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

Chapter List
- 31
- 32
- 33
I hope this chapter clears a few things up, if not, let me know and I'll try to answer your questions.
Beta: Julie. fjad
Chapter Thirty Two
The shrine on the mountain was hidden from plain view, and she only found it because she knew what she was looking for... The Direction spell—her own invention—brought her to this place.
The spell showed the coordinates of the person she was looking for, giving her a picture of the place, and using this information, she could Apparate precisely to any destination.
Point Me would not work from Scotland to China.
She had Apparated from the Chamber of Secrets to the Headmaster's Tower, making Ginny jump up at the sudden, silent appearance. Hermione apologized with a tender smile and agreed on a visit in a week. She would find a way out for Ginny.
He would let Ginny go.
She needed Dracula's knowledge on how to approach Voldemort with such a request, and actually get her way. If there was one person Dracula knew better than anyone, it was himself.
She could call him by any name, but the fact remained that he was Lord Voldemort.
And Lord Voldemort always Apparated silently, Dracula had said one day to her astonishment, and when he had offered to teach her how to do it, Hermione had felt conflicted.
She wanted this incredible knowledge, wanted to learn it for herself, and at the same time, she knew he had something up his sleeve, something was going on and she had no idea what.
There were so many things to think about that she preferred not to think about.
She could not think about it now.
The world they lived in was like a double-edged sword that at the same time looked innocent from one angle, but was deadly from the other.
She saw the shiny, smooth edge, and it was breathtaking. The world, full of seduction and possibilities, was hers to take.
But then, she would see the blade twist, and it's ugly, monstrous reality it was for others would be visible. Sharp, lethal and unforgiving.
Hermione had seen the destruction of one big, happy family—she had even took part in it without wanting it—she had seen the newspapers with abusive headlines, and she had seen the masses of fanatical followers who had turned a once- happy place into a hell.
It was hell for everyone who had been against Voldemort, with two exceptions, though.
Her and Harry.
Not two years into the new regime, and both of them had turned into monsters.
What kind of people were they?
The stairs that led up were very narrow and Hermione was extremely grateful to be a witch. She didn't think many people visited this place, as she could see a few stairs missing in some places, twenty meters above the ground.
'Interesting taste our Harry has.'
If he didn't stop mimicking Yoda…
Not a soul around.
What was this place?
She looked up at the shrine and closed her eyes, ready to Apparate.
I want to get to the doors of the shrine.
Magic is wonderful, crossed her mind and she opened her eyes.
She was at the doors.
"Oculus Porta!"
Hermione saw a tall glass with a caged bell and a figure, who could only be Harry, lying on top of it.
Hello, Harry.
xxx
Five a.m.
Time to get up.
He sat up slowly on his bed, and without lazing around in the warm blanket, he got up.
With precise steps, he went to the bathroom and took a shower. Cleanliness was something he needed for himself, and given the fact that in the summer it was much harder with the hot water supply, he liked showers.
Soon, however, this maddening wrongness would be corrected, and he would be able to live in the world he belonged to.
He would be home.
His home was the magical world, and he didn't need another. His home was Hogwarts.
He had seen nothing good in those pathetic, muggle creatures during all the years among them. They were all greedy little bastards, and they all deserved what he would do to them.
He loved early mornings when no one was up yet and he could be all by himself.
Silence was something he did not have before he turned eleven, just like with the water. It would sound wild to any pure-blood, though.
When he slept, he didn't have dreams. When he was younger, there were a few here and there, but with each year his control on his mind tightened. He didn't need much sleep, and he preferred not to waste the time he could spend learning something useful.
He opened the wardrobe and took out his woollen jacket. With precise, practised movements the green tie had a perfect knot, and he smiled at his reflection.
Perfect.
xxx
How annoying…
With an internal sigh, he drank his tea—two sugars and milk— and looked around.
Tsk.
Filthy creatures—who claimed to be gifted with magic when they had stolen it—were everywhere and a nasty snarl would have made itself onto his face, had it not been for the perfect self-control.
Smile.
No magical person is worse than a Muggle, he reminded himself as he met gazes with the ugly, retarded Mudblood, who blushed and giggled, making his hands itch.
You wait…
xxx
It was such a common day, nothing special, nothing new; it was on days like this that he needed to get away from the idiots surrounding him and just relax in silence.
He loved to read. He enjoyed it secondary only to power.
Hordes of dimwits around him were boring, and there was nothing more interesting than a book.
One can never have too much of two things—knowledge and power.
