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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
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Thank you Kim, Ferae, Relatela and Gemini-Echo for your reviews!
Gemini-Echo : I really don’t know how to enable alerts on the aff…I have tried, but I am unable to do so. Maybe it’s not possible on this website? The story is also posted on fanfiction, so if you want to follow it, you could try there.
Well, here is a new chapter. Am I fast, or what?
Beta: Serpent In Red
xxx
I, Horcrux
xxx
Chapter Four
The clouds were covering the moon; sparse rays of illumination not intense enough to reach the ground lingered somewhere in between.
It was a dark, cold night.
A gust of wind picked up a hem of the flapping, lightly shimmering robe and swirled it in the air before quietly disappearing into the night.
A lone figure stood near the edge of a cliff, the sharp bevel rising from deep, dark waters like an obelisk.
He had so much to think over the last two days, so much…
His gaze was pensive and slightly unfocused as he watched unruly waves crash into each other before flowing over the rocks; his lips tightly pursed as he quietly observed foam appear and then disappear again when a new wave swooped it up.
It was a long shot, but well worth it in the end. If everything went accordingly to his brilliant plan, then …
He was going to show them all just how brilliant he really was.
Now, having already won the battle, he could allow himself a small enterprise, an experiment of sort.
He had always been a curious person, after all. It didn’t matter if Dark or Light, knowledge was knowledge.
And knowledge was power.
The only thing that had been bothering him about his plan was the idea that he had to rely on the Mudblood’s endurance. It would be a pity if she broke too soon.
He had seen and done things that not many of the living could relate to. He was above them all.
He should simply kill her and be done with it. One horcrux less was not going to change anything, but the satisfaction of seeing them on their knees before him not because he ordered, but because they wanted to …
And he was curious.
He will give her a chance.
Slowly and almost lazily—he was many things but never lazy—Lord Voldemort took a step forward. The curved embellishment on the handle of the yew wand curled around his finger, preventing it from falling to the ground and allowing it to hang loosely from his hand—it fitted perfectly. Flexing his magic, he slowly floated into the air, rising higher and higher. His cloak billowed in the wind, surrounding him like a dark mist.
Then, his whole frame became a cloud and he soared into the air.
It was time to visit his guests.
Xxx
Hermione cracked one eye open. Her head was staggeringly empty; no thoughts or emotions disturbed her while she had slept.
It feels as if I have slept for eternity, Hermione thought absentmindedly while trying to open both her eyes, which proved to be difficult, since she felt as if her eyelids had been glued together.
She could feel cool, soft material under her fingertips, and with a startling realization, Hermione jumped up.
Frantically looking around, Hermione found herself in a well-furnished, spacious room, with large balcony doors that would have bathed the whole place with warm sunrays had it been daytime.
But it was dark outside.
Where am I? What time is it? Where is Harry? And where is …
He …
Hermione remembered those demonic red eyes that had looked directly into her soul before she blacked out.
He must have cast some sort of a Sleeping Spell, Hermione thought with unease. A Sleeping Spell was not something she had expected from the Dark Lord—but then again, she was his Horcrux now.
Freezing on the spot, Hermione tried to push her rising panic aside—she needed her head clear!—but found herself unable to escape the sudden bombardment of her own thoughts.
Quickly locating what she believed was a bathroom, Hermione ran towards it, her legs unsteady and her stomach in her throat.
Grey marble tiles, a huge bathtub, and an amazingly enormous mirror were ignored in favor of emptying her stomach into the toilet. She had nothing to vomit with, as she could not recall when she had last eaten, but those sore, brutal coughs were making her gag uncontrollably.
I am a Horcrux. I am Lord Voldemort’s horcrux. I am a Horcrux. I am-
Her gagging and pitiful internal wailing were getting stronger with each passing thought, each more depressing than the last.
Where is Harry? How did Voldemort find out about the Hallows? Where am I? What is going to happen to me now? Where is Harry?!
Why am I in a room, alone, and not in dungeons, chained up to a wall?
What have I done?
The last thought was so excruciatingly painful to comprehend that Hermione had no choice but to slam her head against the light grey toilet seat, hard and desperate. Her vision swam but except for the now raging headache, nothing changed. She still felt this suffocating guilt and denial wash over her and chain her to the ground; not even the pain was enough to cloud her inner horror.
