Hermione was a liar. A con artist. She had been for many months now. She had hatched a scheme the moment Abraxas asked for her genuine surname in exchange for his help. He was one of the few adults she was regularly in contact with who didn't work at Hogwarts, aside from Voldemort and Rosier. She didn't want Dumbledore to question her involvement with mind magic. Abraxas was the best person to help her with her spell.
She didn't mind if Voldemort discovered she was experimenting with spell creation. She had a feeling he wouldn't intervene. Not if she reminded him that he had promised he would never hold her back. If problems arise in the future because there was another Hermione Granger, she would simply have to deal with it at that time.
"Don't lie to me now, Hermione. You promised," Abraxas reminded her. He looked so sincere, she decided on a half-truth.
"Will you let me try my experimental spell on you next time?"
"Only if you guarantee reassembly if you break me," he teased. He had looked so dispirited earlier, but now he had his usual mask of charm in place again.
"It's Granger. Hermione Granger."
"Granger. It fits you much better than Kraus." His eyes were lowered in thought for a long moment. "Are you related to Hector Dagworth-Granger? The one who founded the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers?"
She nodded, eyes filling with emotion, but not for the reason he thinks. She hadn't heard her name spoken out loud in a long time. Hearing it from Abraxas was so different from Draco Malfoy calling her Granger with undisguised contempt. She owed Slughorn a debt of gratitude for the idea of linking herself to Hector Dagworth-Granger when he first inquired about her familial relations.
There was almost a reverent tone to the way Malfoy spoke her name. It was a shame he associated it with a famous potioneer, who was, presumably, now her relative. Perhaps not Sacred Twenty-Eight level of blood purity, but a very respectable name in the Wizarding World nonetheless.
"Yes. However, please understand that proving myself will be a challenge because there are no records of Hermione Granger anywhere. When my parents agreed to become Aurors for the German ministry, it was part of a covert operation. They've wiped my name from existence to protect us. Grindelwald had malicious plans for a few well-known potion masters. He intended to utilize them to create a deadly diffusible potion. To protect Dagworth-Granger's relatives, some went into hiding, like my parents. It was necessary to eliminate all sources of leverage. You can imagine if we were captured, Grindelwald would have blackmailed Hector Dagworth-Granger into working for him."
Abraxas' expression was a mix of horror and awe. "You had to relinquish your identity? An extraordinary wizarding name. I'm sorry you had to suffer so, Hermione. However, it appears you've done extremely well for yourself even without it. At such a young age, you've accomplished so much. It's unsurprising, given that you come from a family of renowned scholars. From what I can recall, Dagworth-Granger disappeared, and it's been several years since anyone's heard from him or any of his relatives. It's as if they've just vanished."
Good, no one could deny her claim then. She had vaguely remembered that being the case and was the reason why she felt safe using the name. She sniffed quietly and wiped away an invisible tear. "Yes, it's best to leave it in the past. But, now you know, and I hope you don't hold it against me that I kept this secret from everyone."
"I understand, Hermione."
She searched his face for any trace of suspicion or mistrust, and was relieved when she couldn't find any. She must be getting better at this.
Perhaps all those months spent as a shop girl deceiving customers and fabricating riveting tales behind useless items to drive up their marketability proved to not be a total waste of her time.
"Where did you learn all this? These techniques are not commonly found in a wizard's arsenal," Hermione asked Voldemort later that day at the start of their lesson.
"Well, I'm not your average wizard, am I? I've picked up a few things here and there. Ten years is a long time to travel the world. It was in my best interest to learn, at the time."
"That's…fascinating. I'd be interested in hearing about some of your travels throughout the world." She couldn't help herself. She has never met a more well-traveled and informed person in her life. She could spend all day picking his brain if he allowed her.
"Perhaps another time. Today, I'm going to show you how to break out of certain holds when someone attempts to restrain you. These maneuvers don't require too much strength, just technique. Because of your smaller stature, a larger or stronger adversary may overpower you physically." He extended his arm to her. "Watch carefully. Grab my wrist."
Today she was much better prepared. She wasn't going to balk at the prospect of touching him again. Her hand shot out and grasped his wrist.
He was incredibly warm. She expected his body to be cold, at least before they had a chance to warm up.
"Instead of attempting to wrest control of your wrist away from your opponent, you hold down their wrist and take control back." He pushed down and swung his arm around to grab hold of her wrist instead of her hand, which had initially grasped his wrist. The twist was painful enough, but he forced her down onto the ground once she was in this position, with her arm twisted straight behind her. She was now gasping in pain. He released her.
