Chapter 10

"Voldemort?" Hermione breathed. Her magic reached out instinctively, clutching to him. It acknowledged his magic as identical now, shared and whole together. There was no denying that this was the man that raped her last night but . . . all trace of that man had vanished except for the magic.

"Correct in one, little witch," Voldemort answered with a smirk. "You can imagine how disorienting it was, waking up with the face I died with nearly 17 years ago."

"How?" Hermione breathed, backing up.

"The miracle a good rutting can provide," Voldemort mocked. Hermione's body went cold. "No, it was the ritual. It healed my body."

"Healed it?" She hissed. She started panicking. "It recreated it."

Voldemort turned, pacing around the room. "It did more than recreate, Miss Granger. My previous . . . deficiencies have apparently been taken care of."

"Deficiencies?"

Voldemort cleared his throat. "Prior to my demise, I was . . . infertile. A preliminary diagnostic of my body now indicates that that issue is resolved, as well as my asthma, and my childhood scars from various curses. My blood still runs through my veins, but . . . I am perfected. And I have you to thank for that."

"No," Hermione hissed, backing up further. "You took whatever gifts you could from me, I did not give them."

"And I gave gifts in return," Voldemort replied, advancing. "Come now, little witch, I could have bound you to my person, made you incapable of being without me. Instead, I gave you freedom."

Any fear she felt was superseded with anger, and frustration. Now faced with the man who had done this, looking so different, she couldn't feel the fear she knew she was supposed to. She was a bundle of nerves and confusion and anger.

"So, I should be grateful?" Hermione demanded. "Grateful that the ritual you performed during my RAPE was a kinder one than it could have been? I needed healing from what you did to me!"

"Which leads to my previous question; where did you go?" Voldemort approached now. Hermione averted her eyes, trying to avoid showing him. "There are many Death Eaters, many estates bound to families through blood magic. Who healed you? Where did you go?"

"No comment."

Voldemort grabbed her chin and forced it up. She closed her eyes.

"I will force it from your mind," he threatened. "Show me."

"No."

Hermione was prepared. Prepared for torture, prepared for threats. She was prepared to keep her eyes closed for anything. She was not prepared for a kiss.

Her eyes opened in shock when his warm, non-reptilian lips found hers. And then he proceeded with his mental probe. He saw Hogwarts, Dumbledore, and her rescue of the prisoners. Nothing was safe from him. When he finished, he released her mind and her lips simultaneously.

"How dare you?!" Hermione screamed. "How dare you touch me again?!"

"You forced my hand, little witch," Voldemort hissed, now advancing on her. "You presume to hide your guilt from me? You released my prisoners!"

"Of course I did! You were using them against me!"

He rounded on her, wand raised. "Crucio!"

Hermione felt nothing. She looked from his wand down to her body, as if expecting to suddenly be overtaken by pain. Still nothing. She could feel Voldemort's magic still, but nothing had changed in its power. It wasn't aimed at her. It wasn't pushing into her. It wasn't affecting her.

"Crucio!"

Still nothing.

"Wait half an hour and then go again?" Hermione joked weakly.

"This is not amusing!" Voldemort raged. "How are you immune?"

"Is it just me? I mean, I can't even feel your magic twitching in my direction when you try . . ." Hermione frowned at the cruel look that came onto his face.

"I'll be happy to test it," he hinted. "Any suggestions on who? I no longer have any prisoners, thanks to you. Perhaps your parents-"

"No!"

"And what will you give me to save them?" Voldemort asked. "You are bound to the properties, and unable to apparate anywhere else. If I left for your parents' home, you would be unable to stop me, and unable to get there in time to prevent it."

Her back was to the wall. "And what would you want?"

"A wand oath," Voldemort hissed. "You will vow to never again interfere with my prisoners, for so long as your parents are safe."

"I will promise never to free your prisoners," Hermione countered. "But I will not be restricted from helping them survive."

