Hermione dreamed of him again.
Dolohov.
She could still remember how unsettled she felt when he used his allotment of one letter a month from Azkaban to write to her. Never could she forget his written words —
Little kitten, the cold is so bone-deep here, I yearn to leap into the sun. I don't mind your filthy blood, as I know it will flow hot in my hands. Time trudges on, stitched together by memories and dark thoughts. Have you ever looked at the world with eyes that are already dead? I don't dream much, but when I do, I dream only of you. To say that I reminisce of your sweet voice as you beg me not to hurt you would be an understatement. I wish to one day look into your eyes and either watch the light fade away forever, or revel in absolution.
That was the last letter she could recall. Even if she didn't want to, she had the words memorized. Dolohov, imprisoned, still wanted to kill her. Stubbornly, she didn't die with his curse. She was the one who got away, and it seemed the insane wizard couldn't seem to let that go. She was subjected to various manifestations of his obsessive insanity for several months before she finally filed a complaint, and they were abruptly terminated.
In her nightmares, Voldemort's insidious voice from the locket whispered to her, poisoning her. Take him apart. Visit him in Azkaban and make him suffer. I'm sure he'd be delighted to see you.
The raspy voice morphed into a smooth, refined timbre. Make certain he doesn't hurt anyone else again. He'll find a way out, eventually. They all do. The system's corrupt, and you know it.
It wasn't him. Her wicked thoughts were her own now, but they always manifested with his voice, reminiscent of the times she wore Slytherin's locket.
The next day, right after her last class, she made the trek down to the dungeons and knocked on the door to the Potions classroom.
Lucius Malfoy abruptly opened the classroom door and stormed out. When he saw her, he scowled and turned away, nodded, "Pardon me, Professor Kraus," and left.
It was disconcerting seeing him look upset. He normally got his way in everything, being the Malfoy heir.
"Ah, Professor Kraus! May I call you Hermione? Come in, come in," Slughorn called out to her. "A rare sight to see you anywhere but your classroom and the Black Lake, these days."
She took his cue. "Of course, Horace. That was Lucius Malfoy. Is he alright?"
"Oh, he's fine. He just hasn't been putting in the effort lately into his potions." Slughorn sighed. "He said he can buy any potion he wants from the apothecary, and that he has a potions master brewing potions for his family for as long as he could remember. Thus, he found learning the subject to be unnecessary."
She nodded in understanding, unsurprised. The potions cabinet in the dueling room at Malfoy manor was stocked with the most potent potions she's ever had, with little to no side effects. "I hope he changes his attitude eventually."
"He still needs to pass his exams in the future. So how may I help you today?" Slughorn asked.
"I was wondering if I may borrow a few potion ingredients."
"Oh, of course! Which ones do you need? I'll have to check if we have everything in stock."
"Thank you. Here's a list."
"Sopophorous bean, Wormwood, Valerian sprigs, Nettle essence…oh, are you making a Sleeping Draught? You can get some from the Hospital Wing if you need any."
"I like to brew my own modified version. Fewer side effects."
"What sort of side effects do you get? They're quite uncommon," he asked.
Hermione was starting to regret not leaving the castle and going out to buy the ingredients herself. This was, however, quicker, and she needed the potion tonight. "Just some daytime stress, an overactive imagination, that sort of thing."
He squinted down at the piece of parchment again. "Ah yes, there are a few other ingredients here not commonly found in the recipe. Not a problem at all. Just give me a moment to gather the ingredients." He walked over to the storage room and came out minutes later with a small stash of potions ingredients and verified them with her.
"That should brew you several vials," Slughorn said.
"Thank you, Horace, I greatly appreciate your help."
"Oh, you're very welcome. I know it may be hard to adjust, since you didn't attend Hogwarts yourself, but you should socialize with the other professors more often. We've been curious about you, you know, the youngest DADA Professor we've had in a long time."
Hermione smiled. "Sure, I will."
