’d been satisfied with her performance. Hermione lifted her head, beseeching him with her eyes. His face was blank; it gave her nothing. Her lip quivered. He was serious, she could tell. He wasn’t going to stop, until he had administered every blow he told her beforehand. She couldn’t do this again, hanging there alone. Not after he’d taken her in his arms. Lying in his lap, his hand caressing her hair, it felt so safe. She felt taking care of – like nothing could harm her. Maybe… if…

‘Can?’ she started hesitantly, watching his face for clues if she was allowed to continue – he granted it with a slight head tilt. ‘Can I – would you – I,’ she stuttered. ‘I can’t do this alone,’ she said slightly desperate, not knowing how to voice her demand.

He waited.

‘Could you hold me?’ she whispered, her face red. ‘during?’

Lord Voldemort took a deep breath and looked at the ceiling. He was very pleased with the telling submissive request, but he didn’t want to show it. A little gesture, expression, a too big a demand, anything he did from hereon could screw up how far she’d come today. And so close to his goals, it would be maddening if he had to start over. He already knew he was going to grant the request – it established his dominance over her even further, but he was curious how much of herself she was willing to relinquish to him. Asking for reimbursement held the chance she would be unwilling to grant it, which would demand a too serious reprimand on his end to retain his control and ascendance over her. Or even worse, she could simply take control, use her safe-word, and everything would have been in vain. It was a huge risk. He looked back into her brown eyes; he was sure he saw a great deal of supplication in them. She wasn’t going to deny him.

‘I could,’ he said slowly, ‘but…’ he watched her intently before finishing his sentence, ‘why would I support you if you’ve not surrendered to me fully? Why would I waste my time on holding someone who can’t lay her fate in my hands – someone who feels the need to maintain control?’

Hermione blinked, confused. She had no idea what he talked about. What control? She didn’t feel she had any. And hadn’t she just said her path was with him? What more surrender could he possibly want?

‘However, if you were to give up the right to use your safe-word and submit to me, I will grant you your request.’

Hermione looked down. Her safe-word, she’d forgotten about it in his arms. She’d been so determined not to use it – to not show weakness and defeat by saying it. But there were still ten more strokes to come; she wasn’t sure she could take it all. He started stroking her hair again. She liked that. She didn’t want to lose this security either, and she would if she denied him. She didn’t want to deny him; she wanted his approval; she wanted him to be pleased with her. He wouldn’t be pleased if she said no now. He would put her back in those shackles again or find something even worse to do to her. She took a deep breath and inhaled his scent. He smelled so right to her; everything about him felt so right to her. Could she do it? Let someone else take the steering wheel and not feel responsible for every little thing that happened? Not having to feel responsible – to really let go. She curled her fingers in his robes. The thought alone was so freeing, scary but freeing. Her mind screamed at her to accept this trade; it wanted the break.

But her body told her it would hurt.

You don’t mind pain.

It would hurt a lot.

He won’t cause irreparable damage. You can trust him with this. You want to.

He’s Lord Voldemort!

Exactly my point.

‘Okay,’ Hermione whispered doubtfully.

‘You do realise I won’t go easy on you?’ Lord Voldemort questioned. ‘You’ve already shown great insight, but I will not be a slacking teacher and diminish the impact of your lessons by not applying the right punishment for someone with your capabilities.’

God, did he have to make everything harder by always emphasising on what she already considered to be her rapid decent into loco land? It was a deranged enough desire to want to be held by the one hurting you. She didn’t want to examine and analyse it; she was too worried what answers she would find.

‘You can’t become a Keeper if you don’t know yourself,’ Voldemort said harshly. ‘You take one great step ahead by realising this apprenticeship is truly about learning yourself, and then, you take two back by worrying about the outcome. And you do this again and again. I have shown you the exquisite power of dark magic, and you fall, but it is superficial. You pretend to dive in, yet you hold something back. You do not give yourself fully, not to any side, not for long, not even to yourself. It’s why your last dream no longer contained a path, but was a mess filled with rejection.’ He grabbed her chin and removed her face from his robes. ‘To become truly powerful, to reach your full potential in magic, you need to give yourself fully without resistance, without struggling against those forces it’s compiled of. It’s part of the inherent nature of magic to demand the full attention of the person wielding it. You cannot control what you do not understand. By not wanting to understand what makes you tick, you effectively undermine the most basic tool you have in magic, namely yourself. So, if you don’t want to learn, go home and stop wasting my valuable time,’ he hissed, letting go of her chin abruptly.

