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Two Steps From Hell	By : Ssserpensssotia Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 30375 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. No profit is being made. No copyright infringement is intended. Everything Harry Potter related belongs to J.K.Rowling.

Chapter List
- 26
- 27
- 28
Hi!
So, not even twelve hours passed since the last update, but since the chapter is ready and beta-ed, I decided to post it.
Normally, ANs are not meant for such things, but I cannot stop thinking about it, so I'll put it here.
My sincerest condolences to the families of the passengers on the plane that crashed today in France. This is a horror.
There is not one day when something does NOT happen. I don't see that many differences between our world and the one I created for Voldemort. And that's not normal.
I use this story to fight with my depression, as watching and reading news is not healthy anymore.
I have a plane to catch on Monday, and it's also an Airbus, and it's making me nervous.
So here is the thing: I will be away for a month, visiting my parents, and that means the update schedule will be changed. I don't think I'll update at all during that month, but I find the time, I'll write. I am not sure I'll manage to produce one more chapter before Monday, but if I can, I'll post it somewhere next week. If not…
So this chapter is a treat to those wonderful readers who support me by sharing their thoughts and ideas. You guys are awesome, and you inspire me to write more, and I'll try to write a new chapter to not make you wait a month. But I cannot promise anything…
Beta: Serpent In Red
xxx
Two Steps From Hell
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Horcrux Mine
xxx
Chapter Twenty Seven
"I cannot believe those men!"
Hermione watched the usually-calm Cara circle around the office with an opened folder in her hands.
"Chauvinistic pigs! Merda!" the older witch screamed and slammed the folder onto the table before sitting down and rubbing her forehead, and Hermione could see she was really stressed.
Cara and Harry helped Hermione accept the fact that she did kill Mister Weasley but that it was an act of mercy. To help with her crying conscious, she had to think that Mister Weasley was now free and happy and that he himself would have wished for Hermione to stop his sufferings.
Cara was a big help, and Hermione really thought she would have snapped already had it not been for the kind Healer who listed to her ramblings, and offered solid advices on how to proceed. Viscal Pare was helping by teaching her Occlumency, and Hermione could breathe now without guilt shadowing her mind.
It was the beginning of July, and despite the warm weather, Cara had a pencil skirt and a white shirt on, looking all business-like, unlike Hermione, who had a short dress on.
She wasn't a fan of revealing too much skin, but she had to use her strengths where she could.
Her skin was tanned, and the peach-colored short dress with thin shoulder-straps looked really good on her. Hermione smiled as she imagined how someone would react to that.
She had to meet Voldemort today, and Hermione couldn't wait to meet him and see his reaction. They were on speaking terms, and even though there was nothing between them, Hermione would still try and get the upper hand when she could.
She felt special even if she knew she shouldn't.
Small feminine tips given by Cara Pare, who was an epitome of feminine beauty and seduction, helped Hermione decide on how to proceed with Marvolo.
"Is there anything I can do, Cara?" Hermione asked her with a concerned smile.
The older witch was now sitting in her chair, holding her eyes closed with a palm.
"My law project got rejected by the majority of the Parliament because the financial part is 'unclear'. Trust me, had a man entered that law, it would have been passed with an applause," Cara spat out the sentence as she took a quill and wrote a quick note before sending it with an owl.
Law and finances wasn't Hermione's strong points, and she felt helpless.
Maybe she could study Law?
"What are you going to do now?" Hermione asked as she crossed her tanned feet with the high-heel sandals, the intertwined straps reaching her ankle.
"I'll give it to another person to pass it, making the chauvinistic Parliament agree to my decisions even if they don't want it. You have to give in sometimes to gain what you want," Cara explained as she took an empty cup from Hermione's hands and refilled it with sweet-smelling tea.
Cara was a Slytherin—or would have been, had she attended Hogwarts instead of Beauxbatons —and many things the older woman said and did helped Hermione understand how to move correctly in the new world that Voldemort had built.
She had to adapt and give in on the small details to get the upper hand in the end, and that was how Hermione would proceed now.
There was no point arguing with Voldemort over morals as he simply did not understand them, and there was no point in sitting quietly in the corner with her head raised high when in the end, she'd be the looser.
Absolutely everything was in the Dark Lord's hands, and even if she wanted to escape, she couldn't because she still would be connected to him through the Horcrux—Dracula—who could actually fully control her body.
However, if she tried to proceed differently, she would be able to balance on the cord between the mountains and maybe reach the peak instead of simply falling down.
