Four Seasons of You and Me
A/N: Aren't I just that awesome? Two one-shots, right off the bat. I really don't think just a quartet of sonnets is enough to get the feeling for this piece, so I'm adding two at once. Dedication like that just deserves reviews, doesn't it? Thanks in advance to those of you who left reviews on Chapter One!
Challenge 2)
Prompt/Summary: A Romeo & Juliet-style love. HG/LV
Genre: Romance/Tragedy
Rating: T
Notes: Major AU, this is post-seventh year, with all Horcruxes destroyed in some manner. Use your imaginations xD
This was actually written way back before I first began "Just Let Me Wake Up Already," but was never added because I was never really satisfied with the quality. So, after many edits, it's finally up! Enjoy!
My beta Sakura Takanouchi somehow made this good. She's that awesome.
My Juliet
Two households, both alike in dignity
In fair London, where we lay our scene
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean….
Adapted from Shakespeare's "Romeo and Juliet"
"Hey, Hermione, you've got mail!" Ron's voice bellowed down the darkened hallways of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.
The bushy-haired woman popped her head out of the doorway, a confused look on her face. It was Wednesday, and she was hardly expecting a letter. "Is it from work?" she asked, accepting the creamy white envelope with her name neatly stamped across the front in black ink.
"I dunno, it looks fancy!" Ron said, handing her the envelope as he knocked on Ginny's door. "What has Fred and George sent you?" He yelled, holding up the package with the Wheeze's logo boldly emblazoned across the sides and top of the box.
"Mine!" the redhead yelled, swinging open the door and grabbing the box out of her brother's hands before he had a chance to respond. She then saw the envelope in Hermione's hands, and the thoughts of her own parcel were forgotten.
"Ooh, Hermione, what's that?" Ginny asked, tucking the box under one arm. Hermione had opened the envelope and was now reading the letter.
Miss Hermione Jean Granger
You are cordially invited to the gala premiere of the new St. Mungo's Wing for Critical Maladies and Emergency Patients.
Date: Friday, August 9th
Dress is formal, as it is a masquerade ball, please wear a mask.
(Plus One)
"Ooh, sweet!" Ginny cried, who had snatched the invitation out of Hermione's unsuspecting hands.
Yes, she had been invited to the masquerade ball. In addition to all of the donators, every one of St. Mungo's employees and Healers had been invited. Fortunately for Hermione, this included interns.
"Hey, I wonder if Harry got an invitation, he did donate something to the new wing," Ginny mused, hoping that she would get to go.
"What are you talking about?" Hermione asked. "It's not like I'm going."
"What?" Both Ron and Ginny asked in unison. Ginny scoffed, pushing her brother aside. "It's not like she's taking you. Come on, Hermione, you've got to go. No excuses!"
Hermione was about to open her mouth to protest that she had no suitable dress robes, when Ginny sensed her friend's excuse and grabbed Hermione's arm to pull her into her own room. "You can borrow something of mine! It's in three days, so we don't really have time to get anything new."
Hermione sighed. Her fate had been decided for her.
"Hang on, 'Mione, I want to see if Harry got one too," Ginny asked, leaving Hermione standing in front of her open closet, gazing at all the robes and dresses in lively colors within. From the happy whoop that she heard from downstairs, she assumed that Harry had indeed received an invitation.
While Voldemort's forces were still active, they had been lying low all year, leaving Harry, Hermione, and Ron the opportunity to finish their seventh year of Hogwarts. Harry and Ron were all set to start Auror training in the fall, and Hermione was interning at St. Mungo's over the summer. Even with one of the highest N.E.W.T. scores in decades, she wasn't quite sure what she wanted to devote her life to yet. She knew that her parents were thrilled that she was considering becoming a Healer, but Hermione wanted to be sure she would be happy doing whatever occupation she chose.
Ginny staggered back in the room, clutching Harry's invitation like a trophy. "Hmm, were you going to take Ron as a date?" she asked mischievously.
"Of course not!" Hermione said, scandalized. She and Ron were good friends, but nothing more. "I don't need a date!"
"Well, it is a masquerade," Ginny conceded. "I'm sure you'll find someone. Especially if you wear this!" She gestured to one of the dresses in her closet. The two girls kept talking, planning their outfits for the ball.
In a manor on the outskirts of the city of London, one man sat alone in a room in a thick green velvet armchair, his chin resting on one fist in thought. The chair was adjacent to a roaring fireplace, the only source of light in the room as the heavy velvet drapes were pulled closed across the huge windows.
The man began to think about the situation at hand. The last year had changed him more than he would like to admit. The lack of mirrors in the room was proof of that. Lord Voldemort did not like being reminded of his humanity.
With each destruction of a Horcrux, his soul had slowly begun to piece itself back together again. Already, his once milky white skin, almost translucent in tone, had begun to gain some healthy color, and his black hair had recently begun to grow again with a vengeance. He ran one hand through it, relishing in the feeling. He'd never admit it, but it was the one thing that he missed through his serpentine transformation.
Something else Lord Voldemort didn't like to admit: He was bored.
Bored of the same routine Death Eater meetings, dinners and nights alone like this one, tortures…
Back up, he frowned. I would never be bored of torture…
He heard the door crack open and the sound of it deepened his frown. Did no one understand his orders that he was not to be disturbed?
"Who is it," he asked sharply, turning his head to see whoever was unfortunate enough to interrupt him. It was Lucius Malfoy. Hmm…maybe a little torture will help relieve my boredom…
"Lucius, what is it," Voldemort sneered, standing up from the armchair. He did not like repeating himself, but he supposed that this man before him could be allowed a little slack. Lucius was one of the few trusted members of his inner circle who were permitted to see him in this…disgraced state as he liked to put it in his thoughts. Long ago he had lost all usefulness for his humanity in the pursuit of immortality and power. But now, he was becoming restless.
