1I don't own these characters, I don't own anything but my laptop.

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"Surely, Miss Granger, you must either be fearless or foolish to continually disobey me."

Hermione flinched lightly when the voice cut through her. She looked up from Neville's essay, on which she had tried, in vain, to leave correction and comments. She really tried not to help, Neville even told, and begged, her not to, but how could she help it? Headmaster Voldemort was always so much crueller to the remaining Gryffindors who'd stood up to him in those first, shocking days and weeks.

"Sorry, professor," she said softly, looking hard at her own paper, hoping he would comment and leave it at that.

"No, Miss Granger, I don't think you are. Not yet. My office tonight at eight 'o' clock for detention. Tell your roommate not to wait up."

Hermione nodded and whispered, "Yes, sir," as he turned. His smiled was visible to the class, and even though she hadn't seen it, she'd certainly heard it.

So she'd come back at eight. He couldn't do much, right? He certainly wouldn't keep one of Harry Potter's best friends alive simply too kill her for a little good will towards others. Would he? Just to test her? To see if she was worth keeping around? That's how he'd decided who of the seventh years to keep originally.

A chill ran down Hermione's spine as memories of tears and blood and utter hopelessness came back. That first month was the hardest. He'd drawn everything out for so long.

And it's worked, she thought miserably, noone is willing to defy him.

The consequences were simply too great, and no one wanted to fight anymore. Without The-Boy-Who-Lived, it seemed as if no one felt anything could be done. The feeling had spread from the school to the rest of the wizarding world. Parents had begged and bribed for their children to come home, and those who got too bold were,

'No!'

Hermione shook her head and set to work, finishing up her essay to ensure she would have no homework between her current class period and her foreboding detention. She would go from SDA, Study of the Dark Arts, to her dorm in the north corridor of the fifth floor, tell Lavender about detention and ask her to have healing spells on hand for when she returned.

Or should Lavender bother?

Would she be returning to her dorm?

With a deep breath she rolled her parchment and shook the doubting thought from her mind. When he excused the class she picked her bag up and was one of the first out the door, the cold feel of his gaze on her back the entire time.

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Hallooo!! I felt we all needed some more Hermione/Voldemort in our lives. There are so many great stories on here... that I'm waiting 'patiently' to be added too... So I figured I'd throw my two cents worth in.

Any critique is taken in stride and comments are welcome. Criticism is always appreciated, even if it's not entirely kind. It all helps my write more fluently. I have no beta, so I do all my own corrections (it's all my fault!).

I'm an attention whore. With no shame.