Yes, yes, I know it's been a month since I last posted. In my defense, first there were holidays, and then I got sick. This was removed from my list of immediate priorities.

On that note, I must say I feel like a complete troll, and when you read the below you'll understand why. That being said, I've tried to make this as un-choppy as possible, but I'm not sure how that went. Here's an idea: Review and let me know!

Seriously.

Review.

Kind of an author's food, here. I'll even give you special permission to flame at my lateness, but just this once.

Chapter 11

When Hermione awoke again, feeling very groggy, moody, and hungry, she found herself in a completely darkened room, no light coming in from any windows, and no sound except that of her own breathing. She was more than a little disorientated, and waking in the dark wasn't doing her senses any favours, and to make matters that much worse, her clothes were gone. Cormac, I will kill you a thousand different kinds of dead for this. She crawled out of her bed gingerly, her body still aching from magical over-exertion, and made her way to the door. Her foot caught on the bedpost, and she swore violently. If only she could see. . . .

At that moment, the bedroom door opened, and Hermione saw a dim light drifting towards her. It was being held by a pair of very masculine hands; hands with fingers that looked eerily like spiders in what was clearly candlelight.

"What happened?" she asked. "And what the hell have you guys done with my clothes."

"Good of you to rejoin the living, Muddy. You ought to know, your clothes have been burned. Apparently they began falling apart at the seams when you broke out of the house."

No. It couldn't be. . . .

But Hermione knew that it was. Anyone else would have addressed her as 'Hermione'.

"Damn," she whispered.

The light was cupped just so, and Hermione was just able to make out the victorious smirk etching Tom Riddle's mouth. "I must say, I'm rather impressed."

She might have heard him wrong, but Hermione didn't bother asking, preferring to sink down onto the floor, supporting herself against the bed. "Why?" she murmured. "Why me? Why are you doing this?" She just wanted to go home; home to Ron, and Ginny, and Mrs. Weasley, and her mum and dad, and her dad's hugs, and really hot cup of tea spiked with whisky.

"I'm not the one who didn't manage to get away, Muddy," he said. "Although, I must tell you just how impressed I was to come home and find those wards thoroughly dismantled. Truly astounding. Though why you didn't just use the window I'll never know."

Told you the windows were a better idea.

"You knew I would fail?" Hermione shuddered; she couldn't help it. She was cold, hungry, weak, and her magic still hadn't collected itself yet.

"I expected it, but I would hardly say you failed, Muddy."

Why was he being so generous. "What d'you mean? I'm still here, aren't I? I'd call that a fail."

"You broke my wards, stupid girl! My wards!"

"Okay. . . .?" This was probably the most enthusiastic he'd ever been, not counting his frustration at seeing Bellatrix die and Harry come back to life. "It wasn't that big a deal, really."

Riddle snorted inelegantly. "I had no idea fainting was a hobby of yours, Muddy."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Okay, fine. I broke your wards, we're all excited. What have you done with my wand, and why did you burn my clothes?"

"Your wand is in my office, and I burned your clothes because I couldn't be bothered to mend them."

Hermione tried not to be surprised. "You could have used a spell."

"I could," he acknowledged, "but it was much quicker work, burning them, and really, you've rather a nice body for a Mudblood."

Hermione hadn't realized it was possible for her to be any more embarrassed. "Have you got an extra sheet?" she said icily. "A blanket, a jacket, anything that might cover me up."

"None that I'm giving you," he replied with a smirk.

"It's freezing!"

"As I've been made aware."

Hermione scowled. "Where are your clothes?"

"Drying."

"You don't have anything extra to put on?" She hoped he would get the hint.

"My castle, my rules, Muddy," he said, his voice ever more amused. "In any case, I don't know if you noticed when you went through my clothes, but I don't just have pyjamas to put on at your leisure."

"Pants!" Hermione screeched. "You have plenty of those!"

Voldemort shrugged again. "I never wear them unless I'm at work."

She stared at him. "Are you an arse naturally, or do you have to work at it?"

"I think it comes naturally," he retorted smoothly. "It's never been very difficult."

Hermione looked about the room, rubbing the top of her chest vigorously, trying to stave off the cold. Seizing on an idea, she reached for the sheets and yanked them back, crawling beneath them and curling up on herself. Voldemort didn't look anywhere close to pleased.

"That is my bed."

"You didn't seem to have a problem when you brought me back," she challenged. "What's changed?"

"My ability to molest you in your sleep," he replied glibly.

Hermione had to work not to cringe. "You wouldn't."

