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The Prisoner	By : Nerys Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 63351 -:- Recommendations : 6 -:- Currently Reading : 13
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 8
- 9
- 10
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author's note: I want to thank everyone who read, rated and reviewed: Lady Miya, SarahLuvsZombehs, Alassea Malfoy, SARA, Relatela, mrequecky, somebody french, m0nt, Fleur K., iheartskittles, silentsoliloquy82 and Liz. Replies can be found at the usual place on the AFFnet forum.

xxx

Thanks to my super betas: Serpent In Red and Cosettex.

xxx

The Prisoner

Chapter 9: Consequences

Disappointed, she left the office of the Department of Magical Family Affairs and Genealogy and went back to her department with the document containing her divorce to Ron Weasley still in her pocket. There had been no possible way she could've slipped that back into the filing cabinets without being spotted. Hermione shook her head. Stupid Winmar. If only he'd left it where it was supposed to be, nobody would've noticed. Now, she was positively screwed. And she couldn't bring it within herself to ask another house-elf to do it for her. She wasn't sure whom to trust with this type of volatile information. They all had a larger obligation to the Ministry of Magic than her. Besides, this was her mess, not theirs.

Well, she supposed she could just make the entire document vanish altogether. If it got out it was missing, they were likely to blame Madame Moirae anyway. Then again, they could accuse her of bigamy if she couldn't produce proof of divorce.

Hermione grumbled.

Scratch destroying the document.

She just had to hold on to it, just in case, and find a secure location to hide it. Some place innocuous.

Her mind briefly went to a certain cave, and she snorted. Perhaps she should find a tree in Albania then? If it worked for Helena Ravenclaw, surely it would be good enough for her. Besides, Mr Tree-Hugger was nicely tucked away in jail, making it a safe hideout for centuries to come.

Her gleeful giggle bounced off the walls, lightening her mood, while the idea cemented itself in her mind as she walked on. The more she thought about it, the better she liked it. She just needed to use another country with loads of trees. They would be easy for her to access if need be; nobody would consider looking there; and if someone did accidentally stumble upon it, the location wouldn't point directly at her. Plausible deniability, that was all she needed.

Yes, a tree would be perfect, preferably one in a national park or with some other form of protection against cutting.

Oh Merlin, trees were found in forests. Her face darkened at that consideration. Maybe she should use a tree in a city, so she wouldn't have to go through trotting across another forest. Again.

Risk versus reward … risk versus reward …

As she moved around the corner, she bounced into what appeared to be a bush of lemony smelling green leaves. Every single one of them had a weird triangular shape and moved in a seemingly synchronised rhythm, making an odd 'ding-ding' noise. She'd never seen anything quite like it and couldn't recall an identification from her Herbology lessons either.

'Oops, sorry,' a familiar voice called out from behind the green mass. 'I can't really see where I am going.'

'Neville?' Hermione questioned, trying to look past the many branches as she brushed some fallen leaves off her light-grey skirt suit.

Absentmindedly, her hand went to her neck, fingering the collar under the decorative scarf around her neck. She'd tried a Glamour but hadn't been satisfied with the result. It had too much of a shimmer. One of her colleagues was bound to notice and would start asking questions. The last thing she needed at the moment was to draw attention to herself, which also meant that Disillusioning the collar was too big a risk because of the many wards in the Department of Mysteries. It would trigger the alarms if she were wandering the corridors and forgot to undo the Disillusionment Charm on time or if she wouldn't be able to undo it because someone was there. It was another risk versus reward decision, not hiding the collar magically. However, she'd realised that if someone saw it, they had to be well-versed in Madame Moirae's bonds to recognise the magic and know what it meant. It would be relatively easy to just pass off the expensive, beautiful, platinum collar as something she'd bought for herself.

Her wedding ring, however, was a whole different ball game. Yet, the Glamour to make it seem like her old wedding ring was satisfactory and small enough not to set off any kind of alarms. It sure as hell was better than that poor excuse of a Transfiguration Ron had done. Hermione rolled her eyes at the memory. Really, how could he have possibly thought to get away with that?

Well, he had.

But still, that was only because she was hiding something herself, too. Otherwise, she'd have shoved that "ring" of his inside a place where the sun didn't shine. For someone who had an Exceed Expectations on his Transfiguration O.W.L., he'd surely done a lousy job. He'd been lucky Kingsley had offered those who'd fought Lord Voldemort a spot at the Auror Academy without demanding that the normal requirements be met. If Ron would have had to graduate from Hogwarts like she'd done, she doubted he'd have passed his Transfiguration N.E.W.T. and he'd never been allowed to become an Auror without it.

