Do It So I Deserve It
Chapter 3:
Take My Arm
She would have preferred he'd taken a limb. Other than the hazard of bleeding out on the way home, she could have regrown the extremity in less than a week. The way it was, she couldn't handle it. She wished there was some kind of magic potion to take away that sick feeling. She could take a calming potion, but that would only last for so long. She could get someone else to perform a memory charm on her, but she didn't have anyone she trusted enough to do that. Besides, she still needed the information for her task. Maybe if things went too wrong that could be an option…
Cynthia was so right. It didn't seem fair that muggles didn't have access to the benefits magic could provide. They managed okay, but a lot of suffering might be saved. She wondered why she'd never thought about the issue. She was muggle born, after all. Maybe it was because she'd always been so concerned with catching and keeping up with the culture, the fact had simply slipped through the cracks. She felt small, and stupid, and selfish for a few moments, before she brushed it off. That wasn't what she was here for. It was a lesser, more complicated issue. She was here for him.
He definitely had a gift for tormenting people. He did it without even trying, it seemed. She sat curled on the sofa, gripping the hardcover of an unopened book. She should sleep. She felt the wait of the bags pulling under her eyes. It was like a timer. Every few moments she was taken back to the feeling, and it made her skin crawl. When she closed her eyes, she saw him cackling at her.
She needed rest, though. She'd learned the importance of that. She needed it to function well. To not do anything stupid.
What had just occurred wasn't stupid. It wasn't anything. She'd had nothing to do with it. It wasn't her's. It was something he did. It was just something that just happened, like a summer storm.
She threw her book across the room, like the plot had just taken a turn she didn't like.
She gathered herself.
Perhaps she was being too careful. Her measures weren't drastic enough. Perhaps she needed to be more ruthless. She was here to do a job. She couldn't fathom her existence past that, and perhaps taking it on as some kind of suicide mission would be best. Still, she didn't want to be so reckless as to die before her goal was done well and thoroughly. She was always thorough. It was her strong suit.
Would she get him the money?
Nope.
She hadn't thought the diary would be out of personal possession yet, due to what she knew about the timeline. Perhaps her going back had already messed with things. She knew it eventually ended up with the Malfoys. So that would be a decent starting place, but she tried not to get her hopes up.
And then as her mind slowed, his laughing face, and that sick feeling reared. She wished she had someone to talk to about it. Maybe it wouldn't have mattered. She wasn't sure she could find the words. But if she could find them, she'd knew what they would say, and how they would be. Ron would lose it in the immature, pouting way he did. Harry would have at least listened, but he wouldn't have understood. So, she charmed the pages of Hogwarts: A History blank, and began writing. Confessing. It felt more like confessing.
She wrote and wrote until her wrist ached. She would get it all out and leave it on the page. It would live and die there.
She'd lost. She wrote it down two entire pages.
I lost
I lost
I lost
I lost
I lost
Perhaps it was unreasonable to expect to defeat the greatest dark wizard of all time in a battle. Harry had done it, but he'd be prophesied to do so. She didn't have fate so much on her side. Besides, her strength had always lied elsewhere, even if she'd always felt her and Harry were more or less eye level in most things. She was better at scheming, and undermining. Less good at the violence thing. She'd had her chance, and she'd blown it. Perhaps if she'd held off a little longer. Maybe until he was mid thrust. That might have turned out better.
She couldn't grapple with the indignity of it. It felt corrosive. But she'd taken the task on, and felt so naive for doing so. But she'd figure it out. She always figured it out. Not that she expected he'd let her near any time soon. Maybe it was something to play into. She'd caught some kind of interest by the end of it. Maybe she could play into it.
It felt dangerous. It felt like stepping out onto a tightrope. She felt immediate sympathy for Severus Snape. Something she'd thought wasn't possible.
So she would get him the money.
She saw his laughing face, and felt the sickness.
She couldn't sell the jewelry locally. And she didn't have time to go on a trip. She didn't need that much more money. So, she gathered up some books, making sure their print date wasn't going to fracture the time space continuum. There were seven in decent condition. She set them on the dining table. She took some sleeping potion and disrobed.
She passed out atop her blankets, and awoke feeling like hell itself. The anger was there. And although she didn't feel the languid soreness of a poor sleep, that sick feeling still held.
