Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

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
- 27
- 28
- 29
The bittersweet taste of victory

And so I sent some men to fight

And one came back at dead of night

Said he'd seen my enemy

Said he looked just like me

So I set out to cut myself

And here I go

And maybe someday we will face

And maybe talk but not just speak

Don't buy the promises cause

There are no promises I keep

And my reflection troubles me

So here I go

I'm not calling for a second chance

I'm screaming at the top of my voice

Give me reason, but don't give me choice

Cause I'll just make the same mistake

So while I'm turning in my sheets

And once again I cannot sleep

Walk out the door and up the street

Look at the stars

Look at the stars falling down

And I wonder where

Did I go wrong

James Blunt; Same mistake.

Chapter twenty-eight

When he Apparates back into the UK, into the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic, Lord Voldemort looks around him satisfied. He knows that wherever he goes, his appearance is as imposing as ever. He has not chosen his snakelike, bald, gruesome features for no reason at all. So he doesn't need to see himself to be aware that his black cloak is swirling around his tall, skeleton frame as if he is the embodiment of Death himself. A smile forms on his thin lips when he takes under consideration he has the same power as the Grim Reaper. No, his power is even more impressive, because he, Lord Voldemort, the greatest, most feared wizard of all, will never die himself.

His Apparation has the usual effect on people. They, suddenly, pretend to remember they have very urgent business elsewhere – meaning anywhere but nearby him – and they hurry away fearfully, which enables him to have a clear path to where he is going. Perfect. This is what he always wanted. This is why he prefers this appearance over his old one. He enjoys the fear it raises. It's a true testament to the power he beholds over everyone and everything, everywhere and at any given time. He realises there are many people, mainly women, who would prefer to watch his more human, cute, handsome Tom Riddle features, but he is not here on this earth to please others or to do what they prefer. No, other people are sent to this earth for his pleasure and to satisfy his needs, whether they want to or not. It doesn't really matter to him if it is the one or the other, as long as he gets his way. And he always does, always, because he has the power to make people do his bidding and fulfil his needs. Even that little, insolent Gryffindor is now his forever. His eyes sparkle with delight when he thinks of Hermione Granger, and he is unaware of the bemused glances several people give him as they pass quickly.

Yessss, everything went as he wanted, as it should. The slight twinge in his chest at this concept he ignores, because he is not bored. No, he is not bored at all. He made his magical counterpart, Hermione, his first Horcrux by killing that idiot monk and as an added bonus she is now completely under his control, while he is well underway of becoming just as immortal as he was before. Soon, he won't even need to use those annoying Glamour Charms anymore, because his eyes will turn back into the deepest shade of crimson on their own after a couple of more Horcruxes. All he needs now are some objects worthy to contain his soul and power. This is what he values most in life: power, magical power, not looks or other frivolities. And he knows … power he has plenty to boot. He can feel it flowing through his veins, electrifying his nerves, activating his muscles and heightening his senses when need be. This is the dark power he holds so dear. It enables him to do things others only dream of, because they lack the necessary skill and intelligence to control it. Speaking of others… what is keeping that dolt Liam Sloan?

On cue the dolt and his merry men Apparate in with a couple of prisoners. Lord Voldemort smirks at the pink-haired woman, whom Sloan is holding in a tight grip. Tonks is barely able to stand due to the after-effects of his curse, but she is still very capable of sending him glares, which would be deadly had she possessed such power instead of the useless one of metamorphosing herself. Now, her furious glares only serve to elevate his amusement, since those duly remind him of someone else and he is a tad bit bored without her, just a bit, not much; definitely not much. Lord Voldemort takes a step towards Sloan and he notices the slight movement backwards that Tonks is trying to make. Scratch the reminding. If there is one thing Hermione does not, it is cower away in fear. He sighs. Yes, they are all boring, utterly dull and predictable.

'Get rid of the werewolf's trash, Liam,' Lord Voldemort orders condescendingly. 'We have real business to attend to and you have delayed my meeting with Hermione's parents long enough.'

Letting the obvious threat linger in the air, Lord Voldemort swirls away to the elevators. He hears Sloan ordering someone else to take Tonks to one of the holding cells and that is followed by the unmistakably thumping sounds of footsteps from someone running to catch up with him, while he enters the elevator. The Dark Lord leans casually against the wall, wondering if the man is going to make it on time right when the Unspeakable slips through the elevator's doors just as they close. Damn, he was hoping to be able to Crucio Sloan for his tardiness. Oh well, maybe later. He does long for some form of entertainment after all.

'Department of Mysteries,' Voldemort says, while smirking at the panting man, who is the only other occupant of the elevator beside him. 'Not quite in shape, Sloan?' he adds tauntingly, knowing full well the man had just battled numerous enemies and has been awake and physically active for quite some time now.

'Not as well as I would like,' Sloan responds, but his breaths are already returning to normal, which is a clear indication the Unspeakable's condition is quite admirable.

'Department of Mysteries,' a cool female voice states, and the grilles slide open.

'Lead the way, Sloan,' Voldemort orders with a polite hand gesture.

And they walk the corridor to the circular room and beyond that quietly. He is about to question Sloan on how much further when Lucius Malfoy steps around the corner. Oh delicious, perhaps humiliating Malfoy can provide him with some amusement. The blonde's delightful, cowardly reactions always make him such a rewarding and satisfying target.

'My Lord,' Malfoy says, kneeling immediately upon noticing him. 'I have brought the Grangers to the interrogation room. But they are still very confused as to where they are and are asking questions the entire time,' he adds tiresome and with an annoyed glare at Sloan.

Lord Voldemort looks at Sloan questioningly. 'You have not modified their memory, so it would return?'

'Not yet, my Lord,' Sloan replies, 'you had not given any specifications on the issue of their memory, so I deemed it could always be done if it is what his lordship wants.'

Lord Voldemort nods courteously. Now, this is an initiative he can appreciate. 'Good thinking, Liam,' he states, beckoning at Malfoy to follow them. 'So what name do the Grangers go by at the moment?'

Upon hearing the answer, Lord Voldemort snorts. 'Ronald and Ginny Evans? Sweet Salazar, Hermione, how utterly sentimental and corny,' he mocks. 'Please tell me she hasn't given them red hair and freckles to boot?'

A loud burst of laughter from Malfoy is the only reward to his pun, because Sloan remains, as always, ever so silent, collected and professional. The Dark Lord feels a rush of excitement as he is about to, finally, meet the Muggles, who gave birth to this extraordinary witch that he knows, and he quickens his steps. Lord Voldemort paces through the corridors on the lower level with the two others in his wake. They can barely keep up with him when one of them speaks up behind him.

'My Lord?' Sloan asks politely.

And as Voldemort turns around, he sees the Unspeakable open up the door behind him.

'I believe, I must inform you that there is, however, one small complication in the Granger case,' Sloan adds carefully.

He narrows his eyes at Sloan. This is not something he needs to hear. 'What do you mean with complication, Liam?' he asks quietly, while strolling into the office.

Surely, two Muggles couldn't possible pose any significant threat or issue for him. The thought alone is ridiculous. He swirls around the office and takes in the large, one-way-see-through window. On the other side of it, two people are sitting behind a table in deep conversation with a witch, who is seated opposite from them. He, immediately, sees the resemblance between Hermione and her parents. It's when he notices the complication Sloan was referring to. A tiny girl is sitting on the ground, playing with a doll.

'What's with the brat?'

'Ah, yes, well,' says Sloan, stopping beside him in front of the window, 'it appears the Evans always wanted to have a little girl, or so they informed me.'

He cocks his head towards the Unspeakable and smirks. This certainly is a pleasant surprise. 'Are you telling me Hermione has a little sister she knows nothing about?'

'Jaquenetta Kate Evans,' Sloan replies, 'born in the beautiful city of New York five years ago.'

'Glad to see they are sticking with the Shakespearian names,' Lord Voldemort says snorting.

Lucius Malfoy, who had followed them in too, is now watching him confused.