She dispensed with the urge to rub her bruising chin and swallowed the lump in her throat. ‘I-I want to learn. I want to let go. I tried, but after a while it scares me and then my mind tells me to stop,’ she denied his accusations forcefully. ‘I just don’t know why I can’t. I just don’t know how to do it,’ she ended whispering, avoiding his eyes. ‘I don’t know how,’ she repeated, sounding incredibly sad.

He smirked. ‘That,’ he said triumphantly, ‘that, I can teach you.’

A glimmer of hope shined through her sadness. Hermione looked up. ‘Will you?’

‘I won’t give you a choice,’ he replied smugly, snapping his finger.

Her back blossomed ferociously upon the impact of the flogger and while she yelled in pain, she felt incredibly relieved. He wasn’t giving up on her; he would teach her. He’d force her to let go. Lord Voldemort would force her to let go. She clutched to him, buried herself inside his robes, held him like he was all that was left in the world; while he counted through her punishment and surrender. He held her gently, as the flogger swirled down on her back drawing blood for the first time. And she took his comfort. Hermione lay in his arms; one hand stroked her hair, the other switched positions, giving her some indication where the next blow was not going to fall. She knew she couldn’t stop it anymore. She knew she was at his mercy, something he was not known to have a lot of. She knew Lord Voldemort would search for her boundaries and then cross them relentlessly. And it would hurt tremendously. But she felt so at peace. It was like a giant weight had been lifted of her chest. She didn’t have to make any decisions. He’d taken her choice away and all she had to do was obey. Nice and simple. No questions asked or even allowed. No answers required to give.

‘Forty-three. Turn around,’ he ordered coldly, not caring about the blood pouring down on her back.

Cautiously, Hermione tried to, but she collapsed back against him. Her body felt too battered to achieve the movement. ‘I can’t,’ she whispered, her voice hoarse from all her screams again.

‘You can and you will. Now.’

There was no solace in his voice, nothing there to reason with or beseech upon. He, indeed, forced her to relinquish all control. In the end, after a long time filled with clumsy and painful movements, she completed the turn with a relieved sigh - she had made it.

‘I knew you could make it on your own,’ Voldemort breathed into her ear. ‘You are doing very well, my pet.’

His praise made her feel strangely proud and happy she’d done it. His hands caressed her naked, unblemished skin at the front of her body. It was in severe contrast with the dreadful mess that was her back. The flogger hovered threateningly in the air, and with a shock, she realised she was not afraid about what would come next. Her body was his to do with as he pleased. Some tension she hadn’t been aware of fled her being. Like she was on a high, the world seemed brighter, clearer, and more defined.

‘Good, very good,’ he said, his voice was like velvet brushing over her body – she shivered.

He swapped the flogger for the one he started with and the two last strokes barely graced her breasts. Her eyes shut, she floated. His arms were positioned tightly around her waist, but she floated – she floated in his care, his magic. She was safe yet not. She was dreaming yet awake, aware yet unconscious; she was everything at once when it happened. Something stirred and uncoiled inside her; something she kept locked at all times; the reason she had always, always kept a bit of herself to herself. The reason she never let go. It whirled out, grew astronomically, unstoppable, and frightening. It was inside of her yet it smashed into her like a freight train. A howl much like a wolf’s left her mouth as she thrashed in Lord Voldemort’s arms, but he didn’t let go when the magic turned violent. Sparks left her skin, and she felt his magic attach itself to hers, riding along. He held her when the power expanded rapidly beyond the limits of her body. It spread out and out and out, like a wind blowing out the candles, erasing all light in the area. It turned dark around her as it roared, shaking the very stone walls of Malfoy Mansion, moving onward and onward.

