Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

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

Chapter List
- 30
- 31
- 32
A/N: I’d like to thank everyone for reading, rating and reviewing. Review replies can be found at: http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/15639-review-replies/page__st__40

With thanks to Cosette for inspiring a food scene; read her fic “Of Elusive Realities and Convincing Facades” on FFnet.

Special thanks to Lady Miya and Serpent In Red for their help in discussing “exceptions”.

Even more thanks to Da Amazing Beta: Serpent In Red.

xxx

The Apprentice

Chapter 31

Leisurely, Voldemort strolled in front of the bound Weasleys before coming rather abruptly to a halt. His black robes settled down around him, no longer swaying due to the lack of movement but hanging stock still as a bad omen. Slowly, he drew his wand and focused on the yew wood between his fingers as he caressed it with his other hand in a contemplative manner. Hermione’s eyes darted nervously between him and the now extremely pale Weasleys. She had to do something, couldn’t just stand by and let them get hurt. Where was her wand? It had been in the wand-pocket of her shredded nightgown. So … perhaps somewhere on the floor? Her eyes scanned the environment.

Unless he had pocketed it?

Then, there was no way for her to do anything. Hopefully, it had just rolled away from the area where the chair had been. Cautiously, she checked further and almost let out a relieved breath when she saw it lying somewhat underneath her bed. Her relief was short-lived, however, since she basically had to walk quite a bit behind Voldemort to get to it and she doubted he wouldn’t notice if she started tiptoeing around.

Maybe she could just pretend she was tired and wanted to lie down? It wouldn’t even be a lie. Every single cell of her body was exhausted. Knowing she wouldn’t need to occlude being tired and seeing Voldemort lift his head and focus his attention on Arthur, Hermione opened her mouth. She was out of time. She just had to work hard to prevent him from realising her plan was to get her wand. Now I … have the time of my life … and I owe it all to you.

‘How can they possibly be here?’ she asked curiously. ‘Your spell … They shouldn’t be aware of us.’

Slowly, Lord Voldemort turned around and watched her blankly.

‘Well, they shouldn’t,’ she added defensively, placing her hands on her sides. It wasn’t a stupid question. There was no need for him to stare at her as if she were an idiot. Unless, he disapproved of her choice in songs. She barely managed to keep a straight face.

‘We’ll talk about this later,’ he quietly said.

He was about to turn his attention back to the Weasleys when he got interrupted again by Hermione.

‘But why aren’t the others …?’

Her lips smacked together abruptly upon the deadly glare Voldemort sent her way. Raising her hands in supplication, she backed away towards her bed. He was now tapping his wand on his hand. She’d seen that behaviour before. Despite his other seemingly calm exterior, this little mannerism was a telltale sign of his growing impatience and she knew she had to tread lightly or she’d be writhing on the floor in pain.

‘Sorry,’ she whispered meekly. ‘I was only curious how it were – oh…’

She slapped her hand in front of her mouth upon her realisation: Their presence was no accident. It was the only possible answer if everyone else was still out of phase. He’d done it deliberately. Now she wanted to scream and rage at him, but judging by her previous assessment of his current temper, that wouldn’t get her any satisfaction, so she settled for glaring. His answer was an unapologetic smile. He’d clearly come to the conclusion she’d figured out what had happened because he gave her a taunting, devious wink. A scowl erupted on Hermione’s face, and she shook her head tiresomely. Always the stupid mind-games.

‘Don’t disturb me again, Granger,’ he said with a clear warning undertone.

‘I’ll just lie down here,’ she muttered, suppressing a yawn as she lowered herself on the bed, wincing when her sore behind touched the mattress.

‘Tired? I’m not surprised,’ he sniggered. Then, he swiftly turned away from her and continued in a much colder and business-like tone of voice. ‘As I was saying, blood traitors, we need to have a little chat about your future ... or lack thereof.’

Some incomprehensible mumbling came from Arthur Weasley’s gagged mouth as he moved around trying to get his voice heard. Voldemort’s high-pitch laugh accompanied his pathetic attempts while Hermione’s hand flew under the bed and swept around for her wand.

‘Aww … does the pretend head of the family wishes to speak?’ Voldemort mocked, his hand gripping the gag. ‘And here I thought I’d be doing you a favour by graciously granting you the liberty to taste some unspoilt juices for a change.’

Arthur turned red in anger and Molly twisted in worry as Voldemort yanked Hermione’s underwear out of Arthur’s mouth abruptly.

‘You sick fuck,’ Arthur snapped, coughing, ‘she’s only sixteen.’

Finally, Hermione felt the distinct smoothness of her wand with her fingertips. She pushed it away slightly and panicked for a brief moment at the thought that Voldemort would notice the noise, which sounded like a herd of stomping elephants to her ears. The wizard seemed, however, suitably distracted to notice the in reality barely audible scraping sound.

‘How dare you rape her,’ Arthur ranted, furious.

Careful not to move her wand again, Hermione placed her fingers on either side of the stick and lifted it slowly, concerned about dropping it.

‘How dare I?’ Voldemort mocked. ‘Dare? As in I had to feel courageous or bold in taking her here because it was such a dangerous situation for me?’ His mocking laugh filled the room.

Hermione bit her lip, holding her wand now firmly in her hand. What to cast? A Disarmament Charm felt too risky to her. He’d still be conscious then. If one were to attack the Dark Lord, one surely didn’t want him to be able to retaliate. On the other hand, anything too vile was bound to get her in trouble, too. So, what to cast? No spell that came to mind seemed even remotely sane to Hermione. Fortunately, he was quite the talker, giving her time to go over her options.

‘I don’t recall any one of your Order Heroes even attempting to stop me, so I assure you, it didn’t take much “daring” at all.’ He snorted. ‘I could have my way with your wife and daughter next and it wouldn’t even be a challenge.’

Reaching a decision, Hermione raised her wand at Lord Voldemort’s back. Arthur’s eyes widened and worry seeped from every pore of Molly’s body as she obviously was afraid for Hermione’s safety.

‘Stupefy!’ Hermione yelled.

For a moment, she felt the familiar tingle of magic rush inside her wand. Then, it suddenly burned red hot, sending a shock up her arm. She collapsed to the floor with a cry, her arms clutching to her belly as she rolled up in a ball, unable to do anything.

‘Hermione!’ Arthur yelled. ‘Hermione!’

‘Silence,’ Voldemort hissed, whipping his wand in Weasley’s direction.

Satisfied that Arthur’s mouth was still moving but no sound was produced whatsoever, Voldemort glided to his victim curled on the ground. With a simple flick of his wrist, her wand flew in his hand and he pocketed it before coldly looking down on Hermione who was trying to move as little as possible to avoid the pain – even her breaths were shallow.

By Godric, it hurt. It hurt so much she just wanted to die already. Someone kill me now.

Darkness fell around her. She thought she was about to pass out, but no such relief was granted. No, the darkness came from his robes as he squatted beside her – like a dark halo forming around her body, unable to escape from, just like the pain. She tensed when his hand touched her neck and his fingers curled around the necklace there.

Please, no more. She knew she couldn’t take anymore.

‘Well,’ Voldemort hissed softly, ‘I did warn you not to try anything foolish with your wand when I handed it back to you. I never thought it would take you this long to cast something though. I was already beginning to question the validity of the Sorting Hat’s choice, but I suppose this proves you truly belong in that insipid, rash House.’

Her silence was all the reply he got. Talking required moving one’s jaw, and any movement enhanced the pain, making her decide it wasn’t worth the effort.

‘Has that insolent mouth of yours finally gone mute?’ he sneered in her ear while his hand gripped around the pendant. ‘What a delightful change.’

Green light orbed around her, seeping from the pendant through his fingers. Then, he suddenly pressed the now warm stone against her bare skin. The warmth quickly spread through her, soothing the steel edge of the pain and making it slightly more bearable. It wasn’t over, but she dared to move again and lifted her tearstained head to meet his cold gaze.

‘Next time, Granger, use the Dark Arts and try a real curse. You’ll find that the result will be …’ he spread out the fingers of both hands in a flash in front of her face, ‘spec…tacular.’

