Hermione was nervous about the lesson the following weekend. She didn't know what it would entail, but she knew it wasn't going to be easy.
Abraxas was waiting for her as soon as she arrived at Malfoy Manor via floo. With a wan smile, he motioned for her to follow him. They proceeded directly to the dueling room. He gave her a nod and motioned to the door before turning away.
"Wait, Abraxas, I just wanted to let you know that I'll be attending your Christmas Masquerade Ball."
He ducked his head and smiled charmingly. She only just realized that his cheeks were dimpled.
"Excellent. I look forward to seeing you there. Hermione, you...have something in your hair." He reached up and appeared to pluck at something from behind her head, delicately brushing over her ear.
It was a crimson red rose.
Her eyes lit up with a curious joy. It was so reminiscent of muggle sleight-of-hand tricks, she was stunned for a moment. It was also the first time Abraxas actually presented to her, in person, one of his beautiful roses.
With an expectant smile on his face, Abraxas extended it to her.
Hesitantly, she took it.
"Ah!" Prickly sharp pain shot through her finger. The rose was full of thorns. A splotch of blood welled up from the puncture in her thumb.
"Hermione! Please accept my apologies." Abraxas quickly conjured a white handkerchief, took her hand in his, and pressed it firmly against the wound. "I had summoned the rose just now, straight from the garden, and I neglected to remove the thorns first. I was...overeager." He murmured a healing incantation for her, and removed the bloodied handkerchief from her hand. He moved to pocket the soiled fabric.
A casual action. To anyone except her.
Hermione snatched his wrist. Her eyes darted to his face. Abraxas looked puzzled, but there was something inexplicable in that expression.
She didn't trust it.
"Please, allow me to clean that for you," she cooed. "It's my fault, for dirtying it. Scourgify." All traces of her blood vanished from the cloth, restoring it to a pristine white. But she only spared it a glance. She was studying Abraxas Malfoy's face extremely carefully.
Hermione had read many books on blood magic and is much too aware of its power to allow anyone to make off with even a drop of her blood.
She met his gaze full-on, and watched his eyes cool almost imperceptibly, before he smiled again, dimples as deep as ever. His Adam's apple bobbed within his throat. Once again, she was reminded that Abraxas Malfoy was not the lamb he pretended to be.
It was unfortunate he didn't realize that he was dealing with a hunter as well.
"Of course, Hermione, as attentive as ever. Thank you. Please, enjoy your lesson today. I'll see you at the ball."
Abraxas turned around and walked away. She stared after him.
What did he have planned for her blood?
Hermione lowered her gaze to the rose in her hand. She handled it with caution as its numerous thorns were quite sharp. She lowered her nose to its petals, and allowed its exquisite fragrance to fill her senses.
This rose, she intended to keep. Just as a reminder that there were enemies all around her.
She knocked on the door to announce her arrival, and opened it.
Lord Voldemort sat comfortably on the sofa, his ankle crossed over his knee and his arm draped across the back of the seat. He turned to face her as she entered the room, and she drew the rose to her side and lowered it.
However, he wasn't looking at her all. His frigid eyes were fixed on the rose, the one she opened the door still holding up to her nose. He blinked once and flicked his impassive gaze up to her face, and granted her a callous smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"You're late today. I have a meeting later, so this lesson won't take long."
Hermione approached him and placed the rose down on the small end table nearby.
"What do you have planned today, sir?"
"Are you still interested in learning unsupported flight from me?"
"Yes," she answered emphatically. Finally.
"Today is merely a test. If you succeed, I'll teach you the week following Malfoy's Christmas celebration.
She just knew she was going to suffer today. "What kind of test?" What fresh torment was she to experience now?
"Do not resist, Hermione." He aimed his yew wand at her, and began casting.
He levitated her, and she sailed through the air to the center of the room. Her world soon shifted on its axis, her thick, unbound curls hanging straight down, seemingly floating through the charged, dense air.
The surface of the ground was a long distance away. She could see it, the blackness of the marble and its gleaming radiance, but it was through an intricate mist of magic shimmering through the air.
Her hand twitched as she clutched her wand tightly. He said not to fight it. She didn't dare risk displeasing him now, when she was so close to learning one of magic's deepest mysteries.
Thick, shadowy black ropes floated in front of her, sliding and brushing around her legs through the fabric of her trousers. The ropes crossed and looped around her ankles and calves, sending a tingling sensation up her legs. They twisted in and out between her thighs, forming bulbous knots along the way.
She choked back a gasp as it crisscrossed and tightened around her groin, buttocks, and hips, digging into her flesh. It came to a halt just short of her navel.
Her legs were intricately bound, and she was suspended midair. The inversion was disconcerting, and she failed to see how this could possibly be a test of her ability to master flight.
Blood rushed to her head, making her slightly dizzy.
Even from this vantage point, she could see Voldemort's calculating, crooked smile. There was a sense of cruel detachment in it. As if he was punishing her, for some imagined slight.
He drew closer to her, and tipped his head back to gaze at her hovering several feet above him.
