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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
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The bittersweet Taste of Victory

What on earth am I meant to do

In this crowded place there is only you

Was gonna leave now I have to stay

You have taken my breath away

Destiny has a funny way

When it comes and takes all your cares away

I can't think of a single thing

Other than what a beautiful state I'm in

Is the world still spinning around

I don't feel like I'm coming down

It's in your eyes

I can tell what you're thinking

My heart is sinking too

It's no suprise

I've been watching you lately

I want to make it with you

Kylie Minogue, In your eyes.

Chapter twenty-two

A thunderstorm roars above my head, making the environment even more creepy and dark in between the bright flashes of the lightning. I jerk when another lightning bolt strikes the sole tree a couple of yards away. I don't like storms and this one seems to stir and attack Mother Nature herself. It frightens me severely, because I can sense darkness and evil coming from it. This is a true killer storm and I am certain it is not an act of nature. I can feel it.

Oh Merlin, I am scared. I want my parents. I need my parents. Where are they? I can't find them anywhere. Why are they gone? Why have they left me? Why am I all alone? I am all alone! I can't do this! I can't do this!

Clouds are beginning to form all around me; the storm is approaching. I have to leave or it will swallow me whole. I swirl around trying to get my bearing, but I have no idea where I am. However, I do notice that I am standing in the middle of a clearing of some forest! During a thunderstorm! Have I gone mental? I know I need to get to safety, but where is that? I thought I saw a house before, but where? I don't remember anymore. I stare at the smouldering tree. I am the highest point in this field now. I am next. It's going to hit me next.

'It's alright, Hermione, you're safe. Everything is going to be fine.'

I stare at the dark haired boy, who suddenly appeared a few feet away and who spoke to me reassuringly. His features are blurred around the edges and it seems he is not solid, because I can see the trees in the distance through him. There is something familiar about him, but I can't quite pinpoint exactly what, and he reaches out his hand towards me. I don't know if I should take it. I wish I could see him more clearly.

'Harry?' I ask uncertain.

Still, the boy feels familiar and with that dark hair Harry is my best guess. He has always been there for me before in my hour of need. It has to be Harry. It has to be. But the stretched out hand gets withdrawn and mist swirls around him. No, no, I don't want to be alone in this storm. I can't face all this darkness alone.

'Don't go, Harry, we're in this together,' I say panicking.

A flash and lightning strikes right before my eyes. Right where the boy, I considered to be Harry, stood only moments ago. A most gruesome, painful scream hits my eardrums and I know he is gone. But I recognise the scream. I've heard it before. The boy I saw was Tom Riddle and he was struck down by this force of evil; never having a chance to escape his destiny in the beginning. I grab a hold of my head in despair and fright. I am going to lose too. I can feel it. Darkness swirls around me and I scream…

It is how I wake up: sitting up in the bed with my arms clutched around my head and screaming my lungs out. Disoriented, I look around. I am in the bedroom. It was a dream. A relieved breath falls from my lips and I close my eyes to calm myself down a bit. Gosh, that was a bloody lifelike and vivid dream. It still gives me a haunted and restless, nervous feeling. I shake my body, trying to get the feeling to disappear with the motion. It's when my eyes fall surprised on the unconscious body next to the bed. It seems Lord Voldemort passed out cold again. I hop out of the bed and take in the situation at hand. What happened? The last thing I remember is that I was sitting on the couch reading Everon: elves and their craftsmanship. I don't recall going to the bedroom, putting my sleepwear on and getting in bed. So Voldemort must have brought me here. I must have fallen asleep on the couch. I do recall getting drowsy while reading about the effects of Elf Magic on items of their making and it was a tremendously boring read…

A yawn escapes me and I bend over to look a bit more closely at Lord Voldemort. He doesn't look well to me. These fainting episodes don't seem to be good for his health. He is barely breathing. It takes me some time to remove his wand from his ice-cold hand, since his fingers are holding it in a tight grasp. It is almost like they are frozen solid around it. But eventually I manage to take his wand, without breaking every bone in his hand, and I cast a Warming Charm on him, before levitating his body into the bed. Well, I don't want to lie next to a freezing Popsicle, thank you very much. And still tired, I also crawl back into the bed. I definitely need some shuteye.

I toss and turn around in the bed, but that damn Amulet is keeping me awake. It glows like an idiot and trying to hide it underneath my shirt isn't even helping. Angrily, I glare at the man beside me. Sure, he is out cold, getting some totally non-deserved rest, while I lie awake. And I just know that I am going to feel completely worn out in the morning if I don't fall asleep now. Why doesn't he wear the damn thing? He wants to heal that no good soul of his. I grumble some more about the unfairness of it all, and eventually, I almost fall asleep; almost.

Because Voldemort decides in his holy 'Lordship-ness' that this is a wonderful time to start trashing around. Perhaps, he will be more comfortable on the floor? Annoyed, I glare back at him. He is perspiring and his face is disturbingly contorted, like he is in severe pain. And I raise my eyebrows when I hear him mutter fearfully: 'No, not the bunny.'

'Not the bunny? Pfffttt…' and a snort escape my lips, followed by a chuckle.

Oh gosh, too bad I don't have a recording of this. It would have opened up so many delightful options … I could have blackmailed him with it. He would definitely have to let me go, if I could be in the position of relaying that sentence into the world. I lie in the bed shaking with laughter, because really … to hear the most feared wizard of all time say in fright 'no, not the bunny' is kind of hilarious.

However, my laughter dies out abruptly when his elbow comes into painful contact with my nose. Ouch. Tears spring from my eyes and I quickly grab a hold of his arm, because he is becoming utterly violent in this episode of his. It turns into quite the little wrestling match. I eventually manage to grab a hold of both his arms and pull him against me, but he is still trashing about. A part of me is suddenly very happy that I do not know the details to 'no, not the bunny', because I have this eerie feeling it is not something good. Concern floods through my system as I can see his distress in the overpowering green lighting of the Amulet. It has never shone this brightly before.

'It's alright. Everything is going to be all right. It is not real. It's that Amulet. You're safe; I got you,' I say, holding him tightly.

'Who are you?' I hear him mutter.

'It's all right. It's me, Hermione,' I say, noticing he is beginning to relax more.

'Tom Riddle,' he says, like he is introducing himself.

I raise my eyebrows. Since when does Voldemort use that name? And I realise he must be seeing things, like I have. Whatever he did to the Amulet to prevent certain powers from targeting him seems to be malfunctioning continuously lately. I wonder what the Amulet is showing him. Memories, perhaps? Now, I wish I was any good at Leglimency. It could have been extremely useful to be aware what the Amulet is making him go through. He is tensing up again. Oh no … I could barely hold him a few moments ago.

'It's all right,' I repeat, just to say something, hoping it will help, 'I am here. You're safe.'

Why am I saying that? I must be loosing it.

'I have no need for friends.'

No kidding.

However, he still relaxes considerably, even though he occasionally mutters something incomprehensible. It's when I think I heard him say Myrtle's name. Moaning Myrtle? Oh boy, no need for Leglimency there. I know what that must be about.

'I am not blind like you, Mudblood,' he hisses viciously. 'If you ever follow me around or bother me again, you won't live long enough to regret it.'

I shake my head and roll my eyes at the way he spits out that hateful word; so original. But I suppose to Myrtle it must have been extremely frightening. She must have run for the hills after this, crying no doubt. Unless the next thing I am going to hear slip from his mouth is Parseltongue. Then, it will be safe to assume Myrtle did no more running ever again. But the next thing that Voldemort says is scarier than Parseltongue and I freeze up in the bed.

'You make a bloke feel really appreciated, Woodburn.'

Woodburn? Woodburn? I frown slightly. It can't be… But my mind starts whirling with memories, bringing back one sentence to haunt me.

