Ascent

Author's Notes: I'm sorry for the months-long delay in this chapter. After I complete this semester, I hope to finish Ascent completely during the summer. Just rest assured that, no matter how busy I become, Ascent will be completed. I don't, however, have the luxury of time now that I'm in university.

A lot of this chapter makes reference to Abyss and previous chapters in Ascent. If you need clarification, you can either look it up yourself or ask about it in your review, and I'll be happy to answer anything for you. I had to look all this stuff up, too. *g* Hope you enjoy the chapter!

***

Chapter 12

The windows were finally open to counter the sweltering oppression of the potions fumes. The cold air also helped Hermione avoid her bed, which was unmade and unslept-in under a window, as she worked furiously on completing the potions. Her stomach tightened painfully at the thought of the next day during which she would administer the first batch - she had no idea how it would affect him, how he would be weakened or how he might be altered. She was trapped in a situation without precedent. But she had done that before, she thought with a small grin, and underneath the butterflies, anticipation curled contentedly. She appreciated that she could enjoy even a small bit of her work without falling prey to any Dark laboratory or being insulted by an absent Potions professor or having to endure the knowledge of spies watching her every move. And with her mind clearer than ever, with her work temporarily taking priority over her hesitation, she could not help but settle, sleepy and satisfied, back into her chair as she stoppered the last flask.

She caught her eyelids drooping and mind drifting when she heard a knock on the door. Muttering good-natured curses - she hadn't felt so good in eight months - Hermione forced herself from the straight-backed chair and pulled the bolt.

Her legs tightened instinctively, and she clutched the door knob to ground herself as the blood rushed from her head.

"Are you... are you feeling all right?" Wormtail asked.

Hermione brought a hand to her head to steady the dizziness. "I... yes, I'm fine. You startled me."

Wormtail looked at his hands; the silver was half-hidden under his cloak, but in the indirect light of the fire and candles, it almost seemed to be gold. As usual, he could not quite look at her, and as usual, Hermione wondered whether (or maybe hoped) it was guilt, although he treated everyone else the same way. He made her as nervous as ever, but he seemed to be making an effort to keep an appropriate distance between them. Had he been anyone else, she might have been touched, but as it was - as it always was - her mind only brought his smell, his breath, his voice to her mind. There was a different sort of confidence, though, when he treated her with the deference due her status, reminiscent of an old feeling, perhaps. It contrasted with the strange petulance with which he greeted her when she first came back as Voldemort's Medicus. It struck her that this was only the second time she saw him before her since she arrived.

"I a-apologize for disturbing you so late, but... you see... you know people never really s-sleep here." He ducked his head as Hermione waited for him to come to his point. "Some of your old schoolmates want... want to talk with you... if you could. In the audience chamber."

"For torture or pleasure?" Hermione asked. She was only half-wry.

"They didn't tell me," Wormtail said - one split second of eye contact, and his eyes darted away again. "They know better. They should."

"I was half-joking, but I suppose they do," Hermione replied. Her head tilted to the side as Wormtail grew more restless. "Are you... is something wrong?"

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong," Wormtail said.

"You just decided to be messenger in the middle of the night acting the part of the paranoid?"

"The others, they may like the night, but I... I don't particularly," Wormtail said. "And I guess you know things are getting worse. Not for us, of course, but... more aggressive on the front itself. I don't do that. It's not so easy for me to be a part of the ranks."

"Yes, I remember that." Hermione hesitated before stepping back. She wanted to ask him if he had any more bursts of courage but desisted as she retrieved herself from the past. "Tell them I'll be there in a few minutes, but that it's to be a short meeting. Tomorrow is an important day for me and I was just about to go to... to sleep."

"You look tired," he said. Hermione did not know how he could tell when he was not even looking at her, but she nodded slowly.

His silver hand flashed as he reached out to her, and she twitched violently before she could stop herself. She felt a slight pressure on her shoulder and saw that he was removing a large weed leaf from her robes, which he discarded on the carpet when she rolled her shoulder away. His face flushed - he was never good at hiding his emotions - Hermione could not imagine how he managed to act the traitor without anyone knowing.