Laughter reached her ears. Loud and glorious was his delight when it trashed his wards first and then the ancient Malfoy ones, as if it was slicing a piece of the softest cheesecake in the world. And still, it was not done. She couldn’t stop it; she didn’t want to stop it. It felt delicious to let her power flow out. After being afraid of this for so long, to stop oppressing it was beyond freeing. She was on top of the world. She could feel it all, trees, animals, plants, people as her magic spread to envelope them. Like the shockwave of a nuclear bomb, all that carefully contained energy moved forward, darkening the sky of Wiltshire County in a blink of an eye, and still, it was moving strong.

---

Miles and miles away, in the lovely county of Devon, Molly Weasley walked outside. ‘Ginny! Harry! Tea’s ready!’

‘What am I, invisible?’ Ron muttered disgruntled, causing Ginny to score one final point due to his lack in attention.

The three of them raced on their broomsticks back to the Burrow and landed around Molly who looked pale at the sky behind them.

‘Mum?’ Ginny asked, worried.

The three teenagers turned their heads to the sky behind them. ‘What’s that?’ Ron blurted out, dumbfounded.

Harry pulled his wand.

‘Inside now, the three of you, quickly,’ Molly ordered, shoving Ginny to the door. ‘Remus, Tonks!’ she yelled frightened.

‘Mu-um,’ Ginny objected to being the only one pushed indoors, and she held her wand to her side firmly.

‘Vat is these?’ Fleur asked, staring at the sky. She was the first one outside before Remus and Tonks made it there too – wands drawn.

With a roaring thunder, the Order and Ministerial Wards collapsed and everything turned dark around them.

‘Harry!’ Remus yelled, his voice cracked.

---

Almost simultaneously, in a damp obscure building in London, Albus Dumbledore swirled around. His wand held by his side.

‘What on earth?’ Grindelwald muttered; his jaw dropped, as he walked to the window to stare at the approaching darkness astonished. ‘Oh for crying out loud, that’s why that maniac is missing. Nebi can’t get through.’

‘My, my,’ Volkova commented impressed, as the room turned pitch-black. ‘You sure know how to pick them, Albus.’

‘We can use some help here,’ Nathaira roared, outraged with the slacking Keepers. ‘It’s feeding on the wildness of that darkness.’

‘Yes, stop admiring and do something to halt Granger’s magic from infiltrating ours,’ Li seconded the dark Keeper’s statement. ‘I can’t see shit.’

Dumbledore flourished his wand above his head and fire lighted the room.

‘A little more light magic,’ Nathaira ordered.

Dumbledore increased the power.

Nathaira swore, while moving quickly on her feet, continuing to jab, flick, whip, flip, and flash her wand rapidly. ‘It’s not doing it. The breach is widening thanks to that little display of uncontrolled dark magic. I need some real assistance,’ she said haughtily, insulting her fellow dark Keepers.

Dubois shared a meaningful glance with Bouvier, while McFerlon mouthed “bitch” in the direction of Nathaira.

‘Then, get me a bloody wand,’ Gellert ordered, looking around the people in the fire lit room expectantly.

Everyone ignored him.

He raised his hands into the air, irritated. ‘Fine, fine, let’s all die today, because we wouldn’t want the big bad wizard to hold a wand for a second.’

‘Someone get Riddle!’ Petro yelled, wiping the sweat of his forehead. A whisk of dark light left the tip of his wand.

‘If Nebi can’t get through, I won’t be able to either,’ Gellert replied, annoyed. He swooped down in the nearest comfortable chair and stretched his limbs out lazily, rubbing his hands in fake excitement. ‘Guess I have a ringside seat to the end of the world as we know it. Some popcorn would be nice.’

---

Hermione sighed. Her eyelids fluttered. The end of her reach was in sight. She could feel the sheer emptiness like a hunger needing to be stilled.

‘Now that is true raw power,’ Voldemort whispered in her ear, satisfied. ‘You’ve even healed yourself instinctively.’

Stunned, Hermione realised he was right. Her back no longer hurt. She reached for it to check her skin with her hand, and it felt smooth; but he gave her no time to relish on this achievement.

