Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

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
- 5
- 6
- 7
A/N
This chapter is also slow, but I feel that I need to show you, dear readers, how Hermione sees Voldemort. And what Voldemort thinks of Hermione. I will speed things up after the next chapter.
Thank you for the feedback!
Relatela, you made my day :)
I hope you enjoy this chapter. As always, your comments and constructive criticism are highly appreciated.
Beta: Serpent In Red
xxx
I, Horcrux
xxx
Chapter Six
The girl looked ready to collapse.
Her turbulent emotions were banging on his Occlumency shields like a hoard of enraged bulls, and it took every ounce of his self-control just not to kill her. Here and now. And his grandeur plans be damned.
It was so sickening; it was so utterly disgusting. A maelstrom of such raw, pathetic emotions was raging in the girl's mind that Voldemort had to actually enforce his own metal shields to their most secure position. Not that they were flimsy before …
While it was amusing to watch the Mudblood drown in her own despair, he needed her head clear and well-organized if he wanted to be quick with her and finally, move on with his research on the Deathly Hallows and the predicament with his now-gone Horcruxes.
He needed the girl out of his hair—figuratively speaking, as he now had none left—and it didn't even bother him. He liked how he looked. Different.
Mudblood aside, Nagini was now his only Horcrux. And he did not like it.
Voldemort had now two parts of his soul placed in two living creatures. While Nagini was his familiar and he had no doubt in her loyalty, Nagini was a snake. He was fine with it when he created this particular Horcrux, as he had many others hidden safely—or so he thought—back then.
Now, however, Lord Voldemort had only one other Horcrux.
The same Horcrux that was now doing a fine job of ruining his good mood—as good as it could be, anyway. Had the girl really no sense self-preservation?
It was, obviously, a rhetorical question and Lord Voldemort didn't deem it necessary to grace it with an answer.
It was interesting to watch her fall apart, piece by piece, slowly and irrevocably. He didn't want to rush things; he didn't want to accelerate her downfall. Voldemort did not want to break her beyond repair. He would just sit back and watch her do it herself. His goldfish in a large, muddy aquarium.
He really hoped she would not disappoint him.
The little Mudblood was now sitting quietly in the same chair she had occupied before their gloriously entertaining trip to Muggle London.
He could see her mind so clearly and it made him feel pleased that the girl was desperately trying to gather herself together and not show just how affected she really was. She was brave and she was smart—for a Mudblood—even he could admit it—if only to himself—and he liked what he saw. She was capable of so much …
If everything went according to his plan …
He knew that there was a possibility that everything could fall apart; he understood that not even he could predict everything. However, he—unlike the old meddling fool—wasn't going to have it all blow up into his face. Even if the girl proved to be weak-minded and easily destroyed, it would not change anything.
He would still be Lord Voldemort and he would still be all-powerful. And he would still be very much alive.
The girl was an experiment and if it failed …
Well, then he would finally kill her.
Voldemort smirked slightly.
What he demanded from others, he demanded ten times from himself.
He was a very fair man.
Or was it not fair to demand respect for all the glorious magic he had produced, for all his knowledge and power? For what he was?
So it was only fair that he had to make this little show for the Mudblood, for he would not be tolerating her childish, respectless behavior any longer. He needed her to understand the consequences of angering a Dark Lord. Of angering him.
And understand she did.
It actually was quite disturbing to know just how lacking nowadays education has become. Hogwarts used to teach so many things when he was a student there, and now …
However, considering just who the Headmaster of Hogwarts used to be, Voldemort assumed it was a miracle that this particular Mudblood had learned so much.
Knitting socks like a deranged muggle and gobbling lemon drops in amounts that couldn't have been healthy, Dumbledore seemed to have lost his marbles, as he slowly but purposefully removed all dangerous—useful—books from the Restricted Section and put his old hands on the Hogwarts curriculum.
And now children didn't even know what a Dark Lord was.
Pathetic.
Dumbledore—he still could not think of the old man without his insides burning in rage—had gathered a great deal of knowledge about his business, Voldemort was forced to admit, and Albus Dumbledore had almost managed to be his downfall. And it was sickening.
Occluding his mind, Voldemort pushed the thoughts of the old codger aside—now was not the time for it, as he wanted to remain calm. If he kept thinking about what the meddling old fool had almost accomplished, the Mudblood would be lying dead at his feet even before she opened her mouth.
He hated him that much.
But back to the topic of Dark Lords …
The children that Dumbledore—there just was no way not to mention the old jester, as his disgusting hands had managed to rummage in way too many things—had nurtured and put on the valiant path to destroy him didn't even know who they were fighting against.
The fool had conveniently forgotten to mention that a Dark Lord was no ordinary wizard, nor had he felt inclined to share the little piece of information that a Dark Lord was not just a dark wizard who liked to dress up in majestic robes and cast a Cruciatus Curse from time to time.