He considered it. She could see his pale eyes flit around, as if weighing his options. Finally, a look of cruelty entered his gaze. "Yes, I'll agree, but with one more provision; as long as your parents are safe, you will vow to not free any prisoners and to spend each night in my bed."

"What?" Hermione demanded, the cold returning. Her mind brought the unwanted fear back to her. "The bond was completed!"

"But power comes through proximity," Voldemort informed her. "Surely you can feel our magics interacting, your powers and mine joining again and again."

She could. Though their magics had merged, there was still an exchange between then, a flow of energies. Almost like charges running around in circles. Like they, together, were a battery that without the other charge couldn't operate.

"No matter what you do for the day, which estate you visit – probably Hogwarts, now that it is an option – I require your nights by my side," Voldemort demanded. "I could summon you and force you, but I'd prefer to avoid that distasteful option. Hence, wand oath."

Hermione spluttered. "But, but, I don't even have my wand!"

"But I do."

He handed her the vinewood wand, and it slipped coolly between her fingertips. It felt . . .wrong, somehow. Like her new magic was no longer compatible with it.

"Do we have a deal?"

Voldemort extended his normal hand to her, as if nothing was wrong in the motion.

"If I do this," Hermione bargained, "I need a promise that you won't ever use anyone else to regulate my behavior. You can't threaten punishments, you can't use prisoners against me, and you can't treat me as someone you can order around. You will not force me to do anything you haven't already. You've already taken away my ability to fight in the war, but I'll be damned before I'm forced to submit to you."

Voldemort thought on this. She waited for the light to meet his eyes that indicated his agreement. Before that light hit, he had one more stipulation. "You are asking me to never again use prisoners as incentives for you, and for your parents' safety. I am asking for you to not free the prisoners and to remain by my side each night that you can. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Then, I have one request," Voldemort replied, twirling his wand in his hand now. "Since I am being forbidden from punishing you, and I cannot curse you, I require that you behave with dignity and respect for my person around any of my followers, or their children or spouses. Do you agree?"

"That sounds . . . reasonable. I can do that."

Voldemort regarded her evenly, before taking out his wand. "I, Tom Marvolo Riddle, swear that I will never use people to discipline Hermione Granger, and that I will guard her parents so long as she abides by her own wand oath."

Hermione raised hers. "I, Hermione Jean Granger, swear to spend each night that I am capable with Tom Marvolo Riddle, to never again free prisoners from him, and to treat him with respect in front of his followers, their children and their spouses, provided he keep his wand oath."

"Excellent," Voldemort approved. "I will allow you to retain your wand, for now, provided you don't do anything to make me regret the decision. I would like to introduce you to your home, Miss Granger-"

"No," Hermione stopped him. "It's not Granger anymore, is it?"

That gave him a moment's pause. Then, a proud little smirk found its way to his visage. "Now, that is interesting," he purred, now coming close once again. "And what made you believe that?"

"You did a pureblood marriage ritual," Hermione noted aloud. "You successfully bound yourself to me and me to you. Dumbledore,-"

"Is a fool to think that the ritual is enough for me to even acknowledge you as a wife," Voldemort hissed. "While in the old days that was all that was required, to me the ritual was simply a means to controlling you and harnessing your magic. Do not get any fanciful notions in your head."

"Fanciful?" Hermione repeated forcefully. For some reason his comment left her shaken, and she didn't want to return to the debilitating shocked state she found herself this morning. She forced herself to address him strongly, looking him in his glacial eyes. "You think marrying you is a fanciful notion? I'm just trying to deal with my reality!"

"Then deal with it without deluding yourself," Voldemort ordered. "You are little more than a tool, little witch, and while it may indeed be fanciful to believe that the man who took your virginity did bind themselves to you in that way, it is false. I bound you to me as a servant, a slave, and as such you are still very much little Miss Granger, Gryffindor Golden Girl."

"At least we agree that archaic ritual makes women into slaves," Hermione murmured in retort, earning a frigid chuckle.

