Illumination

She tries not to read the book, but she cannot help herself.

If she remains awake and sentient, she can’t help but think of her friends and what happened, of the life that she has lost, of the bright and shining future turned to dust under the footsteps of the monster that has triumphed against all odds—for who really expected the mad, would-be tyrant to be successful? So the book is a refuge, and for a little while, Hermione can forget. She can pretend she is at school, losing herself in the pursuit of knowledge as she had done for so long…Voldemort arrives every day to quiz her. She is not allowed to move around when he is in the room, but otherwise, she is given free reign while he is out, which he is most of the time. He has an empire to run, he does not neglect to tell her this at every opportunity. If he is in the room and not quizzing her on her “studies”, he is reading by the fire.

Sometimes, she thinks about rebelling, but then she remembers Malfoy. She thinks of how she would spend the day if she were to ignore the books—alone, with nothing to do but think—and she picks up the book. She reads, she learns, and Hermione expertly answers his questions.

He is a demanding teacher. He glories in her missed answers—just likeSnape, she thinks, immediately angered at the thoughts of the hook-nosed potions professor, who had found old loyalties too difficult to break and had betrayed the Order.Voldemort does not content himself with a cruel taunt or a grade of zero when she gives the wrong answer, however. Sometimes, she receives no food for days and contemplates eating the book she is assigned to read. Sometimes, he uses Crucio, at which he is much more skilled than Malfoy

Hermione has never seen him. He wears his cloak and the hood, so all she has ever glimpsed of him are those red eyes. She desperately tries not to think of it when he is with her—she does not want to anger him, but she does not want him to show her what lies beneath the hood. His voice is enthralling; cold and sibilant, like a serpent gliding over cold glass. When he enters the room, he brings a chill with him that the fire fails counter, and she shivers.

When he quizzes her on an advanced potion to be found in Most Potente Potions,he punishes her for her answer. In the throes of his Cruciatus curse, she manages to cry out that she is right. He halts the curse and threatens her with more if she does not cease her prattle. But she does not stop arguing, and instead of cursing her, he pulls up a chair and argues back. Their debate rages for an hour, and she forgets for a moment to be afraid and loses herself in the passion of her argument. It is the first time they argue, but it is not the last.

They debate curses, hexes, transfiguration. He laughs at her knowledge and calls it naïve, throwing books at her. In a sneering voice, he tells her to read them before she attempts to match wits with him again. She notices that his voice has lost that high-pitched chill and sounds like that of a normal man. When he leaves her with a copy of a book on advanced dark hexes, she wonders why it is his voice is so different. Chewing on her hair as she devours the text, the answer comes to her in a rush; it is the first time she has hear emotion other than pleased arrogance in his tone.

Hermione does not notice when he enters the room and she is not bound to the bed for their discussion. He brings her a glass of wine, and she accepts it without thinking, sipping it as she answers his questions. If he had wanted to kill her, he could have done so by now. They argue late into the night about, of all things, Hogwarts, A History. He has a copy of the book in his personal library.

“Don’t tell me one of your Death Eaters is doing a bit of light reading?” She asks him, brow raised.

He laughs, and the sound is rough and amused. “I am quite lucky some of them are able to read at all. Lucius and Severus are part of a rare breed.”

He is a monster, but she enthralled by what he gives her to study. During the day, and during their conversations, she can forget the world she has left behind, the friends who have died.

It is only at night that she feels she has betrayed them. She dreams of Harry and Ron, and Luna—even Ginny (who is as lost as if she had died), of the days at Hogwarts where they remained convinced of their eventual triumph. She thinks of Dumbledore, his eyes cold where once they twinkled, even though he had fallen long before the final battle. She sobs herself to sleep, feeling as if she is a traitor.

Sometimes in the dark, she thinks she hears him laugh while she cries. She hates him more in those moments than she has ever hated him before. In the day, she reads his books to forget, but at night she is offered no such escape. At night, she cries for her friends and worries about what will happen to her when the books in his library are finished.

It is this thought he responds to, her dark savior speaking to her out of the darkness. “I have many more books, Hermione, and if you prove worthy, you will have a chance to experiment on what you have learned.”

When he is gone for a long time—as often he is, establishing his Dark Court and holding endless meetings with his senior advisors—she thinks perhaps she can find a way to destroy him in the tomes she reads.Voldemort is clever, and he laughs at her because he knows she does this.

“By all means, Hermione,” he purrs. “Please, do try and find a way. When you learn, then do I, and I can take steps to ensure it does not happen.” His laughter is cold and cruel in the quiet of the room.

He has stopped calling her “Miss Granger,” but she calls him nothing at all.