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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
- 6
- 7
- 8
A/N: Thanks to my beta, Lildaani!
Chapter 7
Patience had never been and would never be one of her greatest attributes. Thus, Hermione Granger could not deny that she was thoroughly disgruntled when a certain self-proclaimed Lord decided to keep her in the dark.

None of them knew the answer to his question and, to be honest, it was ridiculous, really, for him to voice it out loud. Who would actually expect Lord Voldemort, pureblood supporter extraordinaire, leader of Death Eaters, and Heir of Slytherin to trust a Muggle-born, Gryffindor witch?

Nevertheless, after he drank the potion, she momentarily wondered if he really trusted her as much he wanted her to believe. There was just something, either in the atmosphere around them or his posture, that led her to believe that he was still hiding something from her.

After he downed the potion, he leaned back against the couch and closed his eyes. Hermione nearly thought that he had fallen asleep and almost screamed out of horror and fear when she saw drops of liquid trickle down the side of his head. At a closer look, she realized that it was not blood, or at least, not human blood.

The substance latched onto a faraway memory, an event that occurred way before she had been captured by the man who was sitting next to her. Nonetheless, the memory stood out in her mind as if it was yesterday, the curious night when she had detention with Harry, Neville, and Draco, the night when pools of liquid with the same color blotted the ground of the Forbidden Forest. Suddenly, Hermione knew what one of the “less desirable contents” in his body was.

It continued to run down his head, resembling rivers rushing to the ocean and staining his originally black robes silver.

Hermione had no idea what to do – he had not given her any instructions. In fact, she still did not know why she was even there. Therefore, she did the most logical thing she could think of at the moment. She Summoned a towel from the nearest bathroom and gently wiped the silver fluid away. He neither said anything nor pushed her away, so she could only assume that what she was doing was alright.

For nearly twenty minutes, the liquid continued seeping out of his skin, and Hermione had had to Scourgify the towel three times already. However, the process showed no signs of ceasing. Approximately thirty minutes after he had drank the potion, the fluid suddenly changed into an inky black color.

It might’ve been hilarious to see Lord Voldemort the way he appeared right now, but Hermione was far too concerned with his well-being to take notice that he looked very much like a person who had been hit over the head with a full bottle of ink.

After an hour, it finally stopped and he opened his eyes. For the first time since Hermione had seen him, she saw signs of fatigue on his face.

“Are you alright?” she asked softly, casting a Scourgify over his body to clean up the rest of the residue.

He gave her a light nod.

“Perhaps you should rest a bit,” she suggested, standing up from the couch.

He shook his head. “Transfigure the couch.”

She stood there, the command resonating in her mind and alerting her that something was very wrong. However, she could not quite place a finger on it. Without asking a question she knew he would not answer, she did as she was told.

When the couch was finally Transfigured into a bed, he pushed himself back into the pillows. He opened his eyes, wordlessly giving her his command. With a sigh, she climbed into the bed and lay down next to him.

“Was that unicorn blood?” she asked softly.

“Yes.”

She bit her lower lip. “So … it’s one of the less desirable contents?”

“Indeed, it is.”

She sat up on the bed and looked at him. “What does it do?”

“Unicorn blood does have the wonderful ability of keeping one alive,” he said, shifting his body a bit to a more comfortable position, “but one of its ridiculous side effects is that it considerably decreases the speed of certain spells.”

“Such as?” she raised her eyebrows.

“Let’s just say, some spells that I find extremely useful,” he closed his eyes, the self-satisfied smile not quite fading away just yet.

She rolled her eyes, knowing that he obviously meant the darker spells.

“You’ve said that it’s only one of the side effects.”

He lazily opened his eyes again, a faint but wicked smile on his face. “The best way to learn things, Hermione, is by going through the process.”

“I prefer my drinks to be less exotic, thank you very much,” she answered. He smirked at her words.

“I’ve never prohibited you in reading the other texts in my library.”

“No thanks,” she huffed, lying back down and causing him to laugh. Realizing that he seemed to be in a chattier mood, she decided to ask him her previous question again. “Why did you need someone to accompany you?”

Silence ensued and she tilted her head to glance at him. He studied her features, but did not say anything.

“It’s going to be an early day tomorrow,” he finally spoke, signifying the end of their conversation.

Another sigh escaped her lips after he closed his eyes. She hated herself for wanting him to trust her. She hated herself for wanting some kind of … progress. She hated herself even more when things did not work out the way she wanted it to.

With a soft “Nox”, she wiped out the last trace of warmth in the room and submitted herself to the cavern of repentance and fear.

