And here is the tenth chapter! (Out of 32).

Thanks to all reviewers, favorites, followers and readers. I hope you'll all enjoy this new chapter.

Have a nice day,

Perhentian

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Chapter 10 - December 1998

Hermione woke up with a start and straightened up briskly. Immediately she screamed in pain and curled up on herself. Her sudden movement had awakened a terrible pain in her back. Instantly, the memories came back to her and a deep anguish invaded her. She had fought a duel against the Dark Lord. And he had shown her that, even with a wand, she was absolutely no match for him.

The spells he had used, the movements he had made, his posture, none of that was indicated in the books she had read. He had not pronounced a single incantation, and in some cases there had not even been light rays. She did not even know where to begin to try to get on his level. And she did not have enough time anyway.

Carefully, Hermione straightened up. If she did not make sudden movements, her back did not seem to hurt her too much. Her fast-paced heartbeats were far more painful. Why was she not dead? What was he waiting for? Hermione stood up and draw closer to the window, trying to calm her anxiety.

It was dark outside, and a glance at the clock told her what she wanted to know. 4am. And she was pretty sure she would not be able to go back to sleep. Her life was in abeyance. For an undetermined period. She had just discovered that she was a witch, that she could do incredible things, and she would probably die in the coming days. She let her gaze linger for a moment on the park, dimly lit by the moon in its last quarter.

The quiet and serene landscape, very far from her current concerns, allowed Hermione to calm down enough to recover. Worrying will not get her anywhere. Slowly, not to revive the pain in her back, Hermione walked to the living room and approached the door leading to the corridor. She had managed to open it last time. She did not know how, but her magic had managed to open the door. However, when she put her hands on it, she felt absolutely nothing. There were no more pulsations or tingling in her hands. Nothing.

"Alohomora!" she enunciated distinctly.

But nothing happened. She struggled for a few minutes before capitulating. She was not able to master what she had done before. It had taken six days the last time for her magic to become unstable. She sighed. She would have preferred not to have to wait so long before trying again, this time to escape.

Hermione looked at the books that were carefully piled up on the living room table. Many spells were explained in them, but there was nothing on the subject that would have interested her the most. Magic itself. How to explain the sensations she had felt the days before? Why was she no longer able to feel them now? Was it possible to do magic without a wand? And if yes, how? She had no answer to these questions, and the only one that can perhaps give them was the man she wished she would not have any more contacts with.

She did not know what the Dark Lord was planning to do with her. Her shield had fallen, he had solved the riddle, and now she had nothing to interest him. The fact that she was a witch did not seem to have surprised him. He must have known that even before, so that was not what had saved her. And she knew that as soon as she was no longer of any use to him she will die. Hermione shuddered at this thought.

Until the sun rose, Hermione studied. She repeated the movements of the disarming charm, of the full body-bind curse and of the shield charm. Those were the easiest dueling spells she had found, and she needed to master them perfectly. How could she cast an effective Stupefix if she was not even able to manage an Expelliarmus?

She only pulled her head out of her revisions when the house-elf appeared next to her, with her breakfast.

"Dory brought Miss Hermione's breakfast," the little elf said.

"Thank you Dory," Hermione answered.

She glanced at the breakfast in front of her. Perhaps it was her last one?

"Get a grip on yourself Hermione!" she admonished herself aloud.

And she immerged herself in "10 defensive dueling techniques," absent-mindedly swallowing food at the elf's insistence. It was delicious, and Hermione noticed that she ate much better now as the Dark Lord's prisoner than when she still had a normal life. Then again it was obvious that the said Dark Lord had a great deal of money.

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The day passed quietly. As the following two ones. Hermione did not emerge from the books. She needed to focus, and if she let her thoughts drift for the slightest moment she could not help but remember that her life expectancy was alarmingly short.

Almost every two hours Hermione had made several attempts to open the door. Neither the pulsations nor the tingling had resumed, but that did not stop her from trying. And after taking a look at the clock, indicating 4pm on Sunday, December 13th, Hermione rose from her seat.

"It's time to see if you'll finally agree to open," she said, glaring at the door.

