Voldemort Ascendant

Chapter four: A key to the dungeons.

The class-room Hermione had chosen to hide in was located on the ground floor, two doors away from the stairway that led down to the old Slytherin rooms. She'd specifically chosen a classroom that was close to the dungeons, yet not too close - on the odd chance that Lucius Malfoy or some other Death Eater stumbled across her, she did not want it to seem like she was sourcing the dungeons. For this reason, she'd also brought her bucket and mop along with her, though she had no intention of putting either to use.

She had decided to lean against the wall beside the doorway, so she was better able to hear footsteps when they approached, and, again, so that if someone other than who she was waiting for happened by, she could grab her mop and immediately look busy.

Leaning her head against the wall, Hermione tapped her toe impatiently against the cold stone wall. 'Hurry up, Sally-Ann, you've been down there for three hours now,' she said under her breath, then smirked to herself. So that's why you like Edward so much! Pulling herself up short, she shook her head. You've been spending far too much time with Justin and Parvati of late, she berated herself.

Hearing footsteps coming down the darkened hallway, Hermione cautiously poked her head around the doorway. Sure enough, Sally-Ann was furtively coming from the direction of the dungeons. Hermione opened the door a little wider, then reached out and snatched Sally-Ann's arm, pulling the girl into the classroom then quickly stifling Sally-Ann's cry of alarm. 'Shhhhh' she hissed. 'It's just me, Sally!'

Sally-Ann jerked away and covered her chest with her right hand. 'Light, Hermione, you scared me half to death! What on earth are you doing?' she demanded, taking a deep breath.

'Sorry!' Hermione apologised. 'I just wanted to speak to you alone.'

'You could have just arranged a time earlier in the day, instead of sneaking around at night and snatching me into darkened rooms . . . bloody hell, I thought you were some student trying to rape me!'

With relief, Hermione realised Sally-Ann wasn't angry. 'Sorry,' she repeated, sheepishly. 'But it's just really important that we talk in private, and you know what Parvati can be like . . .if she thought we were having some private meeting, she'd get all upset and . . . well, you know.'

Sally-Ann nodded in understanding. 'So, what did you want to talk about?' she asked quietly, and sensibly closed the classroom door before pulling up a seat.

'This might seem a little strange, Sally-Ann . . . but I just want you to bear in mind that ultimately it's for the best.'

In the dark, Sally-Ann's eyes opened wide. 'What!?' she demanded, though keeping her voice low.

'Look, you're sleeping with Edward, right?' Sally-Ann nodded into the darkness, and Hermione continued. 'How far is he willing to take his relationship with you?'

'I don't know . . . what's this about, Hermione? Please, just cut to the point and be honest.'

Hermione took a deep breath. 'You know I want to save Harry . . . and that Harry is being kept in the dungeons. I need to gain access to the dungeons, and I think you and Edward are my key to doing so.'

Sally-Ann was silent for a moment, then suddenly stood up and started pacing nervously. 'Oh Hermione . . . do you even know what you're asking?'

Hermione had expected this, and had a ready-made response. 'How is it any different from what he does with you? What if he took me down and just pretended that he were having a tryst with me?'

Sally-Ann paused. 'Because, Hermione . . . you're you. The entire school knows who you are . . . Travers would surely report your presence down there to Headmaster Malfoy.'

'Travers?' Hermioned asked.

'The Death Eater that guards the dungeons.'

Hermione frowned. She hadn't thought of this. 'Does he really pay that much attention to you?'

'No, not really . . . I mean, he's a pervert and he always leers at us whenever we go down there and when we leave . . . I think he listens to us,' Sally-Ann said hesitantly. 'But if someone like you . . . you have a reputation, Hermione. Two and a half years later, they still talk about what you did in the last stand. Half of the students are scared of you, Hermione.' Silence followed this statement, and Sally-Ann peered at Hermione across the room. 'Hermione? What's wrong?'

There was a moment more of silence, then, 'I have a reputation?' Hermione asked softly.

'Oh Hermione . . . didn't you know?' Sally-Ann questioned, her voice both disbelieving and sad.

'No. No, I didn't,' Hermione replied. 'I hadn't thought . . . I mean, I just presumed, once we were defeated, that they'd all forget that night . . . and in all honesty, I remember so little of that night. It was almost like a dream, and that's how I remember it . . . my memories of what happened are so vague and indistinct.'

