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The Highest of Priests	By : PrettyDesdemona Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 5039 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter universe or any of its characters. I do not make any money off this story. Only love!

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THE HIGHEST OF PRIESTS

TWO.

PERGATORIO

"He fell so far there were no other means

to lead him to salvation, except this:

to let him see the people who were lost.

For this I visited the gateway of

the dead; to him who guided him above

my prayers were offered even as I wept."

I can feel her struggling against the bonds that contain her mind. Her body, of course, does not move, but her eyelids flicker ever so slightly, like insects circling a light bulb.

A piece of rather complicated magic keeps her in this state, a spell that is not well known, not easily cast, that contains the mind in something of an internal shell, robbing it of the ability to move out of its own confines and interact with the victim's surrounding environment. In essence, Hermione Granger's magic is caged, as is her consciousness, her psyche. She is entirely unaware of anything other than infinite blackness and her presence in it. And her body is in a state of stasis, it does not operate. She is frozen.

But why have I put her like this? Why is this woman lying on my bed, in my hotel room, unable to speak, feel or move?

Most alarmingly, the answer is that I do not know. I do not know why I brought her here, or why I have sat watching her for almost three days now, barely moving. I don't even understand why I stunned her as she walked away from me all those nights ago. I could have walked away, could have left the woman who'd travelled through time alone. Then I would not be in this rather uncomfortable and incomprehensible position.

I suppose I may have chosen this course of action because I need time to think, to understand those things she said to me. I need to decide what to do.

Surprisingly, the least troublesome part of her speech was her admittance to being a mudblood. More troubling is the fact that she actually used that particular word to describe herself thus.

And there was a war apparently, or will be a war. I am intrigued by this idea. Judging by the fact that she hid her muggle parents, it sounds like perhaps this war was one that I myself might have an interest in. The muggles were threatened. Wherever muggles are threatened, I want to be. Whenever I choose to release her from the bonds I have put in place, I will question her strictly about this.

And then there was the far greater, far more disturbing aspect to her speech. She had travelled back in time. How? How did she do this? Was she a prodigy? A great witch, mistress of invention? Did she create a device that would serve her thus?

Oh, the things I could change with such a form of magic. The Statute of Secrecy, Grindelwald's defeat, the birth of Albus Dumbledore even. Perhaps… perhaps even my mother's death. I do not yearn for any sort of familial relationship with such a weak hearted individual, obviously, but I have many questions. Many questions.

I find myself hungering for it, for this knowledge. I even stoop to going through Hermione's bag in an effort to find something that might lead me to it. But I find nothing, apart from several books from the future, that I devour instantly though they only serve to perplex me further. There are other things, the pouch that contains the gold, a few potions ingredients and some vials full of unidentifiable liquids. I do not open these; I am smarter than that, though I do hope that they are somehow associated with her ability to travel through time.

I am beginning to think I might have to unbind her mind now. These questions are too tantalising. Though honestly, I fear her. And my fear of her is even more frightening. I do not understand, even in the slightest, why this woman has me obsessed. I have been enraptured by many things in my life, consumed by certain trails of study or various projects. But never have I let my obsession extend to people. Never has a woman captured me like Hermione.

But I justify it, in the end. I put it down to the fact that, through her, I might not only be able to master death and power as I have already done, but also time. Something that had always been elusive and unpredictable.

I move to stand, lifting my wand and directing it at her slightly twitching face. I mutter the counter spell and her eyes open instantly, panicked and frightened.

She scrambles into a sitting position, her hand flying to her forehead, before she spots me and her frightened look is replaced by terror.

"What did you do to me?!" she cries hysterically.

"What I thought was necessary." I respond calmly, pouring water from a jug into a glass on the nightstand.

"And you thought locking me in some… some endless black prison was necessary?!" her eyes are wild, her hands visibly shaking.

"I did nothing to you. Only your mind." I hand her the glass, a peace offering if you will, in the hopes that it might calm her. Her panic is inconvenient.

She looks at the glass in my hand longingly before reaching forward to take it. I almost draw back again, thinking that perhaps I might be able to ransom the water for information. But something tells me this technique will not work. She is, after all, a Gryffindor. I am thinking that to do something like that would only incite her rage and cause her to become violent again. This, I worry about, even if I have confiscated her wand. There are so many things I have underestimated about Hermione already; I do not want to make the same mistake again.

She takes the glass and consumes the entire contents in one prolonged gulp.

"This is fucking ridiculous." she says after a moment, breathlessly as she swallows the last gulp of her beverage. "Only I could walk out of the madness that was my life and straight into the clutches of a man who kidnaps me. I should just end it now and get it over with. Clearly fate doesn't want me to live happily."