They said their goodbyes, and she exited the classroom and into the hallway. She turned to head towards the staircase until she heard a big commotion down the corridor near the Slytherin common room.
She turned the corner to investigate and found a group of Slytherins in the hallway surrounding two students.
Once she drew closer, she immediately spotted Walden Macnair, a tall sixth-year student whose legs appeared malformed at first glance, standing within the circle. It took her a second to realize his knees had been reversed.
As Macnair sneered and cast a hex at Bellatrix Black, Hermione's view of the spectacle was obstructed as Slytherin students gathered closer to the duel, clearly eager to bear witness to the drama unfolding on an otherwise dull day.
Hermione didn't quite make out what he hexed her with, but she knew it had landed as Bellatrix's furious wailing echoed through the corridor.
When Hermione drew closer, she realized that vicious-looking horns had grown on Bellatrix's head.
"Don't interfere, Lestrange! Engorgio Skullus!" Macnair had cast at Rodolphus Lestrange, who tried to move in front of his betrothed and managed to shield himself in time.
Macnair turned back to Bellatrix and sneered, "There, now you resemble the vicious Graphorn bitch you really are. Perhaps if you're lucky, a mountain troll will mount you." He aimed his wand at Rodolphus, "I almost feel sorry for you, you arrogant tosser, shackled to this barmy cow for the rest of your life."
Bellatrix shrieked before brandishing her wand, ready to curse Macnair some more. Her horns gave her a distinctly unhinged, demonic look.
Hermione sprung into action. With a wave of her wand, all three of the Slytherins' wands flew into her hand.
"What's going on here?" she demanded as she walked into the fray. The other Slytherin students viewing the show began to back away, distancing themselves from the altercation.
Nobody responded.
Their shifty gazes were starting to irritate her. "Sixty points from Slytherin for dueling outside the classroom and exchanging potentially dangerous hexes." She fixed her gaze on Macnair. "As well as for using highly offensive language. Detention for all three of you," she added. She was punishing herself more than them, she realized, because she would have to spend her valuable time with them if she held the detention.
"You're not our Head of House, and this isn't the DADA classroom. We don't answer to you," Bellatrix said loftily. She must have been upset she wasn't able to retaliate against Macnair before Hermione ended their duel.
Hermione smiled. "Brilliant suggestion, Miss Black. The three of you will report to Professor Slughorn for detention, as he is your Head of House. I'll make sure to recommend that you hand scrub all the cauldrons for a week without magic. I'm sure he'll appreciate that. Scouring charms can only get rid of so much grime."
"No. You want me to clean like a muggle?" Bellatrix hissed with disgust.
Hermione lifted a corner of her lips. "Precisely, Miss Black, you'll serve your detention like a muggle."
Hermione couldn't help but stare at Bellatrix's bizarre appearance. Despite the rampant inbreeding in the house of Black and the ugliness of her soul, Bellatrix was quite pretty, as were many of the Blacks, including the wizards. But at that moment she appeared downright feral with her wild, angry eyes and dark horns protruding from her head. It was akin to what Bellatrix represented in her nightmares.
For a frantic moment, it appeared as though Bellatrix was about to charge at her, head first.
She gestured to Bellatrix's head. "Do you know the counterspell?"
The Slytherins exchanged more glances and Rodolphus shook his head as Macnair smirked.
Exasperated, Hermione pointed her wand at Bellatrix. She didn't need Bellatrix walking around, intimidating the other students more than she already had. She wished to deprive Bellatrix that pleasure.
For just a moment, she considered casting something else. She blinked and cleared her dark thoughts as she controlled the slight tremor in her arm.
She needed to brew her special Dreamless Sleep potion, as quickly as possible. Twirling her wand, she nonverbally cast the counter spell to the horn-growing hex.
Hermione watched impassively as the horns shrank and disappeared. Bellatrix clutched the top of her head and scowled at Hermione. "Thanks," she muttered briskly under her breath. "Saves me a trip to the Hospital Wing, at least."
