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The Dragon Chronicles	By : TheLadyMiya Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 55728 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 6
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I do not make money from this.

Chapter List
- 20
- 21
- 22
Hello! I hope you have all had a wonderful winter holiday! I apologise for the delay in updating. I’m afraid I have had to reprioritize my life a bit so I believe I’ll have to change the updating schedule to once a month instead of twice a month.
I’m so happy Reverseuniverse has helped me beta this chapter! I believe she changed something like… 90 things? So yeah, she is very much needed to make the reading for you run as smoothly as possible! So lots of jelly beans to her!
I’ve also been bad at answering reviews lately, but know that I love all of them and I’ll try to answer them more frequently, because I love your support!
Enjoy!
Chapter 21
Hermione was not certain how she should react when they landed at the Ministry. The last time she had been here, she had witnessed the outlandish propaganda and unjust prosecutions of Muggle-borns. She didn’t think Voldemort would let her go berserk on the department if they came across it. The thought of not being able to do anything deeply saddened her.
However, he couldn’t hold her accountable for her actions if they were to run into Umbridge. Hogwarts be damned, if that woman dared to smirk down at her one more time, Hermione would curse her.
On the other hand, walking through the Ministry with Voldemort gave her a unique opportunity to spread her own rumours. Since his sudden departure before the last Hogsmeade outing, she hadn’t been able to kiss him in public like she had planned. Could she do it here, now? But what reason did she have to kiss him? He would be very suspicious if she just threw herself on him.
Once they reappeared, they didn’t land in the expected Ministry foyer. Instead, they landed in what seemed to be a small, and very posh waiting room.
Several high-backed comfy chairs were staged along the walls of the room. In between each chair, the decor alternated between marble pillars with magazines and newspapers on them and big porcelain vases filled with magically glistening tulips. The room was alight in a dim, multi-coloured atmosphere cast from the glistening tulips and austere pillars that served as both decorations and sources of light.
The only occupant of the room was a bored-looking young witch in a tight-fitting blue robe. She had been sitting in the chair closest to the only door in the room. The instant they landed, she flew up from her perch and bowed deeply.
“Let the Minister know I’m here,” Voldemort ordered.
The witch gave them a nervous smile before turning around and disappearing through the door.
“What is this place?” Hermione asked in a low voice. She didn’t know why, but there was something about the room that made her feel like you weren’t supposed to speak loudly.
“The Minister’s guest room. Only his closest consults are allowed access to it,” Voldemort explained in an equally low voice.
Hermione arched an eyebrow in disbelief. “You call yourself a consult to the Minister?”
“What would you rather call me?”
“Dictator comes to mind,” she suggested.
He chuckled. “Yes, well, that wouldn’t go over well to the public, I’m afraid.”
“Wonder why,” she muttered, rolling her eyes.
Just then, the witch in the blue robe returned.
“The Minister is happy to see you now,” she said, holding the door open as she bowed to the incoming figures. Voldemort walked through it and Hermione followed, trying to give the witch a polite smile. The smile wasn’t returned as the witch she wouldn’t even look at them. Just when Hermione passed her, she could hear the other woman let out a sigh of relief.
Hermione frowned. It was clear that the woman was scared of Voldemort, but was it because of his reputation or because he had terrorised her personally?
Filled with unease, she turned her attention to the new room she had entered: the Minister’s office.
It reminded her a bit of her own office back at Hogwarts. Just like hers, this office was full of portraits of former Ministers. Unlike the past headmasters who would fake sleep, the inhabitants of these portraits were constantly coming in and out of their frames and muttering things to each other.
This office also held bodyguards who seemed to be Death Eaters. She recognised the one by the door that she had just entered as Dolohov, the Death Eater that had cursed her a few years prior.
Before knowing Kara and Voldemort, the sight of Dolohov would probably have left her trembling in fear. As it were now, she just assessed him from head to toe before turning her attention elsewhere. She could easily take him in a fight now. It didn’t even matter that he was backed up by the two other bodyguard both of which were standing next to the golden handled mahogany double doors. She could burn them all to ashes before they even had time to draw their wands.
“Minister,” Voldemort said, turning Hermione’s attention to the fourth and last man in the room, Minister Thicknesse.
He was a middle-aged man with long black hair and an unfortunately prominent forehead, a feature that made it look like he was constantly frowning. His beard was streaked with silver, and he was constantly stroking it with his left hand.
“My Lord,” he said in a low voice, bowing.
“Minister. I don’t believe you have met my wife, Hermione,” Voldemort said, making a gesture towards her.
Thicknesse blinked at her a couple of times before stepping forward and bowing his head to her as well.
