Voldemort had just returned from visiting the rumored seer in the mountains of Norway. The witch was highly cryptic and was unable to give him anything substantial to use, which led him to believe she wasn't a true seer at all, but simply an old pagan witch. He had been seeking to gain an edge that could help him secure victory in the future.
If his Death Eaters didn't provide him with any good news after that colossal waste of his time, more blood will have to be spilled today.
"How was Miss Kraus?" he asked his two trusted followers.
Rosier stepped forward. "My lord, Miss Kraus said she would be honored to work with you, but she wants her lessons to come from you directly, and not from one of us. Her knowledge, dueling skills, and position at Hogwarts can be quite useful to your plans. We also felt her power, and it is indeed stronger than most."
Voldemort nodded, "She's in no position to be making any demands. But I had promised to give her lessons myself, and I will be keeping my word. Abraxas, anything to add?" He narrowed his eyes as Abraxas tensed imperceptibly. "Don't bother, I'll just take a look. Legilimens."
As he bore into Abraxas' mind, he concentrated on their most substantial conversations about dueling and dark magic. He listened very carefully to what she said about the DADA curriculum, which will be useful to him later on when he tries to convince her to slowly adjust the curriculum set forth by Dumbledore.
Voldemort latched onto an impression that he found particularly fascinating — one that he also caught a glimpse of the first time he met her.
She was full of ambition. So much so it was nearly Slytherin. She was driven by her need to be seen and to be respected. She wasn't content to stay hidden in the shadows, not anymore.
He could certainly use that — her desire to prove herself.
He was pleased that her philosophy on dueling aligned with his own. He trusted Gavin and Abraxas to be extensions of himself when it came to recruitment, and since they shared his views, they were allowed to represent him without having to invest the time and energy himself.
Granted, he had already done most of the work bringing the witch into the fold. There's just too much to accomplish as Lord Voldemort, and he couldn't be everywhere at once.
As he sped through and absorbed most of the other, more mundane conversations, he sensed that Abraxas was fighting to keep something from him. How quaint. He should know better by now. He may be the strongest Occlumens amongst his followers, but he was no match for his Legilimency skills — Hermione being the notable exception.
He delved deeper into Malfoy's mind and pushed past the strong Occlumency shields.
Abraxas swirled the liquid in the glass and gazed absently at the burnt umber color of his Firewhisky as the soft candlelight refracted through the cut glass. As the alcohol heated his blood, he watched the witch in front of them with heavy-lidded eyes, and thought deliriously that the witch's eyes were the exact same beautiful shade as the aged liquor. He observed the way her eyes sparkled — the way they glowed gold and copper in the soft candlelight of the pub. The more he drank from his glass, and the more refills they had with their stimulating conversation spanning hours, the more he steadily lost his reservations regarding the witch.
Towards the end of the meeting, he realized he couldn't keep his eyes off her and his eyes had drifted downward to the enticing swells hidden beneath her conservative, crimson red dress robes. Her throat was wrapped with an artful knot made of red silk at the exquisite, high collared neckline.
The provocative lull of their surroundings and the intoxicating heat caressing his face and neck had him drifting his eyes shut with her radiant image in his mind. With his eyes closed, he could savor the subtle ebb and flow of her magic.
His eyes blinked open as if drugged when she laughed and smiled excitedly at something Rosier said. Malfoy thought she had the loveliest smile — her whole face lit up, and her expressive eyes were sharp with intelligence. All the pure-blooded socialites he knew were careful to only convey haughty boredom and passive disinterest through their eyes, and only ever had coy smiles for him.
Voldemort withdrew from Abraxas' mind with vicious precision as he left a sharp, caustic pain resounding through the Death Eater's head. What a fool.
"Abraxas, I asked you to bring her to our side, not leer at her all evening." So unprofessional. However, they indeed completed their assignment perfectly. He couldn't exactly fault Malfoy for his private thoughts, but he was surprised. After Abraxas' wife passed away from a rare pure-blood disease years ago, he had not thought about women beyond whatever relief they could provide him for a single night.
It seemed that Abraxas had also steadily developed a slight drinking problem, which he'll need to closely monitor in the future.
"Yes, my lord. I apologize. We were there for a long time, and I lost track of how many drinks I had. It won't happen again." Malfoy's voice was remarkably steady, even though his brows knitted in pain.
