The Saturday following her lesson in Fiendfyre, Hermione was back at Malfoy manor. She finally had the opportunity to test the mind spell she had created, and it required a key ingredient that she realized Voldemort must have lacked. Without it, he would never have been able to advance his knowledge of mind magic to what she was able to accomplish.
In one of the drawing rooms, Hermione and Abraxas sat together. It was a beautiful room with tasteful decor and plush fabrics. Abraxas was nursing Firewhisky at her request. Hermione had suggested that a little alcohol would help with decreased inhibitions, which may facilitate a positive progression of the spell. If there was too much mental resistance, it might not work as easily, and Hermione needed it to succeed the first time.
"I really wanted to express my gratitude to you and Mr. Rosier for teaching me how to control and cast Fiendfyre last Sunday. It's much appreciated and while I hope I never have to use such a dark and deadly spell, I'm glad I have it in my arsenal now, just in case."
Hermione was, in fact, deeply conflicted. The moment the cursed fire blast out of her wand and formed fantastical dark beasts that danced in the clouded sky, she had glanced over at Malfoy. He had gazed at the fire in the sky with apprehension and turned to look at her with an inscrutable expression. It was confusing. She got it on the second try, and she assumed he would be happy for her.
"It was my pleasure, Hermione. You are an excellent pupil. Gavin and I were both...surprised with how quickly you mastered casting and controlling Fiendfyre. It took both of us several lessons with the Dark Lord before we were able to, and he had pushed us to the very limit before we could manifest the temperament required for the spell. Controlling and eliminating the cursed fire requires a great deal of mental fortitude and discipline. You were quite magnificent to behold."
A mirthless chuckle escaped Hermione's lips. "You don't seem very happy that you were such a wonderful teacher."
"That's not it, Hermione. I'm just concerned. You picked it up so quickly. Too quickly, even. When it comes to dark magic, you are a natural, just like the Dark Lord. Most people do not have an aptitude for it. Even those with the utmost cruelty in their hearts may lack the control and power to channel it properly. There are certain attributes one must hone — a storm driven by passion and strength. Dark magic has a corrupting influence, but if you embrace it, you can keep it from controlling you. It's fueled by emotion, and it helps in facing challenges that light magic is incapable of overcoming. Hermione, what type of hardship have you had to endure at such a young age to be able to cast dark magic the way you do?"
"I've been through the ramifications of a war, and my continued survival forced me to become the person I am today," she said.
"I know that darkness is deeply seductive and alluring, but if you are cautious and don't allow fear to rule you, you can do anything you want. But of course, if left unchecked, it can fester and lead to chaos and ruin. Its malevolent power can take a toll on the body and the soul. If taken too far, it can lead to degradation of the body because our mortal flesh and bones weren't designed to channel that kind of magic indefinitely. Practicing dark magic can affect the mind greatly as well — it can make one quick to anger and be highly suspicious of others. It can even drive one insane."
"Did you have someone in particular in mind?' She arched a brow, surprised by how honest Malfoy was being with her. Wasn't it borderline treason? Voicing his beliefs to her when it was so obvious he was referring to Voldemort.
"I just want to warn you to proceed with caution. Don't allow yourself to be tempted and seduced. Do not submit to it," he said.
"It?"
"Darkness."
She moved closer to Abraxas and leaned in. "Are you sure you should be telling me this? Isn't Lord Voldemort's strategy to persuade me to embrace the darkness? How will you keep him from seeing this conversation?"
Abraxas chuckled. "The Dark Lord doesn't care to see everything. He allows me some privacy. He allows me my secrets. Besides, he is aware of how I feel about all this. It's why I manage the political and financial side of things rather than the darker aspects. For that, he has other Death Eaters."
She wasn't convinced. Voldemort had no respect for privacy. "Let's not talk about such grim topics anymore. How about I show you why the Dark Arts wouldn't be able to fully tempt me? I think light magic has many advantages."
"Are you ready to cast your experimental spell on me?"
"I'm ready if you are. All I want to know is, what is something you greatly wish for?"
Malfoy remained silent for a long moment as his gaze traveled over her face. He was close. Too close. Hermione became a bit nervous when she noticed his eyes had darkened, as the arctic blue of his eyes shrank. He licked his lips and averted his gaze.
"I wish I was closer to my son. We never spent much time together, and I missed a lot of milestones. With his mother's passing, I expected a stronger bond between father and son, but there was never enough time when he was a child. I was always busy. Now he's at Hogwarts, and I hardly see him anymore. I missed his first steps. I missed his first and second incidents of accidental magic. The only witnesses to these wonderful things were the house-elves who looked after him. I, like my father, can be distant and strict, with high expectations for my heir, and I fear this has strained our relationship."