It was hard with the power part—especially since one crook-nosed, two-faced jester kept a very close eye on him—but no one could stop him from reading more and more, with each passing day gaining knowledge that would take him to the very top of the magical world.
Carefully picking a book—it said Potions on the cover, but it was definitely not about the arts of brewing—, he got up from his armchair and without paying attention to the longing gazes of females, he walked out of the door and towards his most favourite place.
He needed some time alone.
It was late in the evening, and the corridors were empty, allowing him to hear the click of his shoes as he steadily approached his destination.
The lavatory on the second floor.
He had to be careful every time he wished to visit the place that belonged to him by his birthright— he wasn't talking about a bathroom— and making sure no one was around, he turned towards the sink.
"Open."
xxx
He had created a wonderful armchair in which he could lean back and enjoy the book in silence and comfort, and with a flick of his hand, the cover of the book changed to its original.
The pages were made of human skin, and the ink was most definitely blood, and as he turned a page, he could almost hear the screams of the person who had provided material for the cover.
He had always enjoyed causing pain, and a small smile made it to his lips, when a loud thunder-like sound echoed around the high ceilings, making him—and the wards—alert in a second.
Shock was not something he was used to—it was more than hard to impress him, but to shock him…
Even when he found out he had been a wizard all this time, and even when he found out about his bloodline, he had been elated, but not shocked. Not shocked, because he had known it was so before it was confirmed. That he was special.
Now, however, he watched a body materialize from thin air, and with acceleration that turned everything into a blur, he saw the body plummet down.
He was on his feet, wand drawn out, watching in shock as the body hit the five meter tall, stone statue of a snake, breaking it in pieces, and then skydived into the water, with the stones falling above.
He knew he had to make a move, but he could only stare as the water bubbled and the person was thrown onto the marble floor, a small wave of water accompanying it.
The thick, red blood kept surging from the cracked skull, and finally closing his mouth— he would forever deny he had it opened in the first place—, he made a step forward, wand out.
He stepped into the pool of water and blood, and quickly looked up to confirm that everything was calm now. Whatever caused such alarms must have caused Hogwarts' alarms to go off as well.
He was a Prefect—next years' Head Boy— and he was currently missing.
If the alarm did go off…
He didn't have much time.
Looking down at the female, he tilted his head to the right.
He noticed the long, brown hair that was soaked in blood, and as he stepped closer and crouched near the lifeless body, he pointed his bone-white wand at the mystery before him.
Whoever she was, she was dead.
xxx
He needed to go.
Would Hogwarts' wards alert the Headmaster—and Dumbledore—, or would the Chamber of Secrets hide the sudden appearance from the ceiling?
The woman's body remained on the marble floor—face down—, in the pool of her own blood, and he did not know what to do with her.
She had appeared out of thin air, and the speed of her fall had been faster than he had ever seen in his life, so that meant…
What did it mean?
What was an unknown girl doing in the Chamber of Secrets, in Hogwarts? How did she get through all the wards?
He leaned closer when something caught his attention, making his heart stop for a second before it started its maddening tempo.
What in Salazar's name…?!
One hand was lying at a weird angle—broken, just like the neck and the skull—and a shimmer of gold on the index finger caught his eye. He had always been magic-sensitive, and the ring was simply screaming at him.
He would recognize his own magical signature everywhere.
With unbelieving eyes, he quickly reached for the ring and touched it, feeling the familiar pulse of his own magic.
He didn't cast it.
It meant...
He quickly turned the girl onto her back—she wouldn't mind the harsh movement as she was dead anyway— and looked into the bloodied, broken face, trying to understand what was going on.
His hand moved some sticky hair out of the way, and he leaned closer, his face just above hers.
"Who are you?"
He knew he was talking to a corpse.
He was about to check her torn clothes, when he felt a chill that quickly spread all over the Chamber of Secrets.
With a frown, he watched the blood on the floor gather together and crystallize and then simply vanish. He tore his gaze from the floor that was now spotless, to the girl.
He silently watched the skull repair itself, and even heard a crack, when the neck was healed as well. All the cuts disappeared and scratches healed.
Her hair felt silky now, and dry. Her clothes were now intact.
It was hard to breathe and think at the same time, and he had to blink a few times to clear his head.
He licked his lips and pointed his wand at the now clean girl.
Impossible.
She was alive, Tom Riddle managed to comprehend when a sound close to a scream was ripped from his throat.
Her eyes were wide open now, and the blood-red irises were now trained on his pale-blue ones.
A sudden laugh escaped the healed lips of the girl, and Tom could only stare at her in disbelief.
xxx
Her head throbbed and she couldn't open her eyes, even though she wanted to. Hermione felt a soft, warm hand on her head and then her ring burned pleasantly, when someone touched it.
