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Weave a Circle Round Him Thrice	By : SRaven_Underhill Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 14494 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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AN – Thank you for the ratings and to Mekom for reviewing! You can find my review reply here:

http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/34731-weave-a-circle-round-him-thrice-review-replies/

Chapter III: In Which Hermione Receives a Book

            Hermione’s brain felt sluggish due to inactivity. She had never gone this long without reading or studying. She had long ago stopped trying to count the days; it was nearly impossible since there wasn’t any sunlight in the dungeons. It was always dark, with the exception of a few flickering candles. She was beginning to wonder why she was still alive. It seemed obvious that Harry wasn’t coming and Voldemort seemed to have forgotten about her altogether. What had happened to his supposed plots? Hermione sighed and sat up in the corner of the cell, beginning to do arithmancy equations in her head to pass the time.

            She hadn’t had any visitors for weeks, so it was quite a surprise when Voldemort himself appeared suddenly on the other side of the bars. Hermione was jerked out of her equations as she looked at him disbelievingly. She was so starved for human contact that she stood up and walked towards the front of the cell. It was a sad day indeed when even Lord Voldemort seemed like good company. They both stared at one another for several moments before he broke the silence.

            “You smell foul,” he said, sounding slightly disgusted.

            Hermione pursed her lips. “That’s what you have come down here to tell me? That I smell?” Her voice sounded hoarse and unfamiliar from lack of use.

            “I came down here to bring you this,” he held up a small book that was as black as his robes. “But you are far too filthy to handle it.”

            Her eyes widened slightly as some of her former liveliness returned. “A book?” She replied, incredulous.

            “Your powers of observation continue to serve you well, Ms. Granger,” he said dryly. He tucked the book away and Hermione felt her heart sink. Voldemort opened the bars with a wave of his hand.

            “Come,” he said.

            She briefly wondered if this was a trick, but the opportunity to leave this dingy cell was too great to pass up. She walked slowly through the opening on bare feet (she had given up wearing her shoes long ago). Her body tensed as she walked into the corridor, but nothing happened.

            “Follow me,” he said and turned to walk down the corridor.

            She stared after him, dumbstruck. “Aren’t you going to bind my hands? Blindfold me?”

            “That won’t be necessary. I do not need such spells to bind you. However, if you so much as think of trying to attack me, I will torture you until you go mad.” He looked over his shoulder at her, “It would be a pity to destroy a mind such as yours…” He smirked and Hermione wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or a thinly veiled insult. Probably the latter.

            However, he had a point. She didn’t even have a wand, and stealing his wasn’t really an option if she wanted to continue breathing. She followed him down the corridor and up the stairs. As they walked, she couldn’t help but notice his gracefulness; he didn’t so much as walk, but float. Once they were on the main level of the house, he led her up another flight of stairs and into a bathroom. It was simple yet elegant, with marble floors, bathtub, and sink. The walls were pale grey, which accentuated the veins in the marble.

            So, she was a bathroom with Lord Voldemort. That wasn’t awkward. She looked around nervously, but tried to appear nonchalant. She caught sight of herself in a large oval mirror above the sink and stared. Her skin was dull and dark circles had formed under her eyes, Mrs. Weasley probably would have gone into cardiac arrest over her loss of weight. Or perhaps not, they had left her to rot after all. She closed her eyes for a moment to compose her thoughts; she shouldn’t criminalize them. Voldemort came to stand behind her and they locked eyes through the reflection.

            “They do not deserve you, Hermione,” he said softly, and the way he said her name made her shiver. He didn’t use it often, but when he did it felt….wrong somehow, like corruption. On his lips, her name was full of promise, like he was privy to certain secrets about her, secrets she had not yet realized.

            She had no idea why, but his soft words made her eyes sting and she suddenly had to hold back tears. What was wrong with her? She turned away from the mirror and his gaze, even the reflection of which was intense.

            He smirked at her. “Would you care for a bath, Ms. Granger?”

            Ugh. Of course she wanted a bath, but bath time with the Dark Lord? Not exactly preferable. “Yes…” she replied lamely.

            He snapped his fingers and within seconds a house elf appeared. “Draw our guest a bath,” he ordered.

            The house elf bowed and began running the water, adding different salts and soaps. Hermione nearly swooned as the steam filled the room with the scent of sandalwood. While the bath was filling up, the house elf moved an ornate black leather chair to sit before the tub. Hermione sniffed, the chair seemed more suited to an office, but thought it best not to question his decorating sense. The elf switched off the faucets and held out her hands to take Hermione’s clothes. She blushed and crossed her arms over her chest.

            “Can’t you…..turn around of something?” She said.