'You know I used to have a friend who hated the oatmeal that we got served at the orphanage and whenever he got a bowl of it…,' her grandmother whispered, leaning towards Hermione, '…it would somehow change into his favourite cereal.'

No way! It couldn't have been. But I know the timetable seems to be … quite right. I try to remember more from the day that sentence was ushered towards me, because I want to desperately disprove what I am beginning to fear and the strangest thing happens. In the glowing green lighting of the Amulet I can actually see my memories, like I am a viewer watching from the sidelines. And I get a clear picture of all that happened that day from a different perspective, instead of the one from my sixth year old self, whom I see skipping along next to my mother. So I tangle along, curiously.

We are walking up a familiar garden lane towards my grandparents' estate, when I notice the wards shift around the place upon our entry. Wards? They had wards? I don't remember that. Who would have warded my grandparents' home? I halt and wave my hand through the air, but there is no response to my presence. I can not feel any magic in the air. It's probably because I am watching my memories and am not really here. Still, magical wards? I am pretty certain no one in my family is capable of producing them and an eerie feeling of dread is beginning to form. I rub through my eyes and the scenery has changed.

'Mum, mum, look what I made!' yelled a little Hermione excitedly as she ran into the living room of her grandparents' estate.

'Oh, that is beautiful dear,' her mother replied smiling. 'Why don't you show it to granny?'

'Yes, let's see it,' her grandmother said enthusiastic and she held out her hand to accept the drawing Hermione made. 'That looks like a nice house.'

'It's ours,' Hermione replied.

'Oh, and who are all those people in front of it?'

'That is you and granddad Siegfried and mom and dad and Grandma Jean and granddad Tony and me and Kitty.'

'Who is Kitty?' her grandmother asked with a small grin on her face, like she already knew the answer to that question.

'That is my cat,' Hermione said certain.

'Honey, we've talked about it before,' her mother said stern, 'you're too young to take on the responsibility of an animal.'

'My birthday is in two weeks,' Hermione responded cheerful, ignoring the obvious nee saying of her mother.

Her grandmother started laughing and pulled Hermione on her lap, before she addressed her daughter. 'I think you better give up, Rose. She seems pretty determined.'

The door flew open and a man walked in with a bakery box. 'Sorry I am late Sal, but the calves wouldn't come out in the normal manner and we had to operate. So by the time I got to the baker he no longer had chocolate pie, so I brought this cherry flavoured one instead. Everything else for the high tea I got. Hope you don't mind?'

Sally shrugged and shook her head. 'It's fine Siegfried. It's not your fault things didn't go as planned. Are all the calves all right?'

'Yes,' he responded planting the box on the table and lifting Hermione in the air. 'Now, how is my favourite granddaughter?'

'I am fine!' Hermione said, hugging him. 'And I am your only granddaughter.'

'Details, details,' Siegfried said, 'Is my only, and favourite, granddaughter going to have tea with us?'

Hermione nodded vigorously. Sally pulled out the pie from the box and looked at it confused. 'Honey, I thought you said the baker didn't have chocolate pie?'

'He didn't,' Siegfried responded, rubbing Hermione's hair.

'Then, what is this?' Sally asked, holding out a chocolate pie in the air.

Siegfried stared at it bemused. 'That is not what he put in there. I saw him place a cherry pie in the box.'

'I don't like cherry pie,' Hermione said firmly.

'You must have seen it incorrectly, dad,' Rose replied.

'I am certain I wasn't,' Siegfried said, staring at the pie puzzled, before shrugging and deciding he must have been mistaken after all. 'How is the new practice going?'

'Oh fine, Hugo has taken today's patients, so I could be here with Hermione…'

And while Rose and Siegfried had already moved on from the pie incident, Sally frowned and eyed Hermione, who was watching the chocolate pie in clear anticipation. 'Do you want a piece, Hermione?' Sally asked thoughtful.

'Yes, granny,' Hermione said nodding her head fervently.

'OK, let's get you a piece,' Sally said and started cutting the pie, 'so you don't like cherry pies?'

'No,' Hermione said, wrinkling her nose in disgust. 'But I like chocolate.'

'Me too,' Sally responded lightly, while handing Hermione her piece and taking her own too. 'You know I used to have a friend who hated the oatmeal that we got served at the orphanage and whenever he got a bowl of it…,' Sally whispered, leaning towards Hermione, '…it would somehow change into his favourite cereal.'

Little Hermione had already stuffed a large chunk of pie in her mouth, making her response quite incomprehensible.

'So,' Sally added loosely, 'have you ever made something change before?'

Hermione's eyes widened and she looked at her grandmother doubtful.

'I won't tell on you,' Sally whispered reassuringly. 'It will be our little secret.'

Hermione looked back at her mother, who was still busy discussing the start of the new dental practice with Siegfried, before she stood up on her chair and pulled her hands around her mouth to whisper the answer in her grandmother's ear. 'Mommy's meatloaf.'

Sally chuckled. 'I can imagine,' she said grinning, 'changing that is … really smart of you. And I love what you did to this pie, I think chocolate is much better than cherry too.'

Hermione smiled back proudly and continued eating her pie, while her grandmother stood up and walked towards her mother. 'I have something to tell you about Hermione later on this evening. It may be a bit shocking, but it is nothing to worry about.'

…

She told them! They have always known? I can't believe it, but it explains their calm and acquiescent response to McGonagall when she came to my house that day to tell my parents I was a witch. They knew already. I am still musing about this, but other visuals become apparent in front of my eyes and I watch them curiously.

'Don't let a bunch of morons get to you,' Sally said calmly against a crying Hermione. 'You are not a freak.'

'But I turned Elsie's hair purple and now they all hate me.'

'They don't hate you. They just don't understand and that scares them, dear,' Sally said wiping away Hermione's tears with a handkerchief. 'And it is not nice to change people's hair without their approval. They can't defend themselves against your powers. Although I am glad you stood up to a bunch of bullies.'

'I didn't do it on purpose,' Hermione shrieked indignant. 'I got angry. Nobody will ever understand.'

'Sure, there are a lot more people just like you.'

'But I have never seen any,' Hermione objected.

'Once you go to that school you will.'

'What school?'

'The one Tom went to.'

'Can't I talk to him?'

Sally's eyes widened in shock. 'No, no, I don't think that is a good idea,' she muttered, shaking her head.

'Why not?'

'Because Tom is… Well, I don't know where he is anyway. So it is not an option for you.'

Disappointed, Hermione pouted, while drying the plates her grandmother was handing her.

'Come on dear, you are eleven years now. It won't be much longer before you will meet other witches and wizards and then … you can help me clean up this mess with a flick of your wrist.'

'Really?' Hermione said excitedly.

'Yeah, really.'

…

And I just want to die right here and now. Oh Merlin no, she said Tom? No, no, no. It's impossible. It is. It has to be. I know what he did to the people in that orphanage. It is just blatant impossible.

Miss Granger, can I speak to you for a moment?'

Hermione looked up from her book in the library and stared straight into a pair of twinkling blue eyes. 'Yes, certainly Professor Dumbledore.'

'Ah, wonderful,' he said and pulled up a chair. 'I see you're the last one in here as usual.'

Hermione nodded. 'I have a Potions essay that needs writing.'

'Yes, of course… I just wanted to know how you were doing lately with … all this commotion about the Heir of Slytherin.'

'I am fine, Sir, and so is Harry,' Hermione responded unabashed.

'There is nothing you need to tell me?' Dumbledore asked and she felt like she was being X-rayed by those blue eyes.

Hermione frowned. 'No, I don't think so…' she started, 'Professor, you don't think it is Harry, do you? I mean he couldn't have done it. Ron and I were…' but she halted when Dumbledore held up his hand.

'I know it is not Harry, Miss Granger. I just wanted to make sure nothing out of the ordinary has happened to you lately,' and again he gazed down at her over those half-moon glasses of his, making her feel like he was seeing straight through her.