She felt the person roll her onto her back, and she wanted to cry in the protest, as everything hurt.
The pain was ringing in her ears and her mind felt all wobbly; the mental shelves with her memories were still shaking.
'What happened?' Hermione asked in her mind, her eyes still closed, and she felt his presence. It shouldn't have a calming effect on her, but it did.
No matter what had transpired, Dracula was still with her, and that meant she was not dead.
'You're alright, Hermione. Open your eyes.' Voldemort's voice was soothing her, and Hermione fought to open her eyes and look around, not knowing where she was.
All she could remember was the vortex and Harry's screams. And the bell ringing.
She needed to know if Harry was alright. He was an insane junkie who tortured their friend, but he was still Harry.
Slowly opening her eyes, Hermione's vision focused on black hair and a handsome face, and then, when her eyes met the pale-blue, Dracula suddenly started laughing.
She was laughing, and she did not know why.
'Why are you laughing? And why do you look so young?' Hermione nudged the Horcrux to get his attention, when something clicked in her mind, and her eyes widened, mirroring the wide, pale eyes she'd recognize everywhere .
Oh dear Merlin, Hermione thought as Dracula calmed down and stopped laughing through her mouth.
He was now chuckling in her mind.
'Oh, Hermione, Hermione. You're never boring.'
She was lying on the cold floor, looking at the teenager Dark Lord who had his bone-white wand pointed at her.
He was looking at her as if she had just risen from the dead, and Hermione couldn't blame him.
She did arrive unexpectedly.
What was he doing in the Chamber of Secrets, and what was she doing here?
The last memory she had was of a screaming Harry, in China.
The memories of the fight—Harry had actually drawn his wand on her!—were all vague and flickering, and she needed time to concentrate.
Her head really hurt and Hermione wondered if her fall had been harder than she thought. She didn't remember the fall, but it couldn't be that hard if all her bones were whole.
Right?
Hermione stared silently at the younger face of Tom Marvolo Riddle—not a Headboy yet, but older than fifth, therefore, a sixth year— as he asked her —again—who she was.
Hermione sat up and held her head in her hands.
If someone thought it was funny...well, she didn't. She had problems with one person and his endless personalities already—Voldemort, the Hood, Marvolo and Dracula.
And now, she had Tom to deal with as well.
Everything was mixed in her head, and it felt as if her mind had been chewed upon.
"Hello!"
Even as a fifteen-year old he demanded full attention; however, it felt different now.
The eyes were the same chilling, pale-blue colour, but they lacked the ever present twinkle of arrogance and confidence that his future self had. They had the same drilling quality, but it wasn't even hard to hold his gaze. His posture was almost the same, Hermione noticed—tall and straight, with a wand out, but something was missing.
Before her, was a wannabe Dark Lord who wasn't the Master of Death, and who knew even less about life than her.
The experience and wisdom were missing, and Hermione did not know which version she preferred—the know-it-all from the future, or this one, that still had all the potential in the world and yet, had no real knowledge. He hadn't done anything as bad as his future self would do. Tom was a murderer, but not a mass murderer. Yet.
What could she tell him, and for how long would she be here? What was this?
'A week.' She heard Dracula's whisper, and Hermione sneered mentally. How did he know?
All the things she could change—
Before Hermione could finish that thought, a sharp, electrifying pain cut through her mind and she would have screamed if she could only open her mouth.
It was worse than Cruciatus.
'Friends or not, don't even think about it, Hermione. I'll take over in a second, and I do not forgive treason. Remember that.'
She would find a way…
Now was not the time to think about it.
She was not afraid of his grown-up version, and with a smile of her own, Hermione realised that for the first time, she had the upper hand.
This version of Voldemort would not be able to overpower her.
Especially if she had his older part on her side.
"Hello, Tom."
xxx
He knew he was laughing, but he couldn't help himself.
Voldemort looked at his shocked teenager- self, and mentally shook his head, his fear at today's events replaced with amazement.
Hermione, Hermione…
What a Mudblood!
It all made sense now, with the missing memories and the non-existing ex-girlfriends.
It felt like a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders, when he had seen his younger self, and put the puzzle together.
There was no need to worry now, when he knew who had—would—modified his memory.
He knew his other half—the future one—had also understood what had happened, and he would make sure no changes to the future happened. Everything would run smoothly in the normal timeline, and after one week here—in the Chamber of Secrets, as he refused to leave it, in order to not change the future where everything was exactly like he preferred—Hermione would return to the original time line.