Do I feel guilty at this? Not in the slightest. But we appear to be getting closer to the information I want.

"How did you travel through time?" I ask, beginning my interrogation.

"Ah. So this is why I've been kidnapped." she nods in understanding.

"Answer the question. How did you do it?" my voice lowers menacingly.

She chuckles, looking unaffected. "Yeah. Like I'd tell you that."

"How did you travel through time?" I demand again, lacing my tone with a compulsion.

This time she laughs properly. "We've already established that doesn't work on me haven't we? And you can't enter my mind, so I'm thinking you might have to get a little more creative than that. Feel free to try the imperius curse if you think that'll help."

At this point, I am open to suggestions. She is taunting me, but I smarter than that. There is a possibility that she might be bluffing and there is a possibility that she may not. And there is only one way to find out.

I raise my wand. "Imperio." her eyes immediately lose their life and go blank. "Tell me how you travelled through time."

This time, she does not answer right away. Her face begins to crumple in concentration and after a moment she says firmly, "No."

And then the curse lifts. She's thrown it off. I'm impressed.

But my arsenal is not empty. If the situation demands ruthlessness, then that is what I will give her.

My wand rises yet again and I say calmly, "Crucio."

A look of blind panic and disbelief crosses her face for the briefest of moments before her body folds in on itself and back arches. I swiftly cast a silencing charm in order to keep our interrogation process quiet just in case she decides to scream.

I can see all the muscles in her body twitching, jolting, taut like a bow string. Her body writhes in a way that is almost beautiful.

I sit down again, beside the bed and watch her. Her eyes are wide and staring. The bed shakes with her violent convulsions. There is a part of me that wants to reach out and caress the muscles of her thighs so that I might feel for myself her skin jerk under my hands, to feel some physical embodiment of the pain I'm causing her.

After a few moments, I hear a splintering crack and my eyes are drawn to her face. She has opened her mouth too wide in her silent screams; put too much pressure on her tendons and bones. Her jaw has unhinged, dislocated.

I do not immediately react, though I know that I should. She might cause herself more damage if the strain is that much. But for some reason, I cannot bring myself to lower my wand. She's so perfect like this, more animal than human, not in any way consumed by fickle human emotions. The agony she expresses is something I can understand, something pure. Again, I want to touch her. But I want to take it further than the simple laying on of hands. I want her naked, pressed against me, seized by the violence of the torture curse. I want to feel her every muscle tear, her every bone break. I want to know what it does to the human body, really know.

As I watch her, and these thoughts drift lazily through my head, I feel a stir in my abdomen. It's primal. It scares me.

My wand lifts.

Her body flops back onto the bed with the sort of atrophy only torture can inspire. I stand and tower over her. She looks up at me, her eyes wide and owlish, tears slicing down her cheeks and onto my pillows. Her jaw hangs open sickeningly, hanging to the side. She cannot move it, but she must be able to feel the pain all too acutely.

With a swift wave of my wand and a stomach-turning click, her jaw is fixed. I need her to be able to speak. Next, I disperse the silencing charm and the room is instantly filled with her ragged sobs though she says nothing. Her body continues to shiver violently in the after effects of the spell.

I summon a tumbler and a bottle of firewhisky from the cupboard by the bed and resume my seat, watching her patiently as she stares around herself in fear. Perhaps she has learned to fear me now.

The firewhisky burns my throat. "How did you travel through time?" I rasp.

Her answer is not immediate; she is fighting against her defiance and her fear. I can feel it. With difficulty, she pushes herself into a sitting position to face me head on.

"A spell." she sobs fiercely after a moment, I can see her hatred poignant in her eyes. "A spell I created."

I smile. "Very good. I'm glad you're beginning to learn. Now, how did you create such a spell? Where did you pick up such knowledge?"

"I worked in the Department of Mysteries for a couple of years after I left Hogwarts. I was stationed in the Time room. It was my speciality. Well, that and mind control." she answers. I can only imagine the gruesome things she is imagining doing to me after the way I've treated her, after making her give me this information. The thought makes me smile.

"What does the spell involve?" I ask, taking a sip of my firewhisky.

"I won't tell you." she bites furiously, fire in her eyes.

"Crucio." I respond, lifting my wand again. A bubble of laughter echoes out of my throat as she grits her teeth and dips forward, her hands splayed out in front of her, fists in the bedclothes. Her body closes in on itself.

This time though, I do not prolong the curse. I only wish to give her another taste, just to let her know that the torture will continue if she does not give me the information I ask for.

I drop my wand.

I do not need to speak; her eyes immediately rise to mine. "You can torture me all you want, kill me, I don't care. There is no way I will tell you about my spell. It's mine. It's for me alone."

