With two fingers, Voldemort beckoned her to follow him. "Come, you're going to learn how to defend against the rear naked choke."
Hermione didn't budge, and avoided meeting his eyes. She knew it was a strategy — controlled exposure, but she was skeptical.
"I can send for the mind healer now, if you'd like?" he offered flippantly.
She cursed under her breath as she walked over to him.
Voldemort nodded. "I'll allow you to be in the aggressor's position, which should avoid the trigger. I just need you to memorize the defensive maneuver, so you never have to feel helpless if you are ever entangled in that situation again."
With an inscrutable look, he carefully turned his back on her.
Blood rushed to her ears as her chest tightened. This was not at all what she had expected.
"Put your arm around my neck, and grab the other arm for leverage," he directed.
Hermione approached him from behind, wary of getting too close. His silk-clad shoulders and back filled her vision, and she quickly realized this wasn't going to work. "You're too tall," she said, voice low.
Voldemort turned slightly to look down at her over his shoulder and exhaled in amusement. "Indeed."
Suddenly, the earth shifted, and she was staring down at his perfectly styled hair. Her head dropped further to look at her feet. She was standing on an invisible platform that boosted her height, so she stood at least half a head higher than him.
Voldemort deftly pocketed his wand. "There. Try now."
She dampened her lips, wondering if he had ever allowed anyone else this close to him before. If he ever permitted anyone at his back, looking down at him.
She exhaled slowly in nervousness. Her breath lightly stirred the hair teasing the nape of his neck, and Voldemort faintly shivered.
This close, she could catch his scent. She lightly breathed him in, lashes fluttering close as she allowed the complexity of it fill her lungs. Feeling suddenly mildly intoxicated, she gravitated ever closer, briefly wondering how he'd react if she brushed her nose against the skin of his neck.
Dark, peppery wood with a hint of fresh bergamot, mixed with the clean scent of his hair and skin.
She opened her eyes and gazed dazedly at his ink-black strands. Did he know?
That he somehow filled the space between her breaths.
Even though her body barely grazed the fabric of his robes, she wondered whether he could hear her heartbeat pounding through her rib cage, pulsating through her body.
"Hermione, I don't have all day," he said, indulgently.
Flushing, she placed her palm lightly on his warm shoulder, and then slid her forearm forward, until her chest nearly touched his back. She crooked her elbow. She couldn't quite contain the tremor in her arm, which she knew was now in his line of sight.
Her breaths were coming in short as she ducked her head, flustered that they had undoubtedly become audible to him.
She shifted closer to the back of his ear and whispered, "Isn't this enough for a demonstration? I shouldn't have to actually try to choke you?"
"Follow directions, Hermione," he said, his voice soft yet admonishing.
She bit her lip and leaned her chest into his upper back, her arm coming to rest against the top of his shoulder.
Then she fully looped around his neck, allowing his trachea to rest in the crook of her elbow.
She inhaled slowly, and shakily exhaled, keeping her head from getting too close to his. She was sure he could feel her heart thumping against his back now.
"Grab your other arm now," he said, his smooth timbre slightly husky.
Hermione's clammy palm came to rest on her opposite bicep, which brought him even closer against her. Her body was pressed tightly against his warm back now.
His right hand rose and hooked the crook of her elbow. Long, beautiful fingers encircled her. For a few moments, he remained silent and still.
Practically gnawing on her lower lip now, she wondered how strange they would appear to someone else if they stepped into the room right now.
The silence was maddening. She was acutely aware of the way the mounds of her chest were pressed against his back.
Conflicted, she went for the choke, channeling her frustration as she tightened her arm hard against his neck.
He had asked her to, and she'd hate to disappoint him.
Immediately, he had slipped out of her grasp in one smooth movement as he pivoted away from her.
She blinked.
"Did you get that?" he asked.
"No."
"Again then. This time, pay attention." She can hear the amusement in his voice, and she didn't like it.
She huffed lightly. He was infuriating. She plastered herself against him again, enveloped his neck, and squeezed again, this time with less force.
Voldemort started speaking, his throat brushing against the inside of her arm. "Instinctively, you'll try to grab the aggressor's arm to tug it away from your neck, but it won't be very effective. It's fine to rest your hands on their arm, but you'll want to focus on performing this movement." He stepped away from her, turned in place, and stepped through while gently pushing her away. "And by giving them the shoulder slip by ducking and facing them slightly, you unravel yourself from their hold."
