I´ll post the next chapter, if i´ll post more chapters, on 25 of October
Chapter 14: Vermin
As Hermione entered the sickroom, he still lay in the same way she'd left him. But considerably wetter. A side effect of the morphia, he must have been terribly sweating. His clothes adhered so close to his thin body, that she even saw his rips through his black shirt, which shoved themselves out through his pale skin. And he drooled, while he was sleeping.
Hermione felt pure nauseation, as she commemorated the almost caressing goodbye of the last day, so she gave him the slap in the face, she'd missed to give him yesterday. Thereupon the dripping creature began to move.
„Get up!" Hermione snarled at him gruffy.
Voldemort appeared totally perplexed, his pupils still seemed to swim around in his red, glassy eyes. Unhandy he turned on his stomach and pressed himself up on all fours. He crept staggering around like a newborn foal, till he lost his balance and fell sideward out if the bed.
A loud shout of pain echoed trough the room, but now he was outright awake. Hermione leaned herself easy on the wall crossed arms and watched him struggling on his feet with.
He had to cling himself on the bed in order not tilting over again. He still breathed strangely loud, while he passed her, hand over hand along his bedside locker, to get to the sink.
The breath-taking smell that confronted her, as he passed by her, was disgusting. He´d surley spilled litres of sweat, last night. Hermiones pushed herself nauseated against the yellow dyed stonewall, tried to press herself as thin as possible against the wall, as the skinny man stumbled along the wall, and just managed it with his both hands to catch himself on the basin.
The head hanging downwards, his glance wandered first to her, then over to his bed and thereafter back again to the sink. "Since when are you here?" the cold, rasping voice of Voldemort snarled at her.
His glance wandered seeking through the room, Of course, he was hungry. He might waited for his servant to serve him, like every day, his meal…new clothes and fresh bedclothes.
„Get me something to put on." he commanded harsh to her, while he, still a bit wobbly, ribbed his sticking clothes off.
Hermione averted her gaze. He knew no senses of shame, when he was dealing with her. That was no sign of intimacy, he felt not ashamed about his nakedness, because he regarded Hermione just as another unimportant piece of furniture. A servant, not worth to be bashful because of her.
Hermione grabbed into her cloak mutely, pulled the bag out and dumped the contents on the bed. Tiny things became big in seconds, like blown up. In spite of her anger, she had to smile about that sight.
Voldemorts fresh clothes were thrown ahead of his feed. He noticed her no longer, brushed, still half asleep, his teeth.
Sometimes the tooth-brush didn't hit the narrow lips so that his face was coated with white toothpaste strips, because he'd slid off for several times.
There he stood, the heir of Slytherin. The mass-murderer, the madman. The poor evil in human shape.
Did she forget how it was like, how it felt, to wear his horcruxes? The way the tiny bit of the destroyed soul, that was looked in there, changed and dominated them? And over there stood the rest of that evil…how could it happen, that she'd ever seen something else in him as a monster?
The silvery tap was turned on and cold water dabbled into the white stone basin.
Voldemort stretched his both hands there under, first he let his hands be washed around by the water, after that he laid his hands funnel-shaped together, bent forward and spattered himself with the collected water a few times into his face. He turned the water warmer, snatched behind him and fished a flannel and liquid soap from the trolley and started to lather himself.
„You see, I´m, just had our first meeting in my mind." Hermione launched into a conversation. Voldemorts head jerked shortly toward her, he nealy appeared embarresed about his then state. „I was ill." He just gave back.
„Oh no." Contradicted the young women, which moved herself away from the wall and sat on the slightly humid hospital bed to watch him now all the more attentive, during his personal hygiene. "No… I just asked myself, if i´d seen you to the first time while you murdered Mooney or in Bathilda Bagshots house. Well, we'd drunk polyjuice potion. Harry and me. Maybe it's easer for you to remember our next meeting. During the battle, yes?"
Hermione tried hard sounding composedly, but that succeed mere rudimental to her. Those terrible pictures, that used to appear in her mind every night before she fell asleep, were now they were talking about them, so gruesome present and threatening, as if they'd still were fighting against each other.
Without pausing, he continued to wash himself. But Hermiones accusations had amused him and he chuckled. "Oh right. Sure, we´re old acquaintances."
Hermiones voice got louder, she lost her temper and began to shout. „WHY AREN´T YOU DIED, AS THE CURSE HAS HIT YOU? YOU ININCARNATE PEST!" the anger burst out of her.
