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The Bittersweet Taste of Victory	By : Nerys Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 37648 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 19
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The Bittersweet Taste of Victory

You had a hold on me right from the start

A grip so tight I couldn't tear it apart

My nerves all jumping, acting like a fool

Your kisses they burn, but your heart stays cool

Romeo and Juliet; Samson and Delilah

Baby, you can bet, their love they didn't deny

Your words say split, but your words they lie

'cause when we kiss - Fire! Fire!

Burning in my soul

It's out of control

Bruce Springsteen, Fire.

Chapter twenty

In the vague, still half asleep mist of my mind I register an arm that sneaks around my waist and pulls me tightly against the warm body behind me. Drowsy, I look through my only slightly opened eyes. I am just to plain tired to wake properly and it obviously is still night, so I just refuse to wake and close my eyes again. There is nobody else here. No, I am definitely not feeling someone nibble from my neck to my ear. Oh that tickles. And I open my eyes resentful, when I feel a leg move over my own. You've got to be kidding me! I can't possibly move a single muscle anymore. Doesn't that man ever get tired?

'Go away,' I mumble annoyed.

A chuckle sounds against my cheek. 'But you are so lovely when you sleep, Hermione,' Voldemort responds teasingly.

'And I could have continued to appear lovely had you not woken me. Now, the illusion is gone,' I say yawning.

'Hmmm… I like the reality better,' he whispers and he kisses me again.

I feel his arm starting to turn me around and he is moving on top of me. No bloody way! And with a relatively easy gesture, probably because he didn't see it coming and because he is moving in the same direction, I am able to push him all the way over me and he topples over and crashes onto the ground beside the bed. Oops.

'Sorry,' I mutter, without really meaning it, because I am hoping he impacted onto the ground with a certain part of his anatomy real hard.

I turn to my other side, take a hold of the covers and snuggle underneath it. I am going to go back to sleep now. He can just do whatever it is that men do to relieve themselves. I don't know; get a magazine or an inflatable doll or whatever. Nice and comfortable, I am lying in the soft bed when, suddenly, magic tugs on my body and I shriek as I get tossed through the air and land on top of him. Ouch. Had I mentioned before that he is all skin and bones? Really, it's not exactly something soft to land on.

Two arms fling around me and tug me into a, no doubt, more convenient position for him. I pull my head away from his chest and glare angrily straight into two amused dark eyes. Dark? I blink and look back into two crimson ones. Yeah, that is what I remember; I must have not been awake properly just yet. I am about to sarcastically make the inflatable doll suggestion when Voldemort beats me to it.

'Why would I have use for something like that when I have my very own personal and alive doll at my beg and call?' he says smirking.

'Well, this doll,' I snarl, 'is going back to bed.'

And I try to push myself up, but he has a tight hold of me. I truly don't get how someone that skinny can be that strong.

'You're not going anywhere, until I have been completely satisfied by you, doll,' he says tauntingly.

I just stare at him in astonishment. This is impossible. He can't possibly have the energy to get it up again, but I feel something against the inside of my thigh that tells me otherwise. Alright fine, I don't have the energy to possibly do this again. Besides, every inch of my body is already feeling sore from everything we did earlier on in this night. I really can't use him inside of any part of me.

'Kiss me, Hermione,' Voldemort commands.

My jaw drops and I am totally dumbfounded. He can't be serious. A hand falls on the base of my skull. I close my eyes and groan in desire as he hits me with his magic. The delightful, tingling sensation travels through my body and, subconsciously, I arch into the magic. His mouth captures mine and we kiss deliciously. No, I really can't. I will never be able to move… Another brush of his magic.

'Oooohhh…' I moan. This is so cheating.

'Expected me to play fair, doll?' I hear inside my mind.

Oh terrific, now he is using Leglimency as well. 'Just leave me the hell alone,' I think repeatedly.

'Is that what you really want, dear?'

And a jolt of magic strikes directly into my spine and I gasp loudly when my back arches so forcefully it feels like it is about to snap. He takes advantage of my opened mouth and plants his tongue inside of me. He has a vicelike grip of my head and I can't escape him as he explores my mouth fully. My eyes flutter shut and I lean into him, into his kiss. And his hands travel to my hips, teasing my skin with magic. Feelings of lust and wontedness travel so fast through me that I almost can't breathe anymore. And I pull away from his lips for air. I see the amused glint in his eyes as he takes in my dishevelled, aroused appearance and he hits me again with his magic.

