Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

The Rise of the Dark Age	By : witch Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 8644 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
A/N: I do apologize for a rather late update... However, it looks like the time in-between is getting shorter with every chapter! *smirks triumphantly*

Also, I would like to make a special mention concerning one of my fellow Hermione/Voldemort shippers, Serpent in Red. Her rapid updates and plot-filled story "Somewhere in Time " keeps giving me the needed encouragement to write, which I am most grateful for! If any of you, for some unknown reason, haven't read it...well, then you must have really been MIA for a loooong time! *gives a pointed look*

Thank you to all those that took their time to review! I'm still really upset over the fact that I had to repost this story after it disappeared off this site - losing over a hundred reviews on the way *sighs* Therefore, at a time like this, your positive feedback really means the world to me!

Anyway, I'll be finishing with my rumblings now...

Enjoy!

Ms Velvela XD

Review Replies:

AntiDolorifico: *giggles* Lol, it's amazing how much it makes me happy to know that I practically made someone pee with this story in excitement... *ahahaha* ))) I'm still bummed about having to reupload it though :( So many reviews lost! *sniff sniff* However, I hope you enjoy this chapter of mine, my darling! ;)

winter 748: lol, I like the way you think ;) However, things just might be a tad bit more complicated then that... and I think this chapter will prove that - somewhat! Yep, I'm a sucker for mysteries! *evil cackle* Enjoy!

Serpent In Red: Yes!!! I finally updated!!! *phew* If your are by any chance reading this, I sincerely hope that you will enjoy this chapter of mine, my dear! As a Slytherin to a fellow Slytherin {glances around for any stray Gryffindors before whispering}: this story won't be over 10 chapters long... *wink wink*

SarahLuvsZombehs: Oh yes, she will most certainly find something worth to live for!!! I cannot wait to reveal it to you! *rubs hands in anticipation* I always favoured a strong-willed Hermione, as it is what I always envisioned her to be. And even though this chapter may raise a few more questions but answer others, some definite answers will be given in the next chapter after this one - take note of the last line in this chappie *winks* )))

Malfoys Bitch: I hope this chapter will both fulfill and fire your curiosity about this story even further! Thank you )

GlassesandWhatnot: Thank you very much for your words! Hope I won't disappoint ;)

electricelephant: Your words warm both my heart and my muse *sighs in contentment* Your username seems familiar to me - are you by any chance on GE under this name as well? Well, I do hope you'll enjoy this chapter of mine as well... I would love to know what you thought of it! *wiggles eyebrows* ))) Thank you! x

Special thanks go to my lovely beta Liongirl11! I wish you a wonderful holiday... You deserve it! Mwa! :)

Chapter 5

The Rite of Judgment.

A ritual so ancient that the parchment upon which it had first been scribbled ought to have long since turned to air and dust.

It was said that from time immemorial, Mother Nature ruled over all that covered the Earth's surface- both seen and hidden. Common and magical. She discerned no difference between the two opposing realms and saw no purpose in taking favourites from within the general flow of the universe. Life was a gift and death its given due.

For thousands of years, both the magical and Muggle worlds existed in relative peace under the laws of nature's whims, in a so-called cycle of life. Animals and people alike knew of no other order than the one they had been born into. But as with all occurrences in the grand scheme of antiquity, people ultimately started to question their beliefs.

It was the wizards who first began to doubt the fairness of the world around them. Too many had lost their respective fathers, mothers, sons and daughters well before their time. For all the powers of magic that existed around them, Justice did not always deign to turn her sightless gaze upon them. Money bought freedom and pardon just as effectively as antidotes annulled the effects of the renown truth serum. Hence, murderers and rapists walked free; their conscience clear and crimes unpunished.

The legend goes that one fateful day, a wizarding court failed to convict the murderer and rapist of a twelve-year-old girl. A highborn wizard he was, rich and powerful at that. Once more the value of money played its corrupted role, and the regretful event of an unsolved crime would have eventually been forgotten and lost in long history of violence and injustice.