So I torture her again. Only for a moment. This time she screams. I love how it is dragged from her body, starting as a low groan and turning high pitched, agonised.

But I soon discover that she is not bluffing. After a few more short bursts of the cruciatus curse, blood drips down her chin from where she has bitten her tongue in her torment, her skin is red and weeping from where she has scratched it and a huge, ugly bruise has blossomed over the side of her face from the continued strain on her already damaged jaw. And still she says nothing. Still she refuses me.

I stand up and lean over the bed, my face inches from hers when I speak. "You do not know who I am, little girl. I will push you to the brink of madness, tear your limbs from your body and cause your eyes to turn to dust in their sockets. But I will keep you alive, even in the most rudimentary and diminished form, until you give me the information I seek."

Her eyes bore into mine with a fierceness that is inhuman. "Do it then." she snarls, "Fucking do it. I don't fear death and I don't fear pain. There is nothing you can take from me that I haven't already lost."

I do something then that shocks me. I have never done it before, not once in the entire expanse of my existence. I hit her, backhand her. So hard that I can feel the impact of her cheekbones cracking against my knuckles, leaving me as bruised as she will be.

And then, her reaction shocks me even more. She laughs for a moment, her hand moving up to cup her rapidly swelling cheek, then she hits me back. And she breaks my nose. I feel the hot blood spill out of my face and fall down into my hands.

I cannot believe it. I am so filled with rage that without thinking, my wand stabs into her ribs. Half of the curse is out of my mouth before her smugly satisfied expression stops me. "Avada…"

I shake my head and back away, casting a hasty spell to fix my nose. I resume my seat. She will not so easily defeat me.

When I look at her again, the look she gives me is… odd. Her eyes are narrowed, as if she is trying to figure something out in her mind. Something troubling. Slowly she asks, "Who are you?"

"I am Tom." I respond harshly, confused. Has she so easily forgotten my name?

"I know that." she says seriously, "But what's your last name? You never mentioned it."

"Why are you so eager to know?"

"Call it curiosity."

"I do not like to tell people my last name."

Her expression turns to barely concealed panic. Her hand flies to her forehead as her eyes stare blindly about the room.

"I need you to tell me your last name." she demands in a constricted voice.

I cannot imagine why the information might be important to her and I cannot muster the energy to fight her over it. Not when I need to be thinking of new and more creative ways to crack open her skull and feast on the information within…

"Riddle. My last name is Riddle."

She stares at me blankly for a moment before her face cracks into a demented grin and deranged laughter begins to spill from her mouth and echo around the room.

"Do you find my name amusing?" I snarl.

She is mad; I can see it in her eyes. I need not worry about breaking her mind now, it is already broken. She is unhinged. Her voice is crazed when she responds with, "Oh, yes. Yes I find it amusing. I know you Riddle! I know you! I know about the ring and the locket. I know about the Gaunts and Hephzibah Smith! I know about the Chamber of Secrets and the people you've killed! I know about the Horcruxes, my lord Voldemort!"

The breath is gone from my lungs, "You… you dare?!" I stutter.

"Hah! Yes, I dare! You think that name would inspire more fear within me?! Oh, no, it only lets me know of what you are! I know now what I am fighting! I do not fear you! You're already dead!"

The room spins. I cannot breath. The Horcruxes, the secret I have told no one about, that I have kept closer to my chest than any other. And she knows! Her maniacal laughter echoes through my bones, my blood, what remains of my soul.

"You know what the really ironic thing is, Riddle?" she says, suddenly serious. "This is time travel. And time is circular. You cannot change the future even if you try because it's already happened! Whatever lengths you'll take to insure the safety of your soul has already been torn apart, already been destroyed. And, really, if this is my last day on the planet, I'm happy to know that I have been the one to cause you that torment, the torment you'll suffer for the rest of your short life, knowing what will happen, trying everything to change it and knowing that there is nothing you can do. If you killed me now, I will die happy knowing I have damaged you like that. I've hit your heart."

She is right. I know she is right. It becomes more important now that I get that information out of her mind. It is the difference between my reign and my defeat. Ino longer want it, I need it.

She senses the change in me, I think, and sits up a little straighter. "Give me my wand." she says calmly.

All I do is look at her and shake my head slowly, anger pulsing through my veins like liquid fire.

"Give me my wand." she growls and again I shake my head.

Her movement then is quick, almost too fast for me to catch. Her hands dip under her robes and yank them up, exposing the pearly white flesh of her legs. From a sheath strapped to her inner thigh, she pulls a long, evil looking knife. A knife, if I am honest, worthy of me. And then, she is gone, pitching herself sideways off the bed and disappearing over the other side where I cannot see her.

