Sipping on her fifth cup of tea of that day, Hermione slowly turned over the parchment page full of neatly written small text. All the findings she had compiled with the help of the Order were written down here and though she was sure she still remembered every piece, she went over it slowly and methodically. She knew that it was probably only a matter of time until Voldemort – or someone else – would inspect her room and discover these pages. She wanted to know them by heart as soon as possible and then destroy them before that happened.

Not that he could not still find out by looking through her memories. But any precaution was better than none.

By now, she understood the basic concept of the aura. Every single magical being had one. It was what differentiated wizards and witches from muggles. Any spell cast drew upon the pool of magic contained within oneself and reflected in that aura. That was the most important part. The aura was not technically the magic itself, but a reflection that could show other capable wizards and witches how strong another being was.

And it was this aura that could be touched by the magic of another. As the skin was itself an organ that contained all other organs a human being consisted of and transmitted every sensation inward, the aura was also its own thing, connected not only to the magic, but to the parts of any human that received signals and transformed them into emotions and sensations.

What Hermione did not understand though was why touching the aura felt so good. She heard the other girls in the dormitories talk about how electrifying the touch of a boy could be, sure. But feeling this intense pleasure from just a touch? She doubted that was what Lavender or Ginny meant. None of the texts she found said anything about aura touching having such an effect.

It scared her that she didn't understand her reaction. A small, hateful part of herself told her that she obviously just loved being dominated by a monster, being the worthless girl she was. She knew that voice very well, it was a constant companion after all. But she also knew that it was just the destructive, punitive parent mode of her own self trying to undermine her. She did not actually want to submit to Voldemort. It was just an easy explanation that painted her as a weak and disgusting person.

With a sigh, she rolled the parchment back up and put it in her bag. Nothing in the text would help her with that question. She wondered whether Dumbledore had been able to see auras as well. It would make sense, he was at least as powerful as Voldemort after all.

And that one time during her fourth year when she was alone with him as he told her about the upcoming task for the Triwizard Tournament, she thought she felt something strange in his presence. As though he was looking at her with more than just his eyes. She distinctly remembered the icy shiver than ran down her spine back then.

She remembered it because she didn't know what it was and if felt unpleasant, so very different from any other interaction she ever had with him.

Maybe that was him probing her aura.

But why did that feel so unwelcome then? Shouldn't a magical touch by her beloved headmaster fell more like a warm hug?

The more she thought about it, the less she understood.

A firm knock on her door interrupted her spiralling thoughts. Before she could reply, the door swung open and Voldemort entered. That irritating, condescending smile was back on his lips.

"Here you are, my sweet. I would have expected you to spend all your days in the library. No private collection can rival that of the Malfoy family."

She grimaced. "I didn't feel like discovering any other unwanted guests in the house today. Snape for breakfast was more than enough."

Voldemort stepped behind her chairs and put both his hands on her shoulders. "I'm sorry to hear you're not comfortable with his presence."

A chill ran down her spine as his fingers started to subtly massage the stiff muscles on her neck and shoulders. This felt way too intimate. She swallowed against the dryness she suddenly felt in her mouth. "Don't pretend it's unexpected. Do you really think I would enjoy the company of the wizard who killed Professor Dumbledore?"

"Ah, yes, the great betrayal," he mused. "Dear Severus really played his role to perfection, seeing as every single member of the Order was apparently surprised by his actions."

"Harry never trusted him," Hermione forced out through gritted teeth.

"Yes, but then again, he trusts nobody, doesn't he?" There was a delight in his voice that made her feel on edge.

"He trusts me. He trusts his friends. Don't pretend like you know him at all."

Voldemort chuckled. "I think it is you who doesn't know him. Harry Potter doesn't trust anyone but himself. And why would he? During his first year, no teacher listened to him when he alarmed them that one of my loyal followers was about to steal the Philosopher's Stone. In his second year, his most trusted adult, the oaf Hagrid, sent him to the Forbidden Forest to be eaten by his pet spider. During his third year, he learned that something as insignificant as a rat or a cat could divide two friends. The fight between you and that Weasley boy really left a deep impression on him. Should I go on?"

Hermione felt cold sweat form on her face. He really did see every single memory she had when he went looking. Every aspect of her life lay bare to him. She hated it.

Resolutely, she shook her head. "You're wrong. Harry knows that he can trust us. That he can rely on the people around him. It's his biggest strength and he knows that."

