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The Apprentice	By : Nerys Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 62961 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 8
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 26
- 27
- 28
The Apprentice

Chapter 27

‘Tomorrow, my friends, we will strike fear in the hearts of our enemies,’ Lord Voldemort orated as he strolled among his many followers.

‘We may not be able to take Hogwarts as of yet, but we can surely weaken its important position within the wizarding community. My plan – as simple as it is effective – will deal a significant blow to Dumbledore’s leadership. After tomorrow, wizards and witches all over the United Kingdom will doubt the security of Hogwarts. The quality of its current education shall be under question. Parents will wonder whether they should send their children back. Many of them won’t. Tomorrow we will show those seeking security from the ministry and Dumbledore the error of their ways. We are the new rule. The future leaders of this country. It’s time they learn the authorities can’t protect them.’

He paused, making eye contact with his followers one by one. A broad smirk appeared on his snakelike face. ‘Tomorrow I will go grocery shopping at Diagon Alley. Anyone in need of anything?’

Loud laughter followed his statement.

‘Firewhiskey!’ a daring voice in the back yelled cheerfully.

‘So noted,’ he replied humorously, rising the spirits of his followers even further. Several more suggestions followed, heightening the exuberant mood. Giggles and excited voices hummed around the Malfoy garden, and he waited it out perfectly before continuing.

‘And as the Aurors waste their time attempting to apprehend me, you,’ –again he paused and looked around, installing feelings of pride and self-assurance in his minions–, will be victorious.’

Cheers greeted him. Seeing his job was done, he casually left, leaving it up to Narcissa to keep the party going and under control. He wasn’t expecting all of them to survive – nor did he care – as long as the job got done.

---

Happily, Hermione looked at her friends casting. The last couple of days had been a lot more comfortable. She finally felt at home, especially after Mrs. Weasley told them they were going to get their school supplies at Diagon Alley tomorrow since the ministry was borrowing their cars to them again. Books! Next year’s textbooks. She couldn’t wait to flip through them. It was almost like old times. Nothing out of the ordinary happened.

Well, nothing out of the ordinary for them. She’d had no more dark outbursts after her “tiny” nervous breakdown on that day when she’d broken the windows. Professor Dumbledore had actually been helpful to her then, even though she hadn’t got many answers. She felt a bit embarrassed now, as she thought back to how she frantically had paced around the table in the living room, gesturing wildly while spilling her guts about every stupid Keeper-related rule and the awful, awful position she was in.

The only good thing about it had been that she’d got closer to Professor Dumbledore. Their relationship no longer felt strained, like a barrier had been broken, taking away their mutual distrust. It was almost like her outburst had made him relieved. Well, the man was odd. After having three Occlumency lessons, she was even surer of that now. Brilliant, but odd.

Still, despite the reassurances she’d got, there was one thing that kept bothering her: Harry’s eyes turning red. She could care less about any consequences for her, but Harry was her friend. She cared about him. So, her mind kept going back to that part of the conversation.

‘Harry’s eyes turned red!’ she shrieked in frustration when Dumbledore merely aha-ed and mmm-ed during her furious rant. ‘Red!’

She took a deep breath, placed her hands in her sides and watched him aggravated for an answer.

‘I noticed,’ Dumbledore replied calmly. ‘It’s not entirely unexpected.’

‘Not unexpected. Not unexpected. It happened after Harry touched me,’ Hermione said, pulling the necklace out of her pyjamas and waving it demonstratively under his crooked nose, ‘and this was active during. You said it wasn’t a threat to Harry.’

‘I don’t believe it is.’

‘His eyes turned red,’ she said, exasperated with the casual manner in which Dumbledore was taking all this. ‘Maybe it’s me, but I don’t think it’s a good sign.’

Dumbledore smiled. ‘We already know about their connection, Hermione. Your pendant is filled with Tom’s magic. When it activates close to Harry, it can trigger … that.’

Her eyes widened in shock, and she staggered back. ‘Then – then, I’m a threat to Harry. I shouldn’t be here. I’m his apprentice. This entire stupid arrangement is too dangerous. I’m going upstairs to pack.’

Immediately, she turned around and paced to the door.

‘Hermione.’

She ignored Dumbledore’s concerned voice and ranted on: ‘It’s insane. Who knows what else this will do – what I will do? I can’t risk–’

The door wouldn’t open, and she swirled around. ‘Let me out!’ she shrieked hysterically to her Headmaster who’d followed her to the door.

‘Hermione,’ Dumbledore repeated with more emphasis, placing his hands on her shoulders comforting. ‘You need to be here with your friends.’

‘Yeah, well, my friends can do without me. It’s too dange–’

‘Your friends want you here,’ he interrupted, watching her seriously over his half-moon glasses. ‘Harry needs you to be here.’

‘But-but,’ she spluttered.

‘The connection between Tom and Harry exists with or without your presence, Hermione. He doesn’t need the pendant to achieve what occurred just now.’

‘Harry’s eyes have never turned red before,’ she objected petulantly.

Dumbledore sighed. He let go of her shoulders and plucked at his beard. ‘You weren’t there in the ministry when Tom took over Harry’s body. It was a lot worse then. This little eye issue is nothing in comparison. It’s only a reaction to the magic. There’s no conscious intent behind it.’

Hermione looked down, contemplating on what he’d said. ‘What if there becomes a conscious intent behind it?’ she asked in a small voice.

