Beta: Luciun Weasley-Ogg (kiss for your courage to fight against my experimental English.)

If some sentences still confuse you... blame me. I wrote it that way on purpose

Chapter 11: What remained from him…

He must have been waiting for her. When she went to him, before she was able to think or do anything, again he forced her to take the bans from him.

Afterwards, he'd been sitting on his bed for a quiet while, rubbing his arms and legs as if he was trying to get rid off something irritating, itching. It looked a bit, as if had been attacked by an ant colony and was now trying to shake them off.

As he finished that odd looking activity, he swung he legs over the edge of the bed, grabbed his toothbrush and toothpaste, which both lay on his bed table, and began to brush his teeth.

He by no means deserved it, but Hermione was unable to bring herself to starve her "child", and so everyday she brought him some sandwiches, fruits, raw veggies and a few bottles of pumpkin-juice or milk.

Greedy and without a word of thanks, with no regard for her at all, he'd wrestled the canvas bag away from Hermione s hands and dug around with his long, skeleton-fingers as excited in it, as if he was a child that just had found a giant box, full of his favourite sweets.

The bag contained not only his breakfast, but also diverse books, cause she´d intended going to the park after her work and utilising the sunshine to read.

Relieved to the core, it occurred to her, that she hadn't put one of her countless Muggle- or Witches-Magazines about scientifically founded child-education in.

Until now, he'd ignored all her trials to animate him with might and main. The whole thing was already so embarrassing , that he didn't deem it necessary to make fun of it.

But anyway, she hadn't brought those books along today and so all he could do was scrabble around in a disordered bundle of schoolbooks, and none of which seemed to attract his attention. But suddenly he paused, he appeared to be astonished and fraught, while he hesitantly pulled an old, yellowed looking book in a black leather binding out. The book, Hermione had retrieved in…(well summoned from Dumbledores Bureau) the horcurx book.

His long, white fingers clasped the book, while he swayed the book slowly back and forth . with a look of amazement on his face.

Now he clasped the book with one hand to his bent knees, while the other hand stroked almost tenderly along the edge of the cover

The book opened up, he flipped through it, searching for something and as he found it, his fingers glided as gently across letters, as if he didn't want to read, but rather fondle the book.

"Where did you get this?" Voldemort asked, with a threatening expression on his face, that didn't seem to fit with his gentle movements. Once again she felt like a rabbit, sitting in front of the lurking serpent.

„It's from Dumbledores bureau. After Dumbledores death i used a summoning charm to bring it to me. But I think he wanted us to get it, otherwise he'd have protected it better." Hermione heard herself give a much more detailed answer, than she actually wanted to.

Their eyes met, she wanted to break off the eye-contact, to turn her face away from him but she didn't manage it. Again the world around the young women became blurred. She was in a tunnel, she didn´t perceived anytghing to right or to her left. Odours disappointed, noises became silent, feeling faded away… Everything in and around her was washed away, as if they both were jumped into a deep red sea, where every perception, expect for his eyes, trailed off.

Only his eyes, deeper and deeper she was engulfed in this red. Falling down somewhere. Was sucked in. Around her appeared blurred pictures. Shining colour clouds swam trough the red, thickened again to indistinct memories which showed people to her. People she maybe knew sometime. A long time ago. Maybe she even saw herself. Who could tell it?

And as he spoke again, the voice came not from him but from a point deep in herself. "Good. Leave it to me. I will read therein later on."

As he turned his attention back towards the book , she snapped out her her trance back into reality again. He had done it again, and it was so eerie and strange. As if she´d left her own body while he used legilimency and had surrendered her mind to him.

The book was laid aside, then he directed his attention back to the small, canvas bag, and looked, shook and touched it from all sides, pryingly. "Who put the extension charm on this bag?" for the first time his voice did not sound deprecating, but sounded almost complimentary

.

A bashful smile played about her lips, as she, answered unfortunately much squeakier than she had practised at home. "i did it myself. Its just an old bookbag ive had since school I charmed it last year, cause it was important to take as many undetected things along as possible." Her eyes were shining with expectancy and hope for the praise his voice had just promised. But that didn't come, instead of that Voldemort threw the bag towards to her and moved a bit away from her, as if he thought the magic of the mudblood were toxic.