Hermione shook her head quietly, while hoping he wasn't referring to her nicking the ingredients from Snape's cupboard. He couldn't know she was brewing Polyjuice Potion in Myrtle's cubicle, could he?

'Very well,' Dumbledore said eventually.

And she had the weirdest feeling he was, suddenly, somewhat more at ease when he got out of his chair.

'Try to get some sleep as well, Miss Granger. I am sure Professor Snape will be more than happy to read the contents and length of the scroll you already got there,' he said chuckling.

…

I gasp at the end of this recollection. Professor Dumbledore used Leglimency on me! And I didn't notice… He must have… He didn't suspect Harry! He suspected me! But why? He knew it was Voldemort from the start. He knew that the true heir of Slytherin was him. The magical compatibility? Would he have known about this link between Voldemort and me? Could he have known and not told me about it? I notice I am beginning to get angry, but a later memory over clouds my chance to mesmerise on this.

'I am sorry about this, Mr and Mrs Granger, but I believe it is vital for Hermione's safety to have her stay with her friends during the summer holidays at a location that will be unplottable to Lord Voldemort,' Dumbledore said calmly.

'But what about my parents?' Hermione rebutted.

'I'll set up several wards around this house to protect your parents and I can leave behind a Portkey that will transport them to the Burrow in case of an emergency. If that is alright with you both?' Dumbledore asked Mr and Mrs Granger, who both nodded affirmatively in response.

Dumbledore rose from his chair. 'Wonderful, Hermione, if you are ready to go to the Burrow…'

He halted abruptly and picked up a photograph from the dresser.

'Professor, what happened to your hand?' Hermione asked shocked.

'Later, Hermione. Who is this?' Dumbledore asked quietly, holding up the frame.

'Oh, that is an old picture of my mother in her teens,' Rose Granger responded. 'It was taken at the school she attended. This was right after she met my father for the first time. It's one of the few pictures she actually doesn't make a strange face in. That's why I kept this one after she died and had the man at the photo shop enhance it.'

'I understand,' Dumbledore said softly, 'she looks really happy in this photo. What was her name?'

'Sally, Sally Farnon-Woodburn.'

Dumbledore nodded, before placing the photograph back on the dresser and he glanced at Hermione thoughtfully. 'I'll set the wards and prepare an emergency Portkey for your parents. Can you retrieve your belongings, Hermione?'

'Certainly, Professor.' And she ran upstairs.

It's when I wake abruptly. Voldemort is already gone and I stare around slightly confused. Did my grandmother really know Tom Riddle and lived to tell about it? Dumbledore's reaction to her photograph was also peculiar. I never thought much about it at the time, because I had far more pressing matters on my mind, but now I see how strange it was that Dumbledore, suddenly, took an interest in my deceased, muggle grandmother. It was almost like he recognised her, but from where? And he didn't know her name, otherwise he wouldn't have asked. I do recall it was in the time when he researched Voldemort's past to look for the Horcruxes. And I know he went back to the orphanage to look for clues, but why would he have had such a strong response to my grandmother's picture? And then those wards around my grandparents' house? It's all rather peculiar and somewhat unnerving.

My mind still occupied with this I get up, change and have breakfast. It's incredibly quiet in here at the moment. I think Voldemort left. I check every chamber in his quarters to be certain, but it is totally vacant. I wonder where he went. How long will he be gone? If it is long enough, and if it occupies his mind thoroughly, then I may be able to pull this off. But it is risky and not only for me. I have to be certain he won't notice, but I also know this is going to drive me up the wall, if I don't figure out for certain whether he and my grandmother were living at the same orphanage. I mean I can guess… and it looks like it, but…

'Winky!'

With a crack the House-elf appears before me beaming. 'Yes, Mistress Hermione Granger.'

'Uh, Winky, there is this book on Everon Jewellery that I need…'

Immediately the joyous expression disappears and the House-elf begins shaking her head and offers me an alternative. 'Winky knows of a nice book on Goblin made tiaras. Winky can get that easily.'

I wave my hand through the air, halting the House-elf's speech. 'No, I need some information on the special powers of Everon Jewellery.'

Winky grumbles. 'Everon elves are not to be trusted, Mistress. They love to deceive and trick people. There is always something rotten about them and their so called powerful items; always. Goblin Jewellery is much more trustworthy to do what you need done.'

'So I've heard,' I say uncaring, scribbling the name of the book I need on a piece of paper.

I know this is a title that Voldemort may object to and so will Winky, because she has been ordered to only give me those books Voldemort deems appropriate. I hand her the paper, and feeling incredibly guilty, I watch how her ears and shoulders drop significantly. Oh, I am such a horrible person. And I don't even need the book anymore. Hell, I don't need to read anything on Everon anymore, since I already solved the mystery of Voldemort's changing eye colour yesterday. It's definitely the Amulet's doing. I suppose the old Yiddish saying is incredibly true, because the eyes truly are the mirror of the soul. And his bloodshot colour is a powerful indication on how much he mutilated it.

However, this is not something I want Voldemort to find out quickly, if he doesn't know it already. Because it will give him a clear indication on how much longer it will take the Amulet to heal his soul. It may also make him reconsider on healing it entirely, because from what I gather by looking at his eyes, his soul is healed far enough to create a couple of these horrible devices already. And he doesn't strike me as a patient man when it comes down to situations as these. So I have shoved my own curiosity about what happened to me to the side and decided I can always try to find out what happened on my own. It was obviously something Dark Arts related and I do have a ton of books on that subject at my disposal here.

'Master will not approve of this book. Winky will get Mistress the Goblin one instead,' the House-elf squeaks determined.

'No,' I say harshly. 'I need this one.'

I am so going to hell for this. I am a terrible, dreadful person. I know what the House-elf has been ordered to do now, but I need to find out where he is and I need him to still think I am researching the mystery. Winky is now eyeing the piece of paper in her hand with dread, before she Disapparates House-elf-style. I hope he is in a good mood and doesn't hurt the poor elf for this. Keeping my fingers crossed, I wait.

'Crack.'

Winky reappears, and to my utter astonishment, she hands me the book I requested. Whoa! Voldemort must be desperate to find out why his eyes are shifting in colour; otherwise he would have never granted me access to this book. I am staring at it thoroughly pleased that I have it and I know I better read it fast before he realises what he did and comes back on this decision.

'Does Mistress require anything else from Winky?' she asks.

'The Dark Lord didn't hurt you, did he?' I ask concerned.

'No, Master was happy when Winky arrived. Master was torturing the traitorous Smiths, who tried to kill him. So Master had no time to spend on Winky,' Winky squeaks happily.

That went easier than I expected. I was certain in advance that it would take me some doing to retrieve this information from Winky. I remember clearly how she kept her mouth shut about Barty Crouch's secret, but I suppose she doesn't consider Voldemort torturing someone a secret action. I guess she is right about that.

'Thank you Winky,' I reply, dismissing her.

While Winky leaves, I look at the book for a second, but my curiosity about my grandmother and Voldemort weighs heavier on my mind at the moment. So I lay it on the table. I am only going to be gone for a short period. I'm just going to take a little look. I'll be back shortly. No one will notice. I have to be certain.

'Kreacher!'

'Crack.'

'What does Mistress Hermione Granger, Master Harry Potter's friend, require from Kreacher?' he asks in his bullfrog voice.

'Kreacher, I want you to understand that you don't need to do this. It is not an order. I do not own you, and what I am about to ask, can be life threatening to you if we get caught by the Dark Lord.'

Kreacher smiles broadly and nods. 'Kreacher will take request under consideration,' he replies courteous.

'I need someone to give me a lift out of this castle to the street in front of my grandparents' house.'

Kreacher nods and immediately stretches out his hand for me to take it. He can't possibly have considered the threat to him in that brief moment, so I don't accept it.