'Damn you!' I scream desperate, while clutching on to him, and he laughs loudly in response.

'Spread your legs, doll,' he orders calmly.

And I want him, but I can't. I know I can't… My legs are refusing to take that position again. I'll never walk or be able to sit ever again if we do this once more. I'm already way to sore and …

'Let me in, Hermione; or you rather I punish you for disobeying me? I do recall you were complaining to Rodolphus about him lacking the ability to make you scream…' he says in my mind, while a hint of cruelty shines through his eyes.

'Ahhhhh!' I yell loudly when an empty feeling arises from between my legs and it is agonising.

Cheater. And I try to move, but my legs won't budge on inch. They are on strike. They are not doing my bidding. And I really do need him inside of me, now. I want some fulfilment, some form of release.

'Help me,' I groan, panting against his chest.

And he lifts my chin to meet his eyes again. His gaze draws me in and I feel overwhelmed by it when his lips brush against mine and he whispers softly: 'Imperio.'

The next thing I know is him inside of me as he moved my unwilling muscles to part. We kiss passionately as he commands my body to move in angles I wouldn't even have been able to do before we 'exercised' all night long. It is a most disquieting and overpowering experience to have sex while under the Imperius Curse. For all I see, hear, feel, taste, and smell is him. Everything I sense is him. All there is in this world is him.

After a whole hour of unimaginably terrific sex, he lays me back onto the bed, before lifting the Imperius Curse of me and reality comes crashing in. Now, I definitely can't move a single muscle anymore. Ouch. I glare at his comfortably sitting figure and he smirks at me. He actually has the nerve to smirk at me right now. Perhaps … I can move an arm. And I swing my fist into his upper arm, which results in him squealing like a baby, before he starts rubbing his arm.

'Really, talk about overreacting? Can't the big, bad, scary Dark Lord take a little, girly punch?' I mock and I add a nice, condescending snore to it.

'Just so you know, your punches are incredibly vicious,' he responds when he is finally done rubbing his arm.

'Good.'

Two hands are placed on either side of my head and to my utter shock and dismay he leans forward, halting inches away from my face with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Oh come on … this is ridiculous. He is like three times my age and I am exhausted. He should need a respirator right about now. Worried, I look back into his still round pupil eyes and he smiles before kissing me on my cheek.

'I was planning to hand you a Restorative Potion, dear,' he whispers into my ear, 'but I suppose, if you have energy for those cheeky responses, I am free to assume you are not in need of it?'

He moves back up, but only just. And he waits for my reply as he shifts the weight of his upper body to be carried by one elbow, holding his head in his hand and caressing my hair with his free hand. I just look at him silently. He knows perfectly well I am in need of a Restorative Potion, but if he is not planning on supplying it, I doubt I can change his mind. His eyes are scanning my face, like he has never seen it before and it is beginning to unnerve me.

'Silence, my little doll?' Voldemort says softly and he kisses my forehead.

'What do you want me to say to that?' I respond quietly, because I feel somewhat concerned about the outcome of this. 'You've seen in my mind how much my body aches at the moment. But if you won't help me out here, there is not much I can do to change that.'

'True,' he calmly states, 'but I do owe you a life debt, Hermione. You can demand a favour.'

I shake my head briefly and bite my lip. 'You don't owe me anything,' I whisper. 'It's fine.'

I notice his confusion and he frowns at me, while continuing to stroke the side of my face and my hair. 'You do realise that a wizard's life debt…'

'I know,' I interrupt.

I close my eyes and lean into his touch. It feels so nice. I really do know that I am releasing him of a huge obligation. And even though a part of me doesn't understand why I am simply tossing something away that can give me a clear advantage over him, I still do it, because it feels the right thing to do. I don't think that my cursing Lucius Malfoy into oblivion justifies a life debt. I could have just stunned the pureblood, but I crossed the line again with the curse I used. Adding a life debt on top of that makes it even worse. I don't want to become the nightmare I witnessed yesterday. I feel his lips on mine and he gives me a gentle kiss, while wiping away a tear that had fallen on my face without me noticing it.