'Hermione?' Neville asked, his voice laced with excitement as the green mass bounced up and down. 'Is that you?'

Suddenly, the entire bush was toppled to the side, the top striking the wall, while Neville still had the huge pot in his arms. His round face peeked over the remaining leaves between them, immediately brightening at the sight of her.

'Oh Godric, it is. I've been looking all over for you, but I just kept missing you every single time,' he rattled, changing the weight of the plant to his other arm and swiping it through the air up against the other wall. Its only reaction was a low-pitched hum. 'You're a hard woman to get a hold of. You're never at your office or at home when I get there. Hmm … I can't talk like this. I can't see you properly,' he said, glaring at the plant. 'This isn't working. Lemme put this plant down.'

The leaves made a tingling noise as he lowered the pot to the ground cautiously at Hermione's feet.

'Interesting,' Neville muttered, 'now the tone is higher, I believe.'

'What is higher?'

'The noise they make,' Neville explained, caressing one of the leaves before straightening out and facing her, smiling brightly. 'You have no idea how good it is to finally see you again.'

'You too,' Hermione replied, smiling back.

He stepped forward and hugged her tightly. 'Thank you so very much.' As he swayed them to and fro, he kept on showering her with more thanks.

Confused, Hermione leaned back, looking into his happy face. 'For what?'

Neville smiled knowingly. 'I think you know what for, don't you?'

'Nooo,' Hermione said slowly, frowning in doubt, 'I don't think I do.'

'My parents, of course. If it weren't for you, they'd still be at St. Mungo's.'

'Wherever did you get that ridiculous idea from?' she asked, flabbergasted.

'McGregor,' Neville replied smugly.

Hermione's jaw dropped. Katie McGregor had told an outsider classified information? That was so unlike her.

'She told us you were the reason the cure became available. Yeah, yeah,' he said, waving away the objections Hermione was about to make, 'I know you have to deny it, being a secrety-secretive Unspeakable and all, but I could just kiss you,' Neville said brightly. 'You know what? Screw Ron, I will.'

He grabbed a hold of her again and gave her a big smack on the lips. A spark flashed between them, and Neville yelped in pain as he jumped away, his hand covering his mouth.

'Neville!' she shouted. Her eyes were wide with worry as she tentatively grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand away. There seemed to be no visible damage. 'Are you okay?'

'Wonderful experience, eh? The good ol' Longbottom kissing expertise,' he joked, chuckling.

'Neville,' Hermione chided, slapping him against his shoulder playfully.

Since he was making fun of what happened, he had to be fine, something she was incredibly relieved about because she was pretty sure that hadn't been static electricity. She could've sworn that spark had originated somewhere deep within her. She'd felt it. If this happened because of her bond with Riddle, she was in deep, deep trouble.

'Wanna try again?'

Hermione sighed, making a face that tiresomely expressed 'men'.

He shrugged unapologetically, causing her to shake her head and smile.

'How are your parents doing?' she asked to change the subject.

'Meh …' Neville said, wiggling his hands doubtfully. 'They're a bit overwhelmed.'

'That's to be expected. It's been many years after all,' she said reassuringly.

'Yeah, I know. I don't think Grams is helping either. She's still treating them like they're—like they're—'

'—crazy?'

Neville nodded. 'And like they're little children, overly fragile,' he added, screwing up his face. 'I think that's annoying Mum the most. Dad doesn't seem to mind as much if at all. I think he feels safer in the Longbottom Mansion. He even moved back into his old bedroom again. Mum's sleeping in the main guest room. I don't think they're ready …' he trailed off, his face twisting in pain. 'Well, their own house was burned to the ground, so I suppose they're safest with Grams for now. They do trust her.'

'Can't they get a place for themselves so they can start over?'

'No, not yet. Their brain function is fully back according to the Healers, but their mind hasn't yet adapted to everything that happened to them. Grams says they're having serious nightmares when they sleep. And, at times, she finds them wandering around aimlessly, almost unresponsive. I think that freaks her out because it reminds her how they were. But they do talk again, and every day, it gets a bit better.'

'That's at least something,' Hermione replied, watching Neville concerned. 'And how is this affecting you?'

He hoisted his shoulders up. 'They know who I am now. My name was the first thing Mum said,' he said, staring into thin air. 'I try to be there as often as I can. It helps, Grams says.'

'I am sure it does. You're their son. They love you,' she said, taking his hand and giving it a short, supportive squeeze.