Sally-Ann allowed a moment of silence to pass, before continuing. 'Edward says they've used you as an example in some of the Advanced Magic classes . . . you're nearly on a par with the famous Harry Potter, by virtue of your actions the night of the final battle. You were amazing that night, Hermione. You really were,' she said, her voice both respectful and admiring.

Hermione continued to frown. 'Thanks,' she said dismissively. 'This complicates things.' It also might explain why Lucius Malfoy has an uncanny knack for appearing whenever one of his rotten little students attempts to attack me, she thought, feeling more annoyed than anything else. 'Regardless of how they view me, I can only see your relationship with Edward as being a boon to us, Sally-Ann. Would he stand against us, or would he be willing to risk all and help us?'

Sally-Ann hesitated before responding. 'He . . . he'd help us if I asked him to, Hermione. He hates this life, he really does. His older brothers were all Ravenclaws, Hermione . . . but for some reason, the Sorting Hat cast him into Slytherin. He says it was probably the Sorting Hat seeing the future and casting him into a house where he'd be able to complete his education . . . but he's not like them, Hermione. He will help us. But what do you want him to do?'

Hermione heaved a silent sigh of relief. 'I want him to sneak me down into the dungeons, as soon as possible. I need to see them for myself before I can come up with any real plan.'

'When?' Sally-Ann asked.

'As soon as possible,' Hermione replied. Hold on, Harry, she thought to herself. It won't be long now.

***

A devastating chill had overcome his entire body, and he felt as if ice had replaced the blood in his vains. The trembling of his body had increased tenfold, and almost, but not quite, distracted him from the screams that haunted him on what seemd to be a permanent basis.

He was trapped, now. Trapped within his being, a prisoner within his own body, his own mind. And the memories held him hostage, replaying before his eyes over and over and over until he wanted rip his own face apart in an effort to make it all stop. But he no longer seemed capable of exercising control over his body, couldn't bring himself to pry his arms from around his legs.

'No more no more no more please nomorenomorenomore . . .' he muttered it over and over, a litany, a prayer, a plea.

But still they tormented him.

Why did you abandon us, Harry? What did we do wrong?

You saved yourself, Harry, why not the rest of us?

Selfish boy, to so betray a nation of hope!

The voices . . . sometimes pleading, sometimes spiteful and vindictive. He preferred the screams to the cold, venomous accusations.

The sun had gone down, now, and he was standing alone in the dark, lost and afraid, but he could still hear the laughter and the cries, the Latin spells and the fizzles and pops of curses and charms being cast. Taking a few hesitant steps forward, he slipped on something wet and landed with a heavy thud upon a large, soft object. He heard several cracks, and suddenly realised he'd landed on someone's body. With a cry of horror, he comprehended the significance of the cracking sounds - the sound of the cold corpses's bones snapping beneath his weight. Springing to his feet, he whimpered. 'Light forgive me,' he stuttered, and tried to feel his way around the body.

Squinting ahead of him, he was able to make out several upright shapes, illuminated in the darkness by the spells flaring from their wands. A series of red flashes were followed by flares of green, and several of the figures slumped to the ground. Harry bit back a gasp and once more reached for his wand before remembering that he'd lost it. Hearing a crunch of grass behind him, Harry froze, wondering if the darkness would be enough to conceal him.

'Harry,' a soft, gentle voice spoke to him. A flood of relief surged through him, and he turned.

'Hermione!' he whispered, and almost wept. 'Ron . . . and Dumbledore . . . they're . . . they're . . .'

'Shhhh, I know. But you mustn't think about them now. We must fight.'

'I can't,' Harry replied dismally, and fought back the urge to burst into tears. 'I've lost my wand.' Looking up, he realised something wasn't quite right with Hermione, and suddenly he realised what it was.

She was surrounded by a nimbus of bright, silver light.

'Hermione!' he gasped. 'You're glowing!'

Hermione tilted her head. 'So I am. It's the Battle-lust. Don't you feel it?'

Bewildered, Harry shook his head. 'No . . . what?'