The wall beside her began to gleam in a gentle lime green. Every time he got angry, the mood flower changed it's colour and started to shine in a appeasing, blue light. This light intermingled with the luscious sun-yellow of the walls and bathed the room around them in the colour of slytherin.
"Do you actually know, why you'd slept so peaceful yesterday?" Hermione went on, and couldn't restrain a maliciously laughter. Voldemort froze, he might had already thought about that, but before he could venture a guess, Hermione enlightened him delightfully.
„We've poisoned you." She gave out with manifestly satisfaction in her voice. The snake-like head turned slowly into her direction.
Insecurity reflected from his face. That sight of the usually so unemotionally appearing lord, satisfied her to the core and gave her the strength, to speak on chattily, as if she'd just spread the newest hospital-gossip to him.
"Well, to be true…actually is was only the charge-nurses idea. She'd put the morphia into the vanilla-probe bottle. A kind surprise for me… The good women has pity on me. She didn't expect me put up with having to do with something" scornful frowns glided over his body "like you.!"
„She ´d drugged me with morphin?" asked the tall man calmy, almost gentle, but the just now greenish walls stained increasingly turquoise. It looked, as if they would stand in the heart of a pool in big swimming bath. The mood flower shone more intensive, the blue glow became stronger.
„Oh come on. What do you expect? You'd wiped her whole family out." Hermione commented his indignation equanimously. The addressed onepaused in his motions, lay the flannel in his hand slowly on the washbasin and turned around to her. "Whose?"
„Nurse Helens. She took a blood sample from you last week. Her husband had worked for the minister. Her husband and her children, you'd extinguished her whole family. You might remember at that?" she asked pointedly sounding easy-going. Voldemort crossed his arms, but stayed on his spot, lurking, at the basin. Seemed assessing how much of her words were the truth and how much provocation.
The young Gryffindor clapped with the flat of her hand on her knee cheerfully . Smiled indulging, preformed a throwaway-gesture and placated pacifying, while she explained with an with polemic dripping voice. "Ah…don't rack your brain about that. Yes, that has to be hard… I mean…you had a great deal with eradicating whole areas. That was definitely enough work. Sometime it has to be enough. How could anyone expect from you, also memorizing your victims." An encouraging smile towards Voldemort, a nodding and a casual legs crossing gave her the impression of just talking about a failed mincemeat-hotpot.
Her counterparts unfixed his arms, laid the on hand on the basin and moved the other hand shortly across his mouth. As she saw his mouth again, appeared a smile on his skull-like face. Yes, the mouth smiled but the eyes glared so threatening to her, as if he'd tried to burn her with his looks.
„Yes." He launched as friendly as she did into answering, while he approached to her with elegant swaying steps. "You're right. Why should anyone take the trouble, to deal with the waste disposal? Fine, that you'd finally realized that. Oh yes, now I'm remembering." He added with a whiff of pride, as he crouched down in front of Hermione and looked into her brown eyes. "Mudbloods. The whole family. Not really a whorty meal to my poor Nagini. Wll done, you'd finally got how unimportant mudbloods and muggles are." Still smiling, he titled his head and patted Hermiones cheeks. "Completely superfluous and useless, aren´t they?"
Hermione stiffened herself, she felt he was trying to infringe in her memories. But this time it was faster, rawer. He seemed to know what he was looking for. Pictures shot past her jerking. Like a fast-forwarded movie, the conversation with Helen flickered across her eyes. But she was able to press him out of her, exhausting and with all her concentration. Sometime, seconds or hours later, she was herself again.
Voldemort still sat in front of her. On knee on the floor, the other one bent and the arm supported on it.
Hermione bent herself a little forward and fondled his bold head. "Tell me, what misleads you to the delusion, that you belong to the useful peoples?" she curred tenderly. The answer was purred back equally gentle. "And what misguides you to the assumption, I wouldn't kill you for such speeches?"
Hermione laughed hearty, since he hated to be laughed at. The mood-flower in the room began shining threatening, it's light turned darker from second to second.
The brunette arose, the outstretched hand supported on his head , she was smiling down to the bald man. "Okay, go ahead. Feel free, but I´m afraid without a wand." With an easy movement she pulled the wand out of her cloak and pointed it on his forehead. "you won't get very far. TOM!"
The hated name tasted sweet as honey on her tongue.
Voldemort upraised himself and loomed large above her again. "Then you will have to give me yours." He hissed threatening.