"Wouldn't I? Aren't I supposed to be pure evil as far as you're concerned? That's what Rabastan has been telling me."

"I'm a Muggle-born," Hermione pointed out. "You don't like people like me, and you certainly never allowed your followers to mate with us."

Voldemort chuckled as though she had just told him a mildly humorous joke. "Molesting is hardly mating, dear Muddy. In any case, you are right: I wouldn't. I've far more attractive women at my disposal. Now, be a good girl and remove yourself."

"You're not using it, are you?" Hermione retorted.

"Regardless, that is my bed, Muddy."

"Get me something to keep warm, and I will," she bartered.

"It is not that cold."

"Ha! Says the Heir of Slytherin. Does cold-bloodedness run in Parseltongue families?"

Voldemort didn't reply. He merely stalked away to another room, and returned a few moments later bearing a blanket. "Here," he said sharply, throwing it at her. "Now move."

Hermione felt the thin material in her hands. "This won't do at all, Riddle," she said, speaking as though to a child. "I need it to keep me warm."

"Exactly how warm d'you need to be, Muddy?" he said incredulously.

Hermione spread the blanket over the top of his comforter. "Warmer than this, that's for damn sure."

Voldemort crossed his arms. "That's all I've got."

"Are you a wizard or not?" Hermione snapped. "Transfigure something."

He said nothing. He simply stared at her through the darkness.

"Fine," she retorted. "I'll stay here, and you can be cold somewhere else." And she rolled over so she wouldn't have to see him, curling up in a shuddering ball.

There was a long and shattering silence before Hermione heard two bare feet pad over to the bed. The covers were lifted, and before she could even begin to protest, a very naked Lord Voldemort had slipped beneath the sheets next to her, and had pulled her close.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"I would make you take the sofa, but you'd probably bitch endlessly about it."

"And you think I can't complain about being next to you in bed?"

"I don't think you'll complain as much," he said smoothly. It was like he didn't notice she was pinned under his arms, completely naked and vulnerable.

"Are you willing to bet on that?" Hermione was trying her damnedest not to imagine the look on Ron's face were he to see her now. Just the image of him made her gut twist with desperation. Don't think about him. Don't think about him, you'll only give him fodder to hurt you.

"Granger," he said, his voice commanding, "do not make me cast a Silencing Spell. I will, you know."

She huffed. "I have no doubt. . .arsehole." He responded by pinching her. "Ow!"

"Don't call me an arsehole."

"I do whatever the fuck I want." There was another twisting feeling in her gut: Ron had taught her that phrase.

No, don't think about it. Don't think about him. Don't let –

"Who is Ron?"

Hermione's stomach twisted on itself. "No one."

"Oh, Muddy, you are a terrible liar."

"He's no one important."

"Liar again."

"No one you need concern yourself with."

"I do think that is the greatest lie of them all."

Hermione huffed angrily. "Then there's nothing I can do for you, is there?"

Riddle chuckled. "Oh, Muddy Granger, how you amuse me."

Hermione dearly wished she could tell him how not amused she was, but her wand was in his office, and if he had any kind of brain, he had probably warded her away from it.

Damn.

"No more swearing, Muddy."

Hermione felt something snap inside her head, and she reached around, pelting the young Dark Lord with sundry slaps and blows. "Get – out – of – my – head – damn – you – or – I'll – do – more – than – tear – a – part – your – wards." Each syllable was punctuated with a slap, and Hermione kept at until, in a jerking motion to get away from her, Voldemort toppled off the bed and onto the floor with a very loud thud. Hermione suppressed a snort; he was going to be pissed off enough for having been slapped around. There was no call to make it worse. Chest heaving, she peered over the side of the bed at him. Now that her eyes had become accustomed to the dark she could just barely make out a tousled head of hair, and dark scowl.

"That was very rude, Muddy."

"Says the man snooping around inside my head."

"I can't help it if you can't keep your thoughts to yourself."

"You could not Legilimize me."

He chuckled, but there was no amusement in his voice. "Where's the fun in that?"

And then he was off the floor so suddenly Hermione barely had time to register that it was happening. In a flash, his wand appeared in his hand, and Hermione was bound tightly, following with a muffled, "oomph" onto the bed. She twisted and wriggled, but only a little. What little energy she had had been depleted when she took her rage out on the Dark Wizard standing over her.

"Now, then. If you'll be so kind as to apologize for that little lapse in judgement, we shall be quite well off."

