Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“What do you want?”

Hermione did not see any reason to beat around the bush. That Voldemort was here, in front of Shell Cottage, was her fault. She would find out what he wanted and she would fix her mistake. There were no other options.

“That is no way to great your superior, my sweet,” he purred, a playful grin on his lips.

Wide eyed, she shot a glance back to her friends. Thankfully, they were too far away and too distracted by the Death Eaters to hear anything that was said between her and Voldemort.

Frowning, she looked back up at him. “I agree. Thankfully, no superiors are here. Again, what do you want?”

To her surprise, he continued smiling. As though her words weren’t an insult to him. As though he wanted to indulge her. Like a parent looking at their child throwing a tantrum. She could almost feel the condescension leaking out of his every pore. Gritting her teeth, she raised an eyebrow and continue to stare up at him, not willing to back down now.

“My sweet little witch, it was you who sought me out. Just a couple of hours ago for you, if I am not mistaken?” It sounded like a question, but Hermione knew that he didn’t have to actually ask that. “You see, for me, many, many years have passed since I last got to taste you. And it wasn’t even the real you. Is it not expected that I seek you out at the first opportunity I get?”

Again, she could feel his fiery, ice-cold magic wash over her. He was teasing her and she hated it. It made her hairs stand on end. Whatever he wanted, it could not be good the way he approached her. She swallowed hard before she found the strength to reply. “So what, this is a booty call?”

“Hah!” Voldemort sounded genuinely amused. “You’re trying your hardest to provoke me, sweet Hermione, and it will not work. I know you better than you think. Little Gryffindor trying to roar like a lion, but in truth, you are just a cute little kitten, afraid in front of a snake.”

“What do you want?” Hermione repeated her initial question, getting annoyed and more scared with every word that he said. This was not the Voldemort she expected, not in this time. He seemed to much in control of himself, too stable. And that he would talk to her like this, a muggleborn witch for whom he would hold nothing but contempt, gave her the creeps.

“Ah, I am weak for bossy women. You got me there, my sweet.” He patted her head with one of his pale, elegant hands. “If you must know, I intend to take you with me. Big things are ahead of us.”

Hermione nodded. She had assumed as much. It didn’t make it any less terrifying, but at least he was not here to kill her. She licked her lips before replying, “And my friends?”

For the first time, Voldemort actually looked at the other four, seemingly contemplating the question. “It is tempting to just kill Potter here and now. It is a step I need to take anyway, so why not now? The other three don’t interest me. Blood traitors they may be, but the Weasleys are part of the most pureblooded families. It would be a shame to destroy them.”

His gaze lingered on Harry for a moment longer before returning to her. There was a nonchalance to his tone that made her skin crawl. That anyone could talk about killing someone else, killing a child, that easily was beyond her comprehension. In all her time with Harry, resisting the many evils at Hogwarts, hunting Horcruxes this past year, she never truly understood how insanely devoid of humanity Voldemort was. His words just now chilled her to the bone.

“You are insane.” No other words came over her lips. Just this one thought dominating every part of her brain.

He chuckled at that. “From your point of view, I understand.” He was quiet for a moment, then he continued, “What would it take for you to come with me willingly?”

She almost laughed. Maybe he was not so stable after all. “There is nothing you can do or say that would make me come with you willingly. Nothing at all.”

His smile was replaced by a calculating expression. Then, with a swiftness that made her head spin, Voldemort raised his own wand. Within seconds, four wands flew into his outstretched hand, while a thin black line erupted from his wand. With horror, Hermione watched as the line broke into four, closing around the necks of her friends, choking them, forcing them onto their knees.

“Stop,” she pleaded, “please stop!”

He looked down on her. “Now. I could kill all four of them right here. Nothing would be easier. But I might be persuaded to spare them, all of them, if you agree to come with me.”

He no longer smiled. His voice was flat and devoid of any emotion. Just raw coldness. Hermione shook her head, but she could not deny the truth. She was at his mercy. The second she awoke from the ritual, she had known that there was no place on this earth she could run to where he would not find her. She knew even before she said the first word to him that she was forever his prisoner. There was no escaping.

She took a deep breath. But that didn’t mean there was no winning. It didn’t mean she couldn’t fight. Whatever he planned for her, she was obviously important now. There was a horrible gnawing fear in the back of her mind that it could only be bad that she was important to him, but she pushed it away. She was Hermione Granger. She would figure it out.

“Okay,” she whispered. “You can let them go. I will do as you say.”

He didn’t hesitate for a second. As soon as she said okay, he dropped the spell. A couple of feet away, her four friends fell to the ground, gasping for air. They were safe. For now.

“I knew you’d come around. Shall we?” The smile was back on his face, as disgustingly alien as the first time around.

Determined, she shook her head. “No. Not yet. You cannot expect me to leave just like that. I need time. Twelve hours. Give me twelve hours, then you can come and get me.”

“You’re in no position to make demands, little witch.”

She wetted her lips, but held his flaming gaze. “You want me to come willingly and I will. I know very well that there is not a place on earth where I could hide from you. Wherever I could flee to, you would find me. I will not run away because I know it is pointless. I just want time to say goodbye to my friends and pack my things. From the look of things, I might never see them again. Don’t you think I deserve a little grace?”

For the longest time, he simply stared at her. Nothing in his face gave away what he was thinking, but Hermione was sure that he was raging on the inside. Nobody made demands of the Dark Lord. Especially not some muggleborn witch. She half expected him to deny her the request, it was only a hopeful plea, not something she actually thought would work.

“My sweet witch. You know I cannot deny you when you plead your case so sensibly.” Voldemort’s voice was the softest purr as he stepped closer to her. “Twelve hours. Then I will be back. Wherever you are, I will collect you. But I hope you are exactly here. Otherwise, I might have to make your stay with me a little less comfortable than you deserve.”

“You’re … you’re letting me go?” Despite her hope and determination, she was shocked how easy it was to persuade him.

“I’m not letting you go. I’m giving you what you asked for.” His indulgent smile suddenly turned sinister. “And I think I will leave you with a little gift. Just so you don’t forget who owns you.”

With that, he closed his hand around her throat and pulled her flush against his body. Before she realised what was happening, he forced her head back and capture her lips with his. Instinctively, she brought her hands up to push him away, but the second she hit his chest, he pushed his magic against hers.

Instead of a complaint, a groan fell from her lips, hungrily swallowed by his mouth. Fisting her hands into his billowing robes, she allowed him to slip his tongue into her mouth. Her heart beat fast while the world around her seemed to screech to a halt.

With a smirk, he let go of her and stepped back. She was still catching her breath as he gestured his Death Eaters to follow him. With a dramatic flourish, he vanished into thin air, and his followers with him.

Cursing, Hermione rubbed the back of her hand over her lips. She had hoped, no, prayed that her reaction to him was just because she was in the body of Bellatrix Lestrange back then.

But it seemed not to be the case. Whatever this was, she had to get to the bottom of it, and quick, if she wanted to stand any chance of surviving this.

Still breathing heavily, she turned to face her friends, who were finally able to move again. With uncertain steps, they ran to her, pulling her into a tight embrace.

“You’re safe,” Ron wheezed, burying his face in her wild hair. “That was bloody scary.”

She could feel Harry nod against her back, while he seemed unwilling to let go of her as well. It was Bill, who let go first, who posed the question Hermione was sure they all had. “What exactly did happen just now?”

She swallowed. None of them would understand what happened. She didn’t understand it herself, really. Why did she react to Voldemort of all people like that? What strange, twisted hold did he have over her that the lightest touch of his magic brought her to her knees? She would not say anything about that.

Carefully, she extracted herself from Ron’s and Harry’s embrace. “I don’t have much time. Fleur, can you inform the Order that we need them here, all of them, if possible? And if anyone could bring books on magical auras, that would be helpful.”

“Slow down, Mione,” Harry interjected. “What is going on?”

She forced a smile on her lips. “Let’s head back into the cottage for now, okay? Once everyone is there, I will tell you as much as I can. But again, I don’t have much time.”

“What do you mean, you don’t have much time?” Bill sounded alert, as if he sensed some of the danger that she was in.

“Fleur, please?” Hermione instead said to the other women.

With a sigh, Fleur pressed a quick kiss on Bill’s cheek, then she disapparated. Hermione hoped that it would not take too long to gather everyone.

Still clinging to the smile, she explained, “He will be back. You-Know-Who. He wants me, I don’t know for what, but he has something planned. He will be back in twelve hours to collect me.”

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but she instantly raised her hand to shut him up. Then, with as much confidence as she could muster in the eye of her horrible future, she stated the inevitable.

“And I am going to go with him.”

Chapter Text

“Can you please just all shut up?” Hermione’s voice rang shrill in her own ears. “You are wasting precious time!”

Everyone around the table instantly went silent and eyed her awkwardly. She sighed deeply. She should be thankful that it actually only took half an hour to gather most of the important people in Shell Cottage, but now, after an hour of talking, she felt like time was running out.

“I don’t have time. He said twelve hours, and we already wasted almost two of those. Please. Just let me focus.”

“Hermione.” It was Kingsley now who tried to talk to her again. After Dumbledore’s death and him having to go underground, he had taken on the leadership of the Order of the Phoenix. Everyone at the table look to him as he spoke. “We heard what you said. We understand. But you cannot expect us to just let you walk into such an obvious trap. We will figure out a way to keep you safe. Trust me.”

She huffed in annoyance. “No, you won’t. How many times do I have to explain. Whatever he did to my magical aura, he can now track me down wherever I am. We would need to destroy my magic in order to hide me. And wherever I am when he finds me, everyone else there will be in danger. It is not a risk I’m willing to take.”

“I’ve never even heard of auras before,” Remus interjected, flipping through the pages of a very old book. “How is that possible?”

“Apparently, only really powerful wizards and witches can sense the magical aura of others,” Tonks explained as she read through a book of her own. “It’s not something ordinary people would ever find useful, so it was probably lost to time.”

“Yes, exactly,” Hermione cut in, eager to end the conversation. “So, can we just please read through these books in silence? I need all the knowledge I can get before he takes me.”

For a moment, the table was silent. Then Molly opened her mouth. “Hermione, dear, are you sure he doesn’t just want to capture you and use you as bait for Harry?”

“You know we cannot give him Harry if he demands it, right?” Arthur’s voice was quiet and he didn’t look at her as he said it.

Hermione could feel her back go rigid. She knew that very well; they didn’t have to spell it out like that. Of course, she knew that she didn’t matter to the cause as much as Harry did. He was the Chosen One.

“It’s alright. I doubt he’ll demand that anyway,” she replied as cooly as she could.

“Then what does he want with you?” Kingsley pulled the conversation back to himself.

“I don’t know, okay? I just know that he needs me for something and I have the feeling that it has something to do with this weird aura thing he’s doing to me. So, again, if you want to help me, please, just help me study.”

For several minutes after that, it was indeed quiet in the cottage’s living room. For a moment, Hermione thought that she finally got through to everyone in the room and that they finally were working towards the same goal as she was.

But the silence only lasted a couple of minutes. It was Ron who disturbed it again, sounding in equal measures angry and scared. “Hermione, why did he kiss you?”

The rest of the Order let out shocked gasps. Outside of Harry, Ron, Bill, and Fleur, nobody else knew about this. She purposefully avoided mentioning it, and she thought the other four got the hint that they should keep quiet about it as well. But of course, Ron had to say something.

“He kissed you?” Molly demanded to know.

“Ewww,” the twins made at the same time, “why?”

All eyes were on her now and she realised that she would not be able to escape this conversation. They wasted time with these questions and it infuriated her, but there was no way around it. With an annoyed huff, she closed the book she was reading. “Because he is way more in control than anyone here thinks. He is not the unhinged, unstable murderer that was described to us. His every move is calculated. He has a goal, whatever it is, and everything he does is in pursuit of that goal.”

“And how does that explain kissing you?” Harry demanded to know.

She looked him dead in the eye. “It sows seeds of doubt among us, thus weakening the Order. It opens a chasm between me and all of you which makes it less likely for me to get the support I am looking for during these twelve hours. He was not willing to let me go, so he decided to do something that would make the twelve hours less useful.”

She shot everyone a demanding look, hoping they would understand that they were doing exactly what he hoped they would right now. But of course, they didn’t understand.

What she said was true. She was very sure that this was Voldemort’s motive in kissing her so publicly. But she also knew that it was only part of the truth. The other part was something she would never share with anyone. That he kissed her to remind her of how much she wanted him. That he kissed her because he simply wanted to. If she told them that part, it would definitely end in doubt and accusations.

Ron moved his chair closer to hers and grabbed her hands in his. “Mione. If he does that just to mess with us, don’t you think he’s ready to do even more? Are you really willing to walk right into that?”

For a second, Hermione felt tears well up inside her. She could see genuine worry in Ron’s face, a care for her that was deeper than what anyone else here felt for her. It made her wish that there was a different way.

She squeezed his hands. “I know that, Ron. Really, I do. The thought makes me sick. But what choice do I have? Our stupid ritual bound me to him in a way nobody thought possible. I cannot escape that, as much as I wished I could.”

Silence again settled over the room as everyone realised the true severity of the situation. An uncomfortable awkwardness prevented them to say anything else. Hermione knew that all members of the Order just now understood what was likely to happen, but nobody wanted to speak it out loud.

She took the chance to return to her studies. She hated how little she knew. It was obvious from the few books they were able to find on the topic that it was indeed a very obscure part of magic, not well researched and not updated for the last century. So far, she couldn’t even find a properly described use for the aura.

Determined not to feel defeat just yet, she shoved all her worries down and concentrated on the text before her. She would find something that helped her.

“I don’t know how much he saw,” Hermione explained quietly to Remus and Kingsley. While the rest of the Order was busy compiling all their findings into one document, she sat down with the two leaders to help them figure out a way forward. “We have to assume that he saw every single memory I have. I don’t know how long I was out, but I think a skilled Legilimens like him would be able to sift through my mind pretty quickly.”

The two men nodded gravely. Remus took notes, while Kingsley rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “We will need to build the organisation anew. We need to relocate Bill and Fleur, that should be our first priority.”

“Yes,” she agreed, “but another priority should be Potterwatch. Lee could be in danger now that Voldemort might know how the radio works. He needs to change all codenames and think of a new way to come up with passwords. It might be best if he went silent for a couple of weeks while you all helped him figure out a new way to do this safely.”

“I will see what I can do,” Kingsley assured her with his deep, rumbling voice.

“Also, if you at all used any place as headquarters that I might have known, please change it. Even if I don’t know that place is currently used that way, I think it’s safe to assume that You-Know-Who will investigate any place that might even be slightly fitting.”

She could see Kingsley’s expression darken. So she did know whatever place they were currently using. She cursed inwardly. The bloody ritual really did make everything more complicated. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Instantly, Remus looked up and put a hand over hers. “No, don’t apologise, Hermione. You did whatever you could to complete your mission.”

“I just wished you had consulted any of us first,” Kingsley added to that. He sounded less warm than Remus, very obviously struggling not to blame her. “If we had known, we could have helped. Any of us.”

She simply nodded. How often had she thought the same thing? But of course, Harry wanted to respect Dumbledore’s wishes to keep the Horcruxes a secret, so none of them told anyone else. It was different now. With Voldemort now knowing for certain what they tried to do, even Harry agreed to tell the rest of the Order. They were equally shocked and horrified from the realisation just how monstrous their opponent was.

As she focused back on the present conversation, a sudden thought jumped into her mind that brought a fresh wave of panic. “My parents! How could I forget? He must have seen what I did. They’ll be in danger now!”

Remus instantly was on the case. “By Merlin, nobody of us thought to keep them safe. Where are they now?”

She never told anyone was she did to her parents. While she still thought it was the best course of action at the time, she couldn’t help but expect the others to judge her. Nervously, she met Remus’ eyes. “I … tampered with their memories. They’re in Australia now, I don’t know where, but I expect that if he wanted to, You-Know-Who might be able to find them. Maybe he already has. Why didn’t I think of this earlier?”

Kingsley raised an eyebrow. “You tampered with their memories?”

“I used a slightly altered memory charm to make them forget about me. It also made them think they wanted to move to Australia. They were safe there, until now, but if he saw that memory, who knows?”

“Hermione,” Kingsley said emphatically, “you cannot just go around using magic on muggles. You know that, right?”

The guilt that she had felt all along suddenly turned into fiery anger, bursting out of her before she could control it. “Oh, please! What choice did I have? Should I have left them as they were, always in danger to be attacked and killed?”

“You could have left them with us,” Remus suggesting carefully.

“And then what? Have them put their lives on pause for several months? Nearly a year by now? Constantly worrying about me because they don’t understand what’s going on? They deserve to live a happy, carefree life just as they did before all this. None of you even thought about them until now!”

Kingsley sighed deeply. “I hear what you’re saying. But just because it’s easy doesn’t mean it’s always right.”

“Easy?” Hermione stood up from her chair and took a step back. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You think that was easy?”

Remus opened his mouth, but she was not willing to listen to anything else. “No. Just … don’t. You will find them and you will protect them. That is all that matters. What is done is done. I can’t turn back the clock anyway.”

With that, she left them where they were. She expected that others would react negatively to her actions, but that Shacklebolt would tell her it was easy? Blazing fury coursed through her veins. She had given up so much already and was about to give up the little bit that she had left. She didn’t expect anyone to thank her for that, but a little bit of compassion would have been nice. Was that really too much to ask?

Just as she was about to sit down at the long table of silently studying members of the Order, Ron grabbed her hand and pulled her away, outside of the cottage. Curious, she let him

“Mione,” he began, his voice trembling and his cheeks slightly flushed. “I know this is probably the worst time, but I just have this feeling that if I don’t say anything now, I’ll never get the chance.”

Her pulse quickened. She felt herself unable to produce any sounds, so she just nodded encouragingly while licking her lips.

“You are bloody brilliant and I know Harry would have died a thousand times without you. I would have. I don’t know how we can manage going forward once you’re … gone. But we will. I promise you. I will stop complaining about everything and just suck it up and help Harry.” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “But I want you to know … I need you to know that … that I love you.”

Warmth spread through her entire body, rapidly replacing any anger she felt just a moment ago. She did not fight the tears that formed in her eyes. Instead, she slung her arms around his neck and pulled him into a soft, gentle kiss.

He stayed still for a second, before answering the embrace and sighing into the kiss. Hermione allowed herself to get lost in it. To dream about a different future, one that revolved around this sometimes awkward, sometimes stupid boy. This boy who never failed to make her laugh and who, despite his own struggles, would always come around and be there for her. It would be a good future.

“I love you too,” she whispered against his lips before pulling away slightly.

She wasn’t sure whether she really felt love for him, but the warmth that enveloped her body right now made those words just feel right. She put both of her hands around his face and looked up at him with a determined expression. “Whatever might happen, we will get through this, okay?”

He nodded. “Okay.”

She wanted to say more, say anything, to really show him that she cared about him. But in that moment, Harry stepped outside. Instantly, Ron let go of her and pushed her away a bit.

“There you are,” Harry said, his face strangely devoid of emotion. “Can we talk? Just the two of us?”

She caught the flicker in Ron’s gaze as his eyes darted between them. The wound of thinking there was something between her and Harry still hadn’t closed, it seemed. She tried to smile at him. “Can you check in with the others, see how much is left of the compilation of our findings?”

It was obvious that he didn’t want to go, but he still nodded and went inside. When the door closed behind him, Harry turned to her.

“You need to be careful, Hermione,” he began. “You don’t know him like I do. He’s good at reading your worst fears and using them against you. He will manipulate you. It’s worrying that we don’t know what exactly he wants with you, but you have to remember that whatever it is, it can’t be good.”

“I know that. More than you think.”

He looked away for a heartbeat, as though unsure how to continue. Then he looked back at her, his eyes full of concern. “He used to be handsome and charming. From everything we know about his younger years, no witch could resist him. Don’t … don’t fall for that.”

She scoffed. “You don’t really think I could fall in love with the Dark Lord? Seriously, Harry?”

“I just … he kissed you and you didn’t resist. You asked something of him and he gave it to you. I just fear that it is all a ploy to make you like him. He’s powerful and supposed to be intelligent. It wouldn’t be strange for someone like you to fall for someone like him.” He no longer was able to look her in the eye as he said that.

“Harry Potter,” Hermione replied as calmly as she managed. She never felt more insulted in her life, but she tried to focus on his good intentions instead. “You-Know-Who is a racist fascist who hates muggles and muggleborn. It is his one goal in life to eradicate people like me. Do you really think I would be tempted by a bit of power and a pleasing smile?”

He blanched. “When you put it like that…”

“How else should I put it?”

“No, sorry, you’re right. Of course you’re right. I just can’t get that kiss out of my mind, is all.” He sounded defeated now, as though he still didn’t quite believe her, but also didn’t want to fight about it.

For the hundreds time today, Hermione sighed. “Thank you for your worry, Harry. I understand why you are concerned. But please, believe me. There is nothing he could do that would make me forget who he is. Nothing.”

Finally, he smiled at her and pulled her into a hug. She pressed him against herself as tightly as she could, knowing that this would probably be the last time she got the chance to do so. The whole of the wizarding world counted on Harry Potter, but to her, he was just a reckless boy who she constantly worried about. Maybe this was the worst part of it all. Knowing that now, she wouldn’t be around to keep him alive.

“Come,” she said before tears could drown her determination, “let’s see what the others got. I will be better prepared than he ever expects. He’ll know what it means to mess with Hermione Granger before this war is over.”

Harry grinned. “He’ll regret ever touching you.”

“Indeed he will.”

Chapter Text

Voldemort couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face when he apparated back to that beach. It seemed almost all members of the Order of the Phoenix had come out to greet him. The same ten Death Eaters as before stood behind him, ready to block any potentially dangerous spells. It was all so predictable.

And there she was, his little witch. With only a small bag in her hand, she stood a couple of feet away from everyone, looking as defiant as ever. These people did not know what they were about to let go.

For a moment, he allowed his eyes to travel to the Potter boy. He stood at the front, wand in hand, pure hatred on his face, but he remained silent. Everyone around him watched him closely, alternating between looking at Harry Potter and their dreaded foe. Nobody really seemed to watch Hermione Granger.

The people on the side of the Greater Good were really too predictable. He was sure that his witch had told them all about his demands, and still, they could only think about it in terms of how this would involve Harry Potter. That they even let her go in the first place was ridiculous.

If they truly wanted, they would have been able to keep her from him. He was not invincible.

Not yet.

That his little witch would not see another way out made sense. She would have argued for there to be no alternative pretty strongly. She wouldn’t know better. But he could see old enemies among the Order. Kingsley Shacklebolt, a sharp mind in his own right. Remus Lupin, who better than anyone else knew how to survive. Bill Weasley, the curse breaker that quickly rose through the ranks at Gringotts. If they had wanted, they would have been able to protect her.

Instead, they let her go. Because the effort and danger involved was not worth keeping her. She was not worthy to them. Maybe these valiant heroes also could not see past her blood status. Or maybe it was because she was just a girl. Whatever it was, he would make sure that she felt their abandonment every waking hour.

She would be his.

“I see you are true to your word.” He approached her with deliberate, soft steps, stopping just a couple of inches away from her. “Do you have everything you need?”

“I am,” she confirmed, her voice steady und cold. “If you or your Death Eaters try anything funny, you will be met with death. You are here to collect me, nothing more.”

“Indeed I am, little lioness. Don’t worry your pretty little head about your friends. I have no intention of harming them. Not today.” He smirked at the group of wizards and witches, enjoyed the fear that lay so clearly under their angry stares.

“Come,” he finally told Hermione. “I assume you know side-along apparition?”

He saw her swallow then, so very obviously trying to calm her nerves. It was amusing how even now when she tried so hard to appear strong, he could still read every emotion on her face. A Gryffindor indeed.

Grinning, he held out his arm to her. She hesitated briefly, but then she took it. With one jerk, he pressed her hard against his chest, relishing in the surprised squeak that came from her lips and the deep blush that instantly crept into her cheeks. Oh yes, his sweet witch was more than ready to be by his side.

Without another glance at the so-called Order of the Phoenix, he disapparated them.

“My lord, what exactly are we to do with her?” The small voice of the once great Lucius Malfoy cut through the silence that engulfed the extravagant dining room at their manor.

Voldemort simply looked at him, both hands placed lazily on the armrest of his oversized armchair. He had long since decided that sitting on regal-looking yet uncomfortable chairs was not for him. His followers could show their discipline through enduring it, but he deserved better.

Narcissa came to her husband’s help. “We are just wondering whether she is expected to attend the same schedule as the rest of us. Whether we should have a place for her at the table or whether she would rather take her meals alone. Things like that, my lord.”

He shifted his gaze to the blond woman. What they were really asking was how he could expect them to treat a mudblood as an equal, especially Potter’s best friend. He wondered whether a Cruciatus would finally make them understand what he wanted, but he supposed that it would only muddle their brains further.

“Stop asking stupid questions, sister!” Bellatrix suddenly got up from her place and embraced her sister from behind the chair. “If you cannot understand our lord’s plans without explanation, maybe you shouldn’t sit at this table at all.”

Voldemort almost wanted to roll his eyes. If anyone here didn’t understand his intentions, it was Bellatrix Lestrange. After his encounter with the little witch in Bella’s body, he stopped seeking her out. Just the merest hint of a taste was enough to tell him that true pleasure was not found in a rabid lapdog like Bellatrix. She probably thought he was no longer interested in sex at all, trying to find an excuse for why she was no longer in demand.

She would be proven very wrong very soon.

The thought of a trained little witch, always ready to warm his cock wherever he was, made his spine tingle. She would be glorious, eagerly climbing onto his lap in front of everyone, showing her emotions so vividly as she always did, telling the world that there was no greater pleasure than to serve him.

He forced the thought away. It was a long way until he had her trained appropriately, and until such a time, he would only weaken himself if he indulged in these fantasies. Instead, he decided to show mercy on the poor Malfoys.

“What I mean is that she is my special guest. You will not deny her anything, be it food, access to the manor, or answers to question. She can go wherever she pleases. Do whatever she pleases. Aside from leave, obviously.”

Narcissa’s eye twitched, but she seemed to at least try to remain composed. “So, does that mean–”

With an annoyed growl, he stood up. “I don’t care about the details, woman. It doesn’t matter to me where she eats or what she wants. She asks, you supply. Have I made myself clear?”

Eager nods from both the Malfoys and the Lestranges at the table followed immediately. Satisfied, he turned around and left them to stew on their shared confusion without him. For him, there was only one priority right now.

His little witch. Hermione Granger.

He could not wait to have her again. To have her for the first time. He was sure that she had no other experiences. It would make his triumph over her all the sweeter.

He had intentionally given her a couple of hours after their arrival to settle into her new room. It was directly adjacent to his and included a new door that would allow him to come and go as he pleased. Direct access to his witch at all times.

He was not surprised to find Hermione still in her room now. What was of note though was that she actually seemed to have unpacked her bag. Books lay on the desk and were neatly arranged on the shelf and she had filled the wardrobe with clothes. He grinned inwardly. His little witch was not without courage, that much was clear. She fully accepted her fate here.

“Hello again, Hermione,” he greeted her as he fully opened the door.

She did not jump at his words, merely looked up from the book in her lap as she was reading on her bed. “Hello.”

Allowing himself to smile, he sat down next to her and closed the book. “You just arrived and are already escaping into the world of reading?”

A spark of anger flickered in her eyes, but it was quickly replaced by careful aloofness. “I assumed you would return quickly and decided to bridge the waiting with some books.”

He put his hand under her chin then, lightly squeezing her jaw, and pulled her closer. “Did you miss me?”

Just the slightest widening of her eyes betrayed her fear. She held up well, Voldemort had to admit. For now.

“I have a dislike for the unknown,” she stated flatly, never breaking eye contact. “I hoped you would tell me why I am here sooner rather than later.”

He chuckled. “Impatience is the vice of the young. I will not tell you, sweet witch. No, I think you’d rather enjoy finding out yourself, wouldn’t you?”

There, a flicker of something else. Curiosity. Maybe even hunger. But there was something else mixed in, something he could not yet place. His little witch tried so hard to keep an even face, and still he was able to read so much. He would have to teach her to stop doing that, as much as he enjoyed it.

“Let me guess, you will not tell me and pretend I am too stupid to understand and then, when it’s too late, you will still reveal it in a pompous speech to show me how inferior I am. Is that your plan?” As emotionless as she kept her expression, as full of venom and disgust were her words.

His fingers dug deeper into her cheeks. He could not wait to break that defiant attitude of hers. “You presume too much and know too little. Keep an open mind, and you might yet learn something new.”

She scoffed and rolled her eyes at him. “Don’t talk to me about keeping an open mind.”

Instead of an answer, he used the merest hint of his magic to brush against her aura. Instantly, any pretence of being unaffected was gone. He could feel her shudder under his hand as her eyes grew big. A sigh that was almost a moan came over her lips before she collapsed against his chest.

“Why does that feel so good?” Her voice was small and trembling as she mumbled the question against his robes.

“A very good question,” he purred while embracing her in a tight hug. “Why don’t we explore that together, mh?”

He could hear her laboured breathing, telling him all he needed to know. The way she reacted to his magic made seducing her almost too easy. He could take everything from her as long as she felt his magical touch.

But easy was not what he wanted. No, she was supposed to struggle and fight him. Only then would his triumph be complete when she finally submitted out of her own free will, knowing that she broke all her convictions and misguided beliefs to bow to him.

He pushed her down and climbed on top of her in one swift movement. Still wide-eyed, she stared up at him, that delicious blush back on her cheeks. Whatever rational thought she might have had just a moment before clearly vanished now. He could see it in her honeyed eyes, the desire that overwrote any other instinct.

Grinning, he lodged his knee between her thighs, just barely not touching the spot she probably needed him most. He planted his hands left and right from her head, trapping her without so much as brushing any other part of her body. Her lips fell open as her breathing got harder. The red from her cheeks spread down her neck.

Her eyes though, her eyes never left his. He could see the fear underneath her desire and she looked to him for comfort. Looked to him for help. He could barely keep the laughter away. She was just too innocent.

With a smirk, he lowered himself enough so that he could whisper directly into her ear. “Did you like that?”

He pulled away slightly again just in time to see her burry her teeth in her lower lip and close her eyes. He could almost feel the moan she tried to swallow. She shook her head desperately, but then a whiny “Yes” escaped her lips despite all her struggles.

He allowed himself a chuckle at that. Then he took a bit more of his magic and deliberately let it slither along her thighs, pushing against her aura with still only the lightest amount of pressure.

This time, no attempt at self-control could hold back her moan. It burst out of her, sending a shiver down his spine. Her reactions were as delicious as they were addictive. He leaned back down. “Do you want more of that?”