'Yeah,' Neville said, smiling. 'They want to know everything, keep asking me what I did when I was five and so on, going into the tiniest details. I have to be careful though, can't talk about the war much or all the other bad shit that happened. They shut down when it comes up. But if I keep it to joyous anecdotes like the time when those pixies had me dangling on the chandelier, we're good.'

'Neville, you shouldn't sell yourself short,' she reprimanded, shaking her head. 'You're a great wizard and you need to let them know that. They have a right to be proud of you.'

Neville blushed. 'Thank you.'

'I mean it,' Hermione said seriously. 'You shouldn't focus on your clumsiness. You've outgrown it ages ago.'

'I know,' he said apologetically, 'but it makes for some fun storytelling.'

Hermione snorted. 'I suppose you're right about that.'

'And I know they're proud. I can see it in their eyes. There is no need for me to boost about my grand, heroic acts,' Neville exaggerated humorously. 'Grams does that enough for me. Besides, sometimes, I think they know more than we give them credit for. Mum spoke of Trevor the other night, and I never told her about my old toad.'

'Well, you did visit them at St. Mungo's and talked to them then, right?'

'Yes.'

'So, according to the theory, those memories should be present in their minds, too.'

'Hah! Busted,' Neville said triumphantly. 'You couldn't possibly know that unless you had something to do with it.'

'You already knew that.'

'True, but now I have proof from your lips.'

'How did you get McGregor to tell you anyway?' Hermione asked curiously.

Neville looked up and down the corridor and then leaned towards Hermione in a conspiratory manner. 'Grams blackmailed her.'

Hermione's eyes widened. 'What?' she blurted out, astonished that someone could be aware of McGregor's skeletons and still be alive to tell the tale. 'How? With what?'

'Eh, if we told you, we wouldn't be able to use it again, now would we?'

'Oh come on, my lips are sealed. Spill.'

'Nah, I can't. I don't really know the details. Grams was whispering at the time; I only caught fragments of it, and no,' Neville said, holding up his hand when Hermione was about to open her mouth and interrupt him, 'my lips are sealed, too. I owe McGregor for telling us it was you.'

'Well, you can't blame a girl for trying.'

'I'm not. And if you ever need anything, anything at all, Hermione, I am serious, just holler and I'll make sure it happens. You have no idea how much it means to me to have my parents back. It's … I just never thought …' he trailed off, swallowing visibly.

'I know,' Hermione said softly. 'You told me, remember? That evening in the library when we were studying Tickling Charms.'

'Oh yeah, the lesson you missed.' He grinned. 'Oh the horror! Neville, Neville!' he squeaked hysterically. 'I missed the lesson and the professor said it is going to be in the test and now I will fai— Oww!' He rubbed his arm where Hermione had slapped him.

'That's for imitating me,' she said, laughing. 'Quite adequately so, too.'

'You're welcome.' He sighed. 'I have to get going,' he said, disappointed. 'We really need to get together someday. All of us should.'

'I'll owl you. We could do dinner or whatever?' Hermione suggested.

'Sounds wonderful. It'll be nice to see everyone again.' He bent over to pick up his plant. 'Oh, and Hermione …'

'Yes?'

'Your job … what you have to do … just be careful, okay?'

Hermione frowned.

'I'm serious, Hermione. I know there is only one person you could've got the information from to help my parents. Just – just … watch your back.'

She nodded, sending him a weak smile.

'No, I mean right now, watch your back!' Neville yelled, alarmed, putting his plant down rapidly and moving to her concerned when a twig suddenly ran over Hermione's shoulder.

They struggled with the plant that had crawled sneakily into Hermione's clothes while they'd been talking. She wanted to flash her wand at it, but Neville stopped her, saying they had no idea what effect it would have. Since he made sense, she decided trying to kill it could wait. For now.

'Family of Devil's Snare?' Hermione asked breathlessly, unwrapping a twig that curled around her wrist while Neville pulled another strand off her leg. The plant seemed to be one step ahead of them every time.

'No idea,' he replied. 'It doesn't try to kill. Otherwise, I wouldn't have carried it around so unprotected. But to some people, it responds quite affectionately for some reason,' he said as he seemed to be in a tug of rope with the plant that wanted to remain around Hermione's waist quite adamantly.

'Affectionately, that's one way of putting it,' Hermione muttered, darting out of range when she was finally free of the twigs.

A high-pitched howl was emitted from the plant, and the twigs waved in her direction as if wanting to regain contact.

'Oh, this is new,' Neville said, flicking his wand around in the patterns of the Recording Charm. 'I've not heard this noise before. It must really like you to be this upset.'