Well, somehow…
He had no idea what had happened after the fight with Potter—that little shit!—, but somehow, Hermione—and him—were thrown back in time. He had heard about such bells that brought a person to a different time, however, they all had a major flaw.
His head still hurt, and he hadn't been the one to crack his skull and lose all the brain tissue on the floor in the first place. No wonder his younger self looked so shocked.
Voldemort—he would not be referring to himself as Dracula—had seen everything his younger self had, while Hermione had been out cold. Well, dead.
She was immortal, but it had hurt like hell. He shielded the memory from his host, not wanting her to know about that little piece of information.
If there was one good thing about this adventure, it was the fact that Hermione would see a different side of him. He was going to make sure Hermione understood many things while they were away from the original Dark Lord. He had one week to make changes before his other half would try to remove the Horcruxes.
He had no more time to lose.
A week of his memories was modified, and that meant Hermione would stay here for only one week.
He couldn't remember much, even now, and it looked like it could be an interesting experience.
Hermione wouldn't be able to destroy the timeline by killing his younger self as he wouldn't allow it.
And he…well, he'd help Hermione. And himself.
How utterly delicious.
xxx
"I beg your pardon?"
Hermione made a note to play this memory as often as she could.
Tom—he was Tom, and she made sure to call him that— was staring at her in disbelief, his pale eyes shining with different turbulent emotions.
She saw fear and elation, disbelief and hope. Hermione had never had the chance to see such emotions in his future-self's eyes, and she was going to enjoy it as long as she could.
She still had to figure out what had happened, and what she could do, but first…
After she had told Tom who she was—Dracula's own suggestion—she had to stop a chuckle that wanted to leave her lips. He wanted her to repeat it.
"I said my name was Hermione Gaunt."
She just loved his expressions, no matter how well he could hide them, she could see right through them.
He wasn't the Voldemort she knew. Yet.
"My future…?" Tom made a jest with his left hand, as if looking for a word, and the right one was still pointed at her, holding the wand.
"Wife," Hermione helped with a small nod and watched the pale eyes widen even more.
A small chuckle was heard in the dark corner of her mind, and Hermione smiled.
How refreshing it felt to be the one with surprises!
xxx
There was one millisecond when he had thought that Mrs. Cole had been correct and he was "mad", however, magic explained everything.
Magic had no boundaries.
He had witnessed this girl—a beautiful woman when her skull wasn't broken—drop like a bag of rocks from the ceiling of the Chamber of Secrets into the water, breaking everything there was to break, and die.
Then, he watched her heal—and forget, apparently, about the fact that she had died—and now, she informed him that she was his future wife. In Parseltongue.
He could always feel lies, and she—Hermione—wasn't lying.
He didn't know what to think about it.
She was his wife.
"Hermione," Tom said with a charming smile and squinted his eyes a bit.
She would tell him everything.
xxx
Harry opened his eyes on the twenty-second attempt and closed them immediately.
Oh shit…
"I know you are awake, Potter."
Voldemort's voice was cold, but he wasn't enraged, and that gave Harry hope.
Slowly, green eyes opened and focused on the silver tie and the white vest before going up to look into the red eyes.
His mouth was dry, otherwise he would have screamed for Hermione, and as a panic attack started to grow inside his chest, he heard the Dark Lord chuckle.
"You know, Harry, there must be something very wrong with you and Hermione. You two managed things that no other can, and you still remain alive," Voldemort said in a pensive, but lightly amused voice, and Harry breathed out.
Hermione was alive.
All was good.
Why was everything hurting like hell?
Harry closed his eyes, trying to remember what had happened, and flashes of the vague memories bombarded his now-sober mind.
He needed a dose.
Harry made a move to get up, only to find his hands secured by his sides by two shiny, purple bracelets.
The fuck?!
"Only you, Harry Potter, could find an abandoned muggle artefact Merlin knows where, and actually activate it. I think it's time to put a stop to all your adventures."
Harry opened his mouth to scream, only to find out he couldn't.
"No more drugs, Harry."
xxx
He left Potter to struggle with his demons in the darkness, and went to his office.
How had Potter survived? It must have been the drugs that toned down the shock and prevented death, but how?
How powerful was Harry exactly?
Voldemort had extracted all memories from the drugged mind before casting sobering charms.
That idiot Potter had so many things in his imagination—bulls cock in a glass, insects on a plate in a restaurant, a guide— that actually never existed in reality. He had seen the stairs with his own eyes, and there definitely could be no tourists when half of the narrow stairs were missing. Not one soul had visited the temple before Harry.