Whilst all had turned away and moved on with their respective lives, one woman did not. Neither could she forget or forgive. Instead of accepting the inevitable cruelty of injustice and fate like all others had done before her, one of the most powerful and cleverest witches of her age put forth all of her magical capability and knowledge to revenge the death of her only child.

And thus a spell was born; a ritual, as some later called it. Magic as magnificent as it was frightening, for the grief of a childless mother poured all of its overwhelming love, hate and revenge into its creation.

It is said that it was on a village square that the witch sought out the murderer of her daughter and presented him with a challenge. If the very essence of magic itself found him guilty of the crime from which he had walked away unscathed, his body and soul would be purged from the plane's existence forever more. However, if he were to be found innocent of what he was accused of, then it would mean her death in his stead. The wizard's mocking laughter boomed long and loud along with the others that stood gathered in the courtyard- all knew that no such magic existed. But the highborn wizard was as confident as he was haughty and thus agreed to the demented woman's dare.

It is no longer fully clear what happened next. All the surviving public records spoke of was that the witch invoked some kind of ritual by means of words and wandless magic. None present that day could ever explain what occurred following that either. All they ever remembered for the rest of their lives were the blood-curling screams of the wizard that echoed long after he had vanished from where he stood.

And as for the witch who, at long last, had reaped the revenge for her child that no magic could ever return? She disappeared into parts unknown, never to be seen again.

But after that decisive day, the ritual was repeated. The damning words continued to fall from the lips of many grieving wizards and witches alike. However, not all reached the same culmination their thirst for revenge sought so desperately. Every so often, there happened to be those who were wrongly convicted, victims of deceit and wronged themselves. And once the ritual's magic found them innocent, it was the essence of the accused that took their place instead. A moral justice beyond anything else the wizarding world had ever seen before.

In the end, the ritual was reckoned too dangerous and powerful for the general knowledge of all. Obliviation was administered, and the records of the enchantment sealed. People have always feared the unknown, and the spell created by a vengeful mother was too much of an unknown force of nature to be tampered with. All became equal under the ultimate power of justice, and all secretly shivered in dread of what the actual truth really held. In the long run, people turned back to their courts and councils for fairness and lies, and the Rite of Judgment, as it came to be known, became but a dim memory of a history better left forgotten.

Until now.

~*~

I am.

Her lips and tongue moved well before Hermione caught up with what they were executing for her. Neither was she aware of the exact moment she stepped forward, all eyes now fastened upon her. And when her mind finally grasped what she planned on doing, she resolutely waited for that burning sensation of fear, even confusion, to overwhelm her as it had so righteously done every time she dared to cross her principles in the past.

But no such feeling followed.

And it was right there, standing amongst hundreds of Death Eaters in an age that no longer belonged to the one she had been born and raised in, that Hermione's eyelids fluttered shut and she mourned the loss of the girl she had once been for one last time.

'Ah, I see we have a champion in our midstsss.'

A sparse number of snickers and laughter scattered around the grand chamber, no doubt from those who were once again desperate enough to try and please their Dark Lord. However, she barely paid any attention to them. The majority of the black-clad figures held their tongues resolutely behind their teeth, either lost in their ignorance or shocked into silence altogether.

All that Voldemort's words brought out of her was the slightest raise of her head, the silent assent unmistakable.

Absolute stillness settled around them momentarily once more, everybody's attention wrapped around what was about to happen next.

'Very well,' came the satisfied hiss of acceptance.

Instantaneously, the Dark Lord's body shifted from his position of languidness upon the granite throne. In the blink of an eye, his cloaked countenance transformed into one of seriousness and ferocious intent.

And when he spoke, the words that escaped the darkness of his hood were as beautiful in their nature as they were deadly. A sound both unknown and yet so familiar that it brought a swarm of shivers along her body. Words in a language that the wizarding world had survived on for millennia, yet so few had bothered to master.

'Omnes stant iudicio unius testimonium Lucii Abraxi Malfoi, ultimus nomina eius. Qui scelera sua, invocat.'

All stand witness to the trial of one Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, the last of his name. Who calls upon his crimes?