'What kind of plant is this anyway?' she asked, ignoring the statements about being liked by a plant.

'We have absolutely no idea,' Neville said, sounding incredibly happy about that. 'It appears to be some crossbreed, but the Unspeakables couldn't determine the origins.'

'Hence you're here,' Hermione said.

Neville nodded. 'McGregor contacted the Arboretum and asked for my assistance. I'm happy to give it. I haven't seen such an interesting plant since I got my first Mimbulus Mimbletonia.' He stroked the leaves gently, and the plant made a purring noise in reaction. 'It likes to be touched.'

'Hagrid,' Hermione said in a cough.

Neville grinned. 'I'm not the one who created this crossbreed.'

'Not yet,' she teased. 'Give it time.'

He snorted. 'Just whack me over the head when I start creating Killer Plants and call them Snuggie, okay?'

'Promise.'

'Okay, we'll owl then?'

'Yes,' she replied, wanting to give Neville one final hug but needing to sidestep the 'loveable' plant again. 'Er … is it growing faster all of a sudden?' she asked, watching the plant concerned.

'It seems so. I'll get out of your way quickly.' Neville picked up the pot and started walking. 'See you soon!'

'See you,' Hermione called back.

As he moved farther away from her, the plant let out a high, mourning whine. 'Fascinating,' she heard him mutter as he disappeared around the corner.

'Hermione!' Katie McGregor called out, coming out of Hermione's office. 'A word.'

Hermione swirled around and quickly walked towards her office where she found her boss, leaning against her desk with a thick roll of parchment in her hands.

'Is something wrong?' she asked, looking at the scroll curiously.

'Not anymore. You were right about the ward on Riddle's door. The Aurors arrested Hogan Rumsfield a moment ago. It seems the bastard couldn't be bothered to do his job and maintain the ward on the locks as he was paid to do. The only time that door's been properly secured was when the wards were put into place. Can you believe it?' she growled. 'Voldemort's been able to open that door since Merlin knows how long.'

Katie's face darkened, and her fingers tightened around the roll in her hand. Hermione was about to warn her that she was close to crumbling the parchment when Katie exhaled and relaxed.

'Well, I suppose it's a good thing we spread the risks from the start and had different people in charge of all the aspects of Voldemort's cell. And Rumsfield still insists he did nothing wrong, that the security was too exaggerated anyway. A waste of money. Yes, his salary has been a waste of good money. Can you imagine what would've happened if the wards on the corridor had failed even once?' She shuddered. 'I'm going to see to it that idiot is never going to see the light of day again once the Wizengamot convicts him.'

'But it's okay now, right?' Hermione inquired. 'You had someone set the wards back on the door, I take it?'

'Oh yes, absolutely. I took over full responsibility. Can't leave things this important to a mere warden, it seems. All those years and no one noticed,' she grumbled. 'Idiots. Such unbelievable, imbecilic—'

Hermione scratched her neck, wondering when Katie would be done ranting as she tuned out. She had things to do, spells to cast to alert her to the arrival of a certain document at the Ministry of Magic. If she couldn't snatch away Madame Moirae's parchment regarding her marriage to Riddle before someone saw it, her life as she knew it was over. There was only a small window of opportunity in which she had to cast the spells from her office to activate the runes she'd just applied invisibly to the inbox of the Department of Magical Family Affairs and Genealogy, and Katie just had to be here now.

'Anyway, fortunately, I sent you there,' Katie added, beaming at her. 'Excellent job, Hermione. And speaking of doing an excellent job, I've put in a request to the Minister to have you promoted to a Class A Unspeakable, which of course, as you know, comes with a significant pay rise.'

'Isn't it a bit early for me to get that promotion? I'm only twenty-two. Surely others—' Hermione spluttered, feeling incredibly uncomfortable now.

'Nonsense,' McGregor interrupted. 'Hell, Potter is head of his department already. Not that I am giving up my job,' she said, leaning forward to Hermione with a smirk, 'but you would've had equal or more standing than him if it had been up to me.' She pushed away from Hermione's desk and handed her the scroll. 'My request to the Egyptian Magical Historical Society finally came through. This is a copy of the original scroll of Isis's Potions.'

Hermione's eyes widened in excitement and unrolled it reverently. 'As in a full copy and not an abbreviation?'

'Yes, and we need it translated.'

'But wasn't that done already?'