"Well, good night, then."

His body bent in an awkward bow, and he hurried down the corridor, his cloak blowing out behind him. Hermione's brow furrowed and she shook her head as she closed the door.

***

"Well, the son of the bitch got the first part right, Granger. How does it make you feel to know you've done the Dark Lord's dirty work?"

"Like shit. Get out."

The last time she had been in the audience chamber, Death Eaters, Black Dogs, and Cat's Paws swarmed wall to wall, split by the carpet leading to the throne - both shouts of glee and horror, hissing of whispers and spells, sounds had ricocheted over the walls and the ceiling in spite of the warm bodies to absorb them. The room was empty now, dark but for the moonlight coming through the skylights, and the throne itself was empty as well. The low purr of mutterings was the only thing that broke the silence, and it took her a moment to recognize the moving shadows on the dais as the young Death Eaters - not so young now - waiting for her. As she came closer, their faces became clearer, although their expressions remained obscure, hidden underneath ambivalence and downright curiosity.

"Where's Morag?" Hermione asked before anyone could say anything.

"She died five years ago," Lisa said, staring at Hermione as she lay on the ground, her head upside-down on a stair. "I swear it was in the Prophet."

"I wasn't reading the Prophet five years ago," Hermione replied.

"Head in the sand, Granger?" Lisa asked. Her grin looked surreal in the angle of strange blue light.

"Studying. I do that a lot, if you remember, and it helps to sequester myself in a library away from distractions. Besides, the Prophet is rubbish, you know that."

"The way I hear it, you haven't stopped," Lisa added. "Isn't that where you've been? Doing your homework for the Dark Lord? Again?"

Hermione crossed her arms over her stomach. "Yes."

"Are you ashamed of us?" Lisa asked. She sat up and turned around, almost coy.

"Cold." She had thrown on a cloak, but without the usual crowd in the huge room, she felt her nose and chin freeze.

"You could always try a Warming Charm," Draco said. She couldn't see his face at all from where he sat against the side of the throne.

"I'm fine," Hermione said.

"Your blood is showing, love," Blaise murmured.

"For being economical with my magic?" Hermione said with a wry smile.

"Magic is a bottomless well, Granger," Draco said. "Over a decade of studying magical theory and you haven't learned that yet?"

"Just because you haven't tapped out before does mean that I don't know what it is to experience a magical strain," Hermione said. "Magic has a limit - you can't reach the end of it, per se. You don't have a certain amount of magic allotted for each day. But there is a bottom, and you're only flesh and blood while magic has neither constriction."

"Sounds like superstition to keep the Mudbloods in control," Theodore said. "I was certainly never taught that."

Hermione snorted. "Sure you were. You just don't realize it. Can everyone use the Unforgivables?"

"No," Draco replied. "It requires..."

"Passion. Really wanting to hurt, control, or kill someone. The real powerful spells, they need an additional power behind it, or else there are only sparks or something like that. Empty magic." Hermione tucked her cloak more tightly around her. "Don't tell me burnouts don't exist - I've experienced them before."

"So you have some power, then, beyond the petty displays we used to see in class," Draco said. He bent forward, although he was not really looking at her, and the light shined on his cheekbone and chin.

"For all the high standards you seem to hold against me thus far, Draco, I have to ask if you're beyond the petty displays we used to see in class," Hermione said quietly. "Or are there to be reprises of the faux pas at dinner?"

"You wouldn't."

"You're right," Hermione said. "I understand humiliation. I wouldn't. He would."

"See, that's the thing, Granger," Draco said. "I've thought about this - Father told me about the Medicus traditions... but why? The Dark Lord has more magic, more than any of them could possibly imagine. He could decimate the world if he chose to. I've seen it. I don't think even you know just what he can do."

"I know."

"Do you?"

"I'd have to, wouldn't I?" Hermione said. "Magical binding, remember?" Draco was quiet for a minute.

"So you know then. But how does that help you or the Medicus Order should the Dark Lord decide to step aside for us to do what we do best to you?" He came out of the shadows, and Hermione saw the same thoughtful expression on his face as in Voldemort's chamber. "You were supposed to come back. But not like this. Not with the Dark Lord wrapped around your little finger."

