Ascent

Chapter 3

Their gazes remained locked for several seconds; the tension between the two crackled with repressed magical energy. Although they were still, motionless, they seemed to crouch, wary.

Within those moments, she saw past the passion of his red eyes to the flood of emotion behind them. Shock, fury, apprehension, bemusement... and finally, calculation. His shoulder relaxed, and he motioned for Macnair to return to his place among the masses of people and creatures around him.

More than before, she thought to herself. Although she could not see them, she heard the rustle of robes from the Death Eaters, Cat's Paws, Black Dogs, and other followers of Voldemort who knew her when she belonged to Voldemort. Voldemort was thinking quickly. Hermione waited for him to make the decision.

"Hermione," he murmured, taking a step down from the raised dais. "The Oracle chose you."

Although he said it as a statement, there was an obvious question.

"Yes, Lord Voldemort," she answered. "I was the Oracle's first choice for you."

Voldemort narrowed his eyes, studying her. He reached the floor, and Hermione, acting by pure training, lifted the hem of her midnight blue robes and knelt, but she did not bow her head before him. Procedure she would do, but she would not yield power by presenting her neck. That is what it was about... power for both of them now. She, as a Medicus and as Hermione Granger, could not show herself as a mewling, begging servant, but as a partner, a person of prestige within his ranks. Voldemort's problems were clear, but it was his move, not hers.

"Hermione," he whispered, his fingers just shy of touching her cheek. Her Dark Mark hummed gently. "I knew you were a Medicus-in-training, but I had no idea that you were a Medicus so quickly. Or that you were a Medicus of the caliber for the Oracle to choose you to serve me."

Another murmur among the followers. Hermione felt a twinge of annoyance.

"I am not going to serve you, Lord Voldemort," Hermione said over the noise. The hall silenced, and Voldemort's fingertips brushed against her skin. She did not flinch, only on the inside. "Should you accept the contract and permanently bind me to you and you to me, I will not be your servant. You will pay me my salary because you have no choice - because the magical contract will not allow you to refuse. But I will not be your servant." She stood and said softly enough for only Voldemort to hear. "Nor will I be the pet for you to play with. That isn't what you wanted. It is coincidental that I am the Medicus for you."

Voldemort circled her slowly, eyes boring down into hers. She flushed a little but moved with him.

Finally, he stood still, as though he never moved at all. "Well, well, Hermione," he said. "It seems I underestimated you."

The silence in the hall was absolute.

Voldemort stepped back, away from Hermione so that she could breathe evenly again.

"I predicted that you would be crawling back on your hands and knees, your Dark Mark bared on your arm as you pleaded to join me. I knew that you would come back, but I never imagined... this."

"It's a disgrace," said another voice from the crowd.

"Lucius," Voldemort hissed. "You have a protest?"

"Not only is she a Mudblood, but for all that she was here before, she cannot be something as honorable as your Medicus," Lucius said, wary of the rippling of magic about Voldemort's body.

"There would have been a time, my lord, when you would have tossed her to Avery and myself," Nott added. "She was a child then, and we certainly would not deny such a pretty piece of flesh now."

Voldemort raised a brow. "Really, Nott? As I recall, that was a time when I punished you for touching her. You took that punishment without complaint, Nott. What has changed? Do you doubt my abilities simply because I require a Medicus?"

Hermione watched as Nott backed away, bowing his head to his lord, who started toward him.

"Would you have me settle for a second-rate Medicus, Nott, Lucius?"

"We would not have you settle for this Mudblood," Lucius growled. Voldemort whipped around to see Lucius lift his wand and shout, "Crucio!"

Voldemort could have cursed Lucius before Lucius cursed Hermione, but then Cruciatus would still hit her. With the lightning reflexes of the cobra he became, he grabbed Hermione by her arms and whipped her away, taking the curse himself. Bracing himself against the pain that he had been subjected to in the days when he was still learning the darkest of the magical arts, he shut his mind away from his body and waited for Lucius to realize his mistake.

The ripple of magic around the Dark Lord pulsed, and Lucius dropped his wand. The sound of the wood hitting the stone floor was deafening. Hermione stared at Voldemort in shock, and Lucius turned as white as his mask as he stumbled back.

"Do you know what you almost did?" Voldemort asked, straightening himself and sliding his wand from his robes.

Hermione felt a hand on her shoulder, pulling her back.

