Voldemort Ascendant

Chapter Twelve: Limmifer

Darkness. It was everywhere, seemingly inescapable. What is this place? How did I get here? Why am I here? Hermione´s thoughts filled the void, and seemed to echo back at her, strange and distorted. The world was unnaturally empty. She was unnaturally empty. Grasping for something, anything, she noticed a flash of silver from the corner of her eye. Quickly, she spun to her right, hoping to view it better - but it was gone. What was that? she wondered, then noticed it again, slipping past her, mercurial and rapid. This time, she turned slowly, and was able to catch a glimpse of it - long, slippery, powerful.

A sense of peace and well-being enveloped her, caressed her, warmed her, and she slowly realised that the thing, whatever it was, now surrounded her, a protecting nimbus that slowly became part of her. Gradually it no longer surrounded her, but rather, came from within her. Clarity came slowly, but with it, the knowledge that times ahead were going to be hard, but she had the power to overcome it all.

Without warning, her eyes popped open, and the knowledge of the dreams evaporated from her mind, forgotten.

The real world swam above her. Blurred and unfixed, her vision forbade her from comprehending her surroundings. Confused and lost, she gave a soft whimper and desperately tried to steady herself, but was startled to a halt by a petulant complaint.

`Why don´t you just wake her, Father? Letting her wake on her own is so tedious. By the Dark Lord, I´ll wake her myself if-`

`You shall do no such thing unless commanded to do so.´

The first voice was bored and riddled with complaint, the second curt and structured; both were familiar yet she could not place them. Lie still, a third voice commanded, but it was different from the other two. It hadn´t come from around her, but rather, from within her, and it was so soft and gentle that she knew instinctively that it was a voice to be trusted. Listen, it commanded, and she obeyed.

`But we´re wizards, Father - a swish of either of our wands and we can wake her and start questioning her-`

Again, the second voice cut into the first. `Because we do as the Dark Lord wishes, not as we wish. Do you understand me, boy?´ His retaliation was swift and cutting, and Hermione felt gratified that she had not been on the receiving end of it.

`Yes,´ the first voice replied sulkily.

`Yes Father. And have a care for your tone, Draco. It is sounding remarkably akin to insolence.´

Draco. Like a crashing wave, her memory swept over her, and she found herself sinking into the dark abyss of nothingness once more.

***

Draco´s face took on a deeply petulant expression. Tearing the corner from a parchment rolled up upon his father´s desk, he rolled it into a tiny ball and childishly flicked it across the room, and smirked in satisfaction as it landed in Hermione´s frizzy hair. He was reaching for the parchment once more when a pale white head appeared in his father´s fireplace. Startled, he snatched his hand back towards himself. The head scowled.

`Ah, Lucius. I see your boy is still . . . a boy,´ the Dark Lord said softly.

`Much to my dear wife´s delight,´ Lucius replied sardonically, and Draco flushed, humiliated. `We captured the mudblood before she could escape, Master. I now await your command.´

A small smile - resembling a grimace more than anything else - played across the Dark Lord´s face. `Very good, Lucius. Very good indeed.´ The Dark Lord paused, considering. `I had not planned to arrive at the school for another month or so, but I believe this is a matter that may require immediate attention.´ He paused once more, tilting his scarred face to the side. `I have matters here that are somewhat . . . pressing . . . matters that will require my attention before I can make my way to the school.´

`Of course, Master,´ Lucius said, wondering what the Dark Lord was getting at.

A scream echoed distantly from behind the Dark Lord´s disembodied head, and Lucius suppressed a grin. Pressing matters, indeed, he thought to himself.

The Dark Lord´s brow creased in what might have been a sign of irritation. `For the time being, I leave the girl in your hands, Lucius. I am confident that you shall deal with her efficiently until my arrival. Interrogate her. Find out what she knows about her condition. If you believe you can do so, encourage her to use her powers - in a controlled fashion, of course.´

`Naturally, Master,´ Lucius replied. Without a further word, the Dark Lord´s head disappeared from the fireplace, leaving Lucius and Draco alone with the unconscious girl. Lucius turned to Hermione, casting her an assessing look.