"So that's it? Just...unravel?" she repeated, as she tried to slowly replicate the movement.
"Yes, Hermione."
She nodded. "I got it this time."
"Once more, without the narration," he said.
He moved in front of her again as she looped her arm around him.
Suddenly, the invisible platform dropped away. Hermione yelped and flung herself on him, arms thrown around his shoulders as she latched on tightly, legs dangling.
His chest rumbled with amusement as she realized that he did it on purpose. Hermione scowled, and her lips parted to express her indignation, before she firmly closed them. If that's how he wanted to do things, she'll play along with him.
She could make him just as uncomfortable.
Hermione wrapped her legs firmly around his narrow waist. Dipping her head into the crook of his neck, she bit her lower lip to keep herself from giggling as she very lightly brushed the tip of her nose against his warm skin.
Hermione soon became aware of how incredibly tense he became, as if he turned into stone. The only movement she could glean from him was his stilted breath as his chest rose and fell.
She nearly snickered, thinking about how Voldemort was certainly the kind of Dark Lord who was horrified by excessive physical contact. For him, it was probably too plebeian.
After all, he started this. If he found her so repulsive, he shouldn't have taken away her raised platform without warning, nearly giving her a heart attack and forcing her to latch onto him like a bothersome monkey.
As she continued to enjoy his clearly offended silence, she decided it was time to disentangle herself before he realized it was better to kill her after all. Allowing her arms to loosen from around his shoulders, she unwound her legs and slowly descended his body. His muscles were stiff everywhere. There wasn't even a hint of softness to him. Her cheeks burned when she realized it was actually a long way down, and the slipperiness of the silk fabric of his robes made the whole thing a little too physical.
Was he always this tall? Bloody ridiculous. Maybe he was standing on a platform?
Once she safely reached the ground, she breathed a sigh of relief.
Without turning around, Voldemort asked, "Do you want to test it?" His long fingers came up to his neck where she had practically nuzzled him, and lightly grazed his own skin.
Hermione turned quickly away from the sight. Of course, he was wiping away her touch.
As she tried to process his words, she turned to stare at his back. What was he….oh. "No, I've memorized the move."
Unexpectedly, he disappeared from her vision as he pivoted around and ended up pressing intimately against her back. She felt herself flush from the back of her neck to her ears at the strange feel of his warm body. Deliberately avoiding her neck, he snaked his right arm around her chest, resting his palm on her shoulder.
Voldemort leaned down to the left side of her head, and her heart skipped a beat at his sudden proximity.
His lips were gossamer soft against the shell of her burning ear. The cool wisp of his breath caressed her sensitive ear when he asked in a low, teasing tone, "Have you, now?"
Eyes fluttering shut, she couldn't suppress a shiver as electricity spun across her scalp, neck, and down her spine.
Feeling more than a bit absurd for so obviously enjoying the delightful sensation, she swiftly executed the move he had shown her and broke away from his hold. She pushed him away so roughly, she nearly stumbled, scrambling to put some distance between them. When she regained her footing, she looked over at Voldemort, who was as collected as ever.
But there was something strange.
One side of his sculpted mouth had slowly curled upward, while the other followed languidly.
Warm spread through her.
So this was his normal smile. Not a wicked smirk of amusement at her expense.
A perfectly normal smile, and it was devastating.
But it was his eyes that sent her pulse fluttering. The weight of his gaze upon her was too intense, and too confusing.
It held a dark and alluring glint within its depths that had the ability to throw all thoughts into disarray.
Class had just ended, and Hermione was busy fixing the mess the DADA dueling lesson had created. Bits of transfigured rubbish littered the floor, as the lesson focused on incorporating the surroundings and nearby objects as part of the duel. She would have made the students clean up after themselves, but the lesson had already gone past time, and they would be late for their next class.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Bellatrix had remained and was assisting her in restoring a few objects back into their original state.
Hermione couldn't shake the feeling of unease. The other witch was acting highly suspiciously.
"Professor, I have a question for you." A coy smile lingered on her face as she clasped her hands behind her back and stepped lightly towards Hermione.
Hermione tensed. She was beginning to hate questions. "Was something in the lesson unclear, Miss Black?"
Bellatrix batted her hand as if swatting a fly, "Oh no, that was easy. I was just wondering…what have you done to poor little Waldy?" she whispered. "He's been acting…off. He wouldn't look me in the eye anymore and is a complete shadow of his former self. He'd cower in dark corners and leave everyone alone. Very unusual. He was always such a bully to the younger students in the common room."
