Chapter 1: soucit

The unending, monotone ticking of a little clock on the mantelpiece was the only sound that she was hearing since was standing in the windowless room. She did not dare to make noises herself, out of fear that he might come back. Rather, she kept quiet as a mouse and dragged out her own inevitable demise. As before in the past minutes, or was it hours?, she took a look around the room, in order to avoid her thoughts from gliding into unappetizing future prospects.

The room was not ugly, but not really her style either. The grey stone the fireplace was made from was adorned with various chiseled imageries, artful and yet plain. It reminded her weakley of vine climbing upwards. On the mantelpiece was only the clock, made of heavy-looking, dark wood with gold-shimmering arms. Above it hung a still, non-magic picture of the shore of a lake between mountains.

She was standing before a comfortable-looking sofa, big enough that if she sat directly at the back of it, her knees would not even touch the edge, and the cloth was a pleasant dark blue. That fit well with the dark wooden floor and the walls, where the bottom half was likewise wooden and above that painted a pretty blue. There was a high shelf with closet-levels. She saw, on the shelves, many very old-looking books, and for the longest time now she was fighting with the impulse to just go there, take one and sink into it until her time had come. But she was a Gryffindor and what an embarrassement it would be not to face death with her head held high. To tell him without fear „I have been waiting for you", to then embrace the green light of the killing curse. Yes, she would not go down as a coward.

Immediately her thoughts turned to her friends. Ron and Harry. Not many friendships were built on the victory against a troll, theirs was holding for over four years now because of one. How could the others be faring? Hopefully, they had not been harmed as well. Especially Harry, the world needed him, after all. But she seemed to have been brought here alone, at least she had not seen anyone else, and so she had to assume that her friends and their families were alright. Surely, they would already be on their way to save her. Until then she was going to fight like the animal of her house.

With a long creak, which proved an eternal unoiling of the hinges, the heavy oak door opened and revealed the greatest monster that the magical world had ever seen, the worst dark wizard of all time.

She could not help but swallow heavily as his gaze fell upon her. Those cold, red eyes were frightful. Incidentally, she noticed that he must have changed. Instead of his simple, black robe he was wearing a white shirt and black trousers, a dark cloak above it, as well as dark boots. Of course, the Dark Lord. A sneering part of her brain was laughing about the fact that one who placed so much value on his slytherin descendancy was very economical with the colour green.

Voldemort gave her a short, appraising look, then he indicated the sofa behind her with his hand.

„Sit down", he said curtly and sounded very tense.

Completely bewildered, it did not occur to her to protest. She had expected anything, feared the cruciatus, hoped for the quick avada, but an invitation to sit down had not at all been under the options she had considered.

He sat down in a dark armchair opposite of her. Only a low coffee table was not separating them from each other. Still, she sat directly at the edge of the sofa, ready to jump up anytime if necessary. Under no circumstances would she embarrass herself by scrambling to the back and, with that, show her fear.

The clock kept ticking. Voldemort had his elbows on the armrests of the chair, the hands wrapped into each other in front of his mouth, and he had developed an enormous interest in the surface of the table. Somewhere in her something screamed something about torture through uncertainty, but she silenced it. Whatever the reason for his behaviour was, she wanted to know what was behind it and for that she had no use for gnawing doubts in her already taxed brain.

„You are asking yourself why you are here."

He was not asking a question, he was stating a fact. Was that the legilimency of which she had read or just observing skills? No, it was too obvious for that, anyone would have asked themselves that if they had been in her situation. So it was a prelude. She kept silent so that he would continue.

He lowered his hands onto the armrests and leaned back, eyes slightly closed.

„Curiously, I had imagined this to be easier", he mumbled as if absent-minded.

A sting of fear shot through her as a thought arose as to what he could have been alluding to. How had she ungrateful, egoistic brat not thought of it?

„Did you hurt my parents?" it burst out of her, voice far too squeaky.

Her heart beat into her throat as the intense gaze of his eyes, seeming to practically alight, fixated on her. Eyes that had witnessed so many deaths, perhaps belonged to Death itself. He, Voldemort, Death... oh, please not for her parents!

„Mr. and Mrs. Granger enjoy perfect health for now. They don't interest me", he said quietly.

Her hands behan to shake and she buried them in her lap. His interest was for her. Not that that hadn't been expected given the situation, but to have it confirmed didn't make it better, quite the opposite. Was it because of her friendship with Harry? Her grades? Her pride hoped for the latter, even while she chided herself a numb nut. As if the Dark Lord had any use for her grades.

Suddenly, he drew his wand from his cloak and before she was able to shrink back in fright, inspite all of her resolutions, he had given it a flick and a lonely piece of paper descended onto the table between them. Surprised, she inspected it. That was her birth certificate. Hesitatingly she looked up at him and saw how he... offered her her wand! Her heart began to race like snitch wings and her mouth went dry. Wand, fight, flight...

„Get that out of your head."

Like a child that had been hit, she flinched. Instead of accepting her wand she looked at him. What did he want from her?

He indicated the paper with the wood.

„I assume you know a spell to reveal the truth on the paper."

She just nodded like an idiot. Now that was getting absurd. If he wanted it like that... better than to be killed, she shamefully admitted to herself.

First, she used a spell to prove that it was indeed her legitimate birth certificate. When that had been made certain, she said the spell „Aparecium" and the paper turned white.

As if she had burned herself on it, her wand fell out of her hand and clattered onto the table. White. Not existing. Her birth certificate didn't exist, she didn't exist...

„But why did the legitimacy spell work, then?" she whispered, sure that she would not be able to bring out any more than that.

Voldemort appeared frightfully content and must have expected her question. Serenely, he answered: „That was part of the enchantment that you deactivated with the revealing spell. This certificate would have withstood every test, since Aparecium does not belong to the typical assortment of examination spells."

What an exhausting reply, she thought, using all of her power not to break out in tears.

„I don't... exist?" she asked with a heavy voice and felt the old acquaintance of the lump in her throat which had always been a companion of her tears.

„Since you are obviously present that question is quite obsolete", Voldemort answered.

Had anyone told her before that he could be sarcastic... but she was unable to end the thought. Thick, hot tears ran out of her eyes and down her cheeks. She was not Hermione Jane Granger. Her life was a lie.

Suddenly, a thought hit her. What did that interest You-Know-Who, anyway? Unless...

„Don't tell me that one of your minions-"

„You should not even think of such follies", he interrupted her.

At least something. No Death Eaters as parents. That would have been all that she needed. But the question remained why he cared about it. If she was muggleborn after all, then her death was certain and this just a funny little torture for her. With completely normal middle-class wizarding parents, it would not have interested him. And if it wasn't Death Eaters...

„Someone from the Order?" she asked hesitatingly, unsure if he would answer.

He frowned and his lips pressed together.

„No."

Throwing all caution into the wind, she jumped up.

„What is this all about? I am not a Granger, my real parents are neither Death Eaters nor Order members nor anyone else! The only thing missing is that you want to tell me that you are my father!"

He was silent and just looked at her, impassive. Hermione fainted.

(A/N: Translation of my own original work from German, so please tell me if my word choices or grammar are off. Based loosely on my impressions of Milan Kunderas "The Unbearable Lightness of Being" that I probably took way too seriously. No knowledge of his works required. Trigger warnings will be placed before each chapter if there are any. Following Chapter 1, TRIGGER WARNING for Adoption/Foster situation related issues.)