`Now may we wake her up?´ Draco whined.

Lucius shook his head impatiently. `No. Allow her to wake in her own time.´

Draco gave a loud, exasperated sigh and rolled his eyes. `But why, Father? You said we had to await the Dark Lord´s command, and the Dark Lord just left her in your care. I don´t see why we can´t just wake her now and be over with it.´

Lucius´s eyes narrowed dangerously as he turned to face his son. `The Dark Lord also encouraged us to test her powers. I believe you have carried out the bare minimum of research required of the topic?´

Draco flushed once more. `A little,´ he mumbled in response, hunching his shoulders defensively.

`Well then, you should know that the Battle-lust requires quite the expenditure of effort. If she is to effectively enter the Battle-lust condition for us, she will require rest. Understand?´ Lucius asked, his voice laced with mock patience.

`Yes, Father,´ Draco replied, unrepentant. Casting a hateful glare at the mudblood, he raised himself to his feet. `I am returning to my rooms. I have much study to do.´

`I don´t doubt it,´ Lucius replied, arching one eyebrow in scorn. Watching his son exit his office, Lucius allowed himself a small smirk of contempt. `Ah, Draco, if only female anatomy were a subject within the school. You would be quite the high-achiever,´ he remarked softly.

***

She was in the dark void again, only this time there was no fear, only a wise acceptance of the void as a cocoon of sorts, a place for her to return to when she needed to recuperate. She silver power was there with her once more - and always would be, she understood now. At first she´d wondered at it, wondered how much a part of her it was. Could she control it the way she controlled her hand, or was it more of a separate entity? She suspected the latter, as it seemed to behave of its own random accord; sometimes surrounding her, sometimes coming from within her, other times simply frolicking like a puppy in autumn´s leaves, leaping and winding through the darkness with abandom. Limmifer, she named it, and watched, content, as it spiraled playfully through the void whilst she rested and gained strength.

Her memories were vague, disordered. She knew her own power, could feel it. Limmifer was an extension of that power, she was positive. But she didn´t understand the power, nor the source, nor the reason for it. Here in the void, nothing was truly certain, but she knew that soon she would need to wake once more; an uncomfortable feeling, like being harshly pulled from the womb, and all the more disconcerting because she never remembered the waking world, just as she was sure that in the waking world, she didn´t remember the void.

Limmifer continued to play, running speedy circles around her, leaving a blazing trail of silver stars behind him as he slowly drew closer. Suddenly he stopped - she wasn´t sure of his sex, if he had one, but had taken to calling him a `he´ if only because she felt that her closest friends had always been male - stopped, as if listening. He lost his joyful countenance and appeared to become serious, then briefly flicked from existence. She wasn´t alarmed at all, she´d come to understand what it meant. Looking down, she was unsurprised to see that Limmifer had become one with her, shining through her skin.

It was time to wake up.

***

Hermione´s eye lids flickered, and Lucius smiled in satisfaction. `Ah. You´re finally awake, I see.´ As he watched, silently, Hermione frowned a little and moved her legs from the bench, swinging her feet to the ground as she pulled her body upright. She wobbled, unstable for a moment, and raised a hand to her head.

`What happened?´ she asked softly, and studiously avoided meeting his eye.

Inwardly, he nodded. Well might she avoid my gaze, he thought to himself. Outwardly, he straightened. `I was hoping, perhaps, you might tell me what happened,´ he responded, keeping his voice low. `Do you remember anything?´ The question was genuine. He had no idea how the Battle Lust would effect her in its aftermath; for all his questioning and reading, none had provided any answers to the condition of those afflicted with the Battle Lust. Too little was known of the Battle Lust, but he had every intention of changing that.