Hermione felt dread travel up her spine. She had watched Macnair closely during the dueling, and she was surprised to see that he used the least vicious ways to win, and would even throw the duel a few times. He didn't look in her direction once, not even when she was speaking.
What had she done to him? Did she break his mind? If she did, was it a good alternative to taking his life, which Voldemort wanted? In a way, she would be saving his life. She closed her eyes briefly at the possibility that Macnair might not become a Death Eater in this timeline.
"It's just a little spell. Nothing to worry about. He'll be fine," Hermione said dismissively.
"A little spell? Will you teach me?"
Never, she almost said. "Miss Black — " she began.
"Just call me Bella, Professor, there are too many Miss Blacks at this school right now."
Hermione froze. Was this another opportunity to deprive Voldemort of one of his most violent Death Eaters? She stared at Bellatrix for a moment. Hermione was no Heir of Slytherin, and had questionable blood, but perhaps Bellatrix valued power above all?
It was impossible. She killed Sirius, her own pure-blood cousin, for being a blood traitor.
What an enigma — Bellatrix Black.
"You know I don't believe in favoritism. You shouldn't concern yourself with all these extra spells right now that won't do you any good. I heard you weren't performing well in Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. Why don't we concentrate on those subjects for now?"
"I don't even know why I chose those electives this year. They're a bit useless, aren't they? Not very practical."
"Not at all. They are extremely useful. You wouldn't want to seem inferior to others in those subjects. How about you bring any questions you have regarding those subjects to me. I'll help you. I just want the best for you, Bellatrix, and the noble House of Black," Hermione said, tone soft and genial.
A blush formed on Bellatrix's face. She replied quickly, "Yes, Professor. I'll definitely try harder in those subjects, and bring any questions I have to you."
Hermione took a moment to observe the smile Bellatrix had on her face. It wasn't manic, like she remembered.
She was never going to teach Bellatrix any dark spells, especially those that Voldemort had shared with her. For some reason, she didn't want anybody else to have that knowledge.
Not just because they would be especially dangerous if Bellatrix used them, but because…
Hermione briefly closed her eyes.
They were hers. He showed her, and no one else.
Hermione gazed at Bellatrix, puzzled as to how she got to this stage with the insane witch who had tormented her to within an inch of her life at Malfoy Manor.
It didn't matter anymore. If Bellatrix wasn't too far gone down the dark path, she'd attempt to keep her away from Voldemort's influence, especially when the witch was making it so easy.
It was the middle of the night, and Hermione couldn't sleep. Thoughts of Voldemort's warm scent and devastating smile teasing over his lips continued to plague her dreams, or was it her nightmares? She was unable to stop her heart from pounding in her ears. The pesky fluttering in her stomach wouldn't cease.
She briefly wondered if she ate something bad for dinner. Was this heartburn?
Merlin, Godric, and Salazar. Fuck.
She couldn't bring herself to relax at all. It was an all-consuming restlessness.
Hermione realized that she had dallied for far too long. She had become tangled in Voldemort's expertly crafted web and had unfortunately become distracted. That look he imparted the other day was seared into her mind, as she replayed the moment over and over.
She felt unbearably foolish.
Hermione Granger should be wiser.
By now, she should be well aware of just how charming and manipulative Tom Riddle could be. People spent an exorbitant amount of money at dodgy Borgin & Burkes just to be near him. He possessed that enviable talent that made people instinctively trust him. Everyone adored him at Hogwarts when he was a student, except for Dumbledore.
No one else, however, was safe. Not even ghosts. Even The Grey Lady, the spirit of Helena Ravenclaw, found him flattering and sympathetic, fell for his schemes, and revealed the whereabouts of her mother's diadem. She was supposed to be quite intelligent, too.
This, however, was Tom Riddle's specialty. Wasn't there anyone immune at all?
Hepzibah Smith, a witch decades older than Tom Riddle, fell for his charms and revealed her most prized possessions, for which she was slain. Bellatrix Black, pure-blood supremacist, was so devoted to the half-blood that she went to Azkaban for him and lost much of her youth in the process.
So no, Hermione Granger was not special. It would be unbearably presumptuous of her to believe that she was anything at all to him besides a very useful pawn in his war with Dumbledore.
What? Did she think she could change him? Make him see the light and the error of his ways?