He should be relieved that she got along well with his followers. Perhaps too well. But who is he to condemn camaraderie? Friendship? It's not something he ever needed or desired.
Intimacy — something so completely useless to him. He will never understand the appeal. It made people weak. It made them easy to manipulate.
He waved them away in dismissal. "Have your meetings at Malfoy Manor on Saturdays with her as planned. I'll likely visit when I have time. Assure her that I will be working with her closely."
On Saturday, a week later, Malfoy escorted Hermione to his library at Malfoy Manor. She couldn't quite contain her excitement to finally see the library, which had been rumored to be quite magnificent.
She had shoved the memory of the last time she was here at Malfoy Manor, so very long ago, behind strong Occlumency shields. If she thought about it too hard, a phantom tingle would appear on her arm where her scar was hidden.
That was a lifetime ago. She needed to stay in the present and look towards the future.
After walking past the embellished double doors, her eyes widened as her head swiveled around in astonishment. She couldn't believe that Draco sodding Malfoy had this in his ancestral home, at his disposal, and could still be a sour-faced little prat. If she lived here and had access to a magical library like this, she would have a content smile on her face every day of her life.
There were rows and rows of the tallest mahogany bookshelves interspersed with ladders that she had ever seen outside of world-famous muggle libraries. Plenty of natural light from the tall windows at the end of every row flooded the space, reflecting off the polished surfaces of the beautiful dark wood of the shelves and the bright marble busts.
There were designated areas with gleaming tables and comfortable chairs. Cozy and luxurious armchairs artfully littered the space. Many of the books appeared very old and beautifully bound in leather, and she couldn't wait to walk around and trail the spines of the books with her fingers.
She was sure she could live here and die happy.
She took a deep breath through her nose and released it slowly, her eyes fluttering shut, jaw slackening. A delighted sound left her lips. The scent of old books.
A throat cleared gently. She completely forgot Abraxas escorted her and was still there. He was watching her reaction to the library with proud amusement.
"Do you like it? I hope the size of it pleases even you. You seem like a very well-read individual, Miss Kraus."
Hermione flushed. "It's astounding, honestly. Oh, I could just stay here all day if you'd let me. It's absolutely incredible, Mr. Malfoy," she breathed.
He shot her a smug smile. "You're welcome to it. I won't be here most of the time during the day when you're here in the library. I'll be here when you first arrive, but my businesses usually require my attention on weekends. So, you are free to peruse the library to your heart's content."
"I appreciate the opportunity. May I borrow any of the books?"
"Miss Kraus, this isn't the school library. Of course, you may borrow as many as you'd like. Though, I should put a limit on how many you may borrow, so you come back to visit more often. Like I mentioned, I'm very happy the library can bring some joy to someone other than myself. It's been a while since Tom — Lord Voldemort has looked through the collection."
"Surely your wife or children use the library on occasion?" she asked.
"Lucius doesn't think he has much use for it as a second-year student. You might run into him on occasion, actually. As for my wife, she passed away a few years after Lucius was born."
"Oh, my deepest condolences." She shook her head anxiously. "I didn't mean to bring it up."
"It's quite alright. It was a long time ago. Please don't feel troubled, Miss Kraus."
After an awkward silence, she asked, "You mentioned Lord Voldemort would come here often in the past?"
"Yes, all the time. That was before he built his own formidable collection at Riddle House. It's smaller and more intimate, with an emphasis on certain subjects. Less…," he picked out a random book from a shelf nearby and read the title out loud with a wry smile "Goblin Wars," he sighed as he raised both his eyebrows. He chuckled, "It just had to be Goblin Wars, didn't it? I can promise you the rest of the library is much more interesting."
She leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, "His library is probably full of books on Blood Magic and Necromancy."
He looked at her in mock surprise. "How did you know? Have you visited before? Because it is indeed full of those subjects." He grinned at her. "Well, I'll leave you to it then. My financial empire mostly runs itself, but I am needed sometimes."
She playfully rolled her eyes and teased, "Of course, and if it falls apart, who is going to fund Lord Voldemort's expensive ventures? He would be lost without you."
He gently said, "I do believe he would be. It's exorbitantly expensive, his ambitions. But they will make the Wizarding world a better place, which is what matters in the end, and the Malfoys will be at the center of it. And thank you, I do appreciate the recognition."