Hermione´s frown deepened, and she shook her head a little. `I don´t remember anything,´ she replied, and chanced a glance at him.

Lucius raised his head haughtily. `Nothing?´ he asked sardonically, then turned away from her and crossed his office, locking the door before turning to her once more. `Allow me to tell you what happened, then,´ he said, his voice sinister and low. `You and your little mudblood friends staged a rather ill-planned escape. But one of your little comrades - Jo-Anne, is it?´ he asked.

`Sally-Ann,´ Hermione responded quietly.

`Sally-Ann, then. Sally-Ann betrayed you all, coming straight to me with your plans. Tell me, Hermione,´ Lucius said, softening his voice and crossing the room once more, wielding his height over her. `Did you truly think to escape me?´

He took in every last move she made; noticing her pupils dilate in fear, the faint catch of her breath and the tremble of her lip, the way her shoulders shuddered and her legs tensed, ready for flight. `Well?´ he demanded quietly.

`I . . . I . . . I don´t know,´ she whispered. `I don´t remember any of it,´ she explained, somewhat fearful yet apologetic.

Lucius withdrew from her, then studied her face. Could she be lying in the hope of saving her skin? Or was she telling him the truth? `Indeed?´ he asked slowly. `Not even the death of your little friends at the hands of my dementors? You screamed quite loudly as you witnessed it,´ he lied smoothly, cruelly.

Hermione sucked in her breath in pain, then made a sound halfway between gasp and horrified sob. Her chest tightened in agony and she raised her eyes to his, moving one pale, trembling hand to her lips and shaking her head a little in denial. Lucius nodded his head. `A rather gruesome affair, if I do say so myself,´ Lucius continued. `They died quite badly. All sorts of screaming and wailing. I must say, the student population was fascinated at the sight. I dare say they hadn´t seen such a thing since the night of our victory,´ he said crudely, all the while studying her reactions.

Hermione felt sick to her stomach, but without warning felt cold ice travel through her before disappearing. The only warning Lucius had was a rapid flicker of silver behind Hermione´s suddenly hard eyes. `You´re lying, Malfoy,´ she sneered. Her voice was cold, hard, and possessed of a deep resonance. She gave him a steady, cruel look; but then the moment passed, and she once more looked fearful. `What just . . .?´ A wave of nausea swept over her, and she wavered on the bench, feeling like any moment she would be sick.

The alarm Lucius had felt at the sound of her voice slowly passed, and he gave Hermione a coldly appraising look. So that´s all it takes, he thought to himself. Making a mental note of all that had passed between them, he grabbed his wand and pointed it at her. `Dormio,´ he uttered.

***

The dungeon just wasn´t as fun without Harry´s screams.

Rolling his eyes in his head, gazing casually at the ceiling and then back down at the girl between his knees, Draco gave a loud, bored yawn. `By the Dark Lord, I´m bored,´ he complained, and barely registered the girl´s renewed efforts to pleasure him. Resting his chin on one fist, he started tapping his shoe upon the cold stone floor. Admittedly, it was nice not having that filthy old pervert, Travers, drooling in the halls behind him anymore. He certainly wasn´t missing the old fiend; no one appeared to be. Even the dementors seemed to walk with a slight spring in their step these days. But the atmosphere just wasn´t the same without Harry´s dementia, without his screams and whimpers.

`Bloody hell,´ he muttered, yawning once more. Not to mention how his sex life was suffering. He needed that pain, that agony, to get fully in the mood. Sure, he´d tried smacking around a couple of his younger fangirls. And it had worked, for about four minutes. But in the end, it just wasn´t the same. He needed those broken sobs. Fangirls might sob when he slapped them, but it was far from a broken sobbing. Son of the headmaster or not, he wasn´t allowed to break his fangirls, much to his irritation. In fact, maybe it wasn´t even the broken sobs that he thrived on. Maybe it was just the knowledge that Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, one time hero of the wizarding world, lay broken in a cell at the end of the hallway.

