A/N:I would Like to thank for all the support and the lovely reviews, and apologize for the late update. I just had my viva and was busy the whole April. And the chapter was a bit of a struggle to finish (I've done about 85% before I had to focus on my viva), as I was stuck trying to construct sentences to describe what the scene that I want I, and I hope it conveys the threat and quiet but chilling menace that is Tom Riddle.
Junebug: Thank you for reading and leaving a review. Hope you'll like the next one too.
Guest 1: Already update and thank you for the support.
Guest 2: I have problems with my tenses. I have no idea which one to use. I generally write based on what sounds and feels right, which does not work 100% of the time. And I generally find it hard to find mistake on my own work (which I knew exists but had trouble concentrating enough to find them:p)That's why I am searching for a beta who can take a look at my story with fresh eyes.
fripouilleeee: Thank you for the review. As I remark above to Guest 2, tenses is not my strong suit. So, a beta-reader that can catch the issues is highly appreciated
Obsididan Lining: Yes, I am still in need of a beta-reader especially with my tenses, and converting scene in my head into words as well as any historical help on the Stasi and East Germany will be great. European history is not exactly within my wheelhouse. If you are still interested please PM me.
Brooklynhills: I am glad you like it and thank you for reading and reviewing.
"What's for dinner?"
Hermione looked up from her cooking, to see Penelope head peeking out from their bedroom in the apartment they shared together in the Muggle Quarters.
"Potato stew, what else?"
Penelope made a face at her answer, Hermione couldn't help but laugh at that. They were lucky to even have enough food to have dinner, with the winter coming so quickly. Typically in this situation they had to settle with leftover lunch at the houses they worked at as their only meal for the day. But, Hermione understood Penelope's sentiment, it can get very tiring to eat just potato day in and day out.
"What I wouldn't give for a little taste of meat." Penelope said dreamily.
" It's a good thing then that I have a surprise for you." Hermione hold out a very small parcel of butcher paper.
Penelope eyes bugged out in delight, caressing the parcel as if it is made out of gold-which it might as well be given how difficult meat of any kind to be obtained by their class, "Please, tell me its beef… ohh.. Mione' I love you, I love you, I love you!"
"I am the best aren't I? Go, have a shower, the dinner would be done by then."
Penelope bounded excitedly to the communal bathroom, as Hermione return back to her task.
She was glad that everything are starting to return back to normal after the tent incident. News had travelled fast around the Muggle Quarters about her one-on-one interrogation with 'He-who-must-not-be-named'. She had become persona-non-grata around the muggle community. Everyone had been avoiding her like a plague- and only interacted with her when necessary. They were afraid to be linked with her with such a huge bullseye on her head. And Penelope had only started to stop fussing and worrying about the incident. She was on high alert for the whole week, paranoid about every noise and bumps in the night and day. It was very hard to calm her down.
But with no more sudden interviews, people are starting to accept that the incident was nothing more than a very bad case of bad luck on her part. For once Hermione was glad everything had return back to normal. As awful as her normal is, it was her lot in life and she was used to it. Because she knows everything could just get significantly worse for people like her.
She continued her cooking, taking pleasure in the repetitive chopping and stirring. She was so absorbed in her task that she didn't notice the hard knocks from her front door at first.
"Coming…" she yelled as she ran towards the door.
"Penny did you forget your ke…" the last word stuck in her throat as the what greeted her at the front door wasn't Penelope but instead hordes of Death Eaters in their full black regalia. A haze of fear slithered around her leg and throat, rooting her to the spot- unable to speak or scream.
"Hello, Miss Granger." A deep menacingly familiar voice greeted her, sending terror down her spine.
Tom 'fucking Riddle is here.
He stood tall in the middle, the Death Eaters parted ways like the Red sea, clearing his way towards her.
It broke her out her haze, kicking her flight response.
It must've shown on her face because as she was about to turn and run from the danger infornt of her, he stopped her with thinly veiled threat.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you."
But fear must've clouded her judgement, as she disregarded the warning, and turned away from him, preparing to run.
"Think about this carefully Miss Granger, You are unarmed and surrounded by Death Eaters, bricks and walls, with ten-storey drop to the outside, are sure you want to do that?" he coaxed kindly despite the intimidations of his words.
She forced herself to turn back around and face him. Defiance written all over her face.
"That's a good girl." He smiled patronizingly.
He turned around and addressed the Death Eaters that accompanied him, " Leave us, Miss Granger and I are going to have a little conversation."
The men bowed out and closed the door behind them.
Hermione could feel the sudden shift in the atmosphere of the room. The temperature dropped several degrees in the already cold apartment, causing goose bumps to run up and down her arms. The room became quietly menacing and twice as dangerous as before. Her courage from before had all but disappear into nothingness.
She was alone, defenseless, and trapped in her own home with Voldemort. The dark lord of death himself.
She almost wished the Death Eaters didn't left. Surely, whatever the Death Eaters would do to her won't be as bad as Voldemort would do to her.
"Aren't you going to offer me to sit?" He asked with boyish smile as he stood there looking charmingly handsome. His dark good looks are set perfectly with his fitted black robe. His tone was friendly and polite as if, he was a neighbouring gentleman coming by for a chat and tea.