The forefinger upraised, he tapped on her chest and moved a few steps back and started to compass her, obviously he was thinking about something. And whatever it was, Hermione felt that it couldn't be something good.
„You know it would be useless to you." the young women ridiculed the heir of slytherin, who encircled her like a tiger.
„So?" he hissed with avowedly fury in the voice. The flower pulsated in a deep prussian blue. He seemed to be angry enough, to dare experiments. Hermione lowered her wand unsettelt, this time she'd gone to far.
Apparently amused about her uncertainty, he started to laugh scoffing. A stopped a short moment, raised his hand and pointed at her wand, seemed trying to beckon it over. "Better you don't trust in it's protection-bans. We'll see."
He licked his lips like a hungry animal. The tiger prepared to jump. Voldemorts hand whipped through the air and Hermiones wand was snapped out of her hand as hit by the expeliarmus and landed directly in front of his feet.
The time around Hermione stood still for an heartbeat, it couldn't, it mustn't be true.
But she had no time to consider about that. She threw herself to the floor with a dive in front of him, but he'd already stood one of his big, white feet, on Hermiones wand. Her fists thumped on his feet, ripped on the wand and tried to press his leg away. But he didn't even waved at all and above her, resounded his direful, triumphant, cold laugh.
That was not good, that was no good at all. The wand, her life-assurance in this room. Hadn't they told her, he wouldn't be able to touch it? But now he stood on it and no matter how heavy she pulled and yanked, his feed stayed right there it was, like encased in concrete. Standing on his place and position, while he laughed at her louder and louder, being beside himself with evil joy.
Then he raised the other feed and gave the desperately on the wand tearing Hermione a boot in her face which made her spinning aback like a football.
Hermione shouted out with pain. Blood sprayed across her face, she broke out in tears with pain and fear, buried her face in her hands to protect herself against a new boot.
Voldemort still stood on the same spot, smiled delightful down to her. Gloated on her pains. How much it must have been desiring him to inflict damage on her. How much he enjoyed it to see his wardress lying on the floor in tears.
"Now you're at my mercy. MUDBLOOD!" jubilated the dark lord, being secure of his victory, while he let himself sink down on his knees, slow and leisurely, to raise the wand. But he mustn't do that, in the moment he moved his foot away to take the wand, Hermione jumped up and threw herself again directly in front of him on the floor. But immediately his foot stood back again on the wand. But this time she wouldn't give an inch so simply. He wrenched her hair, tried to yank her upwards, but even though he ripped a whole tuft of hair out at once, she stand on her ground but locked herself with wide opened jaw in his ankle.
Howling with anger, the tall man grabbed now her both ears, yanked her head so high that he could loose one of his hands in order to box her into her face with full force. Something cracked. Hermions nose? Once more the blood gushed out of her nose and sputtered down off her face. Her face seemed to up swell like a balloon, she wasn't able to breathe through her nose any longer and so she had to unloose her bite.
Hermiones teeth left a thin, bloody, circular mark on the white, ankle of the dark lord.
Was that really the man who had been to weak to go to the washbasin without help, a few weeks ago? Wherefrom he took so much strength? And she didn't even had a wand at all to give a signal to the aurors. She couldn't even cry for help, because the walls were noise-sealed.
Her face was an only, open wound. Blood, hers and his, dripped out of her mouth. Intermingled with the one which dropped out of her broken
A string boot into her rips which pressed the oxygen out of Hermiones lunges, and Hermione rolled sideward like a doll. But it took just a few seconds and she managed it again being on her fours and crawling over to him.
He sat stooped down in front of her to rub his bleeding ankles. He lifted his head as he noticed her and the madness burned inside his eyes. He would do it, he would kill her. But she just musn´t leave the weapon to him. And with her last ounce of strength, the young girl threw herself again into his arms and clung her hands in his ears, hoicked him and bit into his remaining nose, slid with her lips along across his face and bit into everything what came between her teeth.
Voldemort tilt aback, yanked again on Hermiones hair and tried to tear her off. But yet she'd pressed herself so tight on him, his arms weren't able to found a suitable position to rip her off himself.
His arms clasped her, like a bench vice he clutched the young women and they both bodies rolled on the floor till he lay on her. Hermione eased her hands by the jerk of the turning. Fast as a cobra his upper body shot up.
Hermione lay under him with spread legs on the floor, he kneeled, loudly gasping and snorting over her.