Moderately disappointed, if unsurprised, Hermione stowed her bag away in her cloak, and sat herself on a chair which stood in the opposite side of the room.

Two, remarkably high white metal-chairs stood in the room. Hermiones legs dangled trough the air as she sat on one of them, but they were exactly fitting to his long legs, what brought her to the assumption, that he'd changed the height of the chair…charmed once more, without a wand…

One chair stood besides his bed, the other one, the one Hermione sat on now, besides the white cast iron bathtub, with the silvery serpent-legs.

Here she sat and watched Voldemort carefully above the edge of her book, while he still sitting on his bed, washed himself and brushed his teeth.

Degraded to a chamber-maid, she'd done her work rather fast today. All she had to do was to make his bed and to supply his food. The room cleaned and disinfected itself in the night. Dirt and germs decomposed on their own in the early morning and were soaked up.

Lord Voldemort, who had halfway regained his strength, was even without a wand he had regained his magical skills surprisingly well. Probably much better, than the Aurors and healer expected him to be able to. Otherwise they would base additional guards, not only out front, but also inside his room, wouldn't they?

While he soaped himself awkwardly down, a newspaper floated besides his head whose words seemed to read themselves out. It was not a human voice that sounded in the room and reverberated from the walls. The spoken words sounded like the rustling of paper. So eerie rustling, crinkling and crumpling noised filed the room. Hermione couldn't help being proud of her talented child. But at the same time she was worried, cause what would happen if this talent would one day guide him to a way to take her wand and subjugate her?

Voldemort had never tried to take the wand away from her. He knew about the security-charms which lay on it, but she also knew what he spent every hour, minute even every second thinking about a way to evade those bans. He wouldn't let the door, leading to his freedom, stay closed for one minute longer than necessary

After towelling himself off with great effort, he let himself drop back into the white (strange, but Hermione colouring never lasted very long) pillows to eat something finally.

The "Secrets of the Darkest Art" lay on his bent knees, thoughtfully while chewing he thumbed through the book, which had became his destiny

But after a while, he became agitated, wanted to move and tried to arise from the bed. Rather painfully, after the long time of lying idle, his muscles didn't want to work for him But in the end he managed it

Voldemort walked, no he rather staggered, through the room. lent on his weak arms exhaustedly , on the stand besides his bed for a while. Then he tottered a few steps towards the washbasin, which he clutched seeking help. Always keen on staying upright.

He let go and staggered some more steps back to the bed. Actually out of breath and on shaky knees, he let go of the securing contact and made it up to the cast iron bathtub, without any help. He was so clumsy and uncoordinated , that he'd almost fallen into it. He paused for a moment, sitting on the tub, then he went on stumbling, almost falling down, back to the chair that stood next to his bed.

It took a while. He practised and practised, but in spite of that, Hermione could recognise pride and satisfaction in his usually so serious looking face.

He was like a child, he looked like a little child that just had learned to walk, the way lurched around and explored every corner of the room. But by doing this, he was so ungainly, that he ran against everything that was in, his way. A few times Hermione almost jumped up to help him, because he threatened to fall down. But he did not fall but managed to keep going, and while his eyes were shining with pride and joy about his (re)learned independence, he looked more than ever like a little boy… at least, in Hermiones eyes.

After he made it to the bathtub again, even more exhausted as the first time, his strength left him finally.

Soaking wet with sweat (Hermione decided to rub down her child's back later on,) he was unable to go even one single step on.

It costed him all his strength, as he pulled himself up the tub to sit himself on it. The hands were pressed on the knees, arduously fighting for air, while trying to get his body at least halfway upright, he turned to Hermione. „How did you hear about the horcuxes? I´ve never spoken about it."

Hermione preferred to answer him voluntary, rather than give him a reason to force an entry into her mind again. "Dumbledore knew about it. He had the suspicion since that thing with your diary. But he also secured himself informations from other sources. He collected memories of your past in his pensive. Of course he knew some things, but he also asked Professor Slughorn for example." She watched Voldemort getting more and more tense from the corner of her eyes "And he secured himself memories from other people. The Gaunts for example."