Hermione tried to hold in a laugh, but it came out a cough. "I don't have him wrapped... He's cautious."

Lisa narrowed her eyes. "Why does he need you anyway?"

"Why don't you ask him?" Hermione snapped. Lisa curled her lip and made to grab her wand before realizing that she couldn't.

"How about you tell us instead?" Blaise said. He stretched out his legs lazily. "We're all settled in for hibernation, so it isn't as though you're leaving any time soon."

"I do need to leave," she replied.

"I mean the fortress, Granger."

"Confidentiality clause."

Lisa rolled her eyes. "Convenient."

"Yes, convenient," Hermione said. "It's only been in use since before they called it a confidentiality clause."

"I don't think a year was long enough. Maybe if Wormtail had had you instead of the Dark Lord, you might have turned out properly."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Are you saying he failed?"

Lisa opened her mouth to answer, then closed it again.

"I don't think he failed," Draco said. "You're still working for him, aren't you?"

"You could say that," she said slowly.

"And..." He searched her eyes. "I don't think you're squirming about it."

She did not say anything to that. Now she was beginning to shiver - why did the room have to be so cold? With the demeanor of a person who Hermione did not recognize, Draco drew his wand and cast a Warming charm.

She did not have to say thank you, but something between them relaxed a bit, like it had when she was chained to the laboratory table.

Draco sat back in the darkness.

"You look better than you did in that dungeon cell," he said.

"Being a Medicus may not be what I like... or want... or need," Hermione said, "but it's what I do." She was not sure if she quite believed herself, but Severus's admonishment in the Leaky Cauldron seemed to come to her more often these days, especially as the evergreens around the fortress slowly became the only color along the line of the mountains.

I can accept you as Voldemort's Medicus when you stop pretending you're still ours. When you stop pretending that the Dark Arts never stopped calling to you, and now it has you.

It's the cloak again.

She still did not believe him, completely. They had a lot in common these days, but he still clung to the past that separated them. Besides, healing was her art.

"Just what will you do for him?" Draco asked. "What can you offer our lord, with your facts and power and Gryffindor persistence?"

The doors creaked as they opened in the silence between his question and her answer. Hermione whirled around. Wormtail was dwarfed by the high opening, and it looked as though he had completed his previous errand. The hood of his cloak had been pushed back, and his mannerisms were less anxious.

"The Dark Lord wants his Medicus back in her room," he announced. The other Death Eaters stared at him until he left. Hermione turned back to them as she released her cloak and shifted uneasily.

"He still makes your skin crawl," Lisa said, grinning.

"He makes anyone's skin crawl," Hermione said. "I need to go."

"You never answered my question," Draco said, and Hermione paused.

"If the occasion called for it, I'd die to help him. It's a rarity - the Medicus Order prizes its women more than it prizes human sacrifice," Hermione replied. "But it's what I do. I still wish that the Oracle had forgotten me, or that I had denied the summons." She felt like she lied, and her mind dwelled on the completed potions.

"And what about you, Draco? Are you still your father's son?"

"Are you questioning my loyalty, Granger, as though you're properly loyal to him?" Draco asked.

"I'm just asking if you're going to be a problem, if you object to me as the Dark Lord's Medicus." Hermione waited for the answer as she let his thoughts draw the room's attention. She wished she could see his face, and she realized she was listening for his approval.

"I think," Draco said slowly, "the Oracle chose the right girl. You belong here, acting in this capacity. Or on the floor. But he'll take what he can get from you, and I think you're getting exactly what you need, Granger."

She felt her jaw clench from a finally familiar Draco, but it was no less than she expected, and it did not affect her like it used to. She had heard it too many times, many of those times in her own head; they were just words.

"I need to return to my chambers," Hermione said.

"Sweet dreams, Granger," Blaise called after her, looking thoroughly entertained.

"Likewise," Hermione said. Words. No one else said anything, although Hermione thought that Draco nodded to her in the dark, and she left the audience chamber after a length of carpet that seemed to go on forever. Once she was in the corridors with their dim lighting and welcoming closeness, she felt her neck and shoulders relax.