'Yes, however, as you probably know, Parseltongue is a complicated language to speak and even more so to read or write. Apparently, there are multiple translations possible for even the simplest of lines. You know they've never let anyone near the entire document before, but it seems like they're getting desperate. Many scholars have translated parts of the document, and even a couple of Parselmouths have attempted to settle the dispute on the ingredients mentioned by Isis. Still, none of the potions that were recreated have worked in the exact same way as history said Isis used them.'

Hermione frowned. 'I'm not sure it's a good idea to put this type of information into his hands, Katie. I can't check what he tells me, and he could easily be holding back vital information. Why not have another Parselmouth look at the entire document? Why him?'

'Because the only other Parselmouth who was also able to read the language died two months ago. Riddle's the last native speaker of the language who can also read and write it.'

'Great,' Hermione muttered sarcastically. 'Lord Voldemort, the last hope of humanity.'

Katie snorted. 'Well, we are aware it's likely he'll hold things back, but whatever we can get now is a plus. So just see what you can do. So far I'd say you've been amazing. I'd never thought we'd get this much out of him as you have.' She slapped Hermione on the back. 'Keep it up, Weasley.'

And, on that note, her boss was out of her office.

Hermione immediately rushed to her desk, placed the scroll on the side, opened her secret drawer, grabbed out the flat stone and started carving with her wand. As she swirled her wand above her head, the rune lit up and her inbox fluttered briefly. There, the deed was done. If something with her name on it arrived in the other department's inbox, it would automatically be redirected to hers. Tossing her head back, she let out a relieved breath. She'd have time now to divorce Ron in a somewhat considerate manner. She didn't want to hurt him any more than was absolutely necessary.

Pointing her wand at the stone, she prepared to erase the rune with a flick of her wrist.

Crack!

The stone burst into pieces. Annoyed, Hermione tried to mend it but couldn't get it to work. Eventually, she vanished the stone in its entirety and leaned back in her chair, wondering what went wrong just now and shrugging it off when she had no direct answer. She grabbed the scroll and unrolled it again. The whole of Isis's knowledge in Riddle's hands …

She shook her head. No way. She wasn't going to show him a thing before she had some indication of what was what on this scroll, and she knew precisely where to go.

xxx

'Magnificent, isn't it, Miss Underwood? I was thrilled to hear that the Egyptian Ministry finally decided to grant access to the entire scroll to an outside expert,' the slightly balding professor said as he handed her the many documents he'd pulled out from a cabinet. 'My department has been asking for this for ages. You've got no idea how stuck we are in our translation. Sure, we were allowed to show bits and pieces to known Parselmouths, but this is something else entirely. This may mean that we'll finally get the answers to long held questions. I was disappointed to hear they wouldn't allow me to go and meet him though.'

'Well, you understand … security reasons,' Hermione replied, making a face while shrugging apologetically. 'But I'll will put in a good word for you. You've been most helpful, Professor Eleftheriou.'

'Oooh,' the professor said, bouncing on his feet in excitement. 'I'd love to get a chance. It's not often one meets a Parselmouth expert, versed in the written language, too. It would be so exciting.'

Exciting is one word for it, Hermione thought, taking in the tiny man, dead another.

'Yes, incredibly exciting,' she agreed, nodding eagerly. She'd a cover to maintain after all. 'We're very pleased with all the assistance you can provide.'

'Well, this,' he patted the stack, 'is every translation concerning the Isis scrolls that we have on record. Most of them are in Arabic though. I hope that's not a problem, Miss Underwood?'

'No problem at all, I'll use a Translator Charm.'

'Those are very inaccurate.'

'I know, but it's good enough to get a general idea,' Hermione said, putting it all in her beaded bag. 'It will definitely give us an indication to his truthfulness.' And tell me which parts of the scroll I'm so not going to show him. 'And, of course, once he's done, we trust you to go over everything with a fine-tooth comb.'

The professor stroked his pointy, black goatee and nodded his head in pleased agreement. She wondered why he felt the need to caress that ugly thing on his face every other second. It made it stick out even more and it was obvious he'd dyed it in order to look younger. In her honest opinion, the black goatee made him seem like one of those master villains out of a cheap, seventies, science fiction TV series. If only she had brought some scissors …

Then again, he seemed proud of 'The Thing', and she was here for more interesting purposes than to be his barber. Focusing back on the other part of her mission here, she started speaking hesitantly deliberately.

'Er … I was wondering.' She paused. 'We have this other matter. I'm not supposed to tell. Classified material and all, top secret.' She looked over her shoulder to the closed door, shuffling on her feet as if in severe doubt. 'But you look trustworthy enough, and—and … you've been so helpful today.'

Curious now, Professor Eleftheriou leaned towards her. 'My offices are warded in every possible manner, Miss Underwood. No one can hear what you're saying.'