“Please.” The word fell from her lips as a sob, unrestrained and demanding.

He repeated the move and was rewarded with an animalistic groan that set his body on fire. By Salazar, he wasn’t even touching her and he could feel himself grow hard. He hadn’t even notice that his own breath came in the same quick pattern as hers. Heat seemed to flow freely between them, edging him on, tempting him to touch her. To claim her.

And just then, she moved her hips, seeking release against his knees. He no longer grinned. Clenching his jaws, he buried his face in her shoulder, his hands clenched into fists, and allowed her to rub herself against him.

With more effort than it should take, he reeled back his magic, letting go of her aura. Still, she continued the frantic rhythm that she had built. Her sighs and moans and sobs washed over him, pulling him in, almost breaking him.

“Please,” she mewled, “touch me. Please!”

His hand twitched before he caught himself. No. He would not do what she said. She had no hold over him. She had to give him something if she wanted him to comply.

“Try again,” he rasped, “beg me like you mean it.”

She stilled, her whole body going rigid. For a moment he thought she would push him away now. But then she slung her arms around his shoulders and breathed, “I beg of you, please touch me. My lord.”

He was just barely able to swallow the groan that tore loose as he heard her words. It took him several heartbeats before he was able to move again without fear that his lust would override any sane thought.

His sweet little witch under him started moving again. Perhaps she tried to urge him on. Or perhaps she thought her plea still was not enough. But he was a merciful lord and she had begged so desperately, he could never deny her.

He moved one hand down, hovering just a hair away from the shirt that covered her breasts. With every shuddering breath, her hardened nipples almost touched the palm of his hands. Then he started to move his hand up again, brushing against her collarbones until finally settling on her exposed throat.

He only applied the smallest amount of pressure, but he could feel the change in her immediately. Her arms gripped him harder, her hips moved faster. A tremor gripped her whole body. His whole world seemed to only consist of her needy moans and the intoxicating scent of her arousal. He knew she was wet, so wet for him. It would be so easy to take her now. Just free himself and plunge into her coaxing wet hotness. She would probably not even feel any pain. And he just knew he would find the sweet release he had dreamed of these past decades.

Almost instinctively, his fingers closed harder around her throat. Her moans turned into sobs, hungry and unrestrained. The heat between them seemed to turn into lava, enveloping him in the same heady poison that ruled her body.

Then she stopped, as a loud cry fell from her lips, followed by her body jerking uncontrollably against him. Against his better judgement, he let go of her throat and instead snaked both his arms under her, pulling her close to him, just as she pressed herself harder against him.

She felt so good. Hot and soft, so powerful, yet so small under him. In a heartbeat, any second thoughts he had during the last two decades vanished. Whenever he wondered whether he should use the knowledge he had gotten from her memories to instead walk a different path, choose a different future, it was the promise of seeing her again that kept him on track. He often wondered whether that was a foolish choice, but right here, right now, he knew he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

Her body went limp under him and finally, he was able to let go of her. Sitting back up, he could see tears forming in her eyes. She stared straight at the ceiling, her chest still heaving from the intense climax. The first tear spilled over, rolling down her cheeks, and many more followed.

Oh yes, this witch would break beautifully for him. He would take his time, savour every moment until everything she stood for, every thought and memory and belief were gone, replaced by nothing but her submission to him.

He got up quickly, smirking down at her. “You did well today, my sweet. You have pleased me. If you continue to do so well, your life here will be a comfortable one.”

A new sob broke free from her, but he no longer had patience for her. Without a second glance, he exited the room and closed the door with an emphatic thud behind him.

Leaving his witch to her own despair.

Chapter Text

Exhaustion was the only thing Hermione could feel. When she first arrived at Malfoy Manor with Voldemort, she did not think about what it truly meant to be here. But when night fell, she realised she had to actually sleep here. As in, fall asleep and be out for several hours. Vulnerable, undefended.

With the Dark Lord right next door.

While she found some solace in the discovery that she was allowed to use her wand and was able to use magic here, she knew very well that all the protection spells in the world would not save her should any of the other residents truly wish her harm. She still spent hours warding her room, but it did not alleviate her anxiety in the slightest.

It did not help that whenever she closed her eyes, that scene from earlier in the day kept replaying.

She had found a small victory in it, using “my lord” to address him and feeling his reaction to that. It was a deliberate attempt to regain some semblance of control. But the matter of the fact still was that she turned into a needy mess under his magical touch. And that he still was in control, regardless of any bits she claimed for herself.

Only when the sky already started turning grey in the early morning hours did she finally fall asleep. And now, after just a couple of hours sleep, she sat in her bed, feeling the exhaustion deep in her bones. It did not bode well for the future. How was she supposed to survive here when she lost all her strength to lack of sleep?

With a sigh, she left the bed. It was still early in the morning and she had no idea where the Malfoys or the Lestranges currently were. Worse, she didn’t know whether Voldemort was still next door. She couldn’t help it. The anxiety crept up again.

Nervously, she tried the door opposite of Voldemort’s. To her relief, she found a small bathroom behind it. At least she would not have to awkwardly share the toilet with him, or worse, any of the Malfoys. She quickly washed up and dressed, before turning to finally face the reality of the day.

All her wards were still active. While she was certain that most people in this house would be able to break through, she doubted that anyone could completely replicate her spellwork to cover up a break. This meant, hopefully, that nobody attempted to get to her. At least this night. Small mercies.

She sat down on the floor, crossing her legs and closing her eyes. Voldemort might have teased her yesterday about her inability to figure out what he wanted with her, but that did not mean that she would give up. As long as she breathed, she would not stop trying to find a way to rid the world of him. She was his prisoner, but she would make him rue the day he took her.

Determined to make the most out of the day, she took several deep long breaths to settle into a body scan meditation. A clear mind and calm nerves would be her best assets.

Her calm nerves lasted exactly as long as it took her to navigate her way down to the breakfast room. She came by Narcissa Malfoy on her way there, who simply gave her a curt nod. It was a frosty affair, but it didn’t rattle her.

What did rattle her was the sole occupant of the breakfast room, sitting at the table and reading the Daily Prophet as though he belonged there.

“Snape.” The name left her mouth before she could control herself.

The moment he turned to look at her, she flinched. There he was, the great traitor. The man Dumbledore always trusted and who, in the end, proved to be their worst enemy. Enjoying the rich breakfast provided by the Malfoy’s house elves. Drinking black coffee as though he had any right to even be alive.

“Miss Granger.” His dark eyes did not betray any emotion, but she could hear in his tone that he was as shocked to find her here as she was to see him.

“What are you doing here?” Trying to appear more confident than she felt, she barked out the question while settling in a chair at the far end of the table.

With measured movements, he folded the newspaper and sat it aside. “I usually take my breakfast here. Which should be no surprise. Your presence, on the other hand, needs explaining.”

Hermione’s gaze travelled over the table, trying to take in what was available and what she wanted to eat, but in truth, she felt a knot in her throat by the mere presence of Snape. She wanted him gone. She wanted to kill him. Though she was not deluded enough to think she stood even the slightest chance of besting him.

“It would appear that I am a guest of this house,” she replied, still not looking at him.

“A … guest.” Again, she was surprised to actually hear the shock in his voice. “And to whom do you owe this … pleasure?”

She snorted. “There is only one person who would make the Malfoys accept someone like me as a valued guest.”

She got no answer to that. Deciding that she would not be intimidated by him any longer, she shovelled eggs, tomatoes, and bacon onto her plate before helping herself to a cup of tea. She still felt rather like throwing up than eating, but her mind told her that she needed to eat. Anything to drive away the exhaustion was a must.

Silence resonated through the room, oppressing the already dark atmosphere even more. The sun was shining through the east facing windows and bathing the room in a golden light, but the dark wood of the floor and furniture coupled with the stifling silence and empty seats at the table were enough to make Hermione’s hairs stand on end.

With difficulty, she took a sip from the black tea and tried to focus only on the way it felt as the hot liquid ran down her throat, spreading its warmth slowly through her body. But even the nice cup of tea was not enough to drive away the chill she felt.

Finally, she turned her head and looked at Snape. She was surprised to find his black eyes fixed on her, arms crossed in front of his chest, studying her closely without blinking.

She swallowed hard. “What?”

“I was not aware of this … turn of events.”

Hermione could only roll her eyes. “Oh no, does the Dark Lord’s pet feel left out? I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“You should watch your tongue around here, Miss Granger. It isn’t healthy to mock people like me.” He still looked at her, devoid of any emotion, unmoving.

“I apologise if my tone lacked the deference you are used to, professor. I fear you lost any respect I had for you when you killed Headmaster Dumbledore.” She put as much venom in her voice as she could. If he was a regular guest for breakfast, she would make sure that he would suffer every single day.

She half expected him to try and curse her now, but instead, he just raised an eyebrow before changing the topic. “What are you really doing here?”

Hermione took a bite out of the bacon and chewed slowly before replying, “I know as much as you do. Which, apparently, is nothing.”

“Don’t test me,” he shot back.

“Don’t get angry at Miss Granger, Severus. She truly does not know.”

Hermione jumped. She hadn’t noticed Voldemort entering, being too focused on Snape and his stupid expressionless face. Blinking, she took in the scene unfolding before her eyes.

Snape immediately got up and bowed before the snake-like man. “My lord, I did not hear you come in.”

Voldemort smiled down at him and patted his shoulder. “Sit down, my boy, sit down. Enjoy your breakfast.”

Snape remained in the same position for a moment longer, then he nodded and sat back down. It was obvious to her that he now lost his appetite just as she did. Interesting. It seemed that Voldemort’s presence was not something that usually happened at breakfast.

“So, I see you discovered Miss Granger is now a resident of this manor. I hope this will not dissuade you from continuing to take your breakfast here?” He sounded nonchalant, almost amused.

He strolled over to her and took the seat right next to her. Of course he would. She hated his presence but she hated even more that she felt better now that he was here. Being alone with Snape definitely was the worse fate.

“Pour me a cup, my sweet, will you?”

Hermione almost choked on her eggs as she heard the familiar address. Snape at the other end of the table seemed to have a similar reaction, as he was trying to mask a cough. Wide eyed, she stared at Voldemort who simply smiled.

“Help yourself. I’m not your house elf,” she finally replied. She realised that this was just another powerplay by him. Showing her off as this submissive little pet to someone like Severus Snape. She would not play that game.

Snape’s coughing fit instantly ended at that. From the corner of her eyes she could see that he was staring at her with such open shock that it was almost comical. Voldemort on the other hand seemed less surprised.

He simply grinned wolfishly and reached for the teapot. Hermione followed his every movement, suspicious that he might suddenly decide to drown her in boiling hot tea. Instead, she watched as he poured himself a cup. The practiced ease, the total lack of dramatic flourish around it felt surreal to her. How could Voldemort do something as mundane as pour himself a cup of tea?

He took a sip, then sat the cup back on the table and turned to Snape. “You see, Severus, Hermione Granger is my special guest. As such, she enjoys certain privileges. For now.”

Her eyes shot back to her former teacher, who seemed to have recovered by now. The impassive mask was back on his face as he methodically cut into his black pudding. Without looking up, he replied, “I’m glad to see we’re expanding our circle.”

Of course he would say that. Hermione cringed at his words, hating the subtle insult hidden in them. She would have to test how far her freedom to unrestrained actions within the manor actually went. Maybe ambushing and hexing him was allowed.

“Of course that is your reply,” Voldemort said at that moment. “Listen to me, Severus. When I say that Miss Granger is my special guest, I expect you to comply. She will not be hurt while under my protection, is that clear? And that includes any verbal assault your sharp tongue might want to dish out.”

His words felt like another blow to her confidence. How was she ever to interpret his intent when he so blatantly protected her against his followers? What did he truly want?

Snape looked up from his meal and gave a short nod. “Of course, my lord. I apologise for my words. I will treat Miss Granger with the respect you ask of me.”

At that, Voldemort emptied his cup and stood up. “Good. If my sweet little witch has any questions or wants to study anything, help her out and provide her with the material she is asking for. Any material.”

Before Snape had a chance to reply, Voldemort strode out of the breakfast room, his dark robes billowing behind him.

Again, silence enveloped the sun-lit breakfast room.

Hermione stared down at her plate. She usually liked a full English, but right now, everything she saw and smelled and tasted made her want to puke. She was trapped in a nightmare with no way out.

“So,” Snape drawled after several minutes of uncomfortable silence, “Hermione Granger found herself in the good graces of the Dark Lord. Care to explain?”

She grabbed a piece of buttered toast and stood up. “No. I don’t. And as you just heard, you are to watch the way you talk to me. Better remember that the next time we speak.”

Then, not giving him any chance to apologise, she stomped out of the room.

What a way to start her new, cursed life.

Chapter Text

Sipping on her fifth cup of tea of that day, Hermione slowly turned over the parchment page full of neatly written small text. All the findings she had compiled with the help of the Order were written down here and though she was sure she still remembered every piece, she went over it slowly and methodically. She knew that it was probably only a matter of time until Voldemort – or someone else – would inspect her room and discover these pages. She wanted to know them by heart as soon as possible and then destroy them before that happened.

Not that he could not still find out by looking through her memories. But any precaution was better than none.

By now, she understood the basic concept of the aura. Every single magical being had one. It was what differentiated wizards and witches from muggles. Any spell cast drew upon the pool of magic contained within oneself and reflected in that aura. That was the most important part. The aura was not technically the magic itself, but a reflection that could show other capable wizards and witches how strong another being was.

And it was this aura that could be touched by the magic of another. As the skin was itself an organ that contained all other organs a human being consisted of and transmitted every sensation inward, the aura was also its own thing, connected not only to the magic, but to the parts of any human that received signals and transformed them into emotions and sensations.

What Hermione did not understand though was why touching the aura felt so good. She heard the other girls in the dormitories talk about how electrifying the touch of a boy could be, sure. But feeling this intense pleasure from just a touch? She doubted that was what Lavender or Ginny meant. None of the texts she found said anything about aura touching having such an effect.

It scared her that she didn’t understand her reaction. A small, hateful part of herself told her that she obviously just loved being dominated by a monster, being the worthless girl she was. She knew that voice very well, it was a constant companion after all. But she also knew that it was just the destructive, punitive parent mode of her own self trying to undermine her. She did not actually want to submit to Voldemort. It was just an easy explanation that painted her as a weak and disgusting person.

With a sigh, she rolled the parchment back up and put it in her bag. Nothing in the text would help her with that question. She wondered whether Dumbledore had been able to see auras as well. It would make sense, he was at least as powerful as Voldemort after all.

And that one time during her fourth year when she was alone with him as he told her about the upcoming task for the Triwizard Tournament, she thought she felt something strange in his presence. As though he was looking at her with more than just his eyes. She distinctly remembered the icy shiver than ran down her spine back then.

She remembered it because she didn’t know what it was and if felt unpleasant, so very different from any other interaction she ever had with him.

Maybe that was him probing her aura.

But why did that feel so unwelcome then? Shouldn’t a magical touch by her beloved headmaster fell more like a warm hug?

The more she thought about it, the less she understood.

A firm knock on her door interrupted her spiralling thoughts. Before she could reply, the door swung open and Voldemort entered. That irritating, condescending smile was back on his lips.

“Here you are, my sweet. I would have expected you to spend all your days in the library. No private collection can rival that of the Malfoy family.”

She grimaced. “I didn’t feel like discovering any other unwanted guests in the house today. Snape for breakfast was more than enough.”

Voldemort stepped behind her chairs and put both his hands on her shoulders. “I’m sorry to hear you’re not comfortable with his presence.”

A chill ran down her spine as his fingers started to subtly massage the stiff muscles on her neck and shoulders. This felt way too intimate. She swallowed against the dryness she suddenly felt in her mouth. “Don’t pretend it’s unexpected. Do you really think I would enjoy the company of the wizard who killed Professor Dumbledore?”

“Ah, yes, the great betrayal,” he mused. “Dear Severus really played his role to perfection, seeing as every single member of the Order was apparently surprised by his actions.”

“Harry never trusted him,” Hermione forced out through gritted teeth.

“Yes, but then again, he trusts nobody, doesn’t he?” There was a delight in his voice that made her feel on edge.

“He trusts me. He trusts his friends. Don’t pretend like you know him at all.”

Voldemort chuckled. “I think it is you who doesn’t know him. Harry Potter doesn’t trust anyone but himself. And why would he? During his first year, no teacher listened to him when he alarmed them that one of my loyal followers was about to steal the Philosopher’s Stone. In his second year, his most trusted adult, the oaf Hagrid, sent him to the Forbidden Forest to be eaten by his pet spider. During his third year, he learned that something as insignificant as a rat or a cat could divide two friends. The fight between you and that Weasley boy really left a deep impression on him. Should I go on?”

Hermione felt cold sweat form on her face. He really did see every single memory she had when he went looking. Every aspect of her life lay bare to him. She hated it.

Resolutely, she shook her head. “You’re wrong. Harry knows that he can trust us. That he can rely on the people around him. It’s his biggest strength and he knows that.”

Voldemort slipped one hand to the front and under her chin, tipping her head back so she stared directly into his eyes. A triumphant smile played around his lips. “Now you’re just lying to yourself. He was ready to go on the hunt alone. You had to force your company on him. Then your lover boy left. He came back, true, but don’t think for a second that Harry forgot. And now?” His grin grew wider. “Now you left. To join me of all people.”

She struggled to free herself from his grip, but he held her in place with unnerving ease. “There might have been a chance that he still trusted others. But your departure was the final nail in the coffin. I could see it in his face yesterday. Harry Potter will not rely on anyone else any longer. He will not share his thoughts or plans. He will act alone. Because you left him.”

Something inside her growled at those words. She should feel guilt and despair at the prospect that she might have doomed Harry’s path forward. But instead, something darker awoke in her and forced its way to her consciousness.

“So that’s what this is? I’m here to distract the Chosen One from his task?” Her words were poison as they left her lips, not attacking him, but sneaking their way into her soul instead.

For a moment, Voldemort simply stared down at her, smiling, holding her in place. Then he stepped around the chair and pulled her up, close to his chest. The hand around her throat slipped back, grabbing a fistful of her hair. She did not even protest as his lips came crashing down on hers. Everything she just heard still swirled around in her, trapping her thoughts in a maze without escape.

Then he let go of her again, stepping away, smirking as though he just tasted the most delicious meal. He shook his head. “No, Hermione. You’re not here because of him. You’re here because I want you here. I need you here.”

He gently stroked her right cheek with his thumb, then he turned and left as swiftly as he had appeared.

Trembling, Hermione sank down on her bed. Curses were on her tongue, but she forced them down. She was hilariously unprepared to deal with Voldemort, she realised that now. He truly was no madman. Whatever Harry had told them before or they witnessed from afar, it did not tell the full story of the resurrected Dark Lord.

Or maybe …

She buried her face in her pillow. Maybe the original Voldemort was indeed a madman, but by witnessing her memories, he changed. He obviously had followed in the exact path that he had seen through her eyes. That’s why they arrived at the exact same spot. But maybe when he saw his life reflected in her memories, something changed. Maybe he changed. Doing things now just to follow the path, not because he had conviction.

Maybe, this Voldemort had a different goal right from back in 1972. A purpose. Something that grounded him, helped him keep his sanity. Maybe only his actions appeared mad, but his mind stayed clear.

If so, it would be her doing.

Whatever was the case, she needed to face the fact that Voldemort was more dangerous than she could have ever imagined. That she even for a single second believed a word he said about Harry just showed her how easy it was for him to manipulate the people around him.

His words about Harry had some truth to them, that’s why she even believed them in the first place. But the real insidious thing was that he was not reading Harry, he was reading her. Like an open book. He knew that she hated nothing more than to be sidelined for her best friend. He knew her ambitions were far greater than that of just being the Chosen One’s best friend.

She had to brace herself. He would continue to attack her just like that. Play on her ego, sow doubts, make her feel like her friends would never acknowledge her greatness. Small, weak, insignificant.

She didn’t know why he would do that. What he gained from that. Maybe, if she could find out, it could help her steel herself against any attempts of manipulation. What did he truly want from her?

“I need you, he says,” Hermione whispered to herself, letting go of the pillow. “But for what? What could I have that he needs me?”

For a moment, she allowed herself to close her eyes and let her mind wander. It was only noon and she already felt exhausted. The lack of sleep, the sudden appearance of Snape, Voldemort’s manipulation, it all felt so much. How was she to survive this?

“At least Draco isn’t here,” she sighed. Despite the pity that she felt for him, she couldn’t imagine how horrible his reactions to her presence here would be.

It was not yet May, so she would have at least two more months before Draco would return to the manor. She desperately hoped that all of this would be over by then. Whatever the Order was planning, it better find an end before summer.

What were they planning? In the short amount of time that she had between just being on the Horcrux hunt with Harry and Ron and now being a prisoner to Voldemort, she had not wanted to waste even a second. She never asked them what they wanted to do, how the plans changed now that the secret of the Horcruxes no longer needed to be protected. It was better that she didn’t know, as Voldemort couldn’t extract it from her, but it still weighed on her now in this quiet moment.

With another sigh she sat back up. She still felt as though she was hung over, a grogginess clouding her mind and pulling on her body that refused to go away. She should see whether she could get something to eat somewhere. Voldemort said she was allowed to access any part of the manor, so it should be fine to visit the kitchen.

A grin flickered over her lips. Perhaps she could get the house elves to revolt against their masters. That would be at least a little fun.

Chapter Text

Voldemort listened with great interest as Lucius Malfoy recounted all that their new guest did all day long. As instructed, he had the house elves record her every step and every word, invisible forces that could be anywhere without getting noticed. It amused him to no end that after his short visit, she spent a considerable amount muttering to herself, stressing out over his motives and actions.

She would understand sooner or later. It was clear to him that she had not yet unlocked her full potential, too focused as she was on using her brain to solve problems. It would take time to train her, but once she saw, once she understood, she would realise what he wanted quickly.

And probably turn into a feral cat, trying to scratch out his eyes or rip out his throat. It would be fun.

“Thank you, Lucius,” he said after the other wizard finished his report.

The blond man nodded. In the last couple of weeks, he finally started to look like his former self again. He had hated how the proud head of one of the most influential families had let himself go. Voldemort would make sure that maybe in the past he did not care, but now it was important to him that everyone looked like they were meant to rule. No exception.

“My lord,” Malfoy started, sounding a bit hesitant. “If I may. I want to bring to you attention an issue arising from your request that Miss Granger be allowed access wherever she pleases.”

He raised an eyebrow, already feeling annoyed that the Malfoys could not even follow his direct command for one day without complaining.

“As you heard in the report, she went to the kitchen around noon, presumably to find something to eat,” Lucius continued. “While I don’t generally see a problem with that, I fear she might be a bad influence on the house elves.”

“The house elves? How so?” He could not care less about whatever this was.

Lucius swallowed hard. “Well, as you know, we lost one of our older house elves to Harry Potter. It seems that Gr–Miss Granger shares similar soft sentiments. She even brought up Dobby directly to them and how happy he was without a master.”

“Lucius,” he cut in, “I will say this only once. I do not care. If you cannot control your slaves, that is your problem. Are you really telling me one mudblood is enough to make your house elves run away? Miss Granger will have access to every part of the manor, whether it suits you or not. Is that clear?”

He could see the other man blanch, but Voldemort had no patience left for him. It took all his self-control not to give him a taste of the Cruciatus in response. This matter was beyond trivial. This was exactly why he punished the Malfoys after the matter in the Department of Mysteries in the first place. They were incapable of doing anything on their own and needed his guidance for the smallest things.

So much for the proud and longstanding pureblood family line.

With a shake of his head, he left Lucius in his study. It was late already and he could not wait to visit his witch again. On his way across the manor, he couldn’t help but smile to himself. Her hatred of Severus Snape was an amusing thing to watch, especially since they would be spending a lot of time together. Severus was the only one he could trust to always understand his intentions, but he already knew that the Granger girl would drive him insane. Maybe Severus didn’t deserve that, but it would still be an entertaining thing to watch.

He paused in front of the door again, giving a short knock before entering. Voldemort knew that it was a considerate gesture that confused his witch immensely. Maybe he would keep it up forever.

“Good evening, Hermione,” he greeted her joyfully, relishing in the mix of fear and annoyance on her face. Yes, his little witch could not stand his presence, but there was still that fear that he loved so much.

“It was a better evening before I had to see your face.”

He laughed and pulled her from her chair onto the bed with him. Her eyes immediately grew wide, but there was the tiniest hint of a blush on her cheeks. She did know how to seduce him.

“I had a thought earlier today,” he told her. She sat primly next to him, both feet planted in the floor, her eyes looking straight ahead instead of at him. He wouldn’t press her on that. For now.

“I saw in your memories that you had a run in with some of my friends two years ago,” he continued.

She glanced at him before quickly looking back at the wall again. “In the Department of Mysteries, yes. Where you manipulated Harry into retrieving that prophecy about you two.”

“That was a clever bit of magic, don’t you think?” He chuckled when she shot him an angry look. “Though I have to admit, after seeing your memories I didn’t actually care about that prophecy anymore.”

This time, she turned her whole body to look at him. “You what? What do you mean? What was all that for, then?”

He took one of her hands and brought it close to his mouth until he could plant a soft kiss on the palm. The blush on her cheeks intensified as he looked her straight in the eyes, but she only frowned and pulled her hand away.

“I figured out what that prophecy meant after observing your memories. Of course, it did help to hear the full part of it, but in truth, I wouldn’t even have needed that.”

She blinked. “You figured it out through my memories?”

“Indeed. Don’t worry, my sweet. While I possess most of your knowledge, you possess none of mine, so it does not reflect badly on you that you haven’t figured it out. Maybe you will in time. But it truly doesn’t matter.”

Her frown deepened and she started to chew on her bottom lip. Voldemort could almost see her mind at work, trying to figure out what she was missing. But he doubted she would arrive at any conclusion today.

“This is not why I brought it up, though,” he explained. “What I really want is something else.”

He eyed her long-sleeve button up shirt that was made out of a strangely coarse material. Slowly, he reached for the first button. She allowed him to open it, though he could feel her breath catch as his fingers brushed against her collarbone. He continued on to the next button, and still she let him.

When his fingers travelled down to the third, her small hand caught his wrist. “Where is this going?”

Uncertainty and fear shone from her brown eyes, but he could tell from the way she was breathing a little too quickly that she did not fully want to stop him. He twisted his hand to break free from her grip and pushed her down on the mattress instead, climbing on top of her as she brought her legs up.

Instantly, her hands collided with his chest and pushed. “What are you doing?”

“Don’t worry, my sweet. Nothing bad will happen today.” He gave her a reassuring kiss on the forehead.

She licked her lips then and again, Voldemort felt the urge to just throw away his sanity in favour of burying himself in her completely. His eyes stared at her lips, remembering how well she took him when she was in Bella’s body. Imagining how perfect she would look now with his cock between her full pink lips.

He suppressed a groan and instead continued to open her shirt. Her eyes were round and full of panic, but she no longer resisted him. Instead, she lay perfectly still under him, her arms flat on the bed.

When he finally released the last button, he pushed the shirt open a bit more. Her perfect round breasts jiggled just a little, enough for him to want to grab one with his full hand. Ignoring the urge, he let his fingers travel lightly over the scar that sat between her breasts. She hissed as he touched her.

“Does it still hurt?”

“No, not really. It is just a … weird sensation.” The fear receded from her eyes, making way for curiosity.

“It was Dolohov who gave you that scar, right?” He didn’t have to ask as that memory was fresh on his mind, but he wanted her to acknowledge it.

“So that is his name. I didn't know before.”

He leaned further down, planting a soft kiss right between her breasts. He was rewarded with the sweetest sound, a mixture of a sob and a moan, both surprised and eager. Smiling, he sat back up and pulled out his wand.

“I can fix that for you. Make it disappear.” He tapped the tip of his wand against her exposed skin. “I assume neither Severus nor the medi-witch at the time knew how to do that?”

She was strong to have survived Dolohov’s spell. The presence of mind to silence a powerful wizard who was just about to unleash a dark curse told him a lot about her combat prowess. That she still carried a scar despite her success was not right.

She lifted one hand, hesitantly at first, but then with a firm determination in her eyes that made him shiver. To his shock, she gently placed it on his cheek and shook her head. “No. Thank you for the offer, but no. This scar is part of me. Proof that I can survive against all odds. I wouldn’t change it for the world.”

He could barely hold back a scoff. Of course, Gryffindors and their need for bravado and courage on full display. He should have known that this would be her answer. To mask his displeasure, he closed his eyes and put his hand over hers. “Okay, little witch. As you wish.”

When he opened his eyes again, the sleeve on her outstretched arm had fallen down slightly, exposing a wound that would soon turn into a scar as well. He gently shoved the fabric further down, inspecting the nasty red letters on her arm. Bella’s cursed blade had done a lot of damage here, but again, it was Hermione’s magical strength that prevented the curse from actually taking hold.

“What about this one?”

She shivered under his gaze, but again shook her head. “That one hurts like hell, I have to admit. But isn’t it fitting? A little reminder left by your favourite mad woman, so that you’ll never forget what I am. Does it make you shudder with disgust when you see the word and remember who it is you’re touching?”

There was no venom in her words, as though she was truly just curious. She watched him, almost as closely as he was watching her.

“I haven’t been disgusted by you or other mudbloods since the day you fell into my bed.”

Hermione snorted. “And I am Santa Claus. Right. The great Lord Voldemort doesn’t hate mudbloods anymore because he suddenly grew a conscience.”

He let go of her wrist and instead pushed both her arms over her head, pinning them with one hand, while the other travelled further down, over her belly, and further, until his fingers slipped under the elastic of her pyjama pants.

“Be careful when you mock me, my sweet,” he hissed as he pulled the fabric of her panties aside. “You will find that I am easily displeased.”

Her mouth fell open and her eyes grew wide as he let his middle finger slide through her folds in one long stroke. There it was, the disgust and hatred that she accused him of but showed so freely herself. And the desire, her barely contained hunger to be touched by him.

“It is not a hard concept to grasp, Hermione,” he told her, putting on a tone of fake disappointment. “To unite one group you need another group that you unite against. And seeing as the pureblood families already hate mudbloods and muggles, it was just common sense to use that for my own goals. If they hated all witches instead, I would have used that.”

She struggled against his hold in earnest then, trying to free her arms or to ram a knee into his side, but he did not let her. He kept his hand between her thighs, not going further, but reminding her with every move of her hips that he was there. Her cheeks were flushed and her breathing laboured when she finally gave up.

“I don’t know what’s worse,” she rasped, “oppressing muggleborn witches and wizards because you truly believe them to be inferior, or oppressing them because it is easy and convenient.”