'You're a remarkable woman, Hermione Granger,' Voldemort says calmly. 'Slightly naïve, but still remarkable.'

A flick of his wrist and a vial appears in there with a familiar light blue liquid. He brings it to my lips and pours the potion down my throat. I taste the overly sugary flavour and shiver for a moment. Voldemort is smiling at me and his eyes have turned completely dark. I just stare into them as they slowly shift back to red. I had seen it correctly before. It wasn't a figment of my imagination or just tiredness. His eyes seem to change back to their original colour at times. Odd.

'You need to rest for half an hour to allow the potion to do its work properly.'

'I know.'

'It won't restore you to full health, so be careful when you get out of bed, dear.'

I nod in acknowledgement and I blur out the question that has been on my mind for quite some time this night. 'How come you don't need it?'

A triumphant smile becomes visible and he tilts his head. 'Interested in the Dark Arts again?'

'Oh, never mind.'

Voldemort shakes his head slowly. 'After reading a couple of Dark Arts books yesterday, don't tell me that you are still biased to the Arts? You're an intelligent woman, Hermione. Surely, you can acknowledge the powers they behold and judge the usefulness of the spells on their merits alone, instead of clinging on to useless morals and restrictions that were imposed upon you by fools who do not understand everything the Arts are about.'

'I will not underestimate the threat they pose, even if some spells, attributes or potions may seem useful,' I respond frowning, because he definitely has struck a nerve there.

'May?' Voldemort responds immediately, noticing the clear opening I left there.

'There must have been a reason as to why they were classified into the Arts to begin with,' I say feeble.

And I hear how weak and lame that argument is as it leaves my mouth. But I have nothing better, because, besides horrific charms and rotten theories, I've also read about several useful spells and potions yesterday for which I still can't find a good reason as to why they were deemed forbidden in the first place. Perhaps it had something to do with who invented them or how they had been used in the past. It's often not the knowledge itself, but the way it is used that causes the damage. And I can't believe I just thought that. I … I …

Shocked, I notice Voldemort is watching me intently. Is he snooping through my mind again?

'You're not wrong there, Hermione,' he quietly says, proving my suspicions right. 'Ignorance and stupidity is why others were denied the ability to openly use the benefits the Arts can provide. It was fear of the unknown. Fear of those, who could not control the Arts. Fear of those lesser talented witches and wizards. The Arts are one of the few subjects in which one cannot hide behind the skill of another. So banning it enabled those fools to remain in a position of power. It always has been their fear, to be exposed as the mediocre people they truly are, that caused the Arts to receive the completely unfounded bad reputation it had during your schooldays.'

Yeah, right, completely unfounded. And I roll my eyes to the ceiling.

'This is …' and I sigh, 'it's your usually one-sided reasoning. You accuse others of ignorance and stupidity, yet you fail to want to see all sides of a situation yourself. You only value what you deem is worth something and everything else is rubbish, because you don't understand or know it. If there is someone who has fear of the unknown, it is you.'

'Is it love you're referring too?' Voldemort mocks and he pats me condescendingly on the head, before getting up and strolling towards the bedroom door. A flick of his wrist and his usual black robes fall over his body elegantly. He halts in the doorway and gives me a pitying glance before continuing his anti-love rant.

'There is no need to go all Dumbledoresk on me here, dearest. For I do not fear love, Hermione Granger, I despise it. It's a useless and weak emotion. And you would do well to renounce it yourself, for love and all those other feeble emotions have held you back from living up to your full magical potential. Love,' he spats disgusted and as he swirls out the room in a whisk, I still hear what he says more to himself than to me. 'It's powerless and nothing to be afraid of.'

'And yet, there is nothing you fear more in this world,' I think thoughtful as I hear his eerie, cold, high-pitched laugh resonate through the walls.

A couple of hours later, I stumble toward the study chamber. I thought about staying in bed this morning, since I still feel rather sore, despite the Restorative Potion. But I know I only have limited time with this Amulet, so I figure I better take my chance and read some more of those tomes, before I no longer can. I just hope I can find something useful in there. Something Voldemort overlooked with his biased perspective. I glance at the back of the tomes, dubbing on which one to pick, when I see The Art of Potions written by A.B. Culthrop. I pull it from the shelf, curiously, while my mind whirls back to a conversation I overheard in my sixth year at Hogwarts.