'Love's labour's lost,' Voldemort explains.

He is certain that will clear up the confusion, but it becomes painfully obvious from Malfoy's dumbfounded expression that it doesn't, and he sighs. Stupid pure-bloods and their complete lack in knowing any proper literature. The Tales of Beedle the Bard is all they are able to understand. A couple of ridiculous children's stories with an in-depth level of zero and that's as far as Wizarding literature goes, unless you want to count the Fifi LaFolle Enchanted Encounters trash as novels. Or even worse, the book from that broad Hookum, My life as a Muggle, like anyone cares to read nonsense. He shakes his head. It really is beyond him how something as meaningless as that could have ever become a bestseller. Perhaps he should add Shakespeare to the Hogwarts' curriculum? Not knowing Shakespeare is kind of an abomination in his book.

'William Shakespeare is a famous, British, medieval author of world-renowned plays,' Sloan explains to Malfoy, who mutters something degrading about Muggles back.

'So back to the kid,' Lord Voldemort interrupts abruptly, 'any signs of magic?'

Immediately, Lucius shakes his head in response to deny the possibility.

'She is five,' Sloan replies, raising his hands to indicate he is unsure. 'It's a bit early for her to show any signs of magic.'

'Oh, what are the odds?' Malfoy states to Sloan, annoyed.

'Pretty slim,' Sloan affirms, 'but it is still too early to tell for certain.'

'There is no way those two Muggles will have sprout out another…,' Lucius starts.

'Have you found Dora Figg yet, Lucius?' Lord Voldemort interrupts quietly, because, for no reason at all, he suddenly feels incredibly irritated by Malfoy.

'My Lord?' Lucius asks confused about the sudden change of subject.

'Dora Figg, remember, the Auror I asked you to find for me?'

'She must have left the country, Master, because every lead to her is a dead end.'

'Oh, so you found out her true identity?' Voldemort, tauntingly, asks.

It remains silent and he sees that Malfoy is clearly becoming uncomfortable, while Sloan is monitoring the exchange like it is of no concern to him. Useful man that Unspeakable, very useful. 'Well, Lucius?' Lord Voldemort menacingly asks. 'Am I ever going to get an answer from you?'

'N-no, my Lord, I don't know who Dora Figg is,' Malfoy says barely audible. 'The Department has examined what was left of the remains from those present at the Final Battle, but they couldn't identify anyone anymore due to the state of the …'

'I see,' Voldemort whispers threateningly. 'You are lucky, Lucius, very lucky indeed …'

Malfoy turns pale and is obviously not feeling very lucky at all right now.

'Because Liam, over here, has found her for you,' he adds and he takes a step towards the uncertain pure-blood. 'Had he not found her, you would join those remains right this instant, and rest assure, I would have made sure your state would be a perfect match to those other dead body parts. Now, why don't you get your useless blond arse out of my sight, right now!'

Lord Voldemort always enjoys seeing Lucius walk away as quickly as he can. It is quite a sight. Surely, the blonde could move with impressive speed ifhe had enough incentive to do so. It is certainly something he can't resist having to take a look at every once in awhile to see if Malfoy is still as fast as before. A cold laugh sounds through the room. 'So, Liam,' he drawls joyous, 'why don't you bring the girl in to see me?'

'Do you want me to restore the memory of the Grangers also, my Lord?'

'Not yet, Liam, I want to talk to their daughter undisturbed first.'

'Yes, my Lord,' Sloan replies, bowing respectfully before he leaves the room.

Contemplatively, the Dark Lord turns back to the window and stares at the people, who are yet unaware of the predicament they are in. There is no sound to the scenery he is witnessing and he is not interested in hearing the, no doubt, uneventful conversation that is going on in there. But he also doesn't need any visual distractions when he talks with the girl. So he waves his hand at the window casually to turn it into a painting. This way the girl won't be looking at her parents and make some scene. He hates whining, little children.

He turns away from the painting, not caring what he created, walks to the desk and leans against it to have a clear view of the girl when she enters the office. So he doesn't witness the very un-dark-lord-ish picture he conjured. It contains a beautiful, white, sandy beach with almost alive waves of a clear blue sea, which seem to strike at the shore over and over again. And he definitely missed the sudden arrival of a curly-haired, dark-eyed Tibetan terrier in his neatly cast picture. It decides to sit calmly on the beach and it watches the waves, while waggling its frizzy tail.

The door opens and Sloan enters with the little Granger girl at his hand. And while Hermione resembles her mother, this one has more her father's looks. Her hair is black and tied in a ponytail and it doesn't strike him to be as unmanageable as Hermione's. However, two curious brown eyes do remind him of her elder sister as they take in everything and everyone in the room in an open-minded, innocent, investigatory survey as only unspoilt children can. The girl looks up to Liam Sloan.

'Now, Kate, this is Lord Voldemort. He wants to have a word with you, like I said,' says Sloan kindly.

The man is clearly good with children, because Kate Granger nods and turns back to the Dark Lord smiling. Somehow, Lord Voldemort has the distinct need to fold his arms over each other protectively and he looks down at the child haughtily. Gosh, he really doesn't like those little, itty, bitty tiddlers. They always whine and cry and…

'What happened to your face?' Jaquenetta Kate Granger asks bluntly.

He glares at the girl, but she is just eyeing him expectantly for his answer. Grown men cower on the ground when they are exposed to his gaze. However, this girl definitely is related to Hermione and does no such thing. It makes him smirk, while he tells the girl that he altered his face to look like this himself.

'Why?' Kate asks, interested.

'It's a secret,' he says loosely, turning away from the girl and seating himself behind Sloan's desk.

Kate bites her lip, disappointed, and she frowns thoughtfully. Suddenly, her expression brightens and she skips towards him. With a small smile, he looks down at the girl, who is now tugging on his sleeve. He bends toward her, and Kate glances over to Sloan before placing her hands around her mouth to tell him quietly that she is very good at keeping secrets.

'Really?' he whispers, amused, because it is obvious the girl is dying with curiosity.

Kate nods with certainty.

'You won't tell anyone?'

Kate shakes her head, determined.

The Dark Lord beckons the girl to come towards him with his index finger and she leans forward so he can whisper his secret in her ear. 'I have changed it so people will be afraid of me.'

'Why?' Kate immediately questions.

'Then they will do what I want,' Lord Voldemort responds.

Kate definitely needs to think about that one. It amuses him severely to see the furrowed brows on the five year old. Only his amusement is short lived, because Kate opens her mouth and proves one more time she has to be related to Hermione.

'I have to do what my mommy and daddy want, but I am not afraid of them. Why do people need to be afraid of you to do what you want?'

'It helps.'

'Why?'

'Because.'

'My mommy says because is not a reason,' Kate states haughtily and she folds her arms over each other. 'And I don't think your face is scary.'

'You don't?'

'No.'

'I see,' Voldemort responds calmly, 'well, other people are very afraid of my face.'

'I am not.'

'Obviously,' he says dryly, 'so Kate … now that I have told you a secret of mine, you need to tell me one of yours.'

'Do not,' Kate denies quickly, wide-eyed.

'Do too,' he retorts equally fast. 'It's only fair.'

Kate cocks her head, thinking about it. So the Dark Lord leans towards her again and he whispers in her ear that he can keep a secret very well too. Casually, he drops an arm over the chair's back and leans down in it, while Kate is eyeing him questionably, clearly appraising his credibility on the issue of keeping secrets. Finally, she moves toward him and stands on tiptoes to reach his ear.

'I have eaten a lollipop,' she whispers, slamming her hand in front of her mouth after she said it and looking over her shoulder towards Sloan to check if he didn't hear what she just confessed to.

'Oh?' Voldemort drawls innocently and he shrugs his shoulders. Slowly, he leans his face in his hand, while his elbow rests on his right leg. 'Why is that a secret?' he whispers to Kate in a conspiring way, glancing at Sloan just like her.

'I am not allowed to eat candy,' Kate replies uncomfortably.