Hermione swallowed, still clutching to her belly. She could just imagine how spectacular. Her eyes flickered nervously to the anxious Weasleys. Steeling herself for the pain, she opened her mouth. She had to try something, no matter how futile it might seem.

‘Don’t kill them,’ she whispered so soft she knew the Weasleys wouldn’t be able to hear it. ‘Please.’

Voldemort cocked his head. ‘You’re concerned I am going to kill them? How touching,’ he said out loud. ‘If only they cared about your safety just as much as you do for them.’ He rose to his feet and levitated her into bed. ‘Stay immobile and let the pendant heal the nerve damage you inflicted upon yourself,’ he advised matter-of-factly, before walking back to Arthur.

‘Now, where was I?’ he asked in faux contemplation. ‘Oh yessss, wondering if that moral indignation isn’t envy in reality. After seven children…’ he glanced with a mocking smirk in Molly’s direction, ‘tell me, Arthur Weasley, does her cunt even touch your cock these days or is it such a wide tunnel the Hogwarts Express would fit through?’

He flicked his wrist and Hermione’s underwear reappeared in his hand. Rubbing it under Arthur’s nose, he said sibilantly, ‘And Hermione does smell deliciously fresh, doesn’t she? So nice and tight she felt as she clenched around me. Don’t you wish you had someone like that? Or would you prefer to have her luscious mouth suck your dick as she did mine? Have her kneel before you with that youthful naked body, her perky little breasts … Well, what do you know …’ –he looked down condescendingly– ‘is that an arousal I see? You couldn’t possibly be aroused about something so vile as rape, would you, Saint Weasley?’

He snorted, looking at Molly who was even redder than her husband.

‘It seems your husband is even more useless than you already knew, Molly dearest. Apart from his silly profession which doesn’t require much skill or gains an even mediocre salary, he has an inability to protect his family from harm, and now, he also seems to have a predisposition to be unfaithful.’

He turned his penetrating gaze back on Arthur, who couldn’t say anything, yet his embarrassed expression spoke volumes, not to mention his aggravated mind, which was an open book to the Dark Lord.

‘How’s your freak collection? Been confiscated by the Ministry already? You no longer work at the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, making it considerably more difficult to prevent your own indiscretions to go unnoticed. If you were on my side, you wouldn’t have to worry about such insipid regulations. You could collect as many Muggles and their insignificant,’ – here, Voldemort scowled– ‘… stuff to your heart’s content.’

Voldemort paused, staring at the mute Weasley as if he were studying a particularly disgusting lab rat.

‘But I am obviously talking to the wrong person here. You’re not the true boss of this family, are you, Arthur?’ He stepped back, shaking his head. ‘No, you obviously aren’t,’ he muttered more to himself. ‘I am wasting my time with you.’

Lord Voldemort’s wand flashed. ‘Obliviate.’

Another curl of his arm and a second curse struck Arthur, followed by a third and a fourth one in rapid succession.

‘No!’ yelled Hermione, raising a hand, and then, gripping her waist quickly again, wishing she’d not moved as her belly cramped violently.

Molly had closed her eyes, not wanting to see what occurred. Arthur’s eyes glazed over, and he stepped away from the wardrobe in a trance, moving out the door.

‘Now that the waste of space is gone,’ Voldemort said calmly, ‘let us talk, Molly Weasley-Prewett. I think we can come to an understanding.’

He pulled out her gag.

Coughing a couple of times, Molly looked around desperately and hollered for help.

‘This really is pointless, my dear. Nobody can hear you beside us.’

‘Arthur! Oh God. Help, Alastor! Hel–’

A spidery hand landed on her mouth, making her jolt in fear.

‘Now I am getting irritated, Prewett. You don’t want me irritated with you,’ Voldemort said coldly, removing his hand and wiping it off on his robe, disgusted. ‘Think of what I could do to all your little children. How … easy it would be for me to go upstairs and finish off your baby girl. She’s already had the pleasure of meeting me once. What could be more delightful than a little reunion?’

Horrified, Molly stared at him, her mouth ajar, no longer producing any sounds whatsoever – her mind obviously going over what she’d just seen him do to Hermione and not wanting that fate to be bestowed upon her only daughter as well.

‘Good, I got your attention,’ he sibilantly spoke. ‘You know it doesn’t have to be this way. We don’t have to be enemies. It would be a shame if I had to eradicate two such pure and old family lines. And I do recall your family wasn’t at all interested in Dumbledore’s cause before. You never joined the Order of the Phoenix during my first reign. You felt … disgraced for having a Muggle cousin, so you ostracised him, made sure his name was not to be mentioned in your family when I believe your husband would be all too pleased to ask his ears off about what it is accountants truly do. And … you never once supported your brothers or even went to their funerals.’

Molly’s face turned pale.

‘Yessss, I know that, Molly. There are many things you hope to keep a secret to the outside world I am well aware of. It wouldn’t even surprise me if the old coot knew, too. After all, he knew Fabian and Gideon for the outcasts they were in the Prewett family, avoided and ignored for their dangerous allegiance to all the wrong people. If your family would’ve had funds, I have no doubt they would’ve been disowned.

No, you lot have always stayed on the sidelines of the conflict, sure that your blood would keep you safe as long as you didn’t step in my way. It must’ve been a huge kink in your plan that your son happened to be incredibly unwise in his choice in friends. Or did you not think much of it as long as you thought I was gone?

Well, I am back now. And, more important for you in your current situation, I am willing to … overlook your folly in joining the Order. I know it wasn’t voluntarily, Molly. You were forced by circumstances beyond your control. I can even understand and appreciate how you tried to protect a child of wizarding blood from his abusive Muggle family. Admirable sentiment. It’s in line with your beliefs, isn’t it?’

He shrugged.

‘It’s how I believe the world should operate: Magic and magical children should be kept far away from scum that knows not how to deal with it. However, you don’t want to take your protection of the boy too far. After all, you don’t really want to oppose me and lose Ginny, Ron, Fred, George, Percy, Charlie, Bill and Arthur, do you?’ he asked, counting on his fingers demonstratively.

Molly just stood there, trembling violently, not saying a word.

He leaned in and whispered in her ear, ‘Because I promise, you will get to watch when I kill them as painfully and slowly as I can. And I can be extremely creative in my killings, dear. It will be my pleasure to wipe your entire family line off the face of this earth should you and Arthur stay active in Dumbledore’s silly club. Let’s face the truth, Prewett, you never belonged in it anyway. The proof to that is staring right into everyone’s face with the presence of your half-breed daughter-in-law sleeping near Hermione instead of your daughter or any other pure-blood relative of yours. If anyone had to die if I got here, best it was the part Veela, right?’

Voldemort stepped back and gazed her directly in her eyes.

‘Come September, you will chuck Dumbledore and his posse out. You and your husband will leave the Order if you’d like your family to survive this war. Think long and hard about it, Molly Weasley-Prewett; watch the coming events and reach a decision before the first of September. I don’t care how you wrap your “change of heart” towards others. I don’t care what silly excuse you tell your children. Just get it done. Remember whom your son is frolicking about with. And if you think he’s safer near Potter and his security detail, just remember whom Dumbledore will be protecting when push comes to shove. Ronald’s best chance for survival is me. You can’t save his friend from his inevitable fate, but you can save your family.’

Then, a flurry of spells struck Molly Weasley. Her body flew up, hovering in midair, while her eyes blinked, turned unseeing as she fell into a deep slumber. Voldemort whisked his wand sideways and zapped it diagonally across the sky. An orange glow engulfed Molly, lifting her farther and farther till she disappeared through the ceiling like a Hogwarts ghost would have. He repeated the diagonal motions two more times before lowering his wand and turning to the silent Hermione – her expression was mildly bemused.

