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Prisms of Darkness	By : serpentinred Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 34497 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and I don't make any money from these writings.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
A/N: Many thanks to my beta, Lildaani, and to my reviewers: RoxieRose and DonnaNoir23!
DonnaNoir23: Thanks for the compliment! Hope this chapter is enjoyable to you, too!
RoxieRose: Sorry for the confusion! I realized it could be a bit confusing, and maybe I should indicate whose POV it's from with each chapter since the POV changes with each chapter. :)
Chapter 6
Thunder rolled in the distance, awakening her from her slumber. Alertness, rather than fear, settled in her eyes. She glanced around the room before it registered in her hazy mind where she was.

The concept of sleeping in a bed was peculiar. Nevertheless, the softness and comfort of the blanket and mattress reassured her that she was not dreaming. Seeing the dying fire in the fireplace was stranger still, though the light emitting from it calmed her down significantly. After all, she had spent months sleeping on the floor and listening to the deafening silence of a dark, isolated room.

She could not deny the fact that she hated the Death Eater for kidnapping and torturing her. However, despite that fact, Hermione Granger pitied Bellatrix Lestrange.

She understood how devastating it was to love someone who didn’t love them back. Yet, she could not prevent the small smile from appearing on her face when she thought about him. She was the one he had chosen; she was the one lying beside him. The feeling of superiority and elation intoxicated her, making her feel as if she was in the clouds.

That was, until she was fully consumed by guilt and shame. Her hands and feet suddenly felt ice cold and her heartbeat quickened as her emotions dropped from heaven to hell.

It was just … wrong. She was the best friend of Harry Potter, one of the most trusted student of Dumbledore. Everyone in the Order believed her.

How could she fall in love with him?

Her eyes landed on the arm that was wrapped around her waist.

True, she was not groveling at his feet. However, neither was she fighting so vehemently against his seduction.

It frightened her.

She watched numbly as his long, slender fingers glided across the bed sheets and wrapped themselves around her hand. She found this odd, too. They came from two different worlds, despite their very similar personalities. Yet, here she was, trapped in his arms. It was absurd, unthinkable.

She turned around until her warm brown eyes met with his cold red ones.

For the first time since she had been captured by him, she felt vulnerable. It was as if he knew exactly what was going through her mind – though he had never used Legilimency on her ever since her return from the Lestrange’s Mansion.

And for the first time, she felt lost.

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It happened approximately three months after she was rescued from Bellatrix. The incident really came as a shock. After all, Hermione had never expected to see someone alive from the Light side.

After she returned from her capture, Voldemort had granted her access to his personal library. Needless to say, she had been delighted when she saw just how massive it was. She had heard about his intelligence, but she had underestimated his affection towards books. One would have assumed that he would only have books pertaining to the Dark Arts; Hermione was more than surprised when she found "non-condemning" books amongst his collection. Therefore, one of her newest day-to-day hobbies was scanning his library for a readable volume.

On one particular day, when she heard the sound of the door opening, she had merely thought that it was Voldemort; he was the only one who was allowed into the library. The fact that she had not seen him for nearly three weeks blurred her memories, causing her to forget that he would usually Apparate into the room instead of walking through the doorway.

So she hurried toward the sound, rushing toward him to ask him about the magic of vampires she had so recently read about. She came to a stop when she realized that it was not Voldemort who had entered the room.

The two Gryffindors could not help but stare at one another, both surprised that they had the chance to see each other once again. Thus, none of them noticed it when someone else entered the room and sent a spell towards the young man. Hermione then find herself staring at the Stupefied body of Dean Thomas on the floor.

She raised her eyes until they were leveled with the stormy grey eyes of Lucius Malfoy, his wand still outstretched in front of him and pointed towards Dean, who was lying on the floor. Other than the trademark arrogance that was possessed by every single Malfoy, there was also a hint of suspicion in his eyes. However, she was hardly stupid enough to ask him why, nor was she in the mood to do so. Instead, her attention was on the presence that had suddenly Apparated into the room, directly behind her.

“He was here to rescue you, Hermione,” Lord Voldemort said, the mockery apparent in his voice.

What also became clear to Hermione were his Lordship's intentions. He would never have allowed someone to enter his property like this. The house was so heavily guarded that it would be impossible for an Order member to enter the mansion, let alone reach the library. The hallways were permeated with Death Eaters and traps.

The only way Dean could’ve traveled all the way up to the third floor was if Voldemort himself had permitted it.

“I believe he went to school with Draco and Hermione, didn’t he, Lucius?” he asked.

“Yes, my Lord.”

“How very interesting.”

She was stuck. For once, her clever mind could not come up with a viable solution.

“What are you going to do, Hermione?” Lord Voldemort asked, pushing her for an answer.

What should she do? What could she do? She was defenseless without a wand. It left her with hardly any options at all.

As if he had read her mind, Voldemort snapped his fingers. A house-elf immediately appeared, carrying a pillow high above its head. It stopped right in front of her and she clearly saw what was lying on top of the cushion.