Hermione could only nod in understanding as she felt a lump form in her throat. Now was not the time to think about her childhood, how loving and supportive her parents were, and how the chasm between them was impossibly immense now.
"I just have two other questions for you. First, do you like Quidditch?" she asked.
This brought a genuine smile to Malfoy's face, before it turned smug. "Who doesn't like Quidditch? I played seeker for Slytherin when I was at Hogwarts. I was quite good, actually. I wish you could have gone to school with me to see it."
She laughed nervously, then flushed. It took her a long time to come to terms that she had an unfortunate thing for Quidditch players. It was baffling. She hated Quidditch, and only tolerated it because everyone she knew loved it, and she wanted to be supportive and not become a total outcast. During school, she attended the matches to make sure her friends didn't die.
But her track record was telling. Victor Krum was a world-famous Seeker, and Ron played Keeper for the Chudley Cannons now. She had also briefly dated Cormac McLaggen, which lasted about a day. Years ago, she went on the world's most awkward date with Oliver Wood, the former Gryffindor Quidditch captain. Other than belonging to the same House, they discovered they had nothing else in common, but at least he was easy on the eyes with his athletic build.
She'll even admit, albeit reluctantly, and never out loud to anyone, that Draco Malfoy's only redeeming feature was that he looked quite fit in his Quidditch uniform.
She smiled. "I wish I could have seen it. Although I don't actually enjoy Quidditch that much," she teased. "Now, second question. Do you like ice cream?"
"I don't indulge often. I have to watch myself in my old age."
She scoffed, "You're only a little older than I am."
He smirked down at her and arched an elegant brow. "Do you have any idea how old I am? My favorite flavor at Fortescue's, if I remember correctly, is Sticky Toffee." He was gazing softly into her eyes now as his tongue darted out to wet his lips.
She wrinkled her nose. "Too sweet for me. It's bad for your teeth, you know."
He looked perplexed for a moment. "I'm a wizard, I have nothing to worry about there. Besides, I like sweet things." His pale lashes lowered as he gazed at her mouth.
Hermione quickly turned away from his sudden intensity. "My favorite flavor is Earl Grey and Lavender."
"How very English of you. But didn't you grow up in Germany?"
Hermione wrinkled her brow. This was getting dangerously off-topic. "I'm going to cast the spell now, Mr. Malfoy."
Malfoy put down his drink and leaned back. "I am completely at your mercy."
As she drew her wand in a complex series of flourishes, she closed her eyes and concentrated on the incantation and intent, as well as what she believed Voldemort lacked. It was more important than anything else for this spell — empathy.
It was surreal. His surroundings were in blissful soft focus as cheers erupted around him, the stands rumbling faintly as the students made noise for their teams. Abraxas realized that he was at a Quidditch match, at Hogwarts specifically. He was standing alone in a part of the Quidditch stands away from everyone else, but with a very good view, as the student commentator's voice boomed across the pitch.
He deduced that it was a Slytherin and Gryffindor match from the divide between green and silver, and red and gold. He squinted into the distance as the crowd's attention focused on two of the players as they raced for the elusive Golden Snitch.
When the pair zoomed by him, he jolted when he realized one of the Seekers was his son, Lucius. But it was an older Lucius, perhaps at seventeen, with longer hair. It was one of his dreams — that he could attend one of his son's matches if Lucius became a Slytherin Quidditch player so that they might have something in common — something to talk about. Lucius had always been fascinated by Quidditch, and he believed that with enough practice and hard work, his son may one day make the team. But he wouldn't give Lucius any pressure even if he didn't, he decided.
Someone appeared beside him — Hermione. She was beaming with excitement, pretty whiskey eyes dancing.
"Well, what do you think?" she asked, her hand swept across the air in front of them. The surroundings were so real, yet still held that dreamlike quality. Hermione claimed that she didn't even like Quidditch, yet was able to produce this?
He couldn't speak past the lump in his throat. He could only gaze at her with unspoken emotion for a moment before turning back to watch his son, who was making a daring dive for the Golden Snitch.
"Malfoy has caught the Snitch! Slytherin wins, 170-60!" the commentator exclaimed into the magical megaphone. The charged atmosphere erupted around them.
He found himself grinning at their victory. He made a vow to talk to his son more about Quidditch, as it was something they both loved.
The celebratory scene melted away, and he was suddenly in Diagon Alley, in front of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor. His son was next to him, and he was so happy to see him.
