Ascent

Chapter 5

"Take off your robes, please," Hermione said.

"Excuse me?"

"Do not make me say it again, Lord Voldemort."

Voldemort raised an eyebrow, the coldness he presented when she first came in warming enough to show his amusement. She was making a concerted effort to look at him in the eye like a good professional, as any Healer should. He caught her wrist lightly. She jerked away, startled.

"Don't... not that way," Hermione corrected, looking down once before squaring her shoulders and sitting down on the edge of the bed with him. She had been dreading this since she woke up this morning, but she would be damned if she would run now. Not that she could, not after her oaths and bindings.

"When you find yourself thinking of blood, look to the sun. Or the moon. Whichever you are happier with. The darkness wants you, but you will conquer it. Think about your goal, Hermione, and what it meant when you first decided to become a Medicus. Think about your goal."

Voldemort watched the veneer of Medicus coat her countenance, a sort of glassiness along the edges of her irises. "Do not interpret this as anything more than the need to touch you in order to have better readings. I'll be entering into you, but it will not be nearly as invasive as the binding ceremony. I know what to look for."

"Wouldn't a physical exam be more appropriate?" Voldemort murmured.

"Why? What hurts?" Hermione asked, skeptical. Voldemort permitted her a wry curve of his mouth before standing and removing his outer robes, setting them on the bed to his other side, then his remaining robes, leaving him only in his trousers, which he left on.

Hermione looked away for a moment, eyes closed, swallowing hard. A brush of his hand on her shoulder made her lift a hand for his patience. Finally, she took a deep breath and turned back around. Voldemort smothered a low laugh of appreciation as her eyes traveled over his white chest in irrepressible curiosity, distracted by its pure whiteness, his lean lines. Like the smooth curves of his skull and the ropy strength of his wrists and neck, the nakedness of his torso revealed how pale and thin he was, like a pole, the pronouncement of his ribs and the hollow of his abdomen made all the more prominent by his white skin. Something within Hermione's stomach turned, but she swallowed again and forced her eyes on his face. She noted his pleasure at her discomfort, and she felt a prick of anger.

"I saw something interesting while I was inside you for the binding. I won't have to go all the way in," she explained, ignoring his expression. "Do you have an idea of what's ailing you?"

"A few," he answered shortly. His receptivity closed again.

Hermione's forehead furrowed. "What do you think?"

"Tell me what you find, and I will tell you if it is what I postulate," he replied.

"My... Lord Voldemort, it would help if..."

"Show your mettle, Medicus," Voldemort snapped.

"Why does it bother you so much?" Hermione said. "Surely you know some way..."

"I needed a Medicus, didn't I? I required a Medicus; I am paying you at high expense. Do what you must." Voldemort sat back on the edge of the bed, but unlike Hermione when she was self-conscious, Voldemort faced her, eyes burning with intensity.

It occurred to her why he was so sensitive about his condition and decided not to speak of his reticence at this point. At the slight acquiescence between both of them, despite the obvious charging of the air, Voldemort took her wrist again and brought her hand to his shoulder. She appreciated that he did not bring her to his chest. She was not sure if she could prevent herself from trembling if he had.

Her fingers slid over the shoulder and grasped tightly. She focused on the hollow along his collarbone, and suddenly, she was seeing herself and him, mostly him, with the odd juxtaposition of bodies, one human, and the other...

In a sort of detached way, she felt herself push him so that he was flat on his back. She could see him better this way, with her consciousness floating above him. Slowly, she sank down, merging the two bodies into three. Her physical body was shivering, skin on her arms and legs texturing into goose bumps, but it felt like her body was millions of miles away here inside Voldemort, different in every way from when she had bound their magic together. She felt less like an alien and more comfortable in a body that already had part of her inside of it. She could feel the swirl of Voldemort's thoughts, but she determinedly avoided them, as much for her own sake as for his.

But although she felt at home, there was something distinctly wrong, something that jarred within her, a disease, a tapeworm, something... the rotting place she had found before in his second body - the transfigured and transformed body consisting of all the spells cast to make him appear as he was as well as to shift his magical core and protect it, augment it, as well as to bolster his immortality spells and potions. It was such an intricate interweaving of magic, both Light and Dark, all practical to his purpose, that Hermione almost lost herself as she followed the threads to where they frayed and turned moldy and rotten and leprous. She prodded the place gently, estimating that it began somewhere beneath the inverted V of his ribs, around his diaphragm.