"Can you repeat that move if I grabbed your wrist now?" he asked, as she stood up shakily. She had assumed he was going to break her arm and then heal her after, or at least she hoped he would assist her if he did seriously injure her.
Hermione held her wrist out towards him. He snatched it up. His large hand engulfed her slender arm as she executed the move swiftly and pushed him to his knees, facing away from her. He went easily and didn't put up an ounce of resistance. Even though he cooperated, she was glad she was able to get the move on her first try.
"Not too difficult, as you can see." He regained his footing and turned to her. "Now, how would you react if an aggressor did this to you?" Pinpricks sparked across her scalp as his hand shot out and grasped her curls, pulling her to his side. She tried to move her head away from him but discovered that he had fisted her hair tightly.
"Show me then," she urged through her teeth.
His grip loosened and he stepped back. "This hold isn't too difficult to break out of. Go ahead and take hold of my hair."
She felt a flush creep up her neck. Hair was just so much more...intimate. Hesitantly, she raised her hand to the back of his head, fingers sliding into his inky hair.
It was much softer than it appeared. Silky. She tugged gently.
His eyes drifted shut as he chuckled, "I can guarantee that's not how —" A soft groan escaped his lips as she yanked forcefully instead. He immediately swung his arm over and under her arm, trapping her in an unnaturally painful position. She cried out sharply and was driven to her knees, again.
Before releasing her, a corner of his lip lifted in amusement as he stared down at her for a second, drinking in her contorted face. "Well? Do you think you got that? Or would you like to stroke my hair some more?"
She glared up at him defiantly for a second before he abruptly pulled her to her feet by a fistful of her hair, close to her scalp, and challenged her with a single look.
She executed the maneuver swiftly with her arm, and he instantly released her hair with a grimace before he could fully lose his balance and fall to his knees.
"You're a quick learner, Hermione. Not just in academics and magic," he complimented with a stony face.
She suppressed a smile by biting into her lower lip. She was not eager to receive praise from him. Certainly not. He was staring at her intently, eyes roving across her features, as if wondering when she was going to release his arm.
Relishing the temporary control she had over him, she clutched his arm tightly. If she forced it, she could break it right now. It would serve him right. Alas, she disengaged. "What's next?"
He moved away from her and removed his cloak and draped it across the arm of the couch. He was dressed in a white silk shirt and black trousers today.
"Are you going to go through this lesson in that pretty long skirt? I don't recommend it." His eyes flicked over the crimson robes she wore today to help her persuade Abraxas.
"No, I had intended to change before our lesson." She had completely forgotten to transfigure her clothing because she was distracted by her victory from earlier with Abraxas and the spell.
"So you didn't wear it for my benefit, then?" His voice was tinged with mock surprise.
"Now that I look at it, the color indeed matches your eyes, but no, I didn't intend to wear something so impractical to our physical lesson."
"Abraxas then? If you want to impress him, keep in mind that he, like any average Slytherin, prefers Slytherin green." His face had hardened minutely. When he spoke certain words, low sibilant sounds unraveled from deep within his throat almost imperceptibly.
She came to a halt as Voldemort pointed his wand at her. Was this how she dies? Instead of releasing the infamous green light, Voldemort transfigured the bottom half of the dress to billowing trousers that cinched at the ankle. It was remarkably stylish and comfortable.
"I don't find him average at all," she said flippantly. She was met with deadly silence as she carefully avoided looking at him. Her hand smoothed over the fabric at her hip and thighs, marveling at Voldemort's perfect transfiguration of witches' attire. Undeterred, she continued, "And I think he found it pleasing. Maybe he secretly prefers Gryffindor red instead. Perhaps you're the one who enjoys green, like an aver—," she choked painfully, unable to finish her sentence.
She felt a suffocating pressure close in on her as Voldemort's power engulfed the room. Then, as quickly as it appeared, it vanished.
"Hermione, today we're going to learn something I know an adversary will definitely want to do when they see you. Especially when you open that smart mouth of yours."
She glared at him, feeling a bit defensive. "What, gag me? Wouldn't Silencio work much better?"
"No, Hermione. They'll want to wrap a hand around your neck and choke you."
"Oh." She took a deep breath and swallowed hard. "You would know, wouldn't you?" Trepidation crept up her spine as he stalked towards her, halting an arm's length away.
She locked her gaze on his chest for a moment, before flicking her eyes up to his.
"It's an effective submission hold often used in martial arts. Chokeholds can be divided into air chokes and blood chokes. An air choke disrupts breathing, while a blood choke disrupts blood circulation to the brain."
She found herself disoriented as she tried to transition her brain from processing a threat to processing a sudden lecture.