‘Unnecessary,’ Dumbledore replied, shrugging. ‘He doesn’t need the pendant for that, Hermione. He really doesn’t.’

‘Just because he doesn’t need it is no guarantee he won’t use it,’ she muttered underneath her breath.

‘True, but he can’t. Not for a long period anyway. He already noticed this at the ministry. While Harry can enter him without harm, he can’t do the same – staying inside Harry causes him severe pain.’

‘And you’re sure this pendant isn’t creating some way around that problem?’ Hermione asked, watching Dumbledore sharply for his response.

A brief smile flew over his otherwise serious expression. ‘You’ve got to know Tom pretty well in the time you stayed with him if you’re considering that option,’ Dumbledore concluded, sharing a knowing glance with Volkova.

‘That’s not an answer to my question,’ she growled.

‘I’m sorry,’ Dumbledore replied, his eyes twinkling at her. ‘I’m just … I’m relieved to see he hasn’t pulled the wool completely over your eyes.’

‘What?’ she snapped, confused.

But Dumbledore ignored her outburst and focused his answer on her previous question.

‘No pendant can create a way around Tom’s problem. It’s Harry’s emotions: Harry’s love that keeps him out.’ His eyes turned sad; the lines of his face suddenly seemed deeper as if he’d aged years in a blink of an eye. ‘Love is not something you can learn to feel through a pendant. If it could, I would have created one for Tom decades ago.’

‘Hermione, it doesn’t work!’ Ron exclaimed, shaking his wand in frustration. ‘Hermione?’

She snapped out of her thoughts and walked to him. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked sharply, furrowing her brow at his wandmovements.

‘What you told me to,’ he replied, irritated.

When she’d shown Ginny how to do that Sticking Curse, Harry and Ron had walked in on them practising and also wanted to learn. They got very enthusiastic when they found out that Hermione had this book filled with battle spells, and even more so when they realised Hermione knew how to perform them. So, they’d badgered her to teach them. But with the four of them, Hermione felt they needed a more secure location than Ginny’s bedroom to practise what was considered illegal Dark Arts magic. Especially after she’d noticed Alastor Moody’s eye was glancing in her and Dumbledore’s direction a bit too often to her taste.

Ginny had the perfect solution. She knew of this little clearing in the bushes behind the shed. It kept them fully out of sight even if someone was sitting in the Burrow’s garden, and they could practise to their heart’s content without getting spotted. Quickly, it became clear to Hermione that Harry and Ginny displayed a real aptitude for the Dark Arts. If she showed them a new curse, jinx or hex, it never took them long to learn how to make it leave their wands with significant force.

Ron, on the other hand, was struggling severely, even with the relatively easier hexes. It was odd, she felt. Ron did okay in Charms. He shouldn’t have this much trouble with the spells she was teaching them. If only she could pinpoint what his problem was …?

Right now, he was obviously waving too much with his wand. ‘You’re not listening to me. You only need to flick an inch to the right like this,’ she said bossily, as she moved her wand as an example.

‘I was flicking it an inch,’ Ron snapped, folding his arms over each other.

‘No, you were not,’ she corrected. ‘It was at least two inches. Plus, you’re pronouncing it wrong. It’s Ar-Ow-Ra not Ar-Ew-Ra.’

‘Now it’s ow,’ he said, throwing his hands in the air.

‘It was ow before too,’ Hermione said, placing her hands in her sides.

A few feet away, Harry and Ginny shared a glance of mutual understanding.

‘That wasn’t what you said when you showed us,’ Ron continued.

‘Oh, really? Then why did Harry and Ginny get it right immediately?’

Ron’s ears turned red. Harry shuffled on his feet uncomfortably. And Ginny opened her mouth to stop another row from escalating. However, Molly Weasley beat her to it. They all turned when they heard her calling out to them to come to have lunch, and quickly, they hid their practise materials, grabbed the brooms they placed against the shed’s wall and pretended to come back from the fields, flying.

---

‘My Lord.’

Somewhat apprehensive, Yaxley knelt down and waited for the wizard staring out the window to acknowledge his presence. He wasn’t sure why his mark had burned, but past experiences had taught him that being summoned like this usually meant he’d done something wrong and was in for a lot of pain. Still, he couldn’t begin to fathom what his Lord would be displeased about. He’d brought him nothing but good news. The Carrows were the ones who screwed things up, not him. When the Dark Lord turned around, Yaxley quickly bowed his head a bit further, not wanting him to notice his thoughts. However, he did notice the parchment clutched between the long spidery fingers.

‘Get up, Yaxley, and look at me.’

Yaxley pressed his eyelids together and drew in a shaky breath. This was not good.

‘Thank you, my Lord,’ he said obediently, rising to his feet fast, knowing it was not smart to make his Lord wait, unless one wanted to suffer longer.

‘If someone wants to forge their identity, pretend to be of a respectable wizarding line in the official ministerial documents when one is in fact a Mudblood, would that be possible?’

‘Ermmm…’ Yaxley paused, his eyes flickering between his master’s face and the document in his hands. It seemed someone else was in deep shit. He nearly let out a relieved sigh that it wasn’t him. Obviously, he was only called in to supply his Lord with the relevant information to flush out the impostor. ‘It depends on how well the document needs to stand up to scrutiny.’

‘All the way.’