"You don't want to be in the line of fire," Carmen whispered.

"You, a man who prides himself as a pureblood, dare to attack a full Medicus when we're at war?" Voldemort continued, the volume and pitch of his fury increasing. "Yes, she is a Mudblood, but a capable Mudblood, you know that perfectly well. And she is presently in my hands and under my responsibility - you dare to risk the power of the Medicus Order being turned against us?"

"My lord..." Lucius began, knowing it was futile to protest.

"Sanguinus crucium," Voldemort said, the softness of his voice no disguise for his anger.

Voldemort had him writhing on the floor for a full ten minutes, his screams dissipating into rasps from his dry, tortured throat. Lucius's limbs twitched when before they writhed. He could only shake when Voldemort lifted the spell.

"I have waited," Voldemort began, addressing all of his followers, "for eight years. Waited for Hermione to come to me and become one of my faithful Death Eaters. For this, you were prepared. Would you have been so rash if she were one of us?"

Lucius tucked his knees closer to his chest.

"You might have directed a curse or two at her. She would have been, of course, my follower, my servant, as you are, as all of you are," Voldemort continued. "But standing here today is not a Death Eater or a servant, but a Medicus. See that before you see a Mudblood. You know the risks."

Voldemort turned to see Carmen hovering near her, watching her and not him. Hermione was looking at Lucius's still shaking form, her fingers twitching a little.

She wants to heal him, he realized.

She's scared, shocked, and more out of her depth than she realizes... she hates me, she hates him... and yet she wants to heal him.

When he wrapped his fingers around her wrist to lead her back into the center of the room, she could not restrain a short gasp, but she let herself be led, his eyes catching hers again.

He let his eyes wander over her face, her neck, the curve of her spine. When she had been his, she always leaned, curled, even when she was defiant. She had been radiant with energy and passion when he made her defiant. She had been completely empty when he broke her. She had been fragile, yet determined, as she tried to recover. But here, now...

"How do I acknowledge the accepted contract?" Voldemort asked.

Hermione's hand caught in the fabric as she reached into her robes to hold out the contract that she had accepted.

"Simply take the contract, and you acknowledge me as your p-permanent Medicus," Hermione replied. "Then we need to... have some privacy for the magical binding."

Voldemort's eyes glinted, and Hermione shook her head. "I simply do not believe that you want to have your Death Eaters watch it when it happens," she said softly.

Voldemort paused. "Later this evening?"

"If you would like," she replied.

He stared at her for another minute. She felt uncomfortable under his intense scrutiny, but she did not react against it.

Finally he reached for her and closed his hand around the contract. It glowed white for a moment before sinking into Voldemort's skin.

She could not breathe, and her stomach turned as Voldemort took her hand and raised it slightly in a salute.

"You're shivering, Hermione," he hissed, drawing her closer.

She looked away. "Are you surprised?"

He did not answer her question, but that was enough.

"This evening, before the dinner, which you will attend," Voldemort said. "My Death Eaters must become re-accustomed to you in a different role. And so do we," he added so that the gentle hiss of his voice caressed the shell of her ear. He wanted her to be frightened, and though she was, she still held her back straight and head high, carried herself like a queen when she courteously pulled her hand from his and inclined her head.

Voldemort returned the action before removing his full attention from her.

"Wormtail," he said. "Please escort Medicus Granger to her chambers."

He was doing this on purpose, she thought grimly. She could not help the roil of disgust when the familiar bent figure shuffled over to her. Wormtail thought to extend his hand but decided against it. Hermione did not think she could endure the feel of him on her skin, and she took a step back. She glared at the Dark Lord, who gave her a small smile.

The murmur of Voldemort's followers returned as the doors closed behind Wormtail and Hermione. She stopped outside the audience chamber, clenching her fists, closing her eyes, and taking in deep breaths against the blackness that tried to sweep through her mind with its tempting oblivion.

"The best Medicus is level-headed in a situation that wants to destroy her."

Shannon's words came to her like a balm, and her eyes opened to Wormtail's concern. He had pulled back his hood and removed his mask. He lost hair over the eight years that she had not seen him, and the folds of his face were more pronounced with shadows, but wizards did not age as quickly as Muggles. Although Wormtail looked older due to other circumstances, he really was not changed. She breathed in the cool air again and nodded that she could continue. She tried not to think of sweat and filth and sex and focused instead on Shannon's words and meditation mantras.