A large hand wrapped around her throat, just resting there against her skin. There was a gleam in his red eyes that made her breath hitch. She wasn't one to relinquish control easily. She swallowed thickly, throat bobbing against his warm grasp. She was sure Voldemort could feel her thundering pulse beneath his fingers.
"A blood choke compresses the carotid arteries, or the jugular veins, without restricting the airway. It can lead to unconsciousness in a matter of seconds. You don't need as much physical strength for this as you need for an air choke, so select this option if you want to perform it on someone," he said.
His fingers gently stroked her sensitive skin before lightly pressing down on both sides of her neck with suggestive pressure.
He didn't ask out loud. He didn't need to. With a hesitant nod, she granted him permission.
He sunk his fingers firmly into the sides of her neck.
Splotched, vibrant colors invaded her vision. A heady sensation flooded her mind. She struggled to keep her eyes open as she instinctively grasped his wrist, her nails digging into his flesh.
This was it. This was how she dies. It was Lord Voldemort, of course. She should have been more prepared for this. It couldn't have been more than a handful of seconds, and she was losing it.
He immediately released his tight grip around her and lowered his grasp, so his middle finger rested in the sensitive depression above her collarbone, while his thumb ran along the delicate skin above her collarbone on the opposite side.
Her heart was pounding as she blinked open slowly. She took a deep, tremulous breath. Of course, he would never choose to kill her in that manner. He prided himself on his magic too much. His notorious Killing Curse is much more likely to claim her life.
"A blood choke is frequently executed from behind, with an arm looped around the victim's neck. I'll demonstrate that later. First, you'll learn how to free yourself from a two-handed forward choke." He wrapped both hands around her neck now. "Now, tighten your neck muscles and tuck your chin in, and then bow down firmly between my arms, so that my hands cannot counteract the angle and strength of your body. After that, pivot away from beneath my arm."
She did precisely as he explained, and was surprised to see how effective it was. She had escaped his hold. Was it that simple this entire time?
"My first instinct was to grab your wrists and pry them away from my neck," she said as her right hand came to rest on her neck lightly. "This is much more effective." At first, she wasn't convinced this lesson was going to help her, but she had found herself in a similar situation before, with a wizard attempting to choke her. How did he know?
"Yes. Let's try it with a single-handed choke against the wall." He walked over to a wall and leaned against it casually. "Come, Hermione. Use only one hand."
Her life didn't make sense at the moment. She walked over to him, stepped as close as she dared, and placed a trembling hand against his throat.
He smirked at her for a split second before quickly pivoting to the left and striking her wrist with his right palm. She was forced to release him. It all happened so quickly.
"Did you get that? You use the strength from the fast pivot to dislodge their hand with your palm."
She nodded, nearly dazed. With one hand, he grabbed her neck, turned, and slammed her against the wall. Her heart lurched. It took her a while to process the unexpected violence. She wasn't hurt; she was just taken aback. Her heart was racing, and her first instinct was to grab onto his wrist and pull. She took one look at the way his razor-sharp eyes had shifted to something a little more wicked, and it suddenly clicked. She pivoted hard on her heel and smacked his wrist away.
Voldemort nodded his approval.
"You're not going to demonstrate an air choke next, are you?" she asked incredulously. She's had enough of getting strangled today.
"Air chokes are less effective at quickly knocking someone out. It also requires more strength. Instead, I'll walk you through a scenario. If you're unlucky, the fight may end up on the ground. With your weight and height, you may find yourself pinned, with two hands tightly squeezing your neck."
Voldemort lowered himself to the ground and lay back against it, knees bent, feet planted squarely on the ground. With two fingers, he beckoned her.
"Come here, Hermione. Get down on your knees," he commanded.
She hesitated. She considered not moving, just to defy his request. Conceding defeat, for now, she walked over to his side.
He was shaking his head at her. "No, between my legs. Imagine you are in my position, with someone larger than you attempting to take control on top of you from between your legs."
She didn't know what to make of this situation. She knelt and slowly shuffled forward between his legs.
"Try to reach over to my neck and choke me with both hands."
She tried her best to lean forward without leaning against him, but quickly found herself losing her balance. She had no choice but to press against him, the tops of her thighs brushing against the backs of his. She could feel her ears burning from the position they were in. Reaching over, she tentatively wrapped both hands around Voldemort's neck. His skin was pleasantly warm. She refrained from squeezing because she didn't quite dare. She didn't know what to do with the amused challenge she glimpsed in his eyes.
This close, she could more clearly see his marred perfection. The bruised shadows beneath his eyes, which stood out against his pale skin, told her exactly how far he would go to achieve his reprehensible goals, even if it meant destroying his own body. She could admire that steadfast ambition. But it just seemed counterintuitive to what she expected immortality to entail — health and vitality.