‘Can you pull your magic back in?’ asked Voldemort. ‘You’ve plunged a huge part of the UK into darkness.’ He sniggered. ‘Not that I mind, but I think some people might be upset and they’re bound to blame poor innocent me.’

Yes, because poor innocent him had nothing to do with it. Hermione rolled her eyes. Just learn to let go. Brilliant idea, someone should slap her on the head, hard, if she ever felt like trying that again. ‘How am I supposed to pull it back in?’

‘How do you feel?’

‘Famished.’

‘Mmm, then follow your instinct and eat.’

‘Ermmm… eat? Eat what? Magic?’ she stared into the darkness incredulously.

‘It’s merely a metaphor. Think about stilling your hunger,’ he explained.

But no matter how hard she thought about that, nothing happened.

‘Well, it was worth a try,’ Voldemort said after a while, completely unfazed. ‘It would have been astonishing had you succeeded without practise. Raw power is hard to tame and guide; it’s so uncontrollable.’

He whipped out his wand and hers in one quick move. He pushed them both in her hand again and folded his hand around them. Hermione whimpered softly in meek protest. She was certain she’d pass out or worse if more of her magic got pulled from her body. Her action moments ago had already weakened her substantially.

‘This is only so you can witness what I do. I’ve connected my magic with yours when you trust it out. I won’t need to draw anymore from you to make it return,’ he reassured her. ‘Now, watch the difference between controlled and uncontrolled power,’ he ordered.

And then, he seemed to rip the very fabric of nature apart with a forceful swing of their wands. Hermione felt him flex his magic as if it was simply a giant muscle contracting. The way a Quidditch Chaser would hold back the Quaffle just before stretching out his arm to throw it away to score another point. But Lord Voldemort did not throw a measly Quaffle to fly through the air uncontrollable and open to outside influence after it left its thrower’s hand.

No, the way his magic left their joined wands was better described by envisioning he launched multiple guided cruise missiles at once, trusting through the sky on different paths he had predestined carefully. What was more amazing was noticing his “missiles” stayed, somehow, connected to him. Snakelike they raced through the dark sky, curling around her dispersed magic. It seemed very fitting to him, Hermione thought.

---

‘Watch your right, Petro,’ Gellert commented, tossing another popped corn in his mouth lazily.

Petro scowled in his direction. His right side nearly got singed when a dark burst swirled to him.

‘Warned you,’ Gellert taunted childlike. ‘Ah!’ he shouted out, looking at the dark sky outside the fire lit room. ‘He’s finally pulling that shit back. Nebi will be able to reach him soon. Guess my ringside seat will become even more exciting. Natty, leave that huge humungous opening for Tommy, pretty please. I’d love to see him sweat that one.’ He sniggered gleefully at the perspiring Sharasvati Nathaira, but he shook his head upon seeing Albus whirl around at the other end, equally in trouble. ‘Sure, everything is your responsibility,’ he muttered underneath his breath, glancing at the other light Keepers rather annoyed.

---

Remus held up a fistful of blue flames in his hand, so Tonks could see what she was doing. It was hardly capable of lighting the room, but it was better than nothing.

‘Why aren’t they attacking?’ Tonks asked; her wand swooshed and weaved new wards around the Weasley kitchen. ‘Our reinforcements have not arrived yet. He trashed all our wards to pieces, so he must know his target is here.’

The target scratched his head apologetically, feeling guilty they were all in danger because of his presence. Ron shrugged at him, looking extremely pale. Nobody had an answer to Tonk’s viable question. They were all waiting for the onslaught to come, but it was silent. Dark but silent. Harry felt it was strange. Normally when Voldemort was near, his scar would stab and throb painfully, especially when the man used magic. But nothing happened to his head now - all that darkness and nothing. According to Professor Dumbledore, he’d be more protected from Voldemort’s mood swings, since the dark wizard had occluded his mind to him fully after the incident in the ministry; but this magic that kept out the light was most certainly not occluded. He wished Dumbledore was here to explain it. It kind of worried him that his scar didn’t warn him as usually.

Suddenly, he clutched to his forehead in pain. Be careful what you wish for, he thought sardonically as his head pounded more ferociously as before.