For a moment, she thought she was hallucinating, so she closed her eyes and opened them again, just to make sure that she was not imagining things. It shocked her when she realized that it was real.

Her wand.

With a shaking hand, she reached out and picked up the piece of wood. When was the last time she had held it in her hand? She hadn’t truly noticed how much she missed it until it was taken from her. She had thought that Voldemort would’ve just snapped it into two pieces. Yet, it was right there in front of her.

Torrents of emotions ripped through her as she looked at it, her fingers sliding across every inch of it, the familiar smoothness of the wood and the defining curvatures at the handle of the wand.

“Are you going to save him?” Voldemort's voice disrupted her moment of sentiments. One could’ve easily thought, from the tone of his voice, that they were merely having a casual conversation.

She slowly turned around until she was directly facing him. He was leaning against a table, his red eyes trained on her and his face expressionless. His posture was relaxed, as if he was watching something mildly interesting, such as an argument between two random Death Eaters. Nevertheless, she would be a fool if she didn’t know what he wanted from her, but how could she bring herself to betray her friend?

“Are you going to go with him?” he questioned.

He flicked his hand and Dean’s body was picked up from the floor and thrown at her feet. She stared at the young man, someone who she had shared laughter with, someone who went to school with her for six years, lying there, defenselessly lying there on the ground.

It was a difficult choice.

And she needed to give him an answer.

Suddenly, she whipped around and pointed her wand at Lucius Malfoy.

“Stupefy.”

With a satisfying thud, Lucius crashed to the floor. A smile tugged at her lips and was not fully gone when she finally lowered her wand. A small part of her rejoiced in fact that she still had a part in her that rebelled against the Dark Lord. Yet, another part of her jeered at her, screaming at her for being a coward – a traitor.

She turned around to face Voldemort, half expecting and half wishing for him to hex her on the spot. Instead, he stood there looking at her with what could only be described as interest.

When she was positive that he was not going to punish her for her supposed impertinence, she walked out of the room, leaving two Stupefied bodies on the floor and a thoroughly amused Voldemort.

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“I must confess that I am surprised with your actions in the library today,” Voldemort commented as he sat in front of the roaring fire, twirling his wand idly and watching the witch who was sitting on his bed.

Hermione pulled her eyes away from the wand in her hand and looked at him. His lips curved into a smirk as he turned his attention toward the fire.

“I thought you would’ve tried to save him.”

She lowered her eyelid, her eyelashes casting a shadow on her cheek. “You didn’t want to kill him.”

The curiosity in his eyes increased and he walked over to the bed and sat next to her. “Didn’t I?”

She shook her head and played with a loose strand on her robe. “You would’ve rather kept him, get information from him, and hurt those behind him.”

He picked up her chin and forced her to look at him.

“You’ve been told about them?” he hissed, silent anger emanating from him.

“About who?” she asked, tilting her head ever so slightly.

He studied her features, his eyes narrowed. Hermione calmly looked at him, the wheels of her brain turning as she tried to guess who “them” was. She had only been guessing that there were others backing Dean up. However, she was not sure about it until he confirmed it.

Finally, he released her and moved a bit closer to her still.

“Do you know why I no longer use Legilimency on you?” he questioned, instead of answering her question.

The sudden change of topic threw her off course and she merely responded with a shake of her head. He raised his hand again. Only this time, he brought a single finger down her cheek and slid it down to her neck where it lingered, gently caressing the softness and vulnerability there.

He remained silent, waiting for her to answer the question. She gazed at him, searching his features for any signals of what kind of answer he was looking for. However, his expression remained coolly impassive. She furrowed her eyebrows in thought and frustration.

His finger traveled down to her shoulders and onto her arm and at that second, an answer – albeit, in her mind, an absurd one – tickled her mind. Yet, she didn’t want to say it out loud. It was as if there was something to it that concluded things, locking her in, trapping her.

She refused to be locked in.

He was the predator, watching her from a distance, pushing her into a corner and forcing her to stop her struggling. He was the tyrant, taking over territories of her mind, body, soul, and heart, and waiting for her to utter the words of surrender.

And she was nearly suffocated by the pressure.

A knock on the door saved her from answering. She turned her head away, preventing him from seeing the sign of relief in her eyes.

Few minutes later, Voldemort pulled away from her.

“Enter.”

The door opened to reveal Lucius who walked into the room and kneeled on the floor.

“My Lord,” he mumbled.

A condescending look was sent towards Hermione when Voldemort allowed Lucius to stand up. It appeared that he was less than fond to be humiliated in front of his master. Although Hermione knew it was unintelligent to make an enemy out of another Death Eater when she had Bellatrix after her life, she still refused to turn away like a coward. Therefore, she stared coldly back at him, silently challenging him to hex her in front of his Lord.

Neither of them was willing to back down from the struggle. It was combat for the upper hand. Lucius had the name of his family to uphold; Hermione, on the other hand, refused to be looked down on simply because she was a Muggle-born Gryffindor.

“The progress?” Voldemort asked, interfering with their silent battle. If he had noticed the interaction between the two of them, he didn't show it.