‘Do you honestly think that will work?’ she asked, her eyebrows raised. ‘Mrs. Weasley will never –’

‘At times, you can be so naïve, Hermione,’ he smoothly spoke, gliding to her. ‘You saw her face, her expressions while I was talking. Even without the ability to read her mind, you should know. Tell me, do you really think I was mistaken about all of it?’ He sat down on the bed next to her lying form and placed his hand on her waist, squeezing it gently.

Thoughtfully, Hermione stared ahead. To be honest, she’d got some doubts about Molly Weasley’s loyalties now. There was just so much he’d said and the lack of reaction, of a verbal counter, had unnerved her, too. At times, Mrs. Weasley had even seemed embarrassed, which got Hermione worried the most. Embarrassment was the worst sign because it hinted towards a guilty conscience.

Voldemort’s expression turned triumphant. ‘Indeed, my dear.’

Immediately, Hermione shook her head. ‘She was just scared. It doesn’t mean a thing.’

‘Oh, she was scared all right. But I am afraid your second conclusion is off the mark: It means everything. I just tapped into her greatest fear and showed her a solution to prevent it. She will wake tomorrow, thinking I’ve shown her this in a dream, thinking I somehow invaded her mind.’ He smirked. ‘One of the benefits of being a known Master at Legilimency is that she won’t question my ability to do so. She’ll remember the offer and what I will do to her little girl should she decline me. She’ll –’

‘She’ll remember us? Together?’ Hermione asked, mortified. ‘No – no, you’ve got to Obliviate that.’

‘I don’t have to do anything, little apprentice, remember your place,’ he said harshly. ‘It’s beneficial to me if she recalls, for she will envision it happening to her poor, innocent, little girl instead of you. She’ll be relieved it was just an illusion and that I’d picked you instead of her Ginny. Be prepared for the overcompensation of her guilty feelings. She’s going to smother you with care in the morning. And try not to overindulge yourself in her unhealthy, fatty creations. I don’t much care for plump women.’

Hermione gaped at him, not really believing her ears and slowly becoming angry upon realising she’d not misheard it at all. ‘Don’t tell me what to do or eat,’ she hissed.

‘But you want me to,’ he reminded her teasingly.

She bristled. ‘Not to this extent. It’s none of your business.’

‘Everything about you is my business.’

‘Everything about me is who I am. If you don’t like it, you can just …’ she wanted to say piss off but still had enough sense despite her anger not to voice that out loud and altered it to: ‘move on.’

The knot of the dressing gown suddenly untied and Voldemort slipped his hand underneath the fabric, pushing it aside as he stroked her back. Smoothly, he shifted himself into the bed, tilting her on her back before he lay down on top of her, capturing her underneath him. Hermione was briefly surprised about her pain being gone, but she couldn’t relish on it, for he continued talking – his face mere inches away from hers.

‘I’ve never suggested not to like your lovely, little body, dearest. It’s why I prefer it not to get a coronary from the ignorance of the silly witch thinking comfort food is the solution to every problem. And I most certainly have no plans to … “move on”,’ he said with a suggestive expression, making her feel uncomfortable at the possibility he’d guessed the nature of the original thought she’d had. ‘Nor do I intend to change you into someone you are not. It’s only logical for you to have doubts, questions, and even fear what you desire of me. The Lust Spell eradicated all your inhibitions and moral restraints, giving you a sense of freedom. And what did you do with it, almost immediately? You knelt down before me. I never even had to demand it of you, did I? You figured it out on your own. And now you’re turning red out of embarrassment as I mention it instead of being proud of your progress. Tell me, Hermione, did you feel embarrassed during it or did it come naturally?’

‘I – I –’ she stuttered, lowering her eyes.

His fingers curved around her chin, forcing her to face him. ‘Be honest to yourself, Hermione.’

‘It … it felt right,’ she whispered, feeling her face burn.

‘Yessss,’ he said sibilantly, stroking her face, ‘and your face is only turning red because you wonder what others would say or feel about you if they knew. It’s not because you feel embarrassed about what you did.’

‘I – I suppose so,’ she replied thoughtfully; their eye contact intensified.

‘You feel the world will judge you for it and you’d be correct in that assumption. But it doesn’t matter what others think of you, Hermione. It matters how you perceive yourself. You need to learn to accept yourself even if others disapprove. If you don’t, you’ll end up hurting yourself and that’s unacceptable to me. If you’d accept me as your master fully, your safety would be at the top of my list of priorities. Such an extraordinary witch you could become, Hermione. You’d be magnificent: powerful, intelligent,’ his eyes raked over her body, ‘pretty, and all mine. I’d hand you the world on a silver platter if you’d stop your foolish resistance and joined me. Switch sides, my little one. Join me.’

Hermione felt out of it as she stared into those mesmerising eyes – that red gaze that once it caught you, it didn’t let go. Voldemort let go of her chin and propped his head on his hand, maintaining their eye contact. He didn’t move off her. He merely took a more comfortable position for the both of them while keeping her trapped underneath him. She liked the feeling – liked the feeling of him overpowering her far too much. The idea of switching sides swarm through her brain like tiny, loose cancer cells, waiting to latch on and grow. She wanted to be his. Yet, she had responsibilities, had to keep thinking and consider her options logically and mentally. Hermione knew she had to stay in reality and remember whom she was dealing with. Her eyes flickered over his face.

Lord Voldemort. Not a sane idea, Hermione.

Yet somehow, her eyes kept drawing to his lips, those deceivingly invisible-to-the-naked-eye, skin-coloured lips. She recalled all too well what his experienced mouth and tongue had done to her. It’d been really, really nice. She wouldn’t mind …

Hermione only just suppressed an audible moan from escaping her, and she closed her eyes, stopping herself from focusing on his mouth. There was no way she could go another round. She was exhausted.

Lord Voldemort. Lord Voldemort. Lord Voldemort, her mind repeated in a mantra.

‘Join me. Right now.’ His quiet voice wrapped around her, repeating the offer more forcefully and real. Too real.

What?! Now? He can’t be serious.

Shocked, her eyes flashed open to be met with his utterly calm and certain expression.

Okay, obviously I have a hearing problem.

The corner of his mouth quirked up. Slowly, he leaned in, halting at minimum distance from her face.

‘Join me, and I’ll take you with me immediately,’ he repeated to her lips, tickling them with his breath before he leaned back again to watch her, his impassive mask firmly in place.

‘I … I …’ she stammered, not knowing what to say to that.

She was floored. Stunned. It was too weird, too bloody ridiculous to be a real offer. Not that she wanted it to be a real offer. Because she didn’t. No, she most certainly didn’t. She was very happy to be on the side of the Order of the Phoenix. Yes, she was. And … and … they wanted her here. Professor Dumbledore had said they needed her here. She couldn’t just go with him. She’d never be able to go to Hogwarts and finish her education if word got out she was with him. There’d be a warrant for her arrest. They’d chuck her in Azkaban. No, she couldn’t go with him. Unacceptable. Her friends were here. They supported her, cared for her, worried about her.

‘Let me guess, Dumbles made up some cockamamie story about you having been my prisoner?’

‘It’s not entirely cockamamie, is it?’ Hermione hissed, recalling how she’d been stuck in that disgusting, pink bedroom for ages. ‘Besides, he had to, seeing you left such conspicuous signs behind.’ She yanked at the chain around her neck, making the pendant dangle in front of his face.

Voldemort snorted. ‘And now, they’re so concerned over your well-being that they made the redhead move to a different room.’

Hermione gritted her teeth. ‘Obviously,’ she said, gesturing up and down his body, ‘they weren’t wrong.’

‘Obviously,’ he acknowledged, amused. ‘However, one does have to wonder: Where is your protection detail?’ And he searched the room theatrically with his eyes.

Briefly, that sharp, irrational pang was back in her chest; she couldn’t deny it had hurt they’d not done more to guard her. She knew she wasn’t in any real danger, but they didn’t know that. And a little nagging voice in the back of her mind kept saying: What if it hadn’t been a story? What if something did happen? Was this all they’d do for her? Make a fuss about Ginny being in her vicinity and not care about her or Fleur’s safety?

