Pulse

Early Night

Wednesday 20th November

Voldemort stepped through the portrait hole.

Ron had been right: Harry and Hermione were the only ones left in the common room. Harry was dozing lightly with Crookshanks on his lap, and Hermione was reading before the dying fire.

She looked around as Voldemort walked over to them.

"Hi," she smiled, rubbing her eyes. "Did you finish it?"

Voldemort fished around in Ron's memories for a moment before reaching the right answer to what the Mudblood was talking about.

"Not quite," he said, hating how pedestrian he sounded when using the blood traitor's tongue.

"Well... You can have a look over mine if you want," Hermione sighed.

Something deep inside Ron woke and was shoked. Voldemort shoved it away.

"Thank you," he replied, and sat down in the remaining empty armchair.

Hermione went back to her book.

Harry snored gently.
Voldemort eyed the wizard boy, who had been the bane of his life for over ten years- who would be so easy to curse into oblivion with a wave of his wand- who was sleeping, just sleeping peacefully only half a meter away-

"You okay Ron?" Hermione asked, watching him. Voldemort blinked and looked at her.

"I'm fine," he was slowly, trying to act tired. He stifled an imaginary yawn. "Just sleepy. Actually, I think I'm going to get an early night. I'll see you guys tomorrow."

As he rose, Hermione said indignantly,

"Ron, Harry and me just waited up for you for ages. You're not going to go up with Harry?"

Voldemort had never wanted to Crucio anyone more than he wanted to this poxy little muggleborn.

But he kept his anger in check- it was Wednesday now, and he could carry out his plan on Saturday, on the Hogsmeade trip where there would be no witnesses.

"Yeah... Okay," the Dark Lord complied. He sat down again and stared into the glowing embers of the fire.

A warm, comfortable silence settled on them for a few minutes. Hermione broke it.

"Ron," she said cautiously. "Can I ask you something?"

Before answering, Voldemort had to put all his efforts into not to rolling his eyes at the mundane question. Once he had composed himself, he said,

"Course you can," as convincingly as he could.

Hermione shifted awkwardly in her armchair.

"What do you think of Harry and Cho?" she blurted.

What?

Seriously?

He was He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named! He was the Dark Lord, for god's sake! He could not be expected to put up with this level of intelectual normality!

"I think they're cute together," he said, hating every minute of this situation.

"Hmmmm," said Hermione.

What a compelling argument! Thought Voldemort miserably. He was starting to wonder whether killing Harry Potter was worth hanging out with him and his friends for three days.

But it was only three days, though.

Just three days, he kept saying in his head. Just three days and it'll all be over.

"Ron, do you think..." The Mudblood was talking again. Great.

Voldemort tried to look interested. He supposed in reality he just appeared mildly bored.

Hermione continued.

"Do you think... Maybe, that... What Harry's got with Cho... I mean, do you have that? Do you feel like that? F-for anyone?"

Huh?

"Oh, sure," Voldemort said absently. "Don't you?"

Don't ASK her! His brain screamed at him. Don't PROLONG the conversation!

Too late.

"Well, actually, I do-" Hermione said, blushing rather violently.

There was a delicate sort of snort as Harry woke.

"Hey, Ron," he said as he blinked the sleep out of his eyes. "Did you finish your potions essay?"

Hermione hid her red face with her hair as she quickly went back to her book. Voldemort readied himself for the worst three days of his life.

And that included the time when he had had to drink Nagini's milk.