He couldn’t hold back a laugh at that. Carefully circling her sensitive nub, he leaned down until he could feel her breath on his face. “You are still so naïve. Nobody hates mudbloods because they truly think you are inferior. Everyone hates you because it is the easy thing to do. I might have once truly hated you lot, but all those proud pureblood families? It is just the easiest way to retain as much power and influence as they could. And it’s almost impossible to truly eradicate you, so you will always be there to hate.”

“Fuck you,” she spat, her voice hoarse and full of hatred.

But he could see as he backed up a little that her eyes were brimming with tears. She truly was that naïve. He could see in her face that she didn’t want to believe him. Her mouth was set in a hard line, only the slightest quiver of her chin betraying how much she hated everything he just told her. Because she did believe him.

With a sigh, he pulled his hand from between her thighs and closed her shirt again. Then he let go of her arms and left the bed. Hermione quickly scrambled into a sitting position, buttoning her shirt again. She did not look at him.

“I’m not the only monster out there,” he told her.

Instantly, her eyes snapped up to his, a scowl on her face. “Get out!”

He smiled. “As you wish.”

He pulled the door close behind him as noiselessly as he could. Then he allowed himself a silent chuckle. Oh, she was so deliciously naïve. The world was not good or fair. She clung to her hope that she could believe in people. A shining light in the darkness of this house.

He could not wait for that light to disappear and for her to break.

Chapter Text

Hermione could not hide the scowl on her face when she discovered Snape in the breakfast room the next morning. She had purposely tried to be earlier than any normal person would want to eat in the morning, yet here he was, drinking coffee and reading the paper. Again.

“Good morning, Miss Granger,” he greeted her, actually turning around and nodding. As though nothing happened the day before. As though this was normal.

With a huff, she plopped down on the same chair as the previous day. “Don’t expect me to be polite back.”

Just like the previous morning, he carefully folded the newspaper and put it down next to his plate. “I don’t expect anything of you. Your presence here is in itself so strange that it would be insanity to even try to expect something.”

Learning from her mistake, Hermione grabbed a slice of buttered toast instead of eggs and bacon. Maybe she would get used to his presence at some point, but for now, she felt her stomach grow cold and hard by the mere sight of him. Eating in the mornings would become even harder than it already was for her.

Snape continued to sip his coffee in silence without eating anything or getting back to his paper. He didn’t even really look at her. It was unnerving and she hated how much she felt like she was back at Hogwarts. As though this man had any right to call himself professor still.

She tried to distract herself with a nice cup of tea and another slice of toast, but the silence in the room became too oppressive. She couldn’t stand it.

“Will I have to suffer your presence every day then?” She had no patience to mince her words.

“I’m afraid so,” he replied cooly. “I offered to our Dark Lord to leave you in peace, but he made very clear that on the contrary, I should make sure we always breakfast together.”

With a sigh, she dropped the half-eaten toast. “Of course he would. Bastard.”

“Miss Granger. A word of advice. It is not good for your health to talk about our lord in this way. He does not appreciate it.” Snape sounded as flat as ever, his dark eyes not betraying any emotion he might feel.

She could only laugh. “Thank you for your concern, professor. It might have escaped your notice, but he is not my lord. He might be yours, for whatever reason, but I am no follower.”

“What are you then?”

She shrugged. “As I said yesterday, I do not know.”

Snape plucked a single grape from the fruit platter and chewed it slowly while studying her with his expressionless eyes. “Don’t you find it concerning that you do not know?”

“Concerning?” She almost shouted before catching herself. “He almost killed Harry to persuade me to come here, and you ask me whether I find that concerning?”

A flicker of something appeared in Snape’s face. It was just the briefest widening of his eyes, a short twitch in his neck. Too quick for her to really read what emotion was behind it. But the mention of Harry did finally get something out of him.

“You want me to belief that he had the chance to kill Potter and did not do it, because he was too busy to … what? Kidnap you?”

Hermione knew very well how insane that sounded. She was herself still stunned about that. For someone who was obsessed with Harry to this degree to just let him slip through his hands again, willingly, without need, it only underlined Voldemort’s insanity.

Only, he was not insane. Not in the least bit.

“Stop asking inane questions. Since when were you so chatty?” If Snape was confused, it could only serve her. That a small part of her was relishing the fact that she could pay back all those years of humiliation helped as well.

“I see,” was all he said in reply.

To her surprise, he left it at that and went back to reading the paper. Or at least, pretending to read it. Even from the distance, she could clearly see the vacant look in his eyes as he obviously tried to make use of the information she just gave him. She did say more than she intended, she realised. She should not have mentioned Harry.

With her heart beating loudly, Hermione slowly pulled the heavy oak door open. After the unbearable breakfast, she decided that she might as well use her all-access privileges and finally seek out the library. A house elf, clearly desperate to be rid of her, kindly showed her the way and now here she was. Standing in the entrance to a treasure trove of unbelievable size.

Shelves upon shelves of old books, all in darkest wood and at least ten feet high, sprawled the grand hall. A gallery ran around all four walls, allowing a view from the top and housing even more bookshelves. At the far end, there was a heavy desk with a comfortable looking chair, inviting her to sit down and read for hours on end.

She swallowed against the knot that was forming in her throat and stepped fully into the library. The door fell shut behind her with the softest click. For the first time, she actually felt respect for the Malfoys. Despite everything, it was obvious that the family was dedicated to the preservation of knowledge. If only she had had access to all these books while attending Hogwarts. It was a mystery to her how Draco did not eclipse her in every single class with this much knowledge at his fingertips.

“So, you found your way here.” The smooth voice of Lucius Malfoy shocked her out of her reverie.

Blinking rapidly, she turned to the blond wizard who was approaching her with slow, measured steps. Coming out of a long row of bookshelves, he did not look pleased to see her here.

“I was told I was allowed to go wherever I please,” she replied, hoping that her voice did not betray how unsettled she was by his sudden appearance.

“Of course,” Malfoy assured her with fake happiness, “it’s my pleasure to open my humble book collection to someone of your understanding.”

He came to a stop much too close for her liking, sneering down at her as though she was filth beneath his boot. Determined, Hermione squared her shoulders and met his gaze directly. “And it is my pleasure to be welcomed so. I will make sure the Dark Lord will hear about this. I’m certain he’ll want to reward his loyal follower for the way you comply with his orders.”

She could see pure hatred swim in his eyes, but the way he gripped his cane harder ever so slightly told her that he was indeed easily intimidated by the mere mention of Voldemort. After all those years hearing Draco tell her “My father will hear about this,” it felt good to turn this around on the older Malfoy.

Hermione smiled sweetly at him. “If you have no other business with me, please excuse me. There is research waiting for me.”

She could see his jaws work as he seemingly debated what to do. Then he offered through gritted teeth, “If you need any assistance finding your way around the library, please be sure to let me know.”

The tables really had turned. Hermione had to suppress a laugh, but she quickly denied the offer. “No, thank you. I think I can manage.”

To her surprise, he lingered a moment longer, before giving a curt nod and exiting through the door behind her. As the door clicked shut again, Hermione turned towards the bookshelves in earnest. It was time to get familiar with the cataloguing system.

It was already past midnight when she returned to her room. Her eyes were burning and she could feel the muscles in her neck starting to ache. Despite her best efforts, she still had not found any more on auras than she already knew.

Hermione slipped into her room and closed the door as quietly as possible. The last thing she wanted was to wake her room neighbour. If she could escape him for one full day, she would count that as a happy day.

The moment she turned on the magical lamps in her bedroom, she fell to the ground, intense pleasure gripping her whole body.

“There you are. My sweet.” Voldemort lounged on her bed, smiling casually as he pushed his magic against her. “I’ve missed you.”

Pressing her lips together, breathing slowly through her mouth, she tried to control the arousal that was threatening to overtake her brain. She would not fall to this so easily. With every bit of willpower that she had left, she struggled onto all fours, hands planted firmly on the ground. The heat between her legs was almost unbearable. A moan was caught in her throat, silent, but ever present. She just knew that the moment she allowed even a single sound to come out of her mouth, she had lost.

“Ah, dearest Hermione, why do you fight this?” He was openly mocking her now. “Do you dislike feeling good so much? Would you prefer to feel bad?”

She couldn’t reply, couldn’t even look up. She could only shake her head, hands curling into fists, as she tried to keep her hips from gyrating against nothing.

Voldemort sat up and his two feet came into her field of vision as they touched the carpet in front of her bed. She noticed now that he wore simple black pants instead of his usual robe. Before she could stop herself, she started crawling towards him on all fours.

“Yes, come here, my sweet,” he coaxed her closer.

Unable to resist the pull of his voice, she crawled to him until she was between his legs. She closed her eyes, trying to keep him out, but she felt her mind slipping.

“Look at me,” he ordered her and she had nothing left to fight against it.

Hermione opened her eyes and looked up, directly into his snake-like eyes. He was smiling cruelly at her, but it was enough. The sight of him overruled any sane thought she still had. With a groan, she leaned forward, nuzzling her face against his crotch.

“Yesss,” he hissed, using both of his hands to push her hair away. “Isn’t this better? Doesn’t this feel good?”

She could feel him grow hard and another wave of heat shot through her body. Only one thought was left. The certainty that all she needed was his cock inside of her. She swallowed hard, salivating at the thought.

“Ah, maybe I overdid it a little,” Voldemort mused while stroking her cheek. “I did mean to punish you for making me wait, but we wouldn’t want you completely out of it, right?”

The burning ice of his magic subsided. She could feel it slide over her, caressing her, but also letting go of her. Slowly, something akin to another thought rose up inside of her.

“Is this … are you going to do this every night?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Do what every night?”

She moaned despite herself. He looked so displeased, sounded so impatient. It stoked the fire of her lust even more. Sweating, she licked her lips. “Overwhelm me with that … that aura thing and then … use me?”

A toothy grin appeared on his lips. “My sweet, I will never do anything to you that you don’t explicitly ask of me.”

His voice engulfed her like a warm blanket. Slipped into her mind, clouding it, drawing her in. She could almost hear a whisper beneath it. Another message. Some other thing that he was not telling her. She wished she could think clearly. If only he would touch her. She needed it.

She shook her head desperately. No. She would not allow it. He pretended like this was something she wanted, but in truth, it was all his doing. This was no better than the Imperius Curse.

“I don’t want this,” she pressed out between gritted teeth. “I don’t want to touch you. And I don’t want you to touch me.”

Voldemort tilted his head, studying her intently while she sat between his legs, no longer nuzzling his crotch, but still much too close for comfort. He tipped one long finger against his pale lips as if contemplating.

Finally, he let out a dramatic sigh. “Fine. You win. I said I wouldn’t do anything you didn’t ask for, and I am a man true to his word.”

In an instant, his magical touch was gone. Hermione almost sobbed from pure relief. She wanted to get up, but just then, he placed both of his hands on her shoulders and kept her trapped between his legs.

“Now, my sweet witch, I kept my word and showed you that I am truthful. I want you to use this night to think deeply on how you present yourself to me in the future. I think I have earned a little more respect, mh?” He brushed one hand through her hair as he said the last words, smiling a smile that did not reach his eyes.

Hermione shuddered, but she nodded. “I will do that.”

“Good girl,” he purred, at last letting go of her.

She scrambled to get away from him and stand up, wrapping her arms around herself. It scared her how easily he could overpower her, and how easily her body would fall for it.

“I hope you get a good night’s sleep still,” he continued while he stood up as well. “It’s Saturday tomorrow, so Severus is finally able to join us for the full day. Don’t be late for breakfast, we will start early.”

She blinked. “Start early? With what?”

His hand on her door handle, Voldemort turned around once more, looking down at her with that condescending grin again. “Why, your training of course.”

Chapter Text

Voldemort felt a chuckle come on as he watched his witch scowl at Severus without holding anything back. Her open display of hatred would never cease to amuse him, especially since it was directed at his most trusted servant. He knew Severus would only be annoyed by the lack of self-control the girl displayed, but never take her actually seriously.

What a wonderful basis for the work they would need to do for him.

“Severus, Hermione, thank you for joining me.”

“As if I had a choice,” his sweet witch muttered under her breath.

He allowed a grin to show, before turning to Severus. “I know that you have been impatient to find out what all of this is about. The presence of Hermione Granger certainly is not what you expected.”

“I would not presume to deserve any insight if you deem secrecy necessary, my lord.” A perfect answer, as always. He was a man of few words, Voldemort knew that, and usually, those words were carefully chosen to transport the most amount of meaning with the least amount of breath. Being able to read between the few words and understand what Severus truly meant was something only he, the Dark Lord, was able to do. Everyone else was only ever annoyed or afraid.

“I asked Lucius to clear this unused guest room for us and had Narcissa expand it beyond its natural limits. It will serve as your training arena for the next months.” While he explained, Voldemort raised his hands, increasing the intensity of the magical lights around the spacious windowless room. It was bright now, the many lights even preventing them to cast any shadows. Nothing would escape the notice of anyone here.

“You honour me, my lord,” Severus replied after he took in the whole room. “May I inquire after the purpose?”

Voldemort grinned. “You may not.”

He could hear his little witch scoff at that and turned to her, still smiling. “The same goes for you, Hermione. You will train, you will grow stronger, but the purpose of the training will remain a secret until you uncover it yourself.”

“So what, you expect me to duel him?” She didn’t hesitate to point at her former teacher.

“Indeed, I do.”

Severus stepped forward at that. “Is it really the best idea for me to duel a young, untrained student?”

“I am not untrained!” Hermione shot back instantly.

Voldemort raised a single finger and shook his head. “I understand the concern, Severus, but it is entirely unnecessary. Were you to duel in the traditional way, you would have the advantage, simply by knowing more spells. But you will not duel that way. I want you to not use any spells or curses or charms you might know. Use your magic raw and unfiltered. No precise wand movements needed, no words. Just pure magic.”

While Severus remained expressionless, he could see a sudden intent curiosity on his little witch’s face as she eagerly looked up at him. “That is possible? Using magic without the expression of wand movements and words?”

“Of course,” Severus interjected, “how do you think new spells are created? It’s been done for centuries.”

An ever so slight blush appeared on her cheeks. Hermione Granger really loved learning as much as she hated not understanding. It was so easy to rattle her that even the ever-emotionless Severus had an easy time with it. Or maybe it was a part of her that still saw him as her professor, despite everything.

“Severus is correct, my sweet. Only the most accomplished wizards are able to craft new spells from nothing. But we all possess the ability to use magic, so we all are able to use it in its most basic form. You already know how to do it. Trust yourself.” Her eyes returned to him, curious and sceptical at the same time. He wanted to reach out and kiss her, reward her for the eagerness she was showing. But if was not time yet.

Instead, he stepped back, leaning against the wall, and motioned both to take position in the centre of the arena. “You both know how to duel. Get ready and start at will.”

He watched closely as both Hermione and Severus bowed to each other before pacing back twenty steps each. When they turned to face each other again, she raised her wand and planted her feet wide, ready to attack. Severus on the other side stood still, appearing almost relaxed if not for the way his fingers curled around his wand.

“I’m ready,” Hermione said quietly, not taking her eyes off her opponent for one second.

Severus only nodded. For a moment, everything was quiet. He could see a slight frown appear on Hermione’s face as she obviously tried to access her magic. Again, Voldemort reminded himself that he would need to train her in not doing that. Her emotions were too easily read on her face, especially by someone like Severus, who had mastered the art of appearing absolutely blank many years ago.

Carefully, Voldemort took the slightest bit of his magic and reached out to both of them. He knew that they would both be able to sense the touch if he was too forceful, so he made sure to only use the tiniest amount. He connected with both at the same time, feeling their auras pulsate as the magic in them awakened. None showed any hint of noticing his presence.

There was something in Hermione’s aura that he couldn’t feel in Severus’, something that pulled him in, encouraged him to use more, to fully envelop her with his magic. He knew his magic felt good for her, but it always surprised him how much it was true the other way around as well.

A sudden crackling in the air and a hot pulse of Hermione’s aura brought his focus back.

Blue light crashed into Severus, shattering into nothing against an invisible shield. Another burst of magic erupted, another wave of blue light crashed into him. Voldemort watched as Hermione’s wand moved through the air, not following any strict pattern, but rather slashing and ripping through the space, underlining the intent of her magical attacks.

Severus on the other side did not move an inch, his face blank, though his eyes betrayed the intense focus he had. The knuckles on his wand hand were white as he gripped it tightly, his wrist twitching ever so slightly with every new wave he parried.

His eyes went back to his witch. He could see her grow increasingly furious as none of her attacks landed. Again and again, she changed how she waved her wand, trying to change the angle of her attacks, but she never managed to make Severus move. Her anger and hatred were delicious to behold.

Voldemort had to give her credit though. Despite her obvious frustration, she kept quiet. Other people would have started to insult the opponent, wasting breath on useless words that had no place in a wizarding duel. She still moved too much and showed too much, but she at least had some control.

A flicker in the aura drew his attention back to Severus. The slightest scowl appeared on his face, betraying a surprise the other man probably did not want to show. Concentrating on their auras for a moment, Voldemort almost laughed. He already had expected it, but seeing it so clearly now was still an amusing surprise.

“This is pointless,” Hermione suddenly shouted.

He looked to her as she lowered her wand, panting heavily while putting her hands on her knees for support. Her aura flickered as well.

He stopped smiling. “You will keep going until I say it’s enough.”

“I can’t even touch him,” she protested. He could hear how much she hated that Severus appeared completely unaffected by her attacks.

“This is not a discussion. Continue.”

With a groan, Hermione stood upright again, facing Severus once more. The other man quickly wiped his forehead before resuming the same position as before. Voldemort could feel in his aura now a stone cold resignation that mixed with disbelief.

A new barrage of blue light smashed into Severus, not touching him, not moving him. Hermione stopped waving her wand, instead holding it in front of her, a steady aim without hesitation. He could tell from her stance that she didn’t expect to accomplish anything by it, but she still didn’t want to give up.

Turning all his focus on Severus now, he closely monitored his aura. As the magic depleted, the aura grew weaker. He saw how his jaw worked, how his shoulders tensed. Severus shuffled one foot back a little, falling into a more balanced stance.

Another flicker. A widening of the eyes. A new wave of blue light barrelling towards him.

In the last second, Voldemort sent a shield to catch the attack. Severus didn’t even look at him, rooted in place as he desperately searched for more magic. And Hermione did not stop her attacks. Again, the blue light shattered as it touched his shield.

His eyes were still trained on Severus when he realised that no new attack was coming. Instantly, he turned, just in time to see his sweet little witch collapse. Without a second thought, he lowered the shield around the other wizard and ran over to Hermione.

Kneeling down, he pulled her into his arms. Her heart hammered furiously in her chest and her body was drenched in sweat. He didn’t dare to touch her with his magic now, unsure what would happen if there was no aura left. Instead, he gently stroked her cheek. “Open your eyes, my sweet. Please. For me?”

Her lashes fluttered, then she managed to open her eyes. “Bastard,” was all she said before closing her eyes again.

Slipping his arms under her body, he pulled her closer to his chest and stood up. As he turned to Severus, he saw that the other man was leaning with the back against the wall, breathing heavily with his eyes closed.

“I’ll bring Miss Granger back to her room,” he told him.

Slower than usual, Severus forced himself back into a dignified position. He looked tired. Too tired to mask his emotions, it would seem. “Did you know?”

Voldemort only raised one eyebrow in response. Severus shook his head and sighed. “Is that why she is here?”

“Indeed it is,” he confirmed.

The other wizard looked at the unconscious girl, shaking his head again. “You have my fullest support, always, my lord. But you know that she will never willingly lend her power to our cause, right?”

“Ever the sceptic. I know full well who she is. She has power and ambition and nowhere to really use it. She will come around.”

Severus wobbled for a moment, then placed a hand against the wall for support. “I see you have a plan. If you ever need my services for that, I am available.”

“Oh, I will need them, be sure of that, my boy. So best prepare yourself. I know how hard it is to lose to someone you think so little of. Don’t harbour resentment or I will make you regret it.” He studied the other man for a moment, but beyond the exhaustion, all he could see was confusion and surprise. There was no hint of any anger or embarrassment that he would have expected.

Curious.

He would need to make note of that and investigate further. But for now, his little witch needed him. Her exhaustion ran deeper, as she really had used every single bit of magic she could reach. She would grow in no time with that eagerness of hers, but he would need to make sure to take good care of her. She had to survive to fulfil her purpose after all.

Chapter Text

The first thing she noticed was the soft mattress under her and the heavy blanket on top. It was comforting, like a warm hug. The next thing she felt was the strange feeling deep inside her. A throbbing that she never felt before. It seemed to come right from under her heart, the very centre of her being. A very low, slow throbbing that felt almost like a tickle at times. Or an itch. Not unpleasant, but also not something she could ignore.

Like a wound healing.

Hermione drew a shuddering breath and opened her eyes. She was in her room in Malfoy Manor, a very dim light illuminating the rich interior.

“Welcome back.” The low voice of Voldemort reached her ears.

Instantly, she sat up, ignoring her spinning head, and stared at the pale man sitting at her desk. He studied her closely, it appeared, but otherwise he looked relaxed. Not like someone who just almost pushed her to death.

“How long was I out?”

He got up and sat down on her bed. “Only about half an hour. You were just exhausted.”

She couldn’t help the scowl forming at his words. “Just exhausted? I felt like I died back there.”

He simply nodded. “And I assume you still feel strange?”

“How do you know that?”

Slowly, as if giving her a chance to back away, he reached out and took one of her hands in his. “It is part of the training. You did something that you probably never experienced before, because you were never pushed to that extent.”

Hermione swallowed. She hated how his hands felt nice, how there was a strange comfort in his physical touch. He wasn’t using his weird aura magic right now, just the contact of skin to skin, yet it felt so good. She shivered.

“And what, exactly, did I do?” She tried to ignore the feeling and instead focus on what was actually important.

His voice was a low purr as he explained, “You channelled all your magic into your attacks. All of it. Most people are not aware of this, but it is possible to run out of magic. That is what you did. You were magnificent.”

She felt heat creep into her cheeks. His words, his tone, his touch, it all suddenly made her uncomfortable. He was too nice, too indulgent. With a huff, she pulled her hand away. He didn’t try to grab it again.

“So magnificent that I couldn’t even touch Snape?”

Voldemort chuckled. “Oh, my sweet witch. You are so clever and powerful, yet so oblivious. Severus is very good at masking anything he might feel. I’m sure you noticed.”

She could only roll her eyes. “What’s your point?”

To her surprise, he leaned in at that, bringing his face very close to her while simultaneously placing one hand on her cheek, slowly stroking her jaw. “My point is that you overpowered him, little Hermione.”

“Yeah, right. That’s why he was still standing in the end and I collapsed.”

His eyes seemed to bore right into hers as he watched her every movement. His hand on her face felt too hot, his body too close. Again, she felt herself blushing and she could do nothing against it. She wanted nothing more than to shrink away, but she was trapped between him and the headboard, unable to put any distance between them.

Nervously, she wetted her lips. And watched as his gaze followed the movement of her tongue, his eyes growing darker, his hand suddenly gripping her jaw more fiercely. A very different kind of throb between her legs sent heat through her body.

“He was rooted to the spot. He was unable to move even if he wanted to. Just like you, he had no magic, no energy left. But different from you,” Voldemort explained, his gaze returning to her eyes, burning with something, “I had to step in for him. The shields you battled at the end were mine. You held out longer than him.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “What?”

“You, my sweet witch, are more powerful than Severus.”

He didn’t give her a moment to register what he said. Instead, he pulled her closer, snaking his free arm around her waist, forcing her flush against his chest, and captured her lips with his. They were hungry and demanding, taking her breath away.

She couldn’t help the moan that fell from her lips. She couldn’t help her hands grabbing his robes, or her eyes falling close. Too exhausted, she had no filter to prevent her body from taking over. It craved his touch. She craved his touch.

Craved how he took without asking, despite his promises. Craved how he too seemed to have no control over the hunger that possessed him.

With one swift move, he lifted her up and forced her to straddle him, embracing her with both arms, never breaking the kiss. She groaned when she felt how hard he was between her legs. A groan that was met with a growl and a jerk of his hips as he gripped her tighter.

For a heartbeat, he broke the kiss and instead whispered something against her lips. In the next moment, she was naked on his lap, his mouth on hers again, the coolness of the air caressing her heated body. She should be alarmed, she should protest, she knew that. But she was too tired for that. Too far gone in her own desire to feel every inch of his body.

His hands roamed her back, groping and caressing and ever pulling her closer. Grinding her hips against his erection. And he never stopped kissing her. His tongue slipped between her lips, encouraging her own to do the same. Exploring her, tasting her, imprinting his own taste on her.

“You have so much magic,” he growled, “you have no idea. Nobody ever taught you how to use it. Nobody ever saw you. But now you’re mine. And I see you.”

Through the fog of her lust, she registered what he said. Like moving through molasses, she could feel the meaning reach her brain. But he never stopped kissing her, never stopped grinding his hard length against her core, making it hard to concentrate. She needed a moment, a break, at least a breath to think. But he wouldn’t let her.

Suddenly, there was his touch again. The feathering of his magic against her aura. Just a soft touch at first, but as a hungry moan left her lips, his touch grew stronger. More demanding. Her world shrank, consisting only of his hands on her back and his cock between her legs, his lips on hers. And his magic that seemed to embrace her completely. In time with the movement of his hips against hers, his magic seemed to wash over her. Pulsating, throbbing, enveloping her.

Her body was moving of its own accord, writhing against his, as if trying to get even closer. Her arms around his shoulders, she broke the kiss to instead bury her face against his neck. Instantly, he pressed his lips against her neck, licking and sucking and biting. Leaving his marks. She didn’t care. There was only one thing that dominated her mind.

“Please, my lord, please. I need you. Inside me. Please!”

He groaned in response. “Anything, my sweet. I would never deny you.”

His hand moved between them, pushing away his clothes, freeing his hard cock. Hermione almost sobbed when she saw it. Everything would be good if she just felt him inside her. If he just took her.

“Yesss,” his hissed, gripping his cock, “you’re so perfect for me. Spread your legs for me, sweet witch.”

She immediately complied, pushing her knees farther to the left and right while also lifting up a little from his lap. His magic pulsed again, sending shivers down her spine.

“Oh please, don’t make me wait. I need you inside me now!”

He froze under her. Still embracing her aura, still holding her close to him, Voldemort stopped moving. Only his laboured breathing remained. Desperate, Hermione tried to lower herself on him.

But he wouldn’t let her. He shoved her away, pushed her down from his lap. With a shriek, she tumbled onto the floor. As she braced herself against the carpet, his magic left her and with it, reality came crashing down on her.

Wide eyed, she stared up at him, her breath still hard and fast. For a moment, she could see the same expression on his face, the same shock and realisation. But then his eyes changed and he stood up, bringing his clothes in order. For a second, he stared her down, his snake-like eyes so blank Hermione wondered momentarily whether she had just imagined the shock she saw before.

Then he kneeled down before her, holding out a hand as if to help. “My sweet, desperate little witch. This is not the time to indulge in your blind desire. You need to heal first. Come, let me help you back to bed.”

Hermione blinked several times as she tried to catch back up with reality. He hadn’t even touched her with his magic at the beginning and she still reacted so strongly. It made her blush all over again, not from arousal, but from shame.

She swatted his hand away and got up on her own. She was only too aware that she was still naked, cringing at the fact that she had practically thrown herself at him. As quickly as she could, she put her clothes back on, not daring to look at Voldemort.

Who remained strangely silent during it all.

When she finally felt she could think clearly again, she turned around and looked up at him. He was smiling again, this stupid, condescending smile that she wanted so badly to slap out of his face.

“There is my strong and independent girl. Come, sit down with me. But do try to keep your hands to yourself this time, mh?” His voice sounded warm and indulgent in a way that made her skin crawl. Everything about him was just wrong.

Still, as her brain caught up with everything he said before, Hermione realised that she indeed needed to talk to him. She needed answers. Pushing away that nasty feeling, she followed his command and sat back down on her bed.

“So, you want me to believe I am more powerful than Snape. Explain.”

Voldemort chose the chair instead of the bed and made a great show of sitting down comfortably before answering. Hermione could only roll her eyes, but she remained silent while she waited until he deemed it right to answer.

“You are untrained, so of course Severus will appear more powerful to you. But in terms of raw potential, you possess more than him. You simply don’t know how to properly use it yet.”

She shook her head. “That doesn’t explain anything. For as long as I can remember, I always struggled with magic. Sure, I never failed at anything in class, but that was because I always read ahead. Whatever subject we study, I already read everything about it in the school books. I am always prepared because I know it doesn’t come natural to me.”

He simply looked at her. “What do you think it would feel like if magic came natural to you?”

She paused for a moment. Her brain was still too slow, still clogged up from all the arousal and need she felt just minutes ago. While she definitely was back to reality, everything felt surreal to her. Especially this conversation with Voldemort of all people.

“I don’t know,” she finally admitted after trying to form any answer to his surprising question.

He remained silent, as if waiting for her to elaborate further. Frustrated, she ran her finger through her locks, looking for the right words. “I just feel like I’m missing something. Everything is such a struggle. I’m jealous of people like–“

She stopped. If she was truthful, she was jealous of him. Seeing him perform wandless magic so easily hurt. Back when she was in Lestrange’s body, she saw him summon his wand to his hand with such ease, it made her hate him and admire him in equal measures. She wanted to be able to do that. She had never seen anyone do that before and it had lit a fire in her. Showing her that despite everything, Voldemort truly was a great wizard.

Swallowing hard, she met his gaze. There was no point denying it, he would see it in her memories sooner or later anyway. She licked her lips. “I’m jealous of people like you. When I see you perform magic, it looks easy. That is what I mean when I say natural.”

For a long moment, he just continued to look at her. One hand under his chin, he thoughtfully tipped his head to the side and seemed to earnestly contemplate her words. Then he nodded. “Thank you for your honesty, Hermione. It explains a lot. But for today, I think it is best if you rest a little more. You can call a house elf to bring you some food, what do you say?”

She blinked. “That’s it? That’s all I get?”

Voldemort got up and stepped in front of her to pet her head. “For now, yes. As I said. You’ll need to figure things out yourself. I won’t spoon feed you.”

A thousand things were on her tongue, but before Hermione could form a single word, he already left her room and closed the door behind him. Stunned, she sat on her bed.

Nothing made sense. Least of all was this stupid feeling she had, this emotion that really had no place here. It was a very familiar feeling which only made it worse.