“My Lady,” he said.
The title made her skin crawl. “Headmistress is fine,” she mumbled. She wasn’t going to claim a title she didn’t deserve. She wasn’t like Voldemort.
He made a gesture for them to sit down in the armchairs in front of his desk. They were quite plush, in a dark blue fabric, and decorated with a circular pattern.
Thicknesse hurried to the other side of his desk rushing to sit down in his own chair. “The Commissioner will be here any second now.”
Right then, there was a knock on the double doors. One of the men posted there opened in, and Hermione saw to her great horror the toad-like woman in shrilly pink robes enter the room.
Her smile stiffened when she laid eyes on Hermione, and she stopped in her tracks for a few second.
Hermione realised something quite peculiar. As much as she hated Voldemort, that hatred diminished in comparison to the scolding fury she felt when she saw Dolores Umbridge.
“Well, well, who have we here,” Umbridge said in that girlish sweet tone she had always used.
Thicknesse rose from his seat again, nodding to Umbridge. “Dolores, this is Headmistress Granger.”
He didn’t introduce Voldemort. Then again, Voldemort never needed an introduction. It was painfully clear that everyone in the room knew who he was. Even Umbridge let her gaze leave Hermione in favour for bowing to Voldemort who just inclined his head slightly in return.
Hermione didn’t move one bit. Her wand hand was itching to throw a few nasty spells her way. But she would probably get in trouble if she did that.
“What a peculiar world,” Umbridge tittered. “I never thought I would meet you here, Miss Granger.”
“Headmistress Granger,” Hermione replied coldly. “Also, I’m married, in case you haven’t heard.”
She demonstratively took Voldemort’s hand, stroking his index finger with her thumb.
Umbridge stared at their hands, disbelief flowing over her features before she managed to school them into another fake smile.
“Oh, yes, I did hear, but old habits die hard, I fear,” she tittered again. “Congratulations. You must be very honoured to be married to someone so prominent.”
“Yes, I believe he is,” Hermione replied.
Voldemort arched an eyebrow at her, but he didn’t look angry. If anything, he seemed amused.
Thicknesse cleared his throat nervously. “Dolores, please have a seat. We don’t want to take up too much of their time.”
Umbridge smiled her faked smile again and sat down in the armchair on the other side of Hermione, taking out a couple of scrolls of parchment from her purse.
“Yes, of course, we have very important things to deal with,” Umbridge said, her voice more serious.
“Yes, I have had a few owls,” Thicknesse said, bringing up a few envelopes from a drawer in his desk. “For example, Vivian Rosier’s daughter was seduced by a Veela and is now one month pregnant. She is wondering if the abortion laws also cover half-breeds. Gideon Greengrass has the same question. His daughter was lured into a relationship with a man who then turned out to be a Mudblood. He doesn’t want his first grandson to be a half-breed.”
Hermione could only force herself to not gape in disbelief.
“Of course, that is very understandable,” Umbridge said, her tone drippingly sweet.
What was understandable was that Hermione couldn’t just sit there in silence anymore.
“Ah, yes, of course you would sympathise with that,” Hermione said, her voice just as sweet as Umbridge had been.
Umbridge stared at her. “I beg your pardon?”
“Well, after you were fucked by all those centaurs, you would probably have needed an abortion,” Hermione said, her tone full of fake empathy. “I can only imagine the disgrace you would have felt, having to give birth to a half-breed. Just think about it, a constant reminder that you had disgraced yourself so much by letting centaurs mate with you.”
Umbridge face went from pale to green. “T-that was a terrible … I was overpowered … you can hardly blame me for—”
“So you are saying that you, a pureblood witch, couldn’t fend off a couple of centaurs?” Hermione mocked. “Well, if that’s what you need to tell yourself to sleep at night.”
If Umbridge had been anyone else, Hermione would never have dreamed of blaming a victim for being raped. But that was how deep her hatred for the woman ran.
She turned to Voldemort. “My dear, I don’t have the patience to listen to this hypocrisy anymore. Would you excuse me?”
Before he had time to respond, she had already left her seat and was halfway to the exit.
“Dolohov, make sure she doesn’t get herself into trouble,” she heard Voldemort order behind her.
He didn’t sound all too pleased with her anymore, but she didn’t care. He could punish her later if he wanted to. She couldn’t stand to be in the same room as Dolores bloody Umbridge for one more second.
She opened the mahogany doors, feeling Dolohov follow closing in behind her. She let him follow her. She didn’t plan on getting into any more trouble, after all.