She dressed, and headed down to Borgin and Burkes. She sold them the books, but it wasn't exactly enough, and the clerk was being a stickler. He was kind of ripping her off, looking down his long nose at her. He had these large blue eyes. She threw in a nice quill from the bottom of her bag. It had at one point been a gift, but now it was made the clerk comply and give her what she needed.
She headed over to Borgin and Burkes. She looked awful. Good.
She stopped herself just outside the door, and didn't shove it open. She opened it, and stepped back in. It seemed more faded during the day. No one appeared from behind the stacks. She wandered deeper into the store.
"Good morning."
She jumped, and turned to face Voldemort. She opened her bag and tossed him the bag of coins.
"Thank you."
It wasn't, but it sort of reminded her first morning after with Ron. It wasn't like it at all except for the strangeness. Like everything had changed, like getting situated in a new world. She had just decided after a while that it shouldn't be, and he just silently agreed, and made her breakfast. It was a sweet memory.
Voldemort asked, "Aren't you interested in the irreplaceable object you destroyed?"
"Do you want me to feel more guilty? Because I'm not sure that's possible."
"It was an ancient globe created by a famed Alchemist. Every precious metal, and glass piece, was originally a leaf,twig, or pebble, apparently. It had no real value. It was just expensive and beautiful. One of a kind, but wholly unimpressive, which is why it shattered so irrevocably."
"Oh, I feel much better now."
"There's a meeting tonight in the basement of the Frog's Tongue. You should come."
"What sort of meeting?"
"There's dinner, some dancing, maybe a bit of engaging conversation. Be there for eight. The entrance to the basement is around the back." He paused, taking her in. "What is it?"
"I suppose now that I'm out of debt, I have nothing to worry about. What do I wear?"
"Casual robes are fine."
"Alright. I'll be there."
"The password is, 'As death consumes, we shall consume death.'''
"Cheery."
She went home and slept. She woke up at seven, starved. She ate the rest of her bread and jam, beef jerky, and black tea. Her appetite was exasperated by PMS, and she just wanted to lay on the floor. She bathed and thought about her people. She pretended in her brain what it would have looked like. Their parties, and their jobs, and their children, and their holidays. How much that was supposed to be her's. What they were supposed to be doing. Instead all she had was this, and she didn't want it at all. She hated it. His face, and that sick feeling. She sunk further into the bath. At eight she got out.
She moisturized and dressed and charmed her hair. She fixed her face, and applied perfuming charms. She coloured her fingernails, and felt stupid. She left and apparated just outside of the Frog's Tongue. She walked around to the back. She pretended her friends were at her side and she walked down the concrete steps. It helped.
She gave the password to the door, and it fell away in a shimmer to let her in.
It was bright and loud. The air was hazy with tobacco smoke. Instruments played themselves in the corner.
She made her way to the bar and the punch bowl served her gold liquid in a crystal glass.
"Hermione!" Cynthia appeared. She draped herself on Hermione's shoulders. Some of the drink in her cup sloshed onto the floor. "How did you get in here?"
"As death consumes, we shall consume death."
"You missed dinner."
Hermione shrugged. She saw Voldemort seated and talking to another man intently in the corner. "I do regret that, actually, but better late than never."
"So he invited you?"
"Riddle? Yes, he did."
"Oh, we don't call him that here. He prefers Lord Voldemort. It's a bit melodramatic, but I'd never tell him that. I told you not to wonder about him too much. I want to dance." She took Hermione's hand, and moved to pull her to the dance floor.
"I'm no dancer."
"It's alright. I'll make up for it."
"I'm not nearly drunk enough for that."
She laughed, "Finish your drink. I'll wait." Her perfume was floral, and sharp. Her robes were a deep amber silk.
Hermione finished her drink. It did cause a light, dizzy feeling. It made everything a little softer around the edges, like her awareness was dulled. Cynthia took her hand, and pulled her to the dance floor. There were two other couples, and a man kind of spinning around by himself in the corner. Cynthia twirled her. And she twirled her back. Hermione couldn't remember the last time she'd laughed like that.
Voldemort found Hermione by the drink table. He said, "I want to introduce you to some people."
He guided her over, his hand resting on her lower back, toward a group of three men. He introduced them as Malfoy, McNabb, and LeStrange. Then he introduced her, and removed his hand. "This is Hermione Granger. She's visiting from America."
