To Balk the Dark Lord

Ch. 1- Falling

Hermione yawned as she woke up, shivering from the cold in her room. Looking over at the window, she was puzzled to find it open. The dormitory was empty other than for herself, as it was Christmas Break and she had stayed at Hogwarts. She knew the house elves wouldn't have opened it, and she certainly hadn't opened it, so how had the window come to be open? She blinked.

There on the windowsill was a large black phoenix. Its uncharacteristically dark gray eyes pierced her own and she found she could not look away. As a matter of fact, she couldn't move at all. Suddenly light filled the room and when it cleared Hermione found herself in a large field of wheat, wearing a light blue muggle summer dress. A sensation of giddiness filled her as she rose from the ground to run about the wheat, the warmth of the sun's rays on her face. She stopped when she saw two small boys in the distance. Though they looked five or six years younger, she knew instantly who they were: her best friends, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.

"Come on, 'Mione," called Harry in a small but sure voice. He smiled and Hermione's heart melted.

"Yeah, 'Mione," Ron called. " 'Arry's found a room that changes to what your mind thinks."

"The Room of Requirement," Hermione asked, confused. Ron clapped and Harry nodded.

"Yeah, that's the one," Harry agreed.

"Come on," they urged in unison before running off the way they came. Hermione ran after them and though, with her advantage in size, she should have caught up to them easily, she found she could not. This dream, this vision-place would not allow her to.

"Come on, 'Mione," the boys called from the distance, still running. She continued to run, trying to catch up.

Suddenly, the boys stopped, turned around, and began to laugh as their bodies molded together, growing in size. Soon a tall hooded figure in black robes stood where the two had been, laughing a cold, deep, maniacal laugh that chilled the bones in her body to the core. She tried to stop running but could not. Her muscles were no longer in her control. She looked up at the figure, looks of alarm, anger, and shamefulness playing on to her face--she was ashamed for letting her guard down.

"Who the hell are you," she yelled, not letting the fear she had filter into her voice.

"My name is not important," was all the figure said, his face hidden under the hood. "But I will tell you, for times sake. I am Tom Riddle, but you, my dear, know me as Lord Voldemort."

"You cannot be Voldemort," she said, and noticed that she had stopped running. "My friend Harry told me that Voldemort was a skeletal-version of what the Voldemort that once was, and that he had a high-pitched voice. Lower your hood!"

"As you wish," the figure said and obeyed her wish. Just as she thought, he was very much a whole man. His face was of an olive color and his hair was black and fell gracefully to his shoulders. He had a proud set of arched eyebrows that set off a pair dark, velvety blue, almond-shaped eyes. His mouth was slightly thinner than feasible, but was welcoming just the same. His nose, however, was a bit too crooked to make him entirely attractive, but brought a sense of realness to him. Hermione eyes lingered on his mouth and she licked her lips unintentionally. The man was definitely sexy, whoever he may be. She set her face, but the man grinned. He had heard her intake of breath when he had lowered his hood.

"I knew you couldn't be who you claimed to be. Now, tell me who you are and what business you have with me. If you seek..." she blushed and continued, "... what it is I think you seek, you have the wrong girl."

"But I am who I have said. And I am certain you do seek what you claim not to. But you of all people, I would think, would know that magic can change much of a person's outward appearance and voice."

She blushed. That much, she did know. The year before, her sixth year, she had used the Aging potion to make herself appear five years older than her own sixteen years and had then, using her wand, altered her voice to a more womanly voice, and had then proceeded to sneak out of the castle and into Hogsmede. She went to the Three Broomsticks and there she met a man she guessed to be about twenty-nine, and he had bought them drinks. After five had been very much drunk, and the man, seizing his opportunity, had taken advantage of her diluted judgment and bedded her. The next morning she had woken to find herself, quite naked, in his arms. Ashamed, she carefully got out of bed, got dressed, and fled the inn where he had taken her before he woke up and saw her for what she really was. Somehow she had gotten back in the castle and back to Gryffindor tower with no one any the wiser, though she often wondered if Dumbledore, who had from that day on and for a month looked at her with a look of fatherly disappointment in his eyes. She agreed with his disappointment in her, as she was just as disappointed. She could have been raped, or could have gotten pregnant. She thanked her lucky stars she had not.

She narrowed her eyes at the man.

"I never told anyone about that night," she said. "How is it you, a complete stranger, come to know about it?"

He smiled, causing his already attractive face to multiply in charm. Hermione could already feel herself going weak at the knees.

"Look into my eyes and you will understand."

Hermione, raising a brow, did so and gasped, her eyes widening. The eyes that had been such an entrancing shade of blue before were now a deep, eerily familiar dark gray. They were the same dark gray of the man she had slept with... and of the black phoenix that had paid her a visit that very morning. Her hand went to her mouth as she took control of her mouth.

"That... that man was you? I s-slept with you," she asked, feeling nauseous.

"Yes," he agreed, smiling more broadly.

"And the black phoenix on my windowsill?"

"And that," he said, nodding.

"Then that--you... you're an animagus!"

"You really are the smartest witch of your age, Hermione Granger," he said, and then let his eyes trail down her body and then back to her face, blatant longing in his lust-filled eyes, which--she noticed--had turned back to the tempting blue she had been lost in when first he showed his face. "The smartest and most ravishing."

Hermione was torn between disgust and a distant sense of desire stirring in her--his words made her feel good about herself, his words made her feel sultryand sensuous. Her body heat rose and a pleasant tingling started in her lower stomach. This was Voldemort, the one man who tried continuously to murder her best friend. She had to snap out of it. She shook her head, and looked at him, before trying to look away, but finding she couldn't. He had complete control over her, and that both terrified and fascinated her. Why would a man as powerful as he, go through so much trouble for her? She was pretty and had become quite alluring in the eyes of many male students, but there was nothing special about her, other than her intelligence.

"Hermione, Hermione," he said with a sigh that hardly hid a lustful moan. "How long I've waited to see you again. Don't make it any harder on me. I've waited too long for you. Come with me and together, you and I, we will take over the wizarding world."

A look of disgust surfaced upon Hermione's face. The nerve of him!

"I will never join you! You are nothing but a power-seeking crazed man. And have you forgotten? I am Muggle-born."

"As there is deficiency in anything of worth, we will name that yours. After all, I am Half-blood, and we will over look the matter. I have fallen for you, you see, and I will have you for my wife."

"You-your what!" Hermione exclaimed, backing away from him.

"I will marry you," he said simply.

"Never!"

"Ah, but you see, my delectable treat, you really have no say in the matter. I will have you, whether it's against your will or not. Either way, you will be mine."

"Oh, will I? Even if you force me to marry you, there is one thing that can't be forced."

"And what's that," he asked, looking calmly amused, as if she was a child having a tantrum and he was a parent waiting for her to tire. This attitude he had angered her further.

"My love, To- Voldemort. And that is one thing you will never have."

He smiled and sighed.

"I can see you will need some time to think it over," he said and waved his hand at her feet. Suddenly, her feet started moving... towards a cliff that appeared out of nowhere. Her pace started at a walk but sped up as Voldemort walked the way she had came.

"Until we meet again, my voluptuous siren," he said and vanished.

Hermione paid little attention, trying with all her strength and will power to stop her legs. She then tried veering to a new course but to no effect.

As the cliff loomed nearer she screamed, but she would not utter the words he wished to hear. She closed her eyes tightly, putting all her mind and will power in a last futile attempt to stop, before she ran of the cliff and began to fall.

The last thing that ran through her mind were Ron and Harry, the only true friends she had ever had, and the two people she would miss most and would never see again.