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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
- 33
- 34
- 35
And here is the second chapter for today :)
Beta: Julie. fjad
Chapter Thirty Four
The bed was cosy and warm, and the blankets offered the possibility of a wonderful sleep, however, he knew that no matter how cosy the bed was, he wasn't going to get any sleep.
He was going to be the Dark Lord.
It wasn't a fantasy or a hope anymore. It was a fact.
Pale-blue eyes were shining brighter than the stars in the night sky, illuminating the ancient castle.
He had never felt better in his whole life.
"What is my name, Hermione?" He asked before he left his future wife in the Chamber of Secrets, needing to return to the dormitories before the night was over.
He wasn't talking about his muggle name. His wife was not only pretty but smart as well. She understood what he meant immediately.
"Your name is Lord Voldemort. You're the Dark Lord."
xxx
"I am not going to fight you, Harry!"
Flashes of light were erupting here and there, and the voices became clearer.
"I am not leaving without that bell, Hermione. Go away and leave me alone!"
Deranged green eyes that didn't seem to be able to focus properly became clearer to see, and Hermione shifted in her sleep, on the transfigured bed in the Chamber of Secrets.
She was so tired.
"Harry Potter!"
A kaleidoscope of colours blinded her for a second, and Hermione woke up with a start.
"Who is Harry Potter?"
Hermione turned her neck so quickly that she thought she had snapped it.
It was barely an hour after he had left, and she had fallen asleep, exhausted from the latest events that had transpired.
And now, he was back.
Didn't he sleep at all?
She needed time, but it seemed that each time she needed a moment to herself, a version of Voldemort would appear to thwart all her plans.
Hermione closed her eyes for a second, before sitting on the bed and rubbing her head.
Dracula had explained that Tom's memories would be modified and that he wouldn't remember anything, and Hermione felt goosebumps on her skin from the very idea that she would have to enter Voldemort's mind and make changes.
And now, apparently, she had said Harry's name out loud.
She wouldn't lie if she would wipe his memory clean anyway.
It was still hard to comprehend.
"He's an insane junky who has a Dark Lord for a pal," Hermione muttered, all the while trying to get rid of the headache.
The ghost of a smile on Tom's face turned into a real one, and Hermione had to admit she had never seen Voldemort so… sincerely happy?
Even when taking over countries, Voldemort did not show real emotions.
It was going to be a long week.
Hermione finally fell asleep as she watched Tom leave again, and as the darkness engulfed her, she was glad to greet it, even for a bit.
One minute of sleep, and she'd be ready.
xxx
He knew that something was off with her, but he couldn't put his finger on it.
He had come back to the Chamber, after an hour of useless staring at the ceiling, to find her asleep.
Then, when he sat into the comfortable armchair—Hermione was really good with transfiguration—he watched her sleep, thinking everything over.
Hermione woke up after screaming "Harry Potter" and he wondered who it was.
Potter was a pureblood name.
A junky?
How interesting...
Tom watched Hermione rub her head and with a yawn, lie back.
She was sound asleep, and her brown eyes were closed in a peaceful slumber.
When Tom leaned back in the armchair, he did not expect Hermione to open her eyes and sit on the bed, her eyes red again, looking at him with a slight smirk that did not suit her.
"We don't have much time, so you better listen closely," Hermione said but it wasn't Hermione.
Tom's wand was out when, suddenly, it flew from his hands into Hermione's outstretched palm.
His bone-white wand was hanging on her ring-finger—only he knew how to play with the handle!—and stopping the twirling of his wand, Hermione's hand was pointed in the air.
"Drahas shee."
Salazar Slytherin's signature spell. Only he could do it and get a huge, thick twirling ring of flames as a result.
As the smoke evaporated, Tom was met with the sight of red eyes on his own, older face before seeing Hermione again.
"I am Lord Voldemort." Hermione was smiling at him. "I am you."
He knew it was true. He could see it.
He was lost for words, most definitely for the first time in his life.
What can you say?
The smile they shared was so tiny that it was barely there, but you could see it if you knew what to look for.
I knew it!
xxx
A Gryffindor would allow you to regroup before attacking again.
A Hufflepuff would allow you to regroup and offer assistance.
A Ravenclaw would allow you to regroup keeping an eye on your movements.
A Slytherin would simply attack further, not allowing to regroup at all.
And she was dealing with the ultimate Slytherin.
If she moved like anything other than a Slytherin, she would lose.
Hermione stopped her pacing as the heavy metal doors opened and Tom Riddle walked in.
Again.
"Don't you have classes to be at?"
She didn't mean to be so snarky, however it seemed no matter how old Voldemort was, he affected her mental stability whether she wanted him to or not.
"Feisty today, aren't we?"