‘Well, that would be nearly impossible. It’s easy to make a forged document, break into the registry and replace the original with yours. But for a truly good forgery you need the seal of the Genealogy Wizard and he’s a relic. Keeps the seal on his body at all times and does everything by the book. He never leaves the Ministry, lives in the bowels of the Department of Mysteries, and has nothing or no one he cares about. He made his office his home and even has food brought to him by owls, so he won’t need to talk to humans. Margoon is a true hermit. He avoids contact with people at all costs and even barricades his workplace to keep co-workers out.’

‘I see,’ Lord Voldemort said slowly, fiddling with the document in his hand. ‘So, you say it can’t be done.’

Yaxley shrugged. ‘Nothing is impossible I suppose,’ he replied carefully. ‘Does that document have a seal?’

‘If it has, what would you deduce by that?’ Voldemort asked, tilting his head thoughtfully.

‘That it’s real,’ Yaxley said immediately before he paused, looking down as he considered the question fully, and by doing so, he missed the satisfactory glint briefly visible in the red eyes of his master. ‘Only you wouldn’t have called me if it was,’ he continued thoughtfully. ‘If it’s a forgery with a seal, the person needed to have access to the Depar–’ He froze, looking up in shock. ‘It wasn’t me, my Lord,’ he added hastily.

‘You’re admitting you could do it?’ Lord Voldemort said, stepping to him contemplatively.

‘Ye-yes,’ he stuttered, panicking, ‘b-but–’

Lord Voldemort held up his hand to stop his denials. ‘That’s all I need to know, Yaxley. Make sure this gets a seal before Monday.’

Stunned, Yaxley just stood there, trying to grasp that he wasn’t under accusation and instead was handed an assignment. It took him a couple of seconds to snap out of it, before he accepted the parchment from Lord Voldemort’s outstretched hand and looked at it. His jaw dropped when he recognised the name.

‘I trust I can count on your discretion, Yaxley,’ the cold voice quietly said.

‘As always, my Lord.’

---

Big blocks of rock made up the walls. A barred window high up in the ceiling showed thick, threatening thunderclouds rolling by as she could hear the North Sea pounding against the cliffs in the distance. A crackling flash of lightning impacted close by, illuminating the cell Hermione stood in. Thunder roared around them, a fitting example of the struggle in her mind.

‘Azkaban?’ Dumbledore said, strolling around amused. ‘Creative. Do you think this will keep me in?’

Hermione shrugged. She felt tired like she’d run a marathon. Twice. Fortunately, the cell had a bed. It wouldn’t hurt if she sat down. She didn’t really need to stand for this. It wasn’t real.

On that thought, the walls seemed to dissolve, slowly turning transparent and giving her a clear view on the wizard standing in front of her with his wand raised – as if one Dumbledore wasn’t enough, now she had a visual on two of them. Crap. She was losing. She had to focus. Her mind was real. Those walls were real, built to keep prisoners inside. She needed to keep him inside.

Dumbledore watched thoughtfully through it all, not moving an inch, until the walls regained their previous shape and cohesion, obscuring his real life self.

‘Quick thinking,’ he praised, continuing to stroll around till he reached the prison cell’s door. ‘Nice door,’ he added, knocking on the hard wood.

Solid, thick wood, impenetrable, impenetrable, her mind visualised. You’re not getting out. This door will hold.

His hand moved to the doorknob. There hadn’t been one a second ago.

It’s locked, locked!

Hermione smirked when he turned the knob without success.

Professor Dumbledore nodded. ‘I thought it might be locked,’ he said casually, ‘no harm in trying though. One would feel incredibly stupid if one hadn’t tried and it turned out to be … unlocked.’

He glanced back at her expectantly; his hand was still on the knob, fumbling it when he mentioned the word unlocked.

‘Yeah,’ she agreed. It was why she had tried the door at Malfoy Manor too, even though she knew the chance was incredibly flimsy. ‘But it’s locked.’

‘Happen to have the key?’ he asked, holding out his other hand inconspicuously.

The key? She frowned.

‘Thank you,’ Dumbledore said cheerfully.

Hermione gasped when it was suddenly in his hand. She jumped to her feet. ‘No!’ she yelled, panicking.

He has the key. He’s getting out.

She ran to the door to stop him. However, he’d already opened the door and swirled out. It smashed to right in front of her nose. A furious scream left her lips, and she kicked the door. It wouldn’t budge now. Naturally. Ugh.

‘Hermione, Hermione,’ a female voice echoed in the distance.

Ljudmila Volkova’s voice … What was Ljudmila Volkova doing in Azkaban? Hermione’s shoulders shook. Someone was shaking her. Impossible, she was alone in this cell. Nobody else was here.

‘Hermione, you’re at the Burrow.’ Dumbledore’s voice came from afar as well. ‘Use another part of your mind.’

‘Open your eyes, Hermione,’ Volkova said softly.

Weren’t they open already? She could see her cell.

‘Hermione, open your eyes. Now!’ Volkova ordered, shaking her more forcefully.

Gee, fine. Overreact much?

‘Stop shaking me,’ Hermione muttered, opening her eyes, disoriented.

Merlin’s pants, my head is killing me.

She clutched to her head, groaning as reality slowly returned. She wasn’t in Azkaban. It had been the illusion her mind had made up. She was at the Burrow, practising compartmentalising as an Occlumency weapon with Professor Dumbledore and ending up incapacitated on the floor as usual.