'Then, how did you get it?'

'I saw it in the shop and – and then … it was in my pocket,' Kate whispers; her cheeks flushed with excitement.

'It was in your pocket?' Voldemort repeats slowly. This could be interesting.

Kate nods happily.

'How did it get in your pocket?' Voldemort asks, looking straight into the eyes of the five year old.

The girl shrugs and makes a face. 'Don't know,' she whispers, eyeing the ceiling and balancing on her feet.

She is just as bad a liar as Hermione. Satisfied with the answer Kate's mind has just supplied him with, he rises from the chair.

'Tell you what, Kate,' Voldemort smoothly states and he pats the girl on the head. 'There is nothing wrong with wanting some candy and taking what you want.'

'Shhh…,' Kate shushes, looking in Sloan's direction worriedly.

'Don't worry, it will be our little secret,' Voldemort whispers, winking at her.

Kate seems relieved with the answer as he strolls past her to talk to Sloan.

'My Lord?' Sloan enquires.

'I've heard you always do extra research on the cases you are sent upon, Sloan. Did you approach the Granger case in the same diligent manner?'

Lord Voldemort sees the slight hesitation before the man responds affirmatively.

'Let me see your file on Hermione's parents,' he orders.

Sloan frowns and turns around to his cabinet. He starts searching through his files extensively.

'I love dogs,' Kate's voice sounds through the room.

'That's nice,' Voldemort says absentmindedly; his back is still turned toward the girl. 'Do you need help to find the file, Liam?'

'No, my Lord, I've got it,' Sloan says and he turns around to hand the Dark Lord the requested file.

Lord Voldemort, immediately, starts going through the paperwork, looking for something that will clear up this mystery. So he never sees the astonished expression on the Unspeakable's face.

'I always wanted to have one,' Kate adds cheerfully.

'My… my Lord,' Sloan says flabbergasted, pointing with his hand in the direction of the girl.

'The girl is magical, Liam, there must be something in the file of those Muggles that will explain this – this unusual occurrence.'

'Yes, I can tell the girl is magical,' Liam says dryly. 'She just brought the dog out of the picture on the wall.'

'What dog?' Voldemort asks, irritated about being disturbed in his reading.

A loud bark sounds through the room and Lord Voldemort looks up from the file abruptly. He swirls around and blinks when he sees Kate patting a very alive and real dog in the office. It seems to be a cheerful, curly-haired dog with a pair of bright dark eyes that shine through its long hair. Somehow, the dog appears familiar to him and it makes him quite wary of the creature. The fact that the breed obviously is a Tibetan terrier isn't helping either. Nothing good ever came out of Tibet in his book.

'Where did you say the dog came from, Liam?'

'From the painting on the wall, Master.'

He looks at the painting he conjured. It's unlike anything else he ever created. A beach? With a blue sea and waves that strike… His mind halts right there and he groans when he remembers how Hermione drove him nuts with exactly that visual not so long ago. However, there was never a dog in one of the layers of her meditative Occlumency. So why did it appear in this painting? Why did he create this dog?

'Sit,' Kate orders and the dog plants its behind perfectly on the floor.

A "down" is quickly followed by a "roll over" and another "sit", which are all executed to perfection.

'Shake,' Kate requires, holding out her hand. And it hands the now giggling girl one of its frizzy-haired paws, while cocking its head.

'Oh, he is so cute,' Kate cheers and she hugs the dog extensively. 'Can I keep him?'

'Her,' Liam corrects, 'it's a female dog.'

'Thank you for stating the obvious, Liam,' Voldemort hisses exasperated.

Of course, the dog is a bitch. This is just unbelievable. This dog just can't be here. It just can't. There is no way he subconsciously created some kind of representation of Hermione in a picture. No way. She is not occupying his mind to that extend. She isn't.

'Her then,' Kate says, looking up from between all that dog hair her head was covered in, 'can I keep her?'

'No,' he snaps.

He whips out his wand and takes a step toward Kate. But he halts abruptly when the blasted dog steps between him and the girl and a deep growling noise sounds threateningly through the room. Two dark, perky eyes are staring at him directly and now he is positive the dog, somehow, is channelling Hermione's spirit, because he has seen that look a million times before.

'She doesn't seem to like you,' Kate says, patting the dog on the head.

The girl's voice breaks him out of the staring match he was in with a creature of only fourteen inches high. What the hell is he doing? Hermione isn't here. That is just some stupid dog, which happens to accidentally appear, because the girl wanted it to. She is Hermione's sister after all. No wonder the dog is a spitting image of Hermione. Kate must have been frightened and so she summoned a protective creature and it turns out to be her sister's animal shape; it's logically. So it has nothing, NOTHING to do with him. He was just imagining things. Damn, these Grangers will drive him nuts. Why did he feel the need to expand on his collection? One of them should have been more than enough. He pockets his wand and the dog turns silent.

'Fine, take the damn dog with you,' Voldemort states to Kate and he turns away from the cheering girl. 'Liam, bring them elsewhere, now.'

'Yes, my Lord. Kate, are you coming?'

Kate pulls herself away from the dog. 'Come on, Mineé,' she says, patting on her leg to get the dog to follow her, which it does to perfection. 'Bye,' she waves to Lord Voldemort happily.

It doesn't escape the Dark Lord's attention that the dog makes sure to continuously have its body between him and Kate at all times. And that the Tibetan terrier keeps on sending him glares. He sighs. Naturally; a breed, which is characterised by being loyal, stubborn, intelligent and loving. You don't need to be a brain surgeon to see who fits the bill to that. Not to mention the irritating link this creature provides between Hermione and those obnoxious monks. Well, he severed that link permanently when he killed what's his name. At least Kate has more sense instinctively to Hermione's true character than Weasley with his "react first, think later" terrier. Lord Voldemort still remembers the boy's Patronus vividly. Clearly, Weasley had no idea what his girlfriend was really like. He looks at the doorway to the party leaving. The high, prominently held, waving tail of the Tibetan terrier is the last thing he sees before the door closes and he shakes his head to clear it of the disturbing visual.

'Powerful, little five year old,' he mutters, because he knows very well the amount of magical effort that is needed to conjure something alive into such detail.

As he turns to resume his investigation of the file on Hermione's parents, he sees the other disturbing visual that is still very much present in the room. An irritated wave of his hand makes the painting disappear and it returns to its original shape as a window again. He flips through the pages of Sloan's extensive research without a second glance at the Muggles, who are responsible for his upcoming headache. He knows it will be there. Sloan is known for his background checks and he needs to see a genealogy of these people, because... Ah! There it is. He stares at the page before him on Hugo Granger. Quickly, his eyes scan the names, but there is nothing out of the ordinary in his list. He looks back up at the people in the other room. No, more precisely, he looks at the woman in the other room: Rose Granger. Her family tree will be on the next page, but a sting of apprehension befalls on him. It will be in her lineage. His problems, Hermione being his magical counterpart, it has to come from her. He can feel it. Uncertainty becomes his main emotion now. He is not sure if he wants to find out. Oh bloody hell, what is the matter with him!

Annoyed, he flips the page and his eyes are almost instantaneously drawn to the name "Sally Farnon-Woodburn". A shout of fury reverberates through the room; a burst of magic leaves his hands uncontrollably; the papers of the file fly through the air; and as everything turns black before his eyes one more time, the Dark Lord's limp body plummets to the ground.

…

Tom burst through the door of the girl's dormitory. It was a beautiful summer's day, so only one person was present. That brown-haired, thorn in his side, Woodburn was lying on her bed, reading intensely. If he was allowed to use magic during school holidays, he would curse the Muggle bitch from here to eternity. Alas, he didn't want to get the Ministry on his back with their stupid Trace and all, but otherwise… He snatched his Arithmancy workbook away.

'Eh!' Sally shouted resentful. 'I was reading that.'

'Stop nicking my stuff, Woodburn,' he hissed, towering over her.

'Oh, get over it and learn to share, Riddle. You were done with it ages ago and I am bored,' Sally replied, unfazed.

