Chapter Text
Part One: Badb
Lord Voldemort couldn’t get the Granger girl out of his head. He sat at the long, rectangular table in the formal dining room of Malfoy Manor; he’d dismissed his followers and now sat peering into the immense stone fireplace, his crimson eyes lost in the bright flames.
He twisted the elder wand between his long fingers. Nagini slithered from beneath the table and slid into his lap, resting her head on his thigh.
Voldemort scowled. The girl had been merely a mild fascination in the beginning, nothing more. He would peer into Severus’ mind, watching the comings and goings at Hogwarts, spying on Dumbledore and learning all that he could about Harry Potter.
He noted that Snape disliked the girl, partly because she was a Gryffindor, and partly because of her closeness to Harry Potter. Voldemort had hated her as well, for the same reasons, but he quickly began to realize he was fixating on her despite his purported dislike.
She was a relatively smart witch, albeit narrowminded, and her lust for knowledge intrigued him. In fact, she quite reminded him of himself as a young wizard. The difference, though, was that Tom Riddle had always kept his intellectual pursuits private, but this witch seemed to want the entire world to know the breadth and depth of her knowledge.
An insufferable know-it-all, as Severus frequently referred to her.
Voldemort smirked.
So! The witch loved praise and adoration… to be recognized for her achievements.
He was somewhat the same, but he preferred that others fear him, rather than admire. He desired control, not praise.
Voldemort’s eyes narrowed as he stared into the flames. He couldn’t decipher why he was fascinated by the witch. She was young and naive, and disgustingly noble. Despite those things, he’d begun to look forward to his meetings with Severus, if only to get a glimpse of her inside his death eater’s mind. He’d even observed her in the mind of Draco Malfoy, and found himself amused at the fact that Lucius’ son had a little crush on the Granger girl. That had embarrassed the boy to no end, to have Lord Voldemort witness his fascination with a mudblood.
He hadn’t the heart to tell Lucius that his own son had imagined what the girl’s lips would taste like.
Voldemort ground his teeth.
He also wanted to know what she tasted like.
In truth, she had grown in his mind from a mere fascination, to an unfortunate fixation, and then, into an all out obsession .
He thought of the way she raised her hand for every question, and the perturbed look on her face when Severus refused to call upon her.
What a desperate little witch, he thought. So eager, begging for attention.
Voldemort was mildly frustrated. Not only because she was a mudblood, and a member of the Order of the Phoenix, but because she was just a girl. A self-righteous, frizzy-haired, brown-eyed distraction. Nothing special.
His jaw flexed in irritation, because as much as he knew that the girl was indeed, nothing special, he couldn’t seem to convince himself of that.
He longed for proximity.
To have the girl before him, on her knees. To breathe in her scent, to hear her voice with his own ears, and not as a muffled and indistinct memory, no more than an echo.
He was angry, because the girl was the last thing that should be on his mind with so many of his horcruxes destroyed. It was quite out of character for him to not be laser-focused on his goals, and he didn’t like feeling as though he didn’t know himself. Desire and emotion were confusing things, which is why he so often avoided them completely.
“What do you think, Nagini?” He hissed in parseltongue. “Why shouldn’t I have her?”
After all, such were the spoils of war. Even now, he had Harry Potter locked away in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor.
His bargaining chip.
Harry had met him in the forest that night, but Voldemort read his mind all too easily.
A horcrux. The Potter boy housed a piece of his soul.
It had been Dumbledore’s brilliant plan to send the boy to his death. A brilliant plan it would have been, perhaps, if it had been executed as he intended.
But the old fool had always underestimated Lord Voldemort.
Rather than kill the boy on the spot, he performed legilimency, which the boy was ill-prepared to counter. He too easily read the boy’s mind, and realized immediately that he’d already destroyed several of his horcruxes.
The Dark Lord saw everything. His destroyed locket, the ring, the diadem. Potter had even possessed his cup, which was as he’d feared after the break-in at Gringotts. He realized with horror that the elder wand which he held in his hand was not submitted to him, but to Potter. He saw through Potter’s mind that the wand bent its will to the boy.
It didn't matter. Voldemort quickly remedied that problem by instructing Greyback to disarm Potter.
Then he killed Greyback.
Voldemort stroked the wand lovingly. In a way, he missed his old yew wand, but there was something deliciously satisfying about possessing the wand which had belonged to both Grindelwald and Dumbledore.