"You're welcome. Now everyone should head to dinner."
A throat cleared. "What about me?" Macnair had the gall to ask.
Hermione flicked her gaze down to his reversed knees. She shouldn't be surprised that Bellatrix would cast a hex with body horror aesthetics. She knew the counterspell, but why should she even bother?
Walden Macnair was one of Voldemort's most vicious and blood-thirsty future Death Eaters, and thrived off extreme violence. He worked at the ministry as an executioner of dangerous beasts during Voldemort's absence, and nearly decapitated Buckbeak. Additionally, he was the Death Eater responsible for successfully rallying the giants behind Voldemort's campaign, resulting in the massacre of countless muggles.
"You can have Madam Pomfrey fix you in the Hospital Wing," Hermione replied.
Macnair gawked. "Can't you do it, Professor Kraus?"
"Sure I can, but I've run out of time and have somewhere I urgently need to be. It's a lovely, short walk from here to the Hospital Wing. Try walking backwards. Perhaps that will help."
Hermione's face twitched when he tried following her suggestion, and his tall, hulking body crashed inelegantly to the ground.
"You'll be just fine." She flashed him what she assumed was a reassuring smile, and hoped it didn't appear too disingenuous. He simply grimaced and gaped at her in response. "You can ask one of your friends to assist you. Everyone else, head to the Great Hall for dinner. Behave — no more fighting. You three will get your wands back tomorrow morning when I see you in class." She didn't fail to notice that everyone had shuffled off, leaving Macnair on the ground.
Hermione spun around and left as well. She had a potion to brew.
It has been a busy week, and it was time for Hermione to meet with Lord Voldemort again. It was never a comfortable routine. The start of every lesson filled her with dread, as he nearly always had an unpleasant surprise waiting for her.
One moment she was watching him cautiously as he returned her stare from across the room. Then the black walls of the room began to distort and fall away.
Mental fortitude. She needed it right now. This was just mind magic — an exercise in self-awareness and discipline.
Rain poured in torrential sheets from the sky. She was in a graveyard and wore a heavy hooded cloak, charmed to be impervious to the rain. In her hand was an ornate, burnished silver-gold mask. She knew instinctively that she needed to put it on. She needed it to hide behind.
Screaming and sobbing could be heard in the distance. Thunder crackled through the sky and drowned out the cries before rumbling on.
Cloaked figures with masks surrounded her. As she began to move, they parted for her in a straight line that led to a tall, imposing figure with glittering red eyes.
The wizard extended his hand to her, and she walked towards him.
There was nowhere else to go.
As she got closer, she noticed two battered figures kneeling on the ground. She could barely recognize them, but as the rain continued to pour and wash away the blood on their faces, she realized it was Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.
She couldn't feel anything except bitter satisfaction.
"You did so well, my little Mudblood, bringing these two to me."
"Anything for you, my lord. They never suspected. They've always underestimated me and took me for granted. All my life, I've gained nothing from them except a target on my back, and a diminishing sense of self-worth."
Lord Voldemort took her hand and pulled her towards him, his large, cold hand cupping her face as he smiled indulgently down at her. "There will be no more of that. For your loyalty, I will make you powerful beyond imagination."
"Hermione, no! How could you? Have you lost your mind? How can you even stand to be near him? He murders without conscience and takes pleasure from it. He killed my parents, and tried to kill me multiple times. Voldemort cares about nothing but his own power! He despises anything with muggle blood — the hypocrite!" Harry yelled.
Hermione turned to Harry, aiming her wand. "You did nothing to help me when I suddenly lost my ability to cast magic. You and Ron both said it was probably because I'm a Muggle-born witch. That maybe there was some latent problem with my blood that suddenly took it all away. The Dark Lord was the only one who figured it out and helped me regain my lost magic."