‘Harry?’ anxious voices spoke.

‘Is He here?!’

Then, sunlight blinded their eyes. For a brief moment, Harry saw red eyes flashing merrily in a fogged reflection in a mirror; but his head cleared, the pain subsided, and he stared in Mrs Weasley’s concerned face before he could make more of the blurry visual. ‘Harry, Harry, are you alright?’ asked Mrs Weasley, shaking him by his shoulders.

‘He is pleased,’ Harry said roughly, rubbing his forehead, ‘very, very pleased.’

His statement met with a profound silence.

---

The tendrils of his magic surrounded hers in the sky. They curled and weaved around it. He flexed his magic again, and Hermione felt how his “snakes” guided her scattered power together, forced it to comply and cooperate; they moved it back, slow at first; but it quickly gained speed as they pressed more and more of her magic together. The acceleration was enormous and the closer it came the less territory his tendrils had to cover, making the speed of the returning magic quite a scary thing.

‘Prepare yourself,’ Voldemort warned. ‘The return will not be a pleasant experience.’

Of course it wasn’t going to be. It was magic. For some insane reason, everything in magic had to be darn uncomfortable. Apparation, Portkey travel, flying on a broom, Blast-Ended Skrewts doing all sorts of things to you, Bouncing Bulb punching you in the face, Bubotuber giving you painful boils, Devil’s Snare trying to strangle you, Whomping Willows, Potions ingredients that try to eat through your skin before you could cut them, books that could not be read, magical artefacts that festered; and did she need to continue? Sometimes she thought the individual who invented magic had to be the worst sadist that ever lived.

‘Almost here,’ Voldemort said, pointing their wands abruptly at her chest, while his other arm tightened around her waist.

She doubled over and gripped his arm panicky when it struck her like another freight train. Only this one was not hitting the brakes at all. The majority of her magic dove back inside – glad to be home again. But some of it had liked being outdoors for the first time and those bits were unwilling to return to her body’s confinement; they bounced off her skin and tried to sneak through Voldemort’s magic. He wasn’t allowing it. Hermione gasped when he flexed once more; his magic now coiled around her, pressed into her skin closer and closer, until she felt like he tried to push her eyeballs out through the back of her skull, crush her bones, and pretty much turn her into a roast with his magic substituting for the roped net.

The pressure dropped suddenly. His magic swirled away from her, reinstating not only his but also the dropped Malfoy wards. Hermione caught a laboured breath, rising up – her hands were still on the arm he held around her. She looked over her shoulder at him and he eyed her with mirth. ‘Quite a bit of darkness you try to suppress, Granger,’ he said gloating. ‘Darkness that powerful and pervasive will not stay confined forever. If you don’t learn to control it, it will eventually gain control of you.’

‘Is that what happened to you?’ she blurted out, making her want to zip and lock her jabbering mouth and throw away the key.

But Lord Voldemort tossed his head back and laughed. He laughed! Stop the presses. Hermione pinched herself. Yep, still awake.

‘You just can’t help yourself, can you?’ he said, amused.

Suddenly, his body language changed abruptly; he stiffened. Hermione looked around the room immediately, ready and alert. Something was wrong.

‘Nebi?’ she said, puzzled. Not sure she had the identity right of the red thing hovering in front of them.

‘Yes,’ Voldemort said gravely. His long spidery fingers caressed her neck and the side of her face, as he pulled the necklace over her head. ‘I’ll try not to be too long,’ he said, placing her on her feet.

A robe materialised around her body and he was gone with the next flourish of their wands. Hermione raised her eyebrows and looked around the still fogged mirrored room. Finally, she plummeted in the chair he had conjured, not knowing what else to do in the empty, thoroughly warded space without her wand. A devious voice inside her told her temptingly, it had trashed his wards before. Scared, she ignored it, locked it away more thoroughly behind imaginary walls of stone and steel. Hermione wasn’t too happy with the knowledge she just gained about herself. So she’d sat in that chair for hours, losing track of time and almost falling asleep when…

Crack.