"Now, before that little tangent," Voldemort continued, "I was about to invite you on a walk around the grounds. Would you enjoy seeing your new home?"

"I would love a tour of my prison," Hermione tossed back with feigned strength, "but your followers probably won't enjoy seeing me in your personal retinue."

Voldemort grinned. "How would you feel about using your Animagus form, then?"

Hermione was surprised that the old magic she now possessed still enabled her transformation. It was comforting, she supposed. She was no longer in the form that was raped, or even able to be raped by Voldemort, and so she was happy to trot along-side him throughout the mansion. Nagini, before they had left, had eyed her like a snack though. She seemed to know it was still Hermione beneath the margay form, but it didn't mean she wasn't viewed hungrily. Hermione resolved not to change into her form around the giant snake in the future.

Voldemort was different in his walk around the mansion. She had expected him to glamour himself back to his red-eyed, reptilian form, but he had informed her that many of his followers were from back before his death, and would remember his face.

"In fact," Voldemort informed her as they left the room, "they will view it as confirmation of my power. Not only can I return from the dead, but I can recreate my original body. They will revere me."

They ran into a few guards that proved his point. One of them had clearly been around before his reign – Selwyn, maybe? – and had immediately greeted his Lord with awe and reverence, complimenting him on his regained form. The other hadn't been, so when Selwyn addressed him as Voldemort, he had looked a little bit like a frog.

Voldemort seemed amused to have Hermione in her Animagus form. She found it especially fun whenever they encountered his followers to run in between their legs, or jump onto something next to them so she could look them in the eye. He seemed to enjoy her little rebellious moments on the walk, chuckling at her. She tried to be unnerved by it, but she found his 'human moments' – as she called them – comforting. She supposed she should be fearful, but she was enjoying herself far too much in her margay form to consider it.

He brought her to the library, a massive room with the same magical carding system as Hogwarts.

"No one comes in here, usually," Voldemort informed her. "If you can get in here without being seen, I will permit your use of it."

She meowed in approval, briefly considering brushing her body along his legs to show it. After brief consideration, and knowing that he couldn't do anything about it, she did. She was mildly pleased and off-putted by his acceptance of her touch in this way, but nothing could make her unhappy in this room.

"I had heard that mannerisms of animals come more easily in our taken forms," Voldemort noted at her tentative rub. "I suppose that is your gratitude, little witch?"

She did it again.

"I accept."

They were continuing around the mansion when Hermione decided to test her legs and see if she still had her physical strength in this firm. She ran down the corridor fast, darting around the corner and hoping to turn around and run back when she practically careened into the legs of a random death eater. She meowed in fear, turning to run away, when the man in question grabbed her.

"There we are, little thing," his hoarse voice crooned. She felt helpless as she was lifted into the man's arms. "Who do you belong to, eh? Money's on Corban's wife; she always did love cats. Pretty little thing, aren't you?"

Hermione hissed as his fingers went to stroke her, taking a swipe at his hand with a claw. He yowled in pain, giving Hermione the chance to jump down and run to the corner where Voldemort was approaching before a hex collided with her side, immobilizing her.

"Someone forgot to train you, huh?" he threatened. "I can fix that."

"Thorfinn . . ." Voldemort called ominously, now hovering over Hermione's form. He had put on his glamoured form, red eyes and all, and Thorfinn immediately was cowed.

"My lord!"

Hermione was released by their mutual magic and turned to see Thorfinn Rowle kneeling submissively. She remembered him now. He looked older than he should, having been a seventh-year Slytherin when she was only a first year. She remembered the blonde boy's attempts at ridicule, often understated because he would focus on the older people. He had been a lecher of a prefect, and she had often seen him pressing girls into various walls for a quick grope or into broom closets if he wanted a little more. She hissed at the vile man before ducking behind Voldemort's legs.

Voldemort wiggled his finger at Thorfinn. "Now, now, no need to kneel, friend. You are a guest here."