She jumped out of her bed in a feeble attempt to snatch said book back, but with his tall frame, he only had to hold it up even slightly to keep it out of her reach and a mocking, trademark smirk became ever so visible on his handsome face. 'It's not like you have any use for this anyway, Woodburn,' he sneered.

She glared at him and planted her hands on her hips. 'At least I can add,' she mocked.

Tom narrowed his eyes at her. 'What is that supposed to mean?'

Sally shrugged her shoulders, triumphantly. 'Page thirty-four,' she merely said.

He was certain that she deliberately bumped into him with her shoulder as she walked past him to get something else out from underneath the loose, wooden floorboard that she used as a secret hiding place for her not so legally obtained items. Tom hesitantly glanced at his calculations on page thirty-four.

'There is nothing wrong here,' he replied, somewhat relieved.

'Second line of the third summation,' Sally stated lightly. 'The equation needs to be doubled not tripled when you use McFlee's theory. You should have used Horowitz' fourth Arithmancy Law there. McFlee doesn't apply when numbers are drawn from secondary sources. You're just lucky you made the error of tripling instead of doubling as you should have, because it caused the correct outcome to occur accidentally.'

Tom just stared at her.

'Or maybe that is unlucky, because otherwise you might have noticed the error you made,' she muttered to herself, before addressing him again. 'Anyway, since you do the same thing all over in the rest of the summations, it just becomes a repetitive error, which won't cause you too many points when the teacher has to…'

'That is not possible. I would have noticed,' Tom muttered uncertain, interrupting her.

'Fine, if you don't want to hear it, be my guest to keep making the same mistakes over and over again, because you do it all over your workbook,' Sally replied, uncaring.

She pulled out a notebook and a magazine that she must have read numerous times, considering the pages' condition. 'On the Constitution of Atoms and Molecules by N. Bohr,' Tom read as she passed him again. She sat back down and started to scribble formulas in her notebook with a concentrated frown. Suddenly, Sally halted, flipped through the article, stared at the formula that was in there and started writing again. Reluctantly, Tom looked at his own work again. He wouldn't have normally. Not even some of his seniors in Hogwarts, he would have taken seriously if they had told him he made an error in his calculations. Hell, he was pretty sure they wouldn't dare to make such a comment to him anyway, but he knew Woodburn had a damn good analytic mind and … shit, she was right. He slammed the workbook shut in annoyance and walked over to see what Woodburn was writing down. He furrowed his brows when he saw some familiar Arithmancy formulas being entwined with Muggle physics.

'What are you doing?' Tom asked.

'Theorising, and checking whether this will work,' Sally replied, while Tom turned around so he wouldn't have to read the rest upside down.

'You can't combine Arithmancy with physics. It's based on an entirely different mathematical structure,' Tom stated.

'I know.'

'This is a crazy theory, Woodburn.'

Sally smiled. 'Good. Let's hope it will be crazy enough to be true as Niels Bohr stated.'

'Isn't that the same man who told Albert Einstein to stop telling God what to do?'

'So what. There is nothing like a little controversy between two brilliant minds. It's what keeps their theories sharp and to the point, and it is how progress is being made. Just because Einstein has more insight into the relativity of things doesn't make Bohr's formulas useless. It's like he said. A triviality is a statement whose opposite is false. However, a great truth is a statement whose opposite may well be another great truth.'

And she continued working on the formulas. Tom looked at it for a brief moment. Woodburn was definitely nuts to think she could combine something as worthy as a Wizarding theory with that Muggle crap. He tilted his head when he noticed Sally weaved Bohr's formula into Horowitz' equation fluently.

'Wait a second,' he said and he paced out of the room. A couple of moments later, he came back with a stack of Arithmancy books and a notebook for himself. 'If you want to combine things, we may need Aloysius' model to get it right. I believe it has far more similarities with quantum mechanics than any other Arithmancy model.' And he tossed her Aloysius' book casually. 'Do you also happen to have anything from the general relativity of Einstein here?'

Sally pointed to the floorboard and she opened the Arithmancy book smiling, while Tom pulled out The Principle of Relativityand started reading himself. He had quite a great summer that year arguing with Woodburn about every minor detail concerning her Theory of Everything.

…

The door to the large manor opened and a gasp escaped the girl behind Tom when she noticed the man who opened the door was a spitting image of him, only slightly older.

'Who are you two?' Tom Riddle Senior asked, looking Tom up and down with surprise written all over his face.

'Tom Riddle,' Tom replied, smirking.

'Yes, I know who I am, but who are you?'

'Asked and answered, dad,' Tom said, the last word coming out in a sneer. 'Goodbye,' he added casually and whipped out his wand.

The man staggered backwards upon noticing it and started to speak, but a dash of green hit him straight in the chest before any words left his lips. With a dull thud, the dead body of Tom Riddle hit the floor of the hall.

'NO!' Sally shouted.

She ran into the hallway and crashed down on her knees beside the body unaware of what was happening behind her. Tom clutched on to the Gaunt Ring in his hand as his soul was being ripped apart. It was incredibly painful and he barely was able to keep standing during his Horcrux' creation. But he was able to straighten out and resume an indifferent pose just when Woodburn turned to him in astonishment.

'You killed him,' she whispered.

Tom strolled into the hallway coldly and looked down at the corpse disgusted. 'So it would appear,' he replied evenly.

'You didn't even let him say anything,' Sally replied, scrambling back to her feet. 'You just murdered him.'

'I am not interested in the words of filth,' Tom spat. 'Let's go, Woodburn.'

He turned around and walked away, expecting her to follow, but she didn't. Sally just stood there, shaking her head in disbelief. Tom reached the door again when he realised the blasted girl wasn't moving. Annoyed, he paced toward her, grabbed her arm and dragged her along.

'I didn't invite you over, Woodburn, but now that you are here, let's get something clear. When I tell you to come, you move,' he clarified with barely restraint anger.

And then everything turned surreal. 'Look out!' Sally shouted.

She grabbed a hold of Tom and tried to push him away. 'Get off me, Woodburn!' Tom hissed.

A pang, much like a firecracker, echoed through the hall and he felt a shock go through the body against him as he got his wish, because Sally crashed to the ground. 'Oi,' she said, surprised.

Tom looked at the girl on the ground as a small stain of blood began to spread on her back. She was dead; she had died in his place. A rifle clattered loudly down the stairs and Tom turned to see an older woman standing at the top of it with her hands in front of her mouth. Calmly, his wand flashed a second time and the lady tumbled down lifeless too.

'Mary! What is going on?'

The door on his left flew open and a man ran out. 'Avada Kedavra,' Tom cast again without hesitation.

He wasn't going to leave any witnesses or any more next of kin. He made sure to check the manor thoroughly this time. When he came back to the hall, he observed the mess there. This wasn't going to do. It was too obvious a crime scene. It could lead back to him. A smirk graced his features as he remembered the completely set dining room table. That would do nicely. He levitated the bodies and took great pleasure in positioning his filthy relatives around the table. It was such a nice, appropriate family scene and they were perfectly quiet as he preferred Muggles like them to be. However, Sally's body would be a different problem. He walked back to the hallway and used a Vanishing Charm on the rifle. It wasn't until he was standing beside her body, contemplating on where to bloody well hide it, that he noticed the shallow movements of her chest.

'Sal?' he asked, falling on his knees beside her and turning her over in one move. 'Sal, look at me,' he ordered.

Her eyelashes fluttered slightly, but that was all. He ripped open her blouse and examined the wound on her back. Cursing himself for not checking on her sooner and just assuming she was dead, Tom removed the pellets out of her body magically.

'You are going to be fine, Woodburn,' he said, determined, and he started to chant in a sing-song voice. It didn't take him long to heal the damage done to her longs and back. The riffle was only a stupid Muggle invention after all. It was no match for his powers. He lifted the girl in his arms and flashed his wand at the hall one last time to remove any evidence of their presence before he Apparated back to the orphanage in London and placed Sally in her bed quietly. He owed her and he didn't like that one single bit. He would have to talk to her in the morning. There was no doubt in his mind she would see things his way.