However, the Weasleys hadn’t made her leave their home either, despite knowing the danger of Him being able to Apparate to her side. He could easily go on a murdering rampage now he was here, and they knew that. Mr. Weasley had even defended her honour; calling Lord Voldemort a sick fuck wasn’t something most people would dare to do. No matter if they’d not been in the Order before, they were now. They’d obviously been concerned for her when they were tied to the wardrobe, had they not? She’d not imagined that, had she?

Besides, she reminded herself that Professor Dumbledore knew it wasn’t real and if it had been, he would’ve taken different measures. Yet, it kept bothering her that besides Remus and Harry, everyone seemed to take it all so lightly. Still, this was between her and the Order. It was no business of his. And she’d be damned if she allowed him to manipulate her like that over this. The Weasleys had always made her feel welcome, at home. They wanted her here. They’d made that very clear today by not chucking her out the door.

‘But what do you want, Hermione?’ Voldemort asked in that peculiar sibilant hiss.

‘Er …?’ What’s he playing at?

He slid to the side, placing his weight on the mattress instead of her body. She suddenly felt cold as his body heat stopped warming her. A sense of loss rushed through her when his strength no longer held her down and his powers no longer seeped into her skin, while he calmly propped his head on his hand again and continued watching her … studying her. She missed being held. She was alone.

His arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her to him. ‘Better?’

Hermione bit her lip. She didn’t know where to look or what to do, so she just stared at his chest, missing the vicious glint that travelled through his eyes. She just wanted the earth to open up and swallow her whole or simply stop turning upside down on her. Lord Voldemort had not, would not, could not be asking her to join him. She was a Mudblood, Harry Potter’s friend. This had to be one of those silly dreams again. Any minute now, that obnoxious badger would appear with a gold teacup in its hand. This time, she’d definitely smash it to pieces deliberately, just to annoy that nagging beast.

Just when she was about to pinch herself to check if she were dreaming, his voice coiled around her body like a snake.

‘Join me.’

Crap. This wasn’t a dream. It was real.

Hermione tilted her head to meet his eyes. ‘I can’t,’ she whispered. It came out a lot less certain than she had anticipated, and she didn’t care for that hoarse quality in her voice.

He didn’t respond verbally, merely tilted his head questioningly.

‘I can’t,’ she repeated firmer this time, though a nagging disappointed feeling swarm through her chest.

Silence ensued between them, raising her feelings of discomfort. He wasn’t bound to take this lying down. Just when she was about to move back, out of his hold, he spoke up again.

‘Why not?’

Why not? Is he really that daft? It’s quite a list.

‘Harry is my friend,’ she said. That had to be more than enough explanation.

He raised a non-existing eyebrow. ‘I was aware of that.’

‘I won’t betray him,’ she hissed, annoyed with his condescending tone.

‘I’m not asking you to.’

‘Argh!’ She threw her hands in the air in exasperation, but her pupils dilated in fear when he swiftly covered her mouth and moved on top of her again, glaring furiously at her.

‘Shush,’ he hissed. ‘I undid the Dimensional Jinx; they’re all in phase with us again. So, unless you want me to think that you do want to alert others of my presence and force me to act, I recommend you keep quiet.’ He tightened his hold briefly, then, let go and returned to his previous position.

‘Why don’t you use a Silencing Charm?’

‘Why? Are you incapable of keeping a lower tone of voice?’ he retorted.

‘Of course not,’ she replied, aggravated with his demeaning attitude. ‘I just thought it’d be safer.’

‘Now,’ Voldemort continued smoothly, ‘as I said before, I won’t ask you to hand Potter over to me. I’m very aware such an action would destroy you, Hermione, and destroyed, you’re of no use to me.’

Merlin, he just doesn’t get it.

‘Besides, I don’t need you to get to the boy. I’ve got other plans.’

He has?! Shit.

Maybe I can get him to let something slip? He loves to talk, after all.

‘What plans?’

His face gained a mocking smirk. ‘You wouldn’t be able to inform another even if I were to tell you and I do not feel so inclined,’ he said, patting her head demeaningly. ‘You’re sworn to secrecy, remember … goody-two-shoes?’

‘Well, then there’s no harm in telling me, Master Villain,’ she mocked back.

He sniggered. ‘Swear your allegiance to me, and I will,’ he taunted.

‘You do remember that I am a disgusting Mudblood?’ Hermione sneered, recalling painfully that apparently Harry’d been right and that fact wasn’t enough to stop him. Because she wanted him to stop making this – this … tempting offer. Because she couldn’t. Nope. Definitely not. No matter how much her heart was protesting her mind at the moment, there was no way she’d switch sides and betray Harry.

Voldemort shrugged, his face set rather peculiar if you asked her, like he’d found her funny. That really pissed her off.

‘You know, born from Muggles, those filthy animals–’

‘I am aware of your … unfortunate heritage,’ he interrupted in an abrupt hiss. ‘However, there are always exceptions to the rule.’

‘Excuse me,’ Hermione said sharply. This was bound to become beyond irritating, like pull your hair, nails over the blackboard, scratch your eyeballs out, and stick a hot poker up your arse kind of irritating.

‘Yessss,’ he mused to himself, ignoring her annoyance, ‘it’s obvious you’re a powerful witch and an intelligent woman. For you to have such tainted, despicable blood running through your veins, to be born and raised by such unworthy, disgusting creatures,’ –he shook his head, not noticing how Hermione’s face had turned red in anger– ‘it really is an outrage. It must make you sick all the time.’

Continue this line of thinking and I’ll show you sick, you half-blood bastard.

‘But Lord Voldemort will find a way to purge you,’ he continued, his eyes shining, ‘to make you feel clean again, unhindered by the disadvantages of your blood or your revolting parents.’

Her closed fist swung through the air before she had a chance to think it over.

SMACK!

It collided hard into the palm of his hand instead of his face. Calmly, Lord Voldemort looked down on her, closing his fingers around her fist.

‘I am no Draco Malfoy, Granger.’

‘It’s why you get a closed fist, you stupid bigot,’ she responded furiously, raising her knee to strike him in another manner.

He was able to block that attempt, too, by rolling back on top of her. However, that cleared the way for Hermione’s other arm. Her punch on his jaw resonated inside his head and would undoubtedly create a visible bruise soon. She pulled her arm back to take another shot, all the while christening him with all sorts of “wonderful” adjectives.

He had enough of her insane mumbo jumbo. His wand flashed, and he watched in clear satisfaction how her head tossed back, how her jaws parted in a silent scream, and how her hand clutched to her head in pain. Swiftly, he yanked her wrists together and curled his long fingers around them. When he was positive he had her trapped fully, he undid the curse, waiting silently for her to regain her composure.

‘You’ve just proved my point, Granger,’ he said, self-satisfied. ‘If you’d been … properly raised, you’d have gone for your wand instead of using incompetent, useless Muggle tactics.’

‘I chose this …’ –she panted in between words– ‘cause it’d be … far more satisfying … to feel … the impact on you,’ she ended, speaking those last four words fast in order to take another deep breath soon.

‘Another point for my side,’ he said smugly. Moving in closer, he whispered to her lips, ‘If you were fully in tune with your dark magic, you’d feel the impact on your victims. Trust me, it’s a much more satisfying sensation than that split-second of skin-on-skin contact by a punch. And it lasts as long as you’d like.’

‘Get out of my face.’

‘Why, Hermione, wasn’t all that physical violence an invitation?’ he teased.

Her jaw dropped slightly. He just basically spat on her very existence, caused her severe agony by cursing her with Godric knows what, and now, he had the nerve to suggest that. Again? He couldn’t possibly …?

‘I do enjoy some foreplay,’ he continued, wiggling his non-existing eyebrows.

‘Get. Off. Of. Me.’

‘Make me,’ he ordered. A devious glint passed through his eyes as he tightened his grip painfully and pressed down on her legs harder, before adding in a clear challenging, low voice, ‘Mudblood.’

A growl left her lips as she wriggled underneath him, trying futilely to regain her freedom. His consequent condescending sniggering infuriated her even more and caused her to continue trying for a long time before she had to admit her defeat and stopped moving, glaring at his immensely triumphant, smug expression. In the last couple of days, she’d lost control of her dark magic so many times. Why couldn’t that happen now when she actually needed it?