'My dear man, surely, you've read The Art of Potions?' Slughorn's jovial voice says beaming through the corridor.

A swirl of black cloak halts in front of him and Snape's dark eyes glare at him furiously. 'Keep your voice down, Horace, that book's reputation is worse than the Dark Lord's. It will not be considered appropriate reading material for a Hogwarts' Professor,' Snape hisses.

'Ah, phooey!' Slughorn says, with a dismissive wave of his hand. 'A Professor needs to know what is out there, so he can stand above the material and inform the students properly.'

'Yes, informing your students properly is something you more than welcome to do, don't you?' Snape snarls menacingly.

'Severus, my man, what are you possibly suggesting?' Slughorn says shocked.

'You know very well what I am suggesting, Horace,' Snape whispers softly and he takes another threatening step towards Slughorn, towering over the short-stature, round-bellied, man. 'And just so you know, I'll be keeping an eye on you and my former Potion's students. And if I notice something off with them, for instance with the little Know-It-All from Gryffindor, then you can be certain I will speak to Dumbledore about it.'

Slughorn's prominent eyes almost seem to pop out of their sockets upon the threat. 'Now, now, no need to go to Albus about this,' he hastily says. 'I was just curious to find out what you thought of Abigail Culthrop's conclusions on the Murtlap Concoctions, but if you rather I didn't mention something from The Art of Potions, then I won't.'

'I'm glad we understand each other,' Snape says, and his lip curls in triumph, before he stalks away. At the end of the corridor, he halts and looks back at Slughorn with an unreadable expression on his face. 'Culthrop was dead on in her observations there,' he replies shortly.

'Ah! How can you say that?' Slughorn responds, appalled. 'Surely, you disagree with her assessment that the concoctions are in need of enhancements to overcome…'

And they both disappear around the corridor, making it impossible for me to hear more from behind the wall of the secret passageway I am standing.

'So this is the book, they were talking about. The book that has a worse reputation than the wizard I am currently living with. This must be some work of art, then,' I think snickering, while skipping through the leaves.

And I walk to the couch absentmindedly when I find the chapter on Murtlap Concoctions. Well, I've been curious about Culthrop's conclusions, ever since I heard Snape and Slughorn disagree on the matter. No harm in finding out which one of them was right. I sit down. Ouch, big mistake. And I quickly take a lying position. Yeah, that is much more comfortable. I am so glad Voldemort isn't here. At least, I don't also have to put up with that smug expression of his. I hope this not being able to sit normally will be over when he returns. And I glare into thin air annoyed, because I can just see the arrogant, obnoxious, irritating smirk on his face. I growl before starting to read the chapter vigorously.

When I am done, I check out the publication date and I raise my eyebrows upon seeing this book was first printed in 1975, more than thirty years ago. Why has no one ever done anything with this woman's conclusions? She is absolutely right. And I sigh when I realise Ron and Harry would be absolutely appalled that I end up agreeing with Professor Snape here. Slughorn was, is, a fine teacher, but in my humble opinion, Snape was the true Potion's Master. He had a much better feel of the subject and this proves it once more. Slughorn is too rigid and his mind lacks the proper creativity required to excel in Potion's making. Snape, well, just look at everything he added to Libatius Borage's book as a teenager…

I rub my neck and yawn, when, suddenly, out of the blue, something seems totally off. Fear and distress is beginning to overwhelm me. What the…? And I grab the Amulet of Aine and look at it, but it seems to be fine. I check out the book, but I am positive it is not responsible for these disturbing feelings. I stagger to my feet and stare around in confusion. Nothing is out of the ordinary here. Yet, I sense fire, bricks, death and … a badger?

My eyes fall on the devil's book that Voldemort left lying on the table. That's odd. Has that rune always been there? I bend over, tilt my head and look at the death rune that, suddenly, is present in the circle on the cover. Strange, I am certain it wasn't there before. Curious, I check out the other runes. Maybe more of them have altered? And I start reading: death, future, afterlife, threats, enemies, vengeance, pairs, locked, pain, resurrection, portals…

I grab a hold of my head and clutch on to my hair. Sounds and visions are swirling by as I close my eyes.