She gasped as he hooked his legs behind her back and forced her roughly against him.
In a low voice, he lectured, "In Jujutsu, this is called a Closed Guard. It prevents the opponent from moving away. In this position, you can take command of the situation. Now I can take your elbows and bring them close together and push down." Her chest was pulled low towards his abdomen now as he pushed her arms down against his chest. She instinctively clenched her fingers, digging into his neck. He parted his lips — an attempt to draw air into his lungs. His eyes darkened.
With some difficulty, he continued, "Then I can place my legs over your shoulders." Her chest brushed against his groin. "And then I can lift my hips up and potentially break your arms." He tipped his hips upward slowly, forcing her shoulders to lift while her arms remained trapped.
She gasped in response to the discomfort, and she released his throat immediately. It felt like her arms were going to snap from the strain. "I got it, I got it! Please let me go now," she whimpered.
"We're going to switch positions now. So you can try it yourself." His voice was uncharacteristically hoarse. She must have buried her thumbs too deeply into his larynx.
He released her, allowing her to fall to her side. She shook out her arms to relieve the ache that built up in her joints. Before she could figure out the mechanics of how to position herself, she found herself flat on her back.
Voldemort loomed above her for a moment as he kneeled between her splayed legs. Feeling vulnerable, her breath caught as time seemed to slow around her. She had never been in this predicament before. His hands were now circling her calves.
"Bend your knees," he directed. She must have been too slow to react because he had gripped her knees and forced her legs into the correct position.
Then he leaned in close.
The moment their eyes finally connected, his eyes sparked with a quiet intensity. She had to get her breathing and pounding heart under control. She attempted to concentrate on something other than his piercing gaze, so she examined his brows.
The whisper-thin scars near his right brow didn't detract from his appearance. It made him a little less perfect, and more human. A bit rougher around the edges. The effect was devastating.
When something or someone had managed to injure and scar him, he was brought low for a moment to join the mere mortals, and that was intriguing.
Perhaps it was just a consequence of dark magic.
Still completely bewildered at the provocative position she found herself in with him, she pulled in a deep, nervous breath. Before she could release it, he encircled her neck with both hands before exerting just the slightest bit of pressure.
She could still breathe, but in small, measured pulls. She began to struggle against him instinctively. Fuck. What was the move again? It seemed complex.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, crossed her ankles, and drew him closer to her.
With a sharp inhale, he tightened his grip around her neck. She held onto his arms tightly, forcing his elbows closer together, and pushed down so that his arms compressed her chest. With the movement, his shoulders lowered enough for her to toss her legs over his shoulders, trapping him against her.
She was struggling a bit more now with shortness of breath. Nervously, she licked her lips. Half-lidded eyes traced the movement of her tongue as his lips parted imperceptibly. His eyes were incredibly dark — the red irises nearly swallowed whole by the inky black of his pupils as they flicked from her mouth to her eyes.
Incisors sinking into her bottom lip, brows knitted, she jerked her hips upward tentatively to counteract the downward force she applied to his elbows, straining his joints.
"That's never going to work. A little harder," he growled.
Her cheeks burned as she thrust her hips upward with more vigor and pushed his arms deeply against her chest. With a groan, he swiftly released her neck as she placed her foot against the center of his chest and pushed him away.
The moment his hands left her neck, she gasped harshly, drawing much-needed air into her lungs.
"Effective, isn't it? In a real fight, you'll want to thrust your hips upward with as much force as you can if you want to hurt them and force them to release you. Now, I'll show you the blood choke with an arm around the neck from behind."
He rose from the ground and motioned for her to do the same.
She shook her head stubbornly and remained on the ground. She yelped as he used his magic to gently pull her upward. He couldn't force her to move, but there was an odd magnetic tug in her body to move towards him. It was a strange sensation that sent goosebumps across her shoulders. He waited for her to get to her feet for a second and stepped into her personal space behind her. The heat from his chest surrounded her as he towered over form, but he didn't touch her yet.
She held still, hoping he wouldn't see her shiver.
"This is known as a rear naked choke." He encircled her neck with his right arm, her trachea in the crook of his elbow. Before he could grab his left bicep and apply any pressure, Hermione felt the air escape her lungs. She began to tremble all over as a creeping dread flooded her veins. He hadn't even begun yet, but it was impossible to pull in any air, which had turned thick and heavy, syrupy.
As she waited, her heart was about to flee her chest.
Waited, in the guillotine of his half embrace.
Or was it a noose?