‘Now,’ Voldemort said casually, ‘since you finally see fit to concede to your inferiority,’ –he smirked at her narrowing of eyes– ‘I will, as slow as your insignificant Mudblood brain needs me to,’ –her muscles trembled below him, showing just how vexed she got over his demeaning comments– ‘explain your delicate situation,’ he paused, watching her expectantly.

Hermione gritted her teeth, determined not to take the bait until she actually had a winning shot.

‘No biting repartee? Have you really giving up so soon? I confess myself disappointed. I was severely looking forward to your speech on morals, telling me right from wrong, showing me the errors of my ways.’ He chuckled softly when she scowled. ‘As I was saying, Muggles are nothing but wastes of space,’ he spat, his face showing his utter contempt. ‘Their allegedly magical offspring are generally a disgrace to the Wizarding Community, a pollution it needs to be cleansed off in order for superior blood to roam free and take charge.’

Oh, I can definitely agree to making “superior” blood roam free. An idea or two comes to mind.

‘However, you,’ he said, looking down on her meaningfully, while his free hand stroked the side of her face gently, ‘are not a typical Mudblood. You are something altogether different: bright and powerful. An anomaly. The one exception to the rule: like the anti-gravity slope in Shenyang, China, where things roll uphill instead of down.’

‘One exception,’ she interrupted, snorting loudly. ‘Bad example. There is an anti-gravity slope in Italy, too, near Ariccia.’

Briefly, it was silent. Hermione smiled triumphantly, very happy her parents had taken her there on vacation when she was little.

‘Very well,’ he continued, as if he’d not been disturbed, ‘like the Dead Sea being the only sea you can float in endlessly without worrying you’re going–’ Hermione’s victorious smile broadened, stopping him mid-sentence. ‘What?’ he snapped.

She shrugged. ‘It’s not a sea. It’s a hypersaline lake. I thought someone of your presumed intelligence would know the difference,’ she added condescendingly. ‘It’s, after all, a landlocked body of water. Plus, the Dead Sea is not the only hypersaline lake in the world, therefore ruining you one exception example. There is Lake Assal in Djibouti, the Great Salt Lake in Utah, and–’

‘Fine,’ he interrupted snappishly. He began to slowly appreciate Severus Snape’s point about her being an insufferable know-it-all. ‘Among cat species tigers are the only ones who generally like water.’

‘Tell that to Crookshanks,’ Hermione muttered underneath her breath, trying to control her laughter.

‘Your insane pet doesn’t qualify for a falsification of my statement. It’s obviously influenced by his owner.’

‘All Kneazles love to swim,’ she added, giggling.

‘Kneazles are magical creatures; they’re not a race of cats.’

‘If they weren’t somehow related to cats, if they weren’t a cat species, it would be impossible for them to breed naturally with domestic cats,’ she countered. ‘Any more silly examples that falsify how much of an exception to the rule I am?’ She covered her mouth to muffle her outright roar of laughter.

‘Most large bears eat meat. The Panda Bear is built like one, yet–’

‘Are you seriously comparing me to a bear now?’ Hermione asked, exasperated.

‘Well, I could be comparing you to a monkey with your innate, out-of-place responses.’

‘Out-of-place … innate …’ she fumed. ‘Fine, fine. Let’s get back to your ridiculous theory on Muggle-borns and Muggles. If you claim that I am the exception to your “Mudblood” rule, then science dictates you’ve just disproved your entire hypothesis since you only need one exception to toss a theory in the bin,’ she finished, nodding her head as if to say “and that’s the end of that.”

Yet, Voldemort merely smirked gleefully. ‘Exceptio firmat regulam in casibus non exceptis.’

‘What?’

‘It’s an Ancient Rome juridical principle, which means that the statement of a rule’s exception implicitly confirms the rule. You’re going with science when you should be focusing on law. I plan to be the law soon, Granger. It would be smart of you to take the offer of becoming that exception before I tire of you and rescind it.’

He squeezed her wrists warningly before letting go and moving off her.

‘You just don’t get it, do you?’ Hermione replied, rubbing her painful, bruised wrists absentmindedly. Aghast with his stupidity in this area, she continued to voice her position. ‘Even if I could get past your horrible bigotry, and I am not saying I can, Harry is my friend. I cannot … I will not join you. I’d be betraying him if I did. How’d you feel if one of your followers joined the Order and told you they weren’t betraying you merely because they hadn’t handed you over to us?’

His face spoke volumes and that rarely happened. Hermione giggled at the sight. Her mind briefly visualised Lucius Malfoy performing her previous suggestion, and then, plummeting to his all too speedy death. She covered her mouth with her hand when her giggle threatened to erupt into outright laughter.

‘And you don’t even care about them at all,’ she added joyously. ‘I care about Harry and how he sees me.’

‘And what about me, Granger?’ he quietly asked. ‘Do you care how I see you?’

Her joy was gone in a flash. A distinct spark of danger filled the air, constricting her windpipe. She swallowed the lump that formed in her throat. She did care, yet she couldn’t bring herself to voice it out loud. Not after their previous discussion in which he clearly showed his contempt for people like her, and then, to have the nerve to ask her if she cared …? This entire conversation was drifting too far into the realm of surrealism to her liking. What to do? What to say?

‘Do you … care about me?’ Voldemort added smoothly.

To her dismay, his impassive mask was back in place, supplying her with no hints at all as to what may be the right answer on this occasion. She knew the concept of care was something he didn’t value, yet the manner in which he asked her made it seem somehow important.

‘Do you?’ she retorted fast, turning the tables on him.

That made him pause.

‘Why do you ask of others what you can’t return yourself?’

Slowly, his finger drew a single line over her cheek. ‘You feel neglected,’ he stated softly, ‘underappreciated. Unvalued.’

‘No, I–’

‘You are mistaken,’ he continued, staring at the wall like she’d not spoken, resting his hand on her waist. ‘If your well-being meant nothing to me, I’d walk out of that door, go up the stairs, and kill Potter and every other Order Member that stands in my way right now.’

He lowered his eyes, looking at her seriously.

Her mouth turned dry. She’d not expected this – hadn’t seen this coming. This wasn’t working. What should she do? Her thoughts and emotions were no help to her anymore. They were too conflicting, supplying her with mutually exclusive solutions. There were no right answers here, no right choices. Someone would get hurt, no matter what she decided. The first stirrings of panic whirled in her stomach. She was on the verge of losing it when his soft voice called her back to attention.

‘Tell me what you want, Hermione.’

‘I … I don’t understand what you mean,’ she said, confused.

‘What do you want out of life?’

Ermmm … world peace?

He sniggered. ‘Something a bit more attainable,’ he joked.

‘To get out of this conversation unscathed?’

Her pun was met by his snort. ‘Such a Slytherin thought of you,’ he teased.

She shrugged. Slytherin, smytherin, anything to stop this subject.

‘Anything?’ Voldemort said hopefully, his expression turning utterly delighted.

Hermione scowled. Hadn’t he had enough for one night? ‘Will you stop reading my mind?’

‘Then stop shouting at me.’

‘I’m not shouting at you. I’m thinking.’

‘Well, you’re thinking too loud. I didn’t even have to try for those thoughts. Has your Occlumency been this appalling during your whole week here?’

‘I haven’t told Professor Dumbledore anything about you if that’s what you’re so concerned about,’ Hermione snarled.

‘Mmm…’ he contemplated, considering her. ‘No, I’m not. I knew you wouldn’t or I wouldn’t have let you go. Besides, the council has already reached the agreement to deem you and the other girl fit to maintain a secret, unlike Malfoy who so far has been an utter failure as I’d expected,’ he sneered, contempt dripping from every inch of his being. ‘Unbelievable. With Dumbledore as a guide you’d think he’d pick up something by mere association.’ He snorted. ‘Still, those morons shouldn’t have let her pass either. She hasn’t tried to stop someone for real. With a mind that disorganised it takes some professional questioning to get anything. Their idea of a test was ridiculously unsuitable for her, mind-bogglingly flawed. It doesn’t tell us a thing about her true ability to keep a secret. Perhaps I should prove it to them?’ he pondered, tapping with his fingers on her waist absentmindedly.

