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The Hogwarts Christmas Orb	By : Nerys Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 8467 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter Two

The Complications of Resurrection

As Hermione tossed and turned in her sleep, making incomprehensive mumbling noises, there was a distinct glow coming from the orb. Without her having moved it, snow started falling and Santa Claus raced the sky, laughing ominously. With a bang, the front doors of Hogwarts slammed open, casting a bundle of the brightest light into the orb’s sky. As Santa’s sleigh circled Hogwarts faster and faster, the bundle turned brighter and brighter, expending beyond the orb’s confinement. A large white square was cast against Hermione’s curtains. Another ominous laugh filled the orb. Santa’s sleigh raced so fast that it was impossible to follow with the naked eye anymore; the snow had turned into a blizzard. Yet, a dark outline of a figure, standing tall and proud, cast a shadow on the curtains within the bundle of light. It had passed by the blazing snow as if it weren’t there. A soft crack formed in the glass, spreading slowly. Snow turned to water, leaking through the cracks.

Abruptly, Santa halted his sleigh. The effect was thunderous. The glass exploded. A high-pitched scream filled the air as a tiny figure standing in the doorway of Hogwarts was tossed violently through the air—rapidly changing to his normal size before he smashed against the curtains and tumbling to the floor in a crumbled heap. Santa’s sleigh abruptly moved backwards; water, glass and make-believe snow flew back towards him, re-establishing the orb to its former impeccable state. Slowly, the snow settled and Santa smirked, looking knowingly at the person who rose from the ground.

‘Enjoy your reward, my Lord,’ Santa said, laughing mockingly before he vanished. The antique orb was back in pristine condition, as if nothing had ever occurred to it.

The same could not be said about Tom Riddle.

Groaning, he pushed himself up on all fours before scrambling sideways and sitting down, leaning against the wall with his head between his hands. He clutched to his hair so hard that he nearly pulled out the strands. Every part of his body ached and his mind felt clouded. He had no idea how long he sat there before he felt even remotely all right and secure enough to move again, but he finally got on his feet, rubbing his eyes to brush away the last sensation of imperceptibility. Taking a deep breath, he finally looked around the bedroom with a cold detachment until his eyes fell on the orb. A triumphant smirk graced his handsome face. It had worked! One of his many safeties to ensure his immortality had come to fruition.

Slowly, he walked to the bed and looked down on the enormous bush of brown hair, which was the only thing peeking out from underneath the covers. He reached out, carefully stroking the strands away from her face. Frowning, he realised she wasn’t anyone he was familiar with. Still, she could be the offspring of someone he had known. Someone powerful, clearly, because his fingers tingled from the excess magic that electrified her hair. He resisted the urge to bury his fingers in it and withdrew. It wouldn’t do to wake her. She obviously hadn’t known about the orb’s powers or she’d been awake at the time to do the deed. He turned on his heels and walked into the living room. It was still brightly lit by the fire in the hearth and the candles in the Christmas tree. That at least gave him some indication of the time. But soon, he’d know all he needed to, after he’d summoned his followers. He reached into his robes and pulled out his reserve wand—yew with a dragon heartstring core. With a casual flick at the door, he cast, ‘Alohomora!’

Nothing happened.

Frowning, he looked at the wand. It had been a spare that he’d bought precisely for this purpose and he’d cast with it before he’d entered the orb. It had worked properly then. He tried again and again. Then, he tried casting ‘Alohomora’ verbally. Still nothing. Several other simple spells also didn’t do anything. ‘Accio! Wingardium Leviosa! Lumos!’

Frustrated, he shook the wand as if it were its fault nothing occurred. Maybe he should try some of his specialities? ‘Legilimency! Imperio! Crucio! Avada Kedavra!’

Not a single spark flew from his wand. Panic began to rise from within the core of his being. What was wrong with him? He stared long and hard at the wand, wishing he had his old yew wand again. Surely, that had to be it. The wand was faulty. Lord Voldemort couldn’t be without his magic. He pocketed the wand and held out his hand, staring at the vase on the side table and swiftly twisting his palm around, ‘Geminio!’

