Voldemort watched the girl as she ran her fingers along the spine of an old tome. He smirked. She didn't realize it, but she'd had the book in her hand for nearly five entire minutes. She had made short work of pulling the books off of the shelves and sorting them, but when she'd begun to replace them in order, her progress had slowed exponentially.

He had been surprised by how long she'd lasted handling the books. Hell, most of his followers wouldn't have lasted that long. Not that many of them read.

Turning his attention back to the letters from Minister Snape, he looked over the sightings of rebels and who they had recently caught. No one of great importance, a few mudbloods publishing a magazine criticizing the ministry and calling for the rebels to gather forces and attack. Nothing much to worry about; there hadn't been word of a real threat since January, when the parents had come to the gates en mass, both wizard and muggle.

They had been dealt with without much trouble, most of them running home when their children were threatened. Others had not been lucky enough to receive mercy. He glanced up at the girl who had put the book in place but kept glancing anxiously towards it.

He had personally taken care of the foolish muggle man that had brought a gun to kill a wizard, but not before looking into the mans mind and seeing his daughter and wife. Voldemort had been impressed by Granger's silence when she saw her father laid out on the floor of the great hall, and when she'd found her mother, the girl began comforting the young boy beside her, who was grieving over a lost older brother.

Voldemort had watched as the girl stopped three younger students from attempting to attack any of the professors. She spoke to them, words he could not hear, but in moment they dropped their wands and clung to her like a lifeline.

And he'd decided to use her skill to his advantage.

"Headmaster," a timid voice called him back to the present.

He looked up at the girl and his eyes shot to the bookcase. Swiftly he stood and paced to the shelves, looking at them critically, reading each title while the girl fidgeted nervously behind him.

"Where is the last book?" he demanded, turning to her.

"That's just it, sir. I wasn't sure... where to put it. I couldn't date it with my wand."

His eyes narrowed. "You dated the others with your wand?"

"Yes," she nodded, holding up the tome in question, "but I couldn't perform any identifying spells on this one."

"Very well, Miss Granger. Leave it on my desk and return to your rooms. Take heed of what I told you tonight."

"Yes, Headmaster," she nodded, her bushy hair bouncing, and she headed swiftly for the door.

After she left he paced for a few moments before the fireplace, his red gaze fliting to the old book. Contained in that text was all the knowledge he'd needed to take over the wizarding world. Spells, potions, ancient rituals, everything he'd used in his rise to power when he was young and within the last few years.

With a large section in the middle of the book that he could not remove.

A section about him. From his days as an orphan to his last day at Hogwarts.

It was like the Old Fool had left one last cutting remark.

And damn, he hated that old mans curly, merry script; an exact opposite of his neat but blunt calligraphy.

Finally he sat at the old desk and pulled open a drawer with his left hand. He removed from the drawer a stack of student files. Lovegood, Weasley, Longbottoms, ah, Granger. He filed the other stacks back into the draw and open the plain folder holding information from each teacher about the Granger girl.

It had taken him too long to discover she had been hexing his familiar, and he had been unnerved when Rudolphus was the only one observant enough to report that other students were visiting her at night. What Lestrange was doing near the girls dorm at night perturbed him almost as much, however, since he had clearly informed the Professors that Granger was off-limits. They could have their little seventh year whores, but he would not have the girl coerced and then broken by some half-wit middle aged wizard.

Damn that cheery script!

Miss Granger comes from a respectable muggle family, an only child with two married parents, both dentists.

So? How was that relevant? Perhaps the old man finally realized his teeth were rotting out from all that blasted candy he ate!

She has impressed every one of her teachers, including Professor Snape, who has, begrudgingly, admitted her intellect is well beyond her years. She asks questions a fifth year could not fathom.

I have no doubt she will be a great asset to Harry as the children grow older.

Voldemort smirked lightly, relishing the knowledge that, in the end, even Potter's best friends couldn't help him. It had been almost anticlimactic, killing the boy, but well worth it when he was able to sort the older students. It had been Lucius' idea, to kill Potter before the entire school, and from that Voldemort had shaped the next generation to enter the wizarding world.

I do, however, worry about her inner turmoil.

Finally, something useful.

Miss Granger is a nurturer by nature. If she is not using her mind she is using her motherly tendencies. She is very nearly nanny-like in the way she looks over both Harry and young Mr. Weasley. And, like a mother hen, Hermione takes the well-being of many under her care, spreading herself thinly over the heartache and worry of others, while refusing to confront her own.

Too many promising students have gone astray in life because they could not face their own emotions. And while I do not think Miss Granger would ever wish to become as unsympathetic as those who come to mind, I fear she could lose herself to easily in the labyrinth she is building around herself.

Voldemort snapped the folder shut. Why was it, whenever that conniving old man had a plan or a scheme up his sleeve, he was pointing out students faults and then comparing them to Voldemorts?

Shoving the file back into the drawer, he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, trying to calm himself down. He was easily irritable lately, for a reason he did not know, and could not fathom. At the height of his power, ruling over everything he once dreamed of, controlling the vast majority of the wizarding world...

It was that damned girl.

Her damned selfless ways.

Her damned caring nature.

Her damned frizzy hair.

Her damned control.

He opened his eyes and sat straighter.

That was it. He needed to brake her, just a bit. Just enough so that she knew he was the only one with power enough to control others. He would not let the others see, he would not tell anyone - except Severus. Severus could have knowledge of the girls younger years the old man did not. And it could prove priceless. He didn't care if that other seventh year... Benn? Bennet? Brown, that was her name - he didn't care if she knew. In fact - she could prove most useful, if what Lucius had told him earlier was true.

Who would've known Granger's roommate would chose a more carnal punishment than mere hexes or curses.

Granger would never let one of his followers use her in such a fashion. /He/ would never allow that.

But a healthy threat could benefit him most suitably.

... looks incredibly ashamed and doesn't even bother trying to apologize

So - you guys basically rock.

After... quite a while of no hope, I still receive reviews and people are still adding this story to their favourites. I love you guys!

Oh snap, Lavenders been bad. Three guesses what professor she's being punished by?

More on Hermione in the next chapter. I make no promises - for I wont keep them - except that there /will/ be a next chapter.