Not in his physical body, per se. His magic, while focused in the core, surrounded his body like an aura - the aura was thick around his transfigured body, and although the human part of his was given more than a fair share, his aura around the transfigured body outshined anything else. Hermione knew that some wizards could make their auras felt even if they could not be seen, especially when they were angry, but... this much power was almost ridiculous when she compared it to the average power she worked with. The little girl she had been with possessed a greater than average aura, possibly because she lost her eyesight, and Hermione knew that she had a great deal herself, much more than she actually used. But Voldemort...

How did he get all that power and how did he manage to contain it?

It was something she needed to ask later, but now, that hole, that cavity. She thought she might know what it was. The cases were rare, but the symptom was unmistakable. After feeling for more cavities or weak spots where the rotting was beginning to take hold, she withdrew, colliding with her body in a jerk that made her arch her back before doubling over.

Voldemort sat up, shaken again from having something strange inside his body and giving it free reign. He had clenched his fists into the comforter to restrain himself from shoving her from him. He brought his hand to the place under his ribs where he had half-felt her prodding, and he thought she knew what was happening to him.

"I thought that might be the problem when I first saw it during the binding ceremony," Hermione said into her knees. "Transfiguration decay. It's starting near your magical core, toward the front of your body, focused on your aura for now. There are a few weak spots near your head and your... groin as well as at the palms of your hands, although there are no decay cavities in those places yet. I do suspect, Lord Voldemort, that they will follow and that the decay runs deeper than I felt while I was inside of you. However, I'm... tired... it's tiring. And there is still time."

"Do you need anything?" Voldemort asked, retrieving his wand from his robes before dressing again. She turned her head to look at him when he was finished, her head still resting against her knees.

"Ice water would be nice," she replied.

"You're shivering."

"It will pass."

He conjured a cup of water for her, and she took it with weak hands. The coolness of the water eventually dampened the bright red of her cheeks, and she was able to sit up.

"Is it always so draining?" Voldemort asked, taking the cup back and banishing it back into thin air.

"Always?" Hermione replied, giving a small, coughing laugh. "I've only done it a few times. I've heard it is easier with practice. Don't forget you've been given a Medicus without much experience."

"Of course," Voldemort said.

"Did you suspect transfiguration decay?"

"Among other things."

"I've never seen or read anything like the decay you have," Hermione mused. "But all your transfigurations and transformations, the doubling of your selves, the immortality spells, the magic you have naturally, it all has to connect somehow. Some sort of parasitic relationship, perhaps, feeding off of all your magic. But the little worm-like manifestations of your decay thinly coat your entire aura, weak spots or not. It is... dangerous, to say the least. Did you never take any precautions?"

Voldemort sighed impatiently. "I took precautions, most over twenty years ago, but none have been successful or were stripped from me after the Killing Curse rebounded upon me. The extent of my transformations is unprecedented to my knowledge. I've read more relevant works on the subject than you have, and there is no cure - the disease is too rare."

Hermione clenched her jaw in frustration. "As soon as you can, could you give me the relevant works, and I will look through them?"

"Do you think you might find something I haven't?" Voldemort asked, sneering slightly.

"Your specialty is destruction and your own glorification. Mine is to heal. From two different perspectives, there will be different interpretations. Of course I will find something that you haven't. Whether what I find will help you is another question," Hermione said. "Do not doubt my methods, Lord Voldemort. I may not be the most experienced Medicus, but I know procedure and how to cover all options open to me."

"And those closed to you?"

"I'm persuasive when I want to be," Hermione said. "And I don't even have to perform fellatio. Can you walk?"

"Can you?"

"Not yet."

"I can stand. I recover quickly," Voldemort said.

Hermione tried to stand, holding the bed post for leverage. "That will make my job easier." The room swayed, but she managed to stay upright. "I need to continue setting up my laboratory." She tried to walk to the door. His hands caught her upper arms as she swayed to the side.

"Why are you...?"

"Things change, Hermione," Voldemort murmured near her ear, making her wrench away and fall to the floor. She twisted around, eyes wide and heart beating quickly from... just from his voice. "Take advantage of my need to make you comfortable and keep you from being hurt. Unless you would... like me to hurt you, break you again. If that is what my Medicus needs to function properly, I would not deny her that. I remember your motivation when you were chained to the bed or the laboratory desk."