Hermione scoffed inwardly that their idea of a better Wizarding world includes eradicating muggle-borns and muggles. Completely despicable.
She offered him a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
He continued, "I hope you find what you are looking for in the library. Please call for Dobby, my house elf, if you need anything. I won't be back for supper, but feel free to stay as long as you'd like." He tipped his head to her as he walked out, "Good day, Miss Kraus."
He left her alone in the library. He appeared to trust that she wouldn't ransack his house. Perhaps there are wards everywhere. Luckily he didn't know that she was especially skilled in tearing down wards. Not that she'd steal anything. Not yet, at least. If she can just find Tom Riddle's Diary in this large space, she'd feel very accomplished.
Her heart ached as she thought of Dobby. Hopefully, he was treated well by Abraxas, who seemed a much more decent fellow than both Lucius and Draco, but she'd have to observe their interactions first.
She couldn't possibly see Dobby right now. Knowing that he sacrificed himself during their escape from Malfoy Manor will probably just make her want to embrace the little house elf and weep profusely, which would probably alarm him more than anything.
Her mind couldn't stop returning to something Abraxas mentioned — Riddle House. That must be Voldemort's residence that he inherited after murdering his own father. Is that where his clandestine meetings with his Death Eaters take place? Perhaps he hid Slytherin's Locket or Hufflepuff's Cup there?
She shook her head and immediately went to work. There's no time to waste. First, she's going to check if Riddle's Diary was here in the library, as she knew Lucius Malfoy was in possession of the Horcrux later and never seemed to realize its true significance.
She immediately cast a series of privacy spells that would alert her of anyone's approach, just in case.
Using her magic alone to find the tendrils of darkness in such a large space would deplete her very quickly. So she cast runic spells as she carefully walked up and down every row. The spells assisted her with seeking out the subtle magic that emanated from the Horcrux. It was part of her Auror training, but she had additional help from Bill Weasley, who shared his knowledge of various curse breaking and detection spells for dark magic. She had, of course, done her own research on the subject as well. She found plenty of dark signatures in various places, but none of them were of the blasted Horcrux.
Next objective, then. She already scoured the Hogwarts library books and found nothing of relevance in the pathetically abysmal collection on time travel and soul magic. Of course, Dumbledore must have removed all books he deemed dangerous.
The sophisticated magical catalogue assisted her with her research. Hours later, there was a small mountain of books on her desk. She wasn't sure how much time had passed as she read, only that the sun had set and candles had been magically lit around the library.
She wandlessly shelved the useless ones and decided to borrow the others to read at home after she glamoured the titles to less suspicious subjects. She wiped the library's magical catalogue of her searches and left for Hogwarts.
School was set to start in two weeks. There was still no sign of Voldemort. Hermione wondered if he completely forgot that he tried to recruit her, and if he was going to try to give her specific directions or tasks to complete at Hogwarts.
She was visiting Malfoy Manor for the second week in a row and was perusing the old books in a section at the very back right corner of the library. It was a lovely and cozy area of the library with a comfortable armchair and a table near a window overlooking the beautiful rose gardens below.
Hermione stood next to the window and admired the summer rain as it fell gently. She always favored the peaceful melancholy that accompanied cozying up in a library with an interesting book as the rain fell outside.
After turning and glancing at the table, she was surprised to find a single red rose lying on its side. She picked it up and studied it. Its form was flawless, and smelled divine. Her eyes drifted shut and she smiled happily. Did Dobby accidentally leave it here when he was filling the vases throughout the house with fresh flowers?
She had never seen a crimson rose this deep, rich, and vibrant in any of the vases on her way to the library, however. She decided to keep it. It was truly lovely. She was sure Abraxas wouldn't mind if she took one of his cut roses. She left it laying on its side on the table and decided to take it with her when she left.
Instead of relying on the magical catalogue, she casually browsed a section on Enchanted and Cursed Objects to see if it may give her any clues on her artifact. She dragged the rolling ladder over to the section and stepped up to get to the very top shelf near the high ceiling. As she carefully balanced and leaned against the ladder, her eyes widened in disbelief as her blood chilled. Tentatively, she pulled out a book bound in faded black leather with a spine she recognized.
No, it wasn't possible.