Perfect, just perfect: two weeks of vacation, no Lord Voldemort in sight, and I’m still crawling around on all fours. If I start meowing and grow a set of whiskers plus matching tail, it’ll be fitting. Ouch, stupid splinter. After pulling it out, Hermione rubbed her toe. Patting the floor behind her carefully, she located her lost slipper and placed it back on her foot. Tonight, these uneven, rough floorboards are so going to get it.

‘Did she snap out of it by herself this time?’ a concerned Dumbledore asked Volkova, who sat squatted in front of Hermione.

Volkova nodded. ‘I didn’t need to use magic and guide her out.’ She turned to Hermione. ‘Good job.’

Suuuure, my aching head duly concurs that assessment.

A hand appeared in plain view. Clumsily, Hermione took it and let Volkova help her to her feet. She staggered back and forth when the room started dancing around her. Two people grabbed a hold of her upper arms.

‘It’s best if she sits down a moment,’ Dumbledore said.

Hermione had no say in it. Not that she would have disagreed. But to be practically thrown into the couch magically by two of them was a bit … much. Quickly grabbing a hold of the armrest, she tried to steady herself in her new seated position. The last thing she needed was a repetition of vomiting all over herself. Oh Merlin, she could feel her stomach acid churning. Why did everything insist to keep dancing in front of her? Blood drained from her face. It was so cold in here, so cold. Her teeth clattered as she shivered relentlessly.

‘Here, drink, quickly,’ Volkova said, pushing a rim of a cup against her lips.

The fumes of the hot broth tickled her nostrils, whirling down with a vicious relentlessness to raise her already heightened nausea.

‘No, wait! She’ll…’ Dumbledore threw both arms in the air when Hermione curved over the armrest sideways and emptied her stomach for the fourth time that day. ‘Throw up again,’ he ended rather superfluously.

Ljudmila’s face turned apologetically as she quickly took a hold of Hermione’s hair. ‘Sorry, I hoped you could down it on time.’

A plume of strange blue fire left Dumbledore’s wand. Volkova let go of Hermione’s hair a split-second before the spell struck the vomiting girl.

‘Oi,’ Hermione called out, clutching to the armrest as a cleansing fire breathed into her mouth.

It burned away the acid in her throat, halting her heaving abruptly. Then, the world cleared in its path as the dizzying effects that bothered her mind slowed down to a halt. As the fire moved on, the cold vanished, warming up her body to a comfortable temperature. It settled her stomach, eradicating all nauseating feelings. Blinking, she lifted her head somewhat.

‘How’s that?’ Dumbledore asked, bending forward to be able to look her in the eyes.

‘Much better,’ Hermione replied, relieved. She ran her hands over her perspiring face, wiping her hair out of the way. ‘Much, much better.’ A tired sigh left her lips as she leaned back into the couch.

‘Good.’ He turned to Ljudmila. ‘What do you think?’

‘Well …’ –the witch looked at the clock– ‘I still have time, but …’ –her eyes settled on the tired girl– ‘ermmm … it may be enough for one setting?’

‘She’s only got better. There has been no decline in performance yet.’

‘But do we wait for that?’ Ljudmila countered, looking at him seriously.

‘Hmm…’ Thoughtfully, he rubbed his beard. ‘We only have a limited window to teach her.’

‘I know. Still, I think we should be careful. You know–’

‘I want to try again,’ Hermione interrupted.

Tired as she was, she didn’t want to stop already. It irked her that she seemed to be making no progress whatsoever. She absolutely didn’t have a clue why Professor Dumbledore said she got better, because every time, no matter how hard she tried to keep him in her mind, he would just leave without any effort whatsoever. Sure, she didn’t make the same mistakes twice. But as long as she kept making new ones, that didn’t really equate “getting better” in her opinion.

Dumbledore and Volkova looked at each other silently.

‘Look,’ Hermione said, standing up and placing her hands in her sides, determined. ‘I am fine.’

‘Let’s see how it goes,’ Dumbledore said, flicking his wrist to make his wand reappear.

‘Albus,’ Volkova said admonishingly, her tone of voice clearly vocalising her thoughts on the issue of continuing.

‘Ljudmila,’ Dumbledore copied dryly, tapping with his wand against his leg.

The elderly witch stepped between him and Hermione. ‘No, I don’t think this is a good idea. We should call it a day.’

‘I disagree. She snapped out of it by herself this time. She’s still improving significantly – that doesn’t happen when you reach the threshold. Plus, she seems fine physically.’ Moving his head sideways to look past Ljudmila inquiringly, Albus Dumbledore turned to his current student for her opinion on the matter. ‘Hermione?’

‘I’m just as tired as I was before we did the last exercise,’ she answered, concurring his assessment of her being fine physically. Well, she was … for the most part.

‘And your headache?’ Ljudmila asked sceptically.

‘Same,’ Hermione said, shrugging.

Volkova sighed. ‘I don’t know. It’s not just her I have to worry about, Albus. If it goes completely wrong, you can both end up in a vegetative state.’

‘Which is why I invited you to oversee the lessons, so you can break the mental link if necessary,’ Dumbledore finished calmly.

Ljudmila looked at Hermione questioningly.

‘I felt much, much worse before,’ Hermione replied reassuringly.

Okay, she hadn’t thrown up then. But she really felt in better shape now than those times when Lord Voldemort had attacked her mind. Somehow, she knew they were nowhere near the danger zone of her mind collapsing, yet. Besides, she really wanted to learn how to do this, and like Professor Dumbledore had said, there was little time.