Lucius’s attention was drawn back to his master.

“It should be ready by next week,” he answered.

“Next week … ” he repeated softly, his eyes drifting over to the petite witch behind him. Hermione questioned him with her eyes, though he gave her no answer.

“Yes, my Lord. Draco is currently testing it and he gave me his word that it should be done within a week,” Lucius replied.

A mysterious smile appeared on Voldemort’s face, alarming Hermione. Before she could conceive what he was thinking, he had already turned away from her.

“Continue as planned,” he ordered.

Lucius bowed down, indicating that he understood what he had to do.

“Prepare the room for two.”

Lucius’s head snapped up, his eyes filled with surprise.

Voldemort's lipless mouth curved upwards into a faint smile. “Miss Granger will be accompanying me.”

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It was like a leaf dropping into a pond of water. In general, everything seemed to be in peace. Yet, there was an underlying stirring amongst the Death Eaters. She had never seen Bellatrix after she returned to the mansion, but Hermione knew that she was still alive and biding her time.

And she was quite sure that a certain blond would not hesitate in assisting his maniacal sister-in-law.

Therefore, although she still did not know what Voldemort had in store for her – and she was positive that he had some ulterior motive for requesting her to accompany him – Hermione was glad that she had gotten the chance to stay completely away from his followers for two weeks.

Although she knew it was impossible, she momentarily wondered if the wards would crash down on her when she entered the secret house Lucius had prepared for Voldemort. She was slightly disappointed when it did not – if it had happened, it would have definitely earned him a whole session of Crucios and, even better, an Avada administered by Lord Voldemort himself.

“My Lord,” Draco murmured and got on his knees.

Voldemort, with Hermione closely behind him, brushed passed him.

“Is the potion ready?” Voldemort asked, sitting down on the couch. He motioned for Hermione to sit next to him, to which she hesitantly obliged.

Draco stood up, his eyes briefly meeting with those of Hermione’s before he addressed Voldemort, “Yes, my Lord. However, the precautions … ”

Voldemort waved his hand, cutting his words off. “The wards will still be intact after I drink the potion.”

“But my Lord – ”

“I hardly think that any of my Death Eaters who are still alive today will dare betray me.” Red eyes met with stormy grey ones. “Unless you’re suggesting otherwise, Draco.”

“No, my Lord,” Draco immediately replied, lowering his head. “I’m just worried – ”

“Your concerns are touching,” Voldemort smirked. “However, Miss Granger will be staying here with me.”

“My Lord – ” Draco halted in his words, his eyes flickering from Hermione and back to the Dark Lord.

Voldemort kept his eyes on him, waiting for him to finish his words.

Hermione knew what Draco was thinking. After all, she had never sworn allegiance to the Dark side, neither was she planning to, and he clearly feared that she might assist others in killing Voldemort. Needless to say, she was quite surprised by Draco’s concern for Voldemort; she had thought that the final battle would’ve somewhat shaken his loyalty toward the master of all evil.

The seconds ticked by and Draco could not bring himself to finish his sentence as he shot hesitant glances at his master and suspicious looks at Hermione.

“Draco,” Voldemort finally spoke up, “I recall that you still have other missions.”

Draco gave an uneasy nod. “Yes, my Lord.”

“Then, you should very well attend to them as soon as you can,” Voldemort instructed, the underlying message obvious.

“Yes, my Lord,” Draco replied. He took one final glance at Hermione and Apparated away from the house with a soft “pop”.

“You’re going to be stuck here with me for two weeks,” Voldemort spoke up, humor laced throughout his words.

She raised her head and looked at him questioningly.

He picked up the goblet on the table to his right and swirled its contents around without explaining anything.

She bit her lower lip, trying to hold questions back. However, she soon succumbed to her curiosity.

“What’s the potion for?”

“It takes out the … less desirable contents in my body,” he said, a sarcastic smile gracing his features.

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows, befuddled by his dubious answer. For a minute, she wondered if taking out the "less desirable contents" meant that his magical powers would be increased. However, that was probably the least of her concerns at the moment.

“Then … why do I need to be here with you?” she asked.

He looked at her for a while before he answered, “Would you rather be back at the mansion?” He drew out his wand and nonverbally cast an unknown spell on the potion inside the goblet.

“I was just curious,” she replied, averting her gaze.

“Hm … I assume I could’ve asked Bella to accompany me instead …”

Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly at his words, but it was enough to induce a smirk onto his face.

“… but her incessant praises and outward staring could be quite tiresome. I might be forced to kill one of my best Death Eaters before the end of two weeks.”

She snorted; he must be insane if he thought she, a Gryffindor and the best friend of his former nemesis, would fare any better.

“Perhaps I am insane,” he said softly as if he had read her mind.

She glanced at him again and saw the self-mocking look on his features as he raised the goblet to his lips.

He watched her over the rim of the cup. “Just how much should I trust you, Hermione Granger?”

She stared at him.

Without waiting for an answer from her, he drank the potion.
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Prisms of Darkness