"Come, Lucius, let's get something. I can't believe I've never taken you here before. You need to try the Sticky Toffee flavor. It's simply the best, and Malfoys deserve the best."
Lucius turned to him and smirked. Abraxas wondered where a twelve-year-old boy learned that expression. It couldn't be from him, could it?
"Father, don't you know that overly sweet desserts are bad for your health? I'd rather have the Earl Grey and Lavender."
Abraxas laughed, and decided that the next time his son is home for the holidays, they will have an outing to Diagon Alley and stop by this place for ice cream. Now he must know which flavor his son preferred, just to prove Hermione wrong. He would invite her to come as well.
He walked in and grinned when he noticed that Hermione was cheekily behind the counter, serving ice cream. Silly, adorable hat included.
When he reached the counter, she immediately handed him two cones, one Sticky Toffee, and the other, Earl Grey and lavender.
He handed Lucius the other cone. "Thank you, Father."
With skepticism, Abraxas licked the Sticky Toffee and stared at her. There was no way. It tasted just as delicious as he remembered, and he hadn't tasted ice cream since before Lucius was born.
What kind of sorcery was this?
His surroundings were getting blurrier and blurrier. Dismayed, he didn't want to leave this dream — this fantasy. Not yet. He desired nothing more than to spend more time with Hermione and his son. Even though he wasn't real, Hermione managed to perfectly duplicate Lucius' appearance and mannerisms, right down to the Malfoy pride his son always seemed to flaunt. He missed him.
Abraxas closed his eyes as dizziness overcame him. When he opened his eyes again, Hermione Granger was there next to him, and he was content.
Later that day, Hermione met with Voldemort again for another lesson. She was nervous to see him after losing control of herself, but it didn't appear that the incident was on his mind. Without bringing it up, he had proceeded with the lesson. They were dueling — that is, if dueling entailed Voldemort hexing and cursing her with various spells while she tried her best to block or counter them.
Her face twisted as she clutched her head. Anguish had clawed up her throat as dread gnawed at her insides. At this point, it was a test of willpower. Even as her eyes threatened to close, she tried her hardest to keep track of his every movement.
The specific way he drew back and flicked his wand had her immediately raising the strongest shield she knew. A barrage of colorful streams of magic slammed into her shield. The sheer strength of his magic nearly knocked her over.
"That was very well done, Hermione. You managed to successfully block that combination of spells, even after you were hit with the Crippling Anguish hex first. Most would simply lose the duel quickly after that. I am impressed."
Hermione was still trembling from the sudden despair and emotional suffering Voldemort's spell had imparted. It had felt so genuine, and brought back the hopeless desperation she felt throughout the war. She correctly predicted that he would follow up with something even more nefarious, and had quickly cast the strongest Shield Charm she could before relieving herself of her imagined anguish.
Voldemort promptly cast the counter curse on her, filling her heart with joy. As the unhappy thoughts vanished, and she recalled his praise for her, she smiled. She felt nearly drugged with the sensation.
He complimented her. He seldom praised or complimented others, and she had impressed him — one of the most powerful wizards in the world, and she didn't know why it felt so good. She felt so proud of herself at that moment, as if she unlocked an important achievement in life. She knew it was beyond irrational, but she couldn't help herself. Even when she received praise from her old professors, senior Order members, and her Auror superiors, it never felt this good.
This seemed like a hard-won victory. Voldemort was impressed by a Muggle-born witch without even realizing it.
Voldemort was shaking his head at her. "Hermione, you would make a terrible spy. We should be working on controlling your expressions — not dueling, clearly."
She quickly adopted a blank face, but her eyes were still sparkling with mirth.
"How would we train for that? I've always been like this."
"You always wear your heart on your sleeve?" he asked.
She scowled. "Not all of us can be as stoic as Gavin Rosier. Maybe he should be your Hogwarts agent then. Have him apply for a teaching position. There's a rumor that there may be an opening in potions soon."
"Old Slughorn finally retiring? Rosier wouldn't be able to anyway. He's a disaster in potions. No, you are exactly what I'm looking for. You are perfectly positioned at this time." He took a breath and scrutinized her, before smirking. "Do you like it when I praise you, little witch?"
Heart racing, she realized she felt strange as her body flushed. Did he have to phrase it quite that way? Can they just get through one lesson without her losing her composure?
"Yes, it appears you do," he said. Voldemort slowly closed the distance between them and came to a halt an arm's length away. With his head slightly cocked, he peered down at her. He reached out and gently tucked a stray curl that escaped from her plait behind her ear, only to smirk as the wild curl sprang back out. He wrapped the curl around his finger and lightly tugged on it. Then he released it and watched in amusement as it bounced back into place.