Secrets of the Darkest Art.
It was a large and heavy tome she could never forget even if she wanted to. She carefully opened it to confirm that it was indeed a copy of the book from where Tom Riddle had first learned about Horcruxes, as she shifted her weight away from the ladder to balance the tome against it. Just how many copies of this abomination existed?
"Looking to enchant an object?" A rich and sensuous voice drifted up to her from below.
Hermione's heart jumped to her throat as she gasped and lost her footing on the thin ladder. She fell backward and sideways and instead of bracing for impact with her arms she held the heavy, fragile book tightly. Old, rare books need to be protected at all costs, even this one.
She crashed into a solid body, and with the impact, they both fell to the ground. A strong forearm came around across her ribs to hold her tightly against him. She tried to roll off and move away, but the arm wouldn't budge.
With one hand still on the evil book, she used her other hand to pull her wand out of the holster strapped to her forearm and held it pointed over her shoulder.
She desperately tried to face the man underneath her. A large hand came around to grasp her throat before she could fully turn. She immediately knew she was in danger now.
"Let me go right now, or I'll vanish a part of your body you'll surely miss," she said in a calm, deadly voice as she tightened the grip on her wand.
The hand around her throat tightened briefly before a dark chuckle rumbled through her. Suddenly her wand was seized from her grasp and thrown violently against the shelves next to them.
"I'd like to see you try, little witch." He spoke just above a whisper against her hair.
Panic seized her heart as she tried to attack the body behind her with her arm and with the heavy book she saved — bollocks to the sodding book, but the position made it impossible.
Shadowy black tendrils began to weave around her arms, which were suddenly moving on their own in front of her, and then pulled above and over her head. Her arms now cradled her head and his, while the heavy tome was now out of sight to her. Her wrists crossed together against her will as a thin wisp of black smoke wrapped around her wrists tightly.
She was bound.
She tugged jerkily against the shadowy binds, and all she accomplished was make it dig into her skin more tightly. She didn't recognize the binding spell, and she couldn't cast effectively with her hands bound. Her vice grip on the heavy book caused her knuckles to turn white, but her grasp of the book was slowly weakening the more she struggled.
A low growl sounded next to her ear. "Stop squirming, or I will bind you completely from head to toe."
As she tried to level her breathing, and her initial shock of falling so gracelessly wore off, she tried to hold herself still against the body underneath her as she trembled in place.
It could only be Voldemort, and she had almost forgotten what he sounded like.
The way it was so disarming — an unexpectedly deep, smooth timbre, nothing like the rasping, sibilant voice she remembered from her nightmares. She was sure it was him, since it couldn't be Abraxas as she's now quite familiar with his crisp, aristocratic accent. Abraxas also assured her that he wouldn't let another Death Eater into the manor unless he was present. But it appeared Voldemort was free to come and go.
Horror flooded her veins and began to poison her heart. What colossal bad luck. If he noticed the incriminating book in her hand, he wouldn't hesitate to kill her, here and now.
She was at a loss. She was truly trapped now. He could see through any book glamour, apparently, and glamouring it would only make it look as if she had something to hide.
As she anxiously waited for him to react, to do something, his scent wrapped around her, and her face heated up rapidly. She didn't know what she expected, but its heady magnetism sent her eyes drifting shut as she shallowly breathed him in against her will. It was complex, with an intoxicating blend of exotic wood, bergamot, and something spicy — pepper. It was madness, but all she wanted to do was to keep breathing in his warm scent. She deliriously wondered if it was laced with Amortentia. She didn't know what she initially imagined he would smell like — death perhaps, but this was decidedly not that.
The feel of his fingers around her sensitive throat and his hard body against her sent her heart racing. The heat spread as she felt her whole body begin to pulsate. He could probably feel her heart pounding against his forearm, which was firmly pressed against her to keep her in place as he tightly grasped her throat.
Without warning, Voldemort flipped them over so that her chest and cheek were pressed into the cold ground, her bound wrists landed in front of her on the floor. His hand pushed between her shoulder blades to hold her down as he straddled her thighs. Hermione tried to push herself up from the ground but found it entirely impossible as the hand on her back slid up to grasp the back of her neck instead, his fingers digging into her fluttering pulse.
He reached forward with his other hand and snatched Secrets of the Darkest Art from her.