No, she would only go to the cafeteria and sit there and fume for a bit until Voldemort was done with his hypocritical meeting. Perhaps then she could make a show of kissing him in public as an attempt to “make up”? Yes, that sounded a lot more pleasurable than sitting in there with that horrible woman.
xxx
Voldemort didn’t show one hint of it, but on the inside he was actually shocked. He realised that he had never seen Hermione really hate someone before. In comparison, her behaviour towards him was almost cosy.
What could Umbridge possibly have done to make Hermione loathe her so much? He was really looking forward to find out. But that would have to wait until later. Regardless of Hermione’s outburst, they did have things to settle here and now.
Since he had rushed for the law, he hadn’t yet had time to make sure the Death Eaters could speak for him in the matter. Therefore, he had to come here himself.
Usually, he didn’t bother. His time was far too valuable to work out the finer details in the language of some law he wanted to pass. But he had a special interest in this one. There were too few wizards in the world. He wanted as many as possible when he finally took over the Muggle world.
However, he didn’t bother being diplomatic with a minion like Umbridge and someone who was Imperiused.
“Witches that are expecting a child with someone from another species may terminate their pregnancies, but when it comes to children with a Muggle or Mudblood parent, they will be born and then the pureblood party will be granted sole custody of the child,” Voldemort finally stated, after listening to Umbridge and Thicknesse bicker for a bit.
“Some people would claim that Muggles and Mudbloods are another species,” Thicknesse remarked.
Voldemort was well aware of that. However, in the back of his mind, he was painfully aware that his father had been a Muggle, and he was the most powerful wizard alive. It was clear that it was only the blood from his mother’s side that resided in his body, no matter what he looked like on the outside. If he could turn out like had, then other children with a Muggle parent could also be useful in the war against Muggles.
“They are an inferior race, but hardly another species,” Voldemort answered. “When they are raised with the right values, the half-bloods will be just as useful as the pureblood to our cause. And for some reason, unions between a pureblood and a Mudblood is statistically far more likely to result in a healthy magical child while that of two purebloods sometimes result in squibs.”
Both Thicknesse and Umbridge looked most unhappy, but they both nodded in agreement.
Once that was settled, Umbridge had a few more issues to deal with. Voldemort did agree that a pureblood witch who had been molested by a Muggle man wouldn’t get the same strict punishment for having an abortion as a Mudblood witch who had become pregnant against her will by a pureblood wizard. A Mudblood could hardly lose any standing by keeping a baby, but a pureblood witch would live with the stain for years.
After an hour, they were finally done and Voldemort rose from his chair. He gestured for Rockwood to come forward. But before he could say anything to his Death Eater, Umbridge came up to him as well.
“I must say that it is a great honour to finally meet you, my Lord,” she said in that silly girlish squeal of hers.
“Yes, I imagine it would be,” he answered, deciding to take the opportunity when it presented itself. “But I’m curious. What could you possibly have done to evoke the wrath of my wife?”
The question clearly caught the woman off guard; her fake smile turned into a grimace of bitter memories. “Oh, Miss Gran-- I mean, Headmistress Granger was a very troublesome child to teach. And it didn’t help when she listened to Potter who was spreading lies. I’m glad to see that she no longer runs around with that boy.”
Voldemort didn’t believe her one bit. He toyed with the idea of looking into her mind, but then decided against it. He had no interest in her life other than her interactions with Hermione, and he was certain that he would get a better answer from his wife.
“Yes, she has turned out to be a very useful witch when she severed her ties to Potter,” Voldemort said instead. “Now, if you excuse me…”
He waved her away, and then waited until she had said her goodbyes to the Minister before turning to Rockwood again. “What else was it you wished to speak with me about?”
Rockwood, someone who was usually very stoic, actually licked his lips. “The Dragon Keepers in Romania has sent an … inquiry of wizards bonded to dragons to different Ministries and academic institutions across Europe. “
Romania. Yes, he had heard that at least one Weasley was there. Maybe that was the Order’s new base. Did they really think they stood a chance if they only read up on dragons?
“And?” he asked, annoyed that Rockwood would even take up his time with something so insignificant.
“I will just tell them to mind their own business,” Rockwood said quickly.
“Excellent idea,” Voldemort sneered.
Should he perhaps send a team of Death Eaters to Romania and see if they could find the Order? Or was this indeed just the Dragon Keepers trying to appear like they knew what they were doing? Since it was an international organisation that received funding from, among others, the International Union of Wizards in Haag, they probably wanted to appear like the foremost experts on all things dragon.
It was probably nothing, but just to be safe, he would send a spy into Romania just to see if Order members were hiding there.
His mind made up, he ordered Rockwood to pull up his sleeve. He pressed the Dark Mark there, summoning only Dolohov back to him. His minion would know to take Hermione with him.