She could see some of her schoolmates in their faces.
Malfoy extended his hand first, "Nice to meet you. America. That's extraordinary."
"It is much less established there. My trip has been so interesting."
"Would I know of your family?"
"I don't even know of my family." It felt like the truth. "I was abandoned at a hospital. I grew up in an orphanage." She could feel his eyes on her. "But statistically, I'm probably not a pure blood, if–
"Yes, purebloods would never abandon their young."
"That's not what I meant to imply."
"But the truth of it is there."
"No, I meant most wizards and witches are not pureblood."
"Yes, that's true."
"I'm not bitter. I don't blame anyone, because there's no one to blame, because I know nothing about it."
Malfoy pried cooly, "Where did the name Granger come?"
Hermione answered, "The muggle doctor who found me. Of course he wasn't married, and didn't have the time to raise a child on his own."
She stood and listened to them talk. They talked about magical law, quidditch, and referred briefly to their families. Hermione went to get another drink.
Later, Voldemort took her aside, "What if I could show you? What if I could tell you the circumstances of your birth."
"I wouldn't want it. It doesn't make a difference."
"It would be simple. I could find it in your mind for you. It would take some time and your full cooperation to get that deep, but if you wanted me to, I could."
She gazed into his face. It was like he was the one that wanted to do it. She asked, "How would you be able to tell?"
"Context clues. Images of the setting, the sort of people."
"You've done it before?"
"Yes."
"I think I'll pass on the offer, thanks."
"Okay. Know it always stands."
"It's pretty incredible that information is retained."
"Nothing is ever forgotten. Would you like to dance?"
"Excuse me?"
He took her arm, and so she followed.
It was late. The instruments had slowed their pace. He pulled her in. She knew how Legilimency worked. She kept her mind clear. Focused on the present. Her mind was a still, soulless, pool of water with no future and no past. So clear, and cool, and blue. It just was.
He said, "The first time we met, I could have sworn you wanted to kill me."
"No, of course not."
"I did not misread."
"I was just having a bad day. In a mood." The thing about clearing your mind is that you risk losing track of who you were, and will be.
"You have a lot of hate and anger, despite what you said to Malfoy. You try not to allow it to rule you, but it does."
"Sometimes."
They sat together on an emerald coloured chaise.
She said, "What is all this for? It doesn't seem like it's just for fun."
"We do have a cause. Our's is to tear the wall between us and the muggles down."
"I don't think it would be a peaceful meeting."
"No, probably not. However, muggles are not stupid, they would recognize the power difference. It would be in their best interest to submit. They would see that. People only submit when it serves them. "
"People would die."
"People die. That's how anything changes. That's how nature does it. They have to die, for any meaningful change to occur and establish itself."
"It's cruel."
"It's honest."
"It's unjust."
"Just the opposite."
"So will you die? If you demand it from others."
"I will die when I'm done."
"That doesn't seem fair."
"But it is."
"You're orchestrating the end of the world as we know it."
"The world I dream of, it already exists. They should know of us. They should know all that they are not."
"Why?"
"Because it's the truth."
"What if they're more powerful? Their science and weaponry has advanced incredibly, and will only continue to. They would be more of a force than you're expecting."
"I lived in the muggle world for some time. I'm aware of what they're capable of. And if that is the case that they possess more power, I suppose they'll win. But they don't, and they won't."
"What of the wizards and witches that don't agree with you. It might serve them to remain hidden."
"Let them try and resist. They're defeat will only serve my power."
"What if they kill you?"
"It won't. It's too late for that."
"You're speaking metaphorically?"
"Of course," He smiled at her as he sipped from his glass. His ring was black in the low light. There were some people passed out on the chairs, or the floor. The charms had all fallen away. The instruments had put themselves away. The punch bowl was empty. She shifted in the seat. It was much comfier than the old bed in her tent.
She could see now how he had done what he had done. But she'd also seen it. And it was awful. Most of the world was disregarded. It created brutality and it was cruel. About how it wasn't worth it at all. Whatever benefit Cynthia saw, or that he suggested, she hadn't seen any of it. She didn't have the fight in her to think about it anymore.
Her mind was a still pool.
She yawned. He looked at her. His eyes were so dark. She tried to figure where the pupil ended and the iris began.