"WHAT?" Voldemort shouted appalled.

As if she had been caught while doing something licentious, Hermione blushed. "From old court files I assume. Professor Dumbledore had been researching very thoroughly. So he learned about the locket, the ring, Helga Hufflepuff's cup…".

Was he now annoyed, saddened or was he thinking about something completely different? In any case, he seemed to fumble for words. It was very painful to know, that Dumbledore and Harry Potter of all people, during their espionage-efforts, had seen things and people he was never allowed to meet. His mother for example. But he would never give himself away by speaking such things out loud …she knew that.

With an annoyed growl he tried to dissuade Hermione from brooding about him and hissed snakelike to her. "I see. I've often thought about how children like you could disclose my secrets. Dumbledore, of course. The puppet master who used you like toys.".

That hurt. It hurt, because it was the truth. At least to a point, cause Hermione was sure, that Dumbledore did all those things with noble intentions. "That may be. But some things we found out ourself. I read the horcrux book when I got it and I have to say…it has appalled me." Hermione confessed, calm and collected again, to the seriously icy faced, pale men.

"You don't understand anything about might or greatness. You´re to weak. Arn´t you?"the tone of his voice was so gentle, but its meaning so contemptuous. Then a bit louder, in his usual commanding tone „ "So, and now you will help me back. I need a rest. You will free me every day from now on. I won't give you the satisfaction of seeing me so weak."

Trembling he rose and leaned himself on Hermione. It required lots of strength to keep her balance while having him leaning on her arm at the same time. But they tottered few steps and the completely exhausted Voldemort laid himself back down into his prison-bed.

He simply saddened her, so angry, stubborn and undiscerning as he was. He had brought so much sorrow to all people, but he didn't care about it. He didn't even conceive the seriousness of his own situation.

Hermione sat beside Voldemort on the edge of the bed she looked like a mother who wanted to tell a bedtime-story to her child. But her eyes were sad as she tried to take the hand of the ghostlike man, who hit her hand aside with an annoyed snarl . "I´ve read so much about it and everything was terrible. Why did you made those horcruxes?"

"To gain immortality and to expand my power. The most important things in life." answered Voldemort in such a unctuous manner, as if he were a priest on a pulpit.

"Oh Tom, have you never –don't look like that, from now an I will call you Tom- thought about what would become of you after all that? What would remain of you?" Hermione lamented.

"What do you mean?" Voldemort appeared to be honestly surprised, as he moved a little away from her and permitted Hermione to plump up the bedspread and tuck him in up to his waist.

"What has remained from you? So many roads were open to you. You were so handsome, clever, talented and promising in the past. "the things you could have achieved… You could have been happy, you could have had a life, if you'd only utilised your skills more properly. "

Voldemorts eyes sparkled with anger, as he sat straight up in his bed again , almost defiantly. "What are you talking about? I am the greatest wizard on earth. No one was up to my power." while speaking, he tapped himself with his forefinger on the chest to corroborate his words, over and over again. "My foes, I've prostrated and defeated all of them. When i fell in the end, it was only because of my own carelessness, no other human being was a match for me. I have outclassed everyone else. And if I would have extended my power, I'd only outplayed myself."

Hermione shook her head and tried to make clear to him, how insane that all was. "Did you never wanted to have a home or a job? Yes you'd pulled the strings, but always in the underground. Did you never wanted to have a family? Maybe Children?"

"The immortal don't need any progeny. I myself am everything I need to attain my aims. I need no one who is closed to me. You…" and he laughed at her spitefully. "you worms, you are weak. Therefore the weak gang together in packs, because they can't survive alone. But I" and again he pointed at himself, even prouder than before. "I'm strong enough to be my own master. More power has never been amassed by any other human. I am legend. I couldn't have achieved more in my life."

"A life that's going to be over soon. A life that's made you powerful, yet not happy just obsessed." Hermione thronged him softly.