…

Tom was reading his new N.E.W.T. Potions book on his bed in the boys' bedroom at the orphanage. His presence there was practically a guarantee for solitude. Even though it was raining cats and dogs outside, none of the other boys were foolish enough to go near him if they didn't have to. He had made it pretty clear what happened to those who disturbed him. So he had the huge chamber all to himself, nice and quiet.

Bang!

The door flew open and slammed into the cabinet behind it, making it ricochet and fly back, before it rammed shut in the doorpost with another loud crack.

'Don't you have the wrong dormitory, Woodburn?' he asked stoically, without looking up from his book. He didn't need to look, because there was only one person in the whole wide world who would dare to enter his domain like that.

'Stupid, ignorant, foul, ridiculous rules of society,' Sally ranted and she kicked one of the beds a considerable distance across the room. 'That is not the proper attitude for a young lady, Miss Woodburn,' she mocked. 'Girls shouldn't be reading about physics. Their delicate heads will explode if they have to contain anything else besides the proper way to iron a sheet.'

Tom snorted.

A pillow flew across the room and landed straight on top of his head. Now, he looked up. Sally stood in the centre of the room with her hands in her sides and her eyes were blazing fire. 'Don't you start as well, mister,' she hissed and she advanced upon him.

'What did I do?' Tom asked, baffled.

'What did you do? What did you do?' Sally repeated, furiously, and she pricked him with her finger in the chest. 'You are a boy.'

Tom quirked an eyebrow and an amused grin made its way to his face, briefly.

'This isn't funny!' Sally hissed. 'You are one of them! Allowed to do whatever you want just because you have some stupid accessory, which, I might add, you all think with!'

A frustrated growl left her lips and she turned to kick the bed next to his, hard. It bounced into the next bunk with a violent crack. Upon noticing the damage the hard iron bed sustained, Tom felt it wise to put some distance between his accessory and the furious girl, so he backed out of his bed on the other side slowly but surely.

'Like women can't think; HA!' Sally added, gesturing wildly. 'Watch the little girl use her brain, now she will be a hag for sure. Or her mind will fry from the strenuous exercise.'

'Perhaps it is too late to be worried about frying your mind already,' Tom said calmly, folding his arms over each other; content with the relative safety of having his bunk standing between the two of them.

'What?' Sally responded like she was about to explode.

'Come on, Woodburn. Don't pretend to be an idiot. If you want to read stuff, stuff others won't allow you to read, stop getting caught with it.'

'There shouldn't be anything wrong with a girl reading the relativity theory,' Sally said, also folding her arms decisively.

Tom rolled his eyes. 'Oh please … wake up from whatever fantasy land you were dreaming about. Look, do you want to read or do you want to cause a scene? Because you can't have it both ways, Sal. Surely, you know that.'

'Oh what the hell do you know? Living in your secluded, little magical world, pretending there isn't an outside world to care about,' Sally responded, annoyed.

'Eh, don't take it out on me that the vermin in your stupid Muggle-world miss the ability to understand that women can be a bit more than mere House-elves. Now, for the last time, Woodburn, do you want to read or do you want to start a women's rights movement in this horrific place?'

'Why?' she asked suspiciously.

'I can make it look like your reading something entirely different to those people whom you want to hide your true lecture from.'

'Really?' Sally said, suddenly quite interested. 'That sounds incredibly neat.'

…

'I swear the next time, Mrs Cole stands at the top of that steep staircase, she is going to have an accidental slip,' Sally hissed vengeful, while she plummeted backward on his bed.

Tom smirked condescendingly. 'You couldn't kill a mosquito, not even if it stung you.'

'Watch me.'

'When pigs fly,' Tom mocked.

'Seeing that you could actually make a pig fly that is quite a stupid statement, Riddle,' Sally sneered. 'You've just proven my point.'

'You're not a killer. I can tell.'

'Oh… but Mrs Cole is making it such a tempting prospect to become one.'

'You don't want to kill Mrs Cole,' Tom said offhandedly.

'Oh, but I do,' Sally responded lightly.

'No, you really don't,' Tom said and his eyes shone almost feverish. 'Killing her would be doing her a favour. She hates being here even more than we do and we will leave after we become of age. She has to stay. That's why she drinks so much. Have you never heard her whine about her miserable life? No, I'll make certain she can stay alone in this godforsaken dreadful house of horrors until the day she dies. She isn't going to die one minute sooner. And I am going to…,' he halted when he saw Sally stare at him. 'What?' he snapped.

Slowly, she shrugged her shoulders. 'You've given this quite some thought, haven't you?'

'So what if I have?'

'It's a bit disturbing, Tom.'

'Who are you calling disturbing, Miss I-Am-Dumping-Her-Of-The-Stairs?'

Sally pushed herself up to a seated position and stared him directly in his eyes. 'There is a difference between saying something in jest or anger and actually meaning them,' she said softly. 'How many times have you crossed the line again since last summer, Tom?'

'Mind your own business, Woodburn,' Tom hissed, having the unholy desire to draw his wand and curse the blasted, insipid girl. He had no idea what was stopping him. He found a way around the Trace ages ago, so that wasn't it. It had to be that stupid life debt he owed her. Though, he didn't think it was the same thing as owing a wizard. But still … he didn't like owing favours, especially not to Muggles. Why did she always have to be around? Why did she have to be there to bare witness? Why did she have to jump on his back right when he Apparated to Little Hangleton? Why couldn't she just…?

'That many, eh,' Sally responded in a whispered tone.

A tense, eerie silence followed Sally's observation.

…

'Get out of the way, Woodburn,' Tom hissed.

He was holding his Hogwarts trunk and underneath his overcoat a shiny Head Boy batch was visible on his Slytherin robes. He was already running late for the Hogwarts Express as it was and he didn't need Woodburn blocking his path with her furious indignation.

'I am not done yet, Riddle,' she hissed back. 'I thought the Riddles' death was presumed to be of unknown natural causes by everyone. Since the paper said the police let Frank Bryce go, because no murder could be proven.'

'So?' Tom sighed and dumped his trunk on the floor.

'You never told me you framed your uncle!'

'I didn't think you would want to know,' Tom replied, shrugging. 'How did you find out about his imprisonment anyway, Woodburn? It's not like the Wizengamot and Azkaban are common knowledge to Muggles.'

'Smart people don't hold on to newspaper articles of their crimes,' Sally sneered.

'Smart people don't go snooping through other people's personal belongings, especially not when they have seen first hand what the other person is capable of, Woodburn,' Tom replied menacingly.

He took a step forward and slammed both his hands beside Sally's head into the door hard, making her jerk in shock at his sudden act of violence toward her. A struggle followed, but he was able to box her in thoroughly with his body against the door. He needed this to end right here and now. She was becoming a liability he couldn't afford to have. She always had been. His eyes flashed red as he drew his wand and pressed it into her throat. Sally closed her eyes for a moment before taking a deep breath and opening them again to stare straight at him.

'I was wondering when this day would come,' she softly stated.

'Your decision, Woodburn, not mine.'

Sally raised her eyebrows. 'It's always someone else's fault with you, isn't it? Well, I hope you are prepared to do your worst, because I promise you nothing else will be sufficient enough,' she calmly said.

Smiling, he traced the lines of her face with the tip of his wand. 'I won't need to do my worst, Sal,' he whispered, 'because you will not remember this.' His mouth crashed on hers and as he devoured her with his tongue his wand flashed. 'Obliviate.'

…

Something wet is making contact with his face continuously. He doesn't remember Sally's tongue to be so disgustingly long nor did she lap all over him. A nudge from something soft and hairy makes Lord Voldemort opens his eyes and he looks right at the dog that left the office with Kate and Sloan. It's watching him with concern in those charcoal eyes. He blinks and looks around him quite disorientated. What happened? He pushes himself to a seated position quickly. Did he pass out again? How? Why? The Amulet is done for; this shouldn't be happening anymore. He glares at the dog.