Turning his attention to his manicured fingernails, Draco considered his options. Pansy was always an option; she knew how to turn him on like no other. But he preferred to leave her as a last resort; more often than not, Pansy counted her favours, and Draco despised owing anyone. Particularly loathsome was owing Pansy. Her tastes were a little too perverse, even for him. He suddenly shuddered, remembering the stories she´d told about one of her boy toys and the multiple uses for a Blast-Ended Skrewt. Definitely not to his taste.

No, there had to be other options. His thoughts returned to Hermione Granger, whom his father was keeping in an unused classroom in the West Tower. She´s not to be kept in the dungeons because we don´t want to break her, his father had explained. We need her to remain sane and in control of her abilities - how else is the Dark Lord to study the Battle Lust? Draco pursed his lips in irritation. As I recall it, the Dark Lord won´t be studying her abilities at all - we are the ones going to all the effort, he thought sulkily, remembering his father´s demands that he fetch blankets and a jug of water like some common servant. He´d used his wand and a spell, naturally, but that was beside the point. He was above being used as a mere gofer.

Hermione Granger. The filthy mudblood that his father was slowly becoming obsessed with. She ought to be thrown back into the kitchen in chains, Draco thought maliciously. Who cares about the damn Battle Lust anyway? We hold the rest of the wizarding world in the palm of our hand . . . well, almost. It wasn´t as if they needed some super class of Battle Lust afflicted wizards and witches. Hermione Granger . . . servitude had suited her. It had certainly humbled her from the smart-arse she´d been in her first four years at Hogwarts. Cursed know-it-all that she had been. An image of her, pinned against a stonewall by the weight of his body, suddenly flashed into his mind. What the bloody-hell had overcome him that night? Power, he remembered. Knowing that you could so easily overcome her, despite her powers. He suddenly smirked. Mudblood or not, he´d do it again given half a chance. The thought of having that smug bitch broken beneath him pleased him, and at his knees his fangirl suddenly moaned, sensing his lust.

`Shut up, slut,´ he hissed, and cruelly snagged her hair in his fist. But despite his harsh words, he was suddenly pleased. Raising his free hand to his cheek, he remembered the day Hermione Granger, a stinking, low life mudblood, had dared to strike him across the face. Battle Lust or not, Hermione Granger now relied solely upon the mercy of his Father and himself. And by the Dark Lord, he was going to show her who he was.

***

Somehow, during the chaos of the war, the panic of the aftermath and the imprisonment of servitude, Hermione had forgotten all about the Hogwart´s ghosts. Seeing them before her now, drifting somewhat aimlessly in the air, it seemed impossible that she could have done so, yet she had, and now her memories of them were brought back to her in startling clarity as Peeves howled and set up a general ruckus, Myrtle assaulted her with complaints about being torn forcefully from her bathroom, and Nearly Headless Nick asked poignant questions about the fate of the school and the wizarding world.

`I´m sorry Myrtle, but I really can´t help you - I don´t know, Nick, I haven´t left the school in nearly three years myself - Peeves, please, can´t you channel your energies into being a little more quiet? Myrtle, I said sorry - no Nick - would you all just shut up!´

Myrtle gave Hermione an affronted look and flew to a corner of the room, with her back pointedly towards Hermione, whilst Nearly Headless Nick looked somewhat abashed. Peeves paused to take a breath and continued making a nuisance of himself.

`Sorry, Nick,´ Hermione apologized. It´s just that I couldn´t very well answer all your questions at once, especially with Peeves being . . . well, being Peeves. And well, with Myrtle . . .´ Hermione lowered her voice, and Nick nodded conspiratorially.