'If something goes wrong I want you to Obliviate my memory of your assistance, Kreacher. And I want you to find some place safe to…'

'Kreacher can take care of himself, Mistress,' he interrupts me cheerful.

Even more adamant, he gestures firmly with his hand for me to take it and I do. I have got to say that I am somewhat surprised at the fact that House-elf Apparation feels rather different than Wizarding Apparation. The effects aren't nearly so squeezing and uncomfortable. It's more a soft pricking sensation that travels through your body, like how you feel when a limb goes to sleep and then … it is almost as if you no longer exist for a moment, before reappearing at the place you want to go to.

We arrive on the sidewalk in front of the garden gates. Fortunately, the former Farnon Estate is located in a secluded area, so no one notices us arriving and being there. In the distance I see the vacant building that used to house a part of my family. I've spent a significant amount of time of my early childhood years here and the memory makes me smile for a moment. However, my parents sold the 'costly in maintenance' estate, after both Sally and Siegfried had passed away and it no longer is the property of my family. I walk to the gates that have a huge real estate's board on it with a telephone number that prospected buyers can dial, but I am not interested in obtaining the property.

'This place knows magic,' Kreacher states surprised. 'Is Mistress not born from muggles?'

'I am, but someone else paid this place a visit and I need to know for certain whom that was. Though, it may take me awhile to activate these wards with my magic being suppressed and all by Vo… the Dark Lord,' I answer, correcting myself on remembering Kreacher's fear of the name.

'Kreacher can fix that easily…' and he steps beside me.

'No!' I scream and grab his arms just in time.

Surprised, Kreacher looks at me.

'Trust me, Kreacher,' I say worried for his safety. 'If I am right about who created these wards, then you do not want to be attacked by them. I, on the other hand, should be all right.' And I cross my fingers behind my back, hoping I am right about the latter. After all, I have entered and exited this place for years without problems with these wards.

'Can Kreacher help Mistress in any other way?'

'Just make sure we are not seen or disturbed by others.'

Kreacher nods and turns to the street. I feel his magic fly through the air around us and it has the distinct vibration of an Invisibility Charm, but I do not linger on that. I sit down, cross my legs, rest my hands on my knees, palms facing upward, and start to meditate. If it really was Voldemort who built these wards, then I should be able to draw on the magic in them. If it wasn't him, well … I'll cross that bridge when I get there. Quickly, I close my eyes; clear my mind of thoughts, feelings and emotions, and concentrate on my environment mentally as Yoda thought me to do. I raise my hands in the air and claim the magic nearby. Nothing happens.

I try again and again and again. I am about to give up and reconsider Kreacher's offer when I feel something shift nearby. It's like it is there and yet it isn't. I call for it. Command it to come to me. I concentrate at all my might when Kreacher shrieks in terror and powerful bolts of electricity strike into my hands. Sparks fly all around me and I hold my palms to the sky to allow the magic to be absorbed into my body, so it can identify me.

'Recognise me, recognise me,' I think over and over again, while it surges through my body.

It's incredibly violent magic and I realise if it considers me a threat to this household, then I am going to die in an utterly vile manner. Come on, come on, recognise me, damn it. You've let me pass a million times. Come on. Oh, this is not good. It is taking too long. I need to do something now or I am done for. And I remember everything I ever read about creating magical wards. I bless my lucky stars for having read several Dark Arts Volumes already, because there are so many ways to create wards, but only a few possess this kind of power. I assess the way the magic flies through me. Two choices remain and only one I deem is viable with him. It's time to get on the offensive here.

'Take cover!' I shout to Kreacher.

I concentrate and shift the magic that is already inside of me. I am making it my own, knowing full well that this will be considered an attack on the estate. Opening my eyes I see the entire ward is now thundering towards me, as I expected and counted on. I jump to my feet, focus on the Force of it, and when it is closest to me, I release the magic inside of me. The two clash violently and I am having a hard time not getting blast to pieces by it. The air around me begins to cackle severely, and my hair and robes are reacting to the static environment by whirling around my body. Kreacher shrieks fearful, and from the peripheral vision of my eyes, I see he is jumping in the dry ledge for more cover and arrives there safely. So I focus on the task at hand, trying to shift the entire magic of this ward into my own. I battle with it, but it won't shift. It's too powerful. I am done for. What was I thinking? I can't do this alone!

'Magic flows all around us. This is not about spells, charms, or anything like it. This magic is The Force of Nature and it can guide you on your path. It will help to ground you and keep your balance in times of despair. This is the most powerful way to use magic.'

Yoda's words ring through my mind. Magic flows all around us. Magic is everywhere. You just need to see it. I just need to see it! I can get help!

So I concentrate on the trees, the earth, the animals, the flowers, the plants, the creatures and people nearby; I concentrate on everything beside the violent, dark magic that is attacking me. And I ask for help, for love to guide me through this. After all, love is the origin of magic; the most powerful form there is. The dark magic is only inches away from swallowing me whole when a bright light flies around me and I feel the force, the power of it, enter my body.

'My turn,' I mutter satisfied and I release it with a vengeance.

My eyes widen when I witness how it shreds Voldemort's wards to pieces in an instance. A second later all that remains of this adventure is a small breeze that brushes my body softly. Astonished, my mouth falls slightly ajar. I can't believe I just did that; I accomplished that. I can do a little dance, now. I've never been able to do this without Yoda's guidance before. Never! Oh my god, oh my god, I did it!

'Is Mistress all right?' Kreacher asks whispering.

'I did it!' I shout and I hug Kreacher. 'On my own!'

I lift the little elf and twirl him around. I feel so incredibly happy. I've never been happier before in my life.

'Mistress, you're choking me,' Kreacher utters stifling.

'Oh, sorry,' I say apologetic and I place him back on the ground, but the little elf is eyeing me beaming.

'Mistress is powerful witch. More powerful than any witch Kreacher ever met. No other witch has ever succeeded in drawing on and using Kreacher's Elf magic.'

I used Elf magic too? Really? I hadn't noticed. I shrug humbly at the compliment, but I still feel very pleased with myself. Because I kicked his arse. HA! And I did it without him having to release his hold over my magic. I did it without my magic! I stick out my tongue towards the now nonexistent ward Voldemort raised...

Oh my… it was him that raised the ward around my grandparents' place. I recognised his magic when it flew through my body. And from the looks of things he did a thoroughly serious job of it. I doubt anyone could have entered this place with bad intentions. My very happy mood is now dropping below freezing point. He protected my grandparents. Why? Did they know that he did this? Did my grandmother know? And what did she tell my parents? She never said his full name to me. I only remember that one time when she talked about a Tom, but she could have been a lot more upfront about it to my mother and father.

And I told them about Lord Voldemort! Did I drop the name Tom Riddle to them? I rack my brain to remember everything I told them, but it is so much and I can't be certain. I recall telling them how brave Harry was when he defeated the Basilisk and saved Ginny from Voldemort. No, I don't think I mentioned his real name to my parents back then. It was when I still called him You-Know-Who and I bite my lip. No, now I am pretty certain I always said You-Know-Who, until after that DA-meeting. And I was barely home to see my parents after my fifth year. I sigh relieved, because, frankly, if I am to find out that my parents have lied all those years, it will be devastating to me.

Would Grandma Sally have known? She died a month before I went to Hogwarts, so I never got to share my adventures with her. But if she hadn't died, would she have recognised the name Lord Voldemort? Would she have known him to be the same person as Tom Riddle; the boy she knew at the orphanage? Did she somehow support him? I find the latter hard to believe. I don't see Tom Riddle wanting the support of a muggle. And she was such a kind and caring person. I remember how she always told me not to abuse my powers. How she lectured me that with power comes responsibility. Oh, she knew Tom Riddle alright. Damn, I need some answers here, but the only person left to ask about this, is the one person I can't trust not to lie to me. I need to investigate more.