The sound of his Apparation shook her awake, but her jaw dropped when she saw him. His robes were torn and filthy. Several deep gashes were visible on his bare non-dominant arm, the left side of his face bled severely, and he crashed to the floor unable to stay standing. Hermione flew to her feet and made her way to him.

‘What happened?’ she asked, looking down worried. Professor Dumbledore? Harry? Harry would be alright, wouldn’t he? If he did something rash and died, because she wasn’t there to stop him, she’d kick his arse.

‘Keeper shit,’ Voldemort said hoarsely.

Oh, thank Merlin, not Harry.

Lord Voldemort held out his hand to her. Hermione blinked. Shocked, he’d want assistance from her. But when she saw the necklace dangling on his fingers, she knew she’d misinterpreted the gesture. ‘Thanks,’ she said, taking it back and putting it on.

‘Help me up,’ he ordered coldly.

Another surprised blink followed, but she complied nevertheless. Hermione wanted to pull him up by his uninjured arm, but he was pretty darn stubbornly refusing it. ‘I need the ability to use my wand,’ he shortly stated when she had placed her hands bossily in her sides, glaring down at him.

‘Fine, be in pain then,’ Hermione muttered uncaring.

And she ignored the hiss he let out when she pulled him up, placed his arm around her neck, and grabbed him around his waist; all the while staggering back and forth, for she could barely stay standing with all the heavy leaning he did on her. Finally, she caught her balance and stood still. Lord Voldemort whipped his wand at the wards around the room and the door opened with a click. Automatically, she wanted to turn in the direction of her bedroom when they stumbled out, but he blocked her by refusing to move, nearly keeling them over.

‘Other way,’ he said through clenched teeth.

‘Whereto?’ Hermione asked, turning them around in the right direction.

‘Last door at the end.’

She had no idea how she made it over there without falling down, but she managed and halted in front of a sealed door. Usually his wards were rather inconspicuous. She’d never been able to spot the ones around her bedroom, except that time when Grindelwald tried to leave with her wand. Hermione was pretty sure the majority of his wards were designed to only make you aware of them, once they came thundering down on top of your head – when it was too late to stop or take precautions. This one, however, she could feel thrumming against her skin; the sheer power of it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

Lord Voldemort hopped on his feet, almost tossing them both to the floor. She gripped him tighter around his waist and looked up annoyed, but he ignored her glaring. Apparently, he had gained a stance he was satisfied with and flicked his wand at the door. A wind brushed her hair around her face, while he made small intricate gestures with his hand, pulling down the wards one by one. Finally, the door clicked open.

Open Sesame.

Curiosity killed the cat; curiosity killed the cat, Hermione kept reminding herself. No, she was not at all curious to what required such heavy warding; she just wanted to kick the door out of the way, because he was too heavy to carry and she needed to sit him down somewhere fast. Yes, that was it.

However, she had no idea how to do said kicking without tumbling over, so she supposed she could wait a second longer and let it swing open on its own. She had to refrain herself from jumping up and down excitedly and dumping him on the floor when she witnessed what could only be described as the most exquisite Potions lab a private person could have. Shelves, full of already made Potions and ingredients for new creations, filled all the walls. The centre of the room was occupied by long tables; some contained active cauldrons, as she heard bubbling, smelt the scent of grass, and saw different colours of steam emanating from them. In front of every cauldron stood a high stool that enabled someone to sit and work actively with ease. Saying Hermione was impressed with his lab was all the more telling if you took under consideration, she had been to France on vacation in the past, where she had visited the famous Flamel Institut, while her parents went for a walk on the Champs-Elysées.

Sure, in size there was no comparison. The Flamel Institut was huge. But the equipment, she saw here, was quite a match for what she’d seen there. Hermione noticed the same self-stirring cauldrons standing on quite similar design tables (which helped protect the brewer as well as improved the quality of potion-making due to the fully neutral nature of the tabletop’s material). He also had the specialised vacuum-pulling glass containers to store his ingredients in and the same brand of knives. She didn’t want to even guess at the price tag of any of it. She was sure he’d made a huge dent in the contents of the Malfoy vault at Gringotts to establish this facility. That appealed very much to the oh so vengeful and vindictive side of her character, and she smirked gleefully, while they staggered inside.