Hermione bit her lip. 'Well, as one scholar to the other, you know how hyper governments get when knowledge is shared.'

'Yes, yes, don't get me started,' the professor grumbled, waving in annoyance as if he were casting all governments away. 'Phooh! They don't understand that the foundation of science is openness. In order to deduce, we need to share information. The more, the better.'

'Exactly,' Hermione said, laying it on thick as she touched his upper arm. 'They make our jobs impossible and then complain when we can't give them the answers they want.'

'Oh, that's so true, so true, Miss Underwood. The stories I could tell you.' He slapped on his chest meaningfully. 'Now, what can I do for you, sweet girl? You have my word as a scientist that my lips are sealed. Governments don't need to know how we achieved our results, wouldn't you agree?'

'I suppose … and since you gave me your word … as a scientist …' She leaned towards him and whispered, 'We found this object after he, You-Know-Who, was incarcerated.'

'What object?'

'It has Parseltongue engravings on it, but he won't divulge what they mean. I was wondering, since you're an expert at this, despite not being a Parselmouth. So extraordinary, many can't achieve what you have taught yourself.'

'Miss Underwood, you're too kind,' Professor Eleftheriou replied, flattered. 'I just studied the language.'

'Just studied the language,' she repeated, making sure to show how much she felt he was understating his achievements, and shook her head in disagreement for good measure. 'I heard you received better results than most native Parselmouths at the prestigious University of Cairo, which is the institute known for their excellence in Parseltongue, Hieroglyphs and Runes,' Hermione complimented, pulling a piece of paper from her pocket. She noticed how his eyes flickered eagerly to the document. He was definitely interested; he had a hard time keeping eye contact with her. 'And now you're one of the few still capable of reading the language.'

'Well, to some extent,' he replied with some reserve as his eyes flickered to the paper in her hand, 'Parseltongue is a hard language. The same lines can mean several different things depending on the context.'

'Exactly. Would you mind …?' she trailed off, holding out the piece of paper.

She wasn't surprised when it was almost snatched from her hand immediately. She'd seen how much he'd been on edge to study it already. He folded it out and placed it on the desk behind him, putting on his tiny, square reading glasses.

'Hmm… interesting,' he muttered, plucking his goatee. 'What did you say this was written upon?'

'I didn't say,' she replied, reluctant to share that information.

'Well, it's hard to say without an indication. Parseltongue is primarily an auditory language. A vowel can be spoken or hissed in at least twelve different tones and possibly more, depending on the context. For instance,' he grabbed a quill and scratch a line on an empty parchment of his own, 'this line here could mean water, monocle, earth, glass, shield, formation, et cetera depending on the four lines that surround it and the surface it's written upon.' He drew a few more lines. 'If it's followed with this curl and preceded with this swirl, it could mean formation. Yet, if you have the same symbols accompanied by a straight line with a one percent decline to the right, it would more likely be water or earth. Water if it were written on a shiny surface, earth when dull. Parseltongue is fluent and always variable, much like the animal it came from,' he added, looking up at her. 'It's what makes it so difficult.'

'Oh, you're even more brilliant than I thought you'd be,' Hermione squeaked, watching the man turn red in delight. 'I was positive you could translate it, but my colleagues … well, they were …' she smiled apologetically, not finishing the sentence as if she felt it was too rude to do so.

'I'd be happy to help, but I need more information, Miss Underwood. There are too many options possible without knowing what this was written on.'

Damn. She'd hoped stroking and insulting his ego at the same time would do the trick. However, he clearly needed to know. She could tell from his reactions that he desperately wanted to translate it for her now, so he would've done it already had he been able to. Oh well, he wasn't going to recall this conversation anyway.

'It was on a collar we took off a corpse in one of the Dark Lord's strongholds,' she lied.

'Ah,' he replied, turning back to the paper enlightened. 'Now that might make sense. There was a line. Where is it? Oh, here. Yes.' He made a note on the side. 'Male or female? The corpse.'

'Female.'

'What was the collar made of?' he asked, as he began making little vertical stripes underneath the Parseltongue text.

'Platinum; about an inch wide.'

'Shiny, I presume,' he checked.

'Yes.'

'And this is exactly how it was written on the collar, same height and distance?'

'It's a carbon copy,' Hermione replied, recalling the huge effort it had taken her to get that done. She'd had to resort to Muggle methods in the end because anything magical just wouldn't take on the collar.