The shallow breath that escaped her half-parted lips sounded unnaturally loud to Hermione's ears. But there was no hesitation when she spoke next. Words rolled off her tongue without a single thought to their origin or nature, neither knowing nor caring from what depths of hell her consciousness could have dragged them.

'Ego, Hermione Jean Granger, ultimus nomina mei, accusare of Lucius Malfoy Abraxan caedem unicus, Draco Malfoy Lucius. Corporis mulierem facit, facit per carnem humanam, et super sanguinem qui faciat mihi, magicas ... Recte hoc invocare iudicii.'

I, Hermione Jean Granger, the last of my name, accuse Lucius Abraxas Malfoy of the murder of his only child, Draco Lucius Malfoy. By the body that makes a woman, by the flesh that makes me human, and by the blood that makes me one with magic... I hereby invoke the Rite of Judgment.

As soon as the last syllable fell from her lips, the enchantment seized its power. Invisible chains wrapped themselves around her body, crisscrossing themselves along her chest, hips and limbs, trapping her ruthlessly right where she stood. The mere thought of fighting against the power that pulsed against her exposed skin would have been pure madness. The caster's role began and ended with the incantation of strongest intent, after which it was the magic that took hold of the stage until the very end, no longer controllable or tame.

A lesser witch would have instinctually begun to get frantic. Hermione simply awaited the inevitable.

Although not all appeared to share her sentiments. As Lucius Malfoy's kneeling form jerked violently as the very same bindings took hold of him, his previous cold-headedness seemed to abandon him. The whites of his panic-stricken eyes were clearly visible as they darted frantically between his Lord and her in shaking disbelief. His mouth opened and closed in a fruitless attempt to strangle something out as sheer terror overtook him.

'Now, do tell us, Lucius,' intoned Voldemort, his words understandable to all. 'Do you find yourself justified in killing your son? A rightful Death Eater under my command? Your own flesh and blood, a young and potentially talented pureblooded wizard who had yet to see his twentieth year?'

Instead of answering, Malfoy started to shake uncontrollably as much as the magical bindings permitted him, madness seeping blazingly into his grey eyes.

'Answer me!' bellowed the Dark Lord in his dignified displeasure.

But the only response he received was the unanticipated sound of crazed giggles as rivulets of spit flowed freely from the blond wizard's mouth, scrunched up in a hysterical grimace.

The Death Eaters stared at the laughing pureblood in utter silence. And Hermione felt it so crystal clear then: the disgust, shock and absolute horror that hung as dark as a shadow above them all. But the subject of their focus was already too far gone in his own personal dementia to see or notice anything around him anymore, his trembling body held rigidly between the two black-cloaked wizards. Both of whom observed him now with identical expressions of revulsion.

'Then let that be your answer,' announced Voldemort in a near-whisper. His concealed gaze shifted purposefully towards the sea of his hushed followers. For a number of moments his thoughts remained unvoiced, as if contemplating each and every one of them personally.

'There's not a single one of you who fails to sense the magic that surrounds you tonight. I know that many amongst you had a foolish sense of courage to question the righteousnessss behind my treatment of you on certain occasions. Some of you have even been so bold as to raise the subject of justice within your minds.' A vicious smile coloured the words spoken next. 'You wished for the ultimate salvation of justice? I will show it to you.'

Once again the attention of the Dark Lord fell upon her. And not for a moment did she contemplate turning her eyes away from him as she found herself within that desolate void of calmness that she had already come to associate solely with him.

'What shall your judgment be, Dikastisss?'

Without thought, Hermione's eyes darted towards the kneeling man, unintentionally locking her gaze with his. At once, her consciousness was overtaken by an avalanche of emotions...so maniacal and violent that she should have been ripping the hair out of her scalp in an attempt to escape the sheer madness clawing from within her. But instead, her face transformed into a mask of such potent hatred that she would have surely trembled to behold it in her own reflection. But not today.

There were no thoughts of what might happen if her next word was deemed to be the wrong one. There were no doubts. No hesitation. Nothing but the truth.