'Battle-lust, Harry . . . can't you feel the power inside you? In here,' she said forcefully, and laid one silvery hand over his heart. Harry shook his head once more, and Hermione withdrew her hand, slowly shaking her own head. 'They've broken you, Harry. But don't worry - I'll make them pay. I'll make them all pay,' she whispered, and her voice was suddenly low, vicious, and distinctly un-Hermione-like. 'Stay here. I'll return for you, Harry. I'll come back for you,' she growled, then suddenly stalked away, fearlessly approaching the figures he'd been trying to hide from.

'No, Hermione!' he cried out. 'Hermione, don't leave me here! Don't leave me alone!'

'Don't leave me alone, Hermione,' Harry whimpered. 'Please don't leave me . . .'

And then her voice echoed softly off the cold stone walls. I'll return for you, Harry. I'll come back for you.

It was a beam of warm light in the cold darkness, and he clung to it with what little strength remained to him.

***

Sweeping the hallway outside the History of Magic classroom, Hermione briefly paused to eavesdrop upon the lesson.

'Battle-lust. Does anyone know what that is?' a heavy voice demanded, and Hermione, curious, stepped a little closer to the classroom. She knew perfectly well what the Battle-lust was, but was fascinated by the idea of hearing someone else teach it, rather than simply having to read about it as she'd done. 'Pritchard?' the voice snapped.

'Uh . . . it's this lust thing . . . that comes to someone during battle?' Pritchard responded, his voice slow and thick.

Hermione felt herself smile.

'You deduced that all on your own, did you, Pritchard?' the professor asked waspishly. 'Very well. Battle-lust blesses very, very few of us. There have only ever been less than a score of cases reported, and each case was well documented simply for the highly unusual nature of it. I suppose I'd be expecting too much by asking if any of you can name a case of it?'

Apparently, on the contrary, as several voices called out at once, 'That mudblood slave,' 'Granger', and 'Hermione, sir!' Hermione caught her breath in surprise. These students wouldn't have been old enough to be fighting on the night, she thought to herself, and wondered that they knew of her.

'Right you all are,' the professor said, and continued with his lesson. 'Battle-lust, as Pritchard so very cleverly pointed out, occurs during battle. It largely sends the wizard - or witch, in Granger's case - into a frenzy of spell-casting, magnifying what spells they cast and giving them a higher tolerance to spells cast upon them. Even the killing curse will not kill them, though cast at a close enough range and by an experienced enough caster, it may well knock them into oblivion.'

'What about the silver nimbus, sir?' one of the student's called out.

'Caused by the excess of magic running through the affected. As some of you may know, the essence of magic - like unicorn blood - is silver. Thus, the over-abundance of magic flowing through the vein's of those blessed with the Battle-lust is manifested in a silver-nimbus. The affected's voice may also take on an almost god-like tone. This, too, is a direct result of the excesses of magic, amplifying the natural attributes of the affected. They can see further, hear more, speak louder-'

'But sir, what causes the Battle-lust?' someone called out.

Creeping closer to the classroom so that she might better hear the professor's response, Hermione was startled witless when a soft, cold voice spoke from behind her shoulder.

'Taking a break from your chores, Miss Granger?' Lucius Malfoy asked, and stepped closer to her.

'Headmaster Malfoy,' she gasped out breathlessly, taking a quick step backwards and finding herself backed up against the wall. 'I . . .' suddenly, she knew how both Zabini and Draco Malfoy had felt when unexpectedly confronted with the devastatingly calm and collected Headmaster.

'Yes?' he asked, and, panic rising, she realised she hadn't answered him.

'I . . . I . . .' she stuttered, and felt a tremble wrack her body.

From inside the classroom, the lesson continued. 'Your homework tonight will be to write an essay on the history of Battle-lust . . .'

'Ah, Battle-lust,' Lucius said, and gave Hermione a cold smile. 'Something you're familiar with, I believe?' he asked, and smoothly cocked his head to one side, regarding her. Taking a step forward, Lucius allowed his height to dwarf her, forcing her to tilt her head up in order to meet his gaze. He was so close, she could feel the warmth of his body radiating through his robes. 'You were quite remarkable that night, Miss Granger. Tell me, do you remember much of it?'

Hermione sucked in a shallow breath and shook her head, feeling numb.