"When I invented this spell for unsupported flight, I realized that core strength was critical to stay in the air. So, we'll see if you took my training regimen seriously, and if your muscles could withstand the load. If you hadn't trained as hard as you did, you would very quickly find yourself falling instead of flying the instant you cast the spell."
Slowly, he backed away from her. "You are to free yourself, without using any spells to directly slice, vanish, burn through, or unwind the magical rope restraining you. You are not allowed to use any fire spells. You are not to allow the rope to come into contact with your hands, or it will burn you."
"How? How am I supposed to do that?"
"I'm sure a witch as intelligent as yourself will figure it out."
A test for core strength? She began to fold her body in half, a massive exertion, to be sure, until she could touch her shoes. Her core burned slightly, as she released, allowing her upper body to fall back as her curls swung above the ground.
"Is there a time limit?" she called out.
"Yes." With a flick of his wrist, he aimed at the ground directly below her. Magical energy streamed out of his wand, and she heard him speaking in Parseltongue.
Hermione was startled to hear vicious hissing below her. She tilted her head back, and with horror, realized that he had conjured a pit of snakes. There had to be at least a hundred of them, writhing and slithering on top of one another.
The floor rippled. Jaws dropped wide as a handful of the serpents lunged after her. But she was far enough from them, and her hair was thankfully out of their reach.
"You will be lowered incrementally over time. The instant you free yourself, it'll all be over. I won't let you fall," he said.
Sadistic. Fucking. Bastard.
The pressure building up in her head was beginning to give her a headache.
She could feel her heartbeat throbbing in her brain.
This wasn't going to be easy. What was she supposed to do? She couldn't use magic directly on the rope. Her hands were free, but she couldn't touch the rope either.
But she might be able to...
White noise filled her head.
Every time she was forced to recall what she did as a novice Auror in the year 2000, it was like ripping a scab off and digging a dirty nail into the sore until it started bleeding anew.
Voldemort had an uncanny ability to make her confront all the things that made her weak in the past.
The ropes need to be sliced with a sharp object.
But she didn't have anything like that on her. Fortunately, her magic wasn't depleted this time, and she wouldn't be breaking any of the rules he set.
She flicked her wand towards the small table and cast nonverbally.
Accio Abraxas' rose.
It sailed towards her, and she levitated it in front of her upside-down face. She swiftly examined its structure and swished her wand rapidly in tiny, methodical circles, transfiguring the rose.
She watched as it morphed little by little into a beautiful, plant-like knife. The edge was bone-sharp, and cruelly serrated, with vines spanning the length of it. The handle was crimson red and silky, petal-soft.
Hermione took a second to glance at Voldemort. His brows were slightly knitted, as he studied her transfiguration of the rose.
She plucked her masterpiece out of the air, bent ninety degrees at her middle against gravity, and latched the sharp edge beneath the rope between her ankles, and began sawing.
She had made the edge as sharp as she could, but the rope was exceptionally strong.
Undeterred, she continued on.
When part of the rope at her ankles snapped and released, she exhaled and lowered her head back to the ground. Her abdomen burned from the challenging, static position.
She looked over at Voldemort again, who was just leaning against his seat, as if watching a show he wasn't particularly interested in.
Without looking away, Hermione tossed her wand aside, so she could use both of her hands for improved balance and strength.
He shifted his weight and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. A tiny smile graced his lips.
This was psychological warfare.
She clenched her abdomen, and bowed her body again, repeating the laborious motion of slicing through the dense magical rope. One by one, the loops around her calves gradually loosened.
In the back of her mind, she understood she was being lowered towards a pit full of sharp fangs, but all her attention was focused on the ropes.
She was rapidly running out of physical stamina, but luckily didn't need to bend as much when she eventually made it beyond her knees. Her arms were sore beyond belief now.
She still had to bend at the waist, and started to feel a stabbing, acidic pain zing through the muscles of her core. Her back ached fiercely, but she remained determined.
When she dropped back down to take a moment's respite, she felt movement at the tips of her hair. The snakes were closing in, surging at her. The hissing was louder now, and she couldn't help but panic.
She suddenly felt herself drop another few inches, and her insides churned unpleasantly at the sensation.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Voldemort rising from his seat.
At this point, it felt as if she had swallowed fire, and a conflagration had erupted deep within her muscles. She was working rapidly against the ropes looped around her thighs, and the sweet relief that accompanied slicing through another one gave her the motivation to keep going.
But when she approached the apex of her legs, it became more difficult to find a notch into which she could insert the knife.
Of course, why hadn't she considered it before?
She slid the flat side of her transfigured rose-knife under the rope at her hips, and rotated it ninety degrees. The non-cutting edge dug into her flesh, but her thick trousers protected her. She quickly cast vibrational energy at the knife, and allowed it to sever the dark fibers for her.
Strange, that sometimes her mind worked like a muggle, at least for the first part. She physically cut through the rope at her legs.
But it was also muggle science and technology that sparked the notion to use vibrational energy directly on the knife, so that it may complete the slicing for her.
The inventions of muggles had practical applications to magic. Muggles were innovative and inquisitive.
She was a muggle-born witch, and had the best of both worlds.