'Let's go back to Hogwarts,' I say quietly to Kreacher and hold out my hand.

He Apparates us back to the study and I sink down on the couch, contemplating on this.

'Is Mistress Hermione alright?' Kreacher asks concerned.

I smile at the scruffy little House-elf and nod. 'You, Kreacher, are one of the bravest persons, I have ever met,' I say complimentary.

He beams at me with pleasure. 'Does Kreacher need to do anything else for Mistress?'

I nod. 'Modify my memory so it will appear I travelled alone. I don't want Vo… You-Know-Who to find out in my mind that you were involved in this. And I may need to divulge the fact that I've been there in the future.'

Kreacher nods and steps in front of me.

'No, wait!' I shout, just in a nick of time. 'One more thing. Are the Hogwarts' student records still being kept in the archive room connected to the Headmaster's Office?'

'Yes, does Kreacher need to get a file for Mistress?'

'No, I better do the nicking myself this time around,' I state slowly. 'Now, you can go ahead.'

It's when Kreacher does, what I know he must have done quite adequately before; he alters my memory of the events that transpired. When he is done, I stare slightly confused at the House-elf.

'Anything I can do for you, Kreacher?' I ask.

'Mistress needed Kreacher to retrieve a student file, but Mistress has not informed Kreacher which one yet.'

I frown. A student file? Oh yeah, now I remember … I need to know more about the past, about the events that transpired before my birth.

'Tom Marvolo Riddle,' I say hesitatingly.

Do I really want Kreacher to get this file? I shake my head. No, that is too dangerous. 'Kreacher, wait! I better steal this file from the Headmaster's Office myself. I don't want you to be involved in this one. It's too dangerous.'

'Mistress cannot retrieve it. We just agreed on that a moment ago. Student files are locked far away in the dungeons of the castle now and the security is very high there. Kreacher will get it. He needs to clean the room,' the House-elf says, lying without my knowledge.

'Oh, okay,' I say disappointed and he hurries away.

I've rather not involved the brave little elf, but he is right. I will never make it to the dungeons without being seen. And I need that file. I need more information. Why had Dumbledore not shown us, I mean Harry, that file before? He wanted Harry to understand Voldemort. I remember our discussion after Harry's first private lesson with Dumbledore very clearly.

'Wow, scary thought, the boy You-Know-Who,' said Ron. 'But I still don't get why Dumbledore's showing you all this. I mean, it's really interesting and everything, but what's the point?'

'Dunno,' said Harry. 'But he says it's all important and it'll help me survive.'

'I think it's fascinating,' I replied. 'It makes absolute sense to know as much about Voldemort as possible. How else will you find out his weaknesses?'

'How else will you find out his weaknesses? Plural, because he has so many of them … brilliant remark, Granger,' I think mockingly.

'Crack.'

Baffled, I look at the huge green map Kreacher is holding in his hand. On the cover in silver letters is written 'Tom Marvolo Riddle, 1938-1945'. Oh, this is not good. I thought the student files would be about the size of something along the line of a couple of pages. Not something that resembles the size of a phone-book. I can never hide this from Voldemort.

'If only I could Transfigure it to appear as another, preferably dull, book, I may get away with it, but I need my magic to do so,' I think out loud.

'Mistress can use Kreacher's magic,' he offers.

'I can?' I ask confused. 'I've never heard of a human using Elf magic before.'

'Morgan Le Fay did and I can tell, you can do it too,' Kreacher says certain.

'I am no Morgan Le Fay,' I mutter gravely disturbed.

'Just try it, I know it will work,' Kreacher states.

So I do, and surprisingly, he is right. I Transfigure Voldemort's student file into a seemingly innocent, simple Dark Arts book. One I am certain he will never pick up to read again, because the theory in it is too plain simple for him. However, when I place the two books next to each other to compare them, the file still remains slightly bigger than the original book.

'He has to see them together, Mistress Hermione. Otherwise he will never notice,' Kreacher says reassuringly.

'I suppose,' I reply, while tucking the original book behind several others. 'Are all files this big?'

'Some are, some aren't,' Kreacher replies. 'Want to see yours? I believe it is even bigger.'

'No, thank you,' I reply appalled. 'I am going to have a hard time hiding this one and… Wait a second, how come you know the size of my student file so precisely?'

'The Dark Lord had it on his desk for quite some time,' Kreacher answers.

'Oh, of course,' I say tiresome. The man definitely needs a hobby.

It's when a terrible idea comes to mind. Just exactly what is listed in these files about family members? I turn the pages to head for the personal data. It lists a date of birth and the name of the mother and father. However I thank Merlin, because there isn't a box to add the grandparents too. However, I do notice that Dumbledore in his own script has added an entire lineage on the blank side of the page going back all the way to the Peverell brothers and Salazar Slytherin in Riddle's file. Oh no… what if he added something to my file as well?

'Kreacher? Can you check to see whether the name Sally Woodburn or Sally Farnon-Woodburn is mentioned somewhere in my file? She was my grandmother.'

'Easy,' replies the House-elf and it doesn't take him long.

I raise my eyebrows in surprise and Kreacher laughs. 'I used Elf magic to check, but the name isn't in there. However, it may have been, because from the looks of it Professor Dumbledore removed several pages from your file.'

'He removed pages from my file?' I ask puzzled. 'How do you know it was him?'

'His magic has a tremendously powerful signature. If you felt it once, you will recognise it again anywhere, and he used a lot of it on my Master's house and me,' Kreacher says and he shivers briefly.

I remember that Dumbledore questioned Kreacher about Sirius's departure and I don't enquire any further. It couldn't have been pleasant for the elf. Anyway, even though I am curious what is on the pages Dumbledore felt the need to remove, I am glad the name isn't in there for Voldemort to tread upon. But it still does leave me in the dark as to whether or not he knows.

'You better leave now, before Voldemort…'

Kreacher shrieks in fear.

'Sorry, before You-Know-Who will return. What will we put in my brain as to how I got this?'

Kreacher grins deviously. 'Shall I have Amycus Carrow bring it to you?'

I snort and he snickers rather vicious.

'I think the Dark Lord will see in Amycus's mind that he didn't,' I say sadly. Well, it was a nice and delightful idea.

'Not if I get to Amycus too,' Kreacher says smirking.

My jaw drops in amazement. 'You can do that?'

Kreacher nods several times in affirmation. 'If you can prevent the Dark Lord from finding this before tomorrow morning, I will modify Carrow's memory while he sleeps.'

'I love it,' I say enthusiastic as I look at the clock. 'I have no time to read his file now anyway. Vo… You-Know-Who will expect me to have read this Everon book, so I better hurry and read some pages just in case he feels like checking on what I've been doing while he was gone. Let's try it.'

Kreacher modifies my memory and leaves afterwards, before I have a chance to detect him again.

I, quickly, hide the file between the other books. I still can't believe Carrow was so stupid to fall for my demand and the feeble excuse I gave him for needing it. But I suppose he doesn't know who Tom Riddle really is. I snicker softly. If Voldemort finds out that he gave me this, he is a dead man.

I pick up the book from Everon regarding their jewellery and my eyes fall briefly on The Art of Potions. I wrinkle my nose. Every other book about Everon I read was incredibly dry and mind-numbing to read and I haven't finished the Potions book yet. And it is undoubtedly far more interesting than this one, but I asked for it and now I must suffer the consequences and read this book. Who knows, maybe I'll discover something about the Amulet of Aine that I don't already know. I sigh, make myself comfortable on the couch and start reading. To my surprise the writing draws my attention immediately and the book's theory on Elf Jewellery is quite interesting. I don't even notice how much the stone beneath my shirt is glowing, while I read. I am moving through this book incredibly fast and I feel flushed with excitement.