‘That settles it,’ Dumbledore decided.

‘Hell no, it doesn’t,’ Volkova told him forcefully. ‘Excuse us,’ she said over her shoulder to Hermione, stepping to Albus and dragging him by his arm to the fireplace at the same time. Her wand flashed. ‘Muffliato!’ she cast.

‘Albus, you’re taking a huge risk. She’s only recently learned how to do normal Occlumency. Compartmentalising ordinarily wouldn’t be taught until someone’s been a Master at Occlumency for five years, because by then, they know their mind and its boundaries. We, on the other hand, are rushing through the theory at lightspeed, tackling the practise like there is no tomorrow. She really is untrained, Albus, you can’t forget that – no matter how talented she is. If her mind goes haywire, there is no telling where she will take you. I may not be able to get to you on time.’

‘I’m aware of the risk, Ljudmila. However, it exists every time we do this, not just at the end of a session.’

‘You know very well that when a mind gets tired, it’s more likely to occur. Look at her.’

Dumbledore glanced sideways to Hermione, eyeing her physique up and down. ‘I think we’re good.’

Dropping her shoulders, Volkova shook her head. ‘You’re forgetting that you won’t get many if any signals before her mind snaps.’

‘And you’re forgetting Hermione had Tom attacking her mind for the last couple of weeks over and over again. He would’ve stopped on time. Seeing Hermione is not at all concerned about the time we’ve been practising already, it’s obvious they went at it much longer. And he was attacking her memories; I’m just stepping inside where she wants me to be. It’s a lot less invasive.’

‘Typical Legilimens statement.’

‘What?’

‘To think it only takes energy to block an attack. She has to try to keep you in, which is a constant struggle – especially to an untrained mind. I am sorry, Albus, but this is just as invasive, if not more so, than a full-blown Stage Three Strike. And would you be trying Stage Three Legilimency on a mind capable of compartmentalising for more than …’ –she checked the time again– ‘an hour?’

‘No, I wouldn’t.’

Triumphantly, Ljudmila raised her hands as if she made her point.

‘But the risk would be hers then not mine,’ Dumbledore added.

‘Albus,’ Volkova objected.

‘You can and will protect her mind at all costs, Ljudmila. We talked about this beforehand.’

‘If I have to sever your mental link like that, you’ll turn into a vegetable. Plants don’t teach anything. So, if you want her to learn this, may I recommend not risking your hide?’

Dumbledore wiggled his wand before her eyes. ‘What risk?’

Ljudmila looked at the elder wood and sighed. ‘The nature of the Elder Wand isn’t particularly pleasant. You’re putting too much faith in that evil trinket.’

‘If I were, you wouldn’t be here.’

Silence fell between them.

‘True,’ she finally acknowledged, nodding. ‘You’re sure about this?’

‘Absolutely.’

Waving her hand through the air to disable the Muffling Charm, she walked to the armchair standing a little to the side between Hermione and Dumbledore and sat down again – her wand at the ready.

‘We’re continuing?’ Hermione asked hopefully.

‘Yes, if that’s all right with you?’ Dumbledore asked, eyeing her seriously.

‘Of course it is.’

‘Very well. Now remember: this is your mind, your environment. There doesn’t have to be a door or a window.’

‘Or a key,’ Hermione added, her face set disgruntled about her error.

‘Exactly,’ Dumbledore said smiling. ‘When the concept of a key entered your mind, all I had to do was concentrate on it being in my hand. Everything you think of can be used as a weapon against you. Don’t let me manipulate the environment you created. You dictate the rules.’

Concentrated, Hermione nodded. Her eyes were downcast thoughtfully.

Dumbledore raised his wand at her. ‘As we did before, whenever you’re ready setting the environment again, meet my eyes.’

Okay, Azkaban.

The pictures she’d seen of the prison in books and the Daily Prophet returned before her mind’s eye: rough water around the island and the building standing dead centre. Quickly, her imagination entered it through the frontdoor, moving along to the deepest, darkest cell. After she walked inside, the door shut behind her and vanished. There was nothing but solid rock around her: no windows, doors, keyholes and keys this time. Hearing the weather rage outside, she checked one last time if everything was ready to go to receive an additional prisoner. Satisfied, her head rose and looked up at the ceiling in which a funnel formed. This time she would keep him in at all cost.

When she’d looked up at the ceiling in her mind, she’d looked up in reality, too, meeting Albus Dumbledore’s eyes.

‘Legilimens!’ he cast.

The funnel spit out his body and he landed on the floor in front of her in a crumbled up heap.

Oops. Hermione cringed upon witnessing how hurt he was. Perhaps I was a bit too pissed about my failure before?

‘Sorry,’ she muttered shamefully, hoping he was going to be all right.

‘No need, no need.’ He jumped to his feet in an overly agile move. ‘I thank you for taking my health under consideration, though it would have been more helpful to your goals if I were to stay incapacitated on the floor.’

Oh crap. Hadn’t thought of that.

‘Now,’ he said, looking around interested, ‘what have we here?’

Absolutely nothing for you to use, just thick walls of solid rock everywhere.

‘Nice weather outside,’ he commented, strolling away from her. ‘Lightning is such a destructive force, wouldn’t you agree?’