Immediately, his body stilled. Every muscle of his that she could feel against her was tensed. In the silent library, only her soft, anxious breathing could be heard for long, agonizing moments as the long fingers encircling her neck tightened and held her down even more firmly to the ground.
It's over, it's all over now.
"Hermione, why did you decide to pick out this particular book?" His deceptively calm, mesmerizing voice was edged with sharp ice.
"The title was intriguing. Wouldn't you be tempted?" Her voice was soft — calm as well, or at least she hoped it was.
"Out of all the books in this enormous library, you chose this one to be tempted by?"
"Yes, why? What's so special about it? I didn't even get a chance to get a good look at it before you startled the living daylights out of me!" As if suddenly remembering who she was talking to, she weakly added, "You just…you really shouldn't sneak up on people like that, especially witches. Actually, didn't we talk about this last time?"
"I should kill you right now."
"For what reason? What did I do wrong? I really don't think you want to kill me," she insisted.
"And just how are you so sure about that, little witch?" The pressure at her neck lessened, and he was now caressing her skin with his fingertips and blunt nails — his touch deceptively soft. It was even more threatening and disconcerting than before.
"If you really wanted me dead, I would already be. Also, I can be very useful to you. Didn't you want me to be your eyes and ears at Hogwarts? Do you have another professor in your pocket I don't know about? Or perhaps some poor Slytherin student? Students won't have access to Dumbledore the way I do."
"Your insolence in the face of imminent death is very unwise."
"I'm not being insolent! It's a normal response to being pinned down by a wizard in this highly undignified fashion."
"You need to learn to think before you speak. You need discipline, or that mouth will get you killed one day. Self-preservation, you best learn it — quickly," he warned.
"Well, I don't recall promising to only address you in a sycophantic manner and calling you 'my lord' or 'master' like your Death Eaters do. That was not part of this arrangement."
His hips suddenly settled more heavily against the curve of her bottom, as the fingers at her neck reached up and fisted her curls to bring her face closer to his. "What secrets has Abraxas been sharing?" he hissed softly.
"He didn't have to tell me anything. It's very apparent what you expect from those you consider to be beneath you. You expect everyone to stay in their place — underneath your foot." She jerked against him again.
"Well, aren't you observant? You are beneath me." He settled more heavily against her. "What an excellent agent you'd make, with your skills of observation. I was wondering what you were so intent on researching here at Malfoy Manor. Abraxas told me you are here all day every time you visit. I never expected to find you with this in your hands."
"Why? Is it a crime? I read a lot of books. Is it your favorite book or something? You can borrow it first, but you'll have to ask Abraxas for permission. It had 'Darkest Art' in the title, and I'm a very curious person, as you know. You said you were going to teach me the Dark Arts. But I haven't seen you since the first day we met, so I decided to get myself started without you."
With his silence, she started squirming and bucking against him to throw him off her, as she felt it was just too humiliating with her face pressed into the ground like this. She tried to create more leverage to shake him off by widening her legs, which was not the greatest idea she'd ever had.
"Stop moving," he groaned against the shell of her ear.
Well, now she was thrashing against him because she had never been great with orders like that.
"Fuck, witch."
Hearing him curse immediately stilled her movements.
He suddenly released her and stood up. The magic binding her wrists together dissipated into dark smoke and vanished.
"Since you are so eager, we'll start your lesson today. I'll be taking this book with me and perhaps if you're really good, I might let you read it in the future. You're not ready for what's inside this book. Today, your lesson starts with some background reading. I brought a few books you can borrow from my personal collection."
Hermione was still embarrassingly plastered on the library floor. She didn't quite understand what just occurred and simply glared at him as he lifted a black dragonhide leather satchel from the floor and walked over to the table.
Voldemort stiffened at the sight of an object on the table — the rose. She noticed that an uncharacteristic scowl darkened his face briefly before his impassivity returned. If she blinked, she would have missed it.
He began removing, one by one, six thick leather-bound tomes from his satchel and placed them gently on the table.
Hermione gingerly picked herself up and wandlessly cast a scourgify. She finally found her wand lying close by, thankfully intact, and walked over to study the contents on the table.
Oh no, her rose.
The large book at the bottom of the pile had crushed a few delicate petals.
A/N: Thanks for reading. Please let me know if you are enjoying this story! :)