So that's how Maglor was planning to find the Amulet for Voldemort. Elves always create a counter stone to the jewel they make. It is like black and white; yin and yang. Maglor used the counter stone to scry for the Amulet of Aine. I am surprised they still have it. According to the legend, the Queen of the Elves created this Amulet. So she had to be the one to make the counter stone and she lived a lot of centuries ago. No one even remembers exactly when from what I recall after reading the book on the history of Everon. I shrug and read on. It's when I read that the powers of the jewel are linked to the blood of the Elf, who created it, that I halt in shock. But that means only her blood can activate it… and Maglor scry-ed with the counter stone. I gulp in shock. Wow, surprise after surprise with that Elf. I wonder how many more secrets he has kept hidden from me.

Entranced and fascinated, I read on, until a dark shadow falls over me and I look up at the same time that Voldemort sits down beside my legs, which I placed on the couch lazily. I haven't even noticed before, that it had already turned dark outside. I've even forgotten to eat lunch and dinner. Fortunately, I am not that hungry anyway. He, on the other hand, looks rather hungry at the moment, but somehow I don't think it is for food.

'Hello dear,' he says suavely. 'Enjoying your book?'

He tilts his head to see what I am reading. But I don't think he is actually trying very hard, because he looks back at me very quickly. And I have seen that glint in his eyes before. Though, I am somewhat more disturbed with how dark his pupils have already become. Only what normally would be the white of someone's eyes is still bloodshed, but the flickering between colours in his pupils seems completely over. They are as black as his soul is dark. The saying about the eyes and the soul truly is remarkably accurate. I realise he staring at me, waiting for an answer to his question, so I reply.

'It's quite interesting,' I respond blankly.

'I'm sure I can provide you with something a lot more entertaining,' he says deviously.

And I can see where this is going in his eyes, even before he teases my body with magic and starts to lean in to kiss me. I tilt my head. I am not really in the mood for this, because I actually want to finish reading the book, but maybe we can do this quickly. Our tongues clash and I move my arms around his neck, while his hands are moving all over my body. I feel how the book falls between the couch's back and my leg. Perhaps, I can draw a bit of magic from him to levitate the book? I really need to read on. I really do. So I try and since he is rather preoccupied with moulding my breasts with his hands, he doesn't notice. I take a hold of his head and keep on kissing him, while the book hovers behind him and I continue reading. Hmmm… this is actually a nice way to read. I should have tried this before. It would have made my library time during my Hogwarts' days much more fun.

His hands are moving down to my hips and what I feared happens. He sends a more forceful burst of our magic into me. I moan in his mouth, because by Godric that feels so incredibly good. And he doesn't stop there. I can practically sense his hunger, his desire to be with me intimately and he lays every bit of considerable power he has into his magic before sending it through my body. Oh, now I can't concentrate on my reading anymore.

'Ooohhh,' I moan deeply.

Fuck, fuck, fuck… I need to concentrate, so I can read this page. I can't even begin to understand why I feel so obsessive about reading it, but I just feel I have to finish this book. I have to. I can feel my body beginning to adjust at his command, while his tongue goes through a thorough examination of my mouth. And despite the obvious distraction I am still able to flip a page; too loudly…

Voldemort immediately pulls away from my mouth and I feel my cheeks flush in embarrassment as his eyes dart to his right where the book hovers in midair. Let me just repeat what I thought before rather crudely. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

'It's a really interesting book,' I whisper apologetic, knowing it won't help an ounce.

'More interesting than me?' he asks slowly, gazing into my eyes threatening, but there is also something else there that I can't quite comprehend.

However, I am not stupid enough to respond to that question and he waves his hand at the book, thrusting it out of the way.

'So…,' he says in a threatening tone of voice, but I see the amusement dart through his dark eyes, and his lips are hovering teasingly within an inch of mine. Man, did that just turn him on even more? I suppose Winky wasn't kidding when she said he was in a good mood.

'Now that I have your full attention, Hermione, I think I may need to punish you for this insulting behaviour of yours.'

'Ehhmmm… what is that suppose to mean?' I think slightly concerned now, but I shriek in surprise when he swiftly binds my wrists together and tosses me over his shoulder in a single wave of his hand.

'Yes, you definitely need to be punished,' Voldemort smoothly adds, and I feel him patting on my behind anticipatory, as he walks out of the study.

Oh dear, I just know I am going to have another problem with sitting normally tomorrow, but why the hell does that turn me on so much?

When I wake the next morning, Lord Voldemort is already gone. He is probably off to torture those poor Smiths once more, so he can get all horny and torment me afterwards. Not that the sex isn't great. No, it actually is terrific, but the aftermath for me is not particularly pleasant, because my body feels like it's been ripped to shreds and run over by a freight train. I know it is due to the fact that he is suppressing my magic and I realise if I change sides that I will not have this problem anymore, but that knowledge is not very helpful at the moment. It's probably one of his despicable schemes to get me to fold. So I crawl out of bed and stagger into the bathroom to take a nice hot bath. And as I lower myself into the nice, hot, bubbling, lavender-smelling water of the tub, I relax a bit more.

After I'm done I feel somewhat better, though a part of me wishes to remain in this bathtub forever. But I have important reading to do and I better do it, while he is still out there instead of in here. I walk back into the bedroom brushing my hair when my eyes fall on my nightstand. A small vial of blue liquid is standing there very visible. I walk over and uncork the Restorative Potion immediately. I can't believe I was so tired and drowsy when I woke that I missed that. I quickly down the Potion entirely. And move to the vanity to brush my hair, but when I look in the mirror I blink in shock. Since when are my eyes dark brown?

I lean forward to check more closely and I am getting terribly worried. My eyes are getting darker! And I just figured out not so long ago what that means… I shake my head. This can't be. No. I used the Light Force of magic yesterday in a manner that I've never been able to do before.

'But you used the Dark Arts to determine the state of the wards and you used the Light Magic that was granted to you in a vengeful manner,' a little voice inside my head tells me.

'No one got hurt; it was just a bleeding ward not a person,' I retort to myself.

'Already finding excuses for your actions, for yourself? Trying to justify it, like he does?'

'Oh shut up,' I tell myself loudly and irritated.

And I leave the bedroom to have breakfast and read. Voldemort is indeed gone again, so I take his file and start reading. I am surprised to see the majority of it is in Dumbledore's script, since it was Armando Dippet who was Headmaster in Riddle's schooldays. But I recall that Dumbledore was Deputy Headmaster and that he probably was responsible for the paperwork like McGonagall was in my days. And it is incredibly handy, because, unlike the others who wrote in this file, Dumbledore dated his inputs. This makes it easy for me to determine what he wrote during Tom Riddle's schooldays and what he added later on.

After reading another glowing report from one of the teachers on the brilliant and marvellous Slytherin, I get the distinct need to vomit. For crying out loud, how stupid were they? But it becomes very, very obvious Professor Dumbledore was the only one who ever saw through him. Well, and maybe the students… I remember how many things I knew from other students that the teachers never acknowledged or knew about. And, come on, those grades can't possibly be real? This has to be a misprint. Annoyed, I glare at the Arithmancy O.W.L. result that lies in front of me on the next page. How can anyone get a score of one-hundred-and-eighty-nine percent? That is an Impossible Arithmancy Equation on its own. It probably has to be eighty-nine percent. That number isn't a one. It's just a smut on the paper or someone accidentally made a scratch with their quill. Yes, that is much more logical. One-hundred-eighty-nine percent; pffttt… never.

I flip to the next page and stare at the Charms score. It seems that one is a repeated error. Yes, it is also on the Potion's result. I consider it to be very sloppy on Dumbledore's end, that he has not corrected it; very sloppy indeed. I quickly flip another leave and relieved, I see a score of seventy-five percent. However, when I see the subject in question, I snort loudly. Divination? He took Divination? Oh, that is so disappointing. I thought he was supposed to be clever. I roar with laughter. Seventy-five percent? Surely, Tom Riddle should have been able to manufacture a couple of ridiculous lies to satisfy his teacher.