I stand slowly, grinning at her childishness. As if she thinks she could defeat me with a knife when I have a wand. Which is the superior weapon I wonder?

When I round the corner of the bed, I am confused. She is not hiding under it or crouched beside it ready to pounce, no, she is propped up on her toes and fists, a foot of space hanging between her body and the floor. I can see the muscles of her back straining to maintain this odd position.

I almost laugh as I crouch down beside her, ready to inquire as to what exactly it is that she thinks she's doing. But the laughter stops in my throat. The knife's point is pressed into her breast, over her heart, propped up between her body and the wooden floor.

"I want my wand." she says, the pressure evident in her voice, "If you do not give it to me, I will drop onto this knife. It will pierce my heart and kill me and then how will you get your information? If you try to stun me, torture me or control my body in any way, the same thing will happen. Now. Give me my wand."

I hate this woman more than I have ever hated another living thing. I cannot think of any way to regain the upper hand in this situation, though my mind continues to offer useless suggestions that each end with the same result. Her death.

"You better be quick about it, I can't maintain this forever." she gasps, her voice cracking. I can see her arms shaking and the veins in her neck jumping with her heartbeat.

Reluctantly, I push my hand into the pocket of my robes. She presses threateningly down on the knife, her intention clear and I see the drops of blood beginning to bead down its blade.

I set her wand down on the floor beside her hand.

"Yours too." she adds, almost as an afterthought.

I have never been tempted to verbally abuse someone until this moment. But I know that her head will mean mine. I must obey her commands.

My wand joins hers on the floor.

"Now walk away. Over to the other side of the room."

I do as she asks, hating her, loathing her. And after a moment, she stands, a wet patch blossoming on her dark robes over her heart. She puts my own wand at me. And, to my confusion, she points her own to her temple. She closes her eyes for the briefest of moments and croons, "Alligavertis."

I do not know this spell, have never heard it before. What looks like a glowing crown of flame engulfs her skull for a moment and then fades quickly.

"I created that spell too." she tells me, lowering both wands, "It's a protective enchantment, to be used inside one's own mind containing any information one does not want others to have access too. The fun thing about it, you see, is it places a very fragile band of magic, not unlike that of the killing curse, around the brain. Now, if you try to break through my mental defences, no matter how weak they are from your incessant need to torture me, the intrusion will kill me. Instantly." a grin spreads across her bruised and bloody face. An evil grin.

I let out an animalistic howl of rage, taking up my bottle of firewhisky and throwing it against a nearby wall. It explodes on impact.

Hermione giggles and backs towards the bed, sliding up onto the covers, getting comfortable. "Now, most people in this situation would flee wouldn't they? I mean, no one wants to be locked in a room with Voldemort, certainly not when you're as angry as you are. But I'm not passing up this opportunity." she smiles winningly, the same smile I've tried to give her many times, "If you want your wand back, you're going to have to answer a few questions. I have to warn you, they may be a bit personal but… well… you know how this game goes if you don't answer them…"

Before today, I have never had the torture curse cast on me. No one has ever had the chance. But now, I feel that may change. I think then, of this war she spoke of, and I wonder how it was possible that she fought for the light, for the protectors of muggles. She would make a stunning Death Eater. Her ruthlessness is inspiring.

With repulsion, I resume my seat and she watches me the whole time, like a little kitten with razor sharp claws and needles for teeth watching a rat three times her size.

"What changed you?" I ask without thinking, shocked when the words leave my mouth, void of venom.

"What?" she scoffs, looking scandalised that I'd even spoken.

"What turned you into this hollow, remorseless shell of a human being? Have you always been this way?"

"No." she shakes her head, smiling, "No, the war broke me. There was a woman, dead now, who was a Death Eater. She was the sort of woman who tortured people until they were insane just for the fun of it. I know I'm like her, I get her now. I understand her."

"Who was she?"

She laughs coldly, "Aren't I supposed to be asking the questions?"

I wave my hand, inviting her to begin her own interrogations. I'm shocked at my complacence. Perhaps, I am just over eager to hold my wand again.

I wonder, as I take up the tumbler beside me that holds the remaining firewhisky, why I feel that same fluttering in my lower abdomen, why I am excited when I should want to wrap my fingers around Hermione Granger's pretty little neck and break it.

Ann-lee - Hehe I'm glad you liked it! I'm having such fun writing it in all it's diabolical loveliness...

Anon - Is that a serious request you want me to take into account? lol

Cell - Thank you so much! Hope you like where it goes :D

The quote at the beginning of this chapter is from Dante's epic poem Pergatorio. I own nothing.
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The Highest of Priests