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
- 3
- 4
- 5
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author's note: I thank everyone who read, rated and reviewed.

The Apprentice

Chapter four

The room was a buzz with voices, speaking through one another. Gellert leaned back, balancing his chair on its two back legs, while resting his own on the desk before him – his head was tilted back to the ceiling to follow the tennis-ball he had thrown. He had made a little detour to Wimbledon before coming. So, he had a favourite for the championship this year; nobody would be the wiser. He'd been very careful with his magic. He grinned, tossing the ball up and up again.

'I am not saying it's admirable behaviour,' Gunvald Kollberg stated. 'I am saying there is nothing in the declaration that denounces it.'

'You cannot just curse your apprentice for the fun of it,' Li Mei retorted. 'It is unacceptable.'

'You can't?' an old man said in mock shock. 'Can I file a complaint then about my former guide?'

Loud laughter all around.

'I'd say the statute of limitations has passed, died and been buried on your case,' grinned Bouvier.

'It's only been one-hundred-and-fifty years ago,' the old man complained, glancing at Keeper Ljudmila Volkova with twinkling eyes.

She twirled her wand through her curls and said, 'I actually think I should be reprimanded for not cursing you enough. You never did change that Know-It-All attitude.'

'No, no, Ljudmila, McFerlon is right,' Gellert intervened. 'If you cursed him, then we need to evaluate that.'

'Thank you, my friend,' McFerlon said, nodding in mock politeness.

'You're welcome,' Gellert replied, nodding back. 'So, if you would be so kind to show us exactly curse by curse what you did to him, we can make an informed -.'

'EHHH!' McFerlon swirled over the back of the couch he sat on.

'Your enormous butt is still showing!' Gellert warned happily.

An evil grin made it to Ljudmila's face, as she tapped her wand in her hand. 'Shall I demonstrate then?'

Lots of murmurs of wicked agreement filled the room.

'Ten on Volkova.'

'No fair, her target is unmissable.'

'Is that a real word?'

'You know this is all very entertaining and so on, but can we please focus on the issue at hand. Some of us actually have lives to get back to,' a dark-bearded man said, annoyed.

'Yes, let's focus on the issue at hand,' McFerlon squeaked anxiously from behind the couch.

Gellert couldn't resist the opportunity to make loud chicken-noises.

'If this is how it's going to go, I am leaving,' the bearded man stated, getting up from his chair.

'Now Petro, you heard Albus; it is a serious issue to discuss.'

'Then let's discuss it.'

'I don't see the need to discuss this nonsense. So, he cursed the girl, big deal. You don't even have an iota of notion toward his motives, Albus,' Bouvier said, giving Dumbledore a dark glare.

'His motives are irrelevant. Nightmare Curses are incredibly dangerous,' Li Mei replied, 'life-threatening even.'

'Only if the curse-sender and the recipient of the curse are powerful enough.'

'Are you suggesting the girl is lacking?'

'His motives are irrelevant? Did you change the charter when I wasn't looking?'

'We do have a responsibility towards our apprentice's safety. One cannot deny that.'

'It would be nice if Mr High-and-Mighty was here to explain himself. I suppose Keeper meetings are beneath his noseless head.'

Everyone talked through one another again. Gellert tossed his ball in the air, glancing sideways at his silent friend. Albus's sharp eyes were following the discussion and the arguments of the individual parties present keenly. Gellert caught his ball and shook his head. It was never a smart move to let Albus have the playing field all to himself. If he were in Voldemort's shoes, he'd been there early to nip this in the bud before it could turn into an actual drama, as it was beginning to become now.

'Fifteen-Love,' he credited Dumbledore with, tossing his ball in the air once more.

'I believe everyone here is aware of Article Nine,' Albus said softly.

The room turned silent instantaneously.

'Thirty-Love,' Gellert counted, impressed.

'I was under the impression the girl is still alive?' Gunvald asked, confused.

'The article doesn't merely constitute the actual death of the apprentice; it contains the regard or lack thereof in which the guide is approaching the possibility of death.'

'Oww. Forty-Love,' Gellert refereed in his head.

'Now, now, let's not get ahead of ourselves,' Garcia y Ortega hushed. 'Surely, the girl- '

'Hermione Granger,' Albus interrupted. 'She has a name, Juanita.'