'Beware of the Inner Eye from Lord Voldemort!' I mockingly snort.

Laughing, I continue to look at the next page and I read: 'O.W.L. score and evaluation of subject: Defence Against the Dark Arts. Student name: Tom Marvolo Riddle. Born: London, 31st December 1926. Total score: 295 percent.' And my jaw drops several inches. That is almost three-hundred percent! And I so adored my little smut and repeated error theory. Can I just be honest here and say I really, really hate Tom Marvolo Riddle? Those scores are just totally inhuman, totally. Besides what is the point in giving scores higher than one-hundred percent anyway? My eyes widen when I realise what I just thought and a memory makes me want to hide in shame for my envious comment.

'I've scored one-hundred-and-thirty!' Hermione shouted. 'What did you get for Transfiguration, Ron?'

Quickly, a piece of paper gets muffled away. 'I passed,' Ron replied evenly. 'Really,' he added with more emphasis after seeing Hermione's suspicious glances to his bag where he planted the evidence in.

'Then, why do you feel the need to hide it?'

'Because all that matters is that I can go home for vacation, and not worry about grades and homework for an entire summer.'

'But we have loads of homework!' Hermione cried out indignant. 'And you have that extra Potions essay to write.'

Ron growled. 'I know where Snape can put his …'

'Ronald!' Hermione interrupted admonitory.

'Really, Hermione, what does my score matter? I passed. I don't understand it anyway, if a score of one-hundred percent is supposed to be perfect, then why do they rate above that?'

'Because people might want to excel beyond the mediocre? Because you might want to show you can think of something else beside the standard responses to a question? Oh, you are hopeless, Ron Weasley.'

I start chuckling loudly. After a while I calm down and my envious Ron Weasley episode is over. So I start reading the comments of the examiner and the addition of the DADA-professor. I have to admit I'm kind of curious to what they will have written down on Lord Voldemort's skills concerning Defence. I snicker.

Additional remarks O.W.L. Examiner: Professor Tofty

Fastest skill with a wand I've ever seen. Very creative and unconventional solutions to Dark Arts problems, which are by far more effective than standard methods. Vanquished Boggart before it was able to take form, hereby disabling the Boggart's one true weapon before deployment. Powerful, corporeal Patronus casting that lasted in the classroom, long after the exams were finished. Control over self during danger is far beyond average. Wandskill doesn't diminish during duel, but improves … especially when opponent is more challenging. Though, I doubt a true challenge was administered today. Would love to see him duel against someone he would require to use his true skill against. Able to cast spells, counter-curses, jinxes and hexes far beyond N.E.W.T. level. Dark Creature knowledge far beyond average and has not broken a sweat in containing one. Parselmouth. Scored better than the required answer on every question; henceforth above score. Recommend keeping track of his career for the Ministry of Magic; possible research position in the Department of Mysteries or Auror.

Okay, now I beg to differ. Auror. I snort. And I move on, because I am kind of curious about the comments of his Professor. After all, you think that a DADA-professor should be able to pick out the dark wizards and witches in her classroom.

Additional remarks Hogwarts' DADA-teacher: Professor Galatea Merrythought

Tom has won the Annual Duel, which is considered one of the more practical examination of true DADA-skill, five times in a row. There is no doubt in my mind that he could take on the students that are his seniors in age in a heartbeat. However, rules do not allow me to take that to the test. However, I have personally felt the force that lingers behind his spells and I believe he has never been truly tested in my classroom. I have the distinct impression he is holding back in order not to hurt another. Weakness during duelling: gets sloppy when opponents are clearly weaker magically. Has proven his worth in DADA by uncovering and handling a dangerous Dark Arts situation in reality, and has received an award for "Special Services to Hogwarts" for it. Has also shown great compassion and consideration by keeping the knowledge of the true events to himself.

Oh, can I puke now? Holding back so he won't hurt another? Yeah, I think the following is more likely: holding back so his true allegiance to the Dark Arts won't be known. And then, compassion? Consideration? Riddle? The bastard rats out Hagrid for something he did and he gets an extra commendation for it on his O.W.L. result? Of course, he kept the true events of the Heir of Slytherin to himself. Hello! Slytherin… snakes… Parselmouth… Heir of Slytherin… How much does it takes to add up one and one, and find out two is the result? I shake my head in clear disbelief over this much stupidity. Not a single word of doubt. Not a single question of character. Surely, someone, who taught DADA to Lord Voldemort for five bleeding years, should have noticed something was off. Those are not exactly lessons where you can hide your personality easily in. There must have been hints, clues, 'accidents'… I growl. And decide to move on, because these stupid teachers are beginning to annoy me severely.

Transfiguration is next and I don't even look at the ridiculously large scores anymore, but go straight to the teacher's remarks, because I see Dumbledore took the liberty to write down something.

Additional remarks Hogwarts' Transfiguration Teacher: Professor Dumbledore (24th June 1943)

Though Mr Riddle has the highest test score on this subject ever, and shows a remarkable and unprecedented adaptation in the skill of Transfiguration, he often applies short cuts that are not risk free or allowed by the current and thoroughly tested Ministerial Standards of Transfiguration. Mr Riddle has shown severe disdain towards security measures set in place to prevent harm to occur to others and himself. It is therefore that I do not recommend Mr Riddle for any position in the Department of Mysteries that concern Transfiguration, which is the only subject I can advise upon, but it is thoroughly my belief that this young man will be a considerable risk to his co-workers should he be allowed to work in such a knowledgeable environment.

Ouch.

I especially think the remark about his disobedience towards the Ministerial Guidelines would have been deadly for any career in the Ministry and that probably was Dumbledore's goal when he wrote it down, because I am pretty certain Dumbledore did not obey Ministerial Regulations all the time himself. Also deadly is the 'which is the only subject I can advise upon'. It practically guarantees that anyone interested in hiring Tom Riddle, for anything else but Transfiguration, would have still contacted Albus Dumbledore to find out what he meant by it and why he wrote such a rotten, piece of shit evaluation on a student who scored far above average in every test subject.

I feel this little prickle of annoyance towards Dumbledore about this evaluation, even though I know Riddle already killed Myrtle and framed another for it at this point. And he is going to spend his summer holiday killing three people and doing Merlin knows what else. And Dumbledore is right, but… It is just so bloody manipulative and secretive. He hasn't said a word in there that Riddle could have used against him. He stayed strictly within the confinements of what he can prove, so Tom couldn't state he is saying these things, because he is biased to him. Because let's face it, when someone of Dumbledore's standing writes something like this down… Well, you are pretty much done for career wise.

I stretch my arms above my head and yawn, before looking at the clock. It's getting late. I better place this book back on the shelf. I have surrounded myself with other books just in case Voldemort returns earlier than I expect and I have to hide this close by. But so far I've been in the clear, so I place it back and continue in that Everon Jewellery book. I actually don't feel like reading anything on Everon anymore, but it's a bit early for dinner, so I open it and start reading. It immediately draws me back in.

'Enjoying your book?' Voldemort says deviously.

I nod back grinning. I can't believe how lucky I am. I just start reading in something else and he is back. But then I see the clock on the wall and it is already a whole hour later. Oh, I suppose I misjudged time. It really flies when you're having fun and this is a very interesting book to read.

'Come, we're going to eat,' Voldemort orders.

I feel more like reading. But I do need to eat and I place the book away, even though a part of me is screaming to continue reading. Subconsciously, it tells me this book somehow contains important information for my situation.

The next couple of days pass rather uneventful. I read as much on Voldemort's past as I can and I now know why Dumbledore found the picture of my grandmother in our living room so interesting. There are actual photographs in this file from the children in the orphanage. There is a little text in the by-line from Dumbledore on where and when he found these pictures. And I have no trouble picking out Tom Riddle in them and that is not only due to Ginny and Harry's descriptions, but also thanks to his posture and attitude in them. They're muggle photographs, so no one is moving. But I think if they were magical pictures, we wouldn't see Tom in the group's annual picture at all, because he is always positioned as far away from the others as possible; standing solo. And he looks incredibly annoyed for having to be there.