The use of a statement instead of a question brought back the memory of the Mount Everest and the first time she stepped over the invisible lines on the sand, into a foreign territory.
Her first step closer to the abyss.
Voldemort's pale eyes seemed to be engraved into her memory, and as Hermione took a deep breath, she thought she could still smell his cologne.
Fresh and addicting.
"Or not so feisty, after all?"
Hermione blinked her thoughts and memories away to be greeted with the sight of those chilling, pale eyes looking at her from a boyish face. Awaiting her answer.
Examining her reactions.
"Aren't you a little noisy for a fifteen-year old?" Hermione asked while trying to figure out what to eat.
And what to do.
The house-elf service was temporarily not available, and Hermione was hungry.
"Sixteen." He corrected her suddenly.
He sounded tense and she realised he was holding himself back.
He was sixteen? She knew her surprise was visible on her face as Tom sneered slightly, before sitting into the transfigured chair and leaning back.
"Either you missed your math classes, or you are a really bad wife." Voldemort junior flashed her a mocking smile and Hermione had to feverishly Occlude her mind.
You little…!
"It's your sixth year, is it not?" She didn't mean to phrase her question the same way Voldemort always did.
Damn habits!
A small, genuine smile was now on those smooth lips as Tom caught on her talking manner as well. His nodded silently and raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow.
Smug bastard!
"Then please enlighten me how you could be sixteen when you were born in 1927," Hermione made a face before sitting into her own chair.
"Correction, dear wife. 1926." His eyes were squinted a bit. She felt like a bug under a microscope again.
She actually did not know he was one year older. Not that it mattered, to be honest.
He wasn't really her age anyway.
"Tell me, Hermione, what year are you from?" His smooth voice wasn't going to fool her.
"1999." Here, take this.
She had expected many things but not a frown.
"And you are…twenty?" His guess had been correct and Hermione was pleased and mortified at the same time.
"Why do you ask?"
Hermione was sure had she been drinking, she would have choked to death.
"I didn't know I was a paedophile."
Her automatic reaction was to say "You're not!", but then again, it was Voldemort she was talking about. He may have been considerate and patient with her, though with others…
Was he one?
She was sure he wasn't.
She didn't know what to say. Out of all the topics…
"If it makes you feel better, I was nineteen when we…" Hermione trailed off, her face red with embarrassment, and she had to look away from the curious, pale eyes.
"When we what?"
She herself felt like a pervert now. It was one thing to talk to Voldemort, her lover, and completely another to his younger version.
Sixteen.
She felt like a cradle robber.
"When we fucked."
There, take that.
"Was it good?"
Hermione almost gaped at him. What was he asking? Wasn't he supposed to be interested in things like power, power and power?
Hermione cleared her throat and got up, the uneasy feeling in her stomach getting stronger.
I need food!
"Now that is none of your business," Hermione turned to face his sitting figure only to see the chair empty.
She felt his presence behind her, and she would have spun around, had two elegant hands not gripped her from behind.
He was not as tall as Voldemort would be, and the cologne was missing, but the magic itself was the same—suffocating and powerful.
"I think it is my business, seeing as you fucked me." An involuntary shiver went down her spine at the soft hissing in her ear.
Dracula was pleasantly silent, and Hermione smiled a bit.
She wanted to shake off his arms, but it would look suspicious to anyone—she had called herself his wife—, and to a person like Tom Riddle especially, so Hermione slowly turned her head and looked into the curious pale eyes.
He let go of her, and she twirled around, to stand face to face.
Her hand with the ring on it rose and her fingertips touched his lips softly. They were as tender as she thought.
Knew.
Her fingers ran up the handsome face, tracing the sharp angles of his straight nose and cheekbones before running through his perfectly styled black hair.
Hermione wished she had something better on instead of those dark purple trousers, a pullover, and knee-high boots. She went for a Harry-hunt, not drive-Tom-nuts hunt.
Her lips almost touched his, making him lean forward before Hermione licked the corner of his mouth, making his eyes go darker.
"Technically, we—" Her voice was low and throaty as her finger with the ring on it moved from her chest to his, "—did not have sex yet."
Their noses were touching, and she felt his breathing accelerate.
She knew he wanted to kiss her, she saw it in his eyes, and when his head tilted down a bit—where were her heels when she needed them?—Hermione pushed at his chest and saw him stumble back.
He tried to hide how he was affected by her proximity, and he would have succeeded, had she not known his grown up version.
Tom's pupils were larger than usual and his back was tense.
Hermione winked and felt a genuine smile on her lips as she saw Tom shake his head.
"I am hungry, husband of mine. You wouldn't let your beloved spouse die of hunger, would you?"