'Okay then. Well, I suppose … hmmm … with this background I'd say this line definitely indicates ownership. Property of … ermm… some title, probably Lord given the circumstances … Will leave that open—mustn't be a bad academic after all.' He wrote it down with a question mark at the end. 'And then something death, escape? No, that curl is too round; search death, want death … oh, oh, flight of death; it's inverted. So, I've got: Property of title (maybe lord?) flight of death? No, that doesn't make sense. Are you sure the surface was shiny? If it were dim, I would have a—uh … a—a riddle after the title. Ugh, that's not much better either.'

Hermione smiled. 'Actually, both make sense. But the surface is shiny, so it's flight of death, which is the French meaning of his name.'

'Oooh. Oh yes, of course, didn't think of that. Well, then it works. Parseltongue and names, places and times is just one horrible nightmare to begin with. So, we got: Property of Lord … Voldemort.' The man shivered briefly after stating the name out loud but then continued to read. 'Hmmm… weird,' he mumbled as he made notes on the side. 'No, this has to be a state of being: good, perfect. I can't make heads or tails from this. What on earth is that curl doing there? Does it mean I need to go to the line above it by any chance? Nah, there is no shift here. Points to exceptions … conditions. Nah, can't be. Green what? The grass is green. OK, that's not right. Well, of course, it's right, but why bother stating that?' He scratched through his notes. 'Perfect companion, woman, spouse … SPOUSE?' He looked over his shoulder to Hermione. 'I never heard he was married, did you?'

She shrugged. 'Could be,' she said nonconsequentially. 'I'm not an expert on his private life.'

However, she recalled the number seven bond had the effect of becoming a perfect spouse to the other person so she figured Professor Eleftheriou was on track.

The professor smiled. 'Yeah, of course not. Ermm… well,' he held up his hands in uncertainty, 'this,' he pointed to the section, 'could have something to do with being a perfect spouse to someone. I guess it makes somewhat sense given it was on an expensive collar and it's about forcing another to be something they're not. However, I'm not sure on the spouse. Would be quite a scoop,' he nudged Hermione playfully, 'if we could inform the world he had a wife.'

'Yes,' she replied with a forced smile on her face. 'Some scoop.' So going to Obliviate him.

'However, I have no idea what this is and since it's connected to the line that could indicate spouse, I can't be positive on this translation at all. Let's look at this again.' He went to the beginning of the third line and shook his head after a while. 'This is one of the few words you can't get wrong but it makes no sense.' After a frustrated sigh, he wrote down 'exceptions'.

Hermione blinked, furrowing her brow. Exceptions?

'And this has to be condition, no, conditions; it's the plural with the swirl more to the left.' He shook his head, writing it down. 'Hmmm… pain, terrified, ache, hurt, it's hurt or not hurt. Is that a negative proposition dot in front of it? Can't be sure. So hurt or not hurt. Why is it that there?' he asked rhetorically as he wrote the words down. 'Oh great, the house is dancing in the field. Well, I am sure that's right,' he sneered at himself. 'Makes perfect sense.' He stared at the lines, willing them to divulge their secrets. 'House, house … assets? Yes, assets could be it; there is a slide to the right.' He quickly wrote it down. 'Assets, what? Oh, this is maddening. I can't be sure. It could mean share or forfeit. Not exactly the same thing. Hmmm … assets share slash forfeit then. If it's assets at all.' Hermione saw him put in a question mark again. 'Not getting that. No idea what that curl means. Is that an eight-shaped flattened curl or an eight-shaped slightly flattened curl? This has to mean magic here. Magic … again with that same extension; share, forfeit: take your pick. Oppressing power? Capturing, no preventing capturing. There is a negative dot again. Hmm … can't be sure. These circles indicates eternity. Oh, protection. Yep, definitely the sign of protection there. Oh, that could explain why she was dead.'

'Ermm, what?' Hermione interrupted, alarmed.

'These lines indicate a warning. It seems that the collar is some form of barrier, like an old-fashioned chastity belt.' The professor sniggered. 'I wouldn't recommend any man to intentionally touch the wearer inappropriately. I'm betting my professorship on that collar being magically infused to do serious damage to those who try.'

'You said it could explain why she was dead, not what it would do to those touching her,' she said, recalling the incident with Neville and how it had hurt him but not her.

'Well, if she were willing …' Professor Eleftheriou said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at Hermione. 'If you look at the ownership bit here and then the protection part here, I'd say whoever wore that collar would better not be so foolish as to cheat on her master.'