And Hermione.
And he definitely did not provide Harry with a guide...
It was hard to understand what Potter had really seen and what was made up by his sick, drugged mind, as it all looked the same to Harry.
He needed time to comprehend everything that had happened. He needed to sort his thoughts and memories and finally put the puzzle together.
Now, when the actual event happened, it would be easier to remove most of the memory charms, and actually remember the missing parts of his sixth year.
He felt his connection with the Horcrux that was still active no matter the time.
How fascinating!
Hermione was in the past and would stay there for a week, and with the Horcrux inside of her, there was nothing to worry about. The Horcrux would make sure nothing changed and that she behaved.
While Hermione's time-travel explained many things—how blind could he have been?—, Potter's adventure into the past only added to the mystery.
Potter had been thrown into a different time than Hermione, and Voldemort had never been more grateful.
He didn't want to imagine what kind of mess drugged Potter would have created in his past, when in one minute that Potter spent in year 1966, he had managed to blow up a house with his magical outburst at the crash landing.
Time-travelling was possible, however, the Unspeakables had found a reason why it did not happen often. If at all…
No one had survived the landing, gaining more speed every second before crashing. Thirty-three years into the past would be equal to...somewhere around a thousand kilometers per hour. Time-turners were as far as you could go in the terms of magic.
He was going to make the Unspeakables trace all such bells and have them destroyed.
He heard the tales of time-bells, however, since no one returned alive…
And the way the Boy Wonder looked after the landing…
Yes, the fall was softened—he should have let Potter crash and die—, however, instead, he caught the idiot with a spell. Even with Momento Duratus it had been a hard landing.
It must have been really painful for his Horcrux where no one awaited her sudden appearance. Had Hermione not had the Horcrux, she would have ended up dead.
She would land in the Chamber of Secrets, as it was charmed in the ring. If any emergency Portkey activation was needed, it would bring Hermione to the Chamber of Secrets, locked with Parseltongue passwords and Hogwarts' wards.
Voldemort had come too late to pull her away from the vortex, but Harry…
He caught him almost in time.
"Almost" meant that Potter did land in the past but was pulled back quickly by the fire rope around his ankle while the vortex was still opened.
Lord Voldemort leaned back into his leather chair and held a hand over his eyes.
He had always wondered why Cygnus Black had destroyed Pare's family when he used to be friends with Viscal.
Now, Pare was going to wipe out all those with Black blood—except Bella and Harry—in the name of revenge he had promised for the murder of his family.
With a smirk, Lord Voldemort opened his eyes and looked towards Harry's room.
Too bad for the Blacks, Pare had been looking for the wrong person all this time.
He would surprise Viscal when all unneeded balance would be removed. Only then would he tell the old man the truth, and watch his reaction.
To think that Cygnus Black had been innocent all this time…
Harry, Harry…
xxx
The cheering was loud and he could hear it even from where he was sitting, on a bench, with papers in hand, looking at them with greedy eyes.
It did not matter who played now, as he was on his break and he could do anything he wanted for thirty minutes. Lunch was forgotten as he kept reading one page after another.
This is all wrong!
"How could anyone make such idiotic mistakes?"
He transfigured a quill—a very useful spell that was also free—and started writing on the paper.
"This should be up, and this should be down," he muttered, correcting the calculations on the paper. When he had seen the papers on the bench, he hadn't meant to colour the whole sheet of paper with his bright blue color—it took some time to learn it, but Charlie was a good teacher—however now he couldn't stop.
He counted everything he saw, and all he saw on the sheet were calculations.
A calculation is a deliberate process that transforms one or more inputs into one or more results, with variable change.
"Multiply, not divide." Blue ink was now everywhere. "Subtraction instead of addition."
Who is the idiot who can't even choose the action correctly?
He was so absorbed in the calculations, his eyes scanning the numbers while the quill corrected the simple mistakes, that he failed to notice a presence near him, and only when a shadow fell on the papers, his startled eyes fell upon the figure in front of him.
Great.
"Enjoying your break, Weasley?"
Lucius Malfoy's cold tone and the sneer were directed at his crouched form, dressed in his cleaning service uniform, and Ron swallowed his anger, before nodding his head.
"Mister Malfoy."
I hate you all!
xxx
He had forgotten his damn homework on the Quidditch pitch of the Chudley Cannons and with a humourless laugh, he decided it did not matter anyway.
Draco styled his short, blond hair back, and with a pleased hum, he took out the pills.
What a boring day.
xxx
a/n Hehe...:) To be continued...
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Two Steps From Hell