"My Lord, I wanted to ask if I may be relieved from the attack on the Muggle city of Chester tomorrow night," he asked, hoping that his request would not lead to a few Crucio's. "As you know, Narcissa and I were two of the chief benefactors of the new St. Mungo's wing, and we've been invited to its premiere. A masquerade ball," he added, almost as an afterthought. "We need to keep up appearances, don't we?" He asked, nervously acknowledging his master's fluctuating mood. At the moment, he looked calm, but Lucius knew that his calmness often always concealed a hidden rage.
"Yes, yes, you may go," Voldemort waved off his servant, moving to a side table where a house-elf had noiselessly placed a glass of wine and a small tray of finger sandwiches.
"Thank you, my Lord," Lucius said, bowing before quickly exiting the room. He knew not to press his good fortune.
Once again Voldemort settled into the chair, watching the dark red liquid slosh around the glass.
"A masquerade ball…"
"Ginny!" Hermione cried, scandalized. "This is too…too…"
"Hermione, if you had your way you'd be going in something as plain as a grain sack. You're a woman, its time you started acting like it!" Ginny argued, straightening the strap of her own dress.
"I suppose it's too late to get out of this," Hermione mumbled, looking at her reflection in the floor-length mirror in Ginny's room.
Ginny had given her a dark blue dress, flecked with silver shimmers across its silk skirt and a sheer material that covered the corset, giving the impression of multiple changing shades of blue with the light. It had halter-style straps that left her arms and shoulders exposed, and a neckline that she certainly wouldn't have chosen for the dress, but Ginny assured her she looked fantastic in it.
"Here, I've gotten us masks, too," Ginny said, handing Hermione a mask with silver curling wings that covered the top half of her face. The whole thing made her look kind of like a butterfly, but when she voiced this opinion it only made Ginny burst into laughter for several minutes.
"Hermione, just try to enjoy yourself! Who knows, maybe you'll meet somebody!" Ginny said, biting back more laughter. She was going in a dark green empire-waisted dress, and her mask had golden accents to match the gold jewelry she wore.
"Here, wear this," Ginny instructed, handing Hermione a set of crystal beaded bracelets in different shades of light blue to wear on her wrist, and a matching drop necklace with a single diamond solitaire in a teardrop shape.
"Ginny, are we going to the party this year?" Harry jokingly called, knocking on the door. The two had resumed their relationship soon into Harry's seventh year, and it was obvious the two of them were in love. Hermione felt a twinge of jealousy as she watched Harry embrace Ginny, telling her how beautiful she looked.
"Come on, Hermione!" Ginny called back, breaking Hermione out of her reverie. She paused in front of the mirror one last time, settling the mask over her eyes. She was still amazed that Ginny had managed to control her unruly hair, taming it into soft curls and putting it up so that the curls spiraled around her face and settled against her neck.
They were traveling to St. Mungo's by the Floo Network, and one by one they stepped into the fireplace, calling out "St. Mungo's premiere gala!"
Once they arrived, Hermione was happy to see that she did not look out of place. Most of the people were in more extravagant dresses than she, but because of the masks, she recognized no one. She joined the small line to get in, handing her invitation to a masked receptionist she vaguely thought sounded like one of her co-workers.
Sighing, Hermione looked around the grand ballroom. Couples whirled on the dance floor, and again the tiny spark of jealousy ignited in her stomach. She wished she had someone to dance with, someone to confide in and joke with about the stupidity of masked balls and uncomfortable dresses…well, they probably wouldn't sympathize there. Hermione headed off to the table laden with cookies and sweets, sure that some chocolate would make her feel better.
Lord Voldemort stood leaning against the wall, already regretting the impulsive decision to come here. He had no one to talk to, hated this style of music, and his damn mask itched like crazy. He raised one hand to scratch where the strap was cutting into his temple, noticing the group of young women standing nearby who were watching him with anything but subtlety. When one winked at him, Voldemort had to resist the urge to curse them all.
He looked at the drink in his hand. It was almost empty. I can't handle these stupid, brainless women with no more wine, he thought, quickly heading back towards the refreshment station as one of the women began to make their way over to him.
He clutched the glass firmly in his hands, not noticing the woman who turned from the edge of the buffet with a full plate of assorted chocolate cookies and brownies. Cursing his lack of balance, he stumbled into the girl, the remains of his wine glass staining the front of her dress.
"Oh, how can this day get any worse!" She grumbled, about to tell off the stranger who just collided with her.
"Allow me," Voldemort said, waving his wand, noiselessly casting a spell to erase any sign of the burgundy wine stain.
"Thank you," she conceded, finally looking into the eyes of her…savior, defender, her…
Once she looked into his eyes, Hermione forgot even what she was doing here.
"Are you alright?" He asked, amused by her dreamy look. "Yes, I'm fine," she said, blinking quickly as she allowed him to lead her off to the side of the buffet.
Apparently, he thought with a wry smile, I'm not the only one who's been drinking to absolve my boredom.
"Are those enough desserts for you?" He asked sarcastically, noticing the thick plate of sweets she carried.
"No, this is just round one," she said, picking up a lemon bar. "I came by myself, technically, so there isn't much more for me to do."
"So you work here?" He asked. Hermione nodded. "I'm an intern at the moment, but I'm still deciding whether or not to pursue being a Healer."
"Healing is a noble career," He conceded. "How about you?" Hermione asked.
Voldemort paused, thinking about what to say. He could barely tell her that he had to sneak into the party without an invitation. Lord Voldemort sneaks nowhere! It's not like the wards were even that much of a challenge, anyway.
"I made a last minute donation," he said slowly. That could be true. After all, he hadn't destroyed the place yet out of spite. That could be seen like a donation of sorts.
"Oh, ok," Hermione said, about to take a bite of the lemon bar.
While she ate, Voldemort watched his companion. He was amazed he noticed the plate of desserts before noticing the woman carrying the plate. She was beautiful, he could tell, but she seemed not to care about her beauty, unlike nearly every other girl in the room. The blue dress looked amazing on her, but off in a corner, no one else would be able to admire it.