'Hermione Granger, I trust, would not have been chosen by you if you had no faith in her capabilities. We often test those more worthy harsher than others.'

Many Keepers nodded.

'Forty-Fifteen.'

'I am not opposed to hard testing,' Albus replied smoothly. 'But as a guide you are forbidden not only to cause the death of your apprentice but also to take the risk of it happening. You cannot deny that with this curse, Lord Voldemort took that risk and it is our duty as Keepers to respond whether Hermione Granger dies or not.'

'Game Albus,' Gellert decided, glancing at the door. Surely, he wasn't going to pass on this meeting? He had to realise what it was going to be about.

'Our duty?' muttered McFerlon, puzzled.

'Yes,' Albus said clearly. 'You know the penalty to breaking Article Nine.'

Gellert smirked. This was going to be interesting.

Murmurs all around.

'Now look, Albus, you can't just decide this on your own.'

'Outrageous!'

'Are you suggesting we have to kill our fellow Keeper?' Donahue said, shocked.

'It's not a suggestion,' Li Mei said stern, stepping forward. 'It's in the charter. We all know Albus is right. We all know how hazardous Nightmare Curses are. It doesn't matter how or why or what his motives were; it doesn't matter if she dies or not; it matters that he decided to risk her life and as such he crossed the boundaries of his responsibilities as her guide, which is punishable by death according to our own rules.'

The silence was deafening.

'Game and set,' Gellert decided, tossing his ball.

Then… the uproar started.

'You planned this!' the bearded man yelled, waving his wand at Dumbledore with a dark passion.

'Most likely,' Gellert thought, amused.

'A vicious attempt to disrupt the balance of this council, I say.'

Bang!

The door rammed the wall and almost flew off its hinges as Lord Voldemort whirled in. It became silent immediately. He took the vacant seat next to Gellert and crossed his legs calmly. Everyone stared at him.

'So glad you could make it,' Donahue said sarcastically.

Lord Voldemort raised a non-existing eyebrow. 'Why would I hurry here? Don't tell me I actually missed anything but the sounds of quarrelling House-Elves.'

'No, you missed nothing important at all,' Donahue replied sweetly. 'Just your death sentence.'

'Oh really?' Voldemort crossed his arms. 'Which one of you heroes is going to be first in line?' He looked around the quiet room mockingly, until his eyes rested on Donahue again. 'You?'

Donahue took an involuntary step back.

Voldemort snorted.

Gellert leaned towards him. 'I think they have the who covered,' he said, nodding towards the Hogwarts Headmaster meaningfully.

'How come? Did the great Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore run out of little kiddies to send my way?'

Gellert tossed his ball again, thinking that snide putdown was worth at least a set-full of points.

One set each.

Dumbledore drew his wand; Voldemort swirled out of his chair; Gellert rubbed his hands, looking forward to the entertainment at hand, while the other Keepers dashed out of the way, cursing the itty-bitty tiny room they were in. Two green jets of light crashed centre stage. Gellert umphed, as his chair collapsed backward from the force of it, sending him tumbling to the ground ungracefully. He looked up, trying to see what was happening. Another Killing Curse, source unknown, nearly brushed his hair.

'EH!' he yelled, covering his head underneath his arms. He wasn't the bloody target anymore.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Lord Voldemort redirect one of Dumbledore's Killing Curses and he suddenly knew why the Dark Lord hadn't made any objections to his sentencing. It was his way around Article Two, "One Keeper shall not take the life of another". With Dumbledore invoking Article Nine, that article was temporarily suspended. He can kill us all now; he is going to kill us all now, Gellert realised, horrified.

Crap, no double crap.

If ever before he had regretted not having a wand anymore, the current situation definitely topped it. His mind raced, trying to find solutions to the obvious disaster lying ahead. If Dumbledore lost this duel, they were all doomed. So, he had to help Albus win. He banged the floor with his head and groaned.

Hell no. There had to be another solution.

Maybe they could just kill each other? If only…

He sighed, relishing the visual. But he woke abruptly from the pleasant daydream when the walls of the magically enforced chamber vibrated from the impacts of the curses shooting back and forth. The other Keepers were simply taking cover; unaware of the danger they were all facing.

Come on, come on; he had to think of another solution. Perhaps…?