Voldemort was extremely patient with her—he could be a total bitch, but he wasn't all the time—and he wasn't a complete bastard, so Hermione decided to try and be a Slytherin, just like he was.
Two could play their game.
And she would be the winner.
Hermione put the cup away and was about to thank Cara for the time and leave, when a knock sounded on the door, and she saw Cara straighten her beige skirt.
The other witch looked a bit different than she had a minute ago, and Hermione wondered why Cara seemed a bit nervous now.
Lucius Malfoy entered the office, and Hermione saw the moment of weakness in Cara's eyes as they looked at the tall blond, and Hermione understood what was wrong with the pretty witch.
Cara's love was Lucius Malfoy!
She wanted to shout that he was a married man, but then Hermione remembered what kind of bastard Malfoy Senior really was—nasty cheater—and she held her thoughts to herself.
Narcissa wasn't very friendly—unlike Cara—and Hermione winced inwardly when she connected the dots and realised why her Psychiater was so understanding of Hermione's difficult situation.
Lucius and Voldemort were similar in many ways but different in many others, and they were both sadistical monsters who enjoyed the pain and suffering of others.
Interesting.
xxx
"I will do everything exactly as you ordered, my Lord."
Bootlicker.
Fudge was a spineless, greedy little morel, and he was going to be crushed soon.
A sex scandal, maybe?
Too revolting … Fudge wasn't Ginny Weasley.
He hated all Weasleys, but if there was one Weasley that wasn't hard on the eye, it was the girl.
"You see that you do, Cornelius. There will be no warning."
Yes, yes, Fudge, listen.
Lucius knew that his Lord would kill Fudge anyway, but before that, Fudge needed to close the gap in the employees of higher etalon because there weren't that many people who were qualified for available positions.
Just look at the new Italian Minister.
Lucius told himself he wasn't being nasty when judging the new Italian Minister who couldn't even pass a law in her own country.
Narcissa and he had a meeting with Dorius Dormus today as they needed to decide what Draco would be studying now after finishing Hogwarts.
Narcissa was for Transfiguration—like Draco—but Lucius wanted his only son to study Law and Finances, just like him.
There was no need for transfiguring cups into animals when Draco had a Malfoy empire to inherit and manage one day.
His son would study what would be useful and not what he liked.
It was time for his child to grow up.
The situation with Bellatrix—who was now enjoying her stay in Azkaban—showed them all that their Lord did not joke around, even with his most loyal servants.
Draco had to be removed from Potter, who was a really bad influence on his son, and Lucius did not like that, he thought as he watched the Potter heir sit in the fountain at the Atrium, as he, Lord Voldemort and Fudge slowly walked towards the splashing figure of the Boy Wonder.
The idiot was sitting in the water, all wet and happy, laughing at—with—something that wasn't there, and for the first time, Lucius admitted he felt pity towards the boy. He could have been great.
The World Cup Finale would take place with a match between the Chudley Cannons and the Flying Falcons tomorrow, and Potter wasn't anywhere near being ready to even hold a broom.
And Potter would play.
It was a nightmare to organize everything, including the very possible outcome when Potter would fall off the broom and die.
There were charms here and there, but if you fall from a broom, you fall quickly.
He even made a bet with Lestrange.
One million galleons that Harry Potter—the Boy Who Lived—would fall off the broom during a professional Quidditch game and die.
Lestrange bet that the boy would make it and even catch the Snitch.
It would probably be an interesting match to watch, and Lucius was looking forward to it, but the fact that the Dark Lord would be there was causing some difficulties with organization.
The seating was still unclear to him, as Lucius did not know if the Mudblood—Hermione or Miss Granger?—would come or not.
And the problem with Narcissa…
Cara Pare was the Minister for Magic of Italy and her place was next to his. It didn't matter if the Mudblood came or not, no one would sit directly to the left of the Dark Lord.
So Cara would sit next to Lucius.
And Narcissa.
"Who you gonna call? Ghostbusters!" Potter was now singing, moving in tact to the rhythm that only he knew.
What is a ghostbuster? Like Filch? Cleaning service, like the one that dealt with the Boggarts or unwanted spirits, like Peeves?
He didn't know Muggles had such service, but it wasn't like he cared about anything Muggle-related ...
"La-la, la-la …"
What was Potter taking?
It was a rhetorical question.
"Come, Harry. We're leaving," the Dark Lord said, brushing Lucius off with a small movement of his hand.
"My Lord."