His long, white finger clinched her throat like an octopus and he squeezed. But that was probably not enough, and her throat was hoiked about two steps, in order to dash it back on the cold, hard stone-floor with full force.
If she were able to breathe, she'd shouted so loud, than never before in her life. But no noise came above her lips, only her tongue shoved itself slowly forward. Stars twinkled in front of her and faded in the around her blurring environment away.
The same again.
He would kill her. Her head was hoiked a third time. She clung herself desperately in his hands, but powerless. She suffocated, she fidgeted… and the back of her head hit a third time with a thud on the floor and she fell into a deep, all-devouring black.
xXx
The maltreated women came around with a tortuous rattle. Her body consisted just of pains. Her nose was broken, occluded with dried blood so that she couldn't take breathe anymore.
Her throat was also constricted.
Hermione turned around from the stomach to her back like a wet sack. A flush of blood, which had been collected in her mouth, fell splashing on her hands, which lay in front of her like something strange, like something not belonging to her body. His icy fingers still seemed to press her throat, it was nearly impossible to her to breathe. Everything around her was still blurred and dark. Almost unable to lift her own heavy, aching head, Hermione slid on her stomach a few inches over the floor. She couldn't have been unconscious for a long time. The blood around her was still wet, not even clotted. The outlines went sharper. She saw the dark Lord again, who still sat very closed to her.
He kneeled not over her, but in front of her, the back turned towards her. He yelled, raged and shouted…threshed with the clenched fist on the floor. Did he finally went completely mad? Did he think she was still laying there and he was trying to kill her?
Now he started to crept across the room on all fours. Sometimes he jumped ahead like an animal, or as he would try to catch his own shadow. She managed to lift her had a bit more, so she could peek over to him. He kneeled in front of the room-wall besides his bed. His arms seemed trying to grasp for something. But without he probably was unsuccessful. He jumped up, hoped with one arm to support him over his bed and let himself fall back at the fourths on the other side.
And now she saw it. It was really the wand and his fingers didn't made it to catch it. He'd probably made to put his foot on it, but as the hands were trying to grasp for it, the wand hopped away as it would be pulled away on an invisible string. Over and over again he tried to throw himself on the weapon, but didn't manage it to get his hands closer than 5 inches to the wand, cause the wand betook itself.
The wand seemed to have an own life, wanted to play tag with Voldemort. But this one had no chances.
No matter how miserable she felt, the presented play amused her. He looked so ridicules, hopping all over the floor, almost like a giant, shouting, white rabbit. The life returned back into her. The torpidity disappeared and made room for the pains she started to feel again. But she managed it to get up. A sudden pain passed through her, as she straightened up herself laboured, with hands supported on her knees.
Her ribcage hurt, something pushed against her chest. A rib was broken. Her lunges ached, the throat was constricted, the nose blocked with clotted blood, so she almost couldn't take air inside them. She staggered, was one the verge of tilting over again but she could catch herself before she fell down. She needn't go far.
Voldemort was still busy with the wand he'd "hustled" (well, or haunted) into a corner, but his spider-fingers still didn't make it to close around the longed for object.
He didn't look at her, didn't look at his left, didn't look at his right…crouched shouting and garbing in front of the wand , which shoved itself perpendicularly aloft the wall, to escape from his touch.
As quiet as it was possible to her, she hobbled over to him, guided her hands along his shoulders, passed them and her fingertips could now almost touch the yellow plaster. Her shadow fell on the wall, let her tantalizer jerking around sharply. His mistake…
Hermione stretched herself over the appalled man, a fast grip and she had it. The wand.
And then…CRUCIO!
The astonished expression in his face gave way and made room for tantalised pains. Voldemort rolled his eyes and tilted sideward. The torture made him yelping and thrilled his thin body like under thousands of current pulses. Mad screams resounded from the walls, while his body reared up and collapsed back upon itself. The tortured people writhed themselves under the crutiatus-curse, as if they had a convulsive seizure. She did it right.
As fast as her oppressed body allowed it, Hermione laid the lame-bans back on still screaming man, first then she ended the crutiatus-curse. Oh yes, he'd taught her how to preserve a curse, I she'd have to perform other charms in the meantime. The lessons paid off.
But first, her own body in need of prepare was important thing to her. "Episkey." The stream of blood ran dry.
She spoke a few other spells with a hoarse, scratching voice, witch let the swelling fading away.