Out of the corner of his eye, Voldemort saw the same woman from before making her way through the crowd towards him. Seeking his only evasion, he turned back to his new companion.
"Dance with me," he commanded, taking the plate from her and grabbing her gloved hand. "Here, take these," he said to the jilted woman, shoving the plate into her hands before joining the swirl of couples on the dance floor.
Shocked, Hermione let him lead her to the dance floor. The way he said the words felt more like a command than an offer, but she mentally berated herself for even considering refusing his request. She had finally caught herself a prince, but her reluctance to start a new relationship often led to her ending it before it even began.
The dance was a light waltz, the smooth music coming from the string quintet in the front of the room. Hermione looked back into her companion's eyes, lost in the sea of blue that seemed to match her dress perfectly.
"You're a pretty good dancer," she admitted as he twirled her around, which was effortless for him because he was easily a foot and a half taller than her.
I'm a good dancer? Voldemort thought, amused. He hadn't needed the skills in years, not since he was last at Hogwarts.
Hermione felt him pull her closer to him as he took her hand in his and continued waltzing around the room. His light touch on the small of her back with his other hand reminded her that she still did not know the name of this charming stranger.
"What's your name?" She asked, meeting his gaze, half surprised that she hadn't tripped over either of their feet yet.
Hmm, I can't exactly tell her that I am Lord Voldemort, he thought, smirking at the thought. I wonder how she would react if I told her…
"Tom," he told her. Maybe there is a use for this name after all.
"That's a nice name," Hermione said, trying to think of all the Tom's she knew. It was a fairly common name, and she knew he wasn't the barman from the Leaky Cauldron…
"Not going to tell me your name?" Voldemort asked, his hand moving to Hermione's chin, tilting her face up at him in a slow pause in the music.
"It's Hermione," she said.
Hermione…why does that name sound so familiar? Voldemort thought. He surely didn't know any Hermione's, and he'd be sure to get to know any that were as beautiful as this one was.
Damn those emotions!
As pieces of his soul rejoined, he'd slowly began feeling more and more humanoid emotions, the most recent being a sense of companionship and a need for familiarity.
Lord Voldemort needs no one!
Mistaking his scowl for the recognition of her name, Hermione quickly asked, "Is something wrong?"
Her eyes were so deep and pleading. The dark brown color seemed to suck you into their depths. He would surely love to drown in such deep chocolate pools…
Snap out of it! He thought. "No, nothing's wrong. I just…have a lot of pressure at work lately, and this dance was supposed to help me forget about them."
Yes, just blame everything on 'work,' Voldemort scoffed internally. He sounded so weak; he shouldn't have to make excuses for anything!
"Oh, I'm sorry," Hermione said, and it looked like she meant it. "Is your work being affected by the war, too?"
More than you know, he thought wryly. "Yes, sadly. Hopefully, it should be over shortly," he said, gritting his teeth. I am mortal now, but so is he. How many Muggle villages will I have to destroy before he decides to show himself and fight me?
The waltz was almost over, and Voldemort spun Hermione twice before the closing bars of the waltz sounded. She leaned against his shoulder, feeling slightly dizzy.
Those two glasses of wine were definitely not the best idea, she still had enough sense left to acknowledge that at least. Especially not before I'd eaten anything.
Voldemort held her against his chest, momentarily enjoying the feeling before remembering who he was, stepping back abruptly.
Stunned, Hermione looked up. "Tom, are you ok?" She asked, when a huge grandfather clock hanging on the wall struck eleven.
"What is that for?" He asked. The clock was loud, but Hermione was too consumed in her drinking the last time it rang.
"At midnight, everyone takes off their masks," Hermione said sensibly.
Hmm, so I get to see what this witch really looks like…but would any of them recognize me? I should probably leave before then…
"Tom?" She asked, still unconvinced that he was alright.
"I'm…fine," he said, and then impulsively grabbed her hand. "Come with me," he said. This time, however, his voice was undemanding. He was simply asking her to go with him. Hermione didn't hesitate, but placed her gloved hand in his outstretched one. The fingers curled around her own before he pulled her off to the side and out of the main ballroom, down the hall that he had used to sneak—Er, calmly enter—in.
"Where are we going?" She asked, unable to prevent the curiosity from invading her voice.
"You'll see," he said, pausing at one set of frosted glass doors.
He turned to Hermione. "Close your eyes," he told her. She instantly glared at him, but she allowed him to stand behind her and rest his hands over her eyes lightly so as not to disturb her mask but so she couldn't see where she was going.
He magically opened the doors, and led Hermione into the garden.
"Alright, you can open them now," he told her, wondering how she was going to react to this. He still wasn't even sure why he brought her here in the first place.
From her startled gasp, Voldemort was sure that she liked the surprise.
The small garden was set off to the side, joining the terminal and children's wards. It was small but very intimate, with a few benches and a fountain in the middle, surrounded by flowers with rose bushes lining the walls. What impressed Hermione most, Voldemort guessed, was the stunning view of Muggle London the terraced garden offered. The sky still held traces of amber light from the recently-set sun, which only lit up the small garden more.
Also, Voldemort noted, the small rays of light caught the silver glitter on Hermione's mask, lighting up the bottom half of her face.
Minutes later, they were seated on one of the benches, engaged in a heated debate about the usage of certain Arithmancy charts.
"But Tom, the Agrippan Method is highly unorthodox!" Hermione cried. Throughout the entire debate, she had been vehemently in favor of Wenlock's chart. "You know the Agrippan one is illegal! It was banned by the Ministry in 1847!"
How on Earth did we even get on this subject? Voldemort thought, vexed. "Have you ever used the Agrippan method?"
She paused to think. "Well, no. Of course not! It's banned!"
Yes, yes, I know that! Merlin, this woman could be annoying. True, she was able to debate with him on any subject, but she was so staunchly opposed to anything with even an inkling of Dark references.
"It was only banned because the Ministry at that time couldn't understand how it could be used to divine all possible consequences of one particular action," Voldemort said.
"So it's iniquitous!" She said.
