The Secrets of My Heart

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Prologue: Dreams of My Past

Hermione was running down the corridor, trying to escape it. Him. There was no reason to try... he was going to get her in the end, why not just give up now? Save her strength to fight another day. No! her mind screamed. If she didn't escape now, she never would.

Her legs ran faster, and still the unseen person gained on her, and she was thrown to the ground. She screamed--

And was jerked awake by her husband."Hermione!" he whispered urgently. When he saw she was awake, he breathed a sigh of relief, running a thumb across her cheek, collecting the tears that had come with the dream. He frowned. "It was that dream again wasn't it?"

She nodded, looking away.

He drew in a shuddering breath. "I am so sorry... it's my fault. All my fault..."

Her head snapped back to him and she cupped his face urgently. "No, it was not your fault! It was never your fault. There was nothing you could have done."

He looked at her, knowing she truly believed that. He had never believed it though. He blamed himself for the dreams that kept her awake at night, knowing if he had just been stronger, she wouldn't have to live in the fear that always came in the dreams' wake.

If only...

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Chapter 1: Dreams of My Past

Hermione walked briskly down the corridor, books weighing her down.

Normally, this would be a pleasant sight to behold, and one that none would be surprised at.

But her brisk walk had nothing to do with happiness... and everything to do with hoping to finish her task quickly enough so as not to be whipped. Again. She flinched as the coarse cloth of her robe rubbed against her scarred back. Flinthad whipped her the most, though she'd also caught him leering at her. He didn't seem to care that she had, and she suspected that he wanted her to.

She reached the Slytherin's common room and walked in, setting the books on the table as quietly as possible.

"Granger!" a voice barked. She flinched, waiting for the blow she knew should be coming. But it never came. And now that she thought about it, she realized that this particular person had never raised a hand against her. She pushed the thought aside as she heard him continue speaking. "The Master wants to see you..."

Hermione flinched again. There was only one reason she would be summoned by Voldemort. It was, most likely, time to die.

A hand seized her around the upper arm, and she scurried along after him, fingering the emerald pendant around her neck. Her parents had given it to her for her 16th birthday, saying they thought it was time she received it. She assumed it was a family heirloom, though, when she asked about it, they had glanced at each other quickly and said they would explain it to her when the time was right.

She shook her head. The time would never be right now. They were, in all likelihood, dead. She hadn't seen them since September 1st, at the station. They had been so proud of her...she was going to be a fully-fledged witch when she returned. They had no doubt about that. She had had no doubt about it. But then it had happened. What everyone had feared since Voldemort's return in her fourth year. Hogwarts had been attacked.

The headmaster had, fortunately, planned for something like this, and since they had been attacked during classes, the classes were their group. The seventh year Gryffindors had been in double potions with the Slytherins. None of them had escaped. And because of some odd quirk of fate - or perhaps a whim of Voldemort's - Harry was still alive. She had no idea what had happened to Dumbledore, only that he had been called away that morning for something at the Ministry. That should have been a warning in itself.

Seventh year Gryffindors and Slytherins, third year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, fifth year Ravenclaws and Gryffindors. None of them had made it out. Professors Sprout, Trelawney, Snape, and Madame Pomfrey were the only adults left. Surprisingly, they had not been killed. There had been very few casualties. But there had been some students killed, those who hadn't thought to control their tempers... Hermione choked back a sob as she thought of Ron, and pushed it from her mind.

The remaining Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs were no better than slaves. The Slytherins were their masters, and Voldemort mastered over all. Hermione glanced around, taking note of her surroundings. They were heading deeper into the dungeons. In all truth, she had suspected that Voldemort would have his headquarters where Dumbledore's had been. But apparently she was mistaken. And in all truth, it made complete sense.

She was pushed roughly onto the ground in front of her, and when she looked up, she realized they had arrived. Her captor took his place beside Lucius Malfoy, who was standing at Voldemort's right side, looking at Hermione as though she were a bug he would like to squash. All he was waiting for was the permission from his master. A man she recognized as Peter Pettigrew stood on Voldemort's left, and, if it were possible, he looked even more pathetic than he had four years earlier. Lord Voldemort was sitting on what could only be described as a throne, looking down on her with utter contempt and disgust.

"This is the most powerful witch in all of Hogwarts?" he sneered. "A lowly Mudblood..."

She sat back and glared at him, knowing that even if death were coming, she would face it head on. She watched as his eyes flickered down to the pendant -- which had come out of her robes when she fell -- and his already pale face paled even more. Hermione almost fainted. Voldemort had paled. It made him seem almost ... human.

"Where did you get that?" he asked, his voice a deathly whisper.

She raised a trembling hand and clutched the pendant. "My parents," she said, praying her voice was as calm and collected as she wished it to be.

If it were possible, his face became even more white, and he stood suddenly, jerking her to her feet with his hand clenched around her upper arm. She gasped from the pain before schooling her face into a mask of indifference. Voldemort lifted the pendant and stared at it for a few minutes before he dropped it and let go of her arm. She fell back down onto the floor.

He walked back up to his throne and sat down. "Everyone, out!" he barked. They all scurried to do his bidding -- except Pettigrew, who stayed by his master's side. "Pettigrew..." the Dark Lord's voice trailed off warningly, and Pettigrew quickly left the room.

Voldemort stared down at her for a few more minutes before motioning for her to get up, which she did. She was completely confused. Voldemort was acting almost ... nice. Impossible, she scoffed. Voldemort, nice? She looked at him, and was surprised to find him studying her closely.

Suddenly, he spoke.

"You have her face. I don't know why I never noticed it before..."

Now Hermione was more confused than ever. What in Heaven, Hell, or Earth was he talking about? "Excuse me?" She almost slapped herself for talking back to him.

Voldemort looked -- dare she say it? -- amused. "Your mother. You have your mother's face."

Hermione furrowed her brows. "How do you know my mother?"

Voldemort sighed and leaned back against his chair. "I'm going to tell you a story..."

Hermione was surprised she didn't die from the shock of it all.

"You may sit down, if you like." He snapped his fingers, and a house elf came scurrying into the room. "A chair for the miss."

Hermione was still completely confused. She sat down on the chair the elf brought for her, smiling at the little creature as it bowed out of the room. She frowned, looking back at Voldemort, who seemed to be contemplating his next words.

"I met your mother on one of my many travels, about nineteen years ago. I had already begun my reign as Lord Voldemort, of course, and I was thirsting for power. Already the Wizardingworld feared my name, and I knew it would not be long before the Muggle realm did so as well. Your mother, however..." he shook his head. "She did not fear me at all. She worked at the Ministry, and I had kidnapped her for questioning. She--"

"Wait," Hermione interrupted, surprising herself with her daring. "My mum's not a witch. How could she be working at the Ministry?"

Voldemort laughed softly, surprising her not nearly as much as his answer. "Oh, no, my dear," he said softly. Hermione was ready to faint. He'd just called her a dear. "Your mother was a witch. And your name is not Hermione Ann Granger..."

Hermione's breath hitched. She knew what he was going to say. There was only one thing possible that he could say. But she still didn't accept it.

"Your name is Hermione Rhianna ThomasineRiddle," he paused, "or Lady Voldemort, if you prefer."

Hermione gasped as her eyes rolled back into her head, and she slumped in her chair in a dead faint.