Unjust Peace

AN You know, I get all itchy and frustrated with all the i and b that I have to add here and there...Grrr. But I need italics as it shows thoughts.Duh.

Chapter 3

"I am going to make you feel better, sweetie," Hermione whispered hugging the child closer.

"I am sure you will, mudblood. I am sure".

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What a strange thing this life is, thought Hermione looking down at the small pouting child that was cuddled in her arms. Feeling small chubby hands hold you for dear life, clinging to your dirty rags and seeing closed eyes that belonged to the angel looking girl, Hermione's mind flashed with the dreams she used to have before this nightmare happened. She could see herself dressed in nice, fresh summer cloth sitting on the green grass of the meadow near Burrow; she could hear Ron running after a small boy, no more than 5 years old, laughing and having fun; she could feel, as if it were real, small body of her daughter cuddled in her arms, sleeping peacefully in the loving care of her mother's embrace.

How everything had changed. Once again Hermione was reminded of the harsh reality of this disgusting world, where survival and some primal instincts made her fight back, made her want to do something, but not give up. Definitely not give up, as she was the last remaining part of the Golden Trio; after her there would be no one to cherish Harry, Ron, Professors and others from the light side.

Hermione was brought back to the present when the child looked up and smiled at her.

A cold chill ran down her spine. Probably the wind, she thought and smiled back.

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For the first time in his long and productive life, Lord Voldemort felt some resemblance of respect toward anyone other but himself. No, he didn't suddenly start respecting the mudblood, nor did he become a muggle-loving fool with lemon drops in his non-existent beard.

Lord Voldemort, the greatest Dark Lord in centuries, if not ever, he thought smugly, felt a small, tiny bit of respect towards female population, muggle or magical. With every passing second the feeling that somehow resembled some form of respect, as Lord Voldemort simply did not do "respect", grew stronger. And stronger.

"Dumbledore's beard. It is worse than listening to Wormtail," thought Voldemort, cringing at the pain in his toes.

He then decided than females were either masochists or he didn't know anything about life. Since second choice was not an option, he decided to stick to the first.

Those disgusting pearly shoes on those damn 3 centimeters heels were killing him! His toes hurt and his feet felt numb plus his butt started to itch because the damn dress had some moronic underskirt which was not only scratching his sensitive skin but also glittering! Mudblood be better worth it, he though and looked in Hermione's eyes.

Lord Voldemort was not in a mood. Someone had to suffer.

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"Tell me a story," the girl asked Hermione who was still holding her gently, sitting on the rotten cot.

"Emm..Sure, darling. What would you like to hear?" Hermione tried to remember what stories her parents used to read to her when she was a small child. Stories that would sooth the pain and stress the poor baby was feeling.

"I want a story! Pick one, now!" He should control himself better, Voldemort thought when he saw Hermione's eyes widen at the rude and commanding cold voice coming from a small child.

"I mean, pleeeease," he just did not say that. Did he really want to go through this charade just to torture the mudblood? Yesssss.

"Alright. Would you like to hear about Bambi, sweetie?" asked Hermione after some consideration. She loved the Bambi story, plus it somehow reminded her of Harry. Even though Harry's patronus was not a Bambi, they were close.

The same association popped up in Lord Voldemort's mind and he simply could not and would not listen to a story about Potter's patronus!

"No stags! Do you understand me? NO STAGS!" enraged, Lord Voldemort jumped from Hermione's lap and started pacing the floor.

"Emm, Avada, darling, I am sorry; I didn't know you didn't like stags. Cinderella maybe?" now really confused Hermione tried to sooth the child who was acting really weird. No wonder though, she thought, if the child spent time with Death Eaters and in isolation, one had to be…disturbed.

"No Cinderellas!" Reminded of Potter again.

"No King Arthurs!" Damn Potter with his Gryffindor sword.

"No Nobody's boy," he did not need to hear about his shitty childhood.

"Do you understand me?" roared the princess in the pink dress while angrily stomping her tiny foot onto the hard floor, making the already aching toes blow up in pain and straight into his head.

Silence followed.

Hermione has never seen anything like that. She did not understand how a child can behave like that. It wasn't the fact that the child was really weird from the beginning- that Hermione could understand. She felt weird herself and she was a grown up woman. Then there was this disturbing feeling in the pit of her stomach; this dangerous aura surrounding the child; the weird name; the mad red glint she thought she had imagined; the commanding voice; hate for stags and orphans…

With a very bad feeling Hermione looked at the well dressed child, which was odd as well, and felt her heart sink.

"This cannot be happening, I am mad, I am simply mad," she thought as she looked at the child from another perspective.

It was a whisper but in the silence of the cell they both could hear her.

"You".

"You know, Hermione Granger, you were told to have been one of the smartest witches of your age, however, I honesty fail to see you brain functioning beyond the level of a 2 year old. Of course I am "me"; you cannot express and reveal enough necessary information regarding your train of thought by simply stating "you". You are not as retarded as Potter was, are you?" the voice of the child started changing.