            “Do you want a bath or not, Ms. Granger? I don’t have time for your modesty.”

            To her, it wasn’t exactly an unfair request. Would it have behooved him so to simply close his eyes? Hermione bit her lip and glanced over at the deliciously steaming and fragrant water, complete with bubbles. What. An. Asshole. She quickly divested herself of clothing, keeping her back to him, before hurrying into the tub. She winced and then sighed, closing her eyes. Her muscles were so tense from sleeping on the cold floor of her cell that the sudden heat was almost painful. She sank down into the water, momentarily forgetting about the presence of He Who is Extremely Rude.

            Voldemort pulled out the black book again and placed it on the marble counter. The small thump drew her attention back to him.

            She had almost forgotten about the book, the bath being a distracting luxury.

            “Do you know what this is?” He asked, gesturing to the small black book.

            The book didn’t seem to have any distinguishable markings at first glance and she briefly wondered if it was a trick question. She doubted he would pass up the opportunity to make her look like a fool. Then, she noticed an old symbol that she had only seen once before in books of lore, a Celtic knot of sorts that was formed by the body of a dragon.

            “The symbol looks familiar, like something I have seen in history books about an old philosophy, but it was written that the original works of the group had been burned,” she said, trying to make sure she was well hidden beneath the bubbles.

            He nodded. “It’s a very old text, one that was written long before the differentiations between light and dark magic. In those times, it was simply Magicae,” he said, studying her. “I’m not surprised you saw this symbol in a history text, though I imagine many books in the Hogwarts library would cite it as a reference to a cult religion. Hence the burning.”

            Hermione was intrigued. This book was extremely rare. To read it was perhaps a once in a lifetime experience. “And why do you want me to read it?” She asked, suspicious.

            He smirked. “Because there is much for you to learn outside of the Hogwarts curriculum. Not everything is black and white, as the Order would have you believe. It’s important to read and form your own opinions instead of being swayed by the biases of others.”

            Yet wasn’t he attempting to sway her? He had left her in his dungeon for weeks and now he was letting her have a bath and giving her books? Though he hadn’t exactly said, “join the dark side” yet, it seemed implicit. She felt drained. The warm bath water was beginning to make her feel sleepy. Her accommodations in the dungeons didn’t inspire her to sleep much. She leaned her head all the way back to wet her hair and began to wash it lazily.

            “And what about your bias?” She said.

            He smirked at her, seeming pleased. “And what do you know of my views, Ms. Granger, except what has been relayed to you by your precious Order?”

            She remained silent. Voldemort: 1 Hermione: 0.

            The silence stretched for a few minutes and she began to feel extraordinarily tired, yet simultaneously aware. It was a different kind of awareness, not of her surroundings, but of magic itself. The Dark Lord mentioned a few things about the translation, but his voice seemed to come from far away. She felt light, like she was in a dream, and perhaps she was. That would explain the sudden change in treatment. She splashed her face with water and rinsed some of the remaining soap from her hair. Her eyes closed.

            “What do you want from me?” She mumbled as she leaned her head back against the edge of the tub.

            Voldemort leaned forward and brushed a few strands of wet hair out of her face. “I want your soul, Hermione Granger,” he said softly as she fell into a deep sleep.

***

            Harry and Ron shivered. They had managed to get the locket at the Ministry, but everything had gone extremely wrong, as per usual. Harry was surprised they had managed to get the locket at all. However, their escape left something to be desired. Yaxley had grabbed Ron’s leg as they apparated and when they landed at Grimmauld Place, Yaxley pulled his wand on them. Harry and Ron had rushed him and apparated away into the English countryside, not knowing where else to go.

            Harry rubbed his face with his hands. It was cold and they had nothing except the clothes they were wearing, their wands, and the locket. Hermione had been the one who had enough foresight to pack a bag full of necessities and now she was gone.

            “We have to move, Ron. Find shelter,” he said, standing up and brushing the dirt off of his pants.

            “Yeah, I guess,” said Ron petulantly.

            They walked through the forest and just as the sun was beginning to set, they found an empty cave. They were both tired and drained and neither questioned the consequences of starting a fire. Warming charms just weren’t the same, and they felt they deserved some comfort.

            The small flames of their fire reminded Harry of Mrs. Weasley’s kitchen and he sighed. They would be going hungry tonight. Ron, who was rather grumpy on an empty stomach, turned his back to Harry and slept. Harry kept watch, but the forest was eerily silent with no sign of life anywhere. He stared up at the stars and wondered what they would do next. He questioned whether Hermione was the priority anymore and felt sick at the thought.
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Weave a Circle Round Him Thrice