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She thought she was imagining things, but honestly, her case of hallucination would have made the headlines of the Daily Prophet if she was imagining the Dark Lord with hair. If she hadn’t known that there were wards around the house to prevent others from entering, she would’ve thought that she had accidentally walked into the room of a stranger.

Not only did he have hair on his head, but his facial features had become less serpentine and more human-like.

Therefore, no one could blame her for gawking at him in the morning. Of course, this deeply amused the man in question who had conveniently “forgotten” to inform her about the possible changes.

It appeared that he had to drink the potion every single day, thus answering her question of why they had to stay in the house for fourteen days. After the first two days, she was kind of getting accustomed to watching him bleed the unicorn blood and the other dark potions from his body – the key word being “kind of”. She wondered why she found it surprising that he had used so many dark potions. He was ridiculously afraid of dying anyway, a concept she still secretly snorted about.

The strangeness of her situation impacted her the most four days later when she awoke and found herself staring at a face that certainly should not belong to someone who was the epitome of all evil.

“I suppose Draco did mention about a certain witch fancying Gilderoy Lockhart,” he commented thoughtfully as he swung out of bed.

She promptly pretended that she had not heard his words, though the red tint on her cheeks gave away her thoughts.

She was about to believe that Lord Voldemort had simply brought her to the secret house in order to see her reaction towards his newly-founded handsome face when she sensed a change in the wards around the house on the thirteenth day since their arrival.

They were sitting next to the fireplace, sitting in their respective armchairs and reading when it happened. What surprised her was the fact that Voldemort seemed to be completely oblivious to the flicker of magic in the air. She immediately pulled out her wand, causing him to look up from the tome he was scanning.

“The wards,” she explained, a frown finding its place on her forehead, “it shifted.”

A sliver of panic sliced through her heart when she realized that he had not noticed the change.

He had not noticed the change.

Any wizard or witch, especially one with the magical competence of Voldemort, would’ve noticed it the second wards were modified.

She did not know how it had happened, but for some strange reason, it seemed that Voldemort’s magical abilities had greatly decreased.

Before she could ask him about it, the sounds of Apparition filled the room and they were surrounded by seven witches and wizards.

“Drop your wand,” a tall witch barked.

“Hermione, get away from him,” Dean Thomas called out, reaching his hand out to her.

She stared at him before she swirled around and looked at Voldemort. He was quietly gazing at her, an unreadable expression on his face. She turned around again and took one step backwards toward Voldemort.

“How did you escape?” she asked Dean, her grip around her wand tightening.

“The Order attacked the mansion a few days ago. The Death Eaters can’t really hold up a fight without him,” he nodded his head towards Voldemort without looking at him, “around.” A gleeful smile appeared on the young man’s face. “Not to mention the fact that even if he was around, he probably couldn’t do anything.”

“Couldn’t do … what do you mean?” Hermione asked.

“He – ”

“Which of them was it?” Voldemort suddenly spoke, interrupting Dean.

A short, blond wizard took a step forward, a sneer on his face. “Did you honestly think that the Malfoys would be loyal to you after what happened during the final battle? You’ve threatened their lives as well as their son’s.”

A sarcastic smile appeared on Voldemort’s face. “I suppose I’ve overestimated their loyalty.”

“Which shall lead you to your death,” a tall, brown-haired wizard snarled, stepping forward as well. “We know what happened already. Taken the potion, haven’t you? It’s a pity that in order for it to work, you’d be completely powerless for two weeks.”

The other wizards snickered at his words. Hermione, on the other hand, whirled around again, staring at Voldemort in shock.

“You lose your magic for two weeks? And you didn’t even tell me?” she whispered.

“It was insignificant.”

She growled deep in her throat. She really wanted to throttle him on the spot. If he had warned her about it, she could’ve at least taken some precautions –

“Hermione, you don’t have to worry. He can’t do anything to you now. We’ll take you back to the headquarters of the Order. Professor McGonagall’s waiting for you,” Dean smiled encouragingly at her.

She momentarily froze, the news that McGonagall was not dead yet shocking her, and then something stirred in her heart, the Gryffindor part of it.

McGonagall, the professor who had taught her so much and had thought so highly of her …

Memories from Hogwarts flashed in front of her eyes as if it had just happened yesterday. She recalled the moment when McGonagall handed the Time Turner to her, telling her the cautions and directions. She almost smiled when she thought about the time when Umbridge was driven out of Hogwarts.

She would be lying if she said that she did not miss her former Transfiguration professor. However …

She kept her eyes on Voldemort, his now dark eyes impassive even when his life was being threatened.