After she'd washed the most blood off her on the washbasin, she fixed her smashed nose and her broken rib up. So, that was better.
Now she could look after her patient again. "Get up and take your clothes off. I bought them for you, I want them back." The young Gryffindor shouted harsh at the heavily breathing man. Oh yes, she'd became fast, only a short gesture and muttered spell and the bans were unloosed again.
The thin, trembling man turned slowly on his stomach, scowled angry up at her groaned. But his glowering eyes searched hers and she slowly a feeling of emptiness overcame her… NO! NEVER AGAIN!
„CUCIO!" anew his just now lifted upper body broke away. He fell screaming and lashing about sideward and convulsed with pain.
„I'm warning you Tom Riddle. Don't try your dirty tricks." Hermione barked threatening down to him. Then, I might have been a minute full of deadly pains to him, she took the curse away from him.
Shivering he turned himself back on the stomach. Snorting and heavily breathing he pushed his body bottom-up. He had to cling himself on the stair, as he did a just before, and heavily staggering he made it to come back on his feet.
Cold hatred was written all over his face. He lurked his prey and wanted to intimidate her.
„You should think twice about the tings you do, girl… I will…"
He didn't go further, because she'd just shouted the torture-curse once more, which let his middle curving down again. The almost yelled maledictions at her got lost in his tantalised screams while he squirmed again.
Was it evil to savour his pains? Was she now as evil as he, because it pandered her and provided a satisfying feeling of vengeance to her, as she saw him squirming and convolving? But he'd just tried to kill her, it would be pure madness, if she didn't show him how foolish and dangerous further attacks would be?
„Take your cloths off, at last. I want to have my goods back… I RESIGN!" Hermione barked with such an hatred–distorted voice, she'd never considered it as possible. Right, she wanted to go. That was to much…first Helens confession and then he beat her up. No, that was the end. No money, no positive feedback, no positive assessment and no experience could be worth to withstand that even one day longer than necessary.
The skinny, hairless, pale upper body was almost to heavy for these thin, white legs. But he managed it to straightened up himself. Haa…her Matser taught her a lot about the right way to apply cursed. Her cruciatus couldn´t have been achier.
But as he managed to be upright again, the pains seemed to be faded away. Instead of screams she just reaped scorn and derision, while he striped, obviously delightfully slow, in front of her tossed every piece of his clothing singly to her feet.
Hermione limped, facing him, backwards with a minatory raised wand. Voldemorts face was motionless, observant. With a fast grip to her side she grabbed at the trolley and pulled it right up to her. If she would really never came back, she mustn't leave anything standing around in here, which was forbidden to him. So…everything.
„Now you'll see how fucking comfortable it is, when the other ones will take care for you. When you'll have to starve, lying in your own piss all day long again!" the raging, young woman nagged at the after all a bit anxious looking man. No, that wasn't she self who spoke such words. A fury had took possession of her, she didn't knew such words at all. And the fury didn't bother about good behaviour. All she cared for was revenge.
„And if I tell them what you've done, they'll treat you certainly even a bit nicer as before. LIE DOWN!" the last words were shouted. And he obeyed, seemed to get that this battle was won by Hermione. So he laid himself down unresisting, and let Hermione put the bans on him.
„You know why I did it?" asked the totally motionless Voldemort in a terrible calm and serene manner the young women, he'd beaten senseless just a short while ago.
Hermione almost toppled over about so much shocking placidity. Her patient looked straight into her eyes, was calm and composed…without the madness she saw a little while ago gleaming in him. As if nothing had happened. Hermione started to feel sick.
"Sure, you wanted to kill me." Hermione yapped back. Too angry to think straight, she just wanted to get out of there, didn´t want to hear only one more word from him.
Her attacker didn't appear to be impressed by her access of rage. A moment of silence he seemed to search for the right words, then raised his rest-eye-brows, curled his lips and nodded agreeing.
„Of course, in order not having to die myself." He admitted outright. And in order to make this picture even worse as before, he put his worst terrible schoolmaster smirk on and started immediately to explain in just that tone to her. "And you know, I wouldn't have done it if I couldn't have hoped to rescue myself?" that sounded so patronizing, she'd loved nothing better than spitting into his face.
SHE risked her job, hazarder her further occupational carrier, made herself liable to prosecution, BROKE EVRY RULE SHE KNEW….for HIM, and did things for him, she hadn't even been able to speak about without disgust, a few month ago… and in the end, he finally got her so far, that she'd almost liked him. But no, he was a brutal animal and nothing else…and now he even smirked at her as if she should be grateful in order, for not being slashed by him. YET!