"It's practical and informative," Voldemort argued.
"You're not going to change my opinion, you know," Hermione said haughtily, crossing her arms.
"Of course not. You're too stubborn," Voldemort said. Why haven't I hexed this woman yet?
"I. am. not. stubborn!" she cried.
"Just proved my point," Voldemort said, a smile playing across his lips.
Hermione sat, fuming. Sure, this man was one of the most intelligent people she'd met in a long time, and he sure was attractive, from what she could see. And his eyes, they seemed to be able to look straight through her and into her very soul.
But he was arrogant as hell. His opinion was always the last one, although Hermione had to admit he had a few good ideas, and his arguments could counteract several Ministry orders that had banned or restricted arbitrary subjects.
Voldemort watched her out of the corner of his eye, waiting for her to make the next move. She had no problem talking back to him, which he actually found refreshing. With this mask over his eyes, he became a completely different person.
Merlin, she sure is cute when she's angry, he thought, then immediately retracted that statement. Cute? Voldemort, you're losing your touch. You can't like this girl?
Deny it all you want, you like her, his inner voice told him. For all he knew, she wasn't a pureblood, and she was wearing blue, so he assumed she was a Ravenclaw.
"What house were you in at Hogwarts?" He asked, voicing his inner thoughts at a lull in the conversation. "Gryffindor," she replied proudly.
But of course, he thought ironically. At her questioning glance, he responded, "Slytherin."
At that, she started to laugh. "What's so funny?" He asked, irked that she would dare to laugh at his house.
"Well, it's just that most of the Slytherins I know are so different from you," she said. "They're all pompous, lying, stupid, rude, evil pricks who don't even know the difference between a flobberworm and fluxweed, and—"
Voldemort just let her rant. It was entertaining to watch her get angry. At his amused grin, Hermione stopped berating Slytherin, instead giving him a suspicious glance. "What?"
He started to laugh. For the night, he was another person, he might as well let go of himself and just enjoy it. This woman had the ability to make him laugh like this and feel like blowing up a building all in the space of five minutes.
"Are you laughing at me?" She asked, pretending to glare at him, which only made him laugh harder.
"Fine, I'm heading back," Hermione said, jumping off the bench and trying her best to make a dramatic exit. She threw open the doors, storming back into the building.
"Hermione, wait!" He called, realizing that she had stopped joking and was seriously mad at him.
She was in the hallway, waiting the customary ten seconds for a man to chase after a woman after he does something stupid. He's certainly qualified for that.
"Hermione, wait!" She heard him re-enter the hallway, but she was already walking back to the ballroom. She could even hear the music faintly again.
I can't believe I'm chasing after a girl, Voldemort thought. But is she worth it? Only one way to know.
"Tom, I—" Hermione began to say, but Voldemort reached her first, startling her by closing the distance between them and clutching the back of her head with one hand, crashing his lips on top of hers in a passionate kiss.
At first, Hermione was too shocked to respond. When Voldemort pulled back, he was unsure of what Hermione's reaction would be.
"I…I..." He said, turning away from her. I am Lord Voldemort, I apologize to no one!
Hermione's feelings were only further complicated by the strange feeling in her stomach. It was obvious this guy liked her, but how did she feel? Only one way to find out.
I can't believe I'm doing this, she thought, before lightly touching his arm. He turned, half expecting to get slapped, when Hermione returned his kiss lightly.
It didn't take long for him to deepen the kiss, one hand grabbing Hermione's shoulder to push her against the wall, the other on her waist. Hermione had entangled one hand in his thick black hair, and the other was now pinned to her side as Voldemort began to kiss her neck.
"These damn masks are in the way," he growled, making Hermione laugh. She wanted to see what her prince looked like, but she enjoyed teasing him. "Another five minutes," she joked playfully, laughing.
"Well then, I'll make them the five longest minutes of your life," he hissed softly in her ear.
A tiny fragment of Voldemort's mind was worried about revealing himself to this girl. He would have to leave soon anyways, being seen by one woman was one thing, but walking back through the ballroom like that would be like signing his own death warrant. Although not many knew about his recent transformation, all it would take would be one of them.
The giant grandfather clock chimed midnight, and the deep sound reverberated all through the hallway. Hermione could hear the cheering of the crowd, as someone made a speech on the stage about the opening of the new St. Mungo's wing.
Hermione raised her hands to her date's mask, slipping it over his head. He grinned back at her arrogantly, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of letting him know it. She studied his face closer, brushing a thumb over one cheek.
He looks so familiar, but I can't seem to place it, she thought.
"Now your turn," he said, lifting her mask away from her face, careful not to snag her hair. She looked back into his eyes, and saw them narrow and knew that he found her familiar as well.
"Have we…met?" Hermione asked, unsure what else to say.
Instantly, Voldemort knew who she was. Swearing, he turned away, leaning with one hand against the wall. I can't believe I didn't see it earlier. His trademark smirk again graced his features as he started to laugh again, but this time it was a colder, darker laugh. "You honestly don't know who I am?"
She shook her head, confused. "I know who you are. You're Hermione Granger," He said, still grinning. Oh, this was all too convenient. One of Harry Potter's best friends, alone in an empty hallway.
She looked again, and saw the red glint hidden in his eyes.
"Oh my God," she said, backing up against the wall, fear in her eyes. She didn't know how it was possible, but somehow, she knew that this man was none other than Lord Voldemort. He didn't have the snakelike features she had thought he had; and right now wondering how he regained some semblance of his youth ranked below 'staying alive' on her list of priorities for the evening. Although he looked nothing like she'd been taught he did, she could tell it was him—she saw it in his eyes. Cold, empty, and frighteningly composed.
"You're too kind," He laughed; the sound chilled her to her bones. "Most just call me, 'my Lord.'"
Hermione narrowed her eyes, trying to shove down the conflicting feelings of revulsion and fear. She thought she had caught a prince; this was the bloody Dark Lord!
Why can I never get anything right? She thought, half appreciating the irony of the night even as he laughed again.