A single thought suddenly raced in her mind in a vicious loop, tightening steadily until she felt strangled by it — Please don't. Please don't. Please don't.
She was back in the Department of Mysteries, and a tall wizard stood behind her. He had wrapped his arm around her neck securely, his body shoved up intimately against her. He buried his nose into her hair and inhaled deeply before trailing his nose to the sensitive spot beneath her ear, sending revulsion down her spine. A faint Russian accent clawed into her brain — You smell delicious, little kitten, if only you weren't a filthy Mudblood. Perhaps the Dark Lord will still let me play with you, after all this. The knot in her throat swelled and suffocated while the tip of his wand gently traced over the curves of her chest. He drew the shaft of his wand back and forth, deliberately grazing her, before digging it into the skin beneath her collarbone.
Shuddering, unbridled terror seized her heart. She discovered she couldn't move at all. She could only quake in place. This wasn't supposed to happen. They weren't supposed to be here. It was a trap all along. She was right. She was always right. Harry never listened to her. Now she's going to die for him.
- Please, don't hurt me. -
Her voice was small and brittle. Pathetic. She couldn't even scream or yell because every part of her had shut down. Her muscles disobeyed the signals she hollowly tried sending to them. Where did her fight-or-flight response go? She couldn't breathe. She felt the wizard jerk and tense his arm for a second, as the tip of his wand dug harder into her flesh. Panic gripped her throat as a single thought raced through her mind.
Silencio.
A burst of violet light flashed and blinded her for a second before sharp pain exploded through her chest and neck.
Never. Never had she known such agony. Not in her short life. She just turned sixteen. Too young to die.
She didn't know that humans were capable of experiencing such pain. It wouldn't stop. She was on fire. Fire, everywhere, burning through her chest, swallowing her whole, repeatedly tearing her open. Please, Death, just take this pain away.
Darkness.
She could hear a dull, faraway sound as the cotton in her ears began to dissolve. It was a deep, masculine voice laced with curiosity. "…happened? Hermione, you started behaving strangely." She couldn't even register what he was saying as she blinked up at a sharp face with striking features, his brows drawn together. As if seeking to steal all her secrets, fiery-red eyes bore into hers, which were clouded with tears.
It took her a few seconds to realize that the room was actually on fire, the flames reflected in Voldemort's dark eyes. She had at some point collapsed onto the ground, with Voldemort supporting her with his arm.
Time slowed. The roaring fire licked at the walls closing in on them. She could almost feel the heat of it, pulsing against her body, warming her cold blood.
Lord Voldemort supported her against that primordial backdrop of fire. His enviable silken curls dipped roguishly over his brow, the black reflecting copper in the warm light.
But he didn't look as put-together as usual.
Without taking his eyes from hers, Voldemort swept his arm upward.
His hand clenched into a fist, tendons straining, and the flames around them were extinguished instantaneously.
Faint scorch marks on the inky walls were the only indication that she had lost all control.
As if punctured by a dagger, air bled from her lungs. His mastery of magic was always a sight to behold.
She closed her eyes, lids stinging from the surge of hot fluid threatening to spill out. Why was she like this? This...this monster didn't deserve an ounce of her admiration.
Then she heard his voice — like silk and smoke. "You released a massive burst of accidental magic. You went somewhere else in your mind and tried to burn the room down."
She could only shake her head absently as she gazed unseeingly into the void. "I will. I'll burn it all down," she whispered. She wasn't even sure what she was rambling about at this point, but that statement felt right to her. Like a promise.
She was so exhausted. Completely depleted. Her only desire was to sleep. Gentle fingers brushed over the light sheen of cold sweat that had formed on her temple. This, more than anything else, grounded her in the present.
Antonin Dolohov. He's not here.
But someone much worse than Dolohov was. His master.
Voldemort was now pressing the glass rim of a purple potion against her lips. Dreamless Sleep. She was too tired to resist and drank obediently. As her eyes drifted shut, and she struggled to cling onto consciousness, she heard Harry's soothing voice — You're safe now, little witch. You're safe. You're not in danger anymore.
No. Harry has never addressed her as a 'little witch' before. Not even when they were on the run together, hunting Horcruxes, alone. Not even when she was scared and needed support from her best friend in their most private and vulnerable moments. She was also a few months his senior.
It wasn't Harry at all. It was him — Voldemort, murmuring into her hair. The irony wasn't lost on her. She was deeply fatigued. Delirium had clearly obliterated her senses.
Lord Voldemort.
She must have imagined it, she thought, before surrendering herself to darkness' sweet embrace.
A/N: I'm pretty excited about this chapter. Please let me know your thoughts about it! :)