It was so much more.
He was so much more than just a dark wizard bent on world-domination.
For he, Lord Voldemort, the Heir of Slytherin, was magic—pure, unrestrained magic with no ridiculous limitations.
Noticing that his thoughts were leading him—once again—further away from the Mudblood and their current situation, Lord Voldemort cleared his mind and snapped his fingers while leaning back further into the chair.
It was time to talk.
xxx
Hermione sat in the chair, her legs pressed together and her hands on her knees, her eyes trained on the fireplace. Her right leg and left arm were pulsating, shooting iron-hot pain through her body, and she had to shift her arm in order to lessen pain. To not scream.
Her physical pain was nothing in comparison to the suffocating, heart-clenching terror she felt inside. Hermione really wondered if she was going to just snap, for no normal mind of a seventeen-year-old girl—no matter if she were a witch or not—could take it all and not break.
The punishment had been so brutally, so brilliantly selected—and she had actually been afraid of a stupid Cruciatus Curse—that now she had no doubt about what Voldemort really was.
He was more than just a killer.
He was a true sadist with no boundaries and immense power at his disposal. And now the world had become his playground.
A shudder ran through her body.
Harry would always tell them how insane, how bloodthirsty the Dark Lord was, but it seemed to her now that even Harry had no clue what was hidden behind the ghastly façade of the Dark Lord Voldemort.
Or Dumbledore for that matter ...
Hermione was still conflicted when it concerned the late Headmaster. Had it not been for her almost compulsive need to respect elders or authority figures, Hermione would have called Dumbledore many, many bad names. She wasn't sure who had played a bigger part in her life that had ended with her current predicament—Voldemort, Dumbledore, or her.
She wondered if Dumbledore had known what Voldemort was really like.
Had he really not known just how demoniac—for she couldn't find a better word at the moment to describe him—Voldemort had always been? And if he did know, then why had he chosen not to share it with them?
It was a matter she needed to mull over when she had the time.
Now, all her focus should be on him…
Voldemort.
He had found one true weakness and hit without mercy. She would have baited him further and further had he just cast a torture curse on her. But no, he understood that inflicting pain on others was a far better punishment when dealing with Hermione Granger.
It hurt her the most when others had to pay for her mistakes. And he knew it.
She would have spat at him after whatever torture he could have inflicted upon her and continued behaving—well, yes!—childishly, as Voldemort had called it.
Now, however, such thoughts were out of her head. She would not enrage him on purpose.
At least not before she understood how to behave and what he had in store for her.
For he was planning something—something evil, no doubt—as Hermione really could not find another reason as to why she was sitting opposite him in a comfortable chair and not lying in some cold, moldy dungeon. Dead.
Hermione was positive that today's lesson—she shuddered inwardly at the screams that were still ringing in her ears—was a tiny drop in the bottomless ocean of things that Voldemort had done and would do.
If she lived, if he didn't kill her, Hermione was sure it would not be the last time he would do something so horrible in front of her eyes, just because he wanted to.
Just because he could.
Voldemort was correct when he had told her that he was someone she had never met before, that she had no idea what he was capable of.
And for that, Hermione was grateful.
She wasn't sure just how much she could take now.
Her internal terrors and musings were brought to a halt when Hermione heard Voldemort snap his fingers.
A small pop let Hermione know that he had summoned a house-elf.
The tiny creature was shivering so hard and Hermione had to yet again bite her tongue and just watch.
"Bring us tea and a meal for Miss Granger." Voldemort's cold voice was quiet but deadly.
The elf bowed so fast and so deep that Hermione had actually heard its little head hit the floor.
Taking a deep breath, she looked at Voldemort.
He hadn't been kidding, after all.
Hermione sat unmoving, looking directly into his red, sadistic eyes.
She was ready to listen.
xxx
After the pathetic creature had finally brought the tea and a meal, Lord Voldemort beckoned for Hermione to take her cup.
The girl's hand didn't tremble as she reached for the thin porcelain cup, and he tilted his head in silent approval.
One should always be in control of one's body.
Control was power.
He kept silently watching her as he pulled a small vial from the pocket of his robe and uncorked it before putting it on the table. The tiny vial was made of thick, dark red glass, and there was no way to guess what it had inside without actually tilting the bottle.
He saw her tense, her eyes afraid but her gaze still strong.
She wanted to ask him so badly that Voldemort could hear her voiceless question as if she were screaming into his ear.
"I want you to pour this potion into your tea, Miss Granger," he stated in a hushed, lulling voice.
A pause …
"May I ask what it is … Sir?"
She caught herself before he even had to remind her.
Very nice.
A cutting remark was on the tip of his tongue when he suddenly decided to proceed differently.
"That is Amortentia, Miss Granger." His reply was smooth and even, no emotion present in his voice.
He saw the girl shudder.
"I take it you are familiar with this particular potion? "
He didn't even need to use Legilimency or their special connection to read her thoughts as they were now clearly written all over her face.