'Nothing, Miss Granger? Surely you remember a little, no?' he asked, and grabbed her chin when she tried to lower her gaze. 'Uh-uh, I believe I've made my feelings about eye contact quite clear. Now tell me, Hermione. What, exactly, do you remember of that night?'

'I . . . it's so blurred, Headmaster Malfoy,' she whispered. 'I remember so little . . . and it's all broken and fragmented,' she pleaded.

'Tell me,' he demanded softly.

She felt like she was going to hyperventilate, pinned between his warmth and the cold stone wall. Shaking her head, she tried to take a deep breath but could only manage a shallow gasp. 'I remember the darkness . . . and seeing Dumbledore's head, hanging from the Dark Lord's hands . . . it felt like something inside me, inside my heart, just flooded over . . . and then I felt like I was floating and invincible,' she whispered.

He released her chin, but she couldn't escape the warmth of his body, felt suffocated by it, embraced by it. 'Continue,' he said, raising one silvery eyebrow.

She could feel the shameful prickle of tears welling behind her eyes. 'Everything happened so quickly . . . I was defending myself so easily, and healing students and other members of our alliance with hardly a thought . . . Death Eaters were throwing all sorts of spells at me, but I stopped them with a few words-'

'What words?' Lucius demanded, his silver eyes narrowing on her face.

'I don't remember,' she replied breathlessly. 'Everything was so clear and obvious - the words and spells, I mean. I had so much power,' she said, and stopped, fearing the shameful tears were going to spill over and humiliate her further before this man who made her feel so vulnerable.

'Do you know what stopped you, girl?' he asked softly, and lowered his head until his lips nearly touched her temple. She shook her head slightly, trying to avoid further contact with him. 'It takes a greatly experienced wizard to stop someone possessed with the Battle-lust, Hermione,' he whispered against her ear. 'I was the wizard that stopped you, girl. You turned that pretty little wand of yours against me, but you were too slow, even with the Battle-lust upon you . . . and I struck you down with the killing curse. But you survived,' he said, giving her a thoughtful look. 'You must be a very talented witch, Miss Granger. A very talented witch indeed.'

Hermione swallowed hard and drew in a ragged breath. 'I was a talented witch, Headmaster Malfoy. But no more,' she said, and, to her gratitude, her voice remained steady, not giving away any of her fear.

He opened his mouth to say something, when the sound of footsteps down the hall drew his attention. The footsteps receded and the moment passed; and he took a slow step away from her, fixing her with a steady look. 'Your purpose here is to clean and serve the school, Miss Granger. Forget this just once more, and I'll be forced to deal with you as appropriate,' he said, his voice once more cool. Turning on his heel, he swept down the hallway, his robe billowing elegantly behind him.

Hermione slumped against the wall and took a deep breath of cold air, then wiped viciously at the tears spilling over her cheeks. Realising that the class would end soon and that students would be filling the hallways any moment now, Hermione grabbed her broom and ran through the hallways, for once oblivious to her dignity.

Light protect me, I need to be saved as badly as you do, Harry, she thought.

***

A shadowy, malformed head floated in the fireplace, flickering with the flames and scowling darkly. 'What does the girl know?' the voice asked softly.

'Apparently, not much,' Lucius replied calmly. 'I asked her about it earlier-'

'You were subtle, I hope,' the Dark Lord interjected.

'Naturally, Master,' Lucius replied. 'The mudblood is clever, but I was able to take her by surprise, and she was frightened - very frightened.'

'Excellent,' the Dark Lord said. 'Continue.'

'She claims to have little to no memory of the night, saying what she does remember is muddled and unclear. She did, however, mention that the Battle-lust came over her when she saw Dumbledore's head hanging from your hands, and that it felt like something in her heart suddenly flooded over.' Trauma. Trauma and her own talents combined to bring the Battle-lust upon her, Lucius thought to himself, but intelligently kept his thoughts to himself. The Dark Lord preferred to come to conclusions on his own, after all.

'It's not much,' the Dark Lord said softly. 'But it's a start. Perhaps I'll pay the young mudblood a visit myself, soon.' The face in the fireplace grimaced. 'But first, I must deal with these foreign ambassadors and their distractions. See to it that the girl remains frightened yet unharmed. She's important to our plans.'

'Yes, Master,' Lucius replied. With that, the head in the flames flickered out.