No need to even nod at Potter who was now looking at the cold floor he was sitting on instead of the clear, mountain water inside this beautiful fountain that he had chosen himself from the variety offered by the architects.
Pig.
What to do with Cara?
She wouldn't blackmail him—yet—and would behave, or at least, she promised to behave. She said she was not interested in him and that she had taken the position of Minister because of her own achievements.
As if …
She knew the Dark Lord didn't tell him anything, and she used it without mercy.
Cara Pare didn't know him, but she understood him, and it was bad.
Lucius sighed as he moved to the elevators. He had a nasty feeling about it and he didn't like it.
xxx
Hermione looked at her notes and with a happy hum, she cast the spell she had created.
"Aquatico Abyssi!"
The cup she had thrown was caught by the whirlpool of water that appeared from nowhere.
A sincere, happy smile stretched over her lips as she saw the result, and Hermione nodded her head a few times.
She was good.
She still had a good hour before she would meet Voldemort, and Hermione decided to practise her newly-invented spell when a knock on the door sounded, and Hermione moved to open the door, expecting Harry, as no one else would knock.
Ron wouldn't even answer her owls.
Her heart missed a beat when she saw a young man stand in the hallway.
It wasn't the boy who made her heart gallop; it was what he was barely holding in his hands.
"Hermione Granger?"
A huge bouquet of red, tall roses was meant for her, and Hermione blushed.
Marvolo.
xxx
They smelled so divine that Hermione was busy fussing over them and did not know she wasn't alone before she heard his voice.
"Beautiful."
Hermione twirled around, her index finger stinging from the thorn she managed to scratch, and her stomach filled with butterflies.
Voldemort was standing a few steps away, dressed in silvery and light-beige colors, and Hermione could only smile back as she watched his eyes roam over her short dress and then focus on her long, toned legs.
Hermione still didn't say anything and just allowed the pale eyes to stare at her.
He wasn't the only one with surprises today.
xxx
He had ordered fifty red roses— for the first time in his life—and he wanted to see her surprised face, so instead of waiting for his little Mudblood to come to him, Voldemort decided to visit her.
As he quietly Apparated into the apartment, he saw something he wasn't prepared to see.
Hermione was leaning over the table, fussing over his roses, and the short dress she was wearing revealed a perfectly-shaped ass and long legs, and Voldemort had a raging erection even before his mind comprehended what his eyes were seeing.
Is that a dress?
He was the Dark Lord, and while he didn't care what people around him wore—as long as it was good-quality clothing and not some riff-raffs—he still did not see people wear something like this often.
If at all …
When he was a student, if a girl put on a dress like that …
She'd be given to the church for a round of exorcism.
His willpower was the only thing that protected those firm peaches, when all Voldemort wanted to do was come closer and fuck her raw.
He had never been lustful after women, and while he appreciated beauty, he didn't feel anything when he watched other females.
But this one …
He would have been pissed if he hadn't known that this dress was for him and him only.
Well, well, well …
Her index finger was between those tasty lips, and Voldemort, for the first time in his life, was excited about something so trivial like spending time with a woman.
What an interesting Horcrux.
xxx
"And that is your defence?" Ron screamed, spit flying from the corner of his mouth, his freckled but pale face twisted in rage as he kept looking at the person who used to be his best friend, and who had killed his brother and father.
"He doesn't need to defend his actions in front of someone as pathetic as you, Weasel. Keep wiping the floors; the cleaning service have no right to talk to the players of the team," Malfoy sneered before tilting his drink and spilling the Magic Cola all over the floor that Ron had been cleaning for the last hour before seeing Harry enter the changing rooms for the Chudley Cannons.
Ron wanted to shout, but then he would lose the last income, and what would happen then, Ron didn't want to imagine. He had to swallow his pride and his pain and continued to work.
Harry had told him it had been him who killed his dad, and Ron didn't know what to do when all he wanted was to hurt and maim Potter. His mother almost died from grief upon finding out that Arthur Weasley had been killed in Azkaban, and Ron was close to going mad from all the pain that surrounded his family.
Officially, it wasn't announced, but one of the Azkaban keepers informed Charlie that Arthur Weasley was dead.
He was being merciful, Potter had said, and Ron couldn't believe what he was hearing.
First he killed George, and now his father.
Before Ron could think what to do, Malfoy entered the rooms, and now it looked like a serious fight would break loose.
"I am going to the Pitch, Draco. Come," Potter said, all the while drinking from his tall glass with a sparkling drink, and Ron felt angry tears in his eyes.