A fairy tale. A lovely dream.
She started chuckling hysterically into her pillow, even as she drew breath in through her clenched teeth.
Perhaps that would have been possible if she traveled far back enough in time, before he murdered Myrtle and his own father. But this Riddle had split his soul far too many times.
If anything, given enough time, he'll realize that she wasn't very useful to him at all. She hadn't been spying on Dumbledore. Nor was she collecting young Death Eaters for him, and was, in fact, actively trying to turn them away from him.
Like everyone else, he'll dispose of her once she had outlived her usefulness.
Horcruxes — the reason she was here in the first place, in this serviceable bed she wished was just a tad more comfortable. She had promised Dumbledore she would destroy them in exchange for this sanctuary. Fortunately, he had left her alone thus far. Although, she would sometimes catch Minerva giving her a stern look, before it quickly morphed into a forced smile and a brief nod of acknowledgment.
With renewed resolve, she jumped out of bed and dressed quickly, not bothering to deal with the tangled mess of wavy curls she had grasped in frustration all night. She wasn't expecting to see anyone else this late.
She quietly opened the hidden door of her private room and stepped out into the cold DADA classroom. Wand in hand, she quickly cast a disillusionment spell, even though the portraits were likely asleep as well.
Making her way out of her classroom and towards the staircase, she glanced around in the low lighting, expecting to see a tabby cat following her.
Paranoia. Didn't Malfoy say the Dark Arts amplified it?
No, she was just being cautious.
Deftly avoiding the many trick steps, she swiftly ascended the numerous steps. Before, she had to stop and slow down at least once to catch her breath, but thanks to Voldemort's insane physical regimen, she could run through the entire castle without breaking a sweat.
The staircase decided that now was a great time to start moving. Hermione cursed underneath her breath and held still for a moment, not wanting to lose her footing. When it came to a halt, she proceeded cautiously onto the seventh floor.
As she warily stepped into the corridor, she froze when she saw a shadow in the distance. It was a cat, and it hadn't noticed her presence yet.
But it wasn't the cat she expected.
Slowly stalking into view, a dusty grey cat turned and meowed around the corner.
Mrs Norris. Argus Filch's cat. Hermione loved cats, but this one was overly surly, and she couldn't believe how long it had lived. She briefly narrowed her eyes. Animagus?
Now was not the time to ponder about things that had nothing to do with her.
But it must mean Filch was also nearby. Did the caretaker ever get any rest? The squib had apparently gotten the job at Hogwarts last year and likely took his work way too seriously.
Then she saw him, as he turned the corner. Although he was decades younger and lacked his characteristic bald spot, he still had hunched shoulders and long scraggly hair.
"My sweet, didn't you say that you saw some students on this floor, or did you hear the staircase moving?" Filch wheezed to his cat. "Students lurking around late at night. Let's check the sixth floor."
Hermione wasn't a student. She had every right to be out of bed. But she didn't want to deal with his sour disposition at the moment.
Filch scooped Mrs Norris off the ground, cradled her in his arms, and began trudging in Hermione's direction. Luckily, the observant pair had not seen her yet.
Hermione's hand tensed on her wand, and she cast Blink.
The tapestry showing Barnabas the Barmy trying to teach trolls how to dance appeared in front of her. She turned to watch Filch continue to make his way towards the staircase and away from her.
After waiting until he was completely out of sight, she pivoted on her heel and faced the opposite wall. She paced in front of it three times, concentrating hard on what she needed.
Then the door to the Room of Hidden Things appeared.
Hermione smiled in relief. The last time she was here, the room had been destroyed by Fiendfyre.
She quickly entered. The room was just as she remembered. Piles and piles full of unorganized items. Some of which were precariously stacked to the ceiling. Generations of students had hidden objects here. She was baffled how the genius Tom Riddle thought this was a good place to hide his Horcrux, when proof that this room was accessible to others surrounded her.
Hermione cast Lumos, and carefully navigated through the narrow, meandering path between the piles of junk.
Voldemort was just too arrogant, to think himself the only person to have found one of Hogwarts deepest secrets. Perhaps he believed that even if someone found the room, they wouldn't seek out a priceless diadem amongst so many other more fascinating items. Like broken chairs, old broomsticks, and...was that an enormous stuffed troll she just walked by?
The magic in the room prevented her from summoning Ravenclaw's Diadem, but she had a decent memory, and had an idea where it was. She was there with Harry when he found it.