"My dear, your thoughts are too amusing," Voldemort said, his wand already in his hand. Hermione froze instantly upon seeing it, and then reached for her own, the beaded purse flying out of her hands and down the hallway past her.
"You won't be needing that," he smirked. "And, if by chance you do recover it, what you are suggesting is entirely physically impossible." Now that he was in tune with her thoughts, sifting the fear and worry out of the way was easy to get to the drive inside. He wanted to bring it out, he liked seeing her fire. It made death taste so much sweeter.
"You…monster," she spat. I can't believe I—
"Yes, Hermione dearest?" He asked, taking his time approaching her. "You can't believe you what? Allowed yourself to enjoy our little encounter before the masks came off?"
She hated the way her name sounded when he said it. She half-wished he'd call her by anything else, even 'Mudblood' would be preferable—at least she would be able to think about him clearly with hate instead of remembering when she had thought of them as anything alike. The masquerade was just that—a deception, some way to lure her away from the safety of the Order and into the open. Once the masks came off, she could match a name to the body, and she found to her horror that she had actually been interested in this stranger who turned out to be the Dark Lord.
And, she found it equally disturbing that, in the midst of their discussions and dancing, that she had thought he was just as interested in her.
"Oh, no, my dear, you are quite wrong," Voldemort's voice jerked Hermione out of her thoughts, reminding herself that they were practically an open book to him. She decided to concentrate on a very angry message involving a respect for another's personal privacy, but it only caused him to chuckle lightly.
Hermione took another step backwards; her back and legs hit the wall, and she nervously glanced around her. No one in sight; she could barely even still hear the music coming from the ballroom.
"Our meeting was just a lucky coincidence, wouldn't you say?"
Hermione scowled, searching the recesses of her soul for some of that renowned Gryffindor courage. He was toying with her, he had no right to stretch her fears and dangle her life before her very eyes. If he was going to do something, just do it and get it over with!
Hermione voiced this opinion, and Voldemort smirked again, raising his wandless hand to brush against her cheek in a false caress.
"My dear, your life," he paused, "or removal of it is in your own hands. Young Mr. Potter is also a guest at this masquerade, is he not? Don't try to hide it from me, your terrible attempts at Occlumency are useless."
He continued, "I wish you to bring him here, to me." In his smirk she could see his teeth gleaming in the dark. She shuddered, wanting to move away but finding no where to go.
"I would never help you." She spat out the words, the very suggestion like poison in her mind, seeping through as she sought to valiantly once again throw her life in-between an enemy and Harry Potter. She trembled again, trying not to show how afraid she was of dying. She hadn't lived long enough; there was still so much more!
His eyes narrowed; his smirk had folded into a thin line. "Silencio."
Hermione's eyes widened when she realized what he was going to do. Curling her fingers tightly into fists, she awaited the pain that was to come.
"Crucio."
She barely heard the word leave his mouth, but she ceased to even care about hearing ever again when the pain struck her. She dropped to the floor, her knees banging on the hard linoleum as she opened her mouth in a soundless scream. The pain was white-hot; everywhere and nowhere all at once, in a place so deep inside her that Hermione did not know where it was. Her eyes were closed, visions of various torture devices flashing through her mind as she realized that none would hurt as much as this.
Her vision cleared for only a moment; she had to stay strong for Harry.
And then the pain engulfed her once again as her short fingernails dug into her palms, thin lines of blood running from the crescent-shaped marks. Anything, anything to make it stop.
And, just as she squeezed the thought out through her dazed brain, the pain was over, almost as if it had never been there at all, although Hermione's body still shuddered from the shock. In the vertigo of the pain, she had also bitten her lower lip, and as she moved her tongue to lick her dry lips she grimaced at the sudden and unpleasant coppery taste of blood. It shamed her, that she was so weak that she couldn't take this pain. She had wished in her mind for it to stop, for something to do to stop it, and he had acquiesced.
She could feel magic pulling at her body as she was lifted off the ground and back into a standing position against the wall across from Voldemort. She didn't know if the silencing spell had been removed, but she didn't think her voice would work even if it was gone. Although she had made no noise, her throat was raw from her silenced screams.
"I do not wish to ignore such an ideal opportunity," he spoke calmly as though the last several minutes had never happened. "So I am giving you one more chance to keep your life."
Hermione gulped, again summoning the strength to intensely glare at him.
He responded with an amused chuckle, staring down at her with what could only be described as gratification in her defiance. It was like he expected her to withstand the pain, and yet still bravely resist him.
Voldemort leaned in closer, his words tickling the shell of her ear. "Well, since pain does not seem to have the desired effect on you…how about pleasure?"
Hermione's eyes widened further when his hand wrenched her chin up and his lips descended onto hers with a fierce violence.
The momentary shock of his actions increased tenfold when, to her surprise, she found herself returning the kiss with equal fervor, conveying a passion she didn't even know she had. She thought she had a passion for Healing, but it in no way compared to the feeling of convergence she felt at their electric connection. It was like a tiny spark had passed between them, and she was shocked at the rightness that she felt being this close to him. She was equally surprised that he seemed to match her own ardor, the two of them even forgetting for a moment that one was supposed to be torturing the other.
The question of whether or not the silencing spell was still in effect was answered as Hermione let out a soft moan, freezing her movements as she felt Voldemort smirk against her lips.
Hermione jerked her head out of his grasp, breathing heavily from the recent lack of air.
"Hmm, nothing seems to work with you," Voldemort said with a smirk. "I am surprised at how receptive you are to 'torture.'"
Hermione scowled, still playing catch-up from the bizarre turn of events that had transpired during the night. There was no way that what just happened was normal. He was Lord Voldemort, and she was not supposed to be attracted to him!
If he felt as disconcerted as she did, then he was much better at hiding it. While the two of them had still been oblivious of the other's identity, she thought they had been very comparable, but she felt an almost electric bond once they had connected like that. She would almost feel guilty, if it didn't feel so good.