`Not at all, not at all,´ he replied. `It´s just that it has been awfully long, you know. Not a soul has been within the room since we ourselves were locked in here. I´m afraid I was a little overcome with excitement. Awfully sorry.´

Hermione lowered herself to the floor and hugged her knees to her chest. `Can´t you simply leave, Nick? You are ghosts, after all.´

Nick lowered himself closer to the ground and rubbed his chin. `Afraid not, Hermione, afraid not. The room seems to be bound with a spectral charm - a containment charm aimed specifically at containing ghosts to one room, you see. You can´t very well just get rid of ghosts, can you? No, of course not! We´re ghosts, hanging around is what we do! But you can contain ghosts, particularly if they´re of the nuisance variety like you-know-who over there,´ Nick explained affably, and nodded his head towards Peeves. His head promptly rolled from his neck, and hung upside awkwardly for a moment. The ghost´s face flushed a darker shade of grey, and he returned his head to his neck. `Sorry about that,´ he apologized.

`But Nick, why wasn´t Peeves contained to a single room long ago?´ Hermione asked.

`Good question, Hermione. I´m glad you asked! Because Dumbledore would never have allowed it, that´s why. Great man, that Dumbledore. You see Hermione, the use of a spectral charm is generally considered to be somewhat unethical - denies the ghost of his civil liberties, if you will. After all, a ghosts merely roams the areas that he or she frequented in life. By containing a ghost to one room, you´re depriving he or she of their right to haunt their former homes! There are, of course, cases of ghosts being entirely relocated . . . spectral charms merely contain the ghost, not silence it . . . you get noisy fellows like Peeves there in a small home and a spectral charm isn´t going to do all that much good . . .´

Gradually Hermione altogether stopped listening to Nearly Headless Nick, instead looking around the room. Clearly, it was a classroom that hadn´t been used for years and years. The style of the furniture was ancient, even for Hogwarts, and the floor was coated with a thick layer of dust. She´d never noticed the room before, even in her days as a student of Hogwarts, and suspected that some sort of spell disguised the location of the room.

Looking up, Hermione interrupted Nick´s endless chatter. `Nick, why were the three of you locked within this room?´

Nick adopted a woeful expression. `We ghosts, as you may know, weren´t involved in the actual final battle for Hogwarts. We were inside, minding the castle, if you like. I rather think no one expected to lose that night. You had young Harry on your side, and the cause of light, of course . . .´ Nick shook his head slowly, sending it wobbling precariously. `Nice boy, that Harry. But there we were, Hogwart´s ghosts, alone in the castle when that monster, He Who Must Not Be Named, enters with his Death Eaters and the like, taking control. What shock! What surprise! Taking over the castle like it belongs to them and all . . . well, we weren´t going to have any of that. Oh no! Protest we did, right loudly! Next thing I know, I´m locked in this room with Myrtle and Peeves . . .´

A loud moan issued from Myrtle´s corner, and Nick rolled his eyes in obvious exasperation. `You´d think I´d be used to it, really, wouldn´t you? But let me tell you something - there´s no getting used to her!´ he whispered theatrically. Myrtle allowed herself another loud wail, before sniffling ostentatiously.

Looking around the room once more, Hermione wondered why the room had been unused for so long. `Nick . . . I don´t suppose you know why the room was abandoned?´ she asked.

Nick shifted uncomfortably. `Well . . . dear me . . . what a question. Glad you asked, really. Uh . . .´ Nick continued on this way for several moments before finally collection himself. `Dastardly story, really. Simply awful.´ He gave a stern nod and resumed fidgeting. Hermione raised her eyebrow and cocked her head to the side, more curious than ever.

Peeves cast a look at Nearly Headless Nick. `Scared, Nicky-Wicky Mimsy-Pimsy?´ he cried out in his sing-song cackle of a voice.

Nick cast Peeves an irritated look. `Would you rather tell Miss Granger the story of the Bloody Baron?´ he demanded angrily.

Peeves gave a horrified gasp, his eyes bulged for a moment; then he stuck out his tongue and promptly turned invisible. His wibbling could be heard in the corner opposite Myrtle.

`Bloody nuisance of a poltergeist,´ Nick complained, then gave Hermione an apologetic look.