She settled herself one meter from the door, her right hand stretched out in front of her as if she had a wand in it. It seemed to her that she was even able to feel the door humming slightly, but she did not know if it was just her imagination or if she was really feeling it. And anyway, she was not able to connect with it as she had managed the last time.

"Alohomo..."

Hermione broke off abruptly, frozen in mid-air. She may be unsure of her ability to feel the door's magic, but the magic that had just appeared behind her, she felt it perfectly. That chilling, intoxicating power could only mean one thing, and Hermione turned around slowly, her whole body tensing with apprehension.

The Dark Lord was comfortably seated in one of the armchairs, a satisfied smile on his lips, his red gaze fixed on her. Hermione looked back at him. Her heart had begun to beat painfully in her chest as soon as she had confirmed her suspicions, and she already felt her hands starting to shake.

"It's useless Hermione, you won't be able to open that door again," the Dark Lord said evenly.

"I was able to open it the last time," Hermione answered, a hint of defiance in her voice.

Before regretting both her sentence and her tone. Was she suicidal? Did she really wish to die right now? But in spite of her apprehensions, the Dark Lord remained calm.

"What you did few days ago was instinctive magic. Wandless magic is in all other cases largely out of the reach of most wizards."

"But you said it may happen again."

Her curiosity was definitely stronger than her survival instinct.

"If your magic is not used, it will surely have another outburst. But what will happen then is neither predictable nor controllable."

Hermione nodded mechanically. The Dark Lord looked far too calm, and she shifted uncomfortably. The calmer he was, the harder it was to anticipate his reactions, and she wondered what he was doing here. Had he come to murder her? Would he look straight into her eyes, lift his wand, and kill her? Was there a killing spell by the way?

"Avada Kedavra," the Dark Lord enunciated distinctly.

"Pardon me?" Hermione said.

Strangely, these two words were making her quite uncomfortable.

"There is a killing curse. Avada Kedavra. Six little syllables, a green ray of light and all is finished. It's an extremely elegant spell."

Extremely elegant? How could one say that a killing spell was extremely elegant? Then Hermione's terrified mind registered another piece of information.

"You can read my mind?" she asked, horrified.

The Dark Lord nodded, a smirk on his lips.

"How is that even possible?"

"Aren't the eyes supposed to be the windows of the soul?" the Dark Lord replied with amusement.

Hermione hastily looked away from him. Her thoughts were spinning in her head. If the Dark Lord could read her thoughts… that was not good for her. Not good at all.

"But... but that's not mentioned anywhere," Hermione stammered.

"Magic is far more diverse than you will ever be able to understand my little Muggle," the Dark Lord stated in a mocking voice. "This specific branch is called Legilimency and it's known by only few wizards, making it even more useful."

That was definitely not a good news. And since when had he been able to read her thoughts? From the beginning? No, it did not seem right. He would have known immediately for Fenrir Greyback's identity. Hermione glanced at him quickly. He was still comfortably seated in the armchair, his wand rolling lazily between his fingers. And suddenly it was clear that her shield should have also protected her against Legilimency.

"Isn't there a way to protect someone's mind, apart from my shield?" she asked.

"Of course there is. Occlumency. But as for Legilimency only few master this kind of magic."

"And how can it be learned?"

But of course the Dark Lord did not bother to answer her and instead rose elegantly from his seat. He approached her, and Hermione jittered uncomfortably. It was going to be far more difficult to avoid his spells if she could not look at him anymore. He stopped when he was only a few inches away from her. His black robes filled her vision and his magic was almost stifling at this distance. Hermione swallowed with apprehension and kept her eyes firmly fixed on the floor.

"Look at me," he ordered in a commanding tone.

Hermione hesitated for a brief moment before raising her head. Her eyes met the red ones of her vis-à-vis. At the same moment she felt the magic around her thicken, so present that Hermione was surprised she could still see-through the air around them. She shivered. The Dark Lord's magic was making her incredibly uncomfortable. Because it may be oppressive and dark, but in a way its power was fascinating.

A satisfied smile stretched on Lord Voldemort's lips. The magical sensibility of the Mudblood was no longer in doubt. It was even particularly well developed, enough for her to feel how he was modelling his own magic. And that fascination for power he could read in her eyes… Voldemort moved a step away.