He wondered vaguely if it was cursed.
In any case, he’d called off the battle, and taken Harry hostage.
“Her blood is filthy,” Nagini hissed.
Voldemort chuckled. “I’m sure it tastes the same… perhaps even better.”
He thought of the redheaded boy… the Weasley .
He would kill the boy as soon as the opportunity presented itself. He despised the thought of the mudblood in the clutches of such a boy.
“He’s beneath you, my dear,” he whispered to the air.
He wondered if she’d given herself to the boy. Hot hatred coursed through his body at the thought.
He felt himself growing hard as nondescript feelings flooded through him, his cock throbbing as he imagined killing the Weasley boy. He imagined Hermione laid out before him, her thighs spread, a delicious offering to Lord Voldemort.
His prize.
His witch.
He hadn’t been much interested in sexual engagements since the first war, when he and Bella cuckolded Rodolphus right under his nose.
There was little the Wizard could do about it, and Voldemort had enjoyed the freedom and power to do as he wished. He secretly hated his pureblood followers, and he loved the fact that he could fuck their wives and they couldn’t do a thing to stop it.
That was real power.
Of course, even now, Bella was ever as obsessed with him, but his interest in her had waned since he saw the mudblood for the first time in Severus’ mind.
“A stupid girl,” he spat with distaste. “And a mudblood, no less. Perhaps I’ll bring her here, and discover what a disappointment she is. Then, I suppose, if she presents no value to me… I’ll simply kill her.”
Nagini hissed her pleasure.
Nagini was quite a jealous serpent, after all… perhaps even more so than Bellatrix Lestrange.
Voldemort stroked her head with his long, ghostly fingers as he stared into the flames.
——————-
The remaining members of the Order of the Phoenix crowded around the table in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place.
Kingsley sighed. “We’ve received word from Lord Voldemort’s emissary.”
Molly Weasley waved her wand, cleaning the plates of the meal recently devoured by the Order and stacking them carefully one by one.
Bill Weasley scoffed. “Emissary! Ha! What a joke… imagine that psychopath pretending to be some merciful ruler.”
Arthur Weasley tilted his head thoughtfully. “He’s right. Voldemort hopes to convince us that our cause is pointless now. He thinks to act reasonably and with caution. He’s called off all the attacks and reigned in his Death Eaters, and with purpose, mind you. He thinks that we will perhaps give up the fight.”
“He has Harry,” Ron said numbly. “Harry was and is our last hope.”
The convening grew silent.
After a moment, Molly spoke up. “I just don’t understand… Why in Merlin’s name would Harry go into the forest and give himself up like that? It has put us all in a terrible position. The resistance is completely demoralized now.”
“What did Voldemort want, Kingsley?” asked Ron quietly. “Is-“ He cut himself off, then cleared his throat. He took a deep breath, then started again. “Is Harry alive?”
Hermione placed her hand over Ron’s in a show of support, a comforting gesture. Since they’d lost Harry, Ron hadn’t been the same. He was fidgety and edgy, and seemed not to know what to do with himself.
“Harry is alive,” Kingsley said, his deep booming voice echoing through the small kitchen. A chorus of breaths issued forth, betraying everyone’s relief.
Hermione and Ron looked at one another. They were the only two who knew the reason Harry had gone into the forest that night. It hadn’t gone to plan… and they were both relieved and terrified of what that meant.
Harry possessed a piece of Voldemort’s soul… and there was no destroying Voldemort until that piece was gone.
There were only two ways to undo a horcrux: to either have genuine remorse for one’s actions, or to destroy the horcrux.
Either way seemed unfathomable.
How could they destroy the piece of Voldemort’s soul without also killing Harry?
What was worse, Voldemort probably knew about it by now.
“We have to get Harry back,” said Neville. “There’s no other way.”
Kingsley looked gravely into the faces around the table. “He wants to parley.”
There was an uproar.
“Parley? Parley ?”
“Did the emissary say why?” asked Bill.
“No,” replied Kingsley with a sigh. “But I can take a wild guess. I imagine he wants to bargain: Harry's return for our surrender.”
“Never,” said George sourly.
Ron looked green. Hermione flicked her eyes at him.
Neville and Ginny looked at one another. Ginny’s eyes were filled with tears. She blinked, and they spilled over.
Hermione wrapped her arms around her, but there was no real comfort to be had.
All seemed to be lost.