Hermione found herself caught in his eyes again, caught in the snare of his Legilimency, and her Dark Mark hummed. Somehow, she found the strength to blink and turn her head away.

"Things I will require," Hermione said, hard and cold, "include a door between our rooms. After I enter your body, it would be better for me to have easier access to my own chambers rather than go through the corridor. Also, I will need to be able to leave this fortress, which means that somehow, I will need to know how to Apparate back and forth. I will need the books that you have already read regarding your condition. I will require a certain amount of time to myself during the day to walk freely along your grounds and meditate without being harassed by your followers, or you will find yourself with less useful followers. There are other things: tell me when something is bothering you. I can usually sense it if I reach out, but I, understandably, am less willing to read your emotions, and it is possible I might miss something. Any of my previous requests can be ignored if there is an emergency. These merging sessions will not happen often, only if I need to. But if I need to, make time for it."

Voldemort crossed his arms over his chest. "I have a few concessions and stipulations. The door will be conjured immediately. When you leave this fortress, you will leave with an attendant. When the younger Death Eaters return, one of them will be assigned for your protection, but until then... usually this is Wormtail's work, but I think Macnair would be better suited. He will Apparate you wherever you need to go. If he is unavailable, Wormtail will have to escort you. The knowledge of the location of this fortress is unnecessary for Apparition - you have a Mark, you can find it. Every time you leave, you need to inform me of where you will be going or who you will be visiting. I will not ask for specifics, per the laws of the Medicus Order, if the specifics would compromise the position of the Order or the Ministry, as delicious as infiltration that way would be. Should you be going to a place where a Death Eater is strictly unwelcome, which does not include public areas such as Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade, Hogwarts, or even Muggle cities, you may go unaccompanied. Private residences and hidden headquarters, those you may go to alone. You may read my emotions whenever you wish, but I want to feel you when you do. Do not read my mind surreptitiously. Are we agreed?"

"Thus far," Hermione replied.

"Do you need help again?"

"I can stand on my own. Now is a good time to conjure a door." Hermione busied herself with crawling to her knees and putting her weight on her legs. She stumbled forward. She looked up at Voldemort, who was leaning on the wall next to the door that he made, watching her.

Slowly, she gathered herself together and stood, knees and thighs shaking. She staggered to the door and grasped the knob, opening it into her bathroom.

Before closing the door, she managed to say, "Thank you."

---

Voldemort watched her from the window in her room. She was walking across the grounds, her eyes half closed, her hands clenching and unclenching in the air. A brush of a thought in her Mark, and he knew she was only tense, not angry. Her muscles seemed to thrum with anxiety. He pulled back, tongue running along the back of his teeth in introspection.

"My lord," Carmen said behind him. "Forgive the intrusion. I thought I might find you here."

"Of course," Voldemort replied. "What did you need?"

"You have no escort for her? Is she safe on her own?" Carmen asked, floating so that he hovered next to the Dark Lord, looking over the field to where Hermione was taking her walk.

"Why do you think I am watching her now? She does not need an escort everywhere she goes. If she can't learn how to defend herself from my followers should they approach her. She does have that right now." His voice drifted to a slight whisper as his thoughts turned again to his new Medicus. She was walking a little stiffly. Her legs must still be weak or sore.

"This is... unexpected, isn't it?" Carmen said, "I've never seen you so careful around someone."

"You know the Medicus Order, Carmen," Voldemort said shortly. "I have every reason to be cautious, and she has every reason to exploit every loophole in the Medicus laws, if there are any."

"You don't have control, and that frightens you."

"You never know when to keep your high-powered intuition to yourself, do you?"

"Old people speak their mind," Carmen replied. "And someone needs to tell you what you hide. I know where you stand on that Potter boy, and on Albus, but... the lady... everything has changed."

"Had she come to me on her hands and knees, pleading for sanctuary, I would have had less respect for her, but she would have obeyed me," Voldemort murmured. "I would have tested the shatters of her will for any healing and ripped it open again before initiating her as a Death Eater rather than my pet. But this..."

"She's young still," Carmen said, leaning back on his carpet. "And being a Medicus does not stop you from breaking her as long as you do not physically harm her."

"I want someone lucid to be curing me, Carmen."

Carmen gave a rasping laugh. "So you favor being practical over your usual methods. It is commendable."

