Not Faint of Heart
5 October 1968
"So, Miss Granger." Lord Voldemort swept her back into a dancing stance and began to sway. Hermione's stomach churned as she stared up at him, studying his dark eyes through his black satin mask. He asked her quietly, "Where are you staying?"
"In a room at the Leaky Cauldron," she said. "I've been here for almost a week. I've been keeping to myself."
He nodded. Hermione struggled mightily to control her thoughts. It had occurred to her a few days earlier that Severus Snape had managed to fool Lord Voldemort for years. To be certain, Snape had been a gifted Occlumens, and Hermione lacked training in the skill. But she reckoned that if she pushed forth certain notions and ideals, and if she tried her best to conceal certain feelings from the forefront of her consciousness, she could keep up the charade she'd constructed.
She needed Voldemort to believe her when she told him that she'd come back in time to keep him from losing the wars. She needed him to believe that she had come around to the idea of him, that she had fought with Ron about it and had spent time longing for life as a Death Eater. She needed for Lord Voldemort to believe that her Time-Turner had been created and gifted so that she would be given the opportunity to hand him his victory.
Somehow, she needed her mind to convince him of all that. So she stared up at him, and she thought hard about arguing with Ron. She vividly envisioned a verbal altercation with Harry and Ginny, wherein Ginny shrieked that Hermione was no longer their friend. She thought about studying the Time-Turner in her head, and she pushed forward distinct thoughts… This world would be so much better right now if the Dark Lord had won. If we were all living under his reign, we'd be better off. Even a Muggle-born like me. Things turned out all wrong. It was wrong of us to destroy him.
Voldemort let out a long breath as he danced with Hermione. His hand was warm on hers, she realised. She'd always envisioned him as a cold creature. His grey skin, his bald head, and his red eyes had always made him seem distinctly reptilian and frigid. But right now, his fingers were warm wrapped around hers. He had a scar, white and slightly raised, running vertically through his lips and up into one nostril. His chin looked a little chipped on one side. And it was plain through his mask that one eye drooped just a little. His skin showed signs of wrinkling, and he was quite pale. His hair, though neatly cropped and styled, was greying and receding.
Even Harry had admitted that the young Tom Riddle, of whom he'd seen visions and memories, had been handsome. And Hermione had heard rumours, mainly from old witches at the Ministry, that young Tom Riddle had been the best-looking boy to ever walk the corridors of Hogwarts. But the wizard before her, forty-one years of age and worn down by years already wallowing in Darkness, was weathered and worn. Even with him wearing a mask, Hermione could tell that he'd lost his good looks.
Was she thinking about that, she wondered? Was he inside her mind right now, reading the way she perceived him? She hoped not. She thrust forth a different idea, the thought that he was everything she'd hoped and more. She pushed toward him the notion that she was honoured to be in his very presence, the thought that she wanted to know more of him.
"Room Four," he said softly, and Hermione jolted. He hadn't been searching through the right thoughts at all. He'd been somewhere else in her head, she realised, somewhere she hadn't felt him. She nodded. Room Four at the Leaky Cauldron. Yes. That was where she was staying. Voldemort flicked his eyes down to Hermione's left hand where it rested on his shoulder, where she wore her little diamond engagement ring and her simple gold wedding band. He cleared his throat.
"That ginger boy," he said. "You married him. What is he called?"
"Ron," Hermione said plainly. "His name is Ronald Weasley."
"But you are not Hermione Weasley," Voldemort noted with a little smirk. Hermione scoffed and shook her head.
"Bit of a sore subject between Ron and me," Hermione admitted. Then, realising at once that she was telling the truth, she said, "There were a lot of sore subjects between Ron and me."
"Is that why you left him so willingly?" Voldemort asked. "Is that why you abandoned him?"
Hermione felt a sharp stab in her stomach, but she shook her head and insisted, "I didn't… I don't feel as though I've abandoned anyone, Master. I feel as though I've come to you. It's different, I think, My Lord."
He hissed out air through his teeth. He gnawed on his lip as the song ended, and he asked Hermione,
"Did many people call me that? Master? In your time?"
"Not nearly as many as ought to have done," Hermione told him. "It ought to have been everybody. And it wasn't me, though it should have been. I am very sorry. I mean to do so much better for you."
"How?" Voldemort snapped. "I could just empty your mind of thoughts, dispose of you, and use the information you give me to my advantage in the future. You are nothing but a source of future memories. Once I vacate your consciousness, you will serve me no purpose. You're a Mudblood, and you fought against me in the life you lived. I should not trust you, much less keep you about. I should read every memory of yours that I can, then kill you quickly, Vanish your corpse, and use what I've learnt from you to win."
Hermione let out a shaking breath, knowing that this was her one chance to either continue in this mission or ensure her failure. She nodded up at Voldemort, letting her hands fall from him. She said in a trembling voice,
"I am ready to die, as soon as you've finished getting all the information you need. I have come to serve you, and if that means showing you what you need to know and then being… disposed of… I understand. I know I don't deserve a place in your ranks. I haven't earned it; I probably never could. And I couldn't possibly ask you to spare me after I've come through time with such sensitive information in my mind."
He narrowed his eyes at her and snarled, "Beg me to Obliviate you and turn you loose to the Muggles."