‘Argh!’ he yelled, infuriated that wandless he was equally impotent.

Immediately, he stilled when he heard moving in the bedroom. Stupid. He’d woken that witch. Time to leave. Quickly, he moved to the door.

‘Someone there?’ a sleepy voice asked.

He reached out to grab the doorknob, but he couldn’t touch it. Shocked, he stared at the knob. Wards, of course, that witch had to have put up wards. He would’ve. He swirled around, finding himself at the tip of a wand that would most likely function.

‘Don’t move,’ the witch with the enormous hair said sternly.

She had a pair of clear brown eyes that seem to assess him swiftly. He admired her composure, for someone who’d just woken to find someone in her home she surely was cool and collected. Standing just far enough away so he couldn’t lunge at her and in a stance that betrayed she’d had plenty of combat experience. This would become problematic if she weren’t an ally.

Better not tell her I am Lord Voldemort.

‘Who are you and what are you doing in my flat?’

‘I’m sorry; something must have gone terribly wrong with my Apparition,’ he lied, ‘Miss er…?’

Her eyes narrowed at him. She didn’t buy it. Quickly he began to babble. That always worked. He could charm everyone, especially witches.

‘I was aiming for my flat. My apologies. I must have drank a bit too much eggnog. I’m really sorry I startled you. When I realised I was in the wrong place, I tried to leave but your door is warded,’ he said smoothly, sending her one of his most disarming smiles.

‘Your Apparition went wrong,’ she said coolly, sounding like she had a hard time believing it. ‘Mister … ?’

‘Oh, my apologies.’ He clutched his hands to his chest dramatically. If he could just get close enough, he could wrestle that little witch’s wand away from her. Too bad his magic wasn’t working, otherwise he’d have cursed that insolent little chit into oblivion already. ‘How rude of me.’ He took a step towards her.

‘I said, “Don’t move”,’ she repeated, pointing her wand more firmly in his direction. ‘Take one more step and you’ll regret it. Now what’s your name?’ she hissed angrily.

His keen mind flashed over his options. He had no idea who this witch was. He had to lie. ‘Honorus Smith, at your service, Mi—’

‘Try again,’ she interrupted sharply. ‘This time preferably without lying.’

Shocked, he realised they’d had eye contact during what he’d said and, given that he’d been unable to do magic, his Occlumency walls had to have been down. It also meant that little witch could perform Legilimency at an advance state since he hadn’t seen her cast and she also had had no qualms about performing said spell. Interesting.

‘Invading people’s mind is a criminal offence,’ he said, buying himself time.

Her snort took him by surprise, and he raised his eyebrows questioningly. Was he supposed to know her? Was she some famous dark witch that everybody knew yet he was unaware of? Damn his current state of ignorance. His dark eyes flashed around the flat, falling on the Daily Prophet, but he couldn’t make out the fine print.

‘It’s 25^th December, 2007,’ she said coldly. ‘Not something you needed to know if you merely had an Apparition accident, Mr…?’

His insides turned to ice and he dropped his head, avoiding eye contact at all costs. She knew he had no idea of the date, which meant she’d seen more than he’d bargained for. Still, 2007 was helpful information. He’d shed the identity of Tom Riddle after leaving the United Kingdom. Surely, no one would be able to connect that name to his true name anymore in 2007. He’d had to stay near to the truth to gain her trust. He lifted his head, giving her another disarming smile.

‘I apologise. All this has been incredibly disconcerting and I’m feeling quite disorientated as you probably can imagine. My name is Tom Riddle,’ he said, holding out his hand to her.

She looked at his hand briefly but didn’t take it, so eventually he dropped his arm, waiting as silence hang thick between them.

‘I’m surprised,’ she finally said.

Confused, he looked at her. What on earth was this witch on?

‘The truth,’ she explained. ‘I wasn’t expecting that from you of all people, Voldemort.’

