I Prefer Lord
Disclaimer: Don't own it…blah blah blah
Hermione Granger strolled a dark alley in a dark part of town, a part of town now more unsafe than ever, looking for some place where she could numb her brain with Fire Whiskey and then hopefully get killed, or maybe she'd splinch herself trying to apparate home. She would certainly be recognized here, her face was everywhere with Harry's and Ron's probably along with some scathing remark, it seemed both sides were against them now.
She had graduated Hogwarts with the highest mark in half a century, matched by only one. She had offers left and right, from the Ministry, private companies including Gringotts, and nearly every paper, ranging from the Daily Prophet (enemies within or not) to the Quibbler. But she rejected them all. Harry needed her and Ron. So they would both be there, glamorous career options or not.
Except things weren't going well. Voldemort was killing more and more by the second. On any night you could look into the sky from Hogsmede and see two or three glimmers of green stars looming ominously in smoky skies above smoldering shops and homes. And worse than that, he himself hadn't been spotted in nearly six months. It was as if he had disappeared away from everything but somehow was more powerful than ever. People were beginning to whisper. "The Boy Who Lived is no match for him. Not anymore, how could we have believed a mere child could be our savior?" "Look there comes the heroes people would jeer…" But did any of them step up and fight the Death Eaters when they went on genocide sprees through their neighborhoods? Did any of them risk their lives to stop this evil from spreading? No…but they expected them to create miracles on their own. The Order was criticized constantly in the Prophet, "Muggleborn, some Weasley, and Potty are at it again…" Written by Malfoy, who by connections had earned himself a position on the Prophet, suspected Death Eater or not… "The misfit trio is at it again. Stirring up violence with Voldemort and his supporters when the Dark Lord has decided to calm attacks. The Dark Lord has not even been seen for months. Yet the members of the Order of the Phoenix including the trio, a few more Weasleys, a werewolf, and petty thief, feel the need to rekindle the blood shed. Since there is obviously no way of fighting The Dark Lord and his evil minions, why would they choose to keep the fighting and killing going while we may be able to have a month of peace before the terror continues. But "they" won't be satisfied with that; "they" want the fight to end NOW. But…as much as we all desire Voldemort to be vanquished from this world…Can they offer us that? What have we seen for half a year now but a constant shift toward more chaos? Each morning it seems we wake to a higher death count of the night before, no improvement at all."
Voldemort retiring into peace? Ha…it killed her. It was true…he had disappeared, but not for a return to peace. There was more random, senseless, unpredictable violence from the Death Eaters than ever. They were pouring their hearts into fighting a losing battle to save these people and none of them were grateful. And now she was an outcast. She had seen Ollivander in a shop and had jokingly said, "Well now that the Wars almost over maybe I can take you up on that jobs offer." He had looked at her coldly and turned his back exiting the store. "I hate these people…" she thought with sudden aggravation. She paused in her steps.
"I hate these people." She spoke the words outloud as if she had just learned some horrible, amazing secret. "No…I don't" she whispered with conviction that she was not feeling in her heart. "I just need a drink." She thought. "I just need to forget about all this for one night." She affirmed herself in her mind. Yes…she would get completely plastered and tonight and if she made it home, she would awake with a horrible headache, and the knowledge that she really did want to save the awful people.
She walked in a shady tavern whose entrance gave off an aroma of incense, sickness, hard liquor, and something that reminded her unsettlingly of death. The lights were this weird shade of orange and it was so smoky, it reminded her of Halloween. She saw a warlock with an enormous crow upon his shoulder by the bar and felt chills. Vampires were congregated in a dark corner sipping something she only hoped was wine. A tall thin man in plain green robes leaned against the wall staring directly at her. "Pervert" she thought. She proceeded to the bar and order some Ogden's with a single black cherry. She went at it like was water and she had been travelling through the deserts. She had a strange feeling though, even through the hazy cloud the alcohol and strong smell of smoke and incense was beginning to form in her. The man in the green cloak…. He was still staring at her. But now she saw in his hand, a book…. Not any book…Hogwarts, a History. Suddenly her body was standing up without her mind exactly approving yet. Then her mind caught up and said, "No…you don't know him Hermione, and look where you are!" But then another part of her mind, an uninhibited free spirit, the part of her that truly made her Gryffindor, the part of he that broke rules for her friends chimed in. "Hermione…its Hogwarts, a History…and he looks like he has a nice body. Thin, but lithe, his robes were positioned just right…but she couldn't see his face. Finally she came to a table about four feet from him and sat with her drink, sipping coyly at it.
"You're reading my favorite book." She said plainly, but she leaned forward as if to look better at the cover and let her robe slip ever so slightly, exposing the tiniest bit of shoulder, pretending not to notice.
His head was facing her now, she imaged he was looking at her now, but she couldn't see. His hood was a little too low, his face a little to shadowed by smoke and lighting, but his body…that she could see. "Interesting…what do you make of the views expressed in chapter three?"
Her face lit up, then shadowed, "Maybe I shouldn't say in this current location. Some people here would probably disagree with me…you would probably as well." She posed it more as a question though. As if daring him to say his first, to prove her right.
"Actually I'm rather open on the subject, it has yet to effect me, and I don't like to be involved with the non-sense of other people." He said in his dark, soft, sensual voice. It reminded her of black silk, or maybe the incense around them. It was intense, almost overpowering, it made her mind feel dizzy…but she couldn't stop herself from inhaling it deeply each time.