His head swivelled up. 'Brilliant as ever, Gellert,' he told himself.

And he started crawling towards the centre of the room on his belly - the hot zone of the curses and all the dark magic. Stray sparks of it pierced his body painfully, making him wince.

'Yeah, really, really brilliant,' he mumbled, taking a deep breath. 'And some say you're mad,' he added mockingly, before he jumped up with his eyes closed. 'I revoke Article Nine!'

Game, set, match referee?

xxx

She walked. Why? She had no idea. Whereto? Another unanswered question; like so many more. The world was filled with unanswered questions.

Questions. Questions needed answering. Right? Right. She knew that much.

A fork in the road. Left or right? She bit her lip. She didn't know. Why didn't she know?

Taunting voices, flowing with the wind, supplying the answers, 'Cause you're a moron.' … 'Not good enough.' … 'Doesn't even know her way.' … 'You are a failure.' … 'Never gonna amount to anything.' … 'You do not belong here.' … 'Go home.' … 'You'll never get it.'

She bit her lip. 'Why aren't you helping me?' she shouted, frustrated.

'Why – why – why? Help – help – help,' echoed the voices.

'Whom should we be helping?' a clear, low voice asked behind her.

She swirled around. A dark-haired boy, about her age, leaned with his shoulder against a lamppost; his long legs crossed, he seemed totally at ease in the unusual environment. She could have sworn he hadn't been there a moment ago.

'I wasn't,' he responded to her unsaid observation.

She frowned, staring at the dark eyes that observed her in wicked amusement. 'Why are you here now?'

'Ah,' the boy said, smiling broadly, 'because you asked a question.'

'I asked many questions before.'

'Not the right ones.'

'What are the right ones?'

'That is for you to find out.'

'You are not very helpful, are you?'

'If you say so.'

'I know so,' she stated, certain. Yeah, she was certain of that; but why? She didn't know this boy, did she? 'Who are you?'

'Who are you?' he returned with a knowing smile.

She frowned. She had to know the answer to that, didn't she? People knew who they were. She wrecked her mind to supply her with the answer, but it was a blur. She looked up, shocked. 'I don't know,' she whispered.

'She doesn't know; she doesn't know,' the voices carried.

'Do you know who I am?' she asked.

The boy shrugged. 'Does it matter?'

'I'd like to know.'

'Do you think others can tell you who you truly are?'

She thought about it, then nodded. 'Yes, who you are is defined by how others see you.'

'Isn't it by how you see yourself?'

'Also true, but a person doesn't live in a vacuum. You are your actions and thoughts and words. It's what you do and how you treat the people around you that define you. You can't see yourself fully if you don't understand how others see you.'

'And how do others see you?'

'Overachiever! Failure! We don't like you! Bossy Know-It-All! Nobody wants to be friends with you! Go away! Mudblood! You do not belong here! Busybody! Bookworm,' the voices took on steam.

'Nice qualities,' the boy mocked. 'Is this how you are to be defined?'

She looked at her shoes.

The voices grew in strength, calling her names and telling her she wouldn't live up to expectations, ever.

'No,' she finally whispered.

'No?' asked the boy.

'Sure it is!' the voices shouted. 'It's who you are! Failure! Failure!'

'No,' she said, stronger this time. She shook her head. 'I am not a failure.'

'Yes, you are; you are; you are.'

'How do you know you are not?' asked the boy, intrigued.

She planted her hands on her hips and glared at him. 'Because I know, okay.'

The voices weakened in strength.

'Yeah, I know,' she repeated. 'I can do things. I know things. I am smart.'

'If you say so,' he said mockingly.

'I know so.'

'Wouldn't that be your definition of self then?'

She bit her lip. 'No,' she hesitated, realising he had a point. 'No, I am pretty sure there are others who think so too.'

'We don't,' the voices chimed.

'Yeah, Harry and Ron think so.' Her face brightened with the memory. 'I have friends.'

'No, you do not. They just use you. They need someone to copy notes from.' The voices grew in strength again. 'How else would they get things done?'

The boy tilted his head. 'Seems there is a doubt,' he stated.

She ignored his statement. 'I remember their names! I know what they look like. Harry has dark hair like you. Only his eyes are green and he wears glasses. He is very brave, a good friend. And Ron, Ron is tall and his hair is red; he has freckles and he is funny. He always makes me laugh.' She paused. 'Why can I remember them and not myself?'