With Snape gone and the Ministry in Death Eater control, Hogwarts was lost. Many of the seventh year students had gone into hiding.
If only Harry hadn’t gone into the forest that night, they could’ve fought and maybe, just maybe they could have won.
That was the general feeling, anyway.
Hermione and Ron exchanged glances again.
“We will meet with Voldemort tomorrow… for Harry’s sake. Harry is the only hope we have left. We have to get him back.”
“You’re thinking about surrendering?” exclaimed Charlie.
Kingsley shook his head. “We will hear his proposal, then we will reconvene. That’s all that we can do for now… until we know what his game is.”
The kettle whizzed, whining on the eye of the stove. Molly hurried around the room, making tea and setting out cups as silence fell over the room.
———————
“What should we do, Ron?”
Hermione and Ron sat in Sirius’ old bedroom, their beds directly across from one another.
Hermione hugged her knees to her chest as she stared at Ron, who leaned against the chest of drawers, his forehead resting on its edge.
“Do you think he knows, Mione?”
She sighed. “He definitely does. Harry’s a skilled occlumens, but not that skilled. I imagine Voldemort knows all about the horcruxes by now… and the piece of his soul attached to Harry.”
Ron opened the top drawer of the chest and pulled out a leather satchel. He reached into the satchel and withdrew a golden cup: the cup of Helga Hufflepuff.
“That means he’s dangerous. He’ll be weak and afraid.”
“He still has four pieces of his soul left,” she pointed out.
“What do you think he’ll want? Do you think he’ll offer Harry in exchange for the horcrux?”
Hermione twisted her lips to the side in thought. “I mean… Harry is a horcrux. I doubt he’ll let him go.”
Silence fell between them.
“Do you think…” Ron swallowed. “Do you think they’ve hurt him? Tortured him?”
Hermione dropped her face to her knees. “I don’t know, Ron. I’m terrified to let myself think about it. I hope they’ve kept him untouched for the sake of the war.”
Ron let his eyes fall to the floor. “We let him go, Hermione. We failed him as friends.”
Hermione sighed and shook her head. “If there’s one thing I know about Harry from all these years of friendship… it’s that Harry is going to do what Harry has set his mind to do. There would have been so stopping him, Ron.”
He gave a wry, half smile. “Yeah… I suppose you’re right.”
He looked down at the cup in his hand. “So we shouldn’t destroy it, then?”
She flicked her eyes up at him, then down to the cup, then finally, to the bag where she knew he kept several basilisk fangs. “No, Ron… we may need it as leverage. If we destroy it, he will know, and there’s no telling what they’ll do to Harry.”
Ron nodded, gulping. He tucked the cup back into the bag and slid it back into the drawer. “I’m gonna go talk to Fred and George for a bit.”
Hermione nodded, and watched Ron as he sadly left and closed the door behind him.
——————
Something broke in Hermione when she watched Harry walk into the Black Forest that night.
It had been breaking since she obliviated her parents…
Since Bellatrix carved her up on the floor of the Malfoy Manor drawing room…
Since Ron abandoned them in the woods in the Forest of Dean.
Watching Harry walk to his death, so brave and unafraid…
That was the last straw for Hermione.
It was as if the bundle of strings tethering Hermione to her morals had been steadily snapping, one by one, until the very last one severed with finality.
Since the Battle had ended so abruptly, she’d made a decision… in secret, buried deep in her heart, Hermione’s goals shifted.
Hermione wondered if she were to be sorted now, if she would land in Slytherin.
She vowed to become powerful beyond her wildest imagination. She would never again let her morals get in the way.
Harry would disapprove, of course, but that no longer mattered to Hermione.
What mattered was keeping her loved ones safe.
Hermione began combing the Black family library, where she located ancient books on dark magic.
“Dark magic, Hermione?” Ron asked when he’d seen what she was reading. “Dark magic poisons the soul, Hermione. Why are you reading that?”
“Just research,” she muttered distractedly.
Day after day, Hermione studied spells, curses, ritualistic dark magic. She practiced wand movements and incantations. She read about blood magic and mind magic. She studied magical ancestry and elemental energy.
Hermione was like a witch possessed, barring herself from no topic of study.
“Never again,” she whispered. “Someone has to fight darkness with real weapons.”
Imagine believing they could beat the Death Eaters with expelliarmus and protego ?
How foolish they had all been!
“Never again,” she muttered.
Morals didn’t matter if everyone was dead.