Hermione had the notion he’d stopped talking to her a while ago. Yet, she stayed silent, unmoving, not wanting to risk him recalling she was right here and stop him from letting all these thoughts wander out loud. She’d known about Malfoy since they’d accidentally run into each other once at the Keepers’ Headquarters in London, but she didn’t know the other candidate was a girl. Too bad he hadn’t said a name. She’d liked to know her competition.

A vile glint passed through Lord Voldemort’s eyes as he’d obviously got an idea to solve his problem. Suddenly, Hermione was glad she didn’t know the other candidate’s name since she couldn’t warn her and that pleased look of his foreshadowed nothing but trouble and pain for that poor girl.

‘It seems I’m straying from the subject,’ Voldemort said conversationally, returning his attention to her. ‘We were talking about your wants …’

Oh goody, back to my new favourite subject.

He leaned in closer. ‘Your needs …’ He caressed her stomach. ‘Your … desires,’ he ended in a sibilant hiss, pulling her closer.

‘I … I,’ she stuttered, drawing a blank when her heart skipped a beat.

‘Come on, Granger, most people your age have some notion about their wishes, be that the latest racing broomstick or striving for a career in … for instance the field of Healing. Surely, you can think of some things you wish for yourself?’

Yeah, I wish Harry was going to be safe; but–

‘I see. Anything else, preferably not so corny?’

He merely shrugged unapologetically when she glowered at him in response.

‘Too loud, again.’

Hermione sighed. Bringing her hand to her chin, she rubbed her skin absentmindedly while thinking about what he’d said. What did she want? She’d never given it that much thought. She’d been too busy striving to get her O.W.L.s first. Well, she supposed she wanted to graduate Hogwarts with the highest figures possible and at the top of her class. It was a harmless enough desire. So, she mentioned that to him.

‘Shouldn’t be too much of a problem,’ he replied casually. ‘And …?’

‘Er … I want to become a Keeper.’

‘With the excellent guide you’re having, that’s a given,’ he stated smugly.

‘I wish my guide wasn’t so full of himself,’ she retorted rapidly before she could think.

He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. ‘It’s not being full of oneself if it’s the truth. Besides, your competition is laughable. I’ll get you there, no worries. Any serious requests that have nothing to do with my character?’

‘Well, I suppose …’ she looked at him contemplatively before continuing, ‘I’d like to know what it is the council is keeping.’

‘Only logical,’ he replied thoughtfully.

‘Preferably before I become a Keeper,’ she added somewhat snidely since the whole secrecy was beginning to grate on her nerves.

‘Smart thinking,’ Voldemort said, his eyes gleaming down on her.

‘Well, I’m not signing anything anymore, until I know what the hell I’m getting into,’ she replied, folding her arms over each other decisively. She’d done that once before – signing that apprenticeship document unknowingly – and look what it had brought her: the Dark Lord in her bed. Yay Gods!

‘Oh, do tell me when you’re going to inform them of that. I’ll have to bring a camera to capture the moment.’ His entire posture radiated with glee. ‘Ortega and Li’s outrage will be priceless.’

‘But I don’t really know what I want to do after Hogwarts,’ she mused, no longer needing his incentive to continue and ignoring the fun he was having at anticipating her future actions towards the council. ‘I haven’t had time to give it much thought. I don’t really know what I’m good at. Harry excels in Defence, so naturally he wants to become an Auror. Moody made a comment about that to me, too.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘I do want to do some good for the world, but chasing after dark wizards doesn’t appeal to me.’ She didn’t have to look at his face to imagine his expression about now and continued quickly before he had time to make an ambiguous comment involving “chase the dark wizard”. ‘I do love Arithmancy.’ She sighed. ‘But that’s a really narrow field to specialise in and I am not sure I am good enough.’

‘Arithmancy requires an analytic, logical mindset,’ Voldemort replied carefully. ‘It does suit you. If you’re worried about restricting your future choices too much, it’ll be wise to take Advanced General Arithmancy instead of choosing a speciality.’

‘I’ve been thinking about doing both,’ Hermione said, now watching him with sincere interest.

She’d been unable to discuss this with anyone before. Her parents had no idea what she was talking about. Professor Dumbledore had given her ambiguous statements that basically came down to him saying it were her choice to make. Ron didn’t care about classes or the future. She was certain he’d just pick whatever classes Harry would. And Harry had no knowledge of Arithmancy, nor did anyone else in her immediate vicinity. The only Weasley who’d kept the subject was Percy, and well, that was a name best not to mention around the Burrow anymore, unless you wanted to make Mrs. Weasley cry and cause several others to grit their teeth. Lord Voldemort might be a power-hungry bigot, but she did value his magical knowledge and she’d like to hear his opinion on this matter.

‘Have you seen the N.E.W.T. curriculum of Advanced Specialised Arithmancy?’ he asked.

Hermione nodded. She knew it was a huge workload, but still …

‘You’ve been taking Potions, Ancient Runes, Astronomy, Charms, Transfiguration, Arithmancy, Defence, History, and Herbology. Right?’

‘And Care of Magical Creatures,’ Hermione added, nodding yes to the rest.

Voldemort waved that away. ‘Pointless subject,’ he muttered.

Of course, he’d consider something with the word “care” in it pointless, Hermione thought, amused. Not that she planned to continue her studies in that field anyway. It was the only class she’d already decided to drop for her N.E.W.T.s.

‘If you take General and Specialised Arithmancy, you’ll have to drop either Astronomy, Potions, Defence or Transfiguration. From those four, Defence is the only one not necessary for an Arithmancer, but I doubt you want to drop that class,’ he said, smirking at her.

‘I wasn’t planning on it,’ she replied stiffly.

‘I wouldn’t recommend it either. You need the practise. Exceed Expectations, I hear. Tsk, tsk, tsk …’

Hermione scowled. How did he know? She was about to open her mouth to defend her grade when he patted her on the head.

‘Still, that was before you met me,’ Voldemort said, being his usual smug, arrogant, assured self. ‘We’ll get that grade up to Outstanding before next school year. You’ll be able to teach its new Professor a thing or two about the Dark Arts.’ He chuckled.

Ljudmila Volkova? I doubt that very much. She’ll blast me all across the country.

‘Volkova?’ Voldemort inquired sharply. ‘Ljudmila took that job? You don’t say …’ he paused, looking up thoughtfully. ‘I wonder if it will work on a Keeper, considering …’

‘–you’re not supposed to be able to kill one?’ Hermione finished sweetly.

Surprised, his eyes flickered back to her face. ‘Yessss,’ he hissed, unabashed at her knowledge. ‘It’ll be interesting to witness what’s going to supersede: the Dark Arts or the Keeper Charter. Since my curse wasn’t aimed at a Keeper nor is she taking the job as one, it may dodge Article Two. Now you’re definitely keeping Defence in your curriculum. You’ll be taking detailed descriptions on her health, demeanour, and well, everything for me.’

‘I’m not your lackey,’ Hermione said, disturbed by this.

‘No, you’re my apprentice, and as such, you’re required to take any assignment I hand to you.’

‘Only if the assignment is related to enhancing my magical development or holds relevance to my path,’ she countered immediately.

‘Do you really want me to make that curse relevant to your path?’ Voldemort asked sweetly.

Hermione turned pale.

‘I easily can. It’s a very intricate, dark curse, and your understanding of the Arts is still far from being desired.’

‘I’m trying,’ she objected.

‘Tell that to the garden gnomes,’ he joked, chuckling at his pun.

‘Although I won’t practise the next curse I read about before going to sleep, you know, the one taking up chapter twenty-three,’ Hermione said, folding her arms over each other decisively.

Voldemort’s brow rose. ‘You’re at the Unforgivables already?’