She turned to look at Lord Voldemort with admiration.
Harry's response was drowned out by the crashing rain as it began to rain even harder. Lord Voldemort tucked a dry curl behind her ear.
"You know what you have to do," he commanded.
She nodded and turned to her old friends, raising her wand.
Shrieking can be heard from the crowd below. When she turned, she saw a sobbing Ginny Weasley being carried away by a hulking Death Eater.
Suddenly Harry launched forward and slammed into her. He had loosened the magical rope that bound him, and was trying to wrestle her wand away from her. But she's better prepared now — stronger and faster. She had learned how to avoid this position, and easily overpowered him and flipped their bodies around. She straddled him and held him in a blood choke. Through cracked glasses she repaired for him many times in the past, she stared into his familiar green eyes. With great effort, Harry managed to seethe, "You know what he is. The fallout will not be worth it, Hermione. You mean nothing to him."
From behind her, Ron was struggling in his bound form, and called out loud enough to be heard through the rain, "You're just like Bellatrix Lestrange, fetching and kneeling at her master's feet, like a dog. You make me sick."
Mental fortitude.
Nothing was as it seemed. Hermione closed her eyes and tried to block out everything.
Self-awareness. Concentration.
Suddenly the rain stopped, and she was no longer on top of the resisting body of her best friend. The disconcerting chill in her bones dissipated, and she was suffused with an enveloping warmth.
Hermione tried to regulate her erratic breathing before peeling her eyes open.
Voldemort had moved closer. A stormy, dark shroud tainted his handsome face.
But she was arrested by his eyes — his eyes were bottomless pits.
"What was that, Hermione?"
"What was what?" she asked, fearing the worst. Did he see? No. The book said the caster couldn't penetrate their opponent's mind while holding the spell.
"You broke the spell." His voice was hoarse.
"So you cast Sum of All Fears on me? Was that it? You could have warned me," she scoffed.
"How did you break the spell?" he enunciated carefully. His unblinking stare caused her muscles to tighten.
"Wasn't it in the book you provided?" she asked, biting her lower lip.
"It was only vaguely described. Breaking it requires a large amount of mental strength. I didn't think you could do it, at least not on the first try."
"Shouldn't you be pleased, then? I'm the ideal pupil. You don't have to explain or demonstrate things over and over again."
"Perhaps. But those I've tortured with this spell are usually left a sobbing mess at the end of it."
"I suppose I'm simply better than them. Isn't there a reason they were tortured? They failed you somehow. I won't fail you," she said, voice surprisingly level despite the turbulence inside.
"Do you know why fear is the greatest motivator, Hermione? More than anything else?"
She closed her eyes and took deep breaths. In and out. In and out. "Fear is visceral. The rush of it — it forces you to do what needs to be done to survive. It's something you can feel in your bones and taste in your heart."
He continued to stare at her with an indecipherable expression as she met his blood-red eyes head-on. There was something there.
A fissure in his cold, impenetrable mask. A hint of something unhinged, yet alluring.
It was nearly imperceptible, but she knew it was there because she has studied him so meticulously — as one should study their enemy. For so long, he was known as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and You-Know-Who. Lord Voldemort had been ingrained in many minds as a monstrosity of a wizard, capable of the greatest of evils. He was untouchable.
Thus, it was beguiling when she was able to pick out simple human quirks. Like the way he twirled his wand absently in thought. The arch of a brow, the tightening of his jaw, the slightest lift of the left corner of his lips...
Her eyes darted away from his, settling on a point beyond his shoulder. She needed to change the subject before she lost herself in her thoughts. "You are a tough instructor. When you teach me your secret to flight, are you just going to hurl me off a high tower and hope I figure it out midair?"
He chuckled darkly. "Is that your way of reminding me that I promised to teach you? I haven't forgotten. I just don't believe you're physically ready yet."
"Why don't you try me?"