The way she sneered his name told him that without any doubt he wasn’t talking to one of his supporters. Plus, she knew! How was that even possible? He had to find out.

‘Not today,’ the witch muttered, seemingly to herself. ‘I’m not ruining Harry’s Christmas.’

‘Who are you?’ he asked coldly.

‘None of your bloody business,’ she snapped, taking a couple of steps backwards to lean against the wall. ‘Why can I never have a quiet, calm Christmas for once?’

She banged the back of her head against the wall, but he could tell she wasn’t distracted by the way she held her wand. Lunging at her now would be a severe mistake an idiot might’ve made, but Lord Voldemort was no idiot.

‘Just open the door and you can have all the quietness you like.’

‘Yeah, that’s not going to happen,’ she sneered, flicking her wand. ‘Stupefy!’

The Stupefying Charm hit him dead on, a beam of red smashing into his chest with such considerable force he could sense the magic around him. Yet, he stayed standing, fully conscious. Nothing had happened to him. For a moment, they both stared at the anomaly in surprise. Then their eyes met and they each flew into action. He raced towards her as she ran to the hearth and grabbed the poker. He dove to her as she swung it around, scratching the side of his head while they flew through the air, her head smacking into the wood floor with a thud when he landed on top of her. Slightly dizzy, he wiped his face from where he felt wetness dripping down on it. His hand came back red.

Furious, his hand curled around her neck and squeezed when another smack resonated through his skull, this time from her fist. A cry of pain left his lips and he let go off her neck, clutching to his skull, while his other hand grabbed her head and rammed it hard into the ground. Her pain-filled scream would’ve delighted him more if it hadn’t pierced through his already pounding mind so much. Soft patting noises on his right alarmed him. She was searching for the poker she must’ve let go while falling! His fingers curled around her wrist at the precise moment when she’d located it and he smacked her hand into the ground, trying to force her to let go of the weapon.

She didn’t.

He blocked a swing coming at his head from the other side and grappled around for that arm, hearing her frustrated scream when he caught it. Suddenly, he felt his lower body rise from the floor, destabilising his hold on her. Refusing to let go of her wrists to avoid giving her free rein with that poker, he couldn’t maintain his position on top of her as she used her legs to push her lower body so far off the ground that he started to slip off her, desperately trying to keep her hands under control. He smacked to the floor, face first, dizzying him even further. Her hands now pushed him completely away and he heard her struggling to get up. Blindly, he swung his leg sideways. Not knowing where she was, he struck both her and the stone elevation around the hearth, which not only made her groan but also hurt him considerably.

Still, they both managed to get on their feet at the same time. The fight was messy and vicious, unlike the clean ones shown in films where every blow strikes its intended target. It all went so fast he hardly knew where he or she was, which is how he nearly landed himself in the fireplace when he lunged at her and missed, thanking the fire screen from preventing him of imminent disaster. When he turned, she had the poker in her hands again and swung it around; he ducked, hearing it swoop over his head, and she twirled around, having put so much force behind her swing that she couldn’t stop herself from moving.

Taking advantage that her back was turned against him, he swung his arm around her neck and tried to throttle her, but she bit into his arm and kicked his shin, hard. He screamed, hopping on one leg and waving his arm as if that would take away the pain. She’d turned and grappled his robes at the front with one hand, giving him a hard pull while stepping aside. He tumbled forward, feeling a striking pain in his back when that blasted poker struck him there and he crashed into the living room table, hearing the wood crack before the world turned dark around him.

xxx

Hermione stumbled back, grabbing the mantel to steady herself. Her whole body ached; her head was pounding; blood dripped from several wounds; and her favourite pyjama was torn in several places. She rubbed her forehead—poker still in hand—and slowly regained her wits. Smiling triumphantly, she looked at the motionless body of Tom Riddle, lying in the debris of her table.

I win!

With a twist of her wrist, her wand appeared in her hand and she healed herself and fixed her clothes. Her eyes flickered between her wand and Riddle. Clearly, she could still do magic. Why hadn’t her previous spell worked on him? She tried again.