Hermione let her mouth fall open. "My Lord. That would be far more merciful than anything I… I only expect death. I came back here to save you, to ensure your victory. That means giving you the knowledge you crave, the information you require. My life is immaterial. I am -"
"You are a time traveller," Voldemort said quietly, still standing with Hermione on the dance floor. He stared down at her, and suddenly it felt rather silly for them to be standing in masks discussing the value of Hermione's life. She bowed her head and whispered,
"Do with me as you see fit, Master."
"I should like to keep you, for the time being," Voldemort sniffed, "and I should like to keep that One-Way Time-Turner of yours, as well. There may yet be use for you and for the device. I think it foolish to dispose too quickly of you before I have established whether or not I can make further use of you. If nothing else, you seem wickedly intelligent. I am still compiling my ranks. I just might have a spot for you among my… subordinates."
Hermione tried not to make a disgusted noise. The very last thing on Earth she wanted to be was one of Lord Voldemort's subordinates. But she had no choice. She had come back in time through the decades on a one-way voyage away from the world she'd known in an attempt to save lives and spare suffering. She needed to do everything in her power to change the path of history.
She blinked and stared at Voldemort, wondering if she ought not travel back in time to Wool's Orphanage and cast a Killing Curse at a Tom Riddle who had not yet created his first Horcrux. But it was not as simple as that, she knew. First of all, she was not a murderer. And he would be just a boy at that point. Furthermore, he'd always been powerful, and he would probably find some way to stop her even if she tried to kill him before he created the first defense against death. No. This was her best option… changing his course. Shifting his methods. It would be hard work. This mission was not for the faint of heart.
But Hermione Granger was not faint of heart.
"Come with me," Voldemort ordered Hermione, and she sighed as she obeyed him. She bowed her head and followed him off the dance floor, toward a masked couple who were fetching themselves fresh glasses of wine. The wizard had smooth blond hair that looked an awful lot like Lucius Malfoy's, and the witch was elegantly attired.
"Malfoy," called Voldemort. The blond wizard turned around, and Hermione's heart accelerated. Was this Draco Malfoy's grandfather? Lucius' father? She gulped, walking with Voldemort up to the couple. Voldemort immediately gestured to Hermione and said, "I'd like you to meet my new… employee. Miss Hermione Granger. I do realise the name is unfamiliar."
"So it is." The blond wizard raised his glass of wine in greeting. "Miss Granger. I'm Abraxas Malfoy; this is my wife Sylvie. How do you do? Any friend of… of…"
"Lord Voldemort's," said Voldemort stiffly, and Malfoy nodded.
"Of course, sir. Any friend of yours is a friend of ours."
"As I said, Miss Granger is an employee," Voldemort clarified. "I'll be hosting her in my office tomorrow at the manor, if that suits."
"Naturally," said Sylvie Malfoy smoothly. "Miss Granger, your robes are so… did you make zem yourself?"
Hermione felt her cheeks go warm at the French witch's obvious insult. She shook her head and jokes, "Blame Madam Malkin."
"Actually." Voldemort cleared his throat and sniffed, taking a long moment to seem thoughtful. "Miss Granger will be working closely with me. I would like for her to have easy access to my office. I need her near my work life. Her current accommodations are less than satisfactory."
Abraxas and Sylvie Malfoy exchanged a look, and then Abraxas Malfoy nervously stammered,
"Of… of course we could… we could offer Miss Granger a suite."
"Wonderful," Voldemort said lightly. Hermione gasped.
"Oh, I couldn't possibly -"
"I was not asking, Hermione," Voldemort growled at her. Hermione raised her eyes to him, feeling them burn with fear. This was Lord Voldemort, and he was angry with her. She nodded and whispered instinctively,
"Yes, My Lord."
Abraxas Malfoy looked surprised at that, and Sylvie Malfoy's blue eyes were very wide behind her beautiful mask. She sipped her wine and murmured,
"She can 'ave ze black and white suite on ze second floor, Abraxas. It's no problem at all."
"Your generosity and hospitality will be well remembered," Voldemort promised. "I know who my friends are. My real friends."
"Well. Miss Granger. We look forward to hosting you at Malfoy Manor," said Abraxas Malfoy with a very stiff smile. He took a deep draught of his wine, and Hermione helplessly threw up her hands and mumbled,
"Thanks. I mean, erm… thank you very much. I've got everything in one little bag, so I…" She realised she sounded strange, so she looked up to Voldemort, who swooped in and said quite firmly,
"I don't want people asking after Miss Granger. She is my concern. I trust you'll make that clear to the old crowd if any questions come up, Malfoy."
"Of course, sir," Malfoy said. "Yes."
"Right. Off you go," Voldemort said, and Abraxas took Sylvie's hand and hurried off. Voldemort cleared his throat and turned his face toward Hermione after the Malfoys had walked off. He gave her a hard look and admitted, "No, they don't all listen that well yet."
"They will listen, Master," Hermione told him. "So I should come to Malfoy Manor tomorrow? What time?"
"Nine in the morning," Voldemort instructed her. "Now go back to the Leaky Cauldron. I think you've lingered at this party long enough."
Author's Note: Hoo boy. So, Hermione's really leaning in on this Lies and Manipulation game. But now she's in deep; she has to live and 'work' (what does that mean?) at Malfoy Manor with Lord Voldemort. What will he do with her memories? How will he 'make use of' her? And what will it mean for her to play along for the sake of her mission?
Thank you so very, very much for reading. I am so very grateful for the feedback.