A spark heated his cold eyes. "Later," he promised. "First, I'll fulfill another promise instead. I'll show you the wand movements and incantation for the Singularity."
She nodded, eager to see it. She didn't think he'd show her so soon.
Alas, she overestimated her abilities, for now, at least.
He didn't stand behind her again, as he did before. They stood side by side as she mirrored his wand movements and repeated the incantation out loud. It was difficult. Something was missing. She became increasingly frustrated as she realized she couldn't figure it out, no matter how much she tried. Perhaps she was mentally and emotionally incapacitated after he opened their lesson with Sum of All Fears.
The experience had left her frayed at the edges, easy prey for his schemes.
"Well, Hermione, it appears that you can't be great at everything." He banished the swirling vortex he had cast, smirking down at her. She had gazed at the Singularity with such longing, her abdomen knotting dreadfully with her failure.
"There's still something I need you to learn that you missed," Voldemort said.
Biting the inside of her lip, she folded her arms across her chest, closing off. "No...please, not that. I can't."
He held up his hand. "I won't pressure you. I discussed what happened the other day with a mind healer. Something happened to you. Who hurt you?"
She didn't know what to make of the unexpected menace infecting his smooth voice.
Not wanting to think about it, she averted her gaze and blinked away the heat in her eyes. She couldn't let him see her that weak and vulnerable again. One time was more than he deserved.
"I'll allow you your secrets, for now. But if it affects your performance again, it will need to be dealt with." With pursed lips, he carded his hand through his artfully tousled hair, which only caused it to fall even more becomingly over one eye.
She realized she was staring as he dragged a finger across his brow.
His hand absently swept at the invisible flint on the fabric on his chest.
It was all normal human behavior, but that was the problem — he wasn't normal, was he?
Voldemort appeared to believe in the economy of movement and facial expressions, as he was generally utterly lethal in his predatory stillness, punctured by the occasional amused twist of the lips or a chuckle.
She briefly wondered if the movements were rehearsed — imitations of normal human behavior designed to put onlookers at ease.
"I've located the best mind healer in the world to examine you, if you are willing. He can be here straight away if I ask him to come," Voldemort said, voice low.
Hermione's eyes widened. She held her breath. "You what?"
She became acutely aware of her heartbeat.
Lifting his chin, he stared at the wall behind her. "I don't wish to see a complete loss of control like that from you again. You nearly destroyed the room, which was quite a feat given that the walls have been charmed to withstand fire. Not that I don't appreciate the occasional display of destructive power, but I expect mindfulness and control at all times from my...associates."
For a maddening second there, she had imagined that he had sought out the mind healer out of concern for her. But only for a split second.
Embarrassing, really, to presume so much.
She wasn't naive. She was aware of how some Death Eaters deluded themselves into thinking they were important to Voldemort — that they mattered at all to him. Barty Crouch Junior, who was one of his most devoted followers, shared the experience of having a disappointing father. Severus Snape, at least when he was young, was likely manipulated based on what he had in common with Tom Riddle: he was a brilliant half-blood with a muggle surname in Slytherin House, which couldn't have been easy.
Regardless of what he just said to her, this must be another ruse. Because he couldn't access her mind, he needed a skilled mind healer to examine her. He was still trying to steal her secrets, being the suspicious wizard that he is.
It would be too unusual for her to reject it right away. "Of course, thank you for the generous offer. I'll take you up on that when I'm ready."
Voldemort nodded. "The mind healer usually doesn't leave his country, but...he will. Next lesson, you'll learn how to get out of the rear naked choke or any position where you are held with an arm from behind, so you never have to be at its mercy again."
Hermione had no choice but to accept that decision, for now. It wasn't that she didn't want to improve, but she needed time to emotionally prepare herself.
He continued, "Now, I'll leave you with a task. Run five miles in the woods behind Malfoy Manor, stopping at every twentieth tree along the path on your right to perform five push-ups, alternating with five seconds of planking. I need you to strengthen your core. If you can do this, I'll bump up the flight lesson."