Hermione launched an angry reply, her breast heaved and lowered violently, she began to gasp, felt hot inside. She was on the verge of burning up with anger. Bristling with anger she approached a few steps to him, the corner of her mouth was trembling…ready to enunciate the next curse over him… but he was faster.
Untouched about her openly displayed complete bewilderment, he whispered some gentle, nearly kind words to her." Be honest, girl. What would you have done? Wouldn't you try to get out of here too? At any price, too?"
"No, I wouldn't do so. I'm not an animal. Never at any price." The brunette contradicted in the chest tone.
„Liar. Well, perhaps not. Maybe you're really so dumb." The Lord sneered at so much conviction. "Don't be ridiculous! Going to the scaffold without resistance doesn't testifies to gallantry but rather to insanity. But we'd cleared now, that this way is locked to me. I won't attack you again." He promised her again in such a benevolent manner, as if would be a great honour not being on the top of his death list.
Hermione spitted out, she had little small bubbles at her mouth. With all the rage, she was barley able to tall. "No, of course not." she sneered despisingly. „You would never do anything to anyone, who hadn't deserved it." she gagged disgustedly for his sight. "Why should it be different it be different with me?"
„Because I need you." He commented even minded.
Her movements froze. No matter how angry she was, the fact, he was admitting that so avowedly, let her heart sank. Made her losing her poise and cooled the hot burning anger down.
Hermione approached to him with her still raised wand and drilled the tip of her wand in his throat ahs she stood closed to him. "So, am I useful after all? Not quite as superfluous as all the other ones you have killed?" she hissed provocating.
He replayed, still without any discernable emotion. "What do you want to hear, girl? I´ve done what i did. What´s all i´m going to tell you. But I wouldn't do anything to YOU, I need you. I know what."
"Can't help you. You should have thought about this ahead of time" Hermione crowed with a trace of superiority and relief. "That's nothing to me anymore. Explain it to Helen, whose life you'd destroyed. Well, if you'll ever catch sight of her. I wouldn't go to you, I'd leave you to rot here." And in order to demonstrate that very, she pulled the trolley, dead set on leaving him, over to her and turned to the door.
„Please don't resign. You know, I would die here without you." Voldemort yelled after his caregiver, and the entreaty in his voice sounded truly. She just couldn't help but…hearing him saying such things without sneer and scorn, was just to bizarre to ignore it.
But he'd already explained to her, he would do everything in order not having to die. And conjuring up mellifluous lies, was certainly a part of this plan.
No, she wouldn't fall for him anymore. He was a master of manipulation. But still…her thoughts wandered back to the crying Helen. How could anyone do something of that kind to other peoples? If she would "leave" him now, then that was her last chance to clarify the questions which tantalised her for so long. Not just since the last weeks, actually, since she'd heard about him to the first time, since her entry world of witches and wizards.
„I have some questions to you, Tom." Hermione said and sat herself on the foot of the bed. She sat there in purpose, didn't want to be on the edge of the bed. Didn't want to get one single inch closer to him as necessary ever again.
Voldemort wrinkled his brow, but then he nodded to her and searched for eye-contact. He would listen to her now. Didn't seem to try to invade in her mind again, the evade the talk.
Hermione took a deep breath. Did she really want to know what he would reply? But Helen, the laughing Fred and the winking Dumbledore kept in her mind…she just had to ask him.
„Tell me, Tom. Were you ever sorry only one of your evil doings? Isn't there just one single murder or one torture you'd regretted?" Hermione asked, trying to let her hide the pleading tone in her voice. But she pleaded inwardly anyhow. Pleaded for discovering something human-like inside him, something that told her, so that all her efforts on him didn't appear vainly.
Her patient seemed to be truly surprised. The red eyes widened for a moment, the corners of his mouth winced and he bit his under lip. First he looked, as if he would desperately try to find an excuse. But then - did she hear a sigh?- the red eyes slipped away from her, wandered over to the window and he was about to deliver an answer. "You shouldn´t pose questions, whose answer you can't stand." Anew he bit his lips, closed his eyes and seemed to consider shortly, or to collect himself to make a confession, he didn't even want to hear himself. But since Hermione raised no objection, he went on. „No." And he sat it so serious, that there was no doubt about the sincerity of that answer. "There are things I would do different now, because they were careless and prematurely. But no, I'm feeling no sorrow. I'd never been sorry for anyone. Those creatures were either unimportant or nuisance. Tell me, girl, have you ever commiserated with an insect you'd scrunched under your shoos, because it's sight nauseated you? Have you ever wept for a vermin you'd swatted? " he took a deep breathe, appeared meditative and for a moment it seemed likely as he was trying to understand the coldness of his words himself.