She saw him tilt his head to one side, obviously surveying her thoughts. The strangest thing was, she didn't even care.
What's wrong with me! What would Harry think!!
At the mention of Harry's name, she tensed at the smirking grin that grew on Voldemort's face.
"Remember our little deal, dear?" He asked, turning her chin sharply back towards him when she tried to look away.
Inside he shuddered slightly; just that small touch made him want to kiss her again. And he would not lose control like that again. He was Lord Voldemort, and he was always in control.
"Bring Harry Potter to me, and I will let you live." He released her.
"How do you know I won't—"
He cut off her bluff. "Please. I have your wand, if you've forgotten." A wave of his own, and hers zoomed into his hand from its forgotten position lying behind him in the middle of the hallway.
"You try anything, and I will know."
She didn't bother questioning him how he could possibly know, but simply backed away from him, not wanting to let his piercing stare or smirking grin get to her. Hell, he knew it did, what was the point?
Once she turned the corner and was out of his sight, she started to run, ignoring the searing pain in her feet by running in higher heels than she'd ever worn in her life. She was almost at the entrance to the ballroom, and froze moments before rushing back in.
What am I going to do? She thought, completely confused, disregarding the nauseating tightness in her stomach at the thought of either dying herself or letting Harry take her fall. She didn't want to do either, but she couldn't think of a way to save both their lives and still come out on top.
The one thing she knew: She had to find a way to let someone else know what was going on. She needed some way to contact the Aurors; even the Ministry would probably be able to do more good than harm at this point.
She tried to calm herself before throwing her shoulders back and walking into the ballroom. She was surprised at first to see the uncovered faces of every person in the room, but remembered that midnight had passed—some half-hour ago by the looks of the giant clock above her. This would make things even harder; she would have no mask to hide behind to conceal her true emotions. She had never had that good of a 'poker face,' and she figured that also contributed to her horrible ineptitude at Occlumency.
With the crowd unmasked, she was able to seek out Harry much quicker than she'd thought she could. He was by the refreshments table, presumably getting a drink for Ginny, who was nowhere to be seen. She hurried over there, wanting to tell him the straight truth. Sure, Voldemort had told her to bring him Harry, but he said nothing about not informing Harry of what was going on.
"Harry!"
She winced; she hadn't meant to make her voice sound that desperate.
"Hey, Hermione! We haven't seen you all night." Harry looked indolently interested as he filled up two cups with punch. "Ginny just went to the loo, have you seen her?"
The Bathroom! Of course!
"Actually, I was going to ask you where she was. I-I'll go find her for you. Don't move!"
Hermione ignored the strange look she received, hoping he followed her indistinct instructions. While she wouldn't put it past him to have her followed into the women's restroom, she knew it was probably the safest place to talk undetected.
Trying to keep her face impassive and her stride even, Hermione walked towards the corridor that she knew led to the restrooms. She pushed past an elegantly dressed blond-haired woman, ignoring her condescending glance before passing through the door marked with the universal female figurine marking the front, sighing in relief when she saw Ginny washing her hands.
"Ginny!" Hermione knew she had never sounded more relieved in her life. She could trust Ginny with this; most likely herself and Harry would be watched while Ginny could get to the proper authorities.
"Hey, Hermione!" She gave her friend a disapproving stare. "Why aren't you still with that wizard you were dancing with earlier? I swear, if I have to set you up with Ron just so you have a date, that's—"
Hermione cut her off, grabbing her friend's arm and pulling her into the handicapped stall at the end of the row. "I have to tell you something."
Ginny's eyes lit up, and Hermione didn't have the heart to correct her for the numerous assumptions by now whirling through the redhead's mind.
She locked the door, turning back to Ginny. The redhead's eager anticipation turned to confusion. "What's wrong, Hermione?"
Hermione paused. No one had been in the restroom when Hermione walked in, but she didn't want to take the chance of being overheard.
"You know the wizard I was dancing with earlier?" She whispered the words.
Ginny nodded, now unsure as to where this was going. "Hermione, if he hurt you…"
Hermione gave her friend a wry smile, before launching into the truth.
"That was Voldemort, Ginny. He's here. He's trying to get at Harry, and we have to stop him."
Ginny's already pale skin got a few shades whiter as she realized the implications of Hermione's words. It made sense, in a way; the first time Harry had left Grimmauld Place, and something like this had happened. They thought tonight would be safe, but they were horribly, horribly wrong.
Hermione paused again; she could've sworn she heard the sound of the main door opening, but after a few seconds of silence she supposed she was imagining things.
"I need you to alert the Ministry. I'll confront Voldemort."
If possible, Ginny paled further. "Hermione, don't be a martyr. We'll get Harry to safety, somehow!"
Hermione steeled her courage. "Well, he has my wand, and I want it back."
Ginny laughed feebly, concern and worry for Harry written all over her face. "Hermione, this is no time for jokes."
She nodded. "I'd rather it was me than Harry. If…if he attacks all the people in that room, then…"
She didn't even need to finish, the implications were there. Voldemort had given her a specific task, and really, all the people in that ballroom didn't need to die, just one of them. It was her fault, she got herself into this mess, and she would find some way to resolve it.
"Surely we can find some other way…does Harry know?" Ginny asked.
Hermione shook her head. "Not yet. But I'm in too deep. If I don't hand over Harry, he'll kill me. If I try to run, he'll kill me."
Ginny's brow furrowed. "Wait, so he said he'd let you live if you did what he said? That doesn't sound like V—you-know-who."
Hermione deliberately kept the information to herself about what else had transpired between the two; telling Ginny or Harry that would only make things worse for herself. After all, it's not like she liked him or anything.
Of course not. Because in a situation like this, who would like someone currently trying to kill them or their best friend?
Definitely not me, she reassured herself.
"Alright, then." Ginny's hand gripped her wand tightly. "You go to Harry, I'll go alert the Aurors."
Hermione nodded, moving to unlock the door. "I'll leave first." She slipped out, noting that once again the bathroom was empty.