Once she closed the window over her bed, she applied a Warming charm on the quilts before lying down, cocooning herself in. She thought that after winding herself up in the audience chamber she would not be able to sleep as easily as she had at her work table. But the warmth caught up to her, and she fell asleep.

***

It was early evening when Hermione knocked on the door between his bathroom and his chambers. She clutched the handle of the box that held the potions, but she was not as nervous as she thought she would be, especially after her last evaluation with him. She was anything but frozen now, and as much as she wanted to be afraid - it would be familiar, and she would not feel as though the fortress had assimilated her with the rest - her entire body felt nothing but stillness. Her Dark Mark hummed slightly. She had his permission to come in.

Voldemort waited for her on his bed. He wore his robes open over trousers, for her if the potions included unguents or if she needed skin contact. Nagini shifted against one of the posts and eyed her coldly.

"You will have to stop taking her venom after this," Hermione said, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. "Do you have all evening and tomorrow morning? Possibly longer?"

"I have however long I need - my Death Eaters have been given instructions into the next week. Should they require assistance, they'll speak to me through Carmen." His jaw tightened, but Hermione did not think that it was because of Carmen. If anything, Hermione thought that Voldemort was more anxious than she was - her work for the next few months to years required experimentation, but his was the body that would suffer and transform for it. His was the image that would seem weak, even if Hermione knew that no matter what she did, weak was not something he could be.

"You should relax," Hermione said. She set the box on the bed and pointed her wand at the fire to build it until the room became warmer than she might have liked it. While Muggles preferred the sterilizing effect of cold temperatures in their hospitals, magic of the kind with which Hermione would be working thrived and quickened in the warmth. "The procedure will be quick. If there is too much pain or something goes wrong, I'll hurt, but I can fix it. The poison and the antidote."

"You are remarkably calm," Voldemort replied.

"I am prepared."

"You're tired," he said.

"I slept last night." But she was tired - the night before had been her first real sleep that she forced herself to have. It only made her muscles limp, just as she wanted them to be, as she needed to be.

"Learned what I've been trying to tell you, have you?" His shoulders settled into a more comfortable position, and his lips curved a little when she did not answer him with anything but a look. "What inspired this sudden change of mind?"

"One thing at a time," Hermione said. "First, I'll need to check how the decay has advanced so that I can compare the results following the test. I'll let myself feel later."

Voldemort opened the box and stared at the five vials. "You could choose to dismiss those feelings altogether. One thing at a time, one day at a time. There is no need for resignation or guilt when you feel nothing."

"Must be nice," Hermione said shortly. "You will need to remove your robes completely again." There it was, her stomach heavy in her abdomen as he shrugged them off and draped them to the side. He lay back and waited for her, staring at the ceiling. Finally, his entire body seemed to breathe in, out, without tension, although his shoulder twitched when her hand closed over his skin, cool in spite of the fire.

Magic crackled there as she sank into him. It was easier this time, always easier, and she let her self drift as she focused herself at his core and felt outward over the brightness and power of his second body. She heard him jerk as she insinuated herself into his mind, but looking inside and stretching herself out among his dual bodies was like moving through molasses and walking on tiny needles. He was struggling against her here - he gasped for breath as she held herself within him for both their sakes.

Calm down, I'm not...

Get out.

I need to be everywhere.

Get out of my...

I'm sorry, Voldemort, but if the decay has spread to your mind, it will be more insidious and destructive there than the places in your second body.

You're always th-- His neck snapped back, his hands locking into a death grip on her arms, although she felt little of it. She had known that he would be sensitive about her presence in his mind - she had never been there, she had respected his desire to keep those thoughts to himself and give her the diary instead. She expected resistance, but nothing so violent. He Occluded against her every time she tried to shift in his head, and she began to pull back into her body in reaction to his rejection.

Voldemort, I'm already a part of that. I'm bound to your mind, you know it.

There was silence, but his heart beat rapidly through her.