That is until my grandmother appears in there. From the looks of the picture she pretty much pulled him on his arm and held on to it, so he couldn't take his usual stand away from everyone else. I am so sorry this isn't a moving picture. It would probably have been incredibly entertaining to see a struggling Tom trying to get out of the grasp she has on his arm. Because I have no doubt that is exactly what I am looking at. I snicker at the thought that my grandmother forced Lord Voldemort Junior to do anything. But I do notice the annoyance, he demonstrated in the other pictures, is absent on his face in this one.

It's when Voldemort Apparates back into the study and I have no time to get rid of his file anymore. Not that it matters that much, because I am looking at the last pages of it. However, it seems prudent not to be found snickering with it. So I hold my breath and pretend to be reading, while he slouches down into the chair behind his desk. I notice he is staring into thin air with a gratified expression on his face. He is definitely enjoying something, whatever horrible thing it is. Maybe he finally killed Achilles Smith, the poor man.

I flip another page and look at the photograph rather shocked. It is my grandmother and she is sitting on a bench in some garden, while Tom is standing with one foot on the bench, leaning forward towards her ear and he is obviously sharing something funny, because she is laughing. OK, this is just getting a bit too creepy for my taste. And I flip the leave and look at the last two pages which have magical photographs from Hogwarts in them. You can definitely tell he enjoyed being there much more than he did in the orphanage pictures.

Poor Ginny, I believe her second year of Hogwarts was even harder than her first. She had unbelievable nightmares and we talked about everything that happened to her for hours at night, because nobody else would. Stupid wizards and witches know absolutely nothing about human psychology. Have you been possessed by the most evil wizard of all time as an eleven year old? Well, all you need is a large, steaming mug of hot chocolate and you'll be fine. We will never, ever talk to you again about what you went through. We will just pretend it never happened. I shake my head briefly. Fortunately, I had the Time Turner that year, so I never had to turn Ginny down when she was upset and crying, and needed someone to talk to.

The events with his journal tainted Ginny more than anyone else ever knew. It took me a long time before she even confided some of the things she felt ashamed of to me. Ginny was feeling incredibly lost and alone after the journal's soul had been destroyed. And a large part of her missed Tom severely, even though she knew now who he was and what he had done to her. Somewhere down the line I think Ginny fell in love with the diary and she was mourning the loss with me, because nobody else would have granted her that opportunity. They would have probably been appalled and ostracised her for it. But it was necessary for her to be able to share the experience with someone, so she could heal and get over it to the best of her ability. I truly applaud her strength and resilience in this matter.

And now that I am actually looking at a magical picture of his sixteen year old self, one where he is in his Slytherin Hogwarts' outfit, being thoroughly at ease with where and who he is, I'm beginning to understand some of the things Ginny shared with me much better now. She never stood a chance, because, by Merlin, can I just drool all over this file right now? Jeez, Ginny said he was hot, but … my god, there is a huge difference in someone telling you that and actually looking at the real deal for yourself.

OK, Granger, you are not a paedophile. Stop drooling over sixteen year old boys. I tell myself this forcefully but to no avail. I somehow find it impossible to draw my eyes away from this picture of him. I wonder what happened that caused his looks to alter so drastically. Curiously, I look up from the picture and glance into his direction. Shrugging, I decide I have no idea what turned his face into a snake like that and I look back at the picture.

Previously, I always thought that his appearance had changed due to his multiple Horcrux' making, but the Amulet of Aine has proved me wrong to that aspect. Only his eye colour change is due to the Horcruxes. The rest of his features must have changed because of something else. I look back and forth between his 'life' face and the one on the picture in some kind of perverse manner of finding the differences. Maybe that way I can determine what caused it.

Suddenly, he turns to face me and I quickly snap my head back in the book. Whoa, I almost got busted and I stare at the page quietly, pretending to be reading. I have no idea how to get rid of this book if he decides to come over. Damn, he is tapping with his fingers on the desk. He is always doing that when he is about to make a move of some sort. Come on; go back to staring at the wall as you did a couple of minutes ago. I hold in a relieved sigh when he does and continue to wonder about causes of physical alterations. But there are too many choices to choose from and even if I make a short list of most likely to be used by Voldemort it will still be a lot of options.

I look back at his marble white face. He already had a pale skin as a boy, which is kind of unusual for someone with such an extreme black hair colour, but not unusual for someone living in the middle of London in an unhealthy, poor environment. I wonder if he ever was outdoors in the sun much. And I want to hit myself in the head for my own stupidity, because he grew up in the thirties, not the eighties… There weren't as many cars around back then, so children could play outdoors even in the city. Maybe it was the diet that made his skin so pale in comparison to others who have black hair.

Hmm… he got bald as well. Would that be natural or has that also been something that occurred from experimenting with the Dark Arts. Most men are rather peculiar about the possibility of hair loss, so I doubt it is something he did on purpose. And wasn't Salazar Slytherin supposed to be bald too? I think so… Well, maybe he did it on purpose after all, to become more like his idol; the greatest Founder of Hogwarts. I snort condescendingly. The greatest Moron of Hogwarts is more like it. I mean, really, to leave a Basilisk in a secret hideout in a school filled with little children… Just how pathetic can you get?

However, Voldemort most striking facial feature is the absence of his nose and the slit-for-nostrils that he has there. Actually, if I look at him more thoroughly he hasn't changed that much. I look back and forth from the picture in the book to him. Apart from his eyes, it is the skin colour, the lack of hair and the flattened nose. I guess that, because the changed features are altered into something so uncommon, prominent and inhuman, they automatically take away your attention from what remained the same. But he still has the same bone structure in his face, his ears haven't changed and even though the colour of his skin has turned whiter, it still seems as flawless as it was before.

But I am sure that the handsome boy's face gave a totally different first impression upon the people who met him than this snakelike face will. Perhaps he felt he wasn't scary enough like that. I can barely sustain my laughter. Personally, I think it is much creepier if looks don't match the character. Umbridge and her sweet pink dresses au contraire to her vile nature made my skin crawl tremendously. A hot, totally handsome Dark Lord will probably achieve the same result with me, but maybe I am just funny that way. Still, the thought that he might have done this to himself to be more feared is a plausible explanation. However, it can just as well be a side-effect to some Dark Arts Charm, Chant, Potion or Merlin knows what. So the question that remains is: was it an accidental or a purposely done alteration?

I look back at Voldemort. I wonder how he would have looked right now, if he hadn't done this to himself. I mean it is such a waste of a cute face. I squeeze my eyes somewhat together which helps in imagining his old facial features onto his new one. Hmmm… that seems damn right attractive to me. Yummy. I could watch him looking like that all day long. Not to mention that I wouldn't mind snogging… Merlin! He has noticed me watching him. Embarrassed, I hide my now thoroughly reddened face behind the book. Please, don't let him think of performing Leglimency right now. He swirls out of his chair. Panicking, I try to get rid of this book, but I fail miserably and cover my face in my hands. I wish I was dead now.

'What do you think you are doing with this?' he utters threatening.

'Well, they do say: 'Know thy enemy,' I respond feeble.

I back up into the couch in fear as Lord Voldemort paces towards me, whipping out his wand. But when he stops in front of me, he merely places his hands on the back of the couch between my shoulders, boxing me in effectively. And I hold my breath while he towers over me.

'Is that what I am to you, Hermione, an enemy?' he asks quietly and he gazes at me with an obvious mocking expression. 'I believe you are deluding yourself, darling,' he whispers, pricking the tip of his wand in my neck. 'Leglimency.'

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The Bittersweet Taste of Victory