"Have you read all the books I have sent you?" he asked.

Hermione looked suspiciously at the Dark Lord. What could he have read in her eyes? What were his motives? What the hell was he waiting for before killing her?

"Yes," she replied cautiously. "But... there are few things that I don't understand well."

"Things you don't understand?" the Dark Lord asked disdainfully. "These are children's books."

"I understand the books very well," Hermione answered, somewhat offended. "What I don't understand is how magic works. What is the correlation between the wand movements, the incantation of a spell, and its final effects? How can a magical wand catalyze magic? How do you manage to manipulate your magic?"

Hermione still had dozens of pending questions but she preferred to stop there, holding her breath. The Dark Lord appeared to be in one of his good days, but that was not always the guarantee of not being subjected to an unpleasant spell.

Lord Voldemort looked thoughtfully at the girl. All these questions jostling in her head, both naive and relevant. Now that he could read her as an open book she amused him even more. Such a thirst for learning, and so much determination. This experience was going to be quite entertaining if anything else.

"Pure Magic and the Spells Architecture are two very specialized subjects. They are only taught at the Magical University nowadays," he replied.

"There are magical universities?"

Universities to learn magic. Hermione could only imagine how fascinating it could be to study there. Even better than Oxford.

"There is only one, in St. Petersburg. The wizards who attend the Magical University all hope to become worthy enough to be granted the title of mage. But only few succeed."

Mage. That was a new notion for Hermione. Even more appealing.

"Are you a mage?" she asked.

Then she bit her tongue as his expression was now exasperated. Why did she always have to talk before thinking? What was wrong with her?

"Of course I'm a mage my little Muggle."

His voice had become cold and menacing. And if Hermione did not know exactly what was behind this mage title, she had had long ago the intuition that the Dark Lord was not a wizard like any other. She had always felt that he was much more dangerous. She forced herself not to back down when he approached her. He held out his arm elegantly, as if he was inviting her to take it and Hermione gave him a surprised look before quickly looking away.

"Don't make me wait Hermione," the Dark Lord said in a dangerous voice.

Questions jostled in her head. Was he really inviting her to take his arm? Why? What was going to happen? What would he do to her? But Hermione knew that question time was over. She reluctantly grabbed his arm, and she immediately felt the now-familiar sensation of Apparition.

She opened her eyes as soon as she felt the floor again, and was surprised to recognize the room where she had fought her duel against the Dark Lord. He quickly removed his arm and turned to face her. She looked at him apprehensively and her eyes widened when she saw him hold out his second wand.

"Ready for another try?" he asked.

Hermione stood frozen for a moment, before extending slowly her arm towards the wand. She stopped her fingers just before touching it, casting a questioning glance at the Dark Lord. But he did not withdraw his hand as she had feared, and she closed her fingers around the end of the wand.

She felt the wand's magic throb slightly under her fingers, and she aimed it at the Dark Lord, still a little uncertain. Did he really want her to fight against him again? Why? The pain she was still feeling in her back when she moved too briskly reminded her only too well that she was no match for him. But she was going to seize this opportunity to duel. After all, she desperately needed practice.

Voldemort looked at the girl, smiling sarcastically at her suspicious expression. She was not stupid; she knew that she would not be able to harm him. She even knew that this new duel would only bring her pain. But she wanted to learn. Regardless of the price. With a mocking gesture, he invited her to start.

"Expelliarmus!" the girl said immediately.

This time, the spell was properly casted; she had managed to correct the wrist movement she was doing too abruptly the last time. But the spell crashed on his shield, accentuating his smile. She was still so far from mastering her own magical power.

"That's all you managed to learn?" he said disdainfully.

Hermione Granger outrage was clearly visible on her face. How would she have evolved if Dumbledore had not hidden her? He could hardly see her as an obedient slave. She would have ended up trying to escape, failing miserably, but trying again regardless, until finally being killed. Anyway, he would kill her when she will start to annoy him. Nonchalantly, he sent a spell to her. She dodged it, throwing herself to the side, wincing at the pain.

"Stupefix!" she replied.