She was stunned into silent for the second time that night. The sudden change in mood left her unbalanced and uncertain what to do. The mood whiplash had made her unsteady on her feet. Feeling wobbly, she went to the kitchen counter for support, completely ignoring his question.
Rather than anger – as she expected for not answering him- instead he gave her a satisfied smile before moving towards the dining chairs in front of the kitchen and made himself comfortable.
She could see him staring at her intently at the corner of her eyes. It was like he was trying to solve some difficult puzzle. It felt highly invasive. And truth be told it was shamefully erotic. While, she had not been living under the rock for the last 20 years, her interactions with men were limited to work-related and tired flirting that stem from camaraderie rather than anything more romantic or physical. To be under such intense attention from an incredibly attractive and powerful man is exciting and thrilling.
What the hell is wrong with her.
"Isn't it customary for host to offer their guest a drinks?" He asked teasingly, breaking the silence.
Hermione's hackles raised. It was meant to be taken as a light jest but Hermione couldn't help but sense condenscension hidden beneath the friendly tone. How many times had she been accused of lacking in manners and intelligence and was practically uncivilized- no better than animals- by virtue of her birth.
Before she could stopped herself, she hissed, "That, only applies to welcomed guests."
She cringed. Does she have a death wish?
Damn her mouth. This is the same reason why she wasn't tolerated very well in the Parkinsons' house.
She tensed up and closed eyes as she anticipated the impact of curse or hex. But none came. Instead, he burst into raucous laughter that surprised her.
"I've open myself to that didn't I?" He laugh. The sound was disturbingly pleasant and it tingles down her navel and settles there. Heavy and warm.
"Are you cooking dinner?" He directed her attention back to the simmering stew on the verged of bubbling over, "Please, don't let me stop you."
She hesitated at first, confused by the constant changing in mood of the room. Hot and cold. The man was playing her like a fiddle. She felt like they were both in game but she didn't know the rule.
It was both frustrating and frightening. She desperately wanted nothing more than to escape the situation.
But with no other recourse, Hermione steeled herself and turned towards the stove and lowered the cooking fire. She could feel him boring a hole into the back of her head.
She took a deep breath and focus her attention back to the cooking. She did her very best to ignore the man- who had effectively made the oppression of her kind into an art form-as he lounged in her kitchen without a care in the world.
She let the sound of tip-tap of the kitchen knife to lull her into a meditative state, while keeping an eye out for the maniac and dictator-in-training behind her.
A clear head.
She cannot let adrenaline and fear rule her thinking. Not with everything stacked against her. It would do her no good.
Calm.
Despite his relaxed behavior throughout, it was clear that he wanted something from her. Whatever it was, he didn't feel the need to keep Death Eaters in hand or even forcibly remove her from her apartment, as per their usual tactics. So, it must be something they couldn't interrogate out of her. Something that is important that they want her to feel at ease enough, that they would risk leaving their leader alone with her with a weapon in hand. Sure, the weapon in question happened to be a dull kitchen knife that barely able to cut an onion on a good day and he has 131/2 inches of stick with unimaginable power, but it is a weapon nonetheless. But she need to be clever about it. With him so far away any strikes she gives him will be easily blocked by his wand. As uncomfortable as the idea of being physically near the most dangerous man in the world, a surprise close-combat might be her best bet to overcome him. However, she needs to first know what it is that he wants from her, before she does anything drastic. For all she knows, he might be lonely and only looking for dinner company.
"I am not looking for company, Miss Granger." He whispered hotly against her ear, startling her to drop the knife.
It must be magic. She didn't even hear any sounds of footsteps or even creaking from the very old and worn out floorboard.
"It's not magic, I am just that good." She can feel him smirking from behind, as he moved closer to her, his arms surrounding her- caging her in from either side. She was trapped.
She tensed even further. The ambiguous mood of the room had decidedly turned menacing. Whatever it was that he wanted from her at beginning, he must've decided he didn't want it anymore. It was obvious that she was not going to escape this situation unscathed. She needed an exit strategy fast.
She glanced quickly to her side. His arms were lean but strong. Even without magic, she would undoubtedly lose in a struggle. She was outclassed in both physical strengths and power. All she had is the element of surprise. She eyed the knife mere inches away from her finger tips- and his. Her fingers twitched. Her only hope for freedom. It is so close she could almost taste it.
"Not close enough," He grabbed the knife away along with any hope she had of escaping the situation intact, "no freedom for you."
Hermione's blood turned icy cold hearing words from her thoughts thrown back at her. She thought it was just a rumour. To keep the masses in line and in fear. Could he read her mind?
"Yes, I could Miss Granger, it is very easy to literally read your mind." He answered unprompted, gliding the knife along her bare arms. It was too blunt to knick her skin with such soft pressure, but the threatening feel of it against her skin was enough to raise her hair.
"I am kind of disappointed actually, I had expected so much from you," As his hand absently played with the rings of curls that escaped from her messy bun, "but now you just wasted my time."
"For that you have to pay, Crucio."