Voldemort had knowledge she lacked – and wanted. She was eager to prove herself worthy of that knowledge. She could feel deep inside her that she would do almost anything for it. Usually, only books evoked this feeling. Even as a young girl, she couldn’t help but devour new books when they promised insight into something she knew little of. At Hogwarts, Professor McGonagall often made her feel that way. She always strived to do her best so she might learn even more from her.

And, as much as she hated to admit it now, sometimes she felt the same with Snape. This thirst for knowledge, this curiosity that only he could quell.

And now, she sat here, yearning to keep talking to Voldemort, to pick his brain, to learn from him. It made her feel even worse than the thought of having once admired Snape. It was wrong and misplaced and stupid.

Hermione knew though that she would follow this curiosity. She had long struggled with it and then, one day, decided to give into it. All knowledge was worth having; all knowledge was worth effort. If Voldemort was ever willing to share with her how she could become more powerful, she would take that. He might delude himself into thinking he could win her over, but that would never happen.

Chapter Text

As soon as the door closed behind him, Voldemort pulled out his wand. He had to take out the memory and put it into a Pensieve to study it. It was a useful habit he developed after first encountering Hermione Granger two decades ago. It helped him keep his sanity despite everything that he had to do to retrace his steps.

It would surely help him make sense of whatever just happened.

The silvery string slipped into the disk that usually sat securely in his cabinet. Images formed, showing him the girl on his lap, fully clothed, kissing him without holding back. He moved forward a bit, looking at the image of her naked in his arms. He heard himself tell her how powerful she was, and that she belonged to him now. He wasn’t even sure whether she heard the words at that moment, she never stopped kissing him.

There it was. The sudden change. Standing on the outside, he could see the difference in his past self. The urgency with which he had kissed her. The determination. The total loss of control.

He went back again, noting that while he said those words, he definitely still was in control. Letting the scene play out slowly, he watched it again. There.

He understood immediately. Cursing, he let the memory glide into a small container, storing it with all the rest, before closing the cabinet again and securing the Pensieve inside. It was so obvious now. It was his own fault, really, as much as he hated to admit it.

He enjoyed how most people became more subservient when he touched their aura. They didn’t know he was doing it of course, no one before Hermione had ever reacted to it so visibly, but the influence of it was still there. Most people became more fearful and more obliging. Some even turned submissive, like Bella.

But nobody had ever reacted like Hermione. Not only did she notice his touch, it turned her on. He should have investigated that instead of just abusing it. But it had felt too good, the knowledge that he could turn her into a mindless, drooling mess with the slightest touch of magic.

Of course, he had noticed before how whenever he did that, he himself felt the desire to just take her. Bury himself in her, pounding into her until he was completely spent. He should have been cautious. Instead, he used it recklessly.

Only to find himself at the receiving end of it as well.

Her aura pulled him in. It was clear from his memory. The moment he touched her and she felt it, reacted to it, he was as much under the spell as she was. He even remembered now that he had only wanted to brush against her aura softly, just a light touch to edge her on. She was not ready yet. He wanted to taste her more; he wanted to squeeze every last delicious drop of her desperate need out of her.

Instead, her aura called to him, made him use more magic until she was fully in his embrace and he felt every bit of her magic. Just as much lost in it as she was, he almost ruined it. Only when she became demanding was he able to snap out of it.

It would be dangerous to continue down this path without understanding it further. His little witch would have to wait before he indulged her more.

“I hope you feel better, Severus?”

There was the slightest twitch in the hand holding the tea cup, but otherwise, his most loyal follower seemed as stoic as ever. “Of course,” was all he replied.

“I am glad to hear it.” He sat down on the armchair opposite of Severus, pretending to enjoy the afternoon sun bathing the little salon on the west side of the manor in golden light. It was always amusing to see even someone like this man be unsettled if he did something normal.

“I have further need of you today,” he explained after several more minutes of silence. “I have encountered a stumbling block in my path.”

Severus sat the tea cup aside and folded his hands in his lap, levelling a calm gaze at him. “I am here to serve, my lord.”

“Excellent.”

Without further elaboration, he raised his wand and magically sealed both doors, preventing anyone from entering or even hearing what was happening inside. Then he concentrated fully on Severus, studying him like he would do with Hermione. The other wizard remained outwardly calm, his eyes never breaking contact. He truly was one of a kind.

Cautiously, he reached out to the aura, touching it just enough so Severus would notice it. “Do you feel that?”

Now, he could see a reaction on his face. Severus swallowed and rearranged his anxious features into a more relaxed mien. “I do.”

Voldemort nodded. “Describe to me how it feels.”

Severus remained silent for a moment, seemingly concentrating on whatever it was he was feeling. Then he explained, “I can feel you, my lord. Your presence, for a lack of a better word. As though your hand was on my shoulder. It is a similar feeling to when you graced me with the Dark Mark. A mixture of awe, respect, and fear. It feels like I should kneel before you.”

He was surprised by how detailed Severus was describing the emotion. For a stoic man, he knew very well how to express his feelings. Slowly, as he would with Hermione, he extended his touch, gliding over more of the aura, pressing harder.

A jerk shook Severus’ body before he caught himself. He coughed, then cleared his throat. “This feels more intense. It is hard to fight the urge to kneel on the ground. It is not unpleasant, of course, but resisting is a struggle.”

Voldemort kept the pressure up, closing his eyes and testing his own experience. He couldn’t say he felt anything. He was very much aware of the aura of Severus Snape, and he got the impression of being able to see his thoughts, but there was no pull. Whatever it was Severus was feeling, it was not a mutual experience.

With a sigh, he let go. “Thank you, my boy. This was illuminating.”

“Of course, my lord. If I may, do you need further assistance? I understand that the topic of auras is little researched. If you would share your insights with me, I could–”

“I do not wish to share my insights.”

Severus instantly fell silent. Despite his expressionless face, Voldemort could feel the irritation. In that way, Hermione and Severus were similar. When presented with knowledge but unable to obtain it, they pouted like little children. Despite all of his black robes and stern exterior, Severus was still easy to read for him.

Still, whatever it was that caused Hermione’s aura to draw him in, it was not something so easily solved. Maybe he should share a little more with Severus, just enough to teach him how to touch the aura of another witch or wizard. It would be interesting to see if his witch had the same effect on her old teacher.

The atmosphere at the dinner table was more relaxed than the past couple of days. Maybe it was the addition of Rabastan, who joined them in the manor at the insistence of Rodolphus. The younger Lestrange always brought an air of chaos with him that nobody from the regal Black or Malfoy families particularly enjoyed. It never failed to make Voldemort laugh in secret.

Maybe now that he finally successfully retraced his steps and got his prize, he could drop the façade he had to keep up. The single-minded obsession with the Potter boy definitely drove his other self mad. He was lucky that he had found Hermione, being able to change his goals and staying focused despite the long time he spent in a quasi-dead state.

Having Rabastan around felt good. As much as he enjoyed that everyone feared him, the Dark Lord, he could do without their constant attention to him.

“Say, dearest Narcissa, how does it feel to play host to the enemy?”

Rabastan’s wine-fuelled remark brought the polite conversation around the table to a sudden stop. Intrigued, Voldemort leaned his elbow on the table and watched the reactions from all of his followers. While Bella and her husband seemed more annoyed than anything, both Malfoys visibly paled. Only Severus carried on as though nothing was happening.

“No guest of our lord is an enemy,” Narcissa finally stated with a noticeable tremor in her voice.

“Really?” Rabastan took a deep sip from his wine and levelled his gaze at Lucius. “Are you happy to have this school girl in your house?”

Voldemort saw that everyone shot him a quick glance, but he simply put his chin on his hand and smiled at Lucius. He wanted to hear the answer. It didn’t matter to him how happy the Malfoy’s were about the current state. All that mattered was that they complied, and that they did. Seeing the haughty Lucius Malfoy squirm though never got old.

“I prefer her here rather than at Potter’s side.”

Voldemort had to bite back a grin. That was a good reply, all things considered. He looked back at Rabastan who chewed on a piece of steak with too much glee.

“So you’re saying she’s a threat at the side of the big enemy?”

Lucius put his fork and knife down with a sneer. “I’m saying nothing of the sort. Rather, without her, Potter is even less of a threat than he already is.”

Rabastan’s eyes went wide in mock surprise. “Oh, I understand now. So you say the mighty Chosen One is no threat at all and our lord’s pursuit of him a pointless endeavour as Potter doesn’t matter at all?”

Instantly, both Lucius and Narcissa turned almost grey, while Bella turned to her side and slapped Rabastan square in the face. Even Severus stopped eating for a moment, looking at every dinner guest with his impassive eyes.

“Enough, Rabastan,” Voldemort said, trying his hardest not to let the laughter slip through that he so desperately wanted to let out. “I think you’ve tortured dear old Lucius enough for one evening, mh?”

“Of course, my lord, I apologise.” Nothing in Rabastan’s tone showed any kind of remorse over his words at all. If anything, he sounded even more smug.

He could read on Rodolphus’ face that he deeply regretted inviting his brother to dinner. Voldemort knew that it was just an attempt to make the Malfoy side of the family uncomfortable, but by the way the man was sweating, he didn’t enjoy his presence any more that Lucius or Narcissa.

With a barely contained grin, he stood up and looked straight at Rabastan. “There is nothing to apologise for. Why don’t you stay for a few days?”

“Gladly, my lord!”

With that, he left the stunned dinner party to their miserable silence. He could almost taste their fear in the air, it was so palpable. For a second, he reflected on the fact that his followers seemed even more anxious now that he stopped behaving like he did for the past few years since his return. Perhaps he should punish them for the obvious sign that they preferred him unhinged and obsessed.

“My lord!” Bella’s voice reached him just as he was about to turn towards the stairs.

With a sigh, he stopped and looked down the corridor to her. “What?”

She closed the distance between them, stepping far too close for any normal decency. Her eyes shone with the same madness they held ever since he had her and the others broken out of Azkaban. But despite it all, there still was the clever mind of the witch he originally called his lover.

“I know I told the others not to question it, but I cannot help but wonder. What is the purpose of that mudblood in our sacred halls?”

He looked down at her, calculating what he wanted to disclose. “Why do you ask?”

Her eyes lit up. “I was just wondering … hoping, really, whether I could have a bit more fun with her. She screamed so perfectly under my knife. I missed those kinds of screams.”

A twitch of something in him stirred at her words, but he pushed it away. Instead, he slipped a hand into her wild hair – so much like Hermione’s – and pulled he flush against his body. He could feel the shiver that rocked her body.

“You know, my dear. For someone who’s been by my side for so long, who knows me so intimately, you still manage to surprise me.” He dropped his voice to a low purr, the same tone he used two decades ago to make her submit in bed. “Did my words leave the impression that I wanted that witch harmed?”

Bella’s face only showed delight and triumph as her hands closed around his back. “I missed this, my lord. Don’t you too?”

He scoffed. “Do you truly miss this? You struggled to take what I had to give twenty years ago. Don’t you think it would be even harder on you now?”

She closed her eyes and sighed. “There is nothing I can’t take from you, my lord. I am yours to use.”

“And you would do anything I ask of you?”

“Of course,” she whimpered.

He leaned down a little more, bringing his mouth close to her ear, his lips just barely not touching her skin. For a moment, he simply listened to her shuttering breath, her wildly beating heart. Oh yes, this woman still was as eager to earn his favour as she ever was. He pushed her back a little, pressing her against the wall. An intimate gesture that made her breath hitch.

He inhaled deeply. “You are not to touch Hermione Granger. She is mine to do with as I please. Instead, you should focus on how you can earn my forgiveness.”

Bellatrix let out a gasp. “Forgiveness? What did I do wrong? Tell me, my lord, and I’ll throw myself at your feet.”

He pulled away a little, just enough that he could look into her eyes. Faces still close enough that the merest movement would allow him to kiss her, he pulled harder on her hair. Any desire was gone from her eyes, replaced by nothing but confusion and fear. Good.

“You harmed my witch, Bella. You left her with an ugly wound that she is too proud to have healed. Now I have to see it every time I take my pleasure from her flesh. It is only by her grace that you still live. If I wasn’t so delighted to finally possess her, you would have long suffered for your mistake. So please, think carefully about how you can atone for your mistake. Before I lose my patience.”

Chapter Text

Hermione hesitated nervously outside the breakfast room. She could hear voices coming from inside, one definitely belonging to Snape, the other a male one she didn’t recognise. While she had braced herself for the usual, uncomfortable breakfast in Snape’s presence, she wasn’t sure she could deal with another Death Eater on top of that.

With a sigh, she resigned herself to her fate. She could always summon a house elf to bring her breakfast in her room, but she felt wrong using them that way. The less she had to rely on the labour of slaves, the better.

Trying to keep her face as neutral as possible, she entered the room. Snape sat in his usual spot. To his immediate right, a very thin dark-haired man held a big pot of coffee in both hands, slurping loudly as he fixed his eyes on her. Hermione was sure that she had seen him before.

“Ah, the infamous Hermione Granger,” the man greeted her cheerfully. “What a lucky man I am to see the witch who has everyone in this house in such a tizzy.”

Snape shot the man a glare before turning to her. “Miss Granger, may I introduce Rabastan Lestrange to you? He is the younger brother of Rodolphus, who you have met before.”

Like the mornings before, she chose the chair furthest away from Snape to sit down. She was not yet sure whether she preferred having someone else here aside from Snape or not. With a curt nod, she replied, “Thank you for the very formal introduction. I believe we have met.”

Lestrange’s eyes grew big. “Indeed, we have! Why, I am so proud to be recognised by someone of your greatness. Two years ago, shortly after I said my final good bye to Azkaban.”

Finally, she was able to put a memory to his face. “Ah, right. The Department of Mysteries. Tell me, Lestrange, what did it feel like to be beaten so thoroughly by a couple of kids?”

She could see that Snapes face grew dark, but the other wizard looked positively delighted by her question. “Oh, I can see why everyone here loves you so. Usually, I would humour a good girl like you, but our lord informed us that we should be truthful with you. So, to be honest, it didn’t really feel like any of you could stand against us. As far as I remember, you were all practically dead if not for the heroic adults that arrived just in time to save you.”

A cold knot formed in her stomach as she held his gaze. His tone still sounded light and his lips showed a smile. But his eyes sparkled with a malice that betrayed his actual thoughts. In an instant, she understood that his presence was not something she would welcome, ever.

Because in all his fake cheerfulness, she could see a man who delighted in defying everyone, including Voldemort.

“Nothing to say to that?” She could hear the laughter in his voice.

“What can I say? I was 16 at the time, what chance would I ever have? It was probably also just luck that I survived the deadly curse that your fellow Death Eater threw at me. I’m just a lucky girl.”

Lestrange snorted. “Yeah, right. Dolohov never did know how to land his spells.”

“I have to disagree,” Snape interjected at that moment. “I had the misfortune of having to treat her afterwards. The curses definitely hit its mark. I believe it was your foresight to silence him, Miss Granger, that saved you.”

“Oooh, what’s that I hear? Not just our lord is singing your praises, but the ever-unimpressed Severus Snape?” The dark-haired wizard slapped his hands together. “You must have the tightest pussy ever to ensnare these two men so easily.”

Heat shot into Hermione’s cheeks as she opened her mouth to bark out a reply. But before any words came to her, Snape cut in. “Watch your tongue, Rabastan. Our lord will not take kindly to your mockery. He expressly stated not to harm the girl, neither physically nor verbally.”

Chuckling, Lestrange got up. He turned from the table, putting one hand on Snape’s shoulder. “You should have said that I was interrupting your breakfast tête-à-tête. I will not bother you any longer. But do make sure you leave something for our lord. We wouldn’t want him to go thirsty, right?”

Not even Snape had a reply to that. Rabastan Lestrange left the room, his laughter ringing in Hermione’s ears. She hated that she couldn’t even deny that Voldemort was interested in her like that. She hated that Snape of all people was here to witness such a crude comment. And she hated that she even felt ashamed in the first place, as though she welcomed Voldemort’s advances.

“I apologise, Miss Granger,” Snape said after the laughter subsided. “I don’t think his time in Azkaban did anything for Rabastan’s mental state. I will make sure the Dark Lord hears about this.”

She shook her head. “I’d rather you didn’t. This is already uncomfortable enough. Can we just ignore anything ever happened?”

Snape raised an eyebrow, but instead of questioning her words, he simply shrugged. “If that is what you prefer.”

She inhaled and exhaled slowly. Then, she finally felt able to grab a toast and pour herself a cup of tea. They sat in silence for several minutes, an almost comfortable one after the chaos that Rabastan Lestrange created.

“Why do you defend me?” Hermione couldn’t help herself, she had to ask.

He studied her for a moment. “I am following the Dark Lord’s orders. Others might not take his words seriously at times, but to me, they are law. He told us to not harass you, so I will make sure everyone complies.”

“So you’re always doing what you’re told?”

“That is correct.”

She looked him directly into the eyes, unblinking. “Including when asked to murder someone? Professor Dumbledore, for example?”

He didn’t flinch, he didn’t blink. But she could see him swallow before he replied. His tone remained flat. “Obviously.”

She nodded to herself. He didn’t deny that he murdered Dumbledore. It was the least he could do, but strangely, it felt good to hear. She hoped that he felt some guilt. Even if he never was on the Order’s side, he did betray someone who looked after him for a decade. It was murder, plain and simple. Nothing could ever change that. At least Snape was well aware. It was something. More than she expected.

She resumed her breakfast, concentrating fully on the buttered toast in front of her. Maybe she would grow accustomed to his presence one day.

“Miss Granger.” The brittle voice of Narcissa Malfoy startled Hermione out of her reading. “May I have your attention for a moment?”

Blinking, she realised that she never heard the woman enter the library. Too deep was she in the books that she hoped would tell her more about what was going on between her and Voldemort. With a thin smile, she closed the heavy tome in front of her.

“What can I do for you?”

The blond woman studied her for a moment, her face as expressionless as Snape’s. Then she pulled out a chair and set down next to her, carefully folding her hands in her lap. “I believe you are in need of a new wardrobe.”

Hermione looked at her comfortable sweater and well-worn jeans. “Excuse me?”

Unmoving, Narcissa shot her a tight smile. “I understand that you prefer the clothes you are currently wearing. From what I observed, you do not own many changes of clothes, and most of it is old. Showing signs of wear.”

“I’m sorry my plain clothes offend your pureblood sensibilities. I will make sure to keep out of sight whenever I can.” Hermione had no patience for this discussion. She could feel the not-so-subtle insult in the other woman’s words.

Narcissa leaned forward a little, putting one arm on the table, as if reaching out to her. “You misunderstand my intentions. This is not about your blood status. Not entirely, at least. This is about you as a witch. As a woman.”

Hermione could only scoff. “If you’re trying to make me appetising to your lord, spare yourself the trouble. I’m not interested.”

Annoyance flickered over the other woman’s face, but still, she did not leave. “Again, you misunderstand. My intention is to help. For better or worse, our lord made it clear that you are to be treated as a guest. Not everyone in this house agrees with this, but we would never openly defy his commands. But this does not mean that there are no ill-intentioned people out there.”

“So what? You want me to believe you’re here to protect me against those? By insulting my clothes?”

Narcissa sighed. “Let me speak plainly then. Your current attire is that of a little school girl. A muggleborn witch. Whatever you say, whatever you do, nobody will take you seriously like this. You might have the protection of our lord, but this will not help you if you want your voice to be heard in his absence. There will come a time when you have something to say, and he will not be around to make others listen.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply. The expression in her eyes when she looked at her again changed. There was a steeliness in her gaze that made Hermione shiver. “We women don’t have many tools to make men listen. Clothes aren’t just something to keep you warm or to cater to your fancy. They can be an armour. Projecting precisely the image to others that you want to project. Giving you confidence. Helping you put on a mask to protect your true self.”

Hermione swallowed. She never thought about clothes like that before. The one time she tried to change her appearance, put on a dress and do her hair nicely, she experienced shame and heartbreak like never before. Ever since, she stopped thinking about clothes at all, just wearing whatever was easiest to move around in. Especially during their time on the Horcrux hunt, she didn’t have time to consider what she was wearing.

“Why are you telling me this? I have a hard time believing you are doing it out of the goodness of your heart.”

“If you want a reason that makes sense to you, just assume I’m trying to convince you to dress better because I am ashamed of having a hideously dressed mudblood in my house.” Her tone was icy as she said this. “But if you have the capacity to look beyond blood status and sides in the war, you might discover that sometimes, witches simply want to look out for each other.”

Hermione had nothing to reply to that. She knew that she couldn’t trust Narcissa Malfoy. She was not only the wife of Lucius, but also the sister of Bellatrix Lestrange. Nobody encapsulated poor blood supremacy quite like she. She had to assume that there was more to this than she let on.

But she also couldn’t argue with the logic of wearing clothes as armour. Despite the war, despite her encounters with Voldemort, she only ever thought of herself as a girl. A clever girl that had a lot of knowledge at her disposal, but still only a girl. Maybe it was time that she turned into a woman.

Maybe it would help her deal with wizards like Rabastan Lestrange. He made her feel uncomfortable in a way she couldn’t quite describe. As though she had to fear him on a basic, animalistic level. Maybe she felt more confident when she played a grown witch, a woman with experience and power.

“Fake it till you make it,” she whispered to herself. Maybe there was truth to that saying.

Narcissa Malfoy still sat across from her, her body unmoving, her eyes unwavering. She was patient, Hermione had to give her that.

“Okay,” she finally said with a nod. “Let’s assume I agree to this. What do you have in mind?”

Chapter Text

A soft knock on his door took Voldemort out of his memory. With one quick wave of his wand, he banished the Pensieve back into the cabinet before turning to the door leading to Hermione’s room.

“Enter.”

He was surprised to find her knocking on his door. She hadn’t been with him long enough to already want to seek out his company of her own free will. Something had to have happened.

The white door opened, revealing a very different woman than he expected. There stood his sweet witch, her unruly hair tamed into a shimmering wave of chestnut-coloured curls. The dark red button-up blouse only accentuated her slender neck, while the high-waisted black dress pants made her appear taller than she was. There was a determination in her gaze as she looked up to him that he found entirely too precious.

“My sweet. You look delectable. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

For a moment, her gaze wavered, looking from him to her feet, around his spacious room, and back up to him. She licked her lips. “I felt it was time I joined the family at the dinner table. As such, I wanted to make sure I don’t disgrace you.”

“I see,” he purred, circling her once to take in the new appearance. It was obvious now that Narcissa had gotten her claws into his little witch. For better or worse, the woman seemed to have sped up a process that he had wanted to start anyway. He would need to keep an eye on the lady of the house, make sure she didn’t intervene too much. But if it was only clothing the woman had to offer, that was fine by him.

“Let me make sure I don’t shame you, then.” He shot Hermione a grin, before gently pushing her further into his room so he could close the door behind them.

He was wearing his usual black robes. He liked how comfortable they were while simultaneously making everyone around him nervous. But if his witch wanted to look good, he would give her that. With practiced ease, he let his robes fall to the ground, exposing his marble skin to her surprised eyes.

“Should I … should I wait in my room until you are ready?”

He chuckled. “Of course not, my sweet. Don’t be shy. You can look.”

While he opened his wardrobe, pretending to ignore her, he saw her swallow hard from the corner of his eyes. Her cheeks had just the slightest hint of pink in them and instead of looking away, she actually studied his almost naked body. He took his time deciding on what to wear, basking in her silent admiration. He was well aware that this body was not pleasant to look at; that especially his face and the way his skin was almost grey in parts was disconcerting to most. But in Hermione’s eyes, he could only ever detect awe. As though she couldn’t believe he was real.

He could not wait to have his old appearance back. If she already liked him when he looked like this, she would definitely give up any resistance then.

After he put on black trousers and a black dress shirt, he turned to her, a black necktie in hand. “Would you be so kind?”

Her eyes went wide for a moment, but she held out her hand nonetheless. “Of course, my lord.”

She stepped in front of him, closer than he had expected her to. The movements of her hands were practiced as she wrapped the tie around his neck. He studied her while she was focused on getting the knot right. There was a confidence in the way she touched him as she tied the knot, an ease as she stood so close that their whole bodies almost touched, that felt out of place.

When she was done, she patted him against the chest, smiling up at him through her long lashes. “There. Does that work, my lord?”

He caught her wrist with one hand, pulling her flush against his body. She blinked in surprise, but still exuded confidence. This was not right.

He brought his other hand to wrap around her throat, tilting her head back. Again, she only blinked and showed again that slight touch of red in her cheeks. He stared into her eyes, trying to find an answer in them. He was tempted to simply dive into her mind, but he held off on that. It was not yet time. She hadn’t yet earned that respect.

Slowly, he dipped his head and brushed his lips against hers. They felt soft and warm and so very welcoming. He kissed her again, with more pressure this time, and she opened up for him without hesitation. His tongue slid into her mouth, swallowing a breathy moan that resonated through his body.

He let go of her again, stepping back and staring down at her. She was still smiling, her eyes glimmering in the low light of his bedroom.

Voldemort had to supress the urge to laugh. She was trying really hard, he had to give her that. But her attempts were so obvious, so pitiful, it was almost comical. His little witch wanted to play games, thinking she had any chance of winning against him.

“Come,” he told her, holding her hand in his, “let’s go down. The family will be delighted that you’re joining us.”

He picked up the black jacket that matched his dress pants and slipped into it, only shortly letting go of her hand. As they exited his room, he put her hand in the crook of his arm, leading her down the corridor like a gentleman should do with his lady. She was following him with small, quick steps, almost needing two where he needed one. He noticed then that she was wearing high heels, hidden under the long trousers. No wonder she appeared taller than usual. She really was trying.

As they descended the stairs, images came to life in his mind. Hermione in nothing but these stilettos. Bent over his desk, hands scraping the wooden surface for purchase as he pounded into her with brutal force. Her perfectly sculpted curls coming undone, sticking to her neck and face, sweat making her body glisten.

He shot her a glance from the side, receiving another sweet smile as answer. It was all he needed to see. She thought herself ready for him. He would show her how wrong she was.

But for now, he had to wait. For now, he had the amusement of the Malfoys and the Lestranges to look forward to as they were about to dine in the presence of a mudblood. He was glad that Severus would be joining them as well. He was a key player in all of this, after all. And seeing this stern, impassive man rattled never failed to make him laugh.

When they arrived in the huge dining room, the Lestranges were already seated. As was the custom, Bella sat to the immediate left of his place at the head of the table, followed by Rodolphus next to her and then as a new addition Rabastan. Narcissa and Lucius were both standing together at a window, discussing something in low tones. Severus stood behind the chair to the right, greeting him with a bow. His eyes rested on Hermione momentarily, before he resumed staring ahead.

“Bella, dear,” Voldemort addressed the older witch, “please make space for my sweet witch, will you? She’ll sit to my left going forward whenever she wants to join us.”

Six pairs of eyes stared at him as deafening silence engulfed the room. Hermione on his arm stood tall, not showing any hint of fear as every face in the room turned hostile.

“My lord?” Bella’s voice trembled from barely suppressed anger. “Did I understand you right?”

He looked down upon the witch that he once enjoyed having in bed. “You understood perfectly well. Don’t test my patience.”

Bellatrix immediately got up and stepped away from the chair. He could see pure hatred in her face as she eyed Hermione, looking her up and down as if measuring her. Then she whipped around and stomped to the chair next to Rabastan, sitting down with the pout of a petulant little girl. She never knew how to filter her emotions.

He pulled out the chair a little further, guiding Hermione to sit down and pushed it forward again. She looked back up at him, smiling and mouthing a silent thanks. He bowed down, planting a soft kiss on her neck in response.

As he settled into his own chair, he caught Severus as he was adjusting his expression again. There was a stiffness to each movement of the black-haired man that told him all he needed to know. Severus was still shocked to see Hermione Granger here.

“We’re so glad you could join us this evening.” Narcissa’s soft voice broke the tension in the room as she sat down next to Severus. “I hope you enjoy yourself enough so you might join us every day from now on.”

Hermione smiled. “You are too kind, Mrs Malfoy. I hope I’m not intruding.”

“Of course not!” Rabastan leaned both his elbows on the table and looked at her with a tilted head. “I’m happy to no longer be the youngest one here. And I can already feel you bringing a certain air with you.”

To his surprise, Hermione ignored the comment and instead proceeded to carefully place the white napkin on her lap. Looking at him expectantly, her fingers played with the stem of her wine glass. His sweet witch really thought she could do whatever she wanted.

He grabbed his own glass and raised it. “To our special guest, Hermione Granger. May she help bring about a better future for us all.”

Severus was the first to repeat the toast. The others joined in shortly after, though he could distinctly hear the sneer in Bella’s voice as she spat out Hermione’s name. Perhaps he should simply get rid of her. Why give her any chance at redemption when she so clearly held no respect for him?

He took a small sip from the rich wine, enjoying the taste of the alcohol on his tongue. It was only a shadow of what it used to be. This useless body gave him a lot of heightened senses, but most of the food now tasted like ash in exchange. Nodding to his witch, he cut into the steak that appeared on his plate as soon as he put down his glass. She followed him, as did the rest of the table.

His little witch ate in small, dainty bites, chewing slowly, using the napkin each time before she took a sip from the wine. Her body language spoke of the practiced ease of someone well accustomed to formal table manners. He could see that everyone around the table shot her a glance every now and again, as if to make sure she didn’t embarrass anyone.

Only Severus to his right appeared unmoved. He cut into his steak methodically, the knife sliding through the tender meat easily, each bite exactly the same size. His eyes were trained on his plate, his hands and arms only ever doing the absolute minimum to transport food from the plate to his mouth. Voldemort didn’t know whether to be impressed or bored.

“So, professor. How is Hogwarts?”

Snape’s hands stilled. For a moment, he didn’t move at all. Then, he looked up from his plate and directly into the eyes of the witch sitting on the other side of the table. “Everything is running smoothly. The new teachers integrated easily into the staff, which allows me to spend most of my free time here.”

Hermione took a mouthful of wine, putting the empty glass back on the table with a little too much force. Her eyes shimmered dangerously in the candle light. “All the students enjoying these new teachers? Getting the best education they could hope for?”

Voldemort glanced between the two, while the rest of the table suddenly only had eyes for their meal. He could feel the tension between his right-hand man and his sweet witch. They were so different in every aspect, and still they were matched so evenly. He needed them to duel again, soon.

“Every deserving student is getting the best education, of course.”

Hermione snorted. “Deserving student. Let me guess, that means only purebloods?”

Severus put his knife and fork away as if to fully concentrate on her. His face remained as calm as ever, betraying nothing of what he thought about the little witch’s fiery questions. “We endeavour to help pureblood witches and wizards reach their full potential. But any student can be deserving, so long as they show an earnest interest in learning and the necessary respect for the teachers, the school, and the headmaster.”