"Hmm, it's as soft and bouncy as it looks," he murmured. He twisted it around his finger again.
She could only focus on the faint dimple near his wicked mouth as she tried to regulate her breathing. Why was he playing with her hair?
He continued, "You didn't answer me. Do you want my approval, Hermione? Do you like it when I give you praise?"
She did, but she wasn't going to admit it to him. Secretly, it gave her a thrill that the most feared wizard of her time respected her knowledge, power, and abilities without knowing her blood status. She didn't have to endure the usual — for a muggle-born, you're very good at this. All she wanted to hear was — you are good at this. She could admit that the approval of others shadowed her life.
It wasn't that she wanted to be well-liked by her peers. She wanted to be recognized. She wanted to show that being a Muggle-born was no detriment to her succeeding in the Wizarding world.
Voldemort's ability to read her so well was particularly unsettling because she knew that he couldn't read her mind with Legilimency. Even now, he was doing it. His razor-sharp eyes searched her face, intently studying her.
"This is why discipline is so crucial. Why consistent self-assessment is immeasurable," he said. "I don't mind that you seek my approval, but if you can cultivate a clarity of mind and physical discipline, external opinions would weigh nothing upon your heart and self-worth."
Hermione inhaled sharply as her back stiffened with tension. She despised how easily he could read her emotions. She particularly hated how he seemed to be the only person she'd ever met who could do so — who even tried.
Her eyes flicked up to his as her lower lip trembled.
Voldemort loomed just a bit closer. His voice was low and full of curiosity. "How is it that you can be so ruthless, yet so...innocent, little witch?"
Ignoring the heat spreading across her cheeks, she asked, "How am I ruthless, besides that one time I defended my life with blood magic?"
Voldemort chuckled. "Oh, you are very ruthless. I bet you're the kind of witch who would do anything to get ahead in pursuit of your desires. I know you said you were homeschooled, but I bet you were far ahead of others your age, simply because you would never settle for mediocrity. Merely being good at something, probably wasn't even enough for you. You had to be the best. In everything."
He released her hair and the side of his index finger found its way under her clenched jaw. It trailed softly until it ended at her chin, which felt sensitive and tight with his whisper-light caress. He tilted her face up towards him.
Lush, thick eyelashes framed ruby-red eyes, and he looked ready to dissect her — truly, take her apart — piece by piece.
"I bet those desires involved the pursuit of knowledge. You wanted to know everything there was to know about magic, but you weren't sure if what you were doing was enough. I'm sure you weren't like the others who were too preoccupied with petty things like friendship, romance, and Quidditch."
Hermione held her breath as she stood frozen, wide-eyed in disbelief. She couldn't look away from him. How was it that he could see her so clearly?
Was it because he was the same? Did he see himself in her?
As a muggle-born, she knew she was at a disadvantage when she first discovered she was a witch because she didn't grow up surrounded by magic. She did everything she could to catch up. No, she did everything she could to prove she could be better than everyone who looked down on her.
"Tell me, Hermione. Tell me one thing you did as a child that set you apart from others your age. Something decidedly unscrupulous."
Where should she even begin? She debated whether she should tell him anything at all. He already seemed to know her better than anyone else. Harry and Ron may have known the real Hermione, but even if they did, they've never confronted her about it with such unnerving insight.
She decided she could afford to reveal something harmless to him. Perhaps they were similar when they were young — preoccupied with academics. She could use that to her advantage.
"I once borrowed a time-turner from a family friend when I was thirteen so that I could study more. There weren't enough hours in the day for me to do everything I wanted to accomplish. I don't consider that truly unscrupulous, though. I wasn't harming anyone."
His mouth slowly curved into a smile. "Not harming anyone? Forget the fact that you were giving yourself a distinct advantage that no one else had access to, you were willing to risk the very fabric of space and time, and for what? For the sake of knowledge? I'd consider that pretty unscrupulous."
She never thought of it that way. Feeling defensive, she said, "You know as well as I do that knowledge is power."
"And...you would do anything for power, isn't that right, Hermione?"
Hermione's brows knitted and fists clenched. He was turning her words against her, but she couldn't fault his logic, even if she disagreed with him.
He flashed a knowing glance. "I think we should continue our lesson another day. The next lesson should be quite eventful. I recommend hydrating thoroughly beforehand."
She stared after him as he made his way to the exit. She was wrong about him. Perhaps Voldemort wasn't completely devoid of empathy.
But his particular brand of empathy was as manipulative as it was seductive.
A/N: I posted today because it's my birthday. Are you guys still with me? I promise this is a Tom/Hermione fic!