'Those patient Hufflepuffs are true and unafraid of toil … patient Hufflepuffs … patient Hufflepuffs…' sings the Sorting Hat over and over again. …

… 'He killed someone to get a stupid cup?' Ron asked Harry disbelievingly. 'Bloody hell, glad my family doesn't own a thing.'…

… 'What is your name?'… 'Vito Corleone.'…

Revenge is a dish best served cold … Revenge is a dish best served cold … Revenge is a dish best served cold… Revenge is a dish best served cold… Revenge is a dish best served cold…

Intuitively, I spread my arms out widely and throw my head backwards.

BANG!

The windows break upon the power of the magic that soars out of my hands. Pieces of glass fly through the air and a whirl of darkness begins to surrounds me. Where it is suddenly coming from I have no idea. Green light starts to emanate brightly from the Amulet around my neck. But the darkness is too strong and slowly the light diminishes until there is nothing but darkness everywhere. Not even the sun is able to penetrate the force of it. And I don't know why and how or what, but I start chanting in some alien tongue. I don't even understand a word of what I am saying, but for some reason, I feel that it is quite urgent and necessary to chant this. The walls roar and bellow and I feel the building tremble underneath me. A bright flash… an Apparation 'crack' … and I scream fearfully when I get tossed through the air violently and I crash into the books and shelves on the wall behind me, before plummeting to the ground in a rather ungraceful posture.

I blink several times with my eyelids and push my upper body from the ground to scramble back to my feet. It's dark all around me. In a daze, I hold out my hand and wave through it. It's like trying to catch smoke with your hands. It's there, yet, it isn't. Most unusual. A dark breeze begins to swirl around me and my clothes and hair wave towards the direction of the table, towards the book on the table. I feel a strange pull, and a need to go to it, when two arms fling around my waist and stop me from moving by holding me tightly. I struggle to get free, but I am unsuccessful and I scream in fury as the dark mist turns into a large vortex, creating a huge twister of blackness from within the circle of runes.

'Trust me, Hermione,' Voldemort whispers in my ear.

But I still struggle fervently to get him to loosen his grip. 'Let me go!'

'No, dear. Someone else can take your place. I am not sacrificing you.'

I cry out in despair, because I want to go there. Calmly, Voldemort conjures a strange shield around us and I feel my knees buckle when the vortex passes us by, leaving us undisturbed.

'No, no, no,' I mutter, and I sink to the floor in his arms.

He is still not letting go, having lowered himself along with me when I couldn't remain standing anymore. 'I need to go… I need to…'

'No, you don't. Trust me, Hermione, you don't want to go … In a minute, you'll feel better. It will find another dark soul to swallow, and then, your agony will be over.'

But I don't believe a word he says. He is a terrific liar. Everyone knows that. And I shake my head in disagreement and bury my head in my hands, crying. He is cradling me in his lap and kisses me on my head softly, but it doesn't take away the dreadful sadness and loss that I am feeling. I need to go to that book, now. I need to.

A loud scream flares in the distance and the darkness gets sucked into the volume on the table with a final twirl of air. And all is quiet and calm again. I, suddenly, feel fine. The despair I felt has evaporated with the disappearing vortex and I look up into Voldemort's face questioningly. I am very confused. What … the … bloody … hell … just … happened? I notice Voldemort's eyes, which flicker continuously between red and dark. It's quite disturbing to watch actually. I wish he just pick a colour and stick with it.

"What is going on?' I shout frustrated, and my eyes widen upon noticing Voldemort's robes are torn and covered in dust, and he has a large scratch on his chest. 'What happened to you? What happened to me? Where did you come from? I was just reading a stupid potion book! And all of the sudden the world seemed to end! Mmmph…'

He tries to silence me with a kiss, but I am not falling for that trick. I want some bloody answers! Furiously, I push him away, but he doesn't seem to be upset about it.

'My wonderful, little Hermione … I knew you could do it,' he says triumphant.

And he takes a hold of my head to kiss me again, so I ram him in the stomach. 'I asked you something! Are so thick to think I am interested in kissing you after what just happened, whatever it was?' I say, completely ticked off.