'Maybe it feels safer to evaluate another instead of yourself?'

'Always,' she laughed.

'Then you have your answer.'

'How am I supposed to evaluate what I can't remember?'

The boy smirked. 'You tell me.'

'You are not really here to help me, are you?' she asked, narrowing her eyes distrustfully.

He pushed away from the lamppost and approached her. Slowly and calculatingly, he began circling her.

'I asked you a question,' she said, following him with her eyes.

'I am not sure how to answer that,' he replied, halting in front of her.

'Yes, you are,' she said, certain again for some inexplicable reason.

'Then I choose not to answer it.'

She snorted. 'Answer enough.'

He shrugged again. 'It's not possible to find your path if you are unaware of who you are.'

'And you won't help me remember,' she sneered.

'I am helping; you are not listening.'

'I don't trust you.'

'Good,' he replied, unruffled. 'At least now we have determined you are not gullible. So, not gullible, can do things, knows things, smart; we seem to be getting somewhere.' He stepped aside, pointing at the fork in the road. 'Two paths ahead, which one do you choose?'

Both paths bathed in mist. It was impossible to see what lay beyond. 'How can I choose when I don't know what's ahead?'

'Can you ever know what's truly ahead?' asked the boy, moving behind her.

'Sure, in order to foresee the future you have to look at the past; Arithmancy one-oh-one. You have to know all the variables to reach an educated decision about what is your best option. I can't just pick one and hope for the best. Thàt would be insane.'

'We'll add control-freak to the list of your character,' the boy decided.

'You really are a very big help,' she said sarcastically.

'We have already established that,' the boy responded, amused. His hands landed on her shoulders. 'But I could be,' he whispered in her ear. 'Just pick the right path.'

She shivered.

His hands rubbed her shoulders, traced along her arms until his fingers enfolded hers, and he pulled her in a tight hug. 'Ask the right question,' he breathed against her neck.

'Which path would you pick,' she whispered.

He kissed her neck. 'Left.'

'Right it is,' she decided, determined.

His body stiffened. 'Why would you do that?'

'I can't trust you, remember.'

'You should have,' he said, disappointed. Suddenly, they were high up in the air. His arms around her kept her from falling. She felt his head move around to take in their new environment, as if he was surprised to be there. 'I take it you're afraid of heights then, dear?' he mocked.

'No,' she lied, pretty sure it was not a good idea to let him know what frightened you.

'We wouldn't be here if you weren't,' was his cold response.

She felt the threat in his words. Sweat trickled down her spine; her heart raced; her breath froze; there was nothing to hold on to. No Harry to hold and trust. She hated flying; she hated heights; she was afraid to fall, afraid to die; she remembered everything and panicked.

'Enjoy the ride, Hermione.'

And Tom Riddle let go, making her worst nightmare come true.

Her screams vibrated through the sky. She didn't want to die. She was only sixteen. The ground closed in faster and faster. There was nothing to slow her descend. Trees, she could make out the individual trees already. She closed her eyes, hugged her arms to herself and waited for the inevitable impact. A piercing pain shot through her arm, her chest and then nothing.

xxx

It was eerily quiet in the infirmary that night. Harry and the others had been beside Hermione's bed for hours before Dumbledore had sent them to their respective beds, telling them Hermione was going to be just fine and leaving Hogwarts himself.

But Ron tossed and turned on his infirmary bed. He couldn't sleep. His arms had started to itch terribly and he didn't want to call nurse Pomfrey. He was too worried to have her leave Hermione's side. He stretched his head to try to see beyond the closed curtains. No sound came through them, so he had no idea how Hermione was doing. If Snape hadn't been there, Ron would have gone over there to check up on her. But after almost being cursed twice by the Potions Master, Ron thought it best not to try his luck a third time.

Behind the curtains, however, things were not brightening up.

'Poppy,' Snape said quietly, turning Hermione's head towards the nurse so she could see the blood trickling out of the girl's mouth.

Poppy Pomfrey gasped. She leaned forward. 'Oh my God,' she whispered. 'Look.'

Snape frowned, seeing the compound fractures on Granger's arms. They hadn't been there a moment ago.