I'm not done with you yet!
xxx
Harry was flying in the skies, looking for the Snitch, and he tried not to think that he had just destroyed the only thin tie he had with Ron.
The cocktail of the new stuff was working magic inside his body, and his mind was clear of emotions other than it felt good.
He couldn't allow Hermione to confess, and that was why Harry had lied to Ron and had taken the blame. Nobody needed to know it had been Hermione who fired off a Killing Curse at Arthur Weasley, and Harry didn't care that he hadn't warned her before lying. He hoped she'd forgive him.
Better hate me than Hermione, who already has her fair share of problems.
Harry knew he had a hero complex, and now he had only Hermione to protect.
I am damned anyway, Harry thought as he gained speed to catch the Snitch he had just seen.
The sun was warm and the breeze was light, and as his fingers closed over the golden ball, he smiled.
He was good.
xxx
"Thank you." Hermione smiled lightly as she addressed Voldemort. He could decide for himself if she meant the flowers or the possible compliment.
The smile she got in return was accompanied by an elegantly raised brow, and nothing indicated he was anyhow affected by her look for today.
Nothing indicated that he was aroused, interested, or that he cared what she wore. The only reason she could see it was because she knew what to search for and where.
His pupils were enlarged.
How interesting.
Voldemort was slowly coming closer, and now he was standing one step away from her, and Hermione had to swallow hard when she read the desire in those pale-blue eyes.
She wanted him so much, but she refused to give in.
It was a battle of wills, and she wouldn't be a loser.
Not anymore.
"I thought we'll have our Dark Arts lesson tomorrow, when Potter would play and probably fall off the broom during the match," Voldemort said slowly, watching her reaction, and Hermione could only purse her lips.
She had known that Harry would play, and she even created the water whirlpool to be able to catch him, but Hermione was still unsure if that would work.
"I already have an idea on how I'll catch Harry." Hermione wasn't stupid, and knowing the amount of drugs her friend took, she knew he'd fall and crash.
Not if she could help …
Voldemort squinted his eyes a bit, and before he would read her mind and find out what she had planned, Hermione decided to show him.
She took a cup from the table, and trying not to be self-conscious as she walked around in the tiny dress—it was the first time she wore something like this—and trying not to blush under the eyes that refused to leave her long legs, Hermione raised her wand.
This was her first spell she had created, and Marvolo—Voldemort—would be the first person to see it.
"Aquatico Abyssi!"
The whirlpool appeared as it was supposed to and caught the cup she had thrown up into the air.
Hermione turned to Voldemort and watched him watch the tornado of water before his gaze moved to meet hers.
"Water?"
Yes, water. Even though her affinity was wind, she preferred to use water for this spell as wind was harder to cage and order around.
"I'll catch Harry with this spell," Hermione said with a proud smile and crossed her arms when Voldemort took his wand out.
What was he going to do?
The bone-white wand's tip glowed with a light-yellow color, and then suddenly, something fell from the ceiling and through the water tornado, hitting the floor with a thud.
Hermione's first reaction was to laugh out loud as she saw a wet Lucius Malfoy on the floor, but then she realised that the spell would not work with Harry, if Malfoy flew down and wasn't caught in the whirlpool.
"You may go, Lucius," Voldemort intoned almost lazily, and Hermione had to bite her cheek to hold in the laugh that again wanted to escape.
Minister or not, when Voldemort wanted a test bunny, he chose whomever he wanted.
"My Lord," the wet Malfoy Senior bowed at Voldemort before nodding to Hermione, keeping his eyes on her face—unlike he did when he came to visit Cara—and then he simply Apparated away.
Hermione should be thankful that Voldemort allowed her to see the flaw with the plan before it actually mattered, but she was disappointed.
"There are only a few spells that would allow one to stop the fall, and all of them belong to the Dark Arts category. A water tornado would help, but only if there is no speed to the fall. If there is speed included, you need to use either Momento Duratus or Postulatio Auxilium." Voldemort's tone was the one the Hood had used, and Hermione was listening intently.
She read about both spells but never used them.
The first one created a cushion of air that would slow down the fall—similar to what Professor Dumbledore had used on Harry during the third year—and the only foolproof spell was the second one.
"Demand Help" was the translation of the spell, and it was Dark Arts in all its glory. The spell sucked out a bit of magic from everyone close to the target, allowing the magic to halt the fall and let the person fly for a few seconds before landing without incident.
"So I'll have to use one of those two?" Hermione asked with a frown and pursed her lips at the small nod.