'How did you get in here?' he hisses, because he is the only one in the room and the door is closed.

The dog sits down and cocks its head. Of course, there is no answer. It's only a stupid animal after all. He needs to remember what happened himself. Sally Woodburn; he saw her name and passed out again. Sally is related to Hermione. This is too big to be a coincidence. The other times, he passed out, were all connected to Hermione too. And the dog, which is a definite representation of Hermione, has awoken him. Well, he is not feeling remorse about anything he did this time. Sally should have known better than to… A scream of pain leaves his mouth as he clutches onto his chest in agony and rolls over the floor again. It's unbearable; he is dying he can tell. Voices enter his head.

'Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead –'

'This is my last warning –'

'Not Harry! Please … have mercy … have mercy … Not Harry! Not Harry! Please – I'll do anything –'

'Stand aside – stand aside, girl –'

A hairy paw falls on his arm softly and in his pain he grabs a hold of the hairy creature beside him abruptly and buries himself in its fur. Flashes of green lightning illuminate the inside of his eyelids.

'Avada Kedavra!'

He hears himself cast it over and over again. It feels like he is being ripped apart on the inside. He can't breathe, his heart stops, and he tightens his bone crushing grip on the dog. It's somehow comforting. It feels imperative to hold on to the dog. It's like it is holding him here; like it is the only thing, the only one, who is preventing him from dying; like it is the only one who cares.

'Mineé!' Kate's voice calls out in the distance. 'Mineé?'

He feels the slight movement the dog is making upon hearing the little girl's voice and fear strikes his heart. The dog can't leave him. It can't. He will die if she does. And he wants to make sure she won't move. He wants to force her to stay with him, but he loses his grip and he can't hold on. He falls to the ground without feeling the comfort of the warm creature beside him; alone again.

'Mineé? Where are you girl?' Kate calls, worried.

He can't see or feel the dog anymore, but he hears the patter of four paws moving away.

'Don't … don't go,' he pleads in despair.

It turns completely quiet. Suddenly, a warm, soft head is placed on his chest and the dog lies down beside him. The world is swirling, but it doesn't matter, because he knows she is there. He can feel her. She isn't leaving. She is keeping him tied to this earth. He won't die. He won't. This pain will go away. She will make it go away. His arm finds the creature and he wraps it around her in a non-oppressive manner. And then, without warning, his heart starts to beat again and his longs fill themselves with air. The agonising pain is subsiding and soon his body feels like his own again. He is alive and well. He is alive. Merlin, he thought he was dying.

'Where is that damn dog?' Sloan grumbles from the other side of the door in the corridor.

Lord Voldemort hears the man pass, while the damn dog in question moves up and swirls away to the door. 'Hermione?'

The dog halts abruptly and turns its head towards him expectantly.

He wants to say something to it, but he begins to feel rather silly, resting on his elbows on the floor, while having a ridiculous urge to thank a dog! What is he doing? He is bloody Lord Voldemort! The most feared wizard of all time! And he is lying on the ground about to thank a dog? A dog? He knew those Grangers would be pushing him over the edge. He knew it. He is losing his mind for sure. Damn Muggles and their stubborn, pain in the arse, magical offspring.

'Glad you are feeling better,' Hermione says mockingly inside his head. 'I think I would have had a heart attack myself had you thanked me. I mean what would the world be coming to?'

Shocked, he looks at the Tibetan terrier. Did it just smirk at him?

The dog turns and jumps against the door handle. The door swings open, and the next thing he knows, the four legged creature has left before he can even begin to think to check whether everything happened as he just thought it did.

'Mineé! There you are, bad girl,' Kate Granger says admonishingly in the distance.

'Thank Rowena,' Sloan says relieved. 'Now, let's try not to lose your dog this time, Katie.'

Disappearing footsteps echo through the corridor before the door slams shut again. The Dark Lord makes it back to a standing position and he wipes his perspiring forehead. What on earth…? How long had she been inside his head already? What had she witnessed? And how did she accomplish it? He is certain that was Hermione's voice he heard; Hermione's mocking voice to be precise. She was making fun of him. It's beginning to infuriate him. He passed out … again! And he had those despicable emotions … again! And somehow, it always, ALWAYS involves her! He thought it was the Amulet, but now… He glares at the people through the window and makes a decision. In a swift motion, he swirls inside the other room.

'Get out!' he snarls at the witch, whipping out his wand.

The witch flies to her feet and races out the door in fear. Ronald and Ginny Evans are watching the exchange confused. All they do is look at him, while he casts the Memory Restoring Charm on them. Now, heis going to have some fun.

He folds his arms over each other mockingly as he watches the Grangers becoming aware of everything they forgot and of who is standing before them. It pleases him he doesn't have to 'explain' their situation. He hates dealing with idiots. This will be…

'Where is my daughter?' Hugo Granger hisses.

'Which one?' Lord Voldemort asks tauntingly. 'The one you forgot about or the one you used to replace her with?'

Hugo takes a step in his direction, while he picks up the chair beside him in his left hand. If ever it was obvious someone was planning to use an item as a battering ram on his head, this would be it. 'Hugo,' Rose says fearfully and she grabs a hold of her husband's arm to pull him back.

However, Mr Granger pulls his arm away from his wife and takes another threatening step in the Dark Lord's direction, weighing the chair in his hand furiously. 'Where is Hermione and what have you done to her?'

Rose is holding her breath and Lord Voldemort sees her eyes darting between his wand and the chair her husband is holding. 'Hugo, don't,' she says pleading.

Clearly, the woman is not nearly as insane as her husband, who seems to have lost all reasonable thoughts in his anger. 'Are you deaf?' Hugo hisses at him.

'What do you think you can do with that chair?' Voldemort mocks.

'I figure it would look smashing on your head,' Hugo sneers.

'Yes, I am sure. But we both know it is never going to get there, so why don't you sit down in it instead?' Voldemort drawls in a condescending tone.

He sees the movement of Hermione's father's arm; the chair flies through the air; Rose screams; and … he lazily flicks his wand. The chair lands up against the wall and Hugo is thrown in it violently.

'I said sit,' Voldemort says coldly. 'Now why don't you be a good little Muggle and obey your superiors before you get hurt. I would hate to have to tell Hermione her father isn't feeling well.'

Rose, who had run to her husband to see if he was alright, looks up at him when he mentions Hermione's name. 'You have her?' she asks in a whispered tone, because the thought is clearly horrifying to her.

'Oh yesss,' he replies smirking and he takes a step towards Rose.

Hugo is making a move to get out of the chair and protect his wife, so he flashes his wand again and binds the man to the chair. 'Sloan!' Voldemort shouts, while advancing on Rose Granger who is backing up at the same pace.

The door opens almost immediately. 'Yes, my Lord?'

'Why don't you take Mr Granger to see his little girl, Kate,' Voldemort drawls, while keeping his crimson eyes on Rose. 'He is of no interest to me and we wouldn't want any accidents to happen to him, now would we Rose?'

Hermione's mother has reached the wall and bounces into it at the same time as he presses his wand in her throat. Her eyes widen in fear and her body freezes on the spot.

'Leave my wife…'

A Silencing Charm takes care of Hugo Granger's interruptions. 'Get that man away from me, Sloan,' Voldemort orders calmly, touching Rose's forehead with his wand teasingly.

He waits quietly until the door closes behind the Unspeakable again and he smirks at Rose. 'Alone at last,' he whispers. 'Remember me, dearest? We have met before after all.'

To his utter surprise he sees his statement is not met with the bafflement he was expecting to appear on her face. She knows what he is talking about! How is that possible? She was a little girl at the time, holding on to a teddy bear for crying out loud. How could she connect him in this appearance to the stranger who stood in the hall back then? He will get to the bottom of this now.

'Legilimency,' he casts.