Five minutes later they returned, Hermione looked slightly displeased.
“Were you looking to yell some more at Umbridge?” he asked her with a smile.
She grimaced. “If I see that woman again in my life it will be too soon.”
He chuckled, nodding his goodbye to the Minister and his Death Eater before leading Hermione to the Apparition-room.
“What did she do to you?” he asked just before he gripped her around the waist and Apparated them both to Hogwarts.
When they had landed and she had brushed herself off, she answered.
“She was a horrible teacher. And I don’t just mean that she was mean and disrespectful to us students, but she wouldn’t teach us anything of importance. All we got to do all day was read this horrid book by a man who had a personal vendetta against all types of jinxes and curses. So mostly, he was just raving on about why wizards who used jinxes were lacking moral standards, and not at all about how to actually fight them,” Hermione ranted.
“So you … invited centaurs into the castle and locked her in a room with them?” Voldemort asked, gleeful.
Hermione actually blushed. It was very cute. “No. She was holding us captive in her office and was going to use the Cruciatus Curse on Harry. I told her Dumbledore kept a secret weapon in the Forbidden Forest and that Harry and I could lead her to it. Then I made as much noise as possible. The centaurs were very angry with wizards, but I knew they wouldn’t hurt me and Harry because we were children. I also suspected that Umbridge wouldn’t be able to hold those bigotry-laden words to herself and … I was right.”
Voldemort laughed.
Hermione looked at him, annoyed. “I’m not proud of it. But I had to get rid of her and I couldn’t think of anything else.”
“So you just thought of the most painful, humiliating and possibly life-threatening solution possible? Yes, very understandable. Dumbledore must have been angry with you afterwards,” Voldemort commented.
“Yes, well, since I was almost killed by Dolohov and unconscious for several days to follow, I guess he gave me a pass,” Hermione said, shrugging.
“Oh, so it was that night,” Voldemort said, realising she was talking about the night his Death Eaters had failed to get the prophecy.
At once, Hermione looked uncomfortable. “Yes. I guess it was all for nothing, in the end. You still won and Umbridge still gets to torment people.”
“Never underestimate the pain you have inflicted on someone,” Voldemort purred. “Umbridge may have an important position at the Ministry, but you will always haunt her darkest nightmares.”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “That is the most disturbing attempt at comfort that I have ever heard.”
Voldemort laughed again. He rarely laughed out loud like that, but he was thrilled to see Hermione’s dark side - and find out just how dark it was.
They had just reached the entrance of the school, when Hermione suddenly spun around. Voldemort turned too, following her line of sight and saw that her dragon had returned.
Hermione rushed down the stairs to greet him and Voldemort followed, interested to hear what the dragon had to say about his nemesis.
Hermione, overly affectionate, threw herself around the dragon’s neck as if she hadn’t seen in for ages. Really, he had just been gone a few hours.
“How did it go? Did you find them?” Hermione asked.
Harry took the letter and read it, Kara confirmed. He wrote a response before he let me leave.
Hermione untied the letter from Kara’s leg. Before she had a chance to open it, Voldemort took it and started reading it out loud for her to hear.
“Dear Hermione,” he began. “Since I assume you won’t be reading this alone - oh is seems Potter have learned to think on his own after all - I will only say that we miss you and that I will follow your instructions for Ginny’s sake. I will find a way to send you a message when it’s done. Love, Harry.”
Voldemort tapped the letter with his wand, making sure there weren’t any hidden messages on it. When he was satisfied that wasn’t the case, he handed the letter back to Hermione.
“He isn’t very sentimental,” Voldemort noticed. “Do you think he is scared to let me know that he loves the Weasley girl, or could it be that he just doesn’t care one way or another about her?”
Hermione was reading through the letter again. “Of course he cares, you already know that. I bet he only kept it short because he doesn’t want to risk revealing anything important.”
As reasonable as she sounded, Voldemort could see that she was disappointed. She had hoped to hear at least some news. It reassured him. That meant she hadn’t been secretly in touch with him.
“Now that your dragon is back, I can leave you to your work,” Voldemort said with a satisfied smile. “I will see you tonight.”
Hermione, who were absentmindedly stroking Kara’s neck only nodded. Her eyes were still on the letter, a look of longing on her face. She missed her friends. It annoyed him. When he spoke, he wanted her undivided attention.
Alas, he didn’t have time to teach her a lesson about it now. He did have other things he needed to do today, things that he didn’t want her to witness. Thus, he simply left. Sooner or later, he would have her all to himself. He would be the only one she ever longed for. Only him.
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The Dragon Chronicles