Her eyes widened in disbelief. "You just want to see me suffer."
"Oh, without a doubt, Hermione." His voice was low and teasing. "Unfortunately, I won't be around to witness it. I do have other things to do today, as pleasant as I find our precious time together," he said with a calculating smile. "Enjoy. And trust me, I'll know if you don't complete this task. You want to learn flight from me, don't you?" He turned on his heel and left her in the Dueling Room, the door quietly closing behind him.
Without hesitation, Hermione dashed to the cabinet, pulled out a Calming Drought and Restorative Potion, and swallowed them down. She lowered herself slowly onto the plush velvet couch. It was all she could do not to collapse on it.
Sum of All Fears. A powerful, vicious spell.
Tears started falling against her will as she breathed heavily through her nose. As anguish burned low in her abdomen, she stood up and fumbled through the cabinet for an Invigoration Draught, which she threw back like a shot of alcohol. She'll need the extra energy to fulfill his absurd request to prove she's ready for a lesson in flight.
Earlier, she couldn't lose her composure in front of him. But now that he was gone, containing all her emotions when all she wanted to do was scream was a futile effort.
Her deepest fears — presented to her in a horrifying little package. Becoming this unrecognizable Hermione who was willing to betray her beliefs and friends. Becoming seduced by his knowledge of the Dark Arts and the power it could bring. Losing all her magic because of some presumed Muggle-born flaw. Being mocked for her blood. She could admit that she felt more lonely in the company of her friends than she did without them.
But she knew she would never betray them and what they stood for. She could never hurt them.
When Ron from the hellish vision compared her to Bellatrix, groveling at Lord Voldemort's feet for any scrap of power, knowledge, and attention he was willing to share with her, she nearly retched.
Never will she be that witch.
All the hatred and cruelty he harbored in his heart, if he had one at all, couldn't just be forgotten. She knew she wasn't a decent person, not anymore, but she could never turn into the Hermione from the vision.
It was the reason she admired Harry so much. For the past few years, he had served as her moral compass. She had broken so many rules throughout her time at Hogwarts and after, that her first-year self, who laughably believed getting expelled was worse than death, would have been appalled.
But Voldemort was truly unmatched when it came to dark corruption. The horrors he permitted his subordinates to perpetrate as part of his power grab were reprehensible.
Hermione was starting to think that Voldemort might not have cared about blood purity as much as he led others to believe. So far, she had gotten the impression that he was willing to go to any length to gather support on his road to absolute power. Not once had he discussed blood purity with her, preferring to focus on things that he believed motivated her.
When he first met her, he didn't inquire about her blood status at all and had proceeded to recruit her. He wasn't deterred by the possibility that she may have been less than pure.
Voldemort did what needed to be done, and if that meant preying on those with power and wealth who had deeply ingrained prejudices against those without or who they believed to be undeserving of magic, so be it.
"And...you would do anything for power, isn't that right, Hermione?" Voldemort had asked her last time. It all made sense now.
At times, she thought that they weren't that dangerous — Voldemort, and his two Death Eaters. They were nothing like she had envisioned. Their intellectually stimulating company was refreshing, and she appreciated their distinct personalities.
She'll admit that there were very specific moments when her will to fight had been devoured whole by these vipers, as they tried to break it down within their bellies to fuel themselves.
But it was all meaningless.
Truly, it was immaterial — her fascination with the way he...he…
The way he ignited her mind.
The way he existed in it like a heartbeat, with flawlessly crafted incisions that allowed him to burrow into its dark crevices, pulsating tendrils anchoring into her.
But she will find a way to uproot him, or there could only be ruination at the end of this path — her ruination.
He was using her, and she was using him. She will drain him dry before he could do the same to her, and then it will be over, and she will be content.
A wizard like Voldemort couldn't be changed, after all — only dismantled, and reduced to dust.