Wiping her mouth with a sleeve of her pullover—she was still dressed in her old clothes—Hermione stood up on shaking legs and leaned over the sink, putting enough pressure on her hands for her knuckles to become white.
Slowly lifting her gaze, she looked at her reflection.
Hermione did not know what she had expected to see. Red eyes? A lightning bolt scar?
Looking back at her was the face of a young woman, with teary brown eyes filled with pain and a tormented expression.
Her lips twisted into a bitter grimace upon the realization that she did not look any different—hollower and paler—but it was still her face, her eyes, her tangled brown curly hair.
She looked horrible, but normal.
Tentatively, Hermione searched her mind for the parasite that had somehow leeched to her soul.
She felt its presence in the far corner of her mindscape; the shard radiated coldness and had the unmistakable aura that she could now freely associate with Voldemort.
However, Hermione could not feel anything—not even the slightest of emotions—reach her. It was as if she had no access to that part of her mind, as if it was separated.
Very slowly, she tried to reach the dark mist that was surrounding that entity—it was her mind!—only to have her body shudder in pain, as stinging, piercing pain suddenly raced through her veins.
Petrified, Hermione could now only watch—feel—a flickering barrier that she hadn’t noticed before become more solid and dark. The presence intensified before slowly retreating behind the barrier, cutting her completely out.
A few minutes passed and Hermione still kept staring into the mirror.
Her mind was in chaos and she did not know what to do.
Hermione watched her reflection lick her cracked lips, the tongue darting out before quickly retreating.
Just like this thing.
Hermione managed to tear one shaking hand from the death grip she had on the sink and touch her face.
The war was now most likely lost, Harry dead, Ron in a coma—if not dead already—all because she had to interfere.
It was all her fault.
How could she have been so stupid?
And now she was playing a host to a part of Voldemort’s soul.
Brown eyes glimmered with fierce determination when her fist smashed into the mirror, cracking it.
Trembling, but strong, her fingers picked up a fallen shard, jagged but sharp enough.
Swallowing her fear and terror, Hermione quietly ordered her hand not to shake.
It was so much easier to jump in front of the Killing Curse during a battle than to just take this shard and stick it into her throat. Alone, in an unknown place, it wasn’t as easy as she had thought.
It was so hard to force her hands not to tremble, as Hermione finally gathered enough resolve to just finish it—kill the Horcrux!—and position the shard near her carotid artery.
One strike should be enough, Hermione thought while looking at her reflection—a reflection that was just as broken as the mirror in front of her.
She had to do this now, for Hermione was sure that her resolve to end her life—just to kill the Horcrux—would not hold long. She was many things, but never suicidal.
Plus, I could be interrupted any moment, Hermione reasoned with herself. It was a real mystery to her as to why Voldemort would allow her to stay alone, unsupervised, like he didn’t care for his own soul’s well-being.
After a long second, Hermione whispered “I’m sorry” and finally brought her hand back to ensure enough force for the hit.
It was time. She was going to die and take this piece of shit with her.
She was Hermione Granger and her mind was made.
xxx
A deranged smile crossed her face when her hand started to move, the sharp piece of mirror tightly clasped in her palm, piercing the tender skin.
Hermione closed her eyes; she couldn’t watch as she stabbed herself in the neck, but she was ready. To die.
Her hand continued its swift approach, the shard ready to penetrate and ...
Pain, impossibly sharp pain pierced through her body when the shard was thrusted into her left arm.
What?!
Before Hermione had any time to comprehend what was happening, the glass was pulled out of her arm and plunged into her right leg.
Her body wasn’t hers.
Crying out loud at the pain that was completely taking over her rational part of mind, Hermione felt the presence in her head slowly retreat back to the far corner that it had come from; she could feel it linger at the edge of the barrier before fully disappearing. An ominous whisper and its endless echo, repeating itself over and over was the only reminder that she wasn’t alone.
“Careful, Mudblood.”
xxx
Twenty minutes later, Hermione found herself sitting on the bed, her arm and leg bleeding, dripping bright red blood onto the sheets, soaking them with its intensity.
After the shock had passed, Hermione had been able to yank the shard out of her leg and limp into the room, dumping her heavy body onto the bed.
She was so tired.
The fluffy light-pink carpet was now red, the blood stains trailing from the bathroom—where she had left an even bigger mess behind—and Hermione could care less. She’d trash the whole room if she had the power.