"What is wrong with my usual methods, pray tell?"

Carmen hid a smile. "You do tend to show your... temper. It's very... smooth. You have great finesse when you lose your temper, but... it is part of the reason you've lost the Potter boy so many times."

Voldemort's eyes left Hermione to favor Carmen with a glare. "If you had told me this fifteen years ago, all my problems would have been solved. Potter and Dumbledore would be in the ground, the Order in the dungeons, and Hermione in the Harem, and I wouldn't know half the names I know now. I could be ruling the world and instead I compromise it with my temper, of all things."

"You could just tell me to be quiet."

"But then I would miss the catharsis of sarcasm," Voldemort replied, turning back to Hermione.

"You missed her."

"Careful, Carmen."

"For Merlin's sake, man, you want her. You've wanted her since she was still yours. It doesn't hurt to admit these things. Just..."

Voldemort whipped around, his forearm catching Carmen in the chest and pushing him from the flying carpet onto the floor.

"Crucio," he hissed, eyes narrowed to bloody lines, slit nostrils flaring in fury. Carmen did not scream, but pain dug into every groove of his leathered face and his eyes rolled back.

Voldemort lifted the curse, the slightly quickened rise and fall of his chest the only sign of his anger now.

"Not only are you most emphatically incorrect about Hermione," Voldemort said, "you have overstepped your boundaries, Carmen. You forget..."

"...my place," Carmen whispered, finishing the sentence. He summoned his flying carpet to him with a crook of his finger. Voldemort thought he saw the thin sheen of tears and exhaustion in the old man's eyes as Carmen rolled onto his carpet. "I will not bother you anymore, my lord," he said as he floated out of the room.

Voldemort turned back to Hermione.

---

Her legs were beginning to shake again, and her head swam with thoughts, none of which grounded itself long enough for her to tell exactly what it was: bits of decay, red eyes, mantras, glass, chains, black robes, Grimmauld Place, Hogwarts, A History, smiles, green eyes, freckles, dementors, midnight blue robes. The grounds here were different than the serenity of the fields around the Medicus buildings. The forest surrounding the fortress was forbidding, even with the sun peeking through the gray clouds. Groaning and creaking, whispering. There was no lake here, just the dark, jutting behemoth of the fortress. The walk was less relaxing here, but she supposed she would have to get used to it.

Bending slightly, she sat on the grass, leaning back on her hands and staring away from the fortress, into the swirl of trees. Looking there seemed simpler.

Her stomach still roiled, and among the swarm of thoughts, visions of how he looked when he removed his robes, the feel of his breath against her ear, kept returning to her mind.

She shivered, drawing her cloak tighter around her and casting a Warming Charm.

"He wasn't the only one who waited for you, you know," Wormtail said.

"I'll bet you were frustrated when he let me go," Hermione replied, wrapping her arms around her knees.

"I've had a bit more practice."

"You aren't going to touch me again."

"I also have a little more initiative. I've been taught well."

"Go fulfill your life debt to Harry already."

She knew he was standing a good distance away from her, but she could feel his presence as keenly as if he was right behind her.

"You find me despicable," he said.

"You may have scarred me for life."

"You could have enjoyed it. I wanted you to."

"Your concept of right and wrong is completely skewed, isn't it?" Hermione replied. She twisted around to see Wormtail fidgeting. "Find another girl."

"I could be of help to you," Wormtail said. "You don't have to do anything. Just let me... I don't know. Be with you, I guess."

"Being with you doesn't include your bed, does it?"

"Not if you don't want it to," he said softly. "I'm not allowed to touch you now, I know that well enough. All of us do."

Hermione looked over his contrite figure, his naturally down-turned eyes and pleading face. Desperate. "Leave me alone, Wormtail." She hesitated. "Please."

"If you are going to be helping the Dark Lord, you'll need to accept us, too."

"I'll address that obstacle when I come to it. Now, please, Wormtail," Hermione said, speaking more quickly, more... desperately, "leave me alone."

There was silence.

"I did miss you, Hermione," he whispered. She heard his boots crush the grass as he walked back up to the fortress.

The tightness in her shoulders and back loosened, and she stood up, looking back to where Wormtail disappeared through the door. Movement caught her eyes, and they darted to the side, to what she thought might be her window if it wasn't charmed.

She did not see anyone.