"You have your things?" Wormtail asked, fingers plucking nervously at his Death Eaters robes.

"Yes," Hermione said.

Wormtail's eyes darted to look at her before looking away quickly. He led her into a set of corridors that she found familiar. Her stomach sank when she realized where they were going.

"His chambers?" she muttered. Bastard. The epithet made her feel better.

"No," Wormtail said. "He wanted the rooms to be next to his, but he had the utmost respect for his future Medicus. He wanted her to have a place of her own."

"How generous," she said.

Wormtail stiffened a bit. "It was," he murmured into his collarbone as he turned into the corridor where she recognized Voldemort's door. "It's the chambers that he originally wanted you to take while he waited for you. He had it changed after his Medicus was selected. You'll like the chambers now."

Hermione side-stepped Wormtail as she entered the room, taking her small bag that held her Reduced trunks from one of her skirt pockets. Wormtail was right, she liked the chambers. It was a room catered to a Medicus - but she supposed that there were other rooms in the fortress catered to Medicus. Katherine, Melanie, Lillian... the Death Eaters Medicus. She was one of them now, in her own way. The thought hurt her head, so she set it aside for the moment.

The colors were a tasteful scheme of blues, golds, and grays paired with lighter-toned wood and glass. She even had a window that faced the forest. Voldemort did not have a window in his chambers, so she supposed that this one was charmed and not a real window at all. But it had the proper effect, and she felt more comfortable in this room than she expected. Certainly less closed in and assaulted than by the burgundies and golds with accents of green and dark wood. Here, the atmosphere was less energetic and more serene. There were empty shelves on the opposite side of the room from the sitting area and bed, and an open space for her to assemble her lab. She breathed a sigh of relief that she would not have to ask to use Severus's laboratory, although she would eventually want to explore his shelves for ingredients or possibly some useful potion ready-made.

He took a drink so that the flask was only half-full. He closed his eyes as he savored the taste, and like watching him create magic, she found herself transfixed by the vulnerable movement of his white throat as he swallowed.

She set the drawstring bag on the desk before turning back to Wormtail. He was staring at her body and swallowing. She resisted the urge to wrap her arms around her body to cover herself from his gaze. She felt stripped from the power that made her a Medicus, like she was the school girl in the shift with his cold silver hand and hot sweaty flesh squeezing her breasts and hips and arse and thighs. Like she was in his bed again. Like no time had passed at all.

"The Dark Lord sh-should attend to y-you soon," Wormtail finally stammered, forcing himself to look at her face instead of the shadow that her breasts made on the bared skin above her neckline. "You should s-start setting things in o-order."

Medicus training taught her to thank him, but she could not, and he left with one last look at her. She did not want to know what he was thinking.

Holding the desk for balance, she lowered herself into the chair behind the desk. The sunlight was dim over the forest - she forgot that the time zone was different here. She knew the fortress was not in Great Britain; the terrain pointed toward somewhere north or east of home.

She spent the rest of the evening staring at the window, only managing to Expand her trunks and open a few of them. It was unprofessional to let her personal troubles prevent her from doing her duty, which at the moment should be arranging the room how it should be for the best economy of space and function as a room for a Medicus, but she needed a few moments to settle herself.

When he came, he did not knock, but he made his presence known so that he did not startle her. She saw it as the effort it was, and Hermione stood respectfully. Her mouth thinned as she felt the blood drain from her face.

"You're still afraid of me, Hermione," he said, closing the door behind him.

She did not answer him, but she looked down before raising her chin again. Her Dark Mark hummed again.

"I have watched you ever since you left. Not watched exactly, so much as felt." He walked to the center of the room, held a hand out for her to come to him. "Your fear used to be so exquisite, and your anger, your despair. But slowly, it dissolved into peace, contentment. When I learned of your acceptance into a Medicus apprenticeship, I was almost glad. I almost liked that swell of pride you felt then. I knew that when you fell again, you would fall harder. But you never fell. And look at you now... my Medicus. Frightened of me, but... you've passed it, haven't you?"

"Passed it?" Hermione said. "If you mean I don't need people as a crutch anymore, I don't think about you and what you did to me, I don't fear that I'll fall beneath you again, you're dead wrong. But I can see you without screaming, which is an improvement. On the rare occasion my dreams feature you, they no longer resemble nightmares. I can live with what happened now."