Voldemort slipped one hand to the front and under her chin, tipping her head back so she stared directly into his eyes. A triumphant smile played around his lips. "Now you're just lying to yourself. He was ready to go on the hunt alone. You had to force your company on him. Then your lover boy left. He came back, true, but don't think for a second that Harry forgot. And now?" His grin grew wider. "Now you left. To join me of all people."

She struggled to free herself from his grip, but he held her in place with unnerving ease. "There might have been a chance that he still trusted others. But your departure was the final nail in the coffin. I could see it in his face yesterday. Harry Potter will not rely on anyone else any longer. He will not share his thoughts or plans. He will act alone. Because you left him."

Something inside her growled at those words. She should feel guilt and despair at the prospect that she might have doomed Harry's path forward. But instead, something darker awoke in her and forced its way to her consciousness.

"So that's what this is? I'm here to distract the Chosen One from his task?" Her words were poison as they left her lips, not attacking him, but sneaking their way into her soul instead.

For a moment, Voldemort simply stared down at her, smiling, holding her in place. Then he stepped around the chair and pulled her up, close to his chest. The hand around her throat slipped back, grabbing a fistful of her hair. She did not even protest as his lips came crashing down on hers. Everything she just heard still swirled around in her, trapping her thoughts in a maze without escape.

Then he let go of her again, stepping away, smirking as though he just tasted the most delicious meal. He shook his head. "No, Hermione. You're not here because of him. You're here because I want you here. I need you here."

He gently stroked her right cheek with his thumb, then he turned and left as swiftly as he had appeared.

Trembling, Hermione sank down on her bed. Curses were on her tongue, but she forced them down. She was hilariously unprepared to deal with Voldemort, she realised that now. He truly was no madman. Whatever Harry had told them before or they witnessed from afar, it did not tell the full story of the resurrected Dark Lord.

Or maybe …

She buried her face in her pillow. Maybe the original Voldemort was indeed a madman, but by witnessing her memories, he changed. He obviously had followed in the exact path that he had seen through her eyes. That's why they arrived at the exact same spot. But maybe when he saw his life reflected in her memories, something changed. Maybe he changed. Doing things now just to follow the path, not because he had conviction.

Maybe, this Voldemort had a different goal right from back in 1972. A purpose. Something that grounded him, helped him keep his sanity. Maybe only his actions appeared mad, but his mind stayed clear.

If so, it would be her doing.

Whatever was the case, she needed to face the fact that Voldemort was more dangerous than she could have ever imagined. That she even for a single second believed a word he said about Harry just showed her how easy it was for him to manipulate the people around him.

His words about Harry had some truth to them, that's why she even believed them in the first place. But the real insidious thing was that he was not reading Harry, he was reading her. Like an open book. He knew that she hated nothing more than to be sidelined for her best friend. He knew her ambitions were far greater than that of just being the Chosen One's best friend.

She had to brace herself. He would continue to attack her just like that. Play on her ego, sow doubts, make her feel like her friends would never acknowledge her greatness. Small, weak, insignificant.

She didn't know why he would do that. What he gained from that. Maybe, if she could find out, it could help her steel herself against any attempts of manipulation. What did he truly want from her?

"I need you, he says," Hermione whispered to herself, letting go of the pillow. "But for what? What could I have that he needs me?"

For a moment, she allowed herself to close her eyes and let her mind wander. It was only noon and she already felt exhausted. The lack of sleep, the sudden appearance of Snape, Voldemort's manipulation, it all felt so much. How was she to survive this?

"At least Draco isn't here," she sighed. Despite the pity that she felt for him, she couldn't imagine how horrible his reactions to her presence here would be.

It was not yet May, so she would have at least two more months before Draco would return to the manor. She desperately hoped that all of this would be over by then. Whatever the Order was planning, it better find an end before summer.

What were they planning? In the short amount of time that she had between just being on the Horcrux hunt with Harry and Ron and now being a prisoner to Voldemort, she had not wanted to waste even a second. She never asked them what they wanted to do, how the plans changed now that the secret of the Horcruxes no longer needed to be protected. It was better that she didn't know, as Voldemort couldn't extract it from her, but it still weighed on her now in this quiet moment.

With another sigh she sat back up. She still felt as though she was hung over, a grogginess clouding her mind and pulling on her body that refused to go away. She should see whether she could get something to eat somewhere. Voldemort said she was allowed to access any part of the manor, so it should be fine to visit the kitchen.

A grin flickered over her lips. Perhaps she could get the house elves to revolt against their masters. That would be at least a little fun.