The room was immense, however, and everything was starting to look the same. She wasn't sure if perhaps there was magic that was turning her around, but she may be going in circles. She knew she had walked by the Vanishing Cabinet Draco Malfoy used to bring Death Eaters into Hogwarts once before, as she eyed the object in question with distaste.
Hermione was distracted. She stopped and concentrated on her memory, and continued searching.
After at least twenty minutes of pure frustration as she crept around various stacks, she found it, and it was worse than she remembered. Harry must have moved the diadem, because it wasn't perched on the bust of an ugly warlock now. Voldemort had placed it on top of a chipped female bust that suspiciously resembled Rowena Ravenclaw.
He couldn't have been more subtle about it? Granted, it was hidden in a completely unassuming stack with larger objects in front of it. She moved to grab it.
But then she hesitated.
What was her plan, exactly?
She impulsively came out here in the dead of night, and for what? She wasn't going to destroy it here and now. She had planned to collect all his existing Horcruxes and destroy them in one fell swoop with Fiendfyre. Originally, she intended to keep it in this chamber until she was ready to retrieve it, as it was likely the safest place to keep it for the time being, given that Harry didn't discover it until 1998.
All she knew was that she needed to feel as if she was still fighting. That she had a sense of power in this situation — the power to resist.
If she could just touch one of his Horcruxes, it would remind her of the evil he was capable of, and what she still needed to do.
A step in the right direction.
Voldemort had made five Horcruxes so far. Tom Riddle's diary was most likely with Abraxas Malfoy. Marvolo Gaunt's Ring should be at the Gaunt shack, as it was a symbolic place to keep it hidden.
Slytherin's Locket most likely hadn't been moved to the cave yet. So where did he keep it currently? Because he so strongly identified as Slytherin's heir, perhaps he kept it close? There was no way he would wear it. If someone managed to defeat him, say, with Fiendfyre, his body and Horcrux would perish together. Even if someone murdered him with a Killing Curse, they would be able to rip the Horcrux off his dead body and then find a way to destroy it.
Hufflepuff's Cup had been in Bellatrix Lestrange's dragon-guarded Gringotts Vault during her time. She closed her eyes briefly at the thought. Somehow, it bothered her that he valued Bellatrix enough to let her safeguard a piece of his precious soul. But she was still a student at this time. So where could it be now?
Hermione fixed her gaze on the Horcrux before her. She reached out again and touched the cool metal. Illusive darkness swirled within, but she had to be very attuned to it to detect any of it.
It was the only known relic belonging to Rowena Ravenclaw, and was said to bestow wisdom upon the wearer.
Revulsion twisted in her heart. Despite its sordid history, to see such an item tarnished by dark magic was a travesty. Hermione trailed a fingertip over the oval-shaped blue sapphire, and lightly traced the etched words — Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure. Sometimes she wished she had been sorted into Ravenclaw.
But she'd like to believe it was her courage, sense of justice, and idealism that landed her in Gryffindor, and thus in Harry's path.
But right now, she didn't feel very brave, and instead felt incredibly foolish.
And yes, one can be a Gryffindor and not be both.
Hermione slowly sank to the cold ground with the diadem in hand. She lowered her head and hugged her legs.
She was lost and confused. Voldemort had made it so easy. She was stuck in his web, and she didn't exactly want to leave, at least not yet. Not so early. She still had so much to learn from him.
He ensnared her in his beguiling weave of knowledge, his deep understanding of her, and the way he consistently challenged her to be better.
But like a spider, he was on the verge of paralyzing her, and she couldn't allow it to happen, or he'd consume her whole, eventually.
She needed to unravel all the threads he'd weaved into her.
Hermione understood that she was being manipulated, but her mind was just too obtuse to accept the truth.
She needed assistance. A boost. She knew what she needed.
Wisdom.
Without hesitation, Hermione placed the Horcrux on top of her head, allowing the weight of it to settle into her curls. It was a perfect fit.
Nothing happened.
She didn't know what she had expected. Black magic had likely destroyed any magical properties the diadem had possessed. Or, at the very least, perverted it beyond recognition.
Disappointed, and yet strangely relieved and feeling more than a little silly for her impulsiveness, she reached to remove the diadem from her head.
But then her vision swam, and suddenly, she was falling.
A/N: Thank you to those who left me nice comments. They're encouraging and make me happy. I hope you guys enjoyed this update!