Wonderful.
"Can't you tell Harry not to play?"
Hermione knew it was a stupid question to ask, as even Voldemort didn't control Harry like he thought he did.
Harry did what Harry wanted, and he wanted to play.
"Potter would then fall off the broom on another occasion when you won't be around. Which one do you prefer?"
He had changed his tactics, Hermione knew it, and now he was going to show her his Marvolo side more and more.
He had even warned her about her invented spell's weak point, which meant he didn't want Harry dead.
She told herself that it didn't matter.
She would not be going back to him as there would be no "just sex" possibility this time.
It was all or nothing, and they both knew it.
Hermione was about to start arguing on the topic of why Harry would fall off the broom—"sober" was not a word one used in regards to Harry now—when Voldemort took a step closer and tilted his head to the right before offering his arm.
"Dinner?"
It sounded like a question, but it wasn't.
He was the Dark Lord, and even if he sent her flowers, he was still the same person as before.
"I need to buy new shoes, sorry."
Would he curse her now? Was it too much, to deny him for such a stupid, untrue reason?
The small smirk and the fire in his eyes made Hermione's heart beat insanely, and instead of "Crucio" she heard his amused but calm voice.
"I'll choose."
What?
Oh no …
She'd lied and they both knew it, so now either she had to go buy new shoes with him or say that she'd lied. Admit it out loud.
She wasn't a liar.
xxx
That little …
How did he miss the moment when the shy Gryffindor turned into a cunning Slytherin who played the same games he played?
Voldemort wanted to curse her, but he needed to behave, at least for some time, and as he felt the shy but confident squeeze on his arm, he Apparated them away.
He had a lot of time, and after reminding Lucius where he stood, there was no need to check on his Death Eaters, who would behave anyway.
He needed to keep a close eye on his wild Horcrux.
And he liked heels.
xxx
"That should be interesting."
They were standing close to the shop that Hermione liked—she didn't even bother asking how he knew—and Hermione felt her palms sweat.
She was going shopping—it hadn't been the plan; he was supposed to go berserk and torture her—with the Dark Lord.
Merlin help me, Hermione thought as she looked into sly, amused eyes.
xxx
"Miss Granger, it's wonderful to see you. We have a new collection that you might want to—"
The saleswoman, who helped Hermione the last three times she had been here, suddenly stopped her welcoming speech, and Hermione understood perfectly what—who—caused Miss Grant to shut up, even without seeing the bow.
"Go on."
Hermione almost sneered at the tone—who talked like that?—but smiled at the scared saleswoman instead.
"I-I wanted to say that you might be interested in our new collection, Miss Granger." Miss Grant smiled nervously, and her eyes were watching the figure behind her.
He was a gentleman.
"My Lord, it is an honour."
They were in London.
"Show her the collection."
Who taught him how to speak in such imperial tone?
It comes naturally, Dracula offered, and Hermione wished to slam her fist into the mirror.
Shut up!
She had one Dark Lord to deal with. She didn't need two now.
Or ever.
xxx
He was circling near the stand with a glass wall separating the shoes, and Hermione winced when she imagined the bill.
Her choice, the silvery pair were pretty, and they sat well. Hermione twirled around before a mirror before concentrating her gaze on the figure in a light jacket and pale trousers, who was standing now directly before a glass stand and looking over the shoes.
One pair from that stand cost more than the amount of money a normal—she wasn't talking about the Malfoys—family spent on food for a month. Or two.
If he was going to pay at all, instead of just leaving with everything for free, probably stating that it was an honour he stepped into the store in the first place, Hermione thought with unease as she caught a small smirk in the mirror.
If he would just leave without paying, she'd return tonight and pay for everything.
She wouldn't be stealing shoes with Lord Voldemort as her company!
The glass wall disappeared—one was supposed to ask for the salesmen to open it and not just break the wards—and Voldemort was now holding one shoe in his hand, making Hermione blush and sweat at the same time.
His choice was red in color, with impossibly thin, metal heels, and Hermione wondered how many times she'd fall before learning how to wear such shoes.
She liked heels and was now used to wearing them, but not with a ten centimetre heel that was thin and metal.
Shit.
"Put these on," he said as he offered her the shoe, and Hermione had to clear her dry throat at how intimate they looked now, choosing the shoes.
The Dark Lord was choosing shoes for a woman, and Hermione understood the shocked faces of the saleswoman and the owner of the shop.
Because of her lie that he didn't let slide through, Hermione now had to buy a pair.