How she hated him. He and only he was the sole reason everyone she loved were dead. He was the one who turned her life upside down.

"Voldemort," spat Hermione looking at the girl with hate, disgust and, she had to admit, fear. He was beyond dangerous.

"You're no fun, Granger," the child drawled.

With horror she hadn't felt in ages, Hermione stared at the changing form of the child, growing taller and taller.

In seconds, Lord Voldemort replaced the girl.

"So, what about my story, are you ready to entertain me, mudblood ? Because I really want to play," the Dark Lord said looking at her with amused expression on his now fully restored face.

He looked not older than 30 years old and had a very handsome face with straight nose, high cheekbones and oddly fitting red eyes. With a naughty smirk firmly planted on cruel lips and shining red eyes glittering in the dim light of the cell Voldemort leaned closer to Hermione.

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Hermione thought she was dreaming. How long had she been here and not once had she heard from him. Luckily. Now, however, it seemed Voldemort decided to spend his precious time with her. Peachy.

"So, I have a preposition. We will play a game, just you and me. Every round will have its bonus or punishment. I am honestly bored and I thought that you, my precious piece of Golden Meat," Voldemort paused at the enraged expression on Hermione's face, smiled and continued, "would also like to play. It's not that you really have a choice anyway."

"What is it that you want? You destroyed everything, you got what you want. And you are now bored," through clenched teeth Hermione managed to push the words out of her mouth, stressing the word "bored". "The great Lord Voldemort is so bored that takes Polyjuice potion and turns into a small child so that he could hear stories and play games. Maybe we could build some castles in the sand as well?"

Instead of a nice round of Cruciatus that Hermione expected to receive the moment she spoke, she heard rich laughter.

"We could, I'll think about it. But now it is time for the rules to be set. You better listen carefully, mudblood, as they will determine whether you'll improve your...accommodation and life style in general plus you'll get to do something besides counting spiders, or…." Without skipping a beat, Voldemort went on.

"Every evening I will give you a riddle," he actually smiled at that word, "and the next day you'll provide me with an answer. The answer has to be correct and precise, usually only one word or number. In case you are correct, I will provide you with something to improve your lifestyle and if you also give the correct explanation for the reason why you decided the answer was right, you'll get an additional bonus. If , however, you are wrong, you will do some nasty work and I will make your lifestyle worse."

"And how is that possible? Will you take away my perfect toilet or maybe my king worthy bed?" Really, like he can worsen the accommodation. But knowing him…

"You'll see. I am full of surprises," came a smooth reply with an underlying chuckle.

He really must be bored out of his mind, Hermione thought, but then again, he was right, she didn't have a choice and he knew it very well. They had this fighting thing in common- she was a slave in the world where darkness ruled and still fought on to survive; he, on the other hand, spent 14 years without a body, lurking around in shadows and still he did not give up. Unfortunately.

"And to make it even more interesting, I will spice up the game by giving you an opportunity to do the same. That will be fun, won't it?" Voldemort was really enjoying himself. He felt a little bit better than usually. At least something new and fun.

"You can give me your own riddle to solve, on same conditions, but without the accommodation consequences, of course," the Dark Lord offered pleasantly.

At that Hermione actually smiled, imagining Death Eaters' faces were Voldemort to spend even one night in a cell with a bucket for a toilet or cleaning floors the muggle way.

"Funny," Voldemort growled getting the glimpse of her thoughts which reminded Hermione of one more rule to set.

"No mind reading and cheating," she couldn't believe she was negotiating riddle rules with the Dark Lord.

"All right, it wouldn't be fun anyway". Maybe.

"So, the first riddle is mine. Listen carefully; I will not repeat it twice. Understood?" The Dark Lord could not really believe that he was doing it and actually enjoying himself.

"I am not retarded, but I guess I understand that you are used to dealing with brainless creatures, so don't worry". Hermione really wanted to say "don't worry, be happy", but she was already pushing her luck. She still didn't understand why Voldemort hadn't punished her for talking to him like that. Maybe it was her lucky day.

The Dark Lord did not want to admit that it was refreshing to hear something other than "Yes, Mater", "Forgive me, Master" and all those nice things that were "a must" in his world. So, he would let her entertain him for a while and then punish for everything at once. Yes, that sounded just right.

"Be careful, mudblood, if you want to live a day longer," happily delivering the threat, Voldemort moved closer to Hermione and making sure he had her attention, he gave her the first riddle.

"Hogwarts Express is on its way to Hogwarts. On the train there are 25 first years, 20 second years from Ravenclaw, 20 second years from Hufflepuff, 20 second years from Gryffindor and 20 second years from Slytherin. Each other year has 5 students more than the previous one. The question is: How many students will there be in each house who will hear Dumbledore's welcoming speech at the end of the Sorting ceremony?"

"Tick tock," the Dark Lord said instead of good-bye opening the door and elegantly stepping out, leaving Hermione with wide eyes and opened mouth behind.

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