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Illumination
folder
Harry Potter › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
8
Views:
4,377
Reviews:
8
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
8
Views:
4,377
Reviews:
8
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter 5
When he comes into the room in a temper one night, her fear of him returns ten-fold.Voldemort is ever ruled by his passions, and she struggles to keep her mind clear. It has been ages since she has answered something incorrectly as she does not want him to punish her. She says nothing, but he casts his curse on her regardless.
“They say you are my mistress, Hermione, do you know that?” he says conversationally as she screams under the curse. Her hands tear at the floor, and she bloodies her nails, but she does not feel them tearing and ripping from her skin.
She has no idea what she has done, or why he is displeased, or what to say to make him stop. This is not something for which a right answer will gain her a reprieve. Hermione remains quiet until he has worked over his rage, and he throws a book at her and snarls, “Figure out this puzzle, Hermione, or I shall send you to Malfoy after all.”
Shaking, her body weakened by the curse, she picks up the book. The text is written in code, the Latin words jumbled and nonsensical, and looks impossible to solve. She cries in frustration, and he slams out of the room.
Hermione struggles, eating little, hardly sleeping, throwing her efforts into deciphering the puzzle. It is some mixture of magic and logic, and she fills up scrolls of parchment and runs through quill after quill trying to figure it out. She ignores him when he returns and reads by the fire, pacing back and forth and muttering to herself. It is no longer about Malfoy, it is about figuring out the puzzle.
The next time he vanishes, it is for the longest period yet, for two whole weeks. She figures out the puzzle three days after he has left and hates the traitorous rush of disappointment she feels that he is gone, making her unable to tell him what she has found.
When he returns, she practically screams in her frustration to give him the answer. “I know it!” She yells, leaping to her feet and staring into his red eyes. Somehow, the sight of them ceased to bother her weeks ago. “I know the answer.”
He looks at her with those odd, unblinking eyes, and laughs. “Eager, are we, to avoid Malfoy?”
She looks confused and blurts, “But it isn’t about Malfoy, my lord. It’s about the puzzle.”
She feels it, then. A rush of pleasure that sweeps through the room, washing over her, and it is the happiest she has felt since she awoke in his chamber. It takes her a moment to figure out why this is, and when she does, she claps her hand over her mouth in horror. The pleasure and the happiness is coming from him, and she has yet to present him with the correct answer to the puzzle.
His pleasure is because she has called him “My lord.”
She backs up until her knees hit the bed, and she collapses, staring at him. She says nothing. The air is tense between them. “You learn your place at last, Hermione,” he hisses and claps slowly. “Now tell me the answer.”
She does, but it doesn’t matter anymore. What she has done is infinitely worse.
“They say you are my mistress, Hermione, do you know that?” he says conversationally as she screams under the curse. Her hands tear at the floor, and she bloodies her nails, but she does not feel them tearing and ripping from her skin.
She has no idea what she has done, or why he is displeased, or what to say to make him stop. This is not something for which a right answer will gain her a reprieve. Hermione remains quiet until he has worked over his rage, and he throws a book at her and snarls, “Figure out this puzzle, Hermione, or I shall send you to Malfoy after all.”
Shaking, her body weakened by the curse, she picks up the book. The text is written in code, the Latin words jumbled and nonsensical, and looks impossible to solve. She cries in frustration, and he slams out of the room.
Hermione struggles, eating little, hardly sleeping, throwing her efforts into deciphering the puzzle. It is some mixture of magic and logic, and she fills up scrolls of parchment and runs through quill after quill trying to figure it out. She ignores him when he returns and reads by the fire, pacing back and forth and muttering to herself. It is no longer about Malfoy, it is about figuring out the puzzle.
The next time he vanishes, it is for the longest period yet, for two whole weeks. She figures out the puzzle three days after he has left and hates the traitorous rush of disappointment she feels that he is gone, making her unable to tell him what she has found.
When he returns, she practically screams in her frustration to give him the answer. “I know it!” She yells, leaping to her feet and staring into his red eyes. Somehow, the sight of them ceased to bother her weeks ago. “I know the answer.”
He looks at her with those odd, unblinking eyes, and laughs. “Eager, are we, to avoid Malfoy?”
She looks confused and blurts, “But it isn’t about Malfoy, my lord. It’s about the puzzle.”
She feels it, then. A rush of pleasure that sweeps through the room, washing over her, and it is the happiest she has felt since she awoke in his chamber. It takes her a moment to figure out why this is, and when she does, she claps her hand over her mouth in horror. The pleasure and the happiness is coming from him, and she has yet to present him with the correct answer to the puzzle.
His pleasure is because she has called him “My lord.”
She backs up until her knees hit the bed, and she collapses, staring at him. She says nothing. The air is tense between them. “You learn your place at last, Hermione,” he hisses and claps slowly. “Now tell me the answer.”
She does, but it doesn’t matter anymore. What she has done is infinitely worse.