“You are an idiot,” she hissed, before she turned around and ignoring Voldemort's amused expression – she'd never had doubts about his insanity anyway.

A couple of the Order members were looking at her suspiciously now and Dean was sporting a thoroughly confused expression, but she couldn’t care less about it.

“Hermione … ” Dean started to say.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, shaking her head from side to side.

“What do you mean?” he asked, taking a step forward.

Hermione backed up until she was directly in front of Voldemort. “I … I can’t go with you.”

“No,” Dean shook his head, too, “no … Hermione, you don’t know what you’re saying … ”

“I – ”

“Are you out of your mind? Hermione, he’s You-Know-Who!” Dean shouted.

“It’s useless speaking with someone who’ve gone over to the Dark side, Thomas. Expelliarmus!” the brown-haired wizard cast toward Hermione.

“Protego!” she immediately cast, the panic rising in her chest. How could she protect him against seven different wizards and witches? If they attacked her at the same time, it was impossible for her to block all of their spells.

“You can still make your choice, Hermione,” Voldemort quietly said behind her.

“I’ve already made my choice,” she said through gritted teeth. A couple of spells were sent towards the man behind her again, causing her to curse under her breath as she quickly searched through her mind for a way to protect Voldemort without harming the other witches and wizards in the room.

Nothing was coming up in her mind and she did not like that at all. She was supposed to be most brilliant witch of her age. There had to be something in that intelligent brain of hers that could get them out of this sticky situation.

All of a sudden, her charge snaked his arm around her waist and turned her around.

“What are you – ”

Her screech was halted when he pressed his lips against hers. The unrestrained passion in the kiss shocked her, though it hardly took her attention away from the danger they were in.

“You really are an idiot,” she all but screamed at him as she pulled away.

The smirk that she had already gotten used to graced his features, but there was something else in his eyes when they landed on the other wizards and witches in the room. A mad glint of predatory fervor glittered at the depths of his eyes, one that foretold the destruction that was about to happen.

It made her blood run cold, though she wondered why – he was defenseless, after all. Yet, there was still something in him that demanded respect and complete obedience, which was why she hardly struggled against him when he placed his hand on her shoulder and silently commanded her to sit back down.

Her eyes landed on the trespassers and if it wasn’t for the situation they were in at the moment, Hermione would’ve probably giggled at the comical looks of disgust on their faces. She assumed that it was because they had just witnessed the darkest wizard in history snogging her while they were supposedly trying to kill him. The eyes of most of them were bugging out and she could’ve sworn that Dean’s jaw almost touched the floor.

When they finally recomposed themselves, however, Hermione was already sitting back down and Lord Voldemort himself had a smile on his face, a polite smile that was commonly seen on hosts welcoming guests to his house.

An involuntary shudder was shared amongst the unwelcomed “guests”.

“Minnie should’ve known what was good for her,” Voldemort said softly. His eyes landed on a medium-sized young man. The refined smile curved itself into a sneer as another animalistic spark passed through his eyes. “Apparently, one lesson was not enough for you.”

The young man’s face turned to chalk-white as he took a few steps back.

“You … you can’t scare us,” the brown-haired wizard said, attempting to sound brave but failing miserably. He raised his wand. Realizing that he was going to do, Hermione attempted to stand up but was hindered by Voldemort. “Stupefy!”

Before she had the chance to even scream, however, Voldemort had already extended his hand with his palm facing away from him. The spell sent toward him bounced off the shield he had nonverbally cast, leaving Hermione as well as the intruders in astonishment.

Lord Voldemort suddenly laughed, a high, cold laughter that greatly contrasted with his charming looks.

“This – what – what happened?” a short, blonde witch asked frantically.

Hermione watched in disbelief and horror as Voldemort slowly drew out his wand, savage mirth dancing merrily in his dark eyes. Something clicked into place in her mind, some sort of revelation, one that she didn’t want to believe and one that none of the intruders were aware of.

Two of the wizards turned on their spots; they were obviously trying to Apparate, but to no avail.

“The anti-Apparition wards are up!” one of them shouted, panic apparent in his stance and voice.

The fear spread like an epidemic; another witch tried to Apparate but was met with the same outcome. In contrast to their terror, Voldemort calmly leaned against the armchair Hermione was sitting in, his wand dangling lazily from his hand.

“Are we finished?” he asked mockingly.

“It’s impossible. You’ve taken the potion. You have to take the potion to get rid of the remnants of the dark potions you’ve used …” the tall witch whispered.

“Expelliarmus!” the blonde witch cast at him.

With a flick of his wand, the spell was deflected.