Little, naïve Mudblood.
Her continued silence was grating on his nerves.
"What did I say about repeating myself, little girl?"
He watched her swallow hard and clench her tiny fists before she finally gathered her wits and answered.
"I am familiar with this potion, Sir." Her voice had started to tremble. The Mudblood wasn't stupid.
Delicious.
He made a humming sound before leaning forward and reducing the distance between them.
The girl was now simply terrified.
"And why haven't you poured it into your tea yet?" he breathed a soft hiss looking directly into her petrified, oh so scared, face.
"Please."
The Mudblood had actually started to cry.
Her quiet, but oh so desperate, plea was like music to his ears. He wanted more.
"Pour the potion. Now."
The or else was left out, as Voldemort didn't feel inclined to even remind her. She should remember it well. If not … well, he wouldn't mind showing her again.
Her small form was now shaking uncontrollably, her tiny fists clenching and her eyes closed shut.
He wished to prolong her agony, but then his attention was suddenly caught by some blurred images that were bombarding her trembling conscious. He looked closer at what her imaginative mind was producing.
Is that … ?
It was just too much—her trembling body, her shivering mind, her cascading tears, and those images-
And he had lost it.
He laughed.
He laughed so hard that he had to lean back and support his head with one arm on the armrest.
It was just too funny.
xxx
Hermione was in a middle of a serious debate with her own mind. She was not sitting here, so near Lord Voldemort, with a bottle of Amortentia on the table. She was not here!
Hermione was ready to beg, to do anything, just not take this potion. She would not be under a love potion influence with Voldemort in control.
All the things he could do …
Hermione's mind shuddered when images of what this sadist would no doubt do to her started bombarding her already fragile mind.
One image worse than another, and Hermione was ready to puke.
She was ready to ask for death, but the consequences that could befall innocent people just because she had dared, were too fresh in her mind.
And then she heard his eerie laugh.
She swallowed hard.
xxx
The girl was staring at him now with her big brown eyes full of horror.
It had taken him some time to calm down, but he had to give her the credit—she was very amusing.
It was a pity really, that he had to wrap it up so quickly, but he had much more important things to do than to sit here and play with the girl, no matter how amusing she was proving to be.
"Miss Granger—" He was still amused and his voice was now more sibilant, silky even. "—even though I highly appreciate your effort to lighten up my mood, there is no need for such dramatics."
The girl actually gaped at him.
Before she could interrupt him, he waved his hand and the small vial floated to the girl's still form.
She was now shaking her head, looking him in the eyes.
"I will not take it … Sir."
Such a brave, gullible little Mudblood.
"Imperio!"
xxx
In her panic, Hermione hadn't even noticed when Voldemort took his wand out, and she did not have the time to react before all her worries were lifted from her shoulders and she felt calm.
For the first time in her life Hermione Granger felt so calm, so at ease, that it was hard to remind herself where she was and why she was under said spell.
"Pour the potion into your cup and drink." The hissing voice was soothing her raw nerves like a cooling balm.
She tried to fight, she tried to resist the Imperius Curse, but it was just so strong!
When Barty Crouch Jr. was parading around as Alastor Moody—the Defence Against the Arts Professor—during her fourth year at Hogwarts, she had had the chance to feel the effect of the curse. She couldn't break it then, and she definitely had no chance of breaking it now, as Voldemort's Imperius felt hundred of times stronger.
It was impossible.
Hermione watched herself pour the potion into her cup with a sense of doom.
She, Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her age, was going to end up as Voldemort's plaything.
A gutless, drooling slave.
A possible sex-slave.
She preferred death.
She took a sip , not noticing the aroma of the tea nor the potion's bitter taste.
She was doomed.
xxx
He lifted the curse a few minutes after she had swallowed the mixture of tea and potion.
He was now looking at her with those horrible eyes of his that were now twinkling.
The aftertaste of the potion was strangely familiar. Hermione tried to understand just why she still wasn't salivating over his form if the potion had been correctly brewed—she should have felt the effects already.
Unless …
Her mouth opened in disbelief and astonishment.
Unless it hadn't been Amortentia all along…
Voldemort's amused smile made Hermione's hand clasp her mouth tight, as she was sure she was going to scream. Or laugh. Or both.
He pulled her leg! That, that... Slytherin!
"The Calming Draught will take effect in a few minutes and then we can talk. You need to calm yourself, Miss Granger." His voice was now back to its usual coldness, but a hint of amusement still lingered there.
He was unpredictable.
With disbelieving eyes, Hermione watched the amused smirk grow on his serpentine face before it morphed into a genuine smile.
And it looked horrible.
xxx
AN/ Did you really believe Voldemort would use Amortentia? ;D One more slow chapter and we'll be moving faster. Thank you for reading! Waves!
- 5
- 6
- 7
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

Two Steps From Hell