With a roll of her eyes, Hermione propped her elbows on the table, lacing the fingers of her hands in each other. Her gaze never left the other wizard’s face. “You really know how to use words to make prejudice and discrimination sound good. I never took you for someone of so many flattering words.”

“Of course you didn’t,” he stated flatly. “You don’t know me.”

Voldemort chuckled at that, but he had to step in. Patting Severus lightly on the shoulder, he shook his head. “Enough of this, Severus. Don’t be so harsh on my sweet little witch. She dislikes you and you cannot fault her for that, surely?”

“I don’t think dislike even scratches the surface of what I feel for him,” Hermione hissed.

Something flickered in Severus’ eyes. It was only the briefest movement, but Voldemort spotted it immediately. This wizard was not so unaffected by Hermione’s unbridled hate as he pretended to be.

“I don’t fault her for anything, my lord. She is only 18 after all. Barely more than a child. I would be a bad teacher if I held her emotions against her.”

“You dare!” Hermione immediately shot back, but Voldemort stopped her with one raised hand.

He levelled his stare at his most loyal follower. As much fun as he had when these two battled it out, this was something else. His voice was low and cold as he said, “Careful, Severus. Nobody is above being made an example of. I hear your words. And I hope for you that I’ll never have to hear them again.”

The dark eyes immediately snapped to him. “I apologise, my lord. And to you as well, Miss Granger.”

His witch was trembling with barely contained rage, but he didn’t care. He felt the same rage, though for an entirely different reason. That Severus of all people would undermine him like this should not go unpunished.

This was not the right setting. This was supposed to be the glorious introduction of his pet to the family. He would not ruin it by letting his temper get the better of him. No. Instead, he would do the only thing that was right to do now, especially after hearing those insulting words.

Gracefully, he stood up and held out his hand to Hermione. “Come, my sweet. We shall retire early today.”

It took a moment before she moved. When she finally placed her hand in his and let him pull her close to his chest, he made a display of embracing her from behind, closing both arms around her waist. He placed an open-mouthed kiss against her neck, pressing his hips against her butt. He could see the goosebumps on her skin and the heat creep into her cheeks.

With a deliberately heated look to the rest of the table, he declared, “All this talk has made me so very hungry. You will have to excuse us.”

He looked directly at Severus as he grabbed Hermione’s jaw and forced her head to the side, pressing his lips against her without every breaking eye contact with the other man. Then he stepped back, pulling her with him, one hand on the lower back, his fingers firmly pressing into the soft flesh of her bottom. She shot him a questioning look, but he ignored it. She was his to do with as he pleased and they should all know it.

Severus Snape would suffer for his ill-placed remark.

Chapter Text

Hermione followed Voldemort through the manor. Instead of returning back to his room, he navigated the many corridors until they came to the heavy doors of the library. There was something in his touch, in the way his hand never left her lower back, that set her insides on fire. He wasn’t even using his magic and she still reacted to him.

He gently pushed her through the doors, closing them behind them with a precise click. It was dark in the library, only a single light illuminating them where they stood. She looked up at him, but he was too focused on scanning the room.

The evening had gone exactly as she planned – until it didn’t. She had wanted to show Voldemort that she was a worthy opponent, not some puppet he could manipulate. After Narcissa summoned her favourite seamstress for her, she actually understood the other witch’s words. Clothes could be power if used correctly.

Voldemort still seemed to find her more of an amusing pet than a witch in her own right, but she would show him. Once he understood that he could not manipulate her into anything, that she deliberately chose her wardrobe to signal her status to the world, his laugh would die in his throat. She couldn’t afford to have him belittle her. She felt deep inside herself that if she ever gave Voldemort an inch, he would take her whole.

What was strange though was the way he reacted to Snape’s insults. She understood perfectly well that in the eyes of her old professor, she was just a child, despite being legally of age. He had said those things to hurt her and to undermine her. But before she could even say anything, Voldemort stopped her and lashed out at Snape for no apparent reason. He did the same thing, always calling her little and sweet, making a point that she was so very inexperienced compared to him. So why did he care about Snape making the same point?

“What are we doing here?” She could no longer keep her anxiety to herself.

He briefly looked down at her, smiling, despite his eyes remaining cold. Then he pushed her forwards again, steering her between two long rows of bookshelves. His answer came almost as a whisper. “There is a book I want you to read. It might answer some of your questions.”

She almost stumbled over her own feet. That was the last thing she expected. So far, Voldemort seemed to almost bask in her lack of knowledge. What was different now all of a sudden?

“Careful, my sweet,” he murmured into her ear as he wrapped his arm more firmly around her, “don’t break your ankles in those lovely new shoes of yours.”

She swallowed thickly, desperate to ignore the heat that again coursed through her body as she felt his voice rumble in his chest. She suddenly realised that under different circumstances, this would be her dream date. A huge library filled with books she probably had never read before, and a man wanting to show her a specific one, possibly so they could talk about it afterwards?

He stopped in front of a bookshelf in the middle of the row. The light source from the doors had not follow them here, so only the barest amount of its yellow glow reached them. The moonlight pouring in from the windows way above them only made the shadows around them deeper.

She was too aware of his tall body directly behind her, trapping her between the rows of books and himself. He reached for the top row, one that she would need a ladder for, while he didn’t even have to strain to pull out a book. It was thick and even in the low lights she could see it was old. It was too dark to make out the letters on it, or to read on the shelves what section this might be. Curiosity sparked in her, mixing with the strange heat she felt where his body touched her back.

He studied it for a moment before sending it to a desk at the end of the bookshelves. She half expected him to guide her there now, ask her to sit down and read it in front of him. But instead, he put his arms left and right of her face, stepping even closer, as if to make sure she felt every inch of his body.

“You look divine tonight, my sweet,” he whispered to her, placing another kiss on her bare neck.

She shuddered at the touch, only just biting back the moan that wanted to break free. The grand room full of books was silent around them, which only amplified the sound of her own breathing in her ears. She brought her hands up, steading herself against the bookshelf. She suddenly regretted choosing a pair of high heels that she did not feel comfortable walking or standing in.

His right hand gently stroked her shoulder, squeezing it ever so lightly, before travelling down, along her side. The movement was slow, as if to give her time to react. But all Hermione could do was stand absolutely still. She was mesmerised by the feel of his hot breath in her neck and his lean body against her back. The darkness of the library strangely making the desire that coursed through her veins seem less forbidden.

Slowly, his hand travelled to her front, playing with the seam of her pants. Then, he opened only the button, allowing his hand to travel further down without removing the trousers completely. She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and stifled another moan. She could feel the heat pool between her legs as his long fingers inched forward, underneath her tiny slip.

Voldemort didn’t move either. Only his one hand caressed her naked skin, the rest of him felt as suspended in time as she felt. She leaned her forehead against the books, bracing herself for what was to come.

One long finger dipped deeper, stroking through her folds. She thought she heard a hiss as Voldemort realised how wet she was, but it was so quiet and her heart was beating so loudly, she wasn’t sure. Everything in her longed for him to just rip her clothes off and to take her right here and now. She never needed to feel something inside her so urgently.

Still, she remained silent and unmoving. Fearing that anything could break the spell upon them. Focusing on his fingers that circled her most sensitive parts ever so slowly. She could feel the wetness seeping over his fingers and with every circle, he coated her more in her own juices. It was hot and sticky and just not enough. She wanted to beg him. Everything in her screamed to beg him.

But she didn’t dare.

No man had ever touched her like this before. Not her in this body. Not even she herself. And everything about it just felt right. The silence, the darkness, the fact that they were in a library. His tall body behind her, his hot breath on her neck.

As if of its own accord, her head fell back, colliding with his chest. At the same time, the moan she held back for so long broke free. One finger slipped deeper, thrusting into her just as she moaned. What came out of her mouth was a feral groan instead, needy and demanding. The sudden intrusion hurt, but it also felt like it was completing her in heretofore unknown ways.

He pulled his finger back slightly, only to thrust back in again with more force. Hermione sobbed, not caring anymore whether she made sounds. This was what she needed. The movement burned, but each time he sank his finger back in, she adjusted more to it. Voldemort behind her remained motionless except for his hand picking up a fast rhythm. With the last of her self-control, she forced her hips to keep steady instead of meeting his hand.

She brought her arms up, grabbing his shoulders, his neck behind her, looking for purchase as his forceful thrusts rocked her body. His free arm encircled her waist, holding her steady against him, while he pushed her harder against the shelves. She could feel his breath becoming more laboured, but still, he made no move to give her anything more than just that one finger.

Something was building inside of her. She could feel it. The tension that gripped her legs and arms. The pressure between her thighs. The sweat forming between her brows. She knew she was close, so close. As his one finger sank into her again and again, his thumb applied soft pressure on her swollen nub, sending shivers down her spine.

She could feel him behind her, hard and hot, but he made no motion to relieve himself. His desire for her shot new waves of heat through her body each time the thrust of his hand made her hip jerk and her bottom rub against is length. Another deep groan fell from her lips as she struggled to keep still. If he would just remove the layers of clothes between them and sink into her, reward her with his thick cock, she knew she would come instantly. It was all she could think about.

Voldemort stepped back suddenly, not letting go of her or breaking the rhythm, but just enough to pull her out of the shadow and let the moonlight illuminate her face. Her eyes shot wide open, surprised by the sudden change.

It was in that moment that she saw movement out of the corner of her eyes. There, at the far end of the bookshelves, right under the light, stood Severus Snape, one hand still on the door handle as though he was just entering. Shame, hot and raw, engulfed her body. Yet still, her desire was building. Transfixed, she stared at him just as he seemed frozen by the sight of her face, her pleasure exposed by the silvery moonlight.

Just as she was about to tell Voldemort to stop, he thrust a second finger into her. Stretching her just a little more. A cry fell from her lips as she felt all the pressure grip her body at once – and then release. Moaning and sobbing and shaking, she came in his arms, while she could not tear her eyes away from Snape who stood there and watched.

Voldemort grabbed her jaw and twisted her head so pull her into a messy kiss. All teeth and tongue, he drank her little sobs from her lips until she stopped trembling. When he let go of her again, she saw that Snape was gone, the door closed.

“See, my sweet,” Voldemort purred as he slipped his fingers out from between her legs, “Severus might talk all high and mighty, but in the end, he’s also just a man.”

He took a step back, allowing her to turn around and face him completely. She watched horrified as he sucked two fingers into his mouth, licking them clean and almost groaning with delight. He watched her too, she realised, drinking in her flushed cheeks and heaving chest.

With a huff, she closed the button of her pants again, smoothing over her clothes in an attempt to regain a semblance of control. She hated everything about what just happened. The ease with which he was able to seduce her, that she put up no fight and instead almost welcomed his hand between her thighs. That she couldn’t blame his aura magic for her lust. That for a moment, she considered this whole thing romantic.

But most of all, she hated that Snape watched her come on Voldemort’s fingers.

Rattled, she glared up at the pale man. “If you have to touch me, don’t make a display out of it!”

He chuckled at that. “But you liked it so very much, my sweet, didn’t you? You came right as you spotted him, after all. I think you like being on display.”

She wanted to argue that she already was so close when Snape entered, that it was the addition of a second finger that made her come, not her former teacher. But every word that came to mind sounded like an excuse – and why did she have to defend herself anyway? His accusation was all around untrue.

“Don’t worry your pretty little mind,” Voldemort said smoothly. “I don’t plan to ever show you off like that again. You are mine. Your desire is for my eyes only. But Severus needed to be taught a lesson.”

Hermione swallowed. The way he told her over and over that she belonged to him, so casually too, did not bode well for the future. “So you summoned him here to let him watch?”

He shook his head, grinning. “Of course not, that would be too crude. No, I simply know my friends well, dearest Hermione. Severus always comes to the library after dinner here. We just had to wait.”

A rotten taste settled on her tongue. He had used her, plain and simple. This was never about his or her pleasure, only about making some kind of point. A part of her was disgusted with herself – she was fine with having sex with Voldemort, but she drew the line at being used? But she couldn’t shake that sickening feeling. He had used her for a power play that did not really involve her. That was the problem.

She breathed in deeply, pulling herself up, standing as tall and confidently as she could with these shoes. “If you ever feel the need to punish your friends again like this, let me know in advance. I am not above teaching others a lesson. But I do not want to be surprised by it. Involve me, or stop doing it.”

Unblinking, she looked him in the eyes. Of course she knew she had nothing to bargain with, but she had to try. All of this, her new look, her outward pretence of being more malleable, it was all take back control.

For several heartbeats, Voldemort simply stared back, his face a blank mask, hiding whatever he might be thinking. Then, a slow smile crept over his lips, reaching his eyes as they glimmered with triumph.

“Of course, my sweet. I apologise. You are my partner after all, isn’t that right? I will make sure to let you in on the plan if it involves you.”

She met his smile, though she couldn’t shake the feeling that her attempt to win back control had just resulted in the opposite. For now, they seemed to be communicating, actually talking to each other, for the first time. That had to count for something.

Chapter Text

“My lord.”

There he stood, his face expressionless as always, hands clasped behind his back, shoulders straight. Anyone else would have thought Severus to be composed and confident. But Voldemort knew him better. The way he deliberately allowed eye contact; the way he was on high alert to every movement told a very clear story.

Severus Snape was afraid.

As afraid as he had only seen him once before. When he came to offer his services once more after he failed to attend the initial Death Eater summoning. Everyone, even Lucius, had showed up, yet his most trusted follower had stayed away. For a few days, Voldemort had actually thought Severus had betrayed him. When he finally came to him, he could see his fear clearly. Just like now.

Good. He better be afraid.

Taking slow, measured steps through the headmaster’s office, Voldemort studied the other wizard. He had intentionally left him alone for three days after that dinner. Let him stew in his fear.

“So, tell me, Severus.” He came to a stop in front of him, looking down at the only slightly shorter man. “What exactly was your thought process last weekend?”

Severus blinked slowly, meeting his gaze head on. “I meant to criticise you, my lord. I have no excuse for that. I saw a situation I deemed inappropriate and I felt the need to speak up.”

Voldemort nodded slowly, circling him once, before facing him again. “I appreciate your honesty. Many could learn from that.” He paused momentarily. “Would you describe yourself as a prideful man?”

His gaze faltered for a heartbeat, crumbling under the pressure of the unexpected question. Then Severus blinked and returned to his stoic mien. “I would say that it is one of my many faults, my lord.”

“So you would feel shame when someone of lesser talents beats you? Someone like Bella’s unfortunate cousin Sirius Black, for example?”

“Indeed.”

“Curious.” Voldemort took a step back, leaning against the huge wooden desk. For a long moment, he just looked at the other wizard. Severus never broke the eye contact or looked away. He stood there, motionless, patiently waiting.

But it was only a matter of time until he broke. After these three days of being alone with his thoughts, he would be too anxious. Voldemort could almost taste his fear. This definitely was one upside of the image he previously created. Everyone expected him to torture every follower who displeased him. So when he did not do that now, it made people nervous. Even someone like Severus.

“You know my faults very well, my lord. I do not intend to hide them from you.” There it was. The break.

“Very true.” Voldemort grinned. “So you can imagine my surprise when you don’t show that pride in a crucial moment. Whatever could be the reason for that?”

“My lord?”

He took one long step forward, standing shoulder to shoulder with Severus. While he looked out of the window, the other man stared straight ahead. He leaned to the side slightly, almost whispering his next words into his ear. “Why would your pride not be hurt when beaten by one of your students? A muggleborn witch at that?”

He could see the pulse on Snape’s neck quicken, even when his voice remained steady and cool. “You are referring to Miss Granger and the duel. I see.”

He circled him once more, staying silent, waiting for Severus to explain himself. Those black eyes no longer seemed blank. Instead, there was a flicker of uncertainty to them that was more than surprising. He didn’t answer for a long time, as if looking for a lie. Voldemort continued circling him, studying him, preparing himself to simply slip into that steely mind and rip the answers out by force.

“Miss Granger is an insufferable know-it-all.” Severus breathed out calmly, turning to face him directly. “Too focused on reading and books. Just repeating the exact sentences she read somewhere. I cannot pretend I ever enjoyed her presence in my classes. But over the past two years I had the misfortune to teach her, she showed a control over our craft that I rarely witness in students. She is powerful and vicious and uses her knowledge in any way she can. I was surprised by her strength, that is true. I underestimated her before the duel. But my pride was not hurt by being beaten by someone who has proved her potential before.”

“Such glowing praise. Is that why you felt the need to protect her from me? What is it with you and muggleborn witches?”

Severus shook his head once. “No, quite the contrary. In that moment, all I could see was the know-it-all student from my Potions classes. I saw a child and spoke out of turn as a result.”

He chuckled cruelly. “You certainly didn’t see a child in the library, or am I mistaken?”

“Just as I should not have said anything during dinner, I should not have looked then. It will not happen again.”

He grabbed Severus by the throat and squeezed. “Quite presumptuous of you to think you would ever get another chance to see my witch like that. But don’t worry, Severus. You would have insulted me had you not looked. I know how magnificent she is in these moments. She is a woman, after all. My woman.”

Before Severus could react, he grabbed his wand. Staring straight into his eyes, he dove into his mind. The image of Hermione in the library was at the forefront, vivid and big. He let the scene play out. The vision trembled, shaking from the intense emotions attached to it. The disgust was palpable.

Unrelenting, Voldemort rewound and played it again. The image was too clear, the disgust too open. The other wizard was hiding something here. He forced the image to expand until nothing else was left in the mind. There, another emotion bubbled up. Shame. That was expected as well. As he dug deeper, the shame became clearer and stronger, overtaking the disgust.

So Severus used the disgust to cover for his shame. He could understand that. It made sense. It fit the scene. Still. He replayed the scene again. Pushing these two emotions aside. Pressing his magic against the images from all sides, as though rubbing a liquid between his fingers.

There.

The scene changed ever so slightly. If he hadn’t looked at it so many times, he might have missed it. But between his own memories in the Pensieve and the intense study of Severus’ mind, Voldemort saw it clearly. This was the true memory of how this scene had appeared to his black eyes.

Hermione’s eyes widened slightly, her mouth falling open. Her gaze met his purposefully. Welcoming the onlooker. With cold determination, Voldemort pulled on the thread. And up came another wave of shame. Not mixed with disgust this time. On the contrary. There was lust and shock and confusion.

He broke the contact and pushed Severus away. He had hidden it cleverly. If he hadn’t been so sure that no man would be able to resist his Hermione in her moment of extasy, he might have not dug so deep. Of course he knew Severus was a master at Occlumency, otherwise he would have never been able to trick Albus Dumbledore of all people. But this was beyond anything he had ever witnessed.

Staring down at the man who was using one hand to steady himself against the desk while the other was pressed against his head, Voldemort felt cold rage simmer deep inside him. He no longer cared that Severus lusted after his little witch.

If he was able to construct a perfect memory like this, attach so convincing emotions to the images, what else was he able to hide? Would he even be able to find out if he tried? If he knew not what he was looking for, how was he to find it under such a thick layer of deceit?

Slowly, Severus let his hand sink, his eyes travelling up to meet his. Voldemort knew that the shock and rage would be more than visible on his face. He could see how Severus swallowed, how his eyes widened. Then he went very still.

“You!” Voldemort hissed. “Is that what you always do?”

He didn’t answer immediately. It made the rage inside burn hotter. Was he making up another lie directly in front of him?

“Answer me! You are lucky you are still standing so don’t test me!”

The deliberate way in which Severus looked him in the eye only enraged him more. As if he wanted to invite the Legilimency. As if he was so confident that he could hide everything he needed to hide.

“I never conceal anything like I did that memory.” It was obvious that he tried to keep his voice steady, but Voldemort could hear a slight tremble in it. Good. He should be afraid for his life.

Severus fell to his knees, bowing his head deep. “I intended to never tell you what I felt at that moment. But I anticipated that you would question me about it or use Legilimency to look at it yourself. So I took the time to construct a protection. I did not want you to know about this.”

Breathing heavily, Voldemort could only stare. “How am I to ever trust you again, Severus?”

The hands that he had planted on the floor closed into tight fists. “I have devoted my life to you, my lord. Every step of the way, I only ever meant to assist you. It were never my words nor my mind that convinced you of my loyalty, but my actions. If you feel that you need to kill me for this, I will not protest.”

He grabbed him by the collar and pulled him up, pushing him back against the wall. “I brought the mudblood to spare your life, Severus. Now I wonder whether I should use you instead. Keep my slut around and get rid of an untrustworthy follower. Sounds like the better deal to me. She at least I can break. You, on the other hand. You will never break, would you, Severus?”

“There is nothing I can say right now that would be the correct answer here, my lord. I am at your mercy. Whatever you decide, I will submit to it.”

The blank mask was back. As if a veil was lowered over Snape’s whole being, he no longer appeared to have any emotions. Just blank nothingness. With a frustrated shove, he let go and stepped away from him. This was not something he could solve right here and now. He needed to calm down and think this through clearly.

“I expect you back for breakfast tomorrow,” he spat at Severus. Then he apparated back to the manor.

In the silence of his bedroom, he recorded the whole visit to Hogwarts in his Pensieve. It would take time to think this through. Perhaps he was unfair to Severus. When he had finally come back to him a couple of years ago, he had almost killed him. He didn’t know why his other self hadn’t killed the wizard, but because he hadn’t done so before, he couldn’t do so when he came to that point again. So Severus lived.

Lived and contributed so much to the cause that Voldemort quickly forgave him. It would have been unreasonable to expect someone so close to Dumbledore to show up on that fateful day in the graveyard, he had told himself. Severus was useful, if only as a replacement should Hermione not work out, he had convinced himself.

And then he had actually killed Albus Dumbledore.

The ultimate test and he succeeded.

He longed for his true body. He longed for his soul. When he saw himself through Hermione’s eyes for the first time, he realised how much of himself he had lost by creating more Horcruxes. If he had full control over himself, would he then also struggle to see the truth right now?

He glanced at the door leading to Hermione’s room. His sweet witch. She was trying to play a game, but he knew that she was the most truthful person here. She would never conceal her allegiance. She was here for one singular purpose.

Perhaps he should use her more. Perhaps she could do what seemed impossible now. Afterall, trust was a two-way street. If both wanted to gain trust, would that not make each more likely to succeed?

Yes, he should do that. He could decide what to do with her afterwards. He still had time.

Chapter Text

“I owe you an apology, Miss Granger.”

Hermione nearly choked on her tea. Several days had passed since that cursed night in the library and she actually had convinced herself that Snape would not talk about it and pretend like nothing ever happened. But of course, he had to disappoint her.

“I should have left the moment I realised what was happening. Staying was inappropriate and an invasion of your privacy. I was wrong to do that.”

She could feel her cheeks burn hot from the shame that gripped her body. All she could do was stare at her plate, breathing in and out. Why would he bring it up? What did he expect her to say to that? What would anyone even say to that?

Desperately, she searched for the mature lady in herself. The past few days, she attended every dinner with the family and felt herself grow confident that she could pass as an adult, a mature witch that was taken seriously. Now though, she was back to feeling like a little school girl. This would not do.

She drew a shuttering breath, closed her eyes for a moment, and then turned deliberately to the man at the other end of the breakfast table. “Why did you do it then?”

Snape blinked as he held her gaze. He was even harder to read than before. As though whatever wall he put around his emotions was thicker than ever. Even when he apologised, his voice was so cool and even, it could have come from a robot.

“I have no excuse for my actions. There is no point in trying to explain myself. I wronged you and for that, I apologise.”

Hermione wanted nothing more than to put this conversation behind her and forget all about it. But she could feel that something was not quite right here. Trying to supress the anxious trembling, she got up from her chair and slowly approached Snape at the head of the table. As elegantly as she could manage, she sunk down on the chair to his right, never taking her eyes off him.

“Let me guess,” she purred quietly, “your master put you up to this?”

“No.” The answer came quickly and sounded firm. But Snape didn’t look at her as he said it. Something definitely was wrong.

She felt no pity for him, but if Voldemort was playing games again, she could not let that slide. Nothing was more dangerous to her than the lack of information.

She leaned forward and tilted her head, intruding into his field of vision and thus forcing him to look her in the eye. “What is this, then? True remorse?”

He held her stare for a long time, his face closed off and unmoving. She wondered whether he was using Legilimency on her, but she could feel no intrusion. Finally, he let out a sigh, one quiet sound that showed more emotion than she ever expected from him.

“Miss Granger, sometimes I wonder whether you truly know who you are dealing with. Every word from your mouth leaves the impression that you think nothing of our lord.”

“Are you afraid of him?”

“I would be a fool not to be.” The statement was plain and expected, but the way he carefully pronounced every word, the way he held her gaze as he said it, told her that he truly felt it.

A small smile tugged on her lips before she could control herself. “Don’t worry, professor. You were meant to see that. He doesn’t hold it against you.”

For a split second, his eye wandered. To her lips, to her shoulders, to her fingers. Then he looked back at her, composed and emotionless as always. “I am well aware.”

She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms before her chest. She got the distinct impression that Snape was even more lifeless than usual, but she couldn’t figure out why. It couldn’t be because of the library incident. The past three days, he had acted normal, as any day before that. Something had to have happened the day before that he suddenly felt the need to apologise.

And that something definitely had something to do with Voldemort.

“What are you not telling me?” Hermione didn’t expect him to answer that, but she didn’t know what else to do.

He raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly at her. With that, she saw her teacher again, the Potions master that would stalk the classroom, rolling his eyes at the stupidity of every student, correcting mistakes with little patience.

Blushing, she lowered her eyes. She hated how easily he could make her feel like the stupidest person in the world. It was unfair that a traitor and murderer like him could make her feel bad about herself.

Still feeling the warmth of her pink cheeks, she looked back up at him again, scowling with new found determination. “I heard you needed protection against my attacks at the end of our little duel.”

“I did.”

She blinked. So, Voldemort had been telling the truth. A selfish part of her had always assumed that was the case, but the more rational one had remained sceptical. Or perhaps that rational part was in truth self-sabotaging?

“Doesn’t it bother you? A mudblood beating you, the Dark Lord’s right hand?”

Snape’s eye twitched. “You shouldn’t use that word, Miss Granger. Words have a way of making us believe there is truth in them, even if they’re nonsense.”

She scoffed. “I don’t even know where to start with that. You want me to believe you are against using the one word everyone on your side loves to throw around?”

“Whatever I do or say, it is always in service of our lord.”

Hermione groaned. Why was she even talking to this man? What did she care if he suddenly behaved strangely? He was stonewalling her at every step. She would never get anything out of him. His single-minded devotion to Voldemort was as annoying as it was revolting. She had always thought her Potions professor to be highly intelligent. Hearing him talk now made her feel like she had to reassess him.

“Forget it,” she hissed as she stood up.

Without looking back, she left the breakfast room. The only saving grace for this ruined morning was that Rabastan had not joined them. She would return to her room, read the books she took from the library, and focus on finding out what Voldemort wanted from her.

As she took the first step on the stairs leading up, she froze. That night in the library, he had pulled out a book that he wanted her to read. How could she forget that? He never ended up giving it to her.

Cursing, she turned around and stomped her way to the library instead. How could she allow this monster to override all her rational thoughts with the merest touch of his fingers? Whenever she closed her eyes now, she saw his face. Grey skin, snake-like eyes, non-existent nose. What should appear monstrous instead just raised her curiosity. And arousal. When she pictured his face, she couldn’t help but remember how good his touch felt. How much she craved the same power and control over magic that he possessed.

Shaking her head in determination, she reached for the door to the library and opened it noiselessly. The grand hall lay in a twilight this early in the day, tinting all colours in grey and beige tones. It smelled like paper and old leather. The stillness of the air here felt like a comforting hug to Hermione. Once more, she wished the owned a library like this.

With more confidence than before, she strode through the long rows of books, crossing from one end to the other, where the desk was that Voldemort had discarded the book on. As she rounded one row of bookshelves, her eyes fell on the desk in question.

“Hello, my sweet.” Voldemort looked up at her, smiling as though he had expected her.

Scowling, she plopped down in a chair across from where he was sitting. “What are you doing here?”

He closed the book in his hands with a snap and held it up. “Reading, obviously. I expected you earlier, but it seems this little book has slipped your mind. Were you distracted?”

She only rolled her eyes at that, concentrating on the title of the book instead. “Magic as it pertains to the Self,” she whispered.

Voldemort nodded. “It’s an old tome that I dug up many years ago here in the Malfoy library. I doubt anyone of the family ever touched it. Their mistake. They might disregard it as obscure, but it is very enlightening. I was just reading through a few chapters I didn’t pay much attention to previously.”

“And this explains whatever this aura magic is?” She took the book from him and flipped it open.

“It’s not the main topic of the book, but yes, it touches on it in ways that other books do not.”

Hermione quickly read through the table of contents. She immediately understood what he meant by obscure. “Self-expression in magic. Interpersonal weaving of arcane potential. Junctions of power.” She frowned. “This all seems rather … grandiose?”

He laughed. “Pretentious you mean? It does indeed. You have to cut through the fancy words to get to the true meaning. But if you do, you’ll learn something. Trust me.”

“I’ll happily read whatever I can. If it’s nonsense, I’ll realise that on my own.” She closed it again and put it on her lap, just to make sure she wouldn’t forget about it again.

Voldemort still sat there, smiling, studying her. She felt the urge to flee, unnerved as so often by his strangely open and almost warm treatment of her. But she couldn’t do that. She was playing the role of Hermione, the confident, mature witch that was not easily impressed. And she had a question that she wanted answered.

She put one elbow on the table to her left, leaning her tilted head on her hand, and looked up at him. She purposefully curved her body a little more so that her breasts were pressed against the edge of the wooden table. Through heavy lids, she smiled at Voldemort.

“What did you do to Snape?”

To her surprise, her question wiped the smile from Voldemort’s lips. “Why? Did he say something to you?”

Unnerved, she hesitated for a moment before replying, “He apologised for the library incident. He didn’t say anything before today, so I didn’t expect him to mention it at all.”

He scoffed. “Of course he would.”

“So you did do something.”

A calculating expression entered his eyes. His gaze that was studying her intently before suddenly made the hairs on her neck stand up. She swallowed and forced herself to keep the sensual smile on her lips.

“I discovered something new about him. Surprising, as I thought I knew the man.” He leaned forward and put a hand on her cheek, caressing her temple as he stared deeply into her eyes. “Maybe you can help me with this. Would you do that, my sweet?”

She pushed the shock that she felt down. Instead, she straightened a little, turned her head ever so slightly, and ghosted a kiss against his long fingers. “Of course.”

“Even if it means spending more time with him?”