“You … you’re not supposed to get your magical abilities back until tomorrow,” the brown-haired wizard said hoarsely. “Unless you haven’t … ”

“Most of the time, realizations come too late, don’t they?” Voldemort asked.

“Lucius Malfoy, he – ” the tall witch said, her eyes widening.

“That two-faced, betraying rat!” the brown-haired wizard roared. He then proceeded to throw hexes at Voldermort, which were all casually deflected.

“Slytherin would be more like it,” Voldemort corrected conversationally. “I’m greatly surprised that you would believe what Lucius said when it’s pretty obvious,” his eyes narrowed and his voice lowered to nearly a whisper, “which side is the winning side.”

With another flick of his wand, the brown-haired man flew out and rammed his head into the wall behind him. A sickening crack resounded throughout the room and Hermione involuntarily winced.

“Churchill!” the blonde witch cried out, running over to the wizard as the others covered her.

“The entertainment value is waning. Don’t you think so, my dear?” Voldemort asked Hermione softly.

She did not answer. Her eyes were on Dean’s, which were rapidly filling up with anger and hatred that pierced through her heart.

“Surrender and I might allow you to live,” Lord Voldemort coldly said, his eyes merciless while his lips spoke words of mercy.

The Order members stood defiantly against him, shielding the wounded Churchill. The only words that came out of their mouths were hexes and curses, attempting to take him down. Throughout the whole time, Dean never looked away from Hermione, disbelief and pain still lurking at the depths of his eyes.

And then Hermione felt it. The wards shifted again, but this time, she was sure that it would not work to the Order members’ advantage. In the midst of them trying to hex Lord Voldemort, they had not noticed the change of magic in the air.

She silently mouthed “Run” to Dean who furrowed his eyebrows in confusion for a second. At that second, people started to Apparate into the room and Dean understood. He immediately grabbed the two people nearest to him, turned on the spot, and disappeared.

Before the other four Order members could comprehend what was happening, the wards were back up again. They were panting by now, magically exhausted and surrounded by eight newly-arrived Death Eaters. Within seconds, their wands were magicked away from them.

Suddenly, Hermione’s armchair was turned around and she was staring into the handsome face of Lord Voldemort. Fury was etched on his face as he stared at the petite witch in front of him.

He knew what she had done.

He had wanted to capture all seven of the Order members in order to have something over McGonagall’s head. Thus, he had refrained from cursing all of them on the spot. He was waiting for his Death Eaters to arrive.

And it had all been ruined by a certain bushy-haired, Muggle-born witch.

“Lucius,” he said softly, without taking his eyes off her. One of the Death Eaters stepped forward. “Take them to the dungeons.”

“Yes, my Lord,” the masked blond murmured.

One by one, the Death Eaters left the house until only one was left, the only one without a mask to prevent others from recognizing her.

Voldemort turned his head slightly and looked at the Death Eater from the corner of his eye.

“Yes, Bella?”

“ ... Nothing, my Lord,” and with that, she left the house.

Voldemort looked back at the Gryffindor, the flames of anger in his eyes contrasting sharply with the coldness in his features.

The silence that remained in the room almost made Hermione wish that Bellatrix Lestrange was back in the room. However, fate was not so kind to her and the only other person in the room was a dark wizard who was currently infuriated with her.

“And to think that you’ve finally succumbed to me,” he began, sarcasm dripping from his words. “I suppose that attempting to save me and attempting to save those Order members are two different issues." He let out a humorless laugh. "Did you think that they would welcome you back with open arms just because you’ve saved them?”

She did not answer him, knowing that it would be useless to defend herself for her actions.

“No answers from the infamous Gryffindor know-it-all?” he mocked, anger seeping into his voice. “How Severus and Draco frequently complained to me that you couldn’t keep your mouth shut.”

She bit her lower lip and attempted to block away memories of how they had enjoyed intellectual debates with one another after her return from the Lestranges’ mansion. She could hardly blame him for trying to verbally attack her. After all, she had managed to half foil his plan.

He suddenly grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him while she attempted to hold back a yelp from the pain that was imposed on her.

“You’re stuck with me forever, Granger. Get that into your head and stop thinking that they would want you back. You are nothing but a traitor to them,” he hissed. He then swooped down and captured her lips with his, allowing his rage to wash down on her through the kiss, overwhelming and drowning her.

Perhaps he was right. Even if McGonagall believed in her, even if ten people believed in her, there would always be a portion of people who had second thoughts about her.

And as his hand cupped her cheek in a gentleness that contradicted with the severity of his kiss, she found that perhaps, just perhaps, she didn't mind all that much.

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Prisms of Darkness