"Be careful." Ginny's words were sincere.
"You too. Good luck."
Hermione smiled at her friend before leaving, smiling with relief when she saw that Harry hadn't budged from his spot near the refreshments table, but had been drinking his cup of punch with gusto.
He saw her approaching, immediately knowing that something was wrong.
"Hermione, what's wrong? You're acting strange."
Hermione found her calm guise was even harder to keep up when it was called into suspicion. "There's, uh, nothing wrong."
She smiled briefly as her boss passed her, before turning back to Harry and pulling him aside, her back to the rest of the crowd in case anyone tried to read her lips or accidentally heard her words.
"Harry, something is wrong. I'm sorry, but…"
She couldn't find a way to tell her best friend that the man who'd tried to kill him several times over his life was waiting just a few rooms away, ready and waiting to try again. How do I tell him that?
"Voldemort. He's here."
She decided with the blunt approach; delaying any longer would make him suspicious when she herself took longer to get Harry there.
"He knew who I was…he…" She found the next words the hardest of all to say. "He's trying to get me to give you to him, or he'll kill me. But I don't care, you have to get away from here."
Harry's eyes had darkened with the prospect of once again meeting his nemesis in battle, but as he looked around the room he saw Hermione's point.
"This isn't a good place for a battle, people could get hurt!"
Hermione nodded in agreement. "I know, and he's exploiting that. He knows we won't risk a battle with so many innocent people here."
Harry looked around the room again. "Where is he?"
"Not here," Hermione answered quickly, her mind formatting a plan as quickly as she could. "There's a corridor leading to the new wing. He's there."
She was glad Harry didn't ask just how she had stumbled across Lord Voldemort in an empty corridor during a masquerade ball, and she doubted she'd have answered with the truth had he asked. It was something she'd be happy to keep a secret for the rest of her days.
"What do you think we should do?"
Hermione noted how one of Harry's hands now rested comfortably in the pocket of his black wizarding robes, probably gripping his wand in the event that he'd have to use it suddenly. Hermione hoped her plan would work, and that the knowledge of the new wing's geography from her brief interning job at St. Mungo's would come in handy.
"Here's the plan," she told him. "I'll tell him that I got you to wait in the Emergency Wing"—she gestured to a corridor on the opposite side, whose hallway was much closer to the open ballroom than the other wing—"and hopefully I can stall him long enough to give Ginny time to call the Order."
Harry didn't ask her how she planned to stall Voldemort, and Hermione didn't have a clue herself. Sure, he'd probably spend a few minutes torturing her out of spite—preferably both kinds of torture…did I really just think that?
"One more thing," Hermione said, trying to prepare Harry as best she could. "He's changed. Voldemort. He doesn't look the way you described."
Harry gave her a confused look, but nodded just the same. "Alright, Hermione. Just…be careful."
Hermione gave her friend a reassuring smile, trying not to let her own anxiety affect him. She tried her best to appear calm, but inside her stomach and mind were in knots. My friend's life…my own life is in danger and all I can think about is the next time I'll see him! He's the bloody Dark Lord! I shouldn't find him so…so…
Her mind supplied the words, 'devilishly attractive,' but Hermione tried to swallow it down in preparation to clear her mind to meet him again. He would probably scrape their hurried plan right out from the back of her mind, but really, what else could she do?
Hermione tiptoed as silently as she could down the empty corridor, its lack of lighting feeling a lot spookier the second time around. She cursed her choice of footwear; it was impossible to walk anything near silently in the heels she had worn.
She couldn't see him; but in the darkened hallway every shadow looked foreboding, and every sudden rush of air from a window felt like the precursor to a spell. It did nothing for her nerves, which were already shot to hell. If she was going to go down, she was going to go fighting, and she was going to go in style.
"Where is our guest?"
The words came from behind her, slithering into her ear from the man she had so vehemently tried to avoid yet found she couldn't resist.
Hermione spun, but found her arms trapped by one of his own, his angry stare something she hoped she would never have to see again.
"Where is Harry Potter?"
Hermione was still shocked into silence, searching for her voice even as his long fingers tightened around her left arm, the skin tingling in a way that was not wholly unpleasant.
"H-He wouldn't come with me here, but I told him to go to the Wing on the other side of the ballroom." Stall. "He wants to fight you, but he didn't want anyone else here to get involved."
Voldemort's lip curled distastefully at her words. "So, you don't follow the rules like I was led to believe, Hmm?"
Hermione had a bad feeling about this.
"Well, what did you expect?" She bit back. "That I was going to gift-wrap him for you?"
She flinched at his cruel laughter, readying herself for whatever punishment his vindictive mind was ready to dole out.
"If you value your own life, then yes."
Hermione met his gaze boldly, thinking as loudly as she could that her own life was a small price to pay when a friend's was on the line.
"You are a fool, Hermione." The words were softer than she thought they'd be; shouldn't he be yelling at her, cursing her?
"Would you like me to curse you?" He sounded amused.
Her arm still tingled from where he held her. "Was that a rhetorical question?" She bit back. "Who enjoys being cursed?"
His face was only inches from her own. "Are you sure?" Again, the words were dangerously soft, unnerving her more simply because it was unexpected.
If he kisses me, Hermione thought, I will smack him.
A grin flitted across his face.
"Really?" He asked amusedly. She shot him a dirty look. He knew what she wanted; he could read minds, after all.
Of course not.
His lips were on hers again, his arms blocking her own from moving; he was in control, always in control, but she liked it, oddly enough. Again, she briefly wondered why it felt so good being with someone who so clearly did not have her best intentions at heart—if he had one—but then she gave in to the vertigo of the mind, that electric connection; she couldn't think straight when someone was kissing her like that.
Stall, stall, stall…hell, who am I kidding?
She felt his fingers slip into her hair as her head was wrenched to the side. His eyes were livid.
"You think your precious Order and yourself is enough to stop me? You thought, what, I cared about you enough to give you enough time to, hmm, assemble some paltry fighters who don't even stand a chance."