“It sounds like you want to use me against him. Do I have that right?” Voldemort simply nodded. Hermione put one hand on his. “Then it is no question. If I can do something to hurt the bastard, I’ll gladly help.” Her words sounded steely and aggressive to her own ears. When it came to Snape, she didn’t even have to pretend to be full of hateful determination. It came natural to her.

“I’m happy to hear that. I will instruct Severus to include you in the apparition exception at Hogwarts so you are free to go whenever you like.” He pulled her in for a quick kiss as he said that.

Perplexed, Hermione stared at him. “You want me to visit Hogwarts?”

“Severus is still the headmaster. I can’t expect him to spend all his time here, so naturally, you will need to go to him sometimes.” He said it so matter-of-factly as though there was nothing wrong with the arrangement.

“You are sure that you want me to have free access to the school at all times?”

Voldemort laughed. “Oh, I see. Let me clarify then. You will be allowed to meet Severus, but if I ever detect any hints of secret meetings with other people, be it teachers or students, you will instantly lose the free access again. And we both know you wouldn’t simply run away, right?”

She swallowed. Of course, she would not be allowed to try and make contact with Ginny or Neville, as much as she hoped it could be possible. And of course, she knew she couldn’t run away. He would always find her.

“What do you want me to do?”

She could see amusement and triumph glitter in his eyes as he answered. “I want you to learn Occlumency from Severus.”

Chapter Text

“You cannot be serious!”

Hermione leaned back in her chair, recoiling from his closeness in sudden disgust. How could Voldemort expect her to open her mind to someone like Snape? And how was that using her against him?

“Is there something wrong with that?” He sounded so innocent as he asked her that, so truly surprised that she had to force herself not to punch him.

“He tried teaching Harry a couple of years ago and that was pure torture. I will not submit to the same treatment,” she hissed, grabbing the book on her lap harder.

Voldemort chuckled. “Ah, I remember. An amusingly futile attempt by Dumbledore to protect Potter from me. It is true that it was torture for him. But that was only because Severus designed it to be so. Under my orders, he would never harm you.”

“You underestimate the hate he has for me. And regardless, even if it wasn’t as painful as Harry described, I will not let someone like Snape into my mind. Into my memories.” The very thought of it made her ill.

“Why not? I already saw everything there is to see. What difference does it make if Severus sees it as well?”

For a moment, she could only stare at him, mouth open in disbelief. Then she shook her head firmly. “You can’t tell me you don’t understand. What you did was atrocious beyond description. For me, it was only a couple of days ago, even if it has been many years for you. I will not submit to that again.”

Voldemort remained silent for a long time after that. He looked at her, his alien eyes roaming her face, taking in every frown and scowl that appeared. Then he sighed. “I find it hard to believe that someone like you would shy away from the opportunity to learn something new. To gain the means of protecting yourself.”

Hermione swallowed hard. This was right on topic. Of course, Voldemort would know how driven she was. There was little she wouldn’t do to gain knowledge. She wanted to learn Occlumency. She just couldn’t help but feel nauseous whenever she remembered how violated she had felt after she realised that Voldemort had looked at the memory of her whole life. It made her feel naked in a way no clothes could change. It paralysed her.

She took a deep breath. “Why do you even want me to do this? What can you possibly gain from me learning Occlumency from Snape? I thought you wanted to use me against him?”

“There is only so much I can learn about the people around me from interacting with them myself. What is much more interesting is seeing them interact with others. With you.” He leaned forward, taking one of her hands in his. “We are partners after all, are we not?”

She shuddered. She had said that she wanted to be treated as his partner. She did want to learn Occlumency. There was no logical reason to say no to this. It was just her emotions, this stupid vulnerability she felt, that made her hesitate. If she wanted to win against Voldemort, she would need to grow stronger, colder.

“Okay,” she finally whispered, pushing away her fear and disgust. “You are right. We are partners. I’ll do it.”

“Marvellous!” In a gesture that did not fit him at all, Voldemort clapped his hands together and smiled broadly at her. He was definitely too excited about this.

“I just hope he remembers to not be a bastard for five seconds,” she murmured under her breath.

Laughing, Voldemort stood up and pulled her with him, embracing her with both arms. “Don’t worry, my sweet. He will have clear instructions to be gentle with you.”

Hermione shivered. “Gentle. Yeah, right.”

“Just remember. He is still my most valuable follower. I expect you to treat him with respect as well.”

She stared up at him, gritting her teeth. She hated that she always had to crane her neck to even be able to look him in the eye. It gave him a position of power over her that she loathed. Determined to fight this feeling of being small, she grabbed his arms and pulled them away from her.

“I will show him the respect that he earns. If he indeed is gentle, I will behave.”

“That’s my little lioness,” he teased, brushing a soft kiss against the top of her head. “Now, I think you have a book to read. I will let you know once your Occlumency lessons can start.”

She grabbed the book that had fallen onto the chair and nodded in determination. Even if it came from Voldemort, she had a new source of knowledge. She would read every single page and squeeze every bit of understanding out of these brittle parchments. Maybe next time he tried the aura magic on her, she would be more prepared.

The complete stillness of the headmaster’s office was unnerving. Hermione had only seen it a handful of times when she was still a student at Hogwarts, but whatever warmth and colourful personality Professor Dumbledore had brought to the room, it was now all gone. Replaced by nothing but grey bookshelves around the walls of the room. Only the huge oak tree desk in the middle of the office reminded her of the old times.

She stood here, exactly in the spot that she arrived at after apparating, afraid to move a muscle. Now that she was here, all her anxiety was back in full force. It was one thing to be alone with Snape in the breakfast room at Malfoy Manor. It would be something else entirely here, in his office.

She had arrived five minutes early, expecting Snape to be an overly punctual bastard who would belittle her if she was even a second late. Instead, the office was empty and nothing even hinted at him having been her at all.

The heavy wooden door opened noiselessly as Snape stepped into the room. Hermione swallowed. He looked as emotionless as ever, and yet she felt a chill fall over the room, emanating from his body.

He glanced at her, but remained quiet as he crossed the room, slipping into the comfortable chair at the desk. With a short nod of the head, he motioned to the chair on the other side. “Sit.”

Hermione hesitated for a second, but then she steeled herself and followed the order. Sitting upright, hands carefully folded on her lap, she stared at Snape expectantly.

“I am to teach you Occlumency,” he explained. “Gently, as our lord impressed on me. I understand that you have basic knowledge of the art?”

Expect for his lips, nothing moved in his face as he spoke. His whole body seemed frozen in place, as stiff as her own. It added to the anxiety the quiet office already caused in her. Hermione forced a nod. “Yes. Only through reading though, and some conversation with Harry back in year five. I have no practical experience with it.”

“Don’t let Potter’s account distract you. You possess a disciplined mind, so you will fare better than him.” He looked her directly in the eye as he said that, but Hermione ignore it. She would not raise to his provocations.

“Now,” he continued, “why don’t you tell me what you know so we can determine the starting point.”

She licked her lips and nodded again. “Occlumency serves as defence against Legilimency. It can prevent a Legilimens from accessing one’s thoughts and feelings if done right. Through a calm and empty mind, one can close off memories that should not be seen by others.”

“What else?”

Hermione shrugged. “That is about as much as I currently understand. From what I have heard, Occlumency can also be used to prevent talking under the influence of Veritaserum, but I don’t know how one would do that.”

“Have you ever knowingly been subject to the probing of a Legilimens?”

She hesitated again. This question implied that Snape did not know what Voldemort had done to her. Was she allowed to talk about that? If Voldemort hadn’t told anyone, it would mean that he didn’t want anyone to know. Though if he truly wanted to keep it secret, he would never allow Snape to use Legilimency on her, as he would discover it sooner or later.

“Knowingly might not quite be the right word,” she replied. “I was not aware of it as it happened, as I was unconscious, but I realised it happened after I woke up again.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, the first indication of any emotion since he entered the office. “Someone used Legilimency on you while you were unconscious?”

She squared her shoulders. “Indeed. It happened recently, as a matter of fact. On the same day I was captured by the Dark Lord. It was he who did it.”

For a long second, Snape remained silent. Nothing in his faces betrayed his thoughts, but Hermione got the distinct impression that he really had not known about this.

“How did you discover the intrusion?”

Against her will, images from the moment she woke up from her ritual came into her mind. One thing stood out clearly amongst the chaos of that day. “I had a headache like never before. It was as though I could still feel the touch of another in my mind.”

“A headache usually only happens when an inexperienced Legilimens tries it, or if the intrusion was deep and thorough. As you say that it was our lord that did it, I assume it was the latter.”

She scoffed. “Deep and thorough. That is one way to describe it. From what I know, he looked at every single memory I have. Literally all of them.”

That finally broke his stiff posture. With slightly widened eyes, he leaned forward. “He looked at all of your memories? Are you absolutely certain?”

“I mean, I was unconscious, so I can’t really verify it. But from what I have observed, that is the case.” She wouldn’t tell him that Voldemort used her memories to live his life exactly as he saw before. She still didn’t fully understand why he did it, he could have easily chosen a different path and maybe prevented his first downfall. Telling Snape would only raise more questions that she could never answer.

“I will endeavour to not leave you with a headache.” To her surprise, she actually heard a hint of sincerity in his words.

“Thank you.” She still hated the idea that Snape of all people would read her mind, but it seemed that Voldemort’s instructions actually made him comply. “So, now what?”

“From what you told me, you have a basic understanding of one side of Occlumency,” he explained as he folded his hands on the table. “Emptying your mind so a Legilimens is unable to find anything is one way of protecting yourself. Any skilled Legilimens will of course immediately understand what is happening and then dig deeper. This method is usually insufficient against a harsher attack. You can use it to remain calm though, even if no Legilimens is present. By emptying your mind, you also let go of most of your emotions, which makes it easier to hide your true feelings.”

“Is that how you remain so stoic at all times?” Hermione interjected.

“Obviously,” he chided. “It is not recommended to do it all the time though. You might lose yourself if you are not careful. Or you risk your emotions appearing stronger than they are once you let go of the emptiness. It can make you feel volatile and not in control of your emotions.”

Hermione crossed her arms in front of her chest and stared at him. To her, it felt as though he always had this kind of shield up, at least whenever he was around her. Was that not overdoing it? Or was he just so devoid of all feelings that he appeared as though he was occluding at every moment?

She gave herself an internal nudge and let go of the thought. It was not something she should worry about. Instead, his explanation left her with another question. “You said this was the basic form and that it doesn’t really work against a skilled Legilimens. What else should I do?”

“Before I answer that: Do you understand what Legilimency actually is?”

She sighed. Nothing was ever easy with this man. “I know that it’s not mind reading. It is more like looking at memories and the emotions attached to them. You can sift through images and look at a person’s inner self as though watching a video.”

“I see Potter was able to retain at least a little of what I taught him. Impressive.” He got up and stepped around the desk, directly next to her. “Legilimency is easiest through eye and skin contact. Do I have permission to touch you?”

Hermione had to supress the urge to scoot back with her chair. He was too close, towering over her in his dark robes, face still impassive, but for his eyes that seemed to burn into hers. She wanted to tell him no, but she knew that would get her nowhere. Licking her lips, she nodded.

“I will put two fingers on your temple. Please keep looking into my eyes. The easier it is for me to slip into your mind, the less it will cause you any discomfort.” He waited for a moment until she nodded once more. Then he explained, “I will invade your mind and look at the first memory that comes up. Relax and let it happen. This is merely a demonstration so you know what Legilimency truly is.”

Unbidden, a maelstrom of memories rushed through her mind. Images from different times and spaces, some very old, some recent, whirled around, too fast to make out. Anxiety gripped Hermione’s whole body. What would he see? Which memory would be the one her subconscious would surface? She wanted to deliberately select one, but whatever she tried, she couldn’t grab any. It was all a hurricane of thoughts and emotions.

“I will touch you now,” Snape warned her. His voice was quiet and deep, an almost pleasant sound in the midst of her panic.

Then she felt his warm fingers on her temple. Trying to keep to his instructions, she looked into his eyes, now so much closer as he leaned down, wand drawn. Before she could form any other thought, she felt a presence in her mind. Reality around her seemed to give way to whatever memory he found. For a heartbeat, she relaxed as the intrusion didn’t hurt just as he promised.

But then the images he selected got clearer and she almost screamed.

Chapter Text

She should have expected that this was what was first on her mind. And yet she was shocked, flaming hot shame setting her body ablaze as the scene played out in her mind with more detail than she thought she could ever remember.

Voldemort stood behind her, trapping her between his tall body and the bookshelf. His fingers travelled down, slipping under her clothes. Her breathing sounded loud in her ears, just as her heart was beating heavily against her chest. Worst of all, she felt every single emotion from that moment, perhaps even more than during the actual scene.

Her desire for his touch. Her eagerness to submit. The awe for his power. Experiencing it again, Hermione was too aware that there was not even a hint of disgust or repulsion to be found. No, her past self was completely at Voldemort’s mercy and she craved his touch.

A finger slipped between her folds and she moaned. God, was she really that wet just from the merest touch?

“I think that should suffice.” The disembodied voice of Snape reached her ears.

She blinked and in the next moment, she was back in his office, sitting on a chair in front of him. He no longer touched her, no longer had his wand in hand. Instead, he stared down at her with an unreadable expression.

Flushing deeply, she averted her eyes. “You had to choose that one, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t choose anything, Miss Granger. This memory screamed at me loud enough that I didn’t even have to try to see it.” There was no condescension in his tone, and still she felt deeply embarrassed.

Silently, he sat back down on his own chair. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him. All she found herself able to do was stare at her hands that were white-knuckled fists on her lap. Snape already knew about this incident, he had seen her live in that moment. So why did she feel this shame? Her heart was beating just as fast as in the memory, not from arousal, but from panic and embarrassment. The office seemed to shrink around her, cornering her, leaving her rooted on her chair.

“I can see that this memory causes you a lot of discomfort,” Snape said after several minutes of silence. His voice sounded almost kind. “I understand that it feels overwhelming right now, but I believe that it makes this particular memory the ideal training exercise.”

Suddenly, Hermione realised that her whole body was shaking. With the last bit of self-control she had, she took a deep breath, in through the nose, out through the mouth. Then she forced herself to look at Snape again. “Training exercise?”

“This memory causes you to experience intense emotions. Emotions that you do not want to share with others. You don’t want anyone else to know what happened that night.” The cool, emotionless tone was back, but for some reason, she now found comfort in that. “The more advanced part of Occlumency allows you to create false memories as a protective layer around the actual memory. That way, a Legilimens would find what they are looking for without realising they’re not seeing the actual memory. It is a stronger protection as most of the times, it goes undetected. Where a blank mind instantly tells a Legilimens that you are hiding something, a well-constructed false memory will appear as the truth. You’re giving them something without actually telling them anything.”

The information slowly trickled into her brain, reaching through the fog of shame and anxiety that still had her in its grip. Hermione blinked several times, pushing down anything she was feeling, and instead clinging to the words leaving Snape’s mouth. She was learning something new. Learning was good. It gave her brain something to do.

“That sounds difficult,” she finally pressed out through gritted teeth. She didn’t trust her own voice, half expecting it to be thick with left-over desire or trembling with fear.

“It is. The stronger the emotions attached to a memory, the harder it is to create a fake. That is why I believe using that memory for your lessons would be beneficial. You will fail and fail again, many times. And nothing makes you learn faster than failing.”

“Of course you would believe that,” she retorted. “You know what? In my personal experience, I learned fastest when I got to experience success. That positive feeling of conquering something new is what drives me to always try hard. If I failed all the time, I would probably just give up.”

There it was again, that raised eyebrow that expressed so much contempt and arrogance. After all the years of looking up to him as a professor, Hermione found that she now only could picture his face with that expression on it. Evil, evil bastard.

“I don’t believe that for a second,” Snape said quietly. “From everything I observed, you are driven by your fear of failure. You might enjoy succeeding, but the thought of failing or not understanding is what actually makes you work hard. You think everything through on your own until you are sure you will succeed. And usually, you do. But if you fail, you never make the same mistake again. That is what I’m talking about.”

“Don’t talk to me as though you know me. You know nothing!” She could feel an icy coldness take hold in her stomach. Everything he said was right, and she hated him for it. Because it showed that underneath all his mean and cruel behaviour, there was a good teacher. Someone who actually studied his students and understood them. And that only highlighted his twisted, evil personality. If he understood her – and probably every student – so well, there was no need to be condescending and cruel. He chose to do that. It wasn’t ignorance, it was deliberate oversight.

“I am instructed to teach you Occlumency. While our lord advised me to be gentle, I will not change my teaching method to suit your ego, Miss Granger. If you don’t agree with this, talk to him yourself.” He sounded even colder than before.

She sighed and closed her eyes. Learning Occlumency was only one part of why she was here. The other part was to observe Snape. She didn’t know what Voldemort was looking for, but she doubted she would get anywhere if she blocked everything from the start.

“Fine,” she hissed, her tone laced with venom, “if you wish to ogle your student in her moment of ecstasy over and over again, be my guest. Let’s use that memory.”

“It’s you who is embarrassed about this, not me. Don’t twist this into something it is not.” His words were sharp and cold.

She simply shrugged. “So, what’s next?”

“Your first step will be to learn how to empty your mind, while I try to unearth the same memory again, though without touching you this time. Prepare yourself.”

Resigned, she closed her eyes and deliberately slowed her breathing. Even just thinking about having to relive that memory over and over again made her heart beat faster. But she would not let her body take over her mind. She could conquer this. She would.

With new determination, she opened her eyes again and looked directly at Snape. “Okay. I’m ready.”

She wobbled when she arrived back at the manor. For a moment, she feared that she might have splintered herself, so intense was the pain she felt in her whole body. Nothing was bleeding though, and she quickly realised it was just the pain from exerting more mental energy than she should have.

Panting slightly, she climbed the stairs to her room. It was only early in the afternoon but she felt like she could sleep for three days straight. As she climbed the last step, she had to steady herself against the wall of the corridor. Her knees were trembling and she felt her head pounding with an intense headache.

“What’s that I see? Hermione Granger, weak in the knee?” The gleeful voice of Rabastan Lestrange startled her out of her lethargy. “Was dear old Severus too rough on you?”

She was too tired to deal with him right now. Pulling herself up, she stared at him as he leaned against the doorframe of her room, blocking her from entering. “I think you’ve entertained us long enough. I’ll ask the Dark Lord to please remove you again.”

Rabastan put the back of his right hand against his forehead in an exaggerated manner, while his other hand gripped the shirt over his chest. “Such cruelty. You would deprive me of my family?” In the next moment, all humour was gone and he towered over her, too thin for his height yet still exuding danger that made her skin crawl. “No. I don’t think so. I doubt a good little girl like you would ever dare to make demands of our lord.”

“If I were a good little girl, I wouldn’t be here.” She looked him in the eye through heavy lids, battling the fatigue that threatened to overtake her.

“Didn’t sound like you had much of a choice,” he sneered. “And even if you asked him, why would he grant it? He clearly enjoys my presence here. If there is one thing I have learned in the past decade it’s that our lord only ever does what he wants. He certainly wouldn’t listen to an insignificant mudblood like you.”

“Want to bet?”

Before her tired mind could react, his hand shot out and closed around her throat, squeezing tight. “Watch it. You really don’t want to anger me, mudblood.”

His eyes shone with a madness that she knew only too well from Sirius. The first months after his final escape from Azkaban and the Dementors pursuing him, she often saw the same crazed expression in them, hinting at the horrors he had experienced in that prison. It was thanks to Harry and Remus that Sirius was able to find himself again. This young wizard on the other hand clearly never recovered. Who could, having a family like the Lestranges and Malfoys?

“You shouldn’t be calling me that,” she told him.

“You really are stupid, aren’t you? Do you truly believe that our lord cares about you? That he cares whether any of us insult you? Are you so delusional?”

Before she could respond, a shrill scream made them both jerk around. Rabastan let go of her and instead stared down the corridor with obvious shock. “Bella? What happened?”

Faster than Hermione could blink, the witch appeared in front of them and gave Rabastan a hard push. “What are you doing?”

“Ow, what the fuck, Bella? What is wrong with you?”

The always pale face of the other witch grew even whiter as she stared first at Hermione, than at her brother-in-law again. “What is wrong with you? How dare you defy our lord?”

Hermione took a step back. Whatever was happening here, she understood none of it. She was sure that Bellatrix Lestrange hated her with a passion. She had spent a day in that witch’s body and knew only too well that for her, there was only one thing in the world: pleasing Voldemort and being recognised as his lover. Why would she defend her suddenly?

“Ugh, by Merlin, don’t tell me you’re that stupid, Bella. You really think he gives a damn about her? He clearly only wanted to rile up Lucius and Cissy. He didn’t mean any of it.” Rabastan sounded like he was talking to a child.

Bellatrix shrieked in response and pushed him back once more. “You think you’re so clever. But nobody knows the Dark Lord like I do. Never lay a finger on that girl again. Ever. You hear me?”

“I always wondered when the last of your brain cells would snap. Seems like I have my answer now. Fine, have it your way. Throw yourself in front of a mudblood and defend her honour. We’ll see how much that pleases him when he hears about this.” With that, Rabastan turned around and walked away with long, swaying steps.

With a huff, Bellatrix turned around. When her eyes met Hermione’s, she could see the hot flames of hatred in them. Yet still, she sounded concerned as she asked, “Are you alright?”

Frowning, Hermione looked her up and down. Out of everything so far, this was the strangest thing she ever experienced. “Are you really Bellatrix Lestrange?”

For a moment, the concerned look wavered and was replaced by pure rage, but instantly, a smile was back. “Of course. I just want to make sure that our special guest is treated well. If he hurt you, tell me so I can punish him.”

The wound on her arm throbbed as though her body remembered the torture more vividly with the witch directly in front of her. She quickly shook her head and slipped away, fleeing into her room. She made sure to lock the door properly and cast more protection spells than usual around the four walls.

She was tired and confused, not only thanks to Bellatrix, but also because she had to confront her feelings for Voldemort again and again during her lesson with Snape. She wanted nothing more than for this day to be over.

Before she even knew what she was doing, she rid herself of her clothes and collapsed on the bed half naked. She had just enough energy left to pull the blanket over herself, then a welcoming blackness enveloped her and she happily gave herself over to sleep.

Chapter Text

Voldemort was surprised to see the wards up when he returned to his room in the afternoon. Usually, his witch only warded her room at night. Not that it actually protected her from him if he truly wanted to intrude. But it was effective still, as he would never be able to copy the signature of her spell work.

Feeling the wards on the door that connected their two rooms, he contemplated what to do. His highest priority was to get Hermione’s memory fresh after her return from Severus. He needed to look at them and extract them for his Pensieve. What was his little witch doing in her room that needed these wards?

As he pulled out his wand and undid each spell, he noticed that another layer of protection wrapped around the whole room. Some ward he hadn’t seen her use before. Whatever she was doing, she wanted more protection than ever. Doing that straight after meeting with Severus didn’t bode well. Whatever had happened between them, he needed to know. Now.

It took him longer than expected to undo the last ward. There was a vicious attack woven into the defensive spell that would trigger if he slipped even once. His little witch was living up to the image he had crafted of her these past decades. Watching her calculated cruelty against students, teachers, and nosey reporters alike had made him long for her all the more. This new ward now showed him that she still was as capable as ever.

When he finally opened the door, he half expected her to be in the middle of something nefarious. Finding her fast asleep on the bed was a surprise. For a long moment, he stood in the door frame, simply staring down at her sleeping form. Even now, she was radiant. In nothing more than a tiny slip, she looked more enticing than ever.

He stepped noiselessly over the carpet until he could crouch down next to her face. She was still asleep, oblivious to his intrusion. Smiling, he stroked her cheek. This was an exhausted witch, nothing more. He should have expected that an Occlumency lesson with Severus would power her out. His Hermione wouldn’t turn on him so quickly.

Quietly, he pulled a chair next to the bed and sat down. Having her asleep would make it even easier to inspect her recent memories. He would need to be careful to not accidentally see anything that happened outside the Occlumency lesson. He didn’t want to see it because he didn’t need to. He could still read her like an open book, her emotions being on display for everyone to see at all times.

Gently pressing two fingers against her temple, wand in hand, he slipped into her mind.

The first image that came up was of Bellatrix and Rabastan. He almost wiped it away before he caught a glimpse of something strange. He hesitated for a moment, contemplating whether he should break his resolve, and then decided to indulge just this once. Grinning, he watched as Rabastan threatened his little witch, only to be told off first by Hermione and then by Bellatrix. Oh, his sweet witch was so confused, watching Bella defend her despite the obvious hatred. He had to supress a chuckle. Bella was really trying to make amends, he had to give her that.

Rabastan though. That cheeky boy. He enjoyed his wild energy, but putting his hands on Hermione was not something he could tolerate. He would need to make sure that Rabastan got that message loud and clear.

Still smiling, he let go of that memory and dug deeper. There it was, a scene taking place in the headmaster’s office. He went back through the images until the moment Severus first entered the room. Halting the flow of the memory, he studied the dark-clad man.

Through Hermione’s eyes, he appeared cold as ever, but Voldemort could tell. Severus was similarly anxious as his little witch in that moment. He watched as he stepped through the room and sat down, stiff and lacking his usual elegance. It was almost as if …

Voldemort let the scene play out further, listened to the cold words exchanged between the two of them. He felt a wave of annoyance wash over him as he heard Severus say “gently” with such derision. His trusted right-hand man really was pushing his limits.

He watched as Severus expressed surprise that Hermione had had her mind invaded before. The small widening of his eyes betrayed what Voldemort already suspected. Severus indeed expected him to use Legilimency on Hermione in turn to watch their interactions. He wasn’t actually surprised by the revelation, but rather anxious to have his fear confirmed.

Severus did fear him. At least there was that. Fear was the easiest tool to keep people in line. But he always thought that Severus actually believed in the cause and shared his ideals. That he chose his side definitively when he murdered Dumbledore. Was that really the case?

He let the scene play out. Despite Hermione’s protest against his methods, Severus appeared extraordinarily gentle with her. Whether that was because those were his instructions, or because he had a soft spot for the girl, Voldemort couldn’t tell.

At the same time, Hermione’s emotions changed. He knew from her memories that she always regarded the Potions professor as one of the most brilliant minds at Hogwarts, even if she disagreed with his harsh and unfair treatment of some students, herself included. He knew that she admired him for his work for the Order.

Just as he knew that her regard turned into deep rooted hatred the moment she learned of the ultimate betrayal. It was that anger and hatred that she displayed so openly whenever she shared the same space as Severus that amused him.

Watching the lesson through her eyes, he could feel her old emotions stir up again. She actually felt comfortable with him in his role as a teacher. She was all too happy to learn. Even through her shame and frustration about the particular memory they selected as study subject, she still shone with eagerness.

Voldemort let go of her mind again, leaning back in the chair. Something in him stirred as well. Something that didn’t feel right. It was an uncomfortable feeling that he couldn’t quite place.

He was angry.

Yes, that was it. This witch was his. She would learn from him. He was her master. She would submit to him, very soon she would submit. No one but he was allowed to see her knowledge thirsty face light up with eagerness. Those eyes should be only on him.

He had expected to learn more about Severus by inspecting this memory, but instead, he saw that side of Hermione that was his and his alone; how she let someone see it that she hated so much. That was not right.

Before he knew what he was doing, he was on her bed, hovering over her, staring down on her sleeping face. He would wake her up with his magic rubbing against her aura, reminding her that she was his, that she would never be able to escape him or even look at anyone but him. Yes. Then she would cry beautifully for him, beg him to touch her, and he would deny her. Punishing her for showing herself to someone else.

He leaned down a little and pressed his lips against her throat. She smelt faintly of sweat, but still as sweet as ever. He took a strand of his magic and let it flow out, ready to touch her.

Just as he pulled back from her throat, the softest moan came over her lips. He froze, letting go of his magic. How could he forget?

He still didn’t understand why he reacted to touching her aura just as she reacted to his magic. He couldn’t do that again until he fully knew what was happening and how to control it.

Cursing, he fisted the blanket with both hands and buried his face in her hair. He longed to feel her aura again. It was too addictive. Her sweet little moan had reminded him how good she felt under his hands when she was melting into his touch. Even now, he could feel himself grow hard, eager to have her.

She still needed to be punished.

“My lord?”

Brown eyes were staring up at him, full of surprise and confusion. The slightest frown between her eye brows showed him that Hermione did not like the fact that he so easily broke through her wards. But there was no fear. That would not do.

He grabbed her wrists in one hand and used the other to close around her throat, squeezing tightly. “Hello, my sweet. How nice of you to wake up for me.”

She struggled against him, trying in vain to free her hands or move her head. But he simply increased the pressure on her neck, watching with delight as he saw panic creep into her expression.

“What are you doing?” Hermione pressed out, her voice trembling as she struggled against his hand.

“You really don’t know what you did wrong, my sweet? Really?”

“Is this about Rabastan?” She sounded breathless as she struggled against his grip around her throat.

He didn’t reply, instead studying the emotions on her face. There was confusion and fear, but not a hint of guilt. His sweet, innocent witch had no idea what she was doing to the men around her. That was both endearing and aggravating. He would have to train her better.

“Rabastan will learn that his importance is nothing compared to yours,” he purred. “You did exactly right, as did Bella, surprisingly.”

She scowled as she heard that. “So, this is about Snape?”

He simply nodded. As he did, he could see the fear subsiding in her eyes, replaced by annoyance and anger. “I thought you were less mad than you made people believe, but it seems my assessment was wrong.”

He laughed despite feeling only growing rage. “It seems, sweet witch, that you know nothing about me after all.”

She had the audacity to roll her eyes at him. “Right. Sure. Whatever you say. Because first sending me to Snape, who I hate, and then getting mad at me that I spent time in his presence against my own wishes speaks of total soundness of mind.”

A wave of ice-cold hate washed over him, engulfing his whole body, edging him on to just close his hand around her a little more and kill her on the spot. She knew nothing. She did not know him.

He swallowed, forcing the emotion down. “Your ignorance might be cute, but I expect you to know better.”

There was no answer to that. She just stared up at him as if he wasn’t even there. A strangely focused expression came over her eyes, wiping away any annoyance or confusion that she might have still felt. For a brief moment, he wondered whether he overdid it with the pressure on her throat.

But that was not it. Just as he realised what she was doing, a wave of pure magic hit him. He had no time to raise a shield. The wave hit his whole body, pushing him away. Before he could blink, he tumbled from the bed and crashed shoulders first into the carpet.

Just as he landed, Hermione was on him, wand in hand, straddling his hips. Propped up on her left arm, she pressed the tip of her wand against his cheek. The same rage he felt flared in her eyes.