‘Yes, and–’

‘Well, there are plenty of mindless boneheads here for you to practise the Imperius on,’ he said. ‘If I’d known this before, I’d have had you practise your skill by moving Weasley back to his room.’

An expectant, almost mischievous look appeared on his face as he waited for her rebuttal.

Yet, Hermione didn’t feel his comment merited a reply at all. She’d already said she wasn’t performing any Unforgivables, and no amount of pun concerning the intelligence or willpower of any possible targets in her vicinity was going to make her change her mind. If he wanted her to practise an Unforgivable, he’d better be prepared to play victim. After those comments about Muggles and Muggle-borns, she knew just the curse she really wanted to practise on him, and it definitely wasn’t the one on chapter twenty-three. No, twenty-four or twenty-five came to mind.

Lord Voldemort’s face lost that little sign of devious happiness and turned blank in a flash. It made Hermione realise just exactly which two other Unforgivables she’d been thinking about and who’d been most likely been listening to her thoughts. Again.

Oh crap.

She should’ve kept an eye on her Occlumency. Irritated with herself and his prying attitude, she narrowed her eyes at him, thinking deliberately hard.

If you don’t like what you hear, stop eavesdropping.

‘How did you do on the Volantius Curse?’ he asked, his tone business-like.

‘I got a toy dog to kill a garden gnome,’ she replied.

His seemingly lipless mouth quirked briefly, the faintest sign of amusement. ‘You got the curse to work before you went into your ridiculous moral panic and lost control?’

‘It worked perfectly fine,’ she said through gritted teeth. Eh, I had it climb a tree for crying out loud.

‘Splendid,’ Voldemort said, smiling broadly.

Splendid? Hermione was utterly confused.

‘It’s not in the book you got since it’s too contemporary, but the Volantius and Imperius were originally designed as a pair to strive at full control of the caster’s environment, be that alive or not. It wasn’t until two centuries later that ignorance parted the curses and placed the Imperius in the Unforgivable collection, causing the Volantius Curse to drift off into the unknown since there were easier ways developed to manipulate one’s environment than this curse. It requires a considerable amount of power and most can’t cast it to completion. However, the Volantius and Imperius Curse are effectively the same curse. They only have different target objectives. Hardly anyone knows this today since the Volantius Curse isn’t even forbidden. Still, if you can cast the one, you won’t have any significant difficulties with the other.’

‘But people can fight off the Imperius,’ Hermione objected. ‘An object can’t fight off the Volantius.’

‘True, but the amount of willpower required to make a lifeless object do your bidding is relatively equal to the amount of resistance an individual can throw at you with the Imperius.’

Hermione frowned.

Witnessing her doubt, Voldemort elaborated. ‘Objects aren’t supposed to move, unlike humans. And most people are more than happy to rescind control.’ He stared at her knowingly, turning her cheeks bright red. ‘You’ll have no problem making them cater to your every whim, Hermione. All those useless, spineless morons out there will never be able to take you.’ He leaned forward till his mouth was next to her ear and his breath brushed her skin, sending delicious tingles through her body. ‘Not like you want to be taken,’ he whispered suggestively, making her close her eyes and shiver reflexively.

Completely distracted, she missed him moving back and taking in her flushed state with sincere satisfaction. So, when he opened his mouth again and words came falling out in a dispassionate, rational tone, it felt like being dosed with cold water and she shook out of it abruptly.

‘Now, since we agreed you’ll be taking Defence this year, you need to drop either Astronomy, Potions or Transfiguration if you want to continue both Specialised and General Arithmancy. I strongly recommend against dropping any one of these three subjects since they are important when you continue your schooling to become a true Arithmancer after Hogwarts.’

‘So you think I should choose between General or Specialised Arithmancy,’ Hermione said thoughtfully. ‘Which Arithmancy class did you pick?’

‘That’s beside the point, Granger.’

She scowled.

‘Both,’ he added, upon noticing she wouldn’t let it go.

Her scowl grew.

‘I didn’t have your incessant need to study, Granger. I took every class without the use of a Time-Turner by simply splitting my attendance in half, and still, had plenty of time for extra-curricular activities.’ He sniggered at the memory of his not so “common” activities, making her scowl rise to gigantic proportions.

‘Don’t look at me like that, Granger. Could you manage to NOT do an assignment a teacher hands out to you?’

‘Why would I not do my homework?’

‘Because the assignment is silly and a complete waste of time? Because you know it already and have better things to do? Because you need to sleep at some point during the day?’ he suggested as examples.

‘But–but you’re supposed to–’ she stuttered.

‘My point exactly. Your insane angst of failure would not allow you to let go enough to not do every stupid assignment those teachers hand out to perfection, so taking all the classes is not an option for you. Now …’ he paused, waiting for the truth of his words to sink in, ‘if you want to aim at a career as an Arithmancer and not completely box yourself into a corner, you should take General Arithmancy.’

‘But won’t that make me less desirable to a college as opposed to those who took Specialised Arithmancy? It’s supposed to be more difficult.’

‘Nonsense. Rubbish propagated by those with insufficient knowledge of the subject. Advanced Specialised Arithmancy isn’t harder than General – it just focuses more deeply on a tiny area of Arithmancy. Where Advanced General Arithmancy takes a broader approach and touches all the fields. Ask any Professor at any magical university in the world what kind of student they prefer getting and I’ll promise you they prefer the one who has the broader knowledge since it’s the university’s job to help you specialise. Teaching Specialised Arithmancy at Hogwarts is a premature, foolish act, mainly cheered upon by snobs not scholars. Not one of the famous Arithmancers throughout history ever took a specialised class in their primary magical education.’

Hermione felt somewhat relieved since this made her decision a lot easier. ‘So, it would be better to take Advanced General Arithmancy with Potions, Transfiguration, and Astronomy,’ she concluded.

‘Yes, and I’d recommend Ancient Runes, Charms, and Divination, too, if you hadn’t been so foolish to drop the last subject.’

Divination. Pfftt… Okay, she could hold in her laughter now. Yes, she most certainly could.

And they say intelligence is an important quality to a Keeper.

Dumbledore’s dry comment rushed back to the forefront of her mind and she couldn’t hold it in any longer. A very audible snort left her mouth before she started giggling. The one being giggled at merely waited, his face expressionless. When she was finally done laughing, he continued blankly.

‘We can have a debate on the value of Divination some other time since it’s obviously too late to undo your third year folly.’

‘I’m pretty pleased with my “folly”,’ Hermione said, smiling broadly.

‘Which shows just how much you don’t know,’ Voldemort rebutted coldly. ‘So, you’ve got Advanced General Arithmancy, Potions, Ancient Runes, Astronomy, Charms, Transfiguration, and Defence as definite N.E.W.T. classes. Care of Magical Creatures as a definite no. You just need to decide on whether or not to keep History and Herbology. I think you can easily take the workload, so I recommend keeping them both. The combination of these subjects are perfectly suited for a future in Arithmancy and most other fields should you change your mind later on.’

Despite being somewhat annoyed with his presumptuous attitude, she couldn’t help but agree with his choices. They made sense. Just for the sake of disagreeing, a part of her wanted to keep Care of Magical Creatures now, but she knew nine N.E.W.T. classes was already far above average and would keep her fully occupied next to any and all Keeper assignments she’d get. So, she merely nodded in concurrence.

‘Terrific,’ he said cheerfully, before leaning in closer. ‘Anything else you need me to solve?’

Hermione turned red, gaping at him.

‘No more wishes? Too bad, I enjoyed hearing you think of yourself for a change. It’s such a refreshing approach to your normal self-sacrificing routine.’

‘I am not a martyr.’

‘Whatever you say, dear,’ he said, patting her on the head. ‘Well,’ –he rose from the bed and took a look around before meeting her eyes seriously– ‘my offer still stands. I recommend you consider it seriously in the turbulent days to come.’

Turbulent days? Fear gripped her heart. What was that supposed to mean? What would happen? Why did he make his offer now? It was incredibly sudden. But …

‘How can I consider it seriously if you don’t respect who I am?’ she retorted.