Poppy pulled the blanket away. Her hands flew to her mouth when she saw the mess that was Hermione's body. 'I am not qualified to treat this. Dark Arts Curses are not a part of my speciality. I told Dumbledore this; I told him! I am just a school nurse,' Poppy Pomfrey panicked, looking at Snape horrified. 'She needs a proper Healer.'

'She needs a miracle,' Snape corrected, pulling out his wand and starting to chant. The wounds opened faster than he could close them. He shook his head. This wasn't going to work. The curtains around the bed opened.

'By Godric!' yelled McGonagall, her hands grabbing her chest. 'Contact St. Mungo's, Poppy, get them to send Healers fast, now!'

Nurse Pomfrey ran to her office, while Minerva McGonagall moved to the other side of the bed and whipped out her wand as well. 'Where the Hell is Albus?'

Snape just looked at her.

'What's going on?' Ron shouted, stumbling out of bed. 'Is Hermione all right?'

'Stay there, Weasley,' Snape barked.

'We need Blood-Replenishing Potion, Poppy!' Minerva shouted, closing another arterial bleed.

Poppy came running; she pushed the curtains aside.

'Noooooo!' Ron yelled, running forward and grabbing the edge of the bed. 'Hermione!'

The bottles of Blood-Replenishing Potion were hung in record time. 'I've sent the message to St. Mungo's,' Poppy informed them. 'It will take some time before they get here. They need to bypass the new Hogwarts wards. Professor Dumbledore reinforced them before he left.'

'Skele-Gro,' McGonagall added, in between her chants.

Poppy turned.

'Nightmare-Diluting Potion first; we need this to stop,' Snape corrected.

Poppy grabbed the syringe. 'Get the Skele-Gro, Ron, quickly,' she ordered.

'We need more help,' Minerva said through gritted teeth, her wand flashing in circles around Hermione's head.

Ron came back; his arms filled with bottles. 'Where?' he asked, looking around for space to place them on.

Poppy took one and began pouring the first bottle down Hermione's throat. Ron dumped the rest on the bed next to Hermione.

'Flitwick,' Snape hissed, mending a lung, again. 'Get Flitwick.'

Ron looked from Snape to McGonagall. Both were concentrating hard on their charms and chants. He had never before seen both Professors having to work this hard on their magic. They always made it seem effortlessly. It scared the living daylights out of him.

'I'll get him,' Ron uttered, running away hard after one last look at Hermione.

He had never moved through Hogwarts this fast. Ron pounded on the door. 'Professor! Professor!'

Flitwick opened it sleepily. 'Mr Weasley, why are –?'

Ron grabbed his arm and pulled the little Professor with him. There was no time.

'Mr Weasley,' Flitwick squeaked, trying to keep his much shorter legs under his body.

'Hermione is dying. Snape and McGonagall need your help!' Ron yelled desperately.

A tapestry flew from the wall, crashed into their legs, and Ron got thrown into the air. He landed only just on the edge of the tapestry. Panicking, Ron clutched his hands at the rim as they dove down the revolving staircases, missing them by mere inches. Professor Flitwick calmly sat in front, directing the tapestry to the infirmary in record speed.

'Where is Albus?' he asked, taking in the situation as he jumped of the tapestry with his wand at the ready.

Ron was still trying to catch his breath.

'No idea,' Minerva responded, while Poppy wiped the sweat of her forehead.

'Healers?' Flitwick continued, while he twirled his wand around in an intricate movement and Hermione's blood began pouring less quickly out of her body.

'Coming,' Poppy replied.

'More Nightmare-Diluting Potion,' Snape hissed breathlessly.

'She already had the maximum dose, twice.'

'Do it.'

Poppy shook her head, but pushed in the next syringe anyway. 'We are going to run out of Blood-Replenishing Potion soon,' she commented, looking at the hanging bottles.

'Weasley,' said Snape; his wand making high swooshing sounds.

'Yes, Professor?' asked Ron, climbing of the tapestry.

'You know your way around my cupboard, I believe.'

Ron turned on his heels and made a run for the dungeons.

'We are going to lose her,' Poppy muttered.

'No,' Snape hissed, determined. 'No, we are not.' He was not losing anyone else to that man ever again, not if he could help it.
- 3
- 4
- 5
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