Needless to say, only a few sparks came out of her wand. A 6th grade spell was probably a bit too much for her. Sure, her magic was more developed than the one of a teenager, but spells still required some practice. With a flick of his wand, he sent a cutting spell at her legs. It hit the mark, of course, and the girl collapsed inelegantly on the floor.

Hermione swore in her head. She hated being made fun of. Everyone had always made fun of her in school. Know-it-all. Bookworm. She had heard dozens of insults. But the way the Dark Lord dismissed her attacks was far more humiliating. She felt completely helpless in front of him and she hated that.

"Perhaps you should protect yourself between your unimpressive attempts," the Dark Lord said mockingly.

Hermione got up instantly, relegating the pain to a corner of her head, and at the same time casted the shield charm. She felt the magic surround her just in time as a new spell was already on her. But her joy to have conjured the shield was short lived as the Dark Lord's spell broke through it and sent her flying backwards a few feet. And then she crashed to the floor and let out a muffled scream.

"Not powerful enough. Try again," ordered the Dark Lord's cold voice.

Hermione stood up with a grimace. She glared at the Dark Lord, a few steps away from her. He held his wand nonchalantly, a smirk on his lips.

"Protego!" Hermione casted quickly.

She saw with great satisfaction that her spell seemed more powerful than before. But the smile on the Dark Lord's face had grown and she understood even before his spell reached her that it was far from enough. And her painful flight a few seconds later did not surprised her.

"A spell's power is not a matter of wand movements' abruptness, nor is it linked to the strength of your incantation as you seem to believe. It is the determination you instill in your spell when you cast it that makes all the difference. Let me show you. Expulso."

He had barely whispered the incantation, but Hermione had immediately jumped to the side. She knew there was no way her weak Protego could stand against the Dark Lord's power. And sure enough she soon saw with some kind of morbid fascination the curse crash on the wall behind her. The entire room shook under the impact, but remained intact. And Hermione suspected that it was not even the maximum he could do, that he may be able to cast far more powerful spells.

"Far more powerful than what you could even dream up my little Muggle."

Hermione swore and looked away. She had no desire to share her thoughts with him.

"Your shield now," he added impatiently.

She had barely raised her wand when she was hit by another expulsion spell; fortunately far less powerful than the one he had previously casted. It was painful, but at least she was in one piece.

"You're not fast enough Hermione. You could at least pretend to try... after all any teenage wizard can do that..."

Now she was in one angry piece. She got up quickly despite her aching body and cast a hateful glance at the Dark Lord. She could do it. She was going to master it! She was going to prove to him that she was able to use magic.

"Protego!" she threw.

But she found herself again flying through the air to the other side of the room. And her scream was more enraged than painful. She was on her feet even before the Dark Lord could utter another one of his petty remarks. She madly wanted to wipe that smile off his face. To prove that she could do it. And there it was, magic pulsing under her fingers. Her anger had awakened her magic, when all her exercises had not been able to. When the Dark Lord lazily performed the wand movements of the expulsion spell she simultaneously made those of the shield charm, her magic flowing smoothly into her wand.

"Protego," she whispered.

And she felt the power of her shield surrounding her. When the Dark Lord's spell hit it, the shield shivered, absorbed the curse, and vanished just afterwards. Astonished, she looked at the Dark Lord, half ready to receive a Cruciatus.

Voldemort kept his face impassive, but he was satisfied. He had not been mistaken about the Mudblood's magical abilities. If he continued to teach her, within a few months she would catch up with the level of most wizards of her age. And in June, when he would have the confirmation that it was Dumbledore's ward that had given so much power to her dirty blood, he would kill her.

"That's better," he commented. "Now that you know how to use a wand, we can resume our duel."

Hermione's contentment stopped abruptly. She was no longer allowed to make mistakes now. The Dark Lord was no longer playing. Hermione raised her wand, and everything went desperately fast. She had barely launched her Expelliarmus that she was hit by a powerful expulsion spell.

Instead of just taking off slightly from the ground like before, she was violently thrown on the wall behind her. The pain was so great that she let go of her wand and slumped on the floor. As soon as she realized this, she tried to straighten up to get her wand back, but it was already in the hands of the Dark Lord, who was standing only few feet away, looking down at her.