‘Incarcerous!’ she cast.

Futile.

Annoyed, Hermione looked at her wand. ‘Fine,’ she said through gritted teeth and swung it around, conjuring a thick rope. ‘Of course, that you will do.’

Pocketing her wand, she approached Riddle cautiously, pricking him with the poker before being satisfied enough that he really was out cold. For a brief moment, she played with the thought of bashing his head in repeatedly. However, her conscious and curiosity cast that aside and she started tying his hands together on his back.

‘It probably wouldn’t have worked anyway,’ she grumbled to herself. ‘Nothing seems to whack that idiot permanently.’

Not having much experience with tying people up by hand, she began rolling the rope around Riddle’s body. Mummified Voldemort, her mind giggled. When she’d reached his legs, his stirring and groaning noises alerted her that he was regaining consciousness.

‘What?’ Riddle asked, seemingly dazed and trying to get into a seated position.

Must put in a gag next, Hermione mentally decided. ‘Don’t move or I’ll hit you again,’ she threatened, nodding to the poker lying beside her.

His stare was murderous, but he lay down again and kept still as she pulled the knot around his ankles as tight as possible. Satisfied at her work, Hermione let go of the rope. At once, the rope disappeared through Riddle’s body, dropping uselessly on the floor. They both stared at the occurrence, baffled.

‘What the hell?’ Riddle said, patting his body in alarm as he sat up.

‘What are you?’ Hermione asked, wide-eyed. She pricked him in the side with the poker once, but it didn’t disappear through him as the rope had done. ‘How is this possible?’

Riddle looked from her to the poker to his body and reached out for a piece of wood next to him. His hand went right through it. They both gasped at the occurrence.

‘This can’t be,’ Riddle said.

‘Bu-but you touched me. You can’t be a ghost. You don’t look like a normal ghost,’ Hermione added. Her eyes flashed over his body. It seemed solid enough to her. She’d hit him. She’d just poked him. He’d bled. ‘Your wounds are gone!’ she exclaimed, staring at his face.

His hand reached to his forehead, checking her statement. ‘Weird,’ he muttered. ‘I feel completely fine now, while a moment ago, I ached like I’d had a trip on the Knight Bus.’

‘Oh, this is so unfair,’ Hermione grumbled, stamping the poker on the ground and leaning on it in annoyance.

Amused, Riddle looked up. ‘I’m terribly sorry to disappoint you.’

Immediately, Hermione raised the poker as if planning to strike him again.

Riddle raised both hands in the air in surrender. ‘Let’s not do this again, shall we?’ he suggested. ‘I believe we already established it’s pointless anyway.’

‘Oh, I don’t know. You were deliciously silent for a while,’ Hermione sneered, still keeping the poker ready above her shoulder. ‘I suppose I could keep repeating it.’

‘I don’t like that idea.’

‘I bet you don’t.’

‘Mind if I suggest something else?’

‘I’m so going to regret this.’

‘Why don’t we call a truce for now?’

‘A truce with you? And wait for the knife in my back? Hah! I think not.’

‘Since I clearly am unable to touch a knife, your hypothesis is invalid. I do wonder…’ he paused, looking her up and down. ‘Mind if I …?’ he trailed off, reaching out tentatively with one hand.

Hermione took a step back. ‘What are you doing?’

‘I just want to check a theory.’

Hermione’s eyes flickered between his hand and herself. Realising what he was thinking, she sighed. ‘My curiosity will be the death of me,’ she muttered, stepping towards him. ‘Fine, but no funny business or—’

‘—you’ll hit me with that poker. I get it,’ he finished, smiling brightly. His fingers curled around her leg and then he reached for that same piece of wood again. This time, he could grab and lift it off the floor. ‘Fascinating,’ he said, looking up at Hermione’s now pale face. ‘There seems to be some sort of connection between us.’

‘There is no bloody connection!’

With a fast swing of the poker, Hermione knocked him out again.
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The Hogwarts Christmas Orb