She was starving. Hermione didn't remember wasting so much energy, however, time travelling was a mystery…
Hermione bit her cheek as she imagined what Voldemort would say to that. His future self would have pointed his wand at her and she would have been on the floor already.
Tom wasn't intimidating.
Well, not to her.
xxx
"Allow me to help you, my Lord."
Just when he didn't need any bystanders, Abraxas had to show his face.
Tom's hands were itching to place the noisy blond under the second Unforgivable. If only he were his future self already…
"Leave, Malfoy." Was all he said before stopping and glaring at the idiot blond who shouldn't be here in the first place.
Wasn't Malfoy supposed to be away for the Christmas holidays?
It seemed Hermione did not know she had landed on the 22nd of December, and the holidays had already begun.
She was dressed for September maybe. Or October. In a warm country where you could get such a nice tan. Mediterranean, maybe?
Tom watched the blond bow his head a bit and with a satisfied smile, he went into the kitchen.
He had a Horcrux to feed.
xxx
He wanted to take that pan over there and murder all the house-elves. He would crash their little skulls with the heavy metal and watch their tiny brains splatter on the floor.
Tom paused his blood-thirsty dreams for a second before a genuine question formed in his head.
How much brain tissue did the elves have?
They were dumb enough to ask him three times if he wanted the extra sauce.
"Give me the food." He knew he had to control himself better. Even with the house-elves that looked at him with fear in their round eyes. "Now!" He barked.
He felt his presence before he heard his annoying voice, and he knew he would want to use the pan on this idiot redhead instead of the elves and watch his looney brains on the floor. And on the pan.
Oh, how I hate him!
"Now, now, Mister Riddle. That is not how we treat house-elves in Hogwarts."
Just what he needed.
Dumbledore.
Great.
xxx
"When I asked for food, I didn't mean you had to travel around the world, hand picking everything. Hogwarts' food would have been enough. Really."
He was taking his time on purpose.
Hermione couldn't help herself, as it seemed that Tom Riddle managed to open a floodgate, and all her pent up sarcasm and biting remarks were out in the open.
Not only was she herself more knowledgeable than Tom, she had Lord Voldemort with her who had given her an Unbreakable Oath.
He was on her side.
When he had created this Horcrux—1981—he knew much more than in 1943, and Hermione guessed Dracula had a connection with Voldemort through which he got all the additional knowledge.
She watched Tom pause in his steady steps and she knew he was trying to control his very short temper.
Even if he didn't, what would he do?
If he so wished, he could try casting his favourite curse, but then he would have to suffer the consequences.
If he Crucio-ed her, she would Crucio him.
Simple as that.
An eye for an eye.
"Tell me, Hermione, how often do you find yourself on the receiving end of my wand?" Tom asked through clenched teeth as he withdrew a small object from his pocket.
"I hope you cast the warming charms. I prefer my meals heated," Hermione murmured with a frown and for a second she saw his pale eyes flash red.
It did not impress her anymore. She could have red eyes herself.
She knew she was pushing him, but that was the plan.
With sick fascination she watched him rage inwardly and as he closed his eyes to compose his anger, Hermione smiled.
"Which wand?"
The pale eyes were now open and staring at her.
Was he blushing?
He was!
"The magical one."
She had to bite her lips to stop the grin and with mortifying realisation Hermione understood that what she was going to say was both horribly vulgar and true at the same time.
There was only one way how to get an upper hand in conversation with Voldemort. Junior or not.
She had to attack.
"Both are."
Before he could come back with a retort, Hermione smiled pleasantly at him as she approached her now normal sized meal on the transfigured table.
"One very witty man told me to ask the questions that way, so they couldn't be interpreted in any other way but the one you want," she said before helping herself to the tender chicken and mash potatoes on the plate.
She chewed the meat and rolled her eyes in pleasure, feeling her empty stomach grumble in agreement.
Tom had remained silent all this time and when Hermione swallowed the last piece, she turned to find Tom looking at her with a twinkle in his eyes.
She had expected many things, but not a small smile and absolutely serious voice.
"I think I understand why I chose you, Hermione."
She could feel her blush and after a small chuckle from Tom, she looked at him.
He was serious, but more relaxed than before.
"Come my lady, I will show you around the Chamber of Secrets." His hand was outstretched, palm up.
Hermione licked her lips and nodded, not breaking eye-contact even as she felt his hand clasp around hers.
There was one golden rule that Dracula had so thoughtfully shared with her.
When dealing with any personal things, Lord Voldemort offered only once.
"Very well, my Lord."
He was gorgeous even when he was just sixteen. She may have very different feelings about his personality, however his looks…
There was no denying Tom Marvolo Riddle was very handsome and charming.
Especially when he smiled like this.
xxx
a/n Now that was light, compared to the previous one, right? Let me know what you think. Till later!
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Two Steps From Hell