'Crimen.'

Without warning, the invisible ropes around her squeezed her to the brink of blinding pain the likes of which she had never experienced before. So strong were they, that she would have undoubtedly fallen to her knees if the very same magic hadn't kept her standing in place. But the worst was still to come.

Images forced themselves to the forefront of her mind in one violent, powerful pull. Memories, scenes and picture-like recountings of the most violent and tragic moments of her life flashed right before her closed eyes, at last tearing a sound of anguish from what felt like her very soul. In a matter of mere seconds, it felt like she had revealed the worst possible moments of her existence to date. And right then, just for an instant, she wished for her own death anew. Anything to stop the torrent of what she was experiencing..

But then, as abruptly as it had begun, it was all over.

The pain was gone and the images plaguing her eyes with it. She did not know for how long she stood there, coming back to herself and trembling. However, mere moments seemed to have passed, for upon finally forcing her eyes open once more, she beheld the exact verdict that had been decided upon.

The last memory Hermione ever had of Lucius Malfoy was the look within his eyes. The crazed, hatred-filled gaze of a madman, before his body was abruptly engulfed in the sinisterly familiar white light. His screams of agonizing pain echoed sharply along the vastness of the room long after he disappeared from his pitiful existence. The two Death Eaters leaped away just in time to stare bewilderedly at the smoking spot where their prisoner had kneeled moments ago.

As for the young woman herself, she continued to stand where she was, no longer in pain but with all of her inner self whirling for other reasons altogether.

My congratulations.

The voice that now whispered within her head was unmistakable. Only one possessed such uniqueness, as soft and lethal as poison-drenched silk. She felt no dismay upon finding its owner already standing by her side. Her mind clouded by bewilderment and confusion, she peered into the endless blackness of his hood with eyes that conveyed it all.

All in good time. Patience always brings its own untold rewards.

Encompassed afresh in a gradual return to calmness, Hermione watched his arm extend towards her as he spoke out loud. 'The events of this day have worn you down. Let me be your escort to your chambers, Miss Granger. A good night's sleep is in order. And tomorrow, we shall talk.'

Shock must still have had its hold on her, for only that could have possibly explained why she let her palm rest upon Lord Voldemort's forearm, the material underneath her hand surprisingly warm and soft. No longer bound by magical restraints, her body movements felt uncommonly languid as the two of them began their procession towards the looming archway. The Death Eaters standing in their path swiftly parted to let them pass. Each one upon whom her eyes chanced to fall hastily dropped their gazes.

And thus Hermione Granger began to accept the possibility that it was simply meant to be.

~*~

Sleep evaded her for the longest time that night. Random scenes from the past days kept flashing in front of her whenever she chanced to close her eyes; Pettigrew, screaming his throat out raw as the magic engulfed his repulsive body. Malfoy and the groundless hatred directed at her within his deranged eyes before he followed the same fate as the one before him. But no matter how many images her mind replayed or what was said and done, she came no closer to the answer she so desperately sought. Only upon draining herself to the brink of mental exhaustion by sorting through every possible assumption, each one more unimaginable than the other, did she finally managed to succumb to Morpheus' merciless embrace.

For the first time in months, neither Harry nor Ron appeared to her within her restless dreams.

But neither of her best friends were on her mind when she found herself sitting in an unfamiliar room the following afternoon. Awakening roughly at the unaccustomed sound of a knock on her door that morning, she discovered that Voldemort's words hadn't been simply a deceptive promise when he stated that he planned on the two of them having a talk. How one-sided that conversation was to be, however, she was yet uncertain of. All that the missive a hurried-looking Death Eater had passed on to her before slipping from her doorway as swiftly as possible had said was for her to arrive ar a designated room at four p.m. sharp. Alone, without a single servant of his to escort her to it.

Hereupon she sat in that very chamber alone at the appointed time, the room around her as silent as an age-old grave. Yet she absentmindedly catalogued every detail she could grasp, her attention peaked by a number of things within it.