A teddy bear was placed on the chair next to her as Rose picked up the cup of hot chocolate milk her mother had supplied her with. 'Mommy, who is that man?'

'Oh, just someone mommy used to know,' Sally replied, while her eyes darted to the door somewhat apprehensively.

'What's his name?'

'Tom, Tom Riddle,' Sally answered, distracted.

'I don't think I like him,' Rose stated.

Abruptly, Sally looked back at her daughter with surprise in her eyes.

'He seems mean,' Rose elaborated, taking another sip from her drink.

Sally smiled softly and she rubbed her hand through her daughter's hair. 'I doubt he came all this way to hurt us, dear. Why don't you drink your coco and go back to bed. Leave everything up to mommy and it will be alright. Okay?'

'Okay,' Rose said reluctantly.

Other useless childhood memories fly by, so the Dark Lord returns back to that one. He needs the memories connected to that one. The mind is a fickle thing and Legilimency is an art to get right on its own, even if your victim can't occlude her mind. He re-establishes contact with the memory and pushes on. A gasp escapes the woman before him and he presses her up against the wall. He feels her body tremble against him as he dives deeper into her mind and follows the pathways to the interconnecting memories.

'What do you mean with magical?' Rose asked her mother, disturbed.

'Hermione is a witch,' Sally said calmly.

'Don't be ridiculous,' Rose replied, aggravated. 'Really mom, of all the things you have made up…'

'Now, no need to fret, dear,' Sally interrupted. 'It is quite common and I think a part of you already knows, Rose. You must have seen things happening around Hermione that you couldn't explain. Besides, you were here that day when Chemonzukalikula and Lucas visited my house. So you are aware magic exist. You have seen it in action first hand.'

'I don't want Hermione to be involved in violent things like that,' Rose hissed.

'I sincerely doubt you will be able to stop her. And I can tell you it is not a good idea to shun her or keep the truth from her. You need to be supportive or she will resent you for it. I have seen how devastating …'

'Mom,' Rose interrupted. 'I love my daughter. Don't tell me I won't just because she is different. You know better. I just don't like what I have seen of magic so far and I doubt you can give me any wonderful examples. I need to speak to someone who can.'

Sally frowned. 'I don't know anyone I would trust with this information. However, there is a school for magical children. It's called Hogwarts. And there is a Ministry of Magic.'

'A Ministry?'

'Yes, it is in London somewhere. Don't ask. I don't know where it is. The school…,' Sally halted. 'I know there is a train that takes children to it at the beginning of the school year. It leaves from King's Cross station, but I can't give you a precise location of the school or the platform the train leaves from either.'

'I'll find it,' Rose replied, determined.

…

Rose was standing at King's Cross Station. She was watching the crowds vigorously for signs of magic when a group of unusually dressed, red-haired people walked by.

'Charlie, Bill, stop messing around. We are late already.'

'Mom, I want to go to Hogwarts too,' a little boy with red hair whined.

'Not now, Ronald, when you are old enough. Fred! Leave your brother's trunk alone,' Molly Weasley said admonishingly.

Hogwarts! Rose looked at the family more thoroughly. The boy, who mentioned the name, seemed about the same age as her Hermione and was obviously part of a large family. Carefully, Rose observed them as they moved along. They were easy to follow, because they stood out tremendously in the crowd and were sort of very present, even if they were blissfully unaware about all the eyes that drew to their location. But Rose got a good, warm feeling about them as she watched their interactions. They seemed like a loving family. Just the kind of people she would feel comfortable into talking.

It was when the entire family vanished into thin air. Where had they gone? Rose stared around the platforms nine and ten confused. They were just here. Just when she was about to give up and look for other wizards or witches the family returned. Quickly, Rose moved toward the woman. She had a kind face and was holding her little daughter in her arms.

'Uhmm… I am sorry to disturb you,' Rose said nervously. 'But I think my daughter may be like you and I need to talk to someone, who can tell me a bit more about that.'

Molly eyed her up and down briefly. 'About what?' Molly asked frowning.

'You are a witch, aren't you?' Rose asked softly.

Molly just stared at her.

'Mom, George did something to my coat.'

'Not now, Percy.'

'My daughter is too and I …,' Rose halted. She didn't know what to say next.

'Not here,' Molly responded friendly and she placed a hand on her shoulder to reassure Rose before she turned around. 'Arthur!'

'Yes, dear.'

'Here, take Ginny. Can you bring the children home on your own? I need to talk with this lady over here.'

'Sure. Oh, a Muggle, can I…?'

'No Arthur,' Molly interrupted sternly. She gave him a kiss before turning back to Rose. 'I know someplace where we can sit down and talk undisturbed. I am Molly Weasley, by the way.'

'Rose, Rose Granger.'

…

Lord Voldemort goes effortlessly through all the contacts Rose Granger had with Molly Weasley after that day. But it is all useless information. He needs to get back to the things that involve Sally. Somehow, the answers must be there. He refocuses his mind and concentrates on that one thing Sally said to Rose that interested him severely.

Rose's body moves feebly against him. 'Stop, please stop,' she pleads exhausted.

'Shhh…,' he shushes; he strokes her hair and perspiring face gently. 'Just breathe, dear, you'll be fine. Don't try to fight it, just let it happen. Follow my lead and it will be over soon.'

He finds what he is looking for and plunges into that memory.

The doorbell rang.

'I got it!' Rose shouted through the Farnon residence and opened the door.

Before her stood a strange couple. A small man in a monk's outfit, who couldn't be more than half her length, stood beside a bearded fellow with glasses in the same outfit. 'Good day,' the man she deemed to be a monk said, 'I am Chemonzukalikula and this is Mr Lucas. We are looking for Sally. We are old … friends.'

'Oh,' Rose replied, looking the strange men up and down suspiciously. She had never heard her mother mention anything about either of them and she was sure she would remember something this peculiar. Perhaps they were a part of some weird religious group, who went door to door to collect money.

'You must be her daughter Rose,' Chemonzukalikula stated kindly and he held out his hand.

'Yes,' Rose said hesitating, while she shook the tiny man's hand. 'I don't recall …'

'What the hell makes you think you are welcome here, Chemo?'

Rose turned around and faced her mother, who was walking down the stairs in a hurry. The look on her face wasn't what Rose would call pleasant. Hell, not even close. She had seen her mother angry on a couple of occasions and it was never something Rose cared to see again. But right now, Sally's face predicted a lot more than mere anger and Rose was wishing she was elsewhere. That she hadn't made the mistake to come over today. But she had just wanted to share the news that she was finally pregnant. Something she hadn't been able to tell yet, due to all sorts of stupid interruptions. Sally made it beside her and planted her hands on her hips.

'Well?' she snarled at the monks.

Rose's eyes darted confused between the monks and her normally very kind and sociable mother.

'We have important things to discuss, Mrs Farnon,' the tiny monk her mother called Chemo said.

'Yeah, I heard your important things before,' Sally sneered. 'I don't care to listen to them again.'

'Mrs Farnon,' the other bloke called Lucas started.

'I don't like being rude,' Sally said, interrupting him, 'but I don't know you and I don't want to get to know you, since you are obviously involved with him. Now, I think I said it before, but I'll say it again if need be. I don't care about your stupid Force and what you think it has told you I need to do. If you have a problem with a certain wizard, deal with it yourself.'

Sally grabbed the rim of the door and was about to render it shut.

'The Force has long ago shifted its attention away from you,' Chemonzukalikula said.

'Hallelujah!' Sally mocked. 'Well, thank you for sharing that lovely bit of useless information with me. Goodbye.'

Chemonzukalikula raised his hand at the door and it flew from Sally's hand. 'You may not care about the Force, but it cares deeply about you, Sally.'

A deep, exasperated groan was all the response he got. And in the distance dark clouds began to form in the sky.

'Chemonzukalikula,' Lucas said warningly.

'Yeah, I felt the shift too,' Chemonzukalikula replied to him before addressing Sally again. 'We really need to talk.'