Just as Hermione was about to get up and inspect her wounds—they were hurting like hell and they seemed to be ridiculously deep—a small pop was heard from her left.
Hermione actually screamed when she saw big, bright eyes stare at her from the shadows.
But as her galloping heart calmed down, Hermione breathed out a laugh that many would have labeled as insane.
Unless the Dark Lord suddenly became as tall as a dwarf, it could not be him watching her silently from the dark corner.
As the small figure made a tiny step forward, Hermione’s suspicions were confirmed when she saw a house-elf twist a piece of a torn blanket in its bony hands.
I scared him, Hermione thought with a pang of guilt.
Is there anything I could do right?
Hermione was interrupted from her internal blaming marathon by a small, quivering voice.
“Master said to clean you up.“
Astonished, Hermione watched the small house-elf approach the built-in wardrobe and retrieve a handful of clothes.
“What is your name?” Hermione asked quietly, not wanting to scare the small creature away.
“Master said to clean you up.”
The elf seemed too scared to even open its mouth and Hermione did not need to ask which master it was referring to.
She had seen only one wizard produce such genuine fear in everyone around him.
Voldemort.
Hermione did not want to thinks about the implications that would surely befall on this small, innocent house-elf if it failed to do as instructed. Voldemort was merciless to even the best of wizards, so Hermione was sure as hell he wouldn’t even pay attention to this creature as he killed it.
Nodding her head, Hermione watched the elf quickly and quietly clean up the room before casting some sorts of elfish cleaning and refreshing spells on her hair, face, and body.
The only thing the elf did not heal or even touch were the deep cuts on her left arm and right leg; the wounds were, however, sealed enough not to produce more blood.
But they still hurt like hell.
He knows … Voldemort knows what I have tried to do, Hermione thought swallowing hard. He hadn’t been in the room but he still knew that she had tried to end her life. And his.
Without any further notice, her clothes vanished. Hermione quickly brought her hands up to cover her naked breasts when she noticed the elf freeze.
The elf’s hand started to tremble as it passed her new clothes, its eyes never leaving her hand-covered breasts.
She had never heard of elves sexually harassing witches or wizards, so the thought of a peek-show left her mind as quickly as it had entered.
It was, however, replaced with curiosity and uneasiness. She couldn’t feel anything abnormal there.
What was he staring at?
Slowly and carefully, Hermione lowered her hands and looked at her naked chest.
The elf actually flinched, but she paid it no mind. Her astonished gaze was directed at the symbol she could now clearly see.
There, in the cavity between her breasts was a red, angry looking circle, not bigger than a galleon in its periphery. There was a strange sign inside the circle, something that looked like an overturned checkmark.
And Hermione had actually been worried to see a lightning bolt back in the bathroom.
Quickly getting up, Hermione rushed to the now restored mirror, needing to see the mark fully and at the correct angle.
Now, standing in front of the mirror, almost tracing the mark with her fingertips, Hermione could clearly see it in the reflection. And it was horrible.
The circle was not so bad, Hermione reckoned, but the check mark… She honestly doubted that the Dark Lord had drawn it himself—she couldn’t imagine him painting lines on her body in the middle of her deep slumber, crouching near her with a wand or a dagger in his hand—so it meant that the mark was from the Killing Curse.
Still bothered by the mere thought that Voldemort might had touched her there, Hermione pursed her lips in resentment and disgust.
He was so incredibly evil, so horrible in the inside that it was only fitting that his appearance wasn’t any better.
She glanced down one more time, her fingers actually touching the mark—it tingled!—before returning her gaze back to her image. Her body froze as her eyes connected with his in the reflection.
Blood red eyes with snake-like pupils were watching her silently yet intently.
She couldn’t breathe.
He was now standing behind her and she hadn’t even noticed.
“Fascinating, isn’t it, Miss Granger?”
xxx
Harry Potter was sitting on a dark, cold floor with his hands crossed at his ankles and his head leaning against the damp stone walls.
He was once again in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor, only this time, there were no Ron or Hermione with him.
This time, there was no Wormtail or any other Death Eater guarding his cell.
This time, there was a thin barrier between him and the way out, separating him from the world of the living, but allowing him a glimpse of his only company—a dark cloaked figure floating in the air, just behind the thin line.
He was alone with his darkest thoughts swirling around in his mind and a Dementor as his company.
This time, it was for real.
xxx
Would you look at that! Everyone's alive ;)
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Two Steps From Hell