The unique smell of wood and parchment had always held a certain appeal to her throughout her life, and the study around her had it in abundance. Yet even that failed to keep her interest for long. Instead, for all of her famed self-control, she couldn't prevent herself from focusing on the sight of dozens of books piled up neatly upon the ceiling-high shelves along the length of the opposite wall. And even though there was no doubt as to what subject those volumes were dedicated, she all but devoured every spine and hint of age-worn page on display. Her hands bunched up convulsively around the material on her knees in an attempt to ward off the desire to touch them.

'I trust your night went well?'

The unexpected enquiry caused Hermione's body to reflexively jerk in surprise. She could have only hazarded a guess as to how long he had already been standing there, raptly cataloguing every expression and thought upon her face.

'I've had better. And worse,' was her truthful response.

No further comments forthcoming, Lord Voldemort progressed unhurriedly further into the room. Upon settling himself gracefully across from her, he threw his arm casually onto the back of his lounger. The action seemed so uncharacteristic of him that she momentarily stumbled in inward uncertainty. There was something about the way he moved that brought her speculative mind to the surface.

However, before she had the chance to organise her thoughts properly, his voice sounded once more within the shadowy chamber.

'Tell me, how do you feel, Miss Granger?'

The sole fact that he had deigned to enquire about her health, when she was, for all intents and purposes, a Mudblood within his eyes, should have at least baffled her. But for some inexplicable reason, it didn't. Neither did she attempt to play coy in feigning confusion as to what he was really talking about. And once more, simple honesty was her only answer.

'Confused.'

'But not horrified?'

'No, not horrified,' she said, a worried frown creasing her forehead. 'And perhaps that's the most terrifying thing of all.'

She went silent for a while. Unbidden, the faces of those who had perished came forth once more to her eyes. Harry, whose choices had been taken from him from the very day he was born. Ron...sweet, awkward Ron, the most loyal and foolhardy of them all. Even Draco, with whom she hadn't shared a single thing in common, yet who had managed to prove what he was truly capable of at the end of it all.

Overwhelmed by all the senseless deaths her heart was burdened with, the expression upon Hermione's face suddenly shifted into the hardness of stone.

'They deserved to die. Pettigrew and Malfoy both. So no, I'm not really horrified to have played a role in their deaths. I simply wish that they had done so sooner,' she stated, unforgiving.

Upon hearing her added remark, the Dark Lord uttered something that could have passed for a chuckle. 'Such bloodthirstiness, and from a Gryffindor no less. I'm starting to speculate on whether Hogwarts sorted its students too soon.'

The absence of any further comment upon that subject appeared to prolong the dark wizard's twisted humour, seemingly delighting in her lack of protest. Most times, silence spoke louder than any words could ever do. Continuing to emit an aura of unpronounceable delight, he fluidly stood up and walked across the carpeted floor until he came to stand beside the very same shelves she has been so intently observing earlier. The tips of his gloved fingers delicately caressed the spines of the piled books, her eyes following their movement with rapt attention.

'Tell me, Miss Granger,' he rasped in a low voice, 'what is your true opinion of the subject of the Dark Arts?'

Unconsciously, the witch's arched eyebrows furrowed, as they always did when faced with a complex academic question.

'It has always been assumed and therefore taught that the magic of the Dark Arts draws on malevolent powers. I've never fully agreed with that philosophy, though. Magic, in whatever form it is, comes from a neutral source well beyond common understanding. It neither appears to take sides or have a colour. It is the intent behind it that categorizes it as dark or not.'

'Hmm...an interesting idea, but a common theory at its best.'

Affronted, Hermione's back straightened with the force of her indignation. 'Hogwarts' curriculum prevented its students from even touching subjects of such nature, as you well know! Texts that merely mentioned in passing the subject of dark magic were strictly forbidden. Even the older students weren't allowed to write their essays on them. I've tried so many times to request a special permission, for academic purposes only, of course, but I,' Hermione scoffed in annoyance, '–I got refused each and every time.'