“You come into my room, break through all my wards, and abuse me after I did exactly what you wanted to,” she hissed, “and you expect me to just cower and take it? I think not. I went to Snape, like you asked. I started learning Occlumency, like you asked. I did all that not knowing why I had to do it, but I did it because you asked and because you agreed that we are partners. If this is your thanks for doing as you say, I will never do anything again.”

He could still feel her magic crackle all around the room. Whether intentionally or not, she was filling the air with her aura, lighting every nerve of his on fire. He should be furious, but instead, he just felt hungry.

And amused, so very amused. “Are you quite finished?”

Her eyes widened and she pressed her wand harder into his skin. “You are begging to be turned into a frog.”

“Oh, Hermione,” he sighed, “you are so adoringly innocent.”

With that, he summoned his wand into his hand at the same time as he threw her off him. While she was still tumbling over the floor, he disarmed her with a silent Expelliarmus. Within three heartbeats, he was on top of her again, smiling broadly.

“You really are cute. But as I said, you should know better. You didn’t really think you could do anything to me that I wouldn’t allow you to do?”

Chapter Text

Hermione expected to feel panic as Voldemort rolled on top of her, but instead, she was just utterly frustrated. She knew how powerful he was, but that he was able to disarm her so easily while she had him cornered still hurt. The ease with which he commanded magic made her jealous like nothing before.

“Fine, you win,” she growled. “Now can you please explain what your problem is?”

He still smiled that obnoxious smile that told her how much he looked down on her. It would take a lot of time and effort to make him respect her even the tiniest bit. Grinding her teeth, she just stared at him, unwilling to give him anything else.

“I agree, my sweet. Enough tumbling around your room for one day, mh?”

He actually got up as he said that and held out a hand to help her up as well. She was tempted to slap it away, but instead, she gracefully placed her hand in his and allowed him to pull her on her feet. Determined to ignore the fact that she was almost naked, she gave him a small smile. She should return to playing the malleable seductive woman. If only she wasn’t so exhausted.

“Come,” Voldemort told her and pulled her with him, still holding her hand, “I think what you need right now is a hot shower to wash off the unpleasant time you spent with Severus.”

She swallowed. “You want to … shower? Together?”

He stopped, hand already on the door leading to her bathroom, and turned to look at her. “I can wash your hair and massage your shoulders if we go together. Isn’t that what you need right now?”

She let go of his hand and just stared at him. This was just as absurd as Bellatrix Lestrange defending her, if not more. What was even happening? Just a moment ago, he was mad at her for something, and now he wanted to shower with her? The worst part was that a massage under hot water sounded exactly like what she craved most at this very moment. She blinked.

“If you want to fuck me, there is a perfectly good bed right there,” she told him, trying to sound both defiant and challenging.

He chuckled. “Oh, believe me, I’d love nothing more, my sweet. But that’s not what I have in mind right now. Truly. I just want to offer you my services.”

He opened the door to the bathroom, but instead of entering, he turned around and stepped very close to her. She licked her lips as she craned her neck to meet his gaze. Those strange eyes held an intensity that made her shiver. They didn’t betray any thoughts he might have, as he was simply standing there, waiting for her answer.

She would be lying if she said she wasn’t intrigued to see this man naked. His curious body, created through a dark ritual, was fascinating to her. Harry had always described him as repulsive and alien, but that was not what she saw. All she could see when she looked at him was raw power given expression through a not-quite-human body. She wanted to touch him more, explore every inch of his strangely grey skin.

She bit her lip. Those were not the right thoughts in this situation. Those were not the right thoughts in any situation. He was the great enemy, the monster she swore to defeat, and even though she didn’t know – yet – why he wanted her here, she was convinced that she would find a way to destroy him if she just kept her eyes open. She needed to play the part of woman who was as convincingly seductive as she was easily seduced; she did not need to actually be that.

“Then I shall receive them gladly,” she finally replied. Trying to find her mature self again, she gingerly placed one hand on his cheek and stepped closer until their bodies almost touched.

Without taking his eyes off her, Voldemort gently grabbed her hand and turned his head. His snake-like eyes bored into hers with heat and purpose, making her spine tingle in fear and anticipation. A smile flitted across his lips just as he pulled her hand down ever so slightly. Then, he sucked two fingers into his mouth with a hungry expression in his gaze that held unspoken promises.

Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. She could only stare. And feel. His tongue swiped over her two fingers once, then slid between them, parting them, applying pressure that hinted at pleasure yet to come. Heat spread over her face as forbidden images flashed in her mind.

He hummed softly before letting go of her fingers again. They slid out between his lips, all warm and wet, but he did not let go of her hand. Instead, he turned around and pulled her to the bath.

Hermione’s mind was racing, trying to catch up to what was happening, but she was still lost in the feeling of his tongue gently pressing between her fingers. She had to suppress a moan just from remembering how that felt. Heat travelled through her body, trapping her in the seductive web of the most powerful wizard she had ever seen. She wanted this man.

But more than that, she wanted to be wanted by him.

It was not simply his touch or the feel of his tongue or the strange connection his magic formed with her aura that coaxed her into his arms. It was this one thought. She saw it more clearly now, despite being caught in his arms.

Wouldn’t it be glorious to have this man worship her?

She swallowed, barely registering him pulling down her knickers. His power was seductive, yes. Bringing him to his knees, consumed by his want for her, would be exhilarating beyond anything she ever felt.

“Whatever you’re thinking in that pretty little head of yours, it ends now.” His low voice pulled her out of her quiet fantasy.

He gave a short shrug and in one fluid motion, his robes pooled around his feet, exposing that he was not wearing anything under them. Hermione’s heart hammered in her chest as her gaze travelled down the length of his tall body. His skin was just as strange under his clothes, in parts so white it almost appeared translucent, in others a grey that seemed unnatural. Not a single hair covered his body.

Licking her lips, she took a small step forward and reached out one hand. She wanted to touch him. She had felt his skin before, but never stopped to really explore what it felt like. Her eyes snapped up, seeking his gaze. Voldemort returned the look, watching her with an indulgent smile that could not fully mask the hunger in his eyes. He wanted her to touch him, that much was clear.

Slowly, gently, she placed just her fingertips on his flat stomach. His skin felt cool to her touch and she could see his muscles flex just as he let out a quiet hiss. Without looking up again, she let her fingers travel over his stomach, first to the left, then to the right, drinking in the feel of his too smooth skin. It was like touching silk, or maybe marble. Too smooth to be human skin, too cool to house a human body.

She let out a shuddering breath and forced herself to pull her hand back again. She was too fascinated with him, showing too much of what she was actually feeling openly. He would take advantage of that, she already knew.

“Come,” he hummed just then, “we have all the time in the world to explore each other.”

She let him pull her into the spacious shower, fighting the heat that crept into her cheeks as she remembered that she was just as naked as him. Something about this felt intimate in a way that made her both shiver from anxiety and tremble with anticipation.

He placed her under the shower head and reached behind her to open the faucet. This was another thing Hermione found she liked about the manor: the water had exactly the temperature she wanted the moment it touched her skin. Others might find it too hot and she knew her hair and scalp would prefer something milder, but she relished the relaxation the hot stream of water on her shoulders offered.

Voldemort stepped closer and gently took her head in both of his hands. She allowed him to slightly tilt her head until the water cascaded over her whole hair. Slowly, her unruly curls gave in, deflating, soaking in the hot water. When every strand was wet, he cautiously slid his fingers into the wet tangled mess and started massaging her head.

She barely caught the moan that wanted to escape her lips and had to place her hands on his chest to steady herself. “For someone with so little hair, you sure know how to work with it.”

He chuckled. “I’ve not always been this way, my sweet.”

Lazily, she glanced up at him. “Do you prefer this body?”

Voldemort stopped momentarily, but then resumed the gentle massage. “It has its advantages.”

Maybe it was because she was so close to him. Or maybe because she had spent most of her days in his close proximity now. But she knew from his tone that he was not fully honest with that statement, just as she knew that he would not say more on that topic now. She made a mental note of that. Anything that brought him discomfort was worth noticing.

He applied shampoo and conditioner with the same ease as he ran his fingers through her hair. With every stroke, Hermione relaxed more. Steam rose and turned the shower cabin into an opaque cubicle, shutting out the rest of the world. Voldemort stayed quiet for most of it, his attention entirely focused on her.

When the last bit of shampoo was washed away, he pulled her closer, pressing her against his chest so that the stream of water hit her back. Then he started working on her taught muscles around her neck and shoulders. This time, she could not suppress a relieved groan. Slowly but surely, any tension she felt left her body.

Here she stood, naked in Voldemort’s arms, and all she could think about were his dexterous fingers and the feel of his smooth skin against hers. She let her eyes drift close and slung her arms around his waist, focusing completely on his hands as they slowly travelled down her back.

She felt him make a step and followed, realising he meant to turn them. She opened her eyes again. As she looked up, his flaming hot gaze caught her. Any relaxation instantly evaporated. She licked her lips. She knew what that look meant.

“On your knees, darling,” he whispered as he pushed down on her shoulders.

Before she knew what she was doing, she followed the order. His right hand cupped her cheek as his left closed around his cock, bringing to her attention how hard he already was.

“Open up.” The command was short, but she heard the thickness in his voice that betrayed his need.

Something deep inside her purred in response. This was what she wanted. Kneeling in front of him, she would bring him to his knees with just her mouth. Smiling brightly, she followed his words, opening her mouth as wide as she could and sticking out her tongue.

“Good girl,” he growled and she whined with desire in return.

He was heavy on her tongue, hard and hot, so much hotter than the rest of his body. She opened up wider, letting him slip between her lips. Hesitantly, she sucked him deeper, hollowing her cheeks while flattening her tongue against him. Both of his hands grabbed her wet hair, tangling it between his fingers. She could tell from the way that his fingers pulled on her that he had a hard time holding back.

Good.

Steadying herself with both hands on his hips, she leaned forward more, taking him even deeper. She had only ever done this in the body of another, but a part of her seemed to instinctively know what to do. Breathing through her nose, her eyes closed, she focused completely on the way he felt in her mouth and the sounds he made in response to every little action she took.

As she started bobbing her head, she glanced upwards, observing him through her lashes. His eyes were closed and his head leaned back while water was cascading down his back. She was sure that he didn’t notice how his slightly open mouth betrayed his extasy. He barely moved and clearly tried to suppress the quiet groans that escaped his lips each time she moved her head forward. The crease between his brows and the tension in his fingers told her everything she needed to know.

This was not a man in control.

Hermione swallowed several times, preparing herself to take him even deeper. Steam continued to cloud the shower cabin, but she felt herself grow even hotter from deep within. An insistent throbbing between her legs demanded her attention, demanded her to bring her own fingers down, but she resisted the temptation. She was here to prove a point.

She took a deep breath in through her nose. Then, she angled her head slightly differently, trying to remember what he did to her when she was in Lestrange’s body. Swallowing against her gag reflex, she let him slide over her tongue, all the way into her mouth. Deeper still, down her throat, she focused all her senses on only this goal.

For a second, she felt panic rise in her as her body realised that she could no longer breathe. But she fought it down, relishing in the way his fingers gripped her hair harder. She allowed herself to glance up again.

This time, his eyes were on her. The usually small slits of his pupils were blown wide, glittering with a fire that made her groan around his cock in her throat. His face spoke of pure desire and nothing could hide that from her.

If she didn’t have her mouth full, she would have smirked. For all the games this wizard played with her, at the end of the day, he still was a man. She knew little about sex, but in this, she was very sure of herself. Whatever desire she felt for him was nothing when compared to his need for her.

Slowly, she leaned back again, desperate to breathe. As soon as she filled her lungs, she took him again, finding a rhythm that allowed her to take breaths in between. His eyes never left her face, his mouth now a harsh line as he so obviously struggled to keep quiet. She could feel his thighs under her hands flex, could see the muscles around his neck grow taught and hard. He was barely containing himself.

The next time she let him slide down her throat, the hummed a little, the vibrations running along his cock. She could feel him pulse in time with the pull on her hair growing painful.

Then, his eyes flashed red. Before she knew what was happening, he pulled her away and up, slamming her against she shower wall, one hand around her throat, the other still tangled in her hair.

“Enough, little witch,” he hissed, his eyes blazing with a rage that sent a shiver down her spine. “We shouldn’t forget about your pleasure, now, should we?”

The sneer on his face did not bode well for her. And yet, despite his angry aura, Hermione could feel heat pool between her legs.

Chapter Text

His sweet witch stared at him with those big eyes that always told him everything he needed to know. She was surprised and frustrated that he didn’t let her finish the job, but more than that, her usually honey brown eyes were dark with lust. Even now, when his hand in her hair pulled her head back too far and his other hand squeezed too tightly, there was nothing but need in those eyes.

He inched closer, pressing his body against hers. She twitched in response, an instinctive reaction as though she meant to rub herself against him. He smiled broadly.

“Such a good little witch,” he purred, “taking my cock so well. You deserve a reward for that.”

He let go of her hair then, sliding his hand over her trembling body, so hot from both the shower and her arousal. When his fingers reached between her legs, she whined and opened her legs further.

He gave her one long stroke, delighting in how wet she was. She loved sucking his cock, that much was clear. Kneeling before him, utterly at his mercy, deprived of air, she was drooling for him. Even now, he wondered whether she was wet because of his fingers between her thighs or because of his hand that continued to strangle her.

He held her gaze, those open, flaming eyes, as he slowly sank just one finger into her. Her mouth fell open for a heartbeat, before she bit down hard on her bottom lip. He could almost feel her swallow a moan under his hand. Grinning, he squeezed just a little more.

Her eyes grew big and finally, there was a hint of fear mixed into her lust. “Wait. That’s too much.”

Instead of an answer, he pulled out his finger again, moving slightly away from her as he did. She blinked, trying to shake her head, but he did not let go. He thrust his finger back in again, just as he pressed his body harder against her and squeezed even more. Desperate hands gripped his arm, but he held firm.

“I can’t breathe,” she wheezed, “please stop! My lord! Stop!”

He ignored her. His hand began to move in a slow rhythm, his finger slipping in and out of her in time with his body pressing harder against her and moving back, just as he released the hold on her throat ever so slightly with each pull back. His whole body was moving against her, emphasising the forceful movement of his one finger.

Every time he thrust back in and squeezed her throat, a painful whimper escaped her lips. Tears stood in her eyes, threatening to spill over, as she desperately pleaded with him to stop. But he would not.

Not as long as he had a point to prove.

Not as long as he felt her hot cunt leak more and more wetness, coating his hand in her juices.

Her nails dug into the skin on his arms, still fighting, but her pleas for mercy stopped. With tears streaking down her face, her mouth half open, she gave herself over to his rhythm. He could feel her hips move in tandem with his hands and he could feel the quiet moans against his hand that was still holding her throat.

Everything in him screamed to replace his finger with his cock. Just plunge into her, forgetting any designs he had, and to take what was rightfully his. Her moans turned into cries, needy and wanton, completely taken over by her lust. She wanted him to take her, that pure innocent body of hers screamed at him to rip her apart.

With a hiss, he stepped back, pulling her with him by the throat. Then he turned her around and violently pushed her chest first against the tiles of the shower wall. She cried out in shock and again in pain as he thrust two fingers back into her. One hand splayed on her back, pressing her against the wall, he resumed a harsh and fast rhythm. All he could do was stare at her arse as she arched her back into his hand. His hard length was only inches away from her opening. It would be so easy to replace his fingers with it.

“Oh god.” A pleading sob from Hermione’s lip tore him from his revery. “Please, please, please.” She was desperate, he could hear it in her voice. No longer pleading with him to stop, but rather begging for more.

With a groan, he closed his eyes. He never stopped his fingers from moving, but he fought down his own desire. This was not for his blind pleasure. He had a purpose, and mindlessly fucking her in the shower was not part of that.

He could feel her start to tremble under his hands. Her breath came in short puffs, laced with high pitched moans and sobs. She was close, so very close. He could see her ball her hands into fists, pressing her head harder against the wall as she chased her high. With more force than before, he thrust his fingers into her again one last time.

Then he pulled out and away, letting go of her, stepping back. He just barely caught himself before his hand grabbed his leaking cock. Instead, he moved to the faucet and turned the water off.

“No!” Her sob was beautiful in its frustration. “What are you doing?”

Breathing heavily, her cheeks flushed and her breasts heaving, she turned around. He almost devoured her right then and there. To the flaming hot need in her eyes, there now was also added an equally fiery rage. Oh, she hated him in this moment, he could almost taste it.

“You were naughty, my sweet,” he growled as he stepped closer again, careful not to touch her. “Naughty witches need to be punished.”

Both her hands flew to her face, rubbing over it several times as she seemed to try and calm down. “Punishment would mean I did something wrong. But I didn’t! I did exactly what you told me!”

He grabbed her hands away from her face. Not letting go, he pulled her out of the shower and in front of the mirror. With a wave of his hand, he cleared the mist. Then he embraced her with both arms, pulling her back flush against his stomach. He ignored the insistent throbbing of his cock that was still single-mindedly concerned with sinking into her.

Instead, he grabbed her chin with one hand and forced her to look into the mirror. “See, Hermione? Everything you see in there is mine. Not just your body. The way you look right now, all flush and eager, that is mine too. You are not allowed to freely show that to anyone else, do you understand?”

Her mouth opened several times as she held his glare in the mirror. Again, he could see her mind working, anger and frustration and confusion and lust all swirling in her bright eyes.

She shook her head. “I don’t! I don’t understand!”

He believed her. This little witch had so very obviously no idea what her eager face did to the men around her. To Severus, her valiant knight. It would not do.

“Then, my sweet,” he whispered into her ear, “you will have to live with the consequences until you figure it out.”

He didn’t give her time to react. With a small push, he sent her stumbling forward. While she was catching herself, he summoned his wand into his hand and his robes into his arms. Then, he disapparated without another word. She would have to live with her punishment until she understood.

If she was as eager as he expected her to be, she would not take long.

He felt unsteady on his feet as he appeared in his own room. All his body wanted to do was find release. He was still unbearably hard. His witch was still so close, only two doors between them. Naked as he was, he grabbed the edge of his desk and closed his eyes.

He was in control of himself, even in this cursed body. He would not succumb to his baser instincts. It would be Hermione who suffered through her need, not him. Never him.

A soft knock startled him out of his strained concentration. It came from the door leading to the corridor, not the one separating him from Hermione. He inhaled slowly.

Without bothering to put on clothes, he opened the door just enough to see who was disturbing him. “Bella.”

Her eyes grew round as she took in his naked chest. “My lord. I apologise for the sudden intrusion. If this is not a good time…”

She left the words hanging in the air between them. The way she eyed him, her gaze travelling down to his hips and back up as she licked her lips, was enough to understand her intentions. For a long second, he simply stared at her.

She used to share his bed. She had similarly unruly curls as Hermione. She would be more than happy to let him fuck her. Even now he could see the eager gleam in her eyes. And his body was still unsatisfied. His cock hard and throbbing. He could just throw her on his bed and fuck her until he finally found release.

Slowly, almost as if by its own accord, his hand rose to touch her cheek. Bellatrix leaned into the touch, pushing out her barely covered breasts and sighing like a parched person tasting water after days without. The sound went straight to his cock. Yes. She was exactly what he needed right now.

He pulled her half-way into his room, relishing the feel of her body against his. With a grin on his lips, he tilted her head back, locking her gaze with his. He could see the smile on her lips in return, just as he could see the cool triumph in her eyes.

With a disgusted sneer, he pushed her back. “I have no need for your services, Bella, however delighted you are in providing them. Get out of my sight.”

“My lord?” He could hear shock and rage in her tone, but he had no more patience for her.

Not bothering to even look at her again, he slammed the door shut. This woman would never be able to give him what he needed. He should have known better. Even back in the 70s, he got tired of her after just one night with Hermione. Her eagerness was fake, her insanity appalling. That he contemplated using her for even a second spoke to the deranged need Hermione evoked in him.

He felt the desire slowly evaporate. The sight of Bellatrix, all eager without any real arousal, triumphant and haughty, would leave any man turned off. Especially when compared to Hermione.

Cursing, he shook his head. No. He would not think about his sweet witch now. It would only set his blood aflame again. He was more disciplined than that. She was the one who drowned in her own desire. So young, so inexperienced. She was brilliant and more powerful than any witch or wizard her age should be. But her sharp mind did not protect her from falling victim to her own body.

He could imagine it vividly, how she was just now cowering on the bathroom floor, sobbing with need and frustration. Her intellect would provide the answer soon, allow her to see her error in her dealings with Severus. And then she would return to him, humbled and more submissive, agreeing that what she did was wrong. She would throw herself to his feet, ask him to take her.

And he would decline.

He hissed. It was time he stopped thinking about her. He was hard again, despite his earlier efforts. Determined, he banished all images of Hermione from his mind as he gripped his cock.

Chapter Text

For the first time since she arrived in the manor, Hermione felt refreshed after sleeping through a full night without nightmares or interruptions. It was a miracle, but a sense of optimism had returned to her. She had started to meditate throughout the days, and yesterday, after being left unsatisfied and annoyed, she finally had the desired breakthrough.

Voldemort’s book actually turned out to be more enlightening than she initially expected. It provided important information on its own, but combined with some of the more obscure texts she read in the 12 hours Voldemort gave her before snatching her away, it painted a fuller picture of magic. That she had parents that studied medicine and imparted some of their knowledge about the human body to her along the way also helped immensely.

For the moment, she had to put aside any further reading though. Another Saturday meant that another round of training was upon her.

She wished she could skip it. After what he did the night before, Hermione was not too keen on being close to Voldemort again. She knew exactly what he was doing, and despite all her efforts, she did not yet know how to stop him – or retaliate.

Similarly, facing Snape again after the Legilimency lesson was not a fun prospect. She’d rather endure his silent company at the breakfast table than have to duel him again. She just knew that he would find a way to use his deep knowledge of her intimate memory against her.

Still. She was finally getting somewhere. While she didn’t know what Voldemort wanted from her, she was very close to cracking what was up with the aura magic. One very important part she had already figured out. She now only needed to puzzle together how the brush of another’s magic against her aura made her feel such intense emotions. Once she understood that, she would be able to resist him, and maybe even turn it around and control him. In the meantime, training to become stronger was never a bad thing, even if she hated both training partners.

Standing before the huge wardrobe, she contemplated her options. She needed something she would be able to move and sweat in, but she still wanted to keep up her newly developed image that Narcissa Malfoy helped her craft. Her eyes travelled along the many new pairs of trousers she had. The black one was made out of wool and was wide enough to move in, but still elegant. Paired with a tight black turtle neck jumper, it would make her fit right in with the two dark-clad wizards.

Looking at herself in a mirror, she felt her confidence grow. She was a witch in her own right. She was an adult and she would not cower in front of an abusive teacher or a Dark Lord. If Voldemort was right, she possessed more magical power than Snape. She would show them today that she was indeed not to be underestimated. By anyone.

For a moment, she thought about leaving her wild hair be. She had grown to like it natural in all its curly glory. But today, she needed it out of her face. With a sigh, she decided to braid it into two tight Dutch braids, leaving only the hair below her shoulders flow freely. It still provided her with the feeling of untamed nature while at the same time preventing any free strand of hair from getting in her way.

With a last look in the mirror, she gave herself a short nod. Yes. This was her battle dress. She would not be intimidated. She would not fear to look Snape or Voldemort in the eye.

“You look magnificent, sweet witch,” Voldemort greeted her as she entered the training room.

To her surprise, he was alone, leaning against a wall in a show of utter relaxation. For a moment, Hermione got her hopes up that maybe, Snape would not be joining them today. Taking another deep, steadying breath, she stepped close to the tall, slender figure of the Dark Lord.

“Just us today?”

He smiled at her. “No. Severus will be joining us shortly. Something at Hogwarts needed his attention, so he is delayed.”

With a sigh, she resigned to her fate. She had something prepared for Snape, so she at least had something to look forward to. But she still would have preferred to not see him again so soon.

When she looked up again, the smile was gone from Voldemort’s lips. Instead, a steely expression took over his features. She swallowed. Why was he already angry again?

“My sweet little Hermione,” he purred as he forced her back against the wall, “I can’t help but feel that you are intentionally antagonising me. Don’t force me to do something that we’ll both regret.”

A shiver ran down her spine as she picked up a stone-cold tone in his voice. The last couple of days, it seemed as though any little thing she did upset him. There was a madness in his eyes that was so very different from his usual arrogant self.

She licked her lips. “I don’t understand. I’ve said that too many times the past few days, and I hate saying it, but I simply don’t see what I’m doing wrong.”

For a moment, he simply stared into her eyes. Then, very slowly, he reached down to grab both her hands. Just as slowly, he brought them up until he could grab both her wrists in one hand, pinning them above her head. Hermione’s pulse quickened. It was so easy for him to trap her like this, make her feal exposed and vulnerable. It was not only his physical strength that overpowered her, but the subtle feel of his magic in the air around them.

He made his presence known, subduing her in every sense of the word. He was just so powerful.

The long fingers of his right hand caressed her cheek before grabbing her jaw and forcing her head back harshly. He was leaning down slightly, staring right into her eyes, unblinking, unmoving. He was close enough that she could feel his hot breath on her face, see every twitch of his eye or working of his jaw. It was not just madness that she saw there. It was something more, something intense. Almost desperate.

Before she was able to determine what exactly she was seeing, he closed the last distance and pulled her into a demanding kiss. His whole body pressed against her, one leg firmly slotted between her thighs, as he devoured her without holding back. Where his lips felt velvety and cool, just like the rest of his body, she could sense an urgency in his kiss that burned hot and fast.

She allowed her eyes to fall close. He would take whatever he wanted anyway, there was nothing she could do about it. He didn’t ask, he just took. Sliding his tongue between her lips, exploring her, claiming her. The hand around her jaw gripped her harder, holding her in place. With every second, every swipe of his tongue and every low groan he tried to hold back, she felt herself grow hotter. The coolness of his hands was almost welcome as heat spread across her cheeks – and down between her legs.

She didn’t understand why this was happening. What that emotion was that she just witnessed in his eyes. The only thing she could do was keep her body still, forcing her hips to not rub against the leg that was so deliciously pressed between her thighs.

She should be furious that he was doing this again after treating her like dirt the day before. But she couldn’t. That urgency. That desperation. It filled her with a desire, a high that was too sweet to forgo. Her eyes fluttered open again, drinking in the marble skin of his face.

He pulled back a little, just enough to look into her eyes again. His mouth was a thin, tense line, but his nostrils flared as he suppressed another groan. Without breaking eye contact, Hermione licked her lips once in a languid movement, just barely containing the smirk she felt rise in her.

For a heartbeat, she could feel his fingernails dig into the skin of her jaw. Then, he loosened his grip. Still holding her gaze, he slipped two fingers between her lips. She could feel him press down on her tongue, pumping in and out of her mouth ever so slightly. She almost moaned in return, barely catching the sound before it left her lips. Instead, she blinked once, very slowly, and then purposefully swirled her tongue around his fingers.

He went completely still. She could feel his whole body tense, the grip around her wrists tighten, as his glare bored into her. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest, adrenaline coursing through her veins. For a long second, she feared she had pushed him too far.

“My lord.” The deep, gravelly voice of Severus Snape cut through the tension like a whip. “Should I return later?”

Despite herself, Hermione felt her face turn bright red. Of course, he would show up now. Eager to escape the situation, she jerked against the hand holdings her arms above her head, but Voldemort did not budge.

Instead, he very deliberately turned his gaze towards the door, where Snape stood. For a split second, Hermione was tempted to look over as well, but just then, Voldemort pulled his fingers from her mouth. Instantly, his lips were on her again, forcing her into an open-mouthed kiss that lacked all the urgency from before. Growling, she tried to turn her face, but he held her in place, never looking at her.

Finally, he let go of her. With a huff, she pulled her hands to her chest, rubbing over her wrists that felt raw from the harshness of his grip. She wanted to curse him for doing this again, but she held back. He would suffer for this later. Not in front of Snape.

“Severus.” Voldemort’s voice was back to sounding all relaxed and superior. “How good of you to join us. We are both so very excited to have you.”

Hermione’s eyes flicked over to Snape, who still stood motionless right next to the door. His face was a cold mask of calmness, as she was used to. Nothing betrayed what he thought about what he just witnessed. She doubted that this was another planned incident by Voldemort, but it still played out as before in the library. She felt embarrassed, Snape was unimpressed, and Voldemort himself was too gleeful and pleased with himself.

Forcing the embarrassment and shame down, she straightened her back. She swallowed once to make sure she had full control over her voice. Feeling her confidence return, she caught Snape’s gaze, raised an eyebrow, and then deliberately turned to Voldemort. “Am I allowed to kill him today?”

He laughed at that, sharp and cold. “You know I hate to deprive you of anything that would make you happy, my sweet. But no. Despite all his failures, he is still useful to me.” He turned his eyes to the other wizard. “For now.”

From the corner of her eyes, Hermione could see Snape clasp his hands behind his back. He still seemed so composed, so calm. She made death threats against him and Voldemort implied his approval, and still this man did not care at all. She hated him all the more for it. If he cared so little for his own life, he should have thrown himself off the Astronomy tower when he had the chance.

“Pity,” she drawled.

“Your teaching methods must be truly horrendous if this is how the ever-studious Hermione Granger reacts to just one Occlumency lesson with you, Severus.”

Snape finally moved. With measured steps, he crossed the room until he stood on the opposite wall. “If my methods are not to your liking, we can always end the lessons, Miss Granger, as I told you before.”

Voldemort turned to her, wearing an expression of fake concern. “Is he not gentle with you, my dear?”

“I would hope that Miss Granger can see that if I were any gentler, no lessons would be learned at all.”

Hermione let out a long sigh. These two men were fighting in front of her, acting as though any of this actually revolved around her. She had no patience for that.

Pulling out her wand, she shot Voldemort a cold glare. “Can we please just get this training over with? This whole conversation is a waste of time.”

“Far be it from me to displease you.” There was a question in his snake-like eyes, but whatever it was, he was not saying anything.

Instead, he gestured her to stand opposite of Snape and then asked them both to get ready. Nervous energy gripped Hermione’s body. She was still not convinced that she actually was stronger – there was a high probability that Voldemort was lying to her just to make her pliable. But at least for today, she had something prepared that had the potential to catch Snape off guard. Another victory would taste all the sweeter after the torture he put her through with the Occlumency lesson.

“You will both attack and defend today,” Voldemort instructed them. “I know you think it chivalrous to hold back against a lady, Severus, but the point of this is to force each other to go to the extent of your powers. You will only stop once one of you depletes your magical energy.”

“As you wish, my lord.”