‘You’ll need Re’em blood, second shelf from the top on your right,’ Voldemort said, conjuring a more comfortable chair for himself to sit on, next to the corner of one of the tables. ‘Runespoor eggs, right beside it.’

She lowered him into it, while he jabbed his wand at the empty cauldron. Flames erupted underneath the cauldron. Hermione turned; her eyes searched for the items on the second shelf amongst a wall filled with nothing but those expensive aforementioned glass jars. ‘And of course the rest,’ he added, while casting a Summoning Charm on divers items at once, which were not quite so delicate as the previous two he already mentioned.

Hermione carefully picked up one container at the time and placed them on the table. By the time she was done, several silver knives and one gold one were already making mincemeat of the things he had summoned. Puzzled, she glanced at it, but she really had no idea what the hell this was supposed to become. It irked her terribly. ‘What are you making?’

‘You,’ Voldemort corrected, ‘you are making something that will help restore me fully within the next hour.’

Confused, Hermione looked at all the ingredients. How could she possibly create a potion without knowing the first thing about it?

‘I will be monitoring and assisting your progress. Do. Not. Attempt. To. Screw. With. This. Potion,’ he said quietly, flicking his wand. A parchment appeared on the desk. ‘I will be most displeased if you mess this up. You do not want Lord Voldemort to be displeased with you, Hermione, it’s not good for your –’

‘There is no need for threats when people are already helping you,’ Hermione interrupted, gritting her teeth together, as she picked up the parchment to read it.

For a second, he considered countering that argument, but then he just closed his eyes and lay back in the chair, waiting for her to finish reading.

---

Shocked, Draco let out a high shriek when he woke rather abruptly from his nice slumber by being tossed to the ground harshly.

‘Do you still have some around?’ Gellert asked concerned, as he dragged Albus into his chair.

‘Cupboard,’ Albus spoke, coughing. ‘Purple flask.’

‘Boy,’ Gellert said, gesturing irritated to the furious Draco Malfoy on the floor who had just been violently removed from said chair by Grindelwald. ‘Do something useful for a change.’

Draco just wanted to say he could stuff his orders in a very dark place when Gellert Grindelwald turned to him and gave him a murderous stare, which made him swallow all his unspoken words, and he scrambled to his feet instantaneously. Gellert picked a lemon drop from the bowl on the desk and handed it to Albus to help stop his coughing fit. It seemed to do the trick. He glanced sideways briefly to see Draco going through the cupboard hurriedly, so he turned his attention back to Albus.

‘You had to do it, didn’t you?’ Gellert snarled. ‘Couldn’t you just let everyone pitch in for Olsen’s vacant spot, instead of trying to be in two places at once?’

Albus just looked at him.

‘Well?’ Gellert snapped.

Gesturing at his mouth, Albus swallowed the little bit that remained. ‘You know what Olsen’s capabilities were like, Gellert. Not even Mei could have held that place,’ he answered, letting out a single cough.

‘You realise that if we lose you now-’

Albus’s eyes widened and he nodded his head warningly to the side. Gellert shut his mouth immediately as Draco came back into view, holding a purple flask in his outstretched hand. Gellert took it from him and shook it a couple of times before opening it and sniffing at the odour.

‘Well, you’re being irresponsible, just so you know,’ Gellert said, while he handed the opened flask to Albus.

‘I wasn’t the only one injured,’ Albus said softly before downing the potion with a shiver and a wrinkled nose.

‘Not my fault,’ Gellert replied shortly. ‘If you lot would just hand me a wand, I’d have dealt with it myself. My spot doesn’t need to be an opening in our defences, you know.’

‘I didn’t mean to insult you. I meant you need to go check if he still has the potion.’

Gellert snorted. ‘He’ll manage. He made a nice nosedive though,’ he sniggered, ‘well, nose…’

‘Gellert,’ Albus said warningly.

‘He won’t want the help,’ Gellert retorted lightly.

‘Gellert,’ Albus repeated more forcefully.