'Which means that you are most certainly lagging behind in comprehending the wizarding history as well, then. Such a pity, really... A worthy mind is in need of constant sharpening, otherwise it will dull with misuse and boredom.'

A sharp response was begging to fall from her lips, but his voice interrupted her once more before she could have uttered a single syllable of protest.

'Feel free to have a closer look at them. I know you desire to. You would be a fool to refuse something I am more than willing to share with you.'

Pulled towards the sight of the books his fingers recommenced stroking, Hermione slowly rose and cautiously approached, her robes rustling softly with every step she took. Halting somewhere to the wizard's left side, her eyes glued once more to the volumes now right in front of her. They ran along every title with vehement curiosity, drinking in the sight of even those that had nothing written upon them.

Lost within her own personal delirium, she failed to notice when the Dark Lord shifted from his position. Only when his hand came to rest against the shelf just above her shoulder, effectively enclosing her between the books and his cloaked body, did she come to the realisation of how close he suddenly was to her. Without a single touch she felt herself entrapped in ways that no physical connection could have ever achieved.

'You state that the essence of magic is colourless. Yet the killing curse is green, the colour of life and nature,' he said in a hushed whisper. He paused, the unexpected sensation of breath suddenly ruffling the strands of her hair, sending an uncontrollable shiver up her spine in response. 'Everything in existence is so much more than what you give it credit for.'

The witch in question had to swallow once, convulsively, before she could speak again. 'What do you regard as the Dark Arts, then?'

There was a slight pause, as if the wizard at her back momentarily contemplated whether to give her an answer or not.

'All brands of magic are a precious knowledge. And knowledge is power. That is enough for me.'

Knowledge. That was something she could easily relate to. For all of her known life, she had strived to learn more, better. At last, the time arrived when general education was simply not enough for her inquisitive mind anymore. Yet, when she was prepared to open herself up to all the wizarding world had the possibility to give, she stumbled into a brick wall of single-mindedness. An absurd law preventing anyone, no matter with what intention, from gathering further understanding of the limitless potential of what magic had to offer.

What she saw before her now was an opportunity, the likes of which she would never have possibly stumbled across in another lifetime. However, despite all of her thirst for progress, another thought suddenly sprang to mind. One which she had gone on ignoring for far too long to ever find peace if it went further unaddressed.

'I want to know what's happening to me,' she found herself blurting out loud, still maintaining her gaze determinedly in front of her. 'Malfoy and Pettigrew...that was no coincidence. I'm neither stupid nor naive. I know that you possess the knowledge of what is really going on. Tell me, I...I beg of you.'

In the same instant the last words left her, she felt him moving in closer, inadvertently shrinking the distance between their bodies even further.

'Do you like games, Miss Granger?' he enquired in a deceptively gentle tone. 'I myself find them particularly entertaining.' His hand shifted a heavy lock of her curly hair away, allowing his warm breath to caress the nape of her neck with every word he pronounced next. 'I give you permission to read every book you find within this chamber. And I hereby vow to give the answer to your question if you but find the answer to my own riddle.'

When his intoxicating voice reached her next, it was close enough to bring a hint of sensation of cool lips brushing against the shell of her ear. At that unexpected contact, something deep inside her clenched so suddenly and sharply, she would have attributed it to pain, if only it was not so much more. Reeling from the most foreign sensation of pain and pleasure combined, it took the witch some time before she understood the words that were being whispered along her skin.

'I give you two weeks. Then, I will reveal the true source of your magic, Miss Granger...if you but figure out at last the true reason behind my extermination of Muggleborns.'

Special Note: my eternal gratefulness goes once more to my beta Liongirl11, whose knowledge in Latin made this chapter look/sound even better! )))

I know that some of you will have a lot of questions after this chapter. And they will all be answered – in their own time and place *cackles naughtily*

Reviews will be very, verrrrry much appreciated (if I haven't disappointed you this far, that is)! Thank you for reading!

P.S: cookie points to those who figure out two quotes I've used from "Harry Potter" and manipulated both for my own use in this chapter... one is from the book, another from the movie! ;)
- 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 Rise of the Dark Age