Comprehension filled her mind a split-second before the bolt struck their cell and she got blasted of her feet. He was gone again.

‘I know, I know!’ Hermoine cried out on the floor of the Burrow in anger, slapping it with the palm of her hand. ‘Dammit.’

‘An immediate and completely unassisted return to reality,’ Dumbledore said, sounding extremely satisfied.

Ljudmila ignored him and placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘Look at me, Hermione. I need to check if you’re all right.’

‘Never better,’ she sneered, snapping her head up in aggravation.

‘Rein that dark power in right now, Hermione. Fast.’

The seriousness in Ljudmila Volkova’s face made Hermione pause. Was the woman right? Was she tapping into her darker side now? Pushing her aggravation aside, she quickly checked herself. Her eyes widened when she felt the stirrings inside of her.

Oh crap. Hell no.

Trying to do what she’d always done before whenever she felt her dark powers rising, Hermione focused her mind on containing it inside of her. The darkness stirred in her chest, dancing around the magical node angrily. It wanted out. It wanted to act. It wanted to defeat Albus Dumbledore. Now.

Hermione clutched to her hair, clenching her eyes together, fighting the magic inside. She needed it to return into the node.

It wasn’t working.

She couldn’t get it to go back inside and settle down as she’d done a million times before. Today, it danced around her countermeasures in circles, jumped through hoops to evade them, and laughed joyously at her ineffectiveness.

‘You need to learn real control not this evasiveness practise.’

Her eyes darkened as she recalled Lord Voldemort’s words, especially since he conveniently hadn’t got around learning her real control before she left. Her temper rose. Manipulative, controlling, overbearing, son of a–

‘No, Ljudmila, don’t!’

Brilliant white light blinded Hermione, surrounding her on all sides and forcing its way inside painfully. Skating over her nerves’ endings, it rushed to her centre from every direction. An animalistic, threatening, warning growl came from her expanding darkness. The shadow grew rapidly, breaching the feeble walls she’d erected to keep it contained. Panic overcame Hermione’s mind. Her darkness was getting out! It was leaving again!

Billowing ferociously, her darkness rolled outward, enlarging itself like a predator before an attack. The clash was inevitable. Darkness met light and was evaporated in its path. She was unaware of the tormenting yell that left her lips as she clutched to her chest in agony, doubling over as her magical node sustained a direct hit. It was as if someone had stabbed a ragged knife in her heart. So much pain, she couldn’t bare it. Tears sprang in her eyes. The pain was too sharp. It had to stop. It was too powerful, too bright, and too white for her. Despite its odd familiarity, she couldn’t put it anywhere. It wasn’t hers. It didn’t fit her node. It was destroying it, shredding it to pieces till nothing remained.

Someone make it stop!

Tilting her body and head backwards, a desperate cry left her lips. Something hard and comfortingly warm landed against the clasped hands on her chest. Panicking, her fingers clutched around it as if this item on a chain were her only lifeline. Subconsciously, she pressed it to her chest.

‘Ljudmila, enough!’ Dumbledore’s warning echoed strangely as if Hermione’s ears were malfunctioning.

Green fire erupted in her hand. The heat spread through Hermione’s fingers and forced its way inside of her along the edges of the pain. It was dulling it, soothing it. Slowly, the heat rose further and further, encapsulating around her node: melting the pieces together. Its green flames emitted a black smoke that darkened the severity of the brightness, shifting it to something she recognised and could place. Her node had no difficulty absorbing all the magic and putting it to rest. The sudden, cool calmness felt blissful. No more pain, no more stirrings. Ideal.

Breathing heavily, Hermione became aware of her surroundings again. Aware of the living room. Aware of Volkova squatted in front of her, eyeing her pleased. Aware of Dumbledore standing on the side with his wand drawn, looking extremely alarmed. But everything and everyone had a green sheen around them. Why was everything green? What was wrong with her eyes?

‘Ljudmila, now would be a good moment to back away – look out!’

The delicate hand that had been on her shoulder the whole time got torn away when a crackling noise accompanied the bolt that left the pendant and smashed into the silvery shield Dumbledore had erected in front of Volkova’s chest. There was so much force behind the attack that the elderly witch got tossed through the air and crashed into the wall, hitting her head before tumbling down on the ground. Through the green light of the slowly settling pendant, Hermione witnessed Albus Dumbledore standing with his wand drawn, holding his Shield Charm active around Volkova until the pendant had died out completely, before he ran to check on the violently coughing witch.

‘Is she all right?’ Hermione asked, worried.

She took a step forward to help, and then, halted – not sure it was a good idea for her to get closer. Her eyes flicked to the pendant in her hand. It was black again, resting there as if nothing had happened. The perfect portrayal of a harmless, innocent jewel: a well-executed act. Well, its maker had plenty of experience with pretences.

‘I’m fine. I’m fine,’ Ljudmila said, waving away Dumbledore’s help as she scrambled back to her feet. ‘I do believe, however, that she’s had enough for today, Albus.’

‘I agree,’ he said, looking back at Hermione. ‘You made a lot of progress.’

Hermione made a face.

‘Yes, you did,’ Dumbledore said, walking to her. ‘We’ve only been doing this for a couple of days now and already you’re able to snap out of the illusion by yourself.’

‘But my magic …’ Hermione trailed off, looking at him with concern spread all over her face. Since the night she’d broken the windows, she’d had no more incidents with her darkness. Silly dreams, yes. But no more outburst beyond her control. She wasn’t thrilled that happened again.