"What lapse in judgement?" said Hermione innocently. "Honestly, Riddle, I'm beginning to worry about you." Even in her weakened state she could see that her usual tactics weren't going to hold up under the forceful typhoon that was Lord Voldemort. Re-evaluation was needed. Perhaps after a bit of sleep. But she couldn't compromise. Not now. If she gave an inch now, he'd push her back a whole yard. She had to stay firm. . .and she had to stay awake.

There was a long-suffering sigh, and then Voldemort picked up the thin blanket he had proffered earlier. Tapping it twice, the blanket became a duvet. He dropped it over Hermione, his motions apparently disgusted. "There. Now, then, remove yourself from my bed."

"Exactly how am I supposed to do that?" she snarked.

He got the hint, and the ropes were lifted. "There. Now move."

"To where?"

"The sitting room, I imagine."

"I think I'd prefer your office."

"Well you can't have my office. It's mine."

"It has my wand."

"Oh, what d'you want your wand for?"

"I want it so I can leave."

Voldemort snorted. "Out of the question."

"Why?"

The snort turned into an all out laugh. "Why? Muddy, need I remind you that your magic is in less than perfect condition? The simplest of spells would have you exhausted. Not to mention the fact that at this moment you have absolutely no clothes whatsoever, and, no, you may not have the blanket to transfigure. It is mine."

Hermione huffed and rolled her eyes. "Possessive little snake, aren't we, Tom?" she said under her breath, well aware that he could hear her every word. "Fine. I can go nude. What's a Disillusionment Charm amongst Muggles?"

"And damage your magic before you've had a chance to recover it?" Voldemort made a sound in the back of his throat. "Why must you ignore logic? Why do you insist on taking the fun out of everything, Muddy? How did Potter and Weasley stand you?"

"Weasley?" Hermione repeated, her heart dropping into the pits of her stomach.

There was a shattering silence, and then Voldemort chuckled. "Muddy, how much do you think Rabastan kept from me?" When Hermione didn't answer, he laughed again. "Oh, you thought you had me fooled, is that it?"

"No," she replied a little too quickly.

"Now, now, Muddy," said Voldemort, his tone similar to the one typically reserved for very naughty children. "We've talked about this lying thing. It is most inappropriate." The ropes reappeared, latching themselves around her body, and Hermione winced as she felt what had to be small hooks latch onto her skin. Voldemort flung the duvet off her dramatically, and pushed her until she fell of the side of the bed with a loud THUNK. "You can stay there until you've learnt to not lie when I ask you a question."

"Oh, go suck an egg," she snapped. A gag appeared and tied itself around her mouth.

"And that will stay put until you have learnt some etiquette. Does that seem fair?"

It bloody well did not seem fair, but he knew that. Even so, with her mouth out of commission, and her mind teetering on the edge of unconsciousness, Hermione settled for closing her eyes and meditating. It would help her relax, it would help her sleep, and it might give her an idea what to do with the not-so-mild annoyance sleeping in the bed above her. She could find a way out of this in the morning.

If he didn't kill her in her sleep.

No, he was probably waiting for Harry's top to burst, and then he would kill her. Probably about the same time he killed Harry. Depending, of course, on what hair-brained idea the boys hatched up to get her back. There was no doubt that Harry had come up with a suspect, and given that his hunches were usually right, Cormac and Neville would probably go along with it. And likely without telling Dumbledore, which meant that if something went wrong, they were all royally screwed, as the only wizard capable of defeating Voldemort in this time-line had absolutely no idea what they were all doing. And because Murphy's Cursed Law was a general given in any plan Harry made, whatever could go wrong, would go wrong, effects disproportionate to the actions.

She groaned, something she was sure Voldemort heard. 'Harry, whatever you're about to do, please don't do it.'

Oh, yes, just broadcast that to the world, Granger.

What was Voldemort reading into that? Nothing, the last time she checked.

And giving him ideas is beneficial to you?

On the other hand, Dumbledore might have noticed she was gone.

Because that's proven to be a helpful alliance.

Actually, it had. They wouldn't have covered half the ground they'd managed without his help.

Probably would have covered more.

'Would you shut it?' she shouted into the recesses of her mind. 'Fuck's sake, it's hard enough to find a way out of this mess without the eternal pessimist droning on in the background.'

Now, then.

There was no crawling out of these ropes, not with hooks in her, so escaping tonight was a moot point. What of tomorrow? Would there be a tomorrow that didn't involve nudity or spined ropes. And then there were the possible wards on his office door to consider.

There was always the possibility that he hadn't warded the door. He probably wasn't anticipating she'd try the door again. Of course, she wasn't planning to do anything tonight, she was so tired. But what would happen to her come morning. She couldn't very well lay here all night without a plan.