"You're confident enough to tell me," Voldemort replied as Hermione approached him.

"This is my profession, Lord Voldemort, and it is based on a degree of trust. A binding, especially a permanent binding, may be more invasive than either of us likes." She stood before him, an arm's-length away. "Tell me something, anything, something you need to hear yourself say before we do this."

Voldemort cocked his head slightly. "I am pleased that you returned this way rather than as my pet again."

"You won't be," Hermione said. "Do you know all that the permanent binding entails between the Medicus and her client?"

"I read the available literature on the subject," Voldemort said sharply. "Do you think I would ask for a Medicus if I was not aware of the gravity of the request?"

"I'll be more than your Healer, Lord Voldemort," Hermione replied, raising her voice a little. "You will have few secrets from me, and I will have few secrets from you. In every way, I will be an extension of you, and you of me - make sure that your Death Eaters understand that if they understand nothing else." She took a deep breath. "Forgive me. I realize that publicly requesting a Medicus means that your power will be questioned on both sides."

"My power is at its fullest, Hermione," Voldemort murmured, his voice turning cold. "It is not because of my power that I need a Medicus."

Her back stiffened, and their eyes warred once again.

"I suppose," she finally said in compromise, "that I will know after the binding. I just... are you comfortable with this?"

"Are you?" he said.

She did not react, although her heart skipped a beat. Without a word, she raised her palm before her. Voldemort knew what she wanted him to do, and he met her palm with his. They repeated the action with their other hands, and although he could feel the tremors through her hands, he did not break the silence between them that was suddenly filled with something profound, larger than the both of them.

She focused on the press of his hands, on the slow intertwining of their fingers until their hands locked.

She never knew exactly from where the magic came, somewhere in the center of her mind and the core of her abdomen, a tight knot of energy that unthreaded through her hands and into Voldemort's body. His hands clenched against hers, and his eyes shot open.

Stay still, she whispered in her mind, and the words shivered around them.

The sensation of being herself, holding onto his hands so tightly as she gasped for breath, as she also was in him, feeling her hands grasping his, feeling him struggling to breathe as much as she was, was something she could never have explained. Sweat began to form in small beads along their foreheads. Every movement of their bodies seemed to magnify in their ears. Their surroundings disappeared as the Medicus magic encircled them in a shell of light, sheathing them into strange shadows.

She felt like she could see inside him and feel him as herself at the same time, and she felt his power... such power as she never imagined... power that could crack the world if it chose. She felt the ensnaring web of his mind, the even rhythm of his life as it pulsed through his body.

But she also felt other elements of his body, parts of him that weren't exactly human, parts of him that were unrecognizable to her. Spells and transfigurations that were like a second body within the first - or rather like the first within the second with slight incongruence between the other. It was in this second body that she felt something wrong, like a gaping, rotting cavity in a tooth that bored into the gum. This was important, useful, but not her purpose.

She could feel her own body fall forward until their forearms pressed together with her head leaning against their fists. Although she seemed to be completely within him and herself at the same time, she had a feeling that although he could feel her in him, he could not enter her like she did. He was there, though, his presence gentle within her mind, sliding through her thoughts, her past, her mantras, her dreams and nightmares.

There... his own stretch of knotted energy - his spine of the intangible magic within all sentient creatures of the wizarding world.

She dived in.

She was not sure, but she thought that they both screamed.

And it was over.

She was back in her body, and he in his, although they sensed the thread of connection, as though their blood moved in the same rhythm or their breathing was syncopated. Her breath whistled through her starving lungs, and she collapsed to the ground.

Voldemort knelt down, their hands still clenched together, but he was more cautious than he might have been before. He, too, was weakened from holding her inside of him, from such an invasion of even his magic, but clearly, the effort was hers alone.

"I'll l-live," Hermione whispered, her eyes closed and face white as a sheet, shining with sweat. "G-go a-a-away."

He pulled back, but he was caught by her fingers still curled around his hands.

"Let go," he said. "I can't leave unless you let go."

Their hands creaked as they forced their tense fingers to release each other.

Voldemort stood up quickly, looking down at the prone form of his Medicus. His Medicus.

"Go," she whispered again.

"You will come to the dinner?" It was no longer an order, but a question now. A concern. For his Medicus.

"I'll come," she said. "Go."

He left quickly to his own chambers, just one door down the corridor. Next to hers. He sat on his bed, and he waited.