Dumbledore sighed. He gestured at her to take a seat and sat down next to her. ‘Everyone has darkness inside of him, Hermione. It’s how you handle it that defines who you are.’

‘I don’t know how to handle it. It’s handling me.’

‘It’s handling you, because you’re afraid of it. You lock it away.’

‘What else am I to do? If I don’t lock it up, people get hurt.’

‘As a Keeper–’

Hermione dropped her head in her hands and groaned in irritation.

‘Yes,’ he chuckled. ‘You may get tired of hearing it. Still, it is imperative you learn. If you don’t, your darkness can and will consume you. You’re too powerful a witch to be able to ignore the parts of yourself you wished weren’t yours.’

‘I’m not ignoring my darker side. I’m afraid of it. Every time it gets out, something bad happens and I can’t keep it under control.’

Dumbledore nodded. ‘You lack experience in dealing with it. For most people, light magic is something we practise with from an early age on. We hone our skills in it and learn to deal with it in such detail it gradually becomes an integral part of you. As you grew, your light powers grew with you, enabling you to keep them under control since you used them on a daily basis. The powers are so familiar to us we don’t even have to think about how and when we use them. Our darker qualities, on the other hand, are not admired in society. When they surface, we get scolded by our parents, teachers and peers. So, we learn to bury them where no one can see. As such, we create an imbalance between our understanding of our dark magic and the power it grows to hold as we grow up. It’s this imbalance which is crippling you right now.’

‘Because I haven’t explored how the handle the darker side of me when I was younger, it has become so powerful I can no longer explore it safely,’ Hermione said pensively.

‘Exactly.’

‘I’m so screwed,’ she muttered darkly.

‘Not really,’ Dumbledore said cheerfully. ‘It’s all in the–’

‘Albus,’ Volkova interrupted sternly. She had folded her arms over each other and glared at him warningly.

He snapped his mouth shut and sighed, shaking his head.

‘You’re not the girl’s guide, Albus,’ Volkova added softly. ‘I can justify teaching compartmentalising as a part of Hogwarts’ curriculum to the others, but if you start involving her path, this arrangement is over and I will report you.’

Abruptly, Dumbledore rose from his seat and turned to the elderly witch. Hermione froze in shock. Her eyes widened as she felt the air around her had altered significantly. Dumbledore’s magic was something she could always sense. His magical aura was too powerful to miss. Only now its character had shifted – it felt dangerous, angry … and dark? Normally his power gave her a reassuring, safe feeling.

What the hell happened?

Her eyes flickered to the witch, who was still standing there as if she nothing was happening. Surely, Keeper Volkova felt the change? Why wasn’t she taking a more defensive posture? Hermione knew she would have if Dumbledore turned to her like that. She shook her head, trying to shake her ridiculous thoughts out of her mind. Surely, Professor Dumbledore wouldn’t attack the woman. They’d obviously known each other for a very long time and were always friendly to one another.

Volkova quirked an eyebrow and smiled at Dumbledore. ‘I know you disagree with the rules, Albus, but they’re there for a reason.’

‘It’s a stupid rule,’ he said in a clipped tone of voice.

Hermione raised her eyebrows. Finally something she could agree with.

Volkova shrugged carelessly. ‘You find all our rules stupid, if I’m not mistaken.’ The woman turned her back to him and walked to the dresser where her bag stood. ‘For Hermione’s sake, you shouldn’t disregard this one,’ she warned, as she ruffled through her bag – completely ignoring the dark aura around Dumbledore.

What?! No, no, let him disregard this one. Answers, Merlin knows I can use some.

Ljudmila Volkova turned around with a red, tattered book in hand. Upon seeing the book, Dumbledore burst out in laughter. The static in the air around Hermione altered in quality immediately. His magic felt normal again: light.

‘Oh please, Ljudmila, that book holds no proof whatsoever,’ he said, chuckling.

‘Hermione can decide that by herself,’ Ljudmila huffed, as she walked back and held out the book to Hermione.

Hermione glanced at the title and author, and then, bit her lip to suppress her laughter. It was Cassandra Trelawney’s book. Volkova didn’t notice her expression, because she was focusing on Dumbledore as she said, ‘You can’t give a student Ignatius’s book and not show them there is another perspective to the subject.’

‘Ignatius proved exactly what Divination is and isn’t,’ Dumbledore replied, amused. ‘Cassandra’s work is not disproving his statements. She didn’t do any research on outcomes.’

‘Divination is an Art not science. You can’t apply its methodology on it.’

‘And there ends all sane arguments,’ Dumbledore said, sharing an amused glance with Hermione.

‘You’re indoctrinating your student into believing Divination is worthless. That is not good teaching practise, Albus.’

‘Oh, I sincerely doubt I need to indoctrinate Hermione about the tremendous value of Divination,’ Dumbledore said mockingly.

Hermione snorted, and then, started giggling.

‘See, see, she’s already been influenced,’ Volkova said, annoyed, and pushed the book in Hermione’s hands. ‘You read this with an open mind, my dear. And you will come to understand the craft of true Divination is not to be underestimated.’

Hermione’s expression spoke volumes as Volkova paced to the door. Dumbledore leaned towards her and whispered, ‘And they say intelligence is an important quality for a Keeper.’