Oh, yes, she damn well could. Spined ropes or not, Hermione Granger was thoroughly exhausted, and that was the last thought to register in her mind before she fell into blackness again.


Upon waking, Hermione noticed three things: Her ropes were gone, she was in a very warm bed, and she had been clothed. Opening her eyes, Hermione looked about nervously, unsure exactly as to what was happening. Nothing, apparently. She was still in Voldemort's bedroom, light making its way through the sad window above his bed. She blinked, twisting this way and that, not altogether surprised when she found she had freedom of movement. Looking down, she took stock of the summer dress she'd been clothed in. It was very much on par for 1946, and quite a lovely print to boot.

She'd had no idea Lord Voldemort had taste in women's clothing.

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed and touching down to the floor, Hermione got up slowly, cautiously. Her magic might not be completely intact yet, depending, of course, on how long she'd been sleeping. She tried the door, and was mildly surprised when it opened and she was admitted entrance into the hallway. Something smelled good.

Hermione lingered in the doorway, thinking, weighing her options. This wasn't a dream, she knew that; this was all real.

He's changed tactics.

The question was, why?

Upping the ante?

Playing with her head?

Maybe he's just bored of this; he does complain about your lack of intrigue quite a lot, doesn't he?

Whatever it was, she'd find out sooner or later, wouldn't she? And standing uncertainly in the doorway to his bedroom wasn't going to keep it off forever. Hermione started down the hall, pausing to feel the thrum of the wards over the office door. They were warm, and the magic emanating from them. . .was alluring. She couldn't quite mark how, but there it was.

She pinched herself. Hard.

'You have Ron, you closeted floozy. Ron who is everything good and annoying, and now you're attracted to his magic?'

Get a hold on yourself, Granger.

And then she stepped into the sitting room. He was in the kitchen, surprisingly enough, flipping pieces of bacon and stirring the scrambled eggs. He didn't notice her for several more minutes, giving Hermione time to analyze him. He moved with a sort of serpentine grace that fit his character perfectly, his high brow furrowed in concentration. His long fingers were nimble with the whisk, and impatient with the bacon. He hovered without seeming a helicopter, and twisted and turned with the steadiness of a seasoned ballet dancer.

Odd sort of analogy, but perhaps it is fitting, Granger.

And then he saw her and his face broke into a bright smile that didn't touch his eyes. "Good of you to wake up, Muddy."

"How long was I asleep?"

"About three days."

Holy Merlin. . . . "Where did you get this?" She pointed to the dress.

"I bought it in a Muggle shoppe."

"You spent money in a Muggle establishment?"

"You sound shocked."

"How many people did you kill?"

He rolled his eyes. "I didn't kill anyone, silly Mudblood."

"Why would you spend money on me?"

He shrugged. "Call it an investment."

"An investment?"

"What I said."

"Investment in what?"

"You."

"Me."

"Indeed."

"Why?"

"Because I am terribly bored, and you will make things interesting."

He was going to lure out Harry. "I'll not help you."

"Help me?"

"Find Harry."

Voldemort stared at her a long moment, befuddled, and then a look of understanding crossed his face. "Oh, never fear. I don't want him anymore."

"What?"

"Well, I won't lie," he said, whisking the eggs again. "If I do see him, I'll probably try to kill him, but at the moment, Muddy, you are my new primary interest."

"I find that deeply unflattering."

"You shouldn't. It's not every day a Mudblood can catch my attention. Not to this degree, anyway."

Not good, Granger. Not good.

"What do you want?"

"To keep my wits sharp."

"That's not very informative."

Voldemort sighed. "Muddy, will there ever come a time when you stop asking questions?"

"Probably not. What do you want from me?"

Voldemort didn't reply, plucking the bacon from the pan, and covering two small plates with eggs. There wasn't much, as he was on rations like the rest of Britain, but Hermione wasn't going to complain if one of those plates was meant for her. Retrieving forks from a drawer, Voldemort pushed a plate across the counter towards Hermione. She could only stare, mouth watering, stomach howling.

"Eat."

"Why?"

"You're hungry."

Did she need another reason? "Answer my question first."

It seemed that Lord Voldemort was in an exceedingly good mood today, because he didn't reprimand her for being demanding. In fact, he seemed quite pleased. "I want you to help keep my wits sharp."

"Yes, you've said, but that's still not an answer. What are you playing at?"

The green eyes sparked. "Playing at?" he repeated softly. "An interesting choice of words, Muddy, grammatically incorrect as they may be."

"What do you want from me?"

"I want to play a little game."