Fixing her gaze on her opponent, Hermione got ready. Her strategy was untested and bold, but if she learned anything from Ron and Harry, it was that being bold usually paid off more than making elaborate plans. She would show Snape that she was not a little school girl anymore.

Emptying her mind, she recalled the feeling she achieved while meditating. Now that she knew what to look for, it was easier to replicate. Just a few heartbeats, and she found it. Suppressing a smug grin, she channelled just the tiniest bit of her magic into it, preparing for what was to come.

“Ready,” she said, her eyes still trained on Snape.

He nodded in agreement. “Ready.”

Chapter Text

For a moment, neither of them moved. Hermione watched as Snape stood on the other side of the training hall, motionless but focused, his wand in his right hand. While Voldemort’s instructions were clear, she suspected that Snape would still wait for her to make the first move. In his eyes, she was just a child that would lose to him if he put any effort into this duel.

Her magical aura wrapped around her skin like a warm blanket. Never before had she been able to actually feel her own magic like this. It was comforting, like a hug from a part of herself that was both powerful and confident.

She would not lose today.

Slowly, she raised her wand and pointed it at Snape. She would try to measure her attacks. Last time, she was still figuring out how to channel magic without using spells or wand movements. In retrospect, she put too much energy into each attack. She could hold out longer if she used less magic.

Carefully, she reached inside and grabbed a strand of her magic. Just enough so it would have an impact. Then she let it go, throwing it at Snape. As she expected, he simply raised a temporary shield to block it, again not moving an inch. Just like Voldemort, his control over magic was infuriating.

She grabbed another strand of magic, but before she could channel it outside, she felt the air change. An almost invisible attack barrelled towards her. Cursing, she ducked out of the way. Of course, he would know how to make his magic less obvious than she did.

It didn’t matter. She could still see it and it was always her plan to dodge his early attacks. Hermione took a deep breath. Then she pushed out her magic, unleashing a flurry of many attacks, all flowing towards Snape, aiming at different parts of his body.

Even from a distance, she could see his eyes widen slightly. To her immense satisfaction, he also stepped out of the way of some of her attacks, only blocking the first few. Without pausing, she kept a steady stream of magic flowing through her, never letting go of the strand that allowed her direct access to her magic.

On the other side of the room, Snape recovered from his earlier shock. Her eyes were trained on him, so she noticed instantly when the grip on his wand changed. In the same tempo that her attacks came out, he attacked her in return.

With each attack, she jumped aside, sliding over the slippery floor of the training room. With each counter attack, Snape ducked and dodged in return. Where she sent out a constant flow of short magical thrusts that aimed for slightly different spots, he answered with a burst of magic in between dodging.

Slowly, she felt sweat form in her neck. Her thighs started to hurt from the constant jumping and crouching. Her breathing sounded loud in her ears, but she had no time to stop. She had to keep moving. She could not risk getting hit. Not before Snape was at his limit as well.

Hermione almost dared not to blink. Her eyes were focused on him, observing every tiny movement of his body, of his face, of his wand hand. Only the slight sheen of sweat on his face betrayed that he was feeling the pressure of the duel as well. Outside of that, he still seemed almost graceful in his composed movements.

Anger rose in her. She hated this man, more than anyone else. Even more than Voldemort. He was so gifted with magic, so perfectly able to control everything, and yet he swore fealty to a Dark Lord. Dumbledore showed him kindness. She had trusted him. And he threw it all away. He could have been one of the greatest wizards of all time, but instead, he was reduced to a mere henchman for a power-hungry monster. Forsaking the people that invited him into their homes and lives. Abusing his position as professor and headmaster to torture young students.

She gritted her teeth. She would never forgive him. He had so much to teach her, and she would squeeze every drop of knowledge from him. But she would never forget what he had done. She would find a way to make him pay for everything.

Starting here today.

Swallowing her hot rage, Hermione focused back on the duel. There. It was almost imperceptible, but his right leg trembled ever so slightly as he shifted his weight onto it to dodge her assault. Snape was tired.

She couldn’t help the triumphant grin that formed on her lips. With each new attack he threw at her, she continued to jump and crouch, never breaking the strange dance that they had started. And with each dodge and shuffle, she edged closer to him. Grinning broadly, she realised that he didn’t seem to notice what she was doing. He stayed where he was, simply moving out of the way of her attacks, but never actually putting more distance between them.

The closer she got, the harder it was to dodge his attacks. She had less time to react, needed to focus more on his magic. But it didn’t matter. Slowly, inch by inch, she pressed on. He still didn’t notice. His movements became more erratic as well, all grace evaporated as he just barely threw himself to the side with her next attack.

Instantly, he was back on his feet, aiming high with his next attack. Taking the opportunity, Hermione resolutely dove forward, catching herself on her hands and rolling to lessen the impact of the fall. As she jumped up again, she threw more attacks in Snape’s direction.

This time, he had no time to react. She was barely a pace apart from him now, staring right up into his blank face. With wide eyes, he pulled up a shield to block her attacks. Without stopping, she took another step in his direction, effectively closing the last bit of distance between them.

From up close, she could see his jaw working. His dark eyes were blown wide from the adrenaline coursing through his body. Even his chest was heaving, telling her that he was just as exhausted as she was. But then he frowned, a sudden flame in his gaze that spoke of dangers to come.

He lowered his shield for just a blink of an eye and threw a heavy attack against her. Without breaking eye contact, she planted her feet and continued her own attacks.

His magic shattered right as it touched her skin. She didn’t even feel the impact. The magic just burst into thousand tiny fragments, and then disappeared with a crackling sound.

Snape’s mouth fell open, but she didn’t give him any time to be shocked. Stepping even closer, she continuously pulled on her strand of magic, weaving it into a hundred tiny missiles, all aimed for his chest and legs.

Finally, his wand hand moved as he conjured up shields all over his body, barely catching her attack. Every now and then, he managed to counter attack, but she never reacted to that anymore.

The hardened aura held, blocking all magic that he threw her way. Just the tiniest bit of magic right at the start combined with her focused meditation was enough to keep a full body shield alive, effectively turning her magical aura into an armour that she didn’t need to keep up with conscious magic.

There.

He wasn’t quick enough. Mere inches apart, he had no chance to notice the attack aimed at his feet. With a gasp, he took the full force, losing his footing and stumbling towards her. She had meant to push him back. Instead, he fell directly towards her, pulling her with him.

A very unladylike shriek came from her lips as she fell backwards. In the last second, she threw out her arms and broke the fall, before Snape’s full body landed heavily on her, burying her under him.

Exhaustion seeped into her bones. Lying down was a very bad idea. She would lose consciousness before she could win.

With the last of her strength, she pushed her magic against him, slinging him away from her. He landed on his back next to her with a thud. Desperately, she pulled on the thinning strand of her magic and shot another attack at him. It hit him again, square in the chest. The pained groan from his lips was like a pepper-up potion to her.

She pushed herself up and trained her wand on him. His body was trembling but his eyes still glared at her. He still had fight left in him. Without thinking, she threw herself over him, trapping him between her legs and arms. He had nowhere to go as she sent another attack against him, hitting his shoulder this time.

“Fuck,” she heard him curse almost imperceptibly. Then he raised his voice. “Stop. Miss Granger, you win. I have nothing left. Stop, now!”

The same rage she felt earlier flooded her system. He had no right to tell her anything. Glaring at him, she let go of her aura defence. Focusing, breathing heavily, she channelled all her remaining energy into one last devastating attack. He should hurt from this. Better yet, he should die from this.

She raised her wand hand, needing the movement to push out the magic in her weakened state. Snape’s eyes widened. Before she knew what was happening, he swiped her other arm out from under her. With a yelp, she lost balance and fell towards his chest.

Just as they collided, Snape wrapped his arms around her and rolled over, now trapping her under him. One hand gripped her wand hand, pressing it into the floor above her head. “Enough, Miss Granger!”

Hate blinded her vision. She would not lose to him. The magic still crackled in her grip, seeking release. Without caring whether she would hit herself with it, she released it. Pushed it upward and out, screaming as she did so.

The burst flung Snape away from her again, farther this time. With him, the last bit of her magic left her. Black spots dotted her vision, but she was not yet done. He had to know that he lost. He had to look into her eyes and understand that he was nothing.

Her arms and legs shook violently as she crawled towards him. His wand lay discarded on the floor next to him, his eyes were closed. With a thud, she planted her hands left and right from his face. He didn’t react. Gritting her teeth, she raised one hand. He still didn’t react. She could feel tears well up. This insufferable monster of a wizard.

With the last of her strength, she slapped him across the face.

His eyes fluttered open. For a long moment, she stared into those dark eyes, feeling all her hate focus on just his face. Snape blinked. No longer able to keep his carefully emotionless façade up, she could see everything in those eyes. Exhaustion. Resignation.

Good. Determined, she pressed the tip of her wand against his throat. “I won. Remember this moment, Snape. Remember that it was only the mercy of the lord you love so much that saved you from death this day.” She lowered her voice to an icy whisper. “One day, he won’t be here to save you.”

He only blinked in response. Then his features slackened and his eyes closed again. He lost consciousness.

With a grown, Hermione stood up. She could feel her body sway. The whole room was turning around her. The empty feeling of her depleted magic made her body throb with a dull pain. Everything ached.

Worst of all, the satisfaction that she hoped to feel did not come. She had thoroughly beaten Snape, but it didn’t feel good. All she could feel was hate and frustration. She took a step forward, but instantly, her vision blurred.

“My sweet.” She stumbled into the open arms of Voldemort. “I knew you would win again today, but you surpassed my wildest expectations.”

She swallowed as she again felt tears in her eyes. She would not cry, not again. She couldn’t. She shouldn’t. Not in front of Voldemort. Not over Snape.

“You did so well, my Hermione,” Voldemort purred into her ear as he embraced her tightly.

The strong hold of his arms was comforting. Desperately, she pressed her eyes shut, willing her tears away. But it was no use. Exhaustion and anger and that stupid feeling of betrayal all still coursed through her veins, holding her in a dark grip. Her lips trembled. A sob forced its way out and with that, everything broke.

Burying her face in his chest, she clung to Voldemort as tears freely rolled over her cheeks. He held her close, one hand stroking her back.

“It’s okay, sweet witch,” he murmured. “Good girl. You’re so good for me. So powerful for me. I have you. Don’t hold back. I have you.”

He swooped her into his arms then, carrying her out of the room as though she weighed nothing. All the way back to her room, he continued to whisper to her, telling her she was a good girl and how proud he was of her.

And with each word from his lips, she felt herself relax. Slowly, the tears stopped. With it, her body stopped shaking. Instead, deep, all-encompassing exhaustion seeped into her bones. Before they reached her room, she fell asleep in Voldemort’s arms.

Chapter Text

His witch was out longer than last time. Even now, an hour later, Voldemort still sat on the bed, cradling her head in his lap, while she slept her exhaustion off. He couldn’t leave her. What he witnessed today kept him spellbound to her bed, enthralled by the picture of her soft face resting peacefully after that demonstration of her power.

Right at the start he realised that she was far more advanced than he had assumed. When he touched her aura ever so slightly, he could feel it harden. However she did it, Hermione had obviously found a way to use her aura. That she was not only able to feel it, but already channel her magic into it, was astounding.

Severus showed now such change. Maybe it was simply because the wizard was not actively working on it. Or maybe he already reached his full potential. The fact was, compared to the last duel, his power was the same.

He slowly stroked her cheek. She was so young, yet already had so much magic in her. She would never reach his level, but she would stand at his side unrivalled in might otherwise. He had so much to teach her. It was not her fault that she lacked the proper tools to access all her power. The education at Hogwarts was carefully crafted to keep the true potential of everyone sealed. He himself had to travel the world to develop the skills that allowed him to conquer Britain.

It would be the first thing he’d change once he took over.

He felt Hermione shift and roll over, her eyebrows scrunched into a scowl. A soft groan left her lips, then she relaxed again. He was eager to wake her, but he knew he shouldn’t. It was important that her depleted magic had time to heal. Only then her power would grow little by little.

It was not just the depleted magic that had her so exhausted, he understood that. She had wanted to kill Severus. She was capable of violence and cruelty; he had witnessed that in her memories more than once. But seeing it with his own eyes. Seeing her use her hatred to squeeze every last bit of magic out of her to defeat and hurt Severus, that was something else entirely. She felt strongly for this man.

He would need to do something about that. It was hatred she felt, but it was still an intense emotion taking up way too much space in her heart. The only one who belonged there was he. Before today, he had been sure that Hermione Granger would hate nobody more than him. It was easy enough to turn hate into an obsession that chained her to him forever.

Now, he would have to find a way to first erase Severus from her heart. After today, killing him was no longer an option. Unresolved emotions would haunt someone forever. If Severus were dead, Hermione would not be able to let go of her hatred. If he killed him, she would forever resent that it was not her that did it. If she herself killed him, he would forever be the first person she ever killed. Either way, she wouldn’t be able to let go.

Voldemort leaned his head back and closed his eyes. That boy. So sharp, so cold. Out of everyone, he always thought Severus was the most trustworthy. Not just because they shared the vision. Many of his Death Eaters did. It was more than that. Severus was driven purely by logic and rational judgement. He always understood what was asked of him, where others asked inane questions.

Now, he was in the way, so very inconveniently a stumbling block in his relationship with Hermione. Even worse, he wasn’t sure the man could be trusted anymore.

Maybe he should accelerate what he started with the Occlumency lessons. He had wanted to take things slow, win her over little by little so she wouldn’t notice what was happening. After what he witnessed today, he wasn’t sure he had that time. He could not allow Severus to win any more of her heart, be it through hatred or otherwise.

Absentmindedly, his hand wandered to her throat. She was so fragile. Too thin after the many months on the run. He could break her neck without much effort. His fingers traced over the exposed skin. He would never get tired of feeling the soft warm smoothness of her, so precious, so easily destroyed.

“My lord?”

He smiled down at her. “Welcome back, my sweet. How are you feeling?”

She blinked slowly, clearly disoriented. “Exhausted. In a way I never felt before. Not even last time.”

His fingers still traced the outline of her throat, relishing in the feel of her quickened pulse under his fingertips. “You put not only your magic, but your heart into this fight. It’s only natural to feel depleted afterwards.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, as though carefully thinking that statement over. Then she looked at him again, a small frown between her eyes. “You should have let me kill him.”

He stroked her chin as he shook his head. “No. Severus is useful, despite my recent misgivings. And you, dear one, should not talk about killing so easily. You don’t know what it does to you.”

She snorted. “You want to lecture me on the effects of killing? As if you haven’t split your soul to create seven horcruxes?”

He gripped her throat a little tighter. “It is exactly because I did what you say that I tell you this. Splitting your soul is not something you should do on a whim.”

She pushed his hand away and sat up slowly, clinging to his shoulder for support. When she finally sat straight, he could hear her strained breathing. This witch really was at her limit, but she still had it in herself to argue.

“It’s not a whim. He might have killed Dumbledore on your orders, but it was still his doing. We were all counting on him. Of course, nobody fully trusted him, given his history, but we trusted Dumbledore and thus him. You cannot understand what it felt like to hear what he did.”

He pulled her close, encircling her with both arms as he pressed a soft kiss on her shoulder. “It was not on my orders. I thought you knew that. It was Draco who was supposed to kill Dumbledore. Severus only stepped in because the boy failed.”

To his surprise, she leaned into him more, letting her head rest against his chest. “Even worse. He is the ultimate lap dog, doing what his master says without need. If he wasn’t so eager to please you, Dumbledore might still be alive.”

“Hermione,” he whispered into her ear, “don’t exert yourself too much. He is just another Death Eater you should not care about.”

She shivered against him, but remained silent. For a long moment, they just sat there, her back pressed against his chest and side, as he listened to her slowly calming breathing. It was a marvel that she allowed this kind of intimacy.

“You called me by my name,” she suddenly stated.

“Does that bother you?”

She shrugged. “Would it bother you if I called you Tom?”

He stilled. He could feel something deep inside him grow hard and cold. As though his whole body froze for just one heartbeat. It was not right. That name belonged to his muggle father, the worthless man that thought he was better than a witch. It was not his name. It would never be his name. It was shameful, an insult.

“It does bother you, doesn’t it?”

He swallowed thickly. She sounded so genuine, so openly warm as she said that. As though she truly cared whether she hurt him. The warmth of her seeped into his cold body, reminding him of just how alive this little witch was.

“It’s an … unpleasant memory,” he finally admitted.

With a surge of strength he did not expect from her, Hermione turned around and threw one leg over his, straddling his lap. His hands moved to her hips automatically, reacting before he knew what he was doing. She on the other hand carefully put her hands on his cheeks, staring into his eyes with a warm determination that made him hesitate.

“You know, I learned this from Harry. And from you, kind of. Everyone only ever calls you You-Know-Who or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named when talking about you. Nobody dared to say Voldemort out loud.”

His lips twitched. “As they should. Made it easy for me to track your useless resistance.”

She rolled her eyes. “I know. Harry would never stop using that name. If it were not for his stupid bravery, we would have never been caught by the snatchers.”

He gripped her hips harder and pressed her more firmly against himself. She felt good on his lap, right where she belonged. “I’m glad that happened. It was what set all this in motion. Without your imprisonment here, you would have never ended up in poor Bella’s body.”

She moved, just the tiniest bit, almost imperceptible, but he noticed. He couldn’t help the grin on his lips as her cheeks reddened. His sweet witch couldn’t resist rocking against him when she felt him between her thighs.

Still blushing, she cleared her throat. “That’s not the point I wanted to make. What I wanted to say is that you fear your own given name just like everyone else fears your chosen name. Isn’t it time to change that?”

“I do not fear anything,” he hissed before he could stop himself.

“Oh, bullshit!” She rolled her eyes. “You fear death, at least, or else you wouldn’t have created the horcruxes. And you might not see it that way, but you hate your name because it reminds you of a past you don’t want to remember. That’s fear. Tom.”

It was just three letters. One short syllable. But it made him shiver. The way it rolled of her tongue, warm and soft and yet so confident. He could feel his body bristle, but there was more. His hands closed around her arms, gripping her tightly, as he held her completely still.

Leaning his head against her shoulder, he whispered, “Say it again.”

“Tom.”

It was he now who shivered. His spine tingled as goosebumps spread over his back. The old sensations he knew too well, the icy coldness and the stoney hardness in the pit of his stomach, were still there. But something else was happening, as though a wave of relief washed over him.

“Again,” he rasped, unable to stop whatever was happening.

She leaned closer, as close as the grip around her upper arms allowed her, while running her fingertips over his chest at the same time. “Tom.”

He groaned. He couldn’t stop himself. The way she said his name, his old name, felt more intimate than anything he ever experienced. It pushed away the hatred he usually felt, that cold stirring that reminded him of just how much he abhorred his father. In its place, there was only the need to hear her say it again and again.

Before he knew what he was doing, his lips were on her. There was nothing left but the burning need to devour her right here right now. Her surprised gasp as she felt his lips on hers only edged him on.

His hands slipped down again, caressing her perfect round arse before gripping her hips again, holding her still as he rocked against her. Without realising it, he was achingly hard. She moaned against his mouth, meeting his frantic movement just as she slung her arms around his shoulders.

He needed to claim her. Now. She needed to feel that she was his, mind, body, and soul. With a growl, he pushed her down, shoving the blanket away before settling between her legs. She did not protest. Instead, she opened herself to him, her arms above her head, her thighs clutching his hips.

He returned to kissing her, one hand slipping under her tight black jumper, the other a white-knuckled fist next to her face. The burning desire he felt for her in this moment consumed his every thought. She was his perfect little witch, soft against his hard body, warm against his coldness. So perfect for him. She didn’t resist. She would give whatever he wanted to take. So perfect.

“Tom,” she sighed as his fingers grazed her nipple. Her hip bucked against him, her eyes were closed.

He stilled. This word. His name on her tongue. It pulled him in like nothing before.

Cursing, he let go of her and sat back up. No, this was not right. He felt out of control, at the mercy of her pretty little song that consisted of just this one note. His name. He needed her to say it again. He needed her to never speak it out loud ever again.

He stared down at her, trying to calm his hammering pulse. She held his gaze, unblinking, lust shimmering in her glossy eyes. Her question was almost as silent as a breeze. “My lord?”

He clenched his fists. Yes. This was better. Shaking his head, he patted her cheek. “You’re overeager, my sweet. As always. But you need rest. I shall ask a house elf to bring you a warm meal, and then you should sleep some more.”

Slowly, struggling against her exhaustion, she sat back up as well. She looked at him with these honey-brown eyes, questioning, thinking, calculating. Then she nodded. “You are right. I apologise for that. I will refrain from using your name again.”

“No!” It was out before he could stop himself. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. “No. You don’t have to do that. I do not fear that name. Because it is just that. A name. If you want to use it, do it. I just delight in hearing you say my lord.”

She chewed on her lip. Her eyes were still on him and continued to show every thought that crossed her mind. Then something like a sly smile crept onto her lips. “Okay. I understand. My lord.”

He chuckled. “Cheeky little witch.”

He pressed a quick kiss against the top of her head, then he got up from the bed. With a wink of his wand, he summoned a house elf and commanded her to order a hearty meal, despite her reluctance. Then he placed another kiss on the back of her hand, before he stepped through the door leading to his room.

As the door closed behind him, a scowl appeared on his face. For several moments, he could only glare at the flimsy wood that separated him from his witch. Loathing flowed freely through his body, eating away at any triumph he felt earlier when he carried Hermione back to her room.

He couldn’t wait to have his body back. But that was still far off.

In the meantime, he should really proceed to the next phase of his plan.

It was time to involve the parents.

Chapter Text

Hermione couldn’t help the little spring in her step as she descended the stairs on Monday morning. Despite having to spend so much time with Snape, the weekend proved to be immensely insightful.

She finally had something that she could use against Voldemort.

Of course, she did not yet fully understand why his name made him react that way, but that was beside the point. What mattered was that it brought him almost literally to his knees. If she had known that she just needed to call him Tom to turn him into a desperate little puppy, she would have tried that sooner. She only did it, really, because she thought he would hate it, but this was far better.

Smiling, she opened the door to the breakfast room. Even seeing Snape sitting there, in his usual spot, couldn’t dampen her mood. She would have loved to kill him, but defeating him and testing her new found skill was the next best thing.

“Good morning, Miss Granger,” he greeted her, peering over the top of his newspaper. “You appear to be in an exceptionally good mood.”

She elegantly sat down on one of the chairs, purposefully choosing one in the middle of the table instead of the far end as she did before. Without dropping her smile, she held his gaze. “Of course. I beat you again after all, didn’t I?”

“Ah,” he made. For a moment, he fell silent, his eyes returning to the newspaper. Then, without looking back up, almost nonchalantly, he continued, “I thought you might have gotten permission to kill me.”

She almost choked on her tea. Coughing, she sat the cup back on the table and stared wide-eyed to the man who pretended to simply read the Daily Prophet. She could not believe her ears. Was he mocking her, knowing full well that Voldemort would never allow her to kill him? Was he gloating? Showing off his own importance? Why else would he talk about his own death so calmly?

She dropped her gaze to her plate. This had happened before. Snape never seemed to care whether he lived or died. If it was Voldemort’s wish, he would not fight against it.

“That is not something to joke about,” she hissed.

Finally, he folded up the paper and put it aside. She didn’t look up, but she could feel his inscrutable gaze on her. It made her hairs stand on end.

“Is it not?” Snape retorted. “Should I take your words at face value then? Truly believe that you intend to become a murderer by killing me?”

Again, he sounded disinterested. Even though she could feel his eyes burning into her. She shivered. For some reason, his words were similar to what Voldemort said the day before.

With a huff, she forced herself to meet his gaze. “Why is everyone so hung up on the murder thing? Isn’t everyone around here a murderer?”

Something flickered in his eyes. “Just because that is true of the residents of this house does not mean you should follow on that path, Miss Granger.”

She snorted. “If you haven’t noticed, professor, we’re at war. Death and killing is part of it, whether I like it or not.”

“I have noticed.”

Hermione suppressed a groan. This man was impossible to talk to. As just a teacher at Hogwarts, he used to be irritable and a man of few words, but she never noticed how aggravating it was to actually have a conversation with him. She never had a reason to.

“Why are you here, Miss Granger?”

The question caught her off guard. It was quiet and considerably less cold than his previous words. He had asked her that before, shortly after he discovered that she was a prisoner here. But this sounded different. Something in his voice sounded almost desperate.

“I don’t know why he wants me here. But if you want to know why I chose to come here?” It was the first time she said it like that. That it was her choice. Maybe it was time to admit that she indeed did choose this. “To find a way to rid the world of your beloved Dark Lord.”

Snape exhaled slowly and closed his eyes for a moment. She could only imagine how much he had to hold back his actual reaction to hearing those words. He probably wanted to kill her right then and there. But of course, like everyone else, he was bound to obey his master.

When he opened his eyes again, they were deep dark pools of molten lava that threatened to swallow her. It took everything in her to hold his gaze. The intensity of his stare sent goosebumps over her skin and she could barely keep herself from shivering. This was the Death Eater Snape, not her professor at Hogwarts or a member of the Order of the Phoenix.

“What?” Hermione snapped, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. “Did I hurt your feelings when I said I want to kill your precious master?”

He gave her a sharp, condescending smile. “No, Miss Granger, you did not hurt my feelings. Your answer is hardly surprising. You are Harry Potter’s best friend, after all.”

Harry Potter’s best friend. Of course, that was what Snape thought of her. What everyone thought of her. She couldn’t help the tinge of resentment she felt at those words. At least Voldemort saw her has a person in her own right. To him, she was not just an accessory to the Chosen One.

She blinked. From one second to the next, she felt heat creep into her cheeks. That she had even a single positive thought about that monster was wrong, so very wrong. Even if compared to Snape, Voldemort should never come out as the better person.

She took a deep breath. No. She felt good this morning. She felt optimistic. She would not let Snape take that away from her. Determined to not back down, she stared right back into his eyes. She was not a student at Hogwarts. She was not just Harry’s friend. She was Hermione Granger, a witch of considerable power, enough to tempt even the Dark Lord. Enough to overpower this dark wizard. She would not let him change how she felt.

To her surprise, Snape did not look away either. She could not shake the feeling that he was trying to read her mind. She swallowed. Was he? From the Occlumency lesson, she knew what it felt like when he slipped into her mind, but maybe that was just because he was actively teaching her. Maybe he could enter her thoughts without her noticing. If so, eye contact was the last thing she should allow.

No. He would see everything eventually during their Occlumency lessons anyway. He could see all her hatred towards him for all she cared. She sucked her lower lip between her teeth, pushing down the anxiety that he might look at all her intimate encounters with Voldemort. She noticed his eyes flicker to her lips for just a heartbeat. His face remained unchanged, just a cool exterior housing those deep black eyes that seemed to peer right into her soul.

“My, my, the tension is thick this early in the morning.” The chillingly cheery voice of Rabastan cut through their staring contest. “Still relegated to just pining after the mudblood, Severus?”

For just a moment longer, Hermione held Snape’s gaze. She could see his jaw working, the slightest movement that betrayed more emotion than she was used to seeing. The younger Lestrange clearly hit a sore spot, she was just unsure what exactly it was.

“I believe our lord made it clear that he expects us to show respect to Miss Granger,” Snape replied, watching the other wizard out of the corner of his eyes.

“You’re always so concerned with the literal words of our lord, Severus. The fact that I sit here, all limbs intact, is proof that he really doesn’t care about her,” Lestrange retorted as he slid into the chair exactly opposite of Hermione.

Snape looked at her again and raised an eyebrow in question. Hermione studied the silky sleeves of her emerald blouse for a moment, considering what the best answer would be in this situation. Everything she knew about Voldemort by now indicated that he would not let Rabastan’s behaviour slide. It was only a question of when he would retaliate.

Smiling her most seductive smile, she leaned over the table to stare right into his eyes. “You know, I almost forgot about that little incident. I probably should test your theory soon. What say you? Is the bet still on?”

He had the audacity to grin. “Sure. If you have a death wish.”

“What is this about, Miss Granger?” Snape’s cool words sent a chill down her spine.

Hermione felt like she could not take her eyes off Lestrange, but ignoring Snape felt equally impossible. Her good morning had turned sour way too fast. Taking a deep breath, struggling to keep up her smile, she turned to Snape.

“We had a slightly disagreement about my status in this house a couple of days ago, that is all,” she explained vaguely.

Lestrange scoffed. “I don’t think there’s really anything to disagree about. I insulted you, I hurt you, and here I am, untouched. Seems to me that you are not as protected as you want us to believe.”

Hermione could see the muscles in Snape’s neck tense. His eyes turned into fiery pits of tar, but when she blinked, his face looked impassive again. He simply inclined his head and replied, “I see. I agree with you, Rabastan. This really is not something where disagreement is possible. There is only one right answer, one obvious outcome.”

Lestrange snickered, but Hermione was not able to look away from Snape. Nothing changed in his face, and yet she felt like he was secretly smiling. Perhaps it was that sarcastic tone that gave her that impression? Whatever it was, his derision was not directed at her, that she felt sure of.

Without realising it, she chewed on her bottom lip. If anyone knew how sensitive Voldemort was about anything related to her, it was Snape. Why would he find amusement in the potential punishment of a fellow Death Eater? Or was he simply relieved that for once, Voldemort would not focus his attentions on him?

“You know, Granger, if you wanted to get into our lord’s good graces, you should start by not returning the sweet affection Severus shows you quite so obviously.”

Her eyes snapped back to Lestrange as she felt heat creep into her cheeks. What was it about this Lestrange that got under her skin so easily? She could feel her hands tremble from the anger gripping her body.

“I see your sharp tongue still outshines the sharpness of your mind. I applaud your confidence, Rabastan.”

Hermione took a deep breath. Rabastan Lestrange lived for riling others up, especially her. Snape on the other hand would never give her any reaction at all. These two were decidedly the worst people to spend a Monday morning with. The best thing she could do was ignore them, even if she felt an almost incontrollable rage at Lestrange’s words. They didn’t deserve to see her lose her good mood.

“What a joy it is to see the three people I favour most in this world get along so splendidly.” Hermione almost jumped out of her chair as she heard Voldemort’s silky voice from the open door. There he stood, wearing a black suit and black shirt that made him appear way too human and even more haunting at the same time.

“My lord,” Snape and Lestrange said in unison.

Expectantly, Voldemort looked at her. With a role of her eyes, Hermione joined in. “My lord. How wonderful of you to join us.”

Instantly, she could feel the eyes of both Snape and Lestrange on her. They clearly did not expect her to show any kind of respect towards the Dark Lord, especially Snape, after everything she said before. But she did not care. In his presence, she