In fact, it was exactly what Hermione had expected. But yet, it disillusioned her. She had to get away from him. Her body slid from his bed and went over to the cellar-window next to the bathtub. The one, which was furthest from him. She saw the mood-flower, that stood beside her on the ledge of the mean window. The beautiful plant shone almost white. The tender sparkle of the silver framed petals bestowed a star-like shimmer on it.
He was calm. He didn't said those thing to hurt her. She remembered with a little shudder, that the flower had even been white as he'd chocked her and smashed her head on the floor. He did what he did, without rage, just because it was useful to achieve his aim.
But wasn't that virtually impossible? One couldn't do such things without having doubts about the rightfulness of these doings. Probably she'd just got him wrong. "No, that cannot be true. Didn´t you ever care about it? It just cannot be true, you're really enjoyed those doings." The young Gryffindor begged of her patient. Begged, begged for the slightest sign of compassion in him.
Hermione turned around and walked, regardless her wish to get away from him, over to his bed. Maybe he blushed, perhaps he would tremble, avert his eyes…something what proofed her he told a lie. That he just didn't want to admit, he feel bad about it. Sure, he was so very proud, much to proud to confess a fault…the young women hoped imploringly.
But she was disappointed. Cold, mask-like, as carved in stone were the features of the ahead of her lying man as she shook his head, slowly but with absolute conviction in his eyes. "No, I've told you. Those things were necessary to achieve my aims. Why should I be sorry for those things? I'd enjoyed my might and my power. More, as everything else on the whole world, I have enjoyed domination and spreading fear, since these things arouse respect. Those people, they all were not important compared to me. Now they are dead. So be it ! YOU!" he interrupted himself shortly and gave her a deprecatingly smirk. "You'd said, death wouldn't be the worst. Right? So what are you complaining about? I'm proud of what I've achieved."
He sounded so cold that Hermione started to shiver. "But if you're not sorry for your victims… Had it never entered your mind, how very worse the ones are hit, who have survived? The people who have to manage now day by day that they have lost their dearest, their meaning of life? Can't you understand how terrible it is to live on while you real life is actually over? Since that, what kept you alive is taken away from you?" she begged really of him, pleaded for the slightest sign of agreement. If he would only show her, that he was able to understand these feelings.
But in vain. „No, girl. Why should I be interested in that? You'd asked for that women, that nurse. Didn't you? One of many others, her dead family, a dead family of many others. So they may be dead, that doesn't regard me. She shall hate me in all her sorrow and her pain. Be that as it may. Those people are much too unimportant to be kept in a memory. And those who'd achieved more, Dumbledore for example, they were standing in my way. So, consistently, I whipped them out. I am of significance, that's important." And anew he nodded to her to corroborate his words, once more without any kind of stirring.
At the beginning of their conversation it appeared, as if had doubts to speak those things out, but now he was as cold and numb as ever. The confession of a man who was persuaded of the rightfulness of his doings. And now he just only searched for words, to explain this to an unknowing child.
A trace of sickness arose in her. Was it due to his words, or because of the clotted blood inside of her stomach what let her become pale? Hermione gagged, put her hand on her mouth and staggered up to the next window. She needed fresh air, otherwise she would have to vomit.
In the moment she stood up, his glanced at her hand. Almost in a way, as if he waited for her to his hand again to convince him of his falsities.
But Hermione wasn't able to do so, her strength was gone. But possibly… if he found these people were unimportant…
"And what about your own death-eaters, Tom? They were on your side, they didn't stand in your way. Aren't you sorry for them? Bellatrix for example…She would have done, as far as I heard, almost everything for you. She may did so… She'd adored you, I think she'd loved you more than her own husband. Aren't you sorry that she had to die?
„They knew what they got themselves into. I'm not responsible for their death, not me. There are victims in a war. They died for my aims, that was clear to them. Why should I be sorry for their end, if they had accepted their death as they joined me?"
If he exerted himself to find words, so he now chatted just appearing bored along. "I would be sorry for the death of my followers, if they were still useful to my. If I was free, then I still had use for them. But I am captured and they have failed. They were vanquished and so they are devaluated. They died before me, so this topic is done with it."