'Oh, I think you are… After all, this is the second time that you've saved me from death within the last twenty-four hours. So you must really like me,' he snickers deviously.

I narrow my eyes and glare at him angrily. What is he blabbering about?

'But you're quite right,' he states abruptly and pulls me to my feet. 'Business comes before pleasure and we do have to take care of the root of our problems. Can't have those nasty badgers walk away from this unpunished after all.'

'Badgers?' I think stupefied.

He flicks out his wand and summons one of his followers, after which he starts undoing the damage to the room and his clothes.

'Am I ever going to get an answer here?' I yell frustrated.

Voldemort swirls around and gives me a calculative grin. Slowly, he advances upon me, twirling his wand between his fingers, and I feel my chest constricting in fear when I notice that pretend casual expression. Now what? He halts right before me, so I have to look up to meet his eyes. They are still flickering and it is making me nauseous.

'What's with your eyes?'

'What's with all the questions?'

'I am just asking them,' I say shrugging.

'So I notice. What makes you think I'll be inclined to answer any of them to you?'

'You owe me a life debt.'

'Which you personally squandered by releasing me of my obligation,' he responds offhandedly.

'You said twice… I only remember letting you of the hook once,' I rebut firmly.

'Catching on fast, aren't we?' he says amused, and his fingers are trailing the periphery of my arm. 'How manipulative of you.'

'I learn from the best,' I say teasingly, and I step out of reach of his touch.

He smirks. 'I suppose you're right about that, but unfortunately for you, I have already repaid you for the second time you saved me by stopping you from entering that vortex, so you have nothing to wager with.'

'What was that vortex?'

'Again with the questions?'

I growl, but a knock on the door interrupts us.

'Enter,' says Voldemort without looking towards the door once.

Alecto Carrow walks in bowing. 'My Lord?'

'Go find Lucius and tell him to bring me that Dora Figg woman immediately,' Voldemort tells her without so much as acknowledging her presence.

'Yes, Master,' Alecto whispers and she is about to leave, when Voldemort halts her with another order.

'And have Lucius inform the Ministry that the capture of the Smiths has become their number one priority. I want them taken into custody within the next twenty-four hours or I am going to be very unhappy.'

Alecto swallows and mutters something about that it will be done, before leaving.

Voldemort stares at the door that is closing behind the Death Eater's back contemptuously. Man, I already knew that he really considers his followers with the lowest kind of esteem possible, but I've never seen him look this disdainful at any one of their backs before. I suppose the Carrows are not his favourites. Well, I guess he should have thought of that, before he killed the Lestranges. And I fold my arms over each other determinately, because I will bloody well get an answer to what has been happening here. I am tapping impatiently with my foot on the ground, when Voldemort snaps out of his daydream and takes another look at me, smirking. He mocks my determination by mimicking my posture and also folding his arms over each other condescendingly. And he is tapping with his wand on his arm ever so annoyingly.

'Don't you have some reading to do, before that Elfin junk is leaving?' he says taunting and he tosses me The Art of Potions with a flick of his wand.

I stare at the book in my hand in clear irritation and a loud laugh scatters through the room. 'I tell you what, dear,' he says, cupping my chin. 'If you solve the mystery of my changing eye colour … I'll fill you in on the rest of what happened here today.'

'But … but,' I stutter, confused, 'don't you know why that is occurring?'

And I frown at this, but he is looking at me with one of his unreadable, blank expressions, so I am not getting an answer to that either. 'My entire library is at your disposal,' he adds cheerful and walks toward the exit.

'If you don't know why it is happening to you, the answer most likely will not be in any of these volumes,' I state thoughtful.

'I never claimed I didn't know why it is happening, Hermione. However, if you need a book from the Hogwarts library, feel free to inform me and I'll lend it for you.'

Quickly, I think of the options here. And if it isn't him that is causing the changes then… 'I need all books concerning Everon and anything else Elf related,' I blurt out immediately.

A small twitch in his face is all that is being revealed of his discomfort at this rather bold demand of mine. And it remains silent as he obviously is weighing whether to grant my request or not.

'Very well,' he says finally, 'I'll have them brought to you.'
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The Bittersweet Taste of Victory