‘Fine, fine, I’ll check if he’s still breathing,’ Gellert said grudgingly; and he added sarcastically, ‘let’s all keep our fingers crossed we are that lucky.’

Albus shook his head, but there was a small smile on his face when Gellert apparated out.

‘What happened to you, Professor?’ Draco asked, curiously eyeing the worn-out, blood-soaked wizard in his torn robes.

Dumbledore suppressed a sigh and smiled, looking at the blond. ‘Just your average day Keeper business, nothing to be upset about,’ he said calmly.

Draco Malfoy practically choked. He’d thought being a Keeper was somewhat of an honorary position - a place of standing worthy of the Malfoy family name; not a place, where he could be torn into shreds. Everyday Keeper business really involved getting butchered like this? If someone as powerful as Professor Dumbledore got injured this badly, he suddenly wasn’t so sure it was a position to want to strive at obtaining. Perhaps, he should let Granger-

Ugh. The thought was too appalling. He had to beat that blasted Gryffindor at least once. He had to. Just imaging the look on her face when she lost was almost satisfying enough to him, but he had to see it for real. He had to beat that insipid Mudblo-

‘Draco,’ Dumbledore warned shortly.

Sweet Salazar, he forgot aunt Bella’s teaching again.

Quickly, Draco looked away and let go of all thoughts, feelings and emotions. It wasn’t easy this time around; because even though Dumbledore’s physical wounds healed quickly after he’d taken the potion, those robes were a constant reminder to how he had entered the Head’s Office. Draco Malfoy had some real considering to do with regards to his future.

‘Erm, can I go home now, Sir?’ Draco asked. He’d been stuck here for hours after all!

‘You know you don’t need to ask, Draco,’ Dumbledore said kindly. He pointed to raggedy hat, lying on the side-table. ‘Your Portkey is always available to you whenever you need it.’

‘But the wards you raised-?’ Draco said, confused.

‘-are non-existent for your personal Portkey. I’ve explained before, Draco, you can come and go whenever you need my assistance as your guide. No ward will change that.’

Draco wanted to hit his head on the desk again, but he was starving, so he settled for grabbing the hat. The moment he felt the familiar tug at his navel was the exact same moment Grindelwald apparated back in. Seeing the man reappear made Draco very, very happy he had left on time. Really, like one of them wasn’t enough. He had to get two for the price of one.

Grindelwald sat down dramatically in the chair at the other side of the desk. ‘Granger is brewing his potion. I suppose he’s lucky she’s still there. Judging from the colour and odour I witnessed, it will be just perfect when it’s done,’ he snarled.

Albus chuckled. ‘This is really upsetting to you, isn’t it? Having to acknowledge she is good at that, too. I say it’s a very healthy dose of reality to stick into that male chauvinistic pig attitude you tend to exhibit normally. Perhaps seeing her succeed will slap you out of that ridiculous notion women can’t accomplish anything of worth.’

‘Oh shut up.’

The chuckle turned into full-blown laughter. ‘But of course, you will find some lame excuse as why she is the exception to the rule, as were Ljudmila, Mei, Sharasvati, Maria,-’

Albus laughed even harder when Gellert apparated away before he could continue to recite the endless list of names.

After his amusement had died out, his mind went over the Hermione Granger situation. He’d brought Harry to the Weasleys, got Horace Slughorn to return, and accomplished a million other things to go according to plan except for her case. He tapped on the desk with his fingers. She needed to be away from Tom soon or he was positive there would be no viable method at his disposal to diminish the man’s influence on her at all. That demonstration of darkness earlier on was proof enough.

Frustrated, his fist rammed the desk. He’d calculated in Tom’s refusal to let her leave his side, but he’d thought the others would take more proactive measures than merely sending a bunch of stupid Howlers. Clearly, he had overestimated their commitment. However, he was absolutely positive the girl was in dire need of break about now; she would need to spend some time with her friends to recall who she was. No, Hermione Jean Granger wasn’t staying there any longer. Not as long as Albus Dumbledore still had an ace or two up his sleeve. He rose from his chair and called out, ‘Nebi.’

It was time for more drastic measures to be taken.

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The Apprentice