Ignoring his comments and demeanour, Hermione stared at what he'd written down: Property of Lord Voldemort, exceptions, conditions, assets, magic, power, protection. She narrowed her eyes. Not knowing precisely what verb went with those nouns meant— Her heart skipped a beat. She knew. Hermione tossed her head back and laughed. Oh Merlin, she did know what the factors were concerning those words. She'd picked that number seven marriage after all. It was just a matter of deduction with the general bond's description in mind.

Now, she couldn't stop laughing. No wonder Voldemort hadn't translated the rest of it. He hadn't wanted to acknowledge those things out loud to her. Well, at least not in a language she could understand. The bastard was probably hoping she'd stay ignorant to the details and just keep a general grasp of their marriage in order to take advantage of her. Too bad. She'd not spend all that money to have him end up on top.

Well, except for one area, she thought, smirking.

'Miss Underwood?' Professor Eleftheriou inquired, confused. 'What's so funny? Did you deduce something? I thought you said you couldn't read the language?'

'My apologies, Professor, I didn't mean to be rude. It's just the combination of those words made me recall a crazy situation one of my friends has been in and … I couldn't stop laughing at the mental visual. I'm terribly sorry. I appreciate what you did here. I really do. I wasn't making fun of you.'

'I didn't think you were, Miss Underwood. I was just under the impression that you found something out,' he replied, watching her with suddenly shrewd eyes.

Damn, the stupid goatee man was more perceptive than she'd originally given him credit for. She had to end this quickly.

'No, I am afraid not. My knowledge of Parseltongue is absolutely naught.' She gestured at the parchment. 'Is this everything you can make out of the text?'

He nodded. 'Parseltongue lines are not straightforward sentences as they are in our languages. So, what starts on the first line could very well be the last thing to be read and words slither from one line to the next, so you might think you go from this symbol to that when it's in fact the line above it you should go to. For as I can tell, this collar is supposed to be read from hereon. It seems to start warning people off, then the indication of who owns the person is given and then the conditions and exceptions seem stipulated. Although for the life of me, I can't imagine why he would lay restrictions on himself, so you should take everything I translated with a huge grain of salt. I'm sorry I couldn't help you out more here.'

'Oh, this was very helpful, Professor Eleftheriou, very helpful indeed, and I am terribly sorry.'

The man seemed confused. 'About what?'

'This,' Hermione replied, slashing her wand. 'Somnus!'

With a thud, his body struck the floor. She swiftly levitated him into his chair before flashing her wand again. Obliviate! she cast nonverbally.

Nothing happened on her second spell. Hermione frowned and wiggled her wand in irritation.

'Obliviate!' she said out loud.

Now completely irritated at the lacking result, she focused on her surroundings. Why wasn't it working? Did he have some kind of protection in place against this charm? Waving her wand around in several intricate patterns, she quickly deduced his wards didn't protect him against any memory spells.

Then, what went wrong?

She narrowed her eyes at the tiny man. Was he even breathing? A diagnostic spell flew from her wand. Two bright circles enveloped the man, oscillating around him in different colours before turning purple. PURPLE! He was stone dead. Shocked, she staggered back on her feet. How was this possible? She'd only cast a bleeding, simple Sleeping Charm. Nothing that should, would, could kill.

Theoretically.

Quickly, her mind went to the two people who'd seen her enter the building. Muggles, she reckoned, recalling their headphones and modern outfits. They wouldn't be a problem since she wore a Glamour. Quickly, she whipped her wand around, destroying all evidence of her presence. For a second, her eyes landed back on the body, guilt stirring in her stomach. She'd not meant to kill that man. He wasn't her first kill and probably wouldn't be her last, but it was annoying that she couldn't explain why he had died. It grated at her.

I don't have time for this. Whine later, Hermione. You can't be found here.

Realising she couldn't risk walking out and being seen by any Wizarding folks, she focused her magic on the wards next, searching for any weaknesses that would allow her to Disapparate through them. Closing her eyes, she felt the wards thrumming around the windows and door the strongest. Picking the point farthest away from those places, she stared at it and concentrated hard for the spell she was about to cast. The ward only needed to be down for a second. It had to come up again after she'd gone through; otherwise, it would look suspicious and his death would be investigated.

Hermione took a deep breath and then slashed her wand at the weakest spot. With a loud crackling noise, a lightning bolt smashed into the ward. It billowed and bulged; waves formed; the ward began streaming, rotating like a whirlwind. Then, she sensed it: a tiny opening not more than an inch. It was all she needed.

After her Disapparition, the wards' movements slowly came to a halt as if nothing had ever happened to them. The dead body in the chair was the only witness to what had occurred, and it would never speak again.

xxx
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The Prisoner