Thorfinn sighed gratefully, rising to his feet for the Dark Lord he knew. Voldemort's malicious smile gave him pause, so he worked to correct his mistake. He let the glamour shimmer out, showing Thorfinn the new form he had.

"What do you think of the improvements I've made, young Thorfinn?" Voldemort asked, motioning to himself. "I thought a change might befit me."

"You look . . . human," Thorfinn breathed, taking in his master. "How on earth d'you manage it, my lord?"

"That is story for another time," he replied dismissively. "I'm sure everyone will be overcome with curiousity at our next meeting. For now, would you mind informing me of your intentions for this little margay?"

"Is this one yours, my Lord?" he inquired politely.

"I'm not a cat person," he replied derisively, earning a hiss of disapproval from Hermione. That made him grin down at her. "However, I wouldn't touch her if I were you; she is Nagini's. My familiar seems peculiarly fond of this little menace, almost like a playmate."

Thorfinn looked slightly white at the mention of his Lord's snake, but nodded. "My apologies, then."

"See that you remember who she belongs to," Voldemort told him. "It wouldn't do for me to force you to apologize to Nagini for depriving her of her friend, now would it?"

"No, my Lord," he replied differentially.

Hermione let loose a little cat snicker as she pictured Thorfinn trying to apologize to Nagini. She wouldn't even listen, she'd just enjoy her chance to make him wet himself in fear, if she wasn't permitted to take a leg for consumption. That was a pleasant picture.

"Enjoy your stay here, Thorfinn," Voldemort said pleasantly. "Oh, and before I forget, how is your seduction of young Ephemia Fawley coming?"

"She's not the issue," Thorfinn told him. "If I gave her a ring, she'd agree in a heartbeat. But I tested out her father and asked for permission to draw up the contract, and he seemed to know, my Lord. He seemed convinced of my loyalty to you and I hadn't even let it slip."

Voldemort looked into his eyes carefully, and Hermione could nearly see the magic he was using for Legilimency. When he pulled away, he looked troubled.

"Hmmm," Voldemort considered this. "Is there anyone he would trust within our ranks, I wonder? Perhaps I shall have Gerald Yaxley bring a contract to her father. She can marry with attraction or advantage, but either must put her family squarely in our court."

What?! Hermione hissed at him. Another girl is subjected to your chauvinism? I'm not enough for you to beat down, you have to do it to every single girl in your way? Deceiving someone into sleeping with you is nearly as bad as rape, you vile, disgusting, heartless, old MURDERER!

"If Gerald can take her, you'll hear no complaints from me," Thorfinn informed him lecherously. "Anyone else you need seducing?"

Voldemort laughed heartily. "Unless you can manage to seduce a member of the Order, unlikely as that is, I will have to think on it, Thorfinn. Good day."

"My Lord," he bowed firmly before retreating down the corridor Voldemort just came from.

When they finally returned to the rooms, Hermione glared at the Dark Lord. He didn't acknowledge her. Instead, he worked on unbuttoning his overcoat and robes and banishing them to his wardrobe.

"I am planning a coup, Miss Granger," he finally told her. He was now in a simple white button up and pants, and if Hermione was honest she would have thought he intentionally dressed down so she would be distracted by his handsome physique. "I will not spare your ears my plans to serve your conscience. There are people I need to have on my side, there are people I need killed, and there are people who I have yet to decide where they fit. Get used to it."

She wanted to fight it. But after making their vows that morning, she found that she no longer needed to. They weren't going to work together, so why should they agree? The agreeable feelings she had during the walk vanished and yet, she didn't want to return to human form yet. To do so would give her a voice that she wasn't sure she could use without cursing at the man who treated people like pawns and less like people. She decided to avoid him until it was time to go to bed, so she turned heel in her cat form and sent her little feline body over to what her magic perceived as the most nature-friendly gardens, known only in her mind as 'La roseraie du chateau Entretat'.