Hermione noticed from the corner of her eyes, that he looked over to the window for a short moment, seemed to wait for an reaction of her. But there was no regret in his eyes…nothing. Nothing was in these eyes. They were empty, she couldn't detect anything human inside them.
Hermione had lost her battle. It was silly and hopeless, that she'd even tried to enable him to self-reflection. To make him feel. And what could one expect else but that from a soulless monster? But one must have a soul to be able to feel. Voldemort didn't feel, something of a kind that was called a soul, he didn't own something like that anymore. He sacrificed it voluntary to achieve other aims, which there probably more attractive to him.
But there was still a question left whose answer could convey comfort to her. „Do you think" Hermione began unassertive, her glance still rested on the silver-shining mood-flower „Do you think, that you could have ever been something else?" she peeked above her shoulder and saw, that he effectively looked a bit unsettled for a short moment. "I don't know" he started tentatively. "But actually it doesn´t matter. I am what i am. Don't try to regard me as anything else, you'd only get disappointed." He ended securer, steadier.
Hermione nodded, lifted the wand and unloosed the bans. As long as he was lamed, as long he would need bodily care. But who would want to touch something like this?
He'd might tried to escape, but he'd failed. Certainly he wouldn't try it again. Not at the same way, at least. He knew that Hermione could cause him pains. The bodily danger seemed to be over to her. But even so she'd wanted to cry, but she didn't had enough strength for doing this.
The indeed most terrible thing was not, that he'd attacked her. No, the most terrible point was this cold, calculated description of his murderers. Why did she had to ask? A sensible person would have known what he was the evil in person, even before he opened his mouth.
Rays of sunshine fell threw their window, on her face, warmed it and made her squint. How could so much sun and warmth get in a room, which was occupied by something unutterable dark and cold?
Hermione gulped and forced herself to speak her thoughts out. If she said it loud, she had to her it herself, couldn't run away from what she had to do.
"You know, every time I get out of here I think, things couldn't be more dreadful. But then a new day begins and you manage it, that this day is even worse than all the other dreadful days before."
Her eyes lowered again, she walked slowly to his bed. He'd sat up and started to rub his joints. The bans let his legs fall asleep. He´d told her so.
„You´re right." The defeated Hermione gave up all hope. „There's no hope to expect anything rudimentarily human from you. I either could demand sinning arias from a mute one, just as well."
Their eyes met. What he may thought of felt? She couldn't recognise anything. But probably this was, because he was so empty inside. Inwardly dead. That was he…and naked. At least, she was able to understand that he now got up fast, to put his clothes on again.
And now? Now she would got, but what then? She had to say to Helen, what she just couldn't stand it anymore. But that meant, that this horrible duty would come back to the charge nurse again.
"All right then." Decided to be inapproachably, she got came nearer to him, until she stood directly ahead if him, because he should look at her to perceive her scorn. "I will come back. To be true, I like Helen all too much to expect from her dealing with you."
Voldemort was just pulling his Shirt over his head, as his face appeared again, he showed her his often practised "You-are-my-servant-smirk". "Good. Your company is bearable, at least. You´re rather entertaining."
Hermione didn't return his smile. All cheerfulness was faded away from her face, looked like an old woman as she sat what she thought about him. "Probably one can't even blame you for this. Maybe you aren't able to be something else than a monster. An animal is an animal, even if it's taught to speak and wears clothes."
The red eyes darkened, the face, which had showcased victorious triumph, appeared all of a sudden unsettled. The thin lips were pressed together as the rest of the facial features hardened.
Hermione spun on her heels und turned around. If she´d abided only a moment longer by him, then she might had noticed the wincing hand who was, as it seemed, timidly raised to take heres. But because she didn't looked, she couldn't notice that. Nor she saw, as the tall man appeared to be tempted following her. But only a step, then he stoped again.
The signal to open the door was given and Hermione looked forward, to meet real humans again.
„Is your nose better again?" Hermione heard her tantaliser asking. But she went on, didn't look back, didn't answer to him. If she would simply never talk to him again, then he could never get her so far that she saw something else in him than a bloodthirstily beast. Unable to a conscience, therefore he'd needed to have a soul.
The one, who'd called her, watched the young women as she hastened out of the door. And then, as he was lone again, he still stood on his spot as if he hoped, the door would be opened again.