I need you to calm down. It will be over soon, and I'll only stay in your mind for a minute.

Why do I need to give you one more minute when you're always there? The thought was a breath, and Hermione thought that maybe he did not mean to give it to her.

For you, Voldemort. I need to do this or I cannot continue.

As he let her float back inside of him, his body relaxed - they were one now and could move freely. She felt Voldemort's mind curl away from her, but he did not do any more than shudder as she followed those tendrils to their root. Finally, she covered every inch of him. The decay was more pronounced than she had expected, and she fought their mutual panic.

It's Nagini, isn't it? You think it's Nagini and the way her venom catalyzes the immortality spells. Hermione touched his decaying hands lightly before withdrawing back to his magical center where he felt safer.

If I thought it was Nagini, I would have stopped milking her.

You're milking her less often, though.

His body gave a great twitch before he went still again.

Hermione released his body and settled into her own. Voldemort jerked upright, hands clenching more tightly around her arms. She did not try to pull away even as her chest began to constrict. Voldemort had never been furious at her before. He had always lost his temper with Harry, but with her... with her, he was composed, poised, controlled. And she had made him lose his control by taking it from him. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "It won't happen too often, only when I need a full evaluation of..."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed, but he did not say anything. He released her. She moved her arms, felt how hard he had been holding her - she might even bruise, but that could be dealt with.

"Are you steady?" he asked as she stood.

"Steadier than last time," she replied as her dizziness hit her hard and her muscles seized in reaction to the mental exercise Voldemort put her through. "I'll be fine, though. It'll be worse if one of these potions is painful - I'll feel it if you do, if that makes you feel better at all."

"When was the last time you thought of Harry?"

"What?" Hermione's neck made a snapping noise as she looked at Voldemort from where she arranged the potions vials.

"You think about Severus and the werewolf - I sense that clearly," Voldemort said evenly, his red eyes darker than usual. "But I think that Wormtail crosses your mind more than Harry. What would he think of that?"

Hermione paused with one of her hands holding a vial in midair. "We've parted ways by mutual consent. Neither of us can go down our chosen paths connected at the hip. Wormtail's here and Harry isn't. You know that."

"Neither the werewolf nor Severus are here, either."

"But their doors are open," Hermione murmured. The black, shimmering potion in the vial seemed to draw her attention away from Voldemort, although his gaze burned into her eyes.

The words hovered on the tip of his tongue so that both of them could hear - words unlike those that the younger Death Eaters threw at her - but he said nothing as his fingers brushed hers taking the vial from her hand.

"I need to strip you of the immortality spells before I dismantle anything else," Hermione said. Her voice was strained, but only a little. "They all seem to branch away from there, which will make them more easily removed after the barrier is out of the way. These potions will dissolve that barrier. Drink them as quickly as you can, otherwise your magic will begin to refuse them and fight in protective impulse. You've built them strong and sustaining. That is why you need time to adjust - the process will not be pleasant."

"What does the werewolf not tell you?" Voldemort asked. "That he fears what you've become or what I might make you?"

"He becomes something every month. He has nothing to fear from me."

"Perhaps from me, though - when he dies, Hermione, who do you think Harry will blame?" Voldemort said. "I know you do not care about the rest of the wizarding world. You've grown adept at creating your own barriers. But you still want his good opinion."

"I don't have the luxury of getting what I want," Hermione said. She knew what he was doing, and she thought of the sun as she restrained herself from falling into his net. "You know that perfectly well. Drink."

He took the vial and downed it in one swallow. She was ready with another one when his hand was empty again. His body began to convulse by the third potion, and his hands shook so that she had to hold his mouth open and pour the potion in. The last potion stiffened him like a board, his eyes wide and staring. Hermione reacted to every spasm he no longer showed physically, and she braced herself against it as she moved him under the covers of his bed.

"He'll... be fine," she managed to croak out to Nagini, who seemed to be glaring at her as she shifted onto the bed. She clutched one of the posts as she began to fall. It took all the force of will that she had and the promise of her own bed to get her back to her room. She collapsed short of her bed, but she pulled the pillow and a blanket down to the ground and shivered.