The room filled with their combined laughter. Volkova looked over her shoulder and shook her head. ‘You two should be more open-minded about things beyond your comprehension.’

‘Did your crystal ball inform you of that?’ Hermione joked, placing her hands on the book in her lap.

‘No, she’s more of a tealeaf starer,’ Dumbledore added humorously. He spread his arms wide. ‘Behold … doom will fall upon the Divination Disbelievers.’

‘Oh, nicely pessimistic and vague: two out of the three necessities of a prophecy according to Ignatius,’ Hermione complimented.

‘I’m sure I got all three,’ Dumbledore objected. ‘I didn’t specify a timetable for the impending doom.’

‘I stand corrected,’ Hermione acknowledged, nodding courteously. ‘Three out of three: a true Seer is born. The future’s been told.’

‘Gah,’ Ljudmila grunted, making a disparaging gesture to the laughing couple in the living room. ‘You’re both impossible. I don’t know why I bother.’

Ljudmila Volkova was long gone before Hermione and Dumbledore were done laughing.

---

When Hermione returned to the garden from her practise session with Dumbledore, she noticed Harry was missing at the table. It was just Ginny, Ron and Fleur.

‘Where is Harry?’ she asked Ginny, sitting down next to her.

‘Talking to Moody again,’ Ginny replied.

‘Why?’ Hermione sighed.

She’d hoped Harry would’ve given up by now. Yet, he hadn’t stopped pursuing the issue of Dumbledore’s explanation as to why the windows broke and his own observations concerning the familiarity of the magic with the time the sky had blackened.

‘Alastor had sometheeng to discuss vith ’eem,’ Fleur answered cheerfully. ‘Probably security matters for your treep tomorrov.’

Probably not, Hermione thought.

Moody’d been the only one who’d taken Harry seriously. She’d already spoken to Professor Dumbledore about Harry and Moody’s ideas, but he’d shrugged it aside and told her not to worry. He’d deal with it if it became a real issue. She felt it already was an issue. Harry wasn’t one to stop digging once he felt he was right about something. And Moody saw conspiracies everywhere. It was no wonder they found each other now. There actually was a real conspiracy going on. Her conspiracy.

Hermione groaned, causing Ron to smile at her knowingly. He clearly was under the impression she also had had enough of Harry’s silly suggestions and was on their side. Both Ron and Ginny had taken an opposite position to Harry’s idea that Dumbledore was hiding something important. So far, Hermione had kept a low profile in their discussions, not really taking a position on the issue. She felt she couldn’t. Harry wasn’t wrong after all. And she was worried her face would show that if she participated.

‘How did your lesson with Dumbledore go?’ asked Ginny, interested.

Hermione shrugged. ‘He was pleased. I don’t think I made much progress.’ An idea sprung to mind. She really wasn’t looking forward to listening to another discussion about the windows when Harry returned, and she still needed to do some of the “homework” Voldemort had given her. ‘As a matter of fact, I think I am going to go practise.’

She signalled with her eyes to the shed to Ginny and Ron, and they both caught on what she was trying to convey.

‘Do you need us to help?’ Ron asked, rising from his seat hopefully.

‘No, I need to do this alone.’ She smiled at him. ‘You know … preparations for tomorrow.’

‘Ah, okay,’ he said, slumping back in his seat.

‘We’ll make sure you’re not disturbed,’ Ginny said.

‘Yeah,’ Ron concurred.

‘Thanks.’ Quickly, Hermione darted upstairs, got her book, disillusioned herself and made her way to their hideout to practise.

It wasn’t till much later that all hell broke loose at the Burrow.

The entire Weasley family, Harry, Fleur, Remus, and Moody were chatting animatedly at the tables in the garden, while Arthur tried out a Muggle barbecue to make them some evening snacks. He blackened the meat to a crisp, until Harry showed him how to use it properly. The chicken wings then came back red on the inside and Molly waved her wand behind Arthur’s back to cook them magically. Everyone kept quiet while Arthur boosted about his prowess in using Muggle items. It was a beautiful summer evening, and everyone had a lot of fun. When Molly rose to bring Hermione a plate, Ron quickly took it from her and said he’d bring it to Hermione. Harry and Ginny let out a relieved breath when Molly let him take it upstairs. Hermione wasn’t there after all.

BANG!

George tumbled backwards from his chair. Arthur tossed over the barbecue. And several others jumped to their feet, shocked as a wave of darkness blasted the shed away. Moody cast a protective charm over them, but it was unnecessary. The darkness was suddenly enveloped in a green light and halted at its position. Harry doubled up, clutching in pain to his scar.

‘Harry!’ Remus shouted, making his way to him.

However, a roaring sound filled the air, demanding everyone’s attention when the green light morphed into a skull high in the sky and a visible snake swirled around the darkness, pushing it inward.

‘Hermione!’ Harry yelled, yanking himself out of Remus’s grasp as he pulled his wand and raced to the shed – Ginny following right behind him.

‘Ginny!’ Molly screamed fearfully.

Everyone started running after them.

Crack!

Albus Dumbledore apparated between Harry and the Dark Mark. Harry ducked, trying to avoid being caught. Still, Dumbledore managed to grab him by his collar and yanked him back. Ginny halted beside them.

‘Hermione is there!’ Harry yelled panicking, pointing at the dark cloud encircled by the green Dark Mark. ‘And so is he! I can sense him. He’s got Hermione!’

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The Apprentice