'About what?' Sally sneered. 'Your lack of action? Your little observer's role? Why don't you just leave and try to make a dent in a pack of butter if you can.'

'Chemonzukalikula,' Lucas repeated and he stared at the sky behind him concerned.

'I noticed, I noticed,' Chemonzukalikula replied, holding up his hand to his apprehensive companion, 'Sally, we need to talk about another new person the Light …'

'Oh, just give me a break,' Sally interrupted, annoyed beyond belief. 'I feel for the poor individual that gets stuck with the likes of you, but stop trying to sell your hullabaloo to me. I've heard it just one time too many and I am sick of the passivity of it. It's stupid, and ridiculous, and utterly irresponsible.'

'I'm sorry you feel this way, my dear, however your daughter…'

'What?' Sally snapped, and she looked from Rose to Chemonzukalikula with concern. 'Hold it right there. You do not get to go near my family. I told you this a thousand times…'

'The wards, Chemonzukalikula, the wards!' Mr Lucas said anxiously.

Chemonzukalikula held up his hands. 'Relax Sally. You need to calm down.'

Sally looked at the two monks before her puzzled. 'The wards? What wards, and why do I need to calm down?' she asked, frowning contemplatively. 'Why is that necessary, Chemo?' she asked, but it sounded to Rose like her mother was already on to something, because her face suddenly got a very delighted expression.

'The Dark Side is strong here.'

'Really?' Sally said, smirking. 'Rose step back.'

'Mom?'

'Now, dear,' Sally said calmly.

Chemonzukalikula looked at Sally sorrowful. 'This will not get you the result you are hoping for, Sally.'

'Are you still here?' Sally asked in a mocking tone of voice.

'Sally, you do not want to do this,' Chemonzukalikula said. 'This is not your way.'

Sally clicked her tongue and shook her head. 'Wrong again,' she said. 'You,' she started, taking a step towards Chemonzukalikula threateningly, 'are.'

'Sally, don't go there.'

'An.'

'Sally, you are making a huge mistake if…'

'Enemy of this household,' Sally ended quickly.

'Oh fuck,' Lucas muttered underneath his breath.

And all hell broke lose. Chemonzukalikula moved his arms around and a ball of light flew around both men just as the full force of Lord Voldemort's wards crashed down upon them. Rose saw how her mother stood there, smiling with her arms folded over each other, while something cold and dark swirled around the air pervasively. She shivered briefly. She had no idea what was going on, but it felt like evil was running through the air. Sally stood calmly a few feet away, making a waving motion with her hand to the two men.

'Feel free NOT to return,' she mocked. 'You are not welcome here.'

Chemonzukalikula just looked at her sadly. 'You just condemned a lot of people, Sally.'

And then, a burst of dark lightning impacted into the place the monks occupied and they were gone. Rose gasped. A swirl of darkness was all that remained in the hall, but the sun broke through it and, as its warmth filled the air, it was like nothing happened. 'Thank you, Tom,' Sally said to nobody in particular, and she casually threw the door shut and walked to her daughter.

'Coffee or tea?' Sally asked Rose smiling.

'Mom? What was that?'

Sally grinned. 'Magic, dear.'

And she coaxed a protesting Rose back into the living room. 'Sit down, sweetie. I'm sure the little bugger is fine. He knows very good how to stay out of the line of fire himself.'

Rose mumbled something incomprehensible.

'I'll get you some coffee to calm down,' Sally decided.

'No, tea,' Rose quickly said, remembering why she came here.

'Tea, it is,' Sally said cheerfully and she walked away to get some.

Lord Voldemort leaves Rose's mind utterly satisfied and happy. That was certainly enlightening. So Yoda had been playing his little games for a lot longer than he anticipated. Oh well, it doesn't matter. He has won. He has beaten the tea leave sucker. Sally turned to him to kick the nature dweller out of her house and she knew who she turned to. A laugh leaves his lips. He lets go of Hermione's mother and calls out to Sloan.

Thud.

He looks at the floor in irritation. Merlin, the woman passes out on him. Oh well, he knows what it feels like. She'll live. It's not like he cares.

'My Lord?' Sloan enquires politely.

'Bring Hermione's father and Kate Granger to my quarters at Hogwarts, Sloan,' Voldemort orders.

He waves his wand at Rose Granger and levitates her.

'What about…' Sloan starts.

Crack.

'…the dog?' Sloan finishes to the empty room, since the Dark Lord Apparated away with Hermione's mother already.

Crack.

With a swoosh of his black cloak, Lord Voldemort Apparates into one of his 'guest bedrooms'. It's the one he held Hermione prisoner in not so long ago and he places her mother on the same bed. He doesn't place the same amount of securities on her door, because, really, where would a Muggle go in magical environment such as this? The only ward he needs is one that will prevent Hermione from getting in here prematurely, which means before her birthday. Yes, this is the perfect gift. And he already has established who will be the patsy: Hugo Granger. Well, he killed his father and created a beautiful Horcrux that day. There is no need for Hermione not to follow in his footsteps.

A smirk graces his features as he enters the study, but she isn't there. Oh well, maybe she went to bed already. He strolls to the bedroom casually. He is quite in the mood for some physical activity anyway. And it will be an interesting experience, considering she has a part of him inside of her now. However, to his annoyance the blasted witch isn't there either. He sighs. She didn't. Surely, she knows by now she can't escape him. What is that Mudblood thinking? Tiresome, he sits down on the bed as he uses his magic to locate her. He stretches it to go around the globe twice, but she isn't anywhere to be found. He flings to his feet. This – this is impossible. He tries again, unsuccessfully. NO! She hasn't escaped him, not now, not ever. No one evades him, no one, especially not his Horcrux! How can this be? He could always find Nagini wherever she was and that was even without the magical connection. He paces the bedroom to and fro, trying to come up with a solution.

Fine. He has her parents. All he needs to do is send her a little message and she will return to him, unless she likes to watch their mingled bodies on the front page of the Daily Prophet. He places his wand at his temple and cast the charm. A silvery mist leaves his temple and he is waiting for it to turn into the familiar corporeal shape of a snake, but to his utter despair a four legged creature with a waving, prominent tail emerges. A very familiar looking dog dances around the room cheerfully. It's that blasted Tibetan terrier again. It's Hermione. His Patronus is Hermione. This is a disaster. He grabs a hold of his head and shakes it hardly.

'No, no, no, no,' he mutters repeatedly.

He crashes down on the bed, feeling confused as hell. He never needed anyone, never. Even his Patronus has always been himself. And now, this little witch got inside his head and turned him bonkers. Yes, that is what she did. Two paws are placed against his leg and he looks at his very corporeal Patronus who is standing in a familiar pose. He groans and the stupid dog jumps on his lap. Absentmindedly, he pats the silvery dog's head as he contemplates on things. An extreme emotional upheaval that is what causes a Patronus to alter form and it is a representation of a happy memory. He can identify the memory in question that could be responsible, but still … Hermione? He is supposed to get under her skin not the other way around. He has to undo this. He can't have her as a Patronus. He needs to be self-reliant again. And why is he patting the blasted dog?

'I do not need you,' he sneers at the dog.

It looks at him, sticks its nose in the air, huffs, turns its head away and bends its rear legs.

'EH!' Lord Voldemort shouts in disgust and he pushes the peeing dog of him.

With a flick of his wrist, the Patronus is gone. And he stares at his perfectly fine robes in irritation. That bloody Tibetan terrier tried to mark him, HIM! He growls. Nothing good ever came out of Ti… He hits his head for not thinking of it sooner. Tibet, of course, that is where she is. The Knights must be blocking his reception of her location. Well, they are about to get some company. He has to condolence them with their dreadful loss, naturally. And he has some questions that need answering anyway. He spins on the spot and Apparates to Tibet immediately.

---

A/N: Okay, just for all you curious people out there, here you can find a picture of a Tibetan terrier. http : / www. greatdogsite . com / category _ detail . php?id=203 (just delete the spaces)
- 27
- 28
- 29
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

The Bittersweet Taste of Victory