He was just telling her to try it on, and she had no reason to refuse.
She'd humour him.
The second shoe appeared near her, and Hermione slowly accepted the pair, trying not to touch Marvolo's hand that was holding one shoe by the heel.
They fitted perfectly, and they were very comfortable, Hermione thought as she got up and took a few steps.
"The heels are too high. Can't you choose anything with a smaller heel?" Hermione asked in Parseltongue, not caring about the reaction of others.
She wouldn't be discussing shoes with Voldemort in English when people were watching.
The shop was closed for others now, and only Miss Grant and the owner were here. They would keep quiet.
"Nonsense," Voldemort answered absentmindedly as he picked up another pair with an even higher heel.
"You try wearing them, then!" Hermione hissed as she put the new pair on and had to balance herself by catching a sleeve of the beige-colored light jacket.
She was looking into his eyes, feeling everything she wasn't supposed to feel, and Hermione had to swallow hard when he leaned forward and whispered into her ear.
"Do you want to check the next shop, the one across from this one?" His tone was smooth and seductive, and Hermione felt a red blush on her face, as she understood what he was talking about.
"Victoria's Secret" was written on the entrance of the shop opposite of the shoe store, and Hermione refused to even think about it.
"I am hungry," she whispered and saw white teeth that were revealed in an amused smile.
"So Slytherin of you, Hermione. I like it." Voldemort smiled lightly, before turning serious and addressing the owner of the shop.
"We'll take the red pair, won't we, Hermione?"
All three people in the room were looking at her now, two with barely hidden fear at her answer, and one with an expectant eyebrow.
"And what happens if I say 'no'?" Hermione asked in English, deciding to find out the borders for tonight.
"I'll torture the owner of this shop and Miss Grant, for not having a better pair of shoes, as apparently, you're not satisfied with the choice I made. My taste is impeccable, Hermione. "
She wasn't the only with a pale face in the room.
"We'll take the red shoes, then," Hermione said with a forced, stiff smile .
He was a psychopath, and the people were hostages.
No need to make him angrier when it could be avoided.
"Send it where you normally do," Voldemort said with a small nod at her words.
There will never come the time to fully Occlude my mind from him, Hermione thought with unease. If he wanted to feel his soul—a part of it, but still his—he could, even without her permission.
"Of course, My Lord. It's an honour," the owner, an elderly woman with white hair, said while bowing, and Hermione realised they wouldn't be paying.
What an asshole!
He had more than enough money to buy all the shoes in the shop and not even notice it, but he insisted on behaving like an immature child.
Hermione promised herself to return later and pay anyway when she saw Voldemort take out his wand.
He wasn't going to torture anyone here, would he? She agreed!
The tip of the wand lit purple, and Hermione smiled despite herself.
"Send the bill to Gringotts," Voldemort said, not even looking at the ecstatic, bowing owner, and moved towards the exit.
He paid, and he behaved, Hermione thought with a relieved smile, and she thanked the women before also leaving, meeting Marvolo outside of the shop.
Hermione's relief was short-lived as suddenly, Voldemort took out his wand and a pair of peach-colored stilettos appeared in the air before Hermione.
She had seen him watch those shoes in the shop, but he didn't say anything about them, and they used to be white in color.
He just stole them and charmed the with a new color.
The smile was genuinely amused as Marvolo kept watching her as she put the shoes on, holding his arm as leverage, and trying not to fidget under the attention they were drawing from people around.
While one pair of shoes could be considered a gift from the shop, Hermione still felt like a thief when her old shoes disappeared from view, and she was now wearing the new pair of stilettos with thin, golden colored heels.
She'd return today and pay with his money. With major tip.
"Happy?" Hermione asked, trying to sound relaxed, but the tension between them was so thick, she'd need an electrical saw to cut through it.
"Very," Voldemort answered with a light nod, and then he Apparated them away.
xxx
Later in the evening, after Apparating back to her apartment, Hermione looked at the roses and the box with red heels before going to shower.
The dinner had been delicious, and when Marvolo behaved, he was golden. He explained in details on how to use each spell meant for Harry before also giving her tips about Occlumency barriers and the spell she had created.
Hermione climbed into her new, soft bed and closed her eyes, trying not to think about tomorrow.
Her mind was now clear, and all the bad thoughts were securely caged in one of the compartment of her mental closet with a lock on it. Hermione smiled lightly at the roses on her night-stand.
She didn't know how long she'd be able to resist him.
xxx
a/n And until later!
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Two Steps From Hell