"Open? I don't see how you can't feel one way. Either blood matters or it doesn't. There is no gray area in the matter." She said passionately.
"Is there? I don't see it that way. Originally there was a magic world and a muggle world. Then a few wizards got it into their heads to start mixing their blood with muggles, merging our world and theirs. It was a decision not all agreed with, and rightly so. Then the attacks began. We were getting persecuted by muggles. At first we tried to fight by their methods, but we had no familiarity with them, and more and more witches and wizards were being killed defenselessly. Children, mothers, elderly, it didn't matter to muggles. They didn't understand us and wanted us dead. So some fought back. But then it only got worse until finally the Ministry thought of a way to end it. Muggles were Obliviated to forget the witch hunts for the most part. Some were given memories, that all of this talk of witches was the mark of a crazy person; and eventually they were left alone. But now there was a hatred and fear in the wizard community of muggles. And it stuck in the minds of those who had never thought merging the two worlds together was wise. Those that it had effected became the pure bloods, vowing never to mix with muggles, although it happened still, the attitude towards it was one of disgust and betrayal. They don't trust muggles. Muggles are below us still relying on their bodies and lowest mind functions to do everything." He finished neutrally. "However…I don't believe muggleborns are useless."
She took another long sip of her drink peer at him intently. He made sense in some sick perverted way…it was almost making her ashamed of her own blood. "Muggleborns certainly are not useless." She said boldly trying to find his eyes. "I had the highest marks at Hogwarts is half a century. Only one person, one, ever matched me." She smiled darkly, "I'll let you guess who that was."
She laughed, "So many prospects, my professors all so eager to learn which opportunity I would follow" She took a final long sip, catching the cherry in her mouth from the glasses bottom. "But I chose to help these fools" she raised her arms. "Well probably not anyone in here actually, actually most people in here are probably aligned with his side."
"Voldemort's?" the man asked softly. The way he said the name gave her chills.
"Yes… I'm surprised to hear you speak his name so openly. Even on my side, so few will speak his name…I do. But only because I believe fear of the name increases fear of the thing itself." Her face was flushed now and her eyes full of hope, "And I won't give in and fear him…in a way I pity him in fact."
The man laughed. But his laughter was not seductive and soft like his voice; it was cold, mirthless. She felt chills. "Is that so? You pity Voldemort?" he said amused. "Really you must explain yourself dear child."
"For one…I'm not a child." She said with a slight smirk. She suddenly had a feeling something wasn't right, she still couldn't see his face, but she could tell he was smiling, his skin was pale. "Well…I pity him because Harry went through nearly the same thing, he lost his parents, was raised by people who had no love for him; but he turned out okay. Because he had hope, that love was out there, that people truly were good. And when he found out he was a wizard and had people who cared for him he was okay. But it was too late for Voldemort, he never experienced love, and it turned him into a monster."
"You think Voldemort became what he is because he didn't experience love?" the man said in a tone that was unreadable. But then he laughed again. It froze her blood; it made her think of dark, terrible things. A long white finger stroked her cheek. His skin was ice. "For such an intelligent girl…you have awfully deluded romantic notions of the way things are…"
She felt afraid…well part of her did. But she didn't turn her cheek from his touch. There was this stirring inside her, he was making her heart race and the chills, they were intoxicating, and she could nearly see his face now. Thin, but angular, well sculpted jaw line, fine cheekbones, his eyes seemed to glow almost, she couldn't quite see yet though, if only he'd move into the light. "I don't think my thoughts are deluded sir…the power of love is greater than anything that exists."
"Funny…" he whispered still stroking the long skeletal finger along her jaw. "Yet I sense…that you have never even experienced this love, the love which you claim could have saved the Dark Lord. Perhaps…what you think is love…is not the only love which exists." His words clouded he mind further…she needed to get outside and breath fresh air. Between the liquor, smoke, and this intoxicating conversation she couldn't think straight, her mind wasn't responded as she knew it should. But her legs weren't moving towards the door, instead she moved forward till there was hardly any space between the two of them.
"What do you think love is then?" she whispered into his ear, her breath was like fire compared to the iciness of his skin.
"Love is magic. It's the fire that courses our blood, it is the light tickling feeling when you cast your first charm, feeling the burning power inside you, your own power. You feel its seep from your blood channel out through your wand make incredible things happen…or terrible. Love is the smell of ancient spell books, potion ingredients, and ink. Love is perfecting a spell till your knees are shaking and your eyelids are heavy and your hands are blistered. Love is when you cast that spell, and feel your own magic complete your own spell, a singular, original force created by a mortal. Love is transcending mortality for that moment and becoming something greater, more powerful, god like…" his fingers had now slipped into her hair and his mouth came down roughly on hers the passion of his speech manifested in the kiss.
He pulled away after a moment leaving her feeling a horrible mixture of exhilarated and terrified. "My god…" she whispered as he stroked his skeletal finger along her throat…. Except. Her eyes darted to her throat to see a wand. From this angle she could see his eyes and her stomach knotted and her heart raced. They still glowed, like a cat's almost…but it was the color…blood red…pupils were slits…there was no mistake.
"I prefer Lord, Hermione."
Author's Note: Yay! So I'm kind of proud of this. Because it's the first time I've managed to write Voldemort, and I adore him so…review pleasssssse. I think this is a one shot, I'm not certain I know where else to go with the plot.