`The Bloody Baron?´ she prompted.

Nick returned to fidgeting. `Ah, yes. The Bloody Baron. Frightening fellow, to say the least. Loyal to a fault.´ Nick paused and cast a nervous look around the room. `Not many know about the Baron´s past,´ he explained, his voice hardly above a whisper. `Not many at all. He´s an old ghost; perhaps the oldest of us all.´ He stopped once more, again looking nervously around the room. When he continued, his voice was even softer. `The Bloody Baron was a fellow close to Salazar Slytherin. Shared many of Salazar´s thoughts and opinions about the integrity of the wizarding world, if you get my meaning?´ Hermione nodded slightly, and Nick continued, his voice growing ever softer until Hermione was straining forward to hear him.

`The Bloody Baron was friend, companion, confidante of Salazar Slytherin. He knew all Salazar´s secrets, and happily carried out more than a few of Salazar´s more brutal, bloody requests both before and after the establishment of Hogwarts. Salazar Slytherin was an evil man, but the Bloody Baron . . . he was truly heartless. And, more importantly, he was loyal, and loyal only to Salazar and the house of Slytherin.´ Nick stopped, scanned the room, and continued. `Naturally, you know of the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets?´ Hermione nodded. `The Bloody Baron was the first Basilisk.´

`What?´ Hermione demanded. `How can that be?!´

Nick lifted his hands and gestured drastically for silence. `Shhh, girl! I don´t mean that he was a basilisk; merely that he fulfilled a similar purpose. He routinely led muggle-born wizard and witches to this very classroom . . . and slaughtered them.´

Hermione was horrified. `But how . . . how could that have ever happened?´

`You´ve never noticed this room before, have you? I thought not. There´s a charm on the door to the room. Unless you´re specifically looking for the room, you won´t notice it. And you can´t look for what you don´t know is there.´

`Then why is the room set up as a classroom?´ Hermione asked.

`Ah, the room was originally built to be a classroom. But Salazar and the Bloody Baron simply selected a classroom at random and placed the charm on the room long before any classes started. The school was quite chagrined when the timetables and class locations came out and no one - including Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff - could find the room. Only Salazar and the Bloody Baron could find it. And they used it as a killing ground for muggle-borns. Salazar routinely set detentions for students, then lead them to the classroom. Wait here until the Baron arrives for you, he´d say. And that was that.´

Hermione frowned and gave Nick a doubtful look. `Oh come on . . . surely that couldn´t have continued for too long. They would have noticed the students going missing and looked into it.´

Nick puffed out his chest. `Naturally they noticed! But the muggle-borns were new to the school. Many simply presumed the children had run home. But come the summer break, when parents enquired into their children´s whereabouts, they realised that the children weren´t running home at all - they were disappearing within school grounds. It wasn´t to be tolerated. Gryffindor instigated an investigation into the whereabouts of the children. Gradually his suspicion fell upon Salazar, and he followed him one evening. The Bloody Baron was slain defending Salazar. As for Salazar, he disappeared before any harm could befall him.´

Hermione shuddered. `Oh, how awful.´ Clutching her arms tightly about herself, she surveyed the room. `Light, why did Dumbledore ever allow him to roam the school?´

Nick gave a delicate shrug. `What harm can a ghost do? The Baron is one hundred percent loyal to the Slytherins; if Dumbledore had not allowed him to accompany the children, he simply would have done his best to guard them anyway. Better that he was within the school under Dumbledore´s watchful eye, than entering the grounds and causing mischief. Being given permission to guard the children placated him. Besides, no self-respecting ghost would watch over Slytherin house.´

Hermione nodded and shuddered once more. Nick gave his impression of a perky, cheerful smile. `So, Hermione! What brings you here?´

Hermione gave Nick a grim smile and a silver light flared brightly behind her eyes. `Malfoy is toying with me. But he´s playing at a game he doesn´t understand, and he´s going to lose. They´re all going to lose.´