She should never forget it.
The final piece of rope snapped, and she buckled at the release.
She was falling. A sense of vertigo.
But then she landed, much sooner than expected, and not into a pit of snakes or onto the ground.
Hermione had dropped straight into Lord Voldemort's arms, where he had repositioned her horizontally, and held her against his warm chest. One arm was across her back, fingers wrapped around her ribs, while the other arm was tucked beneath her knees.
She looked below them, and the snakes were still there. Voldemort stood in the center of the writhing pit, as they slithered at his feet, docile and calm. The enraged hissing had shifted into a strangely sensual hissing.
Hermione was flushed and sweating. She shut her eyes, fatigue overwhelming her. Tendrils of hair clung to her neck and temples, and she panted heavily in an attempt to catch her breath.
"Did I pass your test then?" she asked, her voice raspy.
She must have spent at least an hour trying to release herself.
A soft hum rumbled through his chest, followed by a dark, pleased chuckle. "Yes. You did an excellent job. I wasn't expecting the additional magic at the end. It was quite...ingenious, little witch. Outstanding."
Hermione's low abdomen constricted at those words — at his praising, gentle voice. She felt warm. Too warm.
Feverish even.
It was most likely the result of her strenuous ordeal. Her muscles were throbbing from overuse.
"Hermione, tell me, is your core on fire right now?"
She flushed harder at his words, and stared at him. Wide-eyed and guilty.
She was going to murder him.
Hermione became aware that she was still holding the knife in her hand. Her fingers were stiff and cramped, but she lifted her sore arm, and held the knife in her lap, eyeing it cautiously.
Voldemort's exposed, pale throat...was right there. She could just —
"That's how it feels after flying, even for a short amount of time. Now you see why I needed you to develop your core strength," he said, his voice low and soothing. He completely disregarded the knife she held tightly in her lap.
She dangled her hand off the side, releasing her stiff fingers one by one over the smooth, soft handle, and the heavy knife fell to the ground.
If the furious hissing was any indication, it must have landed and slashed a snake.
Hermione observed Voldemort carefully. There was something primal in the way he looked at her. She didn't know how else to describe it, and she didn't know what to do when she had his undivided attention like this.
Her entire frame shivered. She wanted freedom. Release.
She might get too comfortable there in his arms.
Voldemort held her like she was somehow weightless, when she knew that she was burdened with an inescapable past — one that he would detest beyond imagination.
Rolling her shoulders, she leaned away from him, breaking eye contact.
She'd rather tumble into a pit of snakes and take her chances than lie there submissively in his arms.
But she realized he wasn't looking at her face anymore. He appeared to be focused on her dangling legs. The fabric of her trouser legs had ridden up past her ankles, exposing half of her calves.
Rosy, thick indentations crisscrossed her skin, forming startling patterns across her legs.
She tore her eyes away from the markings to observe Voldemort's face again. The sight seemed to have distracted him.
"Sir?"
With lowered lashes, his eyes seemed to travel slowly up the length of her legs. Her thighs and knees were covered, but she felt naked under his heavy-lidded gaze.
As though he could just see the rest of the lurid marks on her thighs left behind by his shadowy ropes.
A slow, lazy smile teased at his lips, as he blinked languidly and focused on her face. "Yes, Hermione?"
Hermione relaxed her muscles, allowing her head to fall against his shoulder and her body to go limp.
Her outrage at being bound and forced to free herself in such an undignified manner, resulting in his magic leaving imprints upon her flesh, despite its impermanence, curled and died in her throat.
Some battles just couldn't be won with brute force alone.
"I hope you found my performance pleasing today, and I look forward to your next lesson. In the meantime, I'll be spending a lot of time training my core strength to ensure that I'm well-prepared for it."
The muscles in his arms stiffened.
"I think you'll be quite satisfied, with the lesson," he responded.
"Of course, sir."
But she just couldn't let it be.
Her hand slid to her side, and she summoned the knife off the ground. Without looking at it, she transfigured it back into a pristine, thorny rose.
Hermione held the rose Abraxas had given her to her nose, inhaled deeply, and gazed at Voldemort with laughing eyes.
His grip tightened on her body for a split second, and with a cruel twist of his lips, he dropped her.
Half expecting it, Hermione landed safely on her feet with a spell. She quickly summoned her wand into her hand and aimed it towards the ground.
Vipera Evanesca.
Hermione vanished his snakes into non-being with artistic slashing wand movements back and forth through the air.
With the hissing gone, the room was now deathly silent.
The subtle weave of dark magic that clung to him had amplified, giving him that look once more — as if he were part of a blurred photograph.
"I'm sorry, sir, but I'm not very fond of snakes," she explained.
"Are you certain about that, Hermione?" Despite the gleam in his eye, Voldemort's face was neutrally inquisitive.
He wasn't convinced, and neither was she.
A/N: Thanks for the reviews! This one was fun for me to write, and I hope you liked it too.
Still like Abraxas? I somehow like him a bit more like this. He is a Slytherin, after all.
What did you think of Voldemort's little test?
More on Auror Hermione's past in the next chapter!