‘I respect who you are, Hermione. I may not like what you are, but at least I am honest enough to say it to your face. Something your precious Order Members won’t do.’

‘They don’t care that I am a Muggle-born.’

‘Really?’ Voldemort said sarcastically. He waved in Fleur’s direction with his wand, undoing the Sleeping Jinx. ‘Did you plug your ears while I was conversing with Weasley-Prewett?’

‘I am not falling for your attempts at misdirection.’

Voldemort shook his head. ‘You’re too naïve at times, Hermione. Far too naïve. But you’ll see I’m right in September.’

‘No,’ Hermione said, her voice steady, ‘I won’t. Even if Mrs. Weasley would want to in order to protect her family, joining you would rip the very thing she’d try protecting apart.’

‘Wanna bet on it?’ Voldemort asked lightly.

‘No.’

His cold laugh filled the room. Fleur stirred in her bed, causing them to freeze up. When she didn’t wake and nobody else came rushing to the door, wands drawn, Voldemort said, ‘Not that certain after all, little one?’

‘I just don’t believe in betting.’

‘Right,’ he said smugly. ‘I recommend you pay attention to Saint Molly’s behaviour in the future and you’ll see I am quite correct in my assessment of her. Her family might not have been as vocal as the Malfoys about it, but they’ve never married or befriended a Mudblood. Ever. Kind of a huge coincidence if it’s accidental, wouldn’t you say?’

Hermione looked at Lord Voldemort and said coldly, ‘I don’t believe you.’

He shrugged. ‘It’s not a matter of what you believe, dear. It’s the truth, and the truth is often not as pretty as people may want to pretend it is.’

And with those parting words, he spun on the spot and was gone.

xxx

It was an even bigger chaos than normally at the Burrow’s breakfast table. Everyone rushed to and fro, getting ready to go to Diagon Alley. Hermione barely could keep her eyes open. Her head was propped on her hand, and she was yawning between every other bite in her syrup-sprinkled waffle. Every muscle in her body was protesting about having to do anything else but lie down. She was sore beyond belief and hardly able to sit in a chair. She barely had any sleep thanks to a certain nightly visitor, and she wasn’t fond of mornings or morning people anyway.

‘GINNY!’ Mrs. Weasley yelled, making Hermione groan and clutch to her head. ‘Don’t forget your coat! They think it may rain today. Harry, dearest, have another pancake.’ She scooped one on his plate before he could reply.

Coffee, more coffee, Hermione thought, her hand searching the table for the pot. I need to be able to at least think properly.

Ron babbled excitedly to Harry about the jokeshop and about being able to drive there since his father had managed to secure the Ministry’s cars again.

‘Hermione dear, you’ve hardly eaten,’ Mrs. Weasley said, adding extra waffles to her plate. ‘Have some more syrup.’

‘I’m good,’ Hermione said, attempting to stop the growing pile by holding her hand above it. Up close she suddenly noticed how utterly tired Molly Weasley seemed, yet the woman hid it perfectly with her busy, mothering demeanour, even though she uncharacteristically stared out the window every now and then.

‘Okay, sweetie,’ Mrs. Weasley added, stroking through her hair, ‘but if you want something else: pie, bacon and sausages, eggs, anything else, just holler and I’ll make it for you.’

‘Thanks, Mrs. Weasley, but waffles and coffee is fine. Thank you.’

Molly sniffed briefly, and then, hugged Hermione to her chest, making her wince. ‘I’m just so glad you’re safe, dear,’ she said, sounding overly emotionally.

‘Oh. Yeah, me too,’ Hermione replied, her voice muffled by Molly’s apron. She tried hard to ignore how Voldemort’s words were coming true one by one. Ron grinned in her direction when she finally broke free from his mother’s stronghold.

‘Ee will miss you,’ Fleur sang, hugging Bill in the doorway. ‘Be careful.’

Some snogging noises followed, and for a second, Hermione saw disgust in Mrs. Weasley’s face. It made her frown briefly. Then, she shook her head. She’d been musing over Voldemort’s insane accusations after he’d left long enough. It was ridiculous. She shouldn’t let his venom cloud her judgement of others. The Weasleys were seen as blood traitors for a reason. He was just trying to stir trouble between them, cause a rift to form among his enemies. She really shouldn’t grant his words a second thought.

‘Bill, you’ll be late for work,’ Molly Weasley called out bossily, not noticing it made Hermione squirm in her chair uncomfortably.

‘Gringotts won’t go anywhere,’ Bill said, laid back as always. ‘Love you.’

‘Love you, too,’ Fleur replied, and then, she sighed as he Apparated away. ‘Oh, ze cars are ’ere.’

Ron jumped immediately out of his seat, stuffing the rest of his breakfast in his mouth quickly, while attempting to put his coat on with his other hand.

‘GINNY!’ Molly yelled.

‘I am here,’ the redhead replied calmly, coming into the kitchen all packed and ready to go.

‘Zip up your coat, dear. It’s cold outside.’

Ginny zipped up her coat, rolling her eyes behind her mother’s back. Hermione quickly finished her coffee and pushed away her half-eaten waffle, watching Harry do the same with his additional pancake. For a second, they grinned at each other, then, got to their feet as well and put on their coats, trailing behind the rest of the crowd going outside.

However, before they could get into one of the cars, the last one pulled over with a squeak in its tires. Everyone looked up in surprise when its door opened and Rufus Scrimgeour stepped out. His tawny hair seemed to have got greyer since the last time his picture appeared in the Daily Prophet only three days ago, and he limped forward, his sharp eyes quickly scanning the redheaded crowd before him.

‘Minister,’ Molly said, surprised. ‘What brings you here?’

Her eyes flickered to her husband, who also got out of the car and sent her an apologetic gesture, showing her he hadn’t had the opportunity to warn her about this impromptu visitor.

‘Sorry to hold you up, but I need a word with Miss Granger – in private.’

Silence fell over the previously busy chattering crowd.

‘With me?’ Hermione asked, confused.

Harry and Ron looked at her with alarm in their eyes.

Scrimgeour nodded curtly to her before he addressed Mrs. Weasley again. ‘Is there anywhere we can talk here that would be suitable for such an event?’ His eyes glanced somewhat demeaning at the house.

‘Well, I suppose you can use the sitting room,’ Molly said doubtfully.

‘Splendid. Follow me, Miss Granger.’ Scrimgeour’s limped inside immediately, certain he’d be obliged.

‘Do you think he found out about the – the …?’ Ron nodded his head to Hermione’s necklace. ‘And you being you know … with him.’

‘I don’t know,’ Hermione whispered back, sharing a glance with Harry and Ron before looking at Arthur Weasley for support and information.

‘I convinced him to talk to you here instead of at the Ministry; go inside and stall for time, don’t say too much, I’ll be right there,’ Arthur whispered to a now even more alarmed Hermione.

‘I’m going with you,’ Harry said immediately.

Arthur smiled. ‘I thought you might say that. I should warn you though, you’re probably the reason Scrimgeour said yes to my suggestion. He’s been lurking for an opportunity to meet the Chosen One and so far Albus has been able to prevent it.’

‘Then, you’re staying here,’ Hermione told Harry bluntly.

‘I’m going to be fine,’ she added when Harry opened his mouth to object. ‘If Professor Dumbledore doesn’t want you near the Minister for Magic, he must have a good reason for doing so.’

She, then, turned on her heels and walked away, not giving Harry the chance to respond. Harry stood there, not sure what to do now. He knew Hermione well enough to know she could stand her ground and wouldn’t be particularly happy if he accommodated the Minister for Magic’s plans for him over her. He could already hear her rant in his mind after the fact. He turned to Arthur Weasley for knowledge, for that little bit extra which could make him help decide on what to do, for that little bit that would reassure him Hermione was going to be fine.

But Arthur’s next words were no reassurance at all.

‘Molly, warn Albus, fast. There’s been a murder at the Ministry and Hermione’s genealogy papers were found on the scene.’

xxx
- 30
- 31
- 32
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 Apprentice