Voldemort went increasingly louder, talked himself into rage. "You're a foolish child, How do you know how my life has been? Perhaps it's ending soon, and don't be certain about this, but even then I've still reached every height a man can reach. Even more" he crossed his arms and nodded bracingly to her "i'm more than a man. Men are weak, I am more than that."

He really saddened her. If he would only realise what really had happened to him. "If you'd been courageous enough to be human, you could have lived on and wouldn't be died in the attempt to become a god. Lonely, sick and abandoned."

Voldemort swallowed, not with grief but rather because he thought frantically about how he could punish her for those words, without loosing his servant. But before he found the words, Hermione continued with her considerations. "And at what price? I know what will become of you. You´d fallen in this battle, twice. And the first time you and Harry were there, there you will go back soon. What was still left from you and your soul?"

„BE QUIET! THAT WAS A DREAM. THE BOY INTRUDED INTO MY MIND AND WATCHED MY DREAMS!" Voldemort screamed with rage, but was unable to silence Hermione.

"No, that wasn't a dream and you know it. You've read about horcruxes and you knew what would became of you."

"ENOUGH!" he fumed, roaring with anger while his eyes seemed to try to jump out of their sockets and there was madness were glowing in them.

"If you had only been strong enough to be more than powerful, then you might still had a chance to be something. But now, nothing remained from you. Neither in life nor in death."

„BE QUIET!" Voldemort shouted as swift as an arrow his snow-white hand rocket upwards an clasped her throat, pressed it so hard so could only give a suffocating gargle, while her little hands tried in vain to unclench his tight grip. Voldemort yanked her forwards so her face was so close to his, that the tip of her nose nearly touched his nostrils of his horcrux-transmuted face. Hot breath hit her face her in fits and starts, while his voice shook her eardrums. "BE QUIET! OR I WILL KILL YOU!"

And then...Hermione smiled. Voldemort was so surprised at this, he loosend his grip and stared at her.

Weeks ago, then he could have frightened her. She'd really feared him. But not now. Hasn't his reaction shown how afraid he was of her being right? How desperately he tried to cling to his life? That he didn't want to resign himself to his death? No…he would do nothing to her, because he didn't want to starve or to die of thirst. And he was "scared to death" by the thought of what had happened to him, as he stayed with Harry in the Twilight zone at Harry's king's cross.

This Assurance in her mind, she rose the wand and taped at his forehead to ban him again. Paralysed from the throat down, he toppled backwards like a sack of potatoes. Now he couldn't resist her she laid her hand once more on her child's hand and smiled at him. "You'll can't do it. You can't get rid of me. And you can;t stop me form knowing, that you will be nothing but torn without remorse.

"Maybe we are weak worms in fact. Harry, Ron and me. We didn't had some great plan like you or Dumbledore. But we also won't be lonely."

"It´s lonely at the top. You no nothing about that, girl." Voldemort preached at her again.

"But why should a want to get to the top, if there's no one I could share the things a have achieved with? You and Dumbledore, you had so many things in common. But he was kind-hearted, a better man than you. Maybe he died alone, but he still left people who loved him. And in the end, NOTHING remains for you."

Hermione arose, to leave her child alone. He was desperately angry, but after foretaste of his life after death he knew very well, she was right. Hermione decided not to leave him behind with this thought in his mind. So she wanted to give something else to consider about.

"You wanted to give me legilimeny-lessons. Monday? Is it difficult?"

Seemingly grateful for that discretion, Voldemort grimaced to a grin again. "It's rather a question of giftedness than a question of difficulty." And his matchless "You're only a mudblood" glance told her, that he deeply doubted this giftedness in her.

Well, he should be surprised. Who was she? Just anybody? A worm?

As if. She was Hermione Granger.

And when Hermione, guided be the rattling of the trolley, left the room, she made a new resolve. She would try, no matter how hopeless it may was in Dumbledores mind, to bring a bit humanity back into this man.

If he could realise his situation, realise how much he'd hurt himself, maybe then he was able to see what cruelties he had done to all the other people.

And wasn't she right as she said that something was worth to fighting for?