Yes, Headmaster

DON'T KILL ME
Or it won't be updated, even monthly.
Which I fully apologize for, by the way.
Because I'm lame; and my muse left me for awhile.

So, I realize my plot has a few similarities to lots of other fics, but i mean no offense and am not trying to steal any ideas - I'm just trying to figure out what the bloody hell I'm trying to write; because I think something.. and then my character says something entirely different. It's kind of upsetting... but alas... how is one to control a Dark Lord or a Death Eater?

Well, here's the next chapter(finally), and thank you everyone for the fantabulous reviews that finally got me off my ass and on my laptop!

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Hermione sat straight up in bed.

She dug in her pillowcase and pulled out a muggle stopwatch, the last Christmas present she’d ever received from her parents. They’d sent it to her just before they had tried to come and -

It was ten minutes until eight.

Hermione leapt from her bed and grabbed her school bag, hesitating. Where was Lavender? She had meant to tell her; how had she slept so long ?

Deciding it was worse to show up late for detention with the Dark Lord than to worry Lavender, Hermione hurried brushed through her tangles and left her room, the door shutting with a heavy click.

It was a cruel and sharp reminder of the past when Hermione headed towards the Headmaster’s office. Voldemort had taken all the wonderful and curious trinkets off the walls, Merlin knew where they were now, and had put, in their place, a grouping of dark objects. Daggers used in ancient dark rituals, cursed books that ensnared the readers mind, enchanted mirrors that would show the darkest wishes of the viewer, jewelry that bestowed youth and beauty in exchange for the wearers soul, and objects she couldn’t identify lined the walls. The bright candles and merrily crackling fireplace were replace with a suffocating darkness and a pit of ever burning embers.

“Miss Granger.”

Hermione was pulled from her distressing thoughts into a more distressing reality as she turned to see Rudolphus Lestrange in the corridor that would take her the rest of the way to ehe Headmaster’s office.

“Professor Lestrange. If you’ll excuse me, I have to meet with the Headmaster.”

As expected, he was taken aback, his facial features betraying the surprise he felt. And then his expression turned grim, and a smile twisted his lips.

“Very well.. Perhaps I’ll catch you on your way back to you dormitory.”

The threat was not lost on Hermione, who passed the man warily, and felt his eyes on her until she was before the gargoyle that would lead to the Headmasters office. Her gaze landed on the statue with mixed emotions. She felt a pang of sadness because so much had happened in the Headmaster’s office, good and bad. Trying to push the rush of memories aside, and willing away the tightness of her throat, two words slipped out.

“Acid Pop.”

She winced slightly then, both because the words were natural and had merely slipped out, and because she knew there was no way he’d kept the same password, therefore rendering her lost on what she should do next.

“Hermione Granger, Detention, Eight’o’clock,” a painting of an elderly woman to the right said in a hushed tone. “That’s your key to get in.”

“Oh!” Hermione was startled by the paintings words. Most of the painting had been rendered mute by the Professors, and though the occasion portrait was too strong, Hermione didn’t expect the Dark Lord to have one right by the entry to his office. “Er, thank you.”

She repeated the words and the gargoyle twisted aside, revealing the winding staircase. Hermione thanked the elderly painting again and hastened to get inside, the gargoyle sliding shut with a thud behind her.

As she ascended the stairs she took deep breaths and clutched her bag tightly, making her knuckles go white. Know-it-all that she was, she couldn’t begin to fathom what he had in store for her. Instantly her thoughts went to every defensive spell she knew.

But even if he attacked, and she managed to put up a shield, how could she get out of Hogwarts? And what would the others do? She still had Neville, Ginny, Luna - she couldn’t just run off and abandon them!

It was with these worried, frantic thoughts in her mind that she raised a fist to knock, brought it back down until she was no longer trembling, and then knocked three times.

“Come in,” the voice sounded rather distracted.

She entered and shut the door behind her, her eyes instantly drawn along the walls with a slight grimace. But then she saw the bookcase. That was new. Or not. It had been months since she was here last, almost four months since the parents banded together to foolish attack the school and try to rescue the children. Most surrendered because their children were used against them, but others just wouldn’t stop until it was too late.

“Miss Granger, right on time. Come, take a seat.”

“Yes, sir.”

Hermione took the only seat across from him at the desk, her eyes still drawn to the bookcase. The tombs varied in size and appearance, tombs that looked a hundred years old beside smaller texts that appeared to be brand new.

“I am well aware, Miss Granger, that you have become the leader of your little band; those who still wish to defy me.”

Hermione’s eyes widened a little at the words, and his crimson gaze narrowed a bit as he continued.

“No, I do not believe you are stupid enough to be plotting any foolish heroics. However, I am aware that it is you most of the older years go to when frightened or anxious. I have known for quite some time that you get many midnight visitors looking for a shoulder to cry on and a restoration drought, which you have a large stock of in the tampon boxes hidden beneath the sink in your lavatory.”

Her hands clenched on the chair. How could he possibly know all of that unless...

Unless he, or someone else, had been in her rooms, and had been watching the students come and go at night.

The Dark Lord smirked just slightly and leaned back, linking his fingers casually as he let thick silence reign for a full minute or so before speaking again.

“But I allow these visits, I allow the students the comfort of knowing someone is still strong, someone will never give in.”

“Sir, I-”

He cut her off sharply, his red eyes boring into her own amber depths, “I know you will never give in, Hermione Jean Granger. Not with the death of Potter, not with the death of Weasley, and not even with the death of your parents!”

She winced, recoiling and pressing back slightly into her chair as his presence seemed to intensify and he leaned forward in his chair.

“I do not want them to give up. I want them to continue to look to you for guidance. But I will not abide you trying to do everything for all of them! I have had enough of reading an essay from a student I know deserves a failing grade, but encountering passing work! I will no longer tolerate students repeating, word for word, your answers in classes you are not in. And unless it stops I will be forced to act harshly and make examples of some of the fools blindly following you, just as those two first years did by attempting to hex my familiar!”

Hermione’s stomach dropped and her chest tightened. The boys had seen her hex Nagini. They had tried to copy her. They probably told him they had seen her do it, and still he punished them for her actions.

Seeing how swiftly he moved from serenity to anger made Hermione pause. It was quite obvious that everything she’d tried to keep secret was anything but, and she was at an utter loss as to what she should do, or how she should respond.

He was scrutinizing her as much as she was him, and finally he sat back again.

“They may continue to see you, to speak to you, and you may continue to pinch stores from the potions cabinet on the third floor in order to make your healing droughts. But there will be consequences if you continue to rewrite essays and give answers, do you understand?”

She swallowed hard before nodding. “Yes, headmaster.”

“Good. Now, as your punishment you will be sorting the books there on the bookcase by subject and date.”

That was punishment?

“And do be careful, Miss Granger, some of those books are very... entrancing.”

When the Dark Lord smiles one feels a small chill up the spine proportionate to how sickeningly pleased he looks..

Hermione felt an arctic blast.

And, suppressing a shudder, she moved warily to the bookcase.


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Likey? I did. Sorta. Not really. I hate my writing.
But that’s okay.
So... Rudolphus Lestrange.... I’ve always had this idea of both Lestrange and Macnair as men similar to Lucius, but darker and more sinister, with no real restraint, who don’t care if everyone knows they’re bad, they’re proud of it.
So he might be playing a role here.
So might Lucius, because I love him.
And potentially Macnair, because I might need him.
So... yes...
The fanfic gods call upon thee to review!