Hermione couldn't believe that she was extremely disconcerted by his words; it shocked her, but at that moment she was scared at the thought of him being taken away from her.
W-what? What's wrong with me?
Her eyes widened as she saw the deadly intent in his eyes; he was going to kill her, she was sure of it.
They held the gaze, her own terrified eyes staring back into his darkened ones. She expected to see a green light at any moment, but it shocked her more that nothing seemed to be happening. He wasn't moving; she certainly wasn't moving.
Voldemort was equally surprised by the weight that spread through his veins at the mere thought of killing the girl. His arms felt as heavy as lead, and he felt that, what, he would be missing something if she was no longer around?
He could barely find an answer to the question of why he chose now to want to keep someone else alive; it was clear the girl had outlived her usefulness. Sure she was interesting, and pretty enough, but there were surely a million others like her.
Even as the thought completed itself in his mind, he knew it wasn't true. She even had the audacity to question him, a fact he found both vexing and refreshing, if only she could learn her place.
"Don't make me regret keeping you alive," he sneered, keeping a tight grip on her arm as he dragged her down the hallway. "Lead the way."
Hermione's eyes were still wide with shock. He…wasn't going to kill me?
It was easy enough to navigate; a left turn here, a set of doors there, but Hermione felt her stomach dropping with each step she took. Why did he keep her alive? What was so special about her?
Not that she was complaining, of course. Hermione was glad her heart was still beating in her chest, and preferred it to stay that way. But bringing up the issue of why they couldn't seem to control themselves around each other—throwing herself at a near-complete stranger was not a common practice of hers.
"Which way?" The words were curt; they had reached another long hallway that stretched indefinitely in both directions, although she could hear the strains of a waltz from the corridor to their left.
Hermione was confused, relieved, and terrified. "This is the Emergency Ward," she admitted.
She was sure her life expectancy was going to be put to yet another test, when they heard shouts coming from the right corridor. She could see a jet of green light pass, and heard a distinctly feminine cackle, followed by a chorus of shouts that she determined Harry's to be among.
Hermione tensed; she felt Voldemort's grip on her arm tighten as well.
Suddenly, a familiar green-eyed boy appeared in the corridor, barely pulling up a Protego charm on his right upon seeing the two.
"Harry!" Hermione cried, trying to twist out of Voldemort's grip unsuccessfully.
Voldemort smirked. "We meet again, Potter." Hermione stared in trepidation between the two.
"Boy, don't think you can run from me!" Bellatrix's overconfident laugh filled the narrow hallway.
Hermione twisted around; she heard footsteps coming behind her. She closed her eyes briefly, certain of how the evening would end for her. She had no wand, in the middle of a battle, and she was positive that Voldemort would not inexplicably save her again.
She recognized him without his mask; Lucius Malfoy was coming up the hallway behind her, wand at the ready. His eyes met Hermione's, and she physically felt the intense hatred towards her.
Lucius sneered upon seeing Hermione's vulnerability. "Time to die, Mudblood."
The jet of green light was brighter than she thought possible, especially when it was coming towards her.
Bellatrix still had not entered the hallway, but Hermione could still hear her voice. "Prepare to die, boy!"
Voldemort's head twisted sharply at Lucius' words, and he heard the girl's fear in his mind. He couldn't explain it, but once again he was filled with an overwhelming desire to protect her, to keep her alive at all costs. It was an odd feeling, he was sure he'd never felt it before, but he acted on it now instinctively, drawing Hermione against him and turning to the side to protect her.
Hermione saw Harry dodge the jet of green light from Bellatrix's wand, her victorious smile frozen in place as she entered the hallway, the final scene in perfect display.
The second jet of light filled the hallway from the other side, and Hermione's free arm wrapped around Voldemort, covering his body with her own as she looked up into his surprised face, feeling unexpectedly relaxed herself.
The two jets hit them both at the same time, and Hermione was happy that the last thing that she saw was his face.
And then white.
And then nothing at all.
Harry's stunner hit Lucius Malfoy square in the chest as the rest of the Order followed behind him, subduing the remaining Death Eaters who had been summoned by Narcissa and Lucius upon hearing that Voldemort was attending the ball and planned on taking out Harry Potter there.
It didn't take long; the air was filled with the sound of tiny pop's as the masked Death Eaters that had become aware of their Lord's death apparated away to safety.
Even with fervent urging on several Order member's parts, Harry wouldn't leave the scene, moving closer to where his best friend and worst enemy lay dead at each other's sides.
He decided his eyes were playing tricks on him; Voldemort couldn't have been protecting Hermione when he pulled her out of the way of Malfoy's killing curse. Just as Hermione couldn't have been hugging him moments before she died.
"Harry?"
He looked up; Nymphadora Tonks was the latest to try and urge him to leave the building; It wouldn't 'do well,' as they said, for his name and face to be implicated once again with Voldemort's in so public a place.
"In a second."
He couldn't believe what it had cost. The freedom of the Wizarding world had cost the life of his best friend.
He didn't feel free. He probably wouldn't for a very long time.
He looked down on their faces, surprised. Normally, the Killing Curse's effect was prominent, but both Voldemort's and Hermione's eyes were closed and they looked completely at peace; almost like they were sleeping.
They looked free.
He would try to take some solace in that.
End.
Run, baby, run
Don't ever look back.
They'll tear us apart
If you give them the chance.
Don't sell your heart.
Don't say we're not meant to be.
Run, baby, run.
Forever will be
You and me.
"Check Yes Juliet," We the Kings
A/N: So, how was that? Its inspiration was Romeo and Juliet, of course it had to have a sad ending xD I apologize for the possible OOC-ness, but in place of Romeo & Juliet's instant blind devotion I tried to substitute a strange sudden connection between both Hermione and Voldemort.
Please, let me know with reviews if you liked this! I have plenty more ideas for one-shots, and since this is the only HP pairing I write for it makes more sense to put them together than to post them individually.
The little purple button is your friend!
Love, Kako