"You've lost Hermione!" he said, shaking his head disapprovingly. "Dory will take you back to your room. I hope you'll duel better the next time, or I'll be forced to kill you."

He seemed to revel for a moment in the fear that his words had induced, before disappearing on the spot without a sound. Hermione had the impression that his red pupils had remained printed in the air for a moment after he had left, and she had to shake herself up to move again.

When Dory arrived, Hermione had gotten up, and she took the little elf's hand without waiting. Dory Apparated her back to the living room of her suite. She immediately noticed the three thick volumes on one of the tables. She approached it with curiosity. The first two were books in excellent condition, and seemed rather new. She read the titles with delight: "Introduction to Pure Magic" and "Pure Magic: theoretical possibilities". She opened the second one and flipped through it quickly. It surely was not children's books this time.

She put the book down, and her gaze focused on the third volume. It looked like an old grimoire, and Hermione was afraid to see it crumble in her hands if she touched it. Nothing was written on it and she cautiously lifted the front cover. As she opened it, a title appeared in golden letters on the first page. "Ptolemy's Methodology ". Just underneath a paper was folded in half, and Hermione opened it quickly. It was a small note, written in an elegant handwriting:

"Chapter's 7 exercises should be practiced every day to achieve a satisfactory result. LV"

LV? Was that the Dark Lord's initials? Hermione shrugged and put the note next to the book. She hesitated for a moment to go take a shower, her duel against the Dark Lord having drained her, but her curiosity was stronger and she finally sat down to start reading these new books.

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The next three weeks, Hermione often saw the Dark Lord. Three to four times a week he appeared unannounced in her room, inviting her to follow him, and he always took her to the dueling room. His lessons were brutal, and they always ended with Hermione so much in pain that she was no longer being able to stand.

But in those few weeks she had learned a lot. The Dark Lord had supplied her with far more books than she could read, and she immersed herself resolutely into them as soon as she was not with him. She now knew the formulas and wand movements of a large number of spells, even if there were only few of them that she could execute properly. It was very frustrating to be unable to exercise outside of the duels, as she almost never managed the new spells she wanted to cast on the first try. And the Dark Lord's scorn was not helping.

However, despite the pain and the mocking, Hermione eagerly awaited each lesson. For the Dark Lord gave her indications which were not even described in the books she read. And they were usually particularly relevant.

On Wednesday, December 31st, Hermione woke up in a gloomy mood. It had now been more than four months since she had been taken from home. More than four months that she had seen neither her family, nor her friends. She was probably dead for everyone. She hoped that her parents could live with that. Just to imagine them wandering alone around the house during this holiday season brought tears to her eyes.

Leaning on the window frame, she refocused on the four months she had spent. The first weeks had been the most frightful, when she did not even understand what was happening to her, and when the Dark Lord had tortured her quite extensively. She had lived in a cell. She had turned 19 years old alone. Although, knowing who was leaving in the castle, it may still have been the best option.

Then there was the incident with Fenrir Greyback. She had not seen the man again, and she was very glad of it. Since then, her very unstable situation had been slightly better. She lived comfortably. She was learning magic. She was beginning to better read the Dark Lord. The moments when he was in a fool mood, not to be upset, and the moments when she could afford to ask some questions. He really seemed to be an erudite wizard, and his explanations were always crystal clear.

Outside of the castle, the ground was covered with a thick blanket of snow, drawing the perfect scenery for the New Year's Eve, and Hermione felt desperately lonely. She had spent Christmas alone. She had quickly seen the Dark Lord on the 26th, but he had been in such a foul mood that she had been afraid he would throw her an Avada Kedavra out of pure rage when he had read in her mind that she was wondering how bad his Christmas gifts must have been for him to be so enraged.

His mood was still quite bad the next days, and he had scornfully told her the day before that there would be a sumptuous New Year's Eve party in the castle, where the scums like her were not welcomed.

This solitary eve perfectly reflected the loneliness of the recent months, and when time finally reached midnight, Hermione make the wish that the year 1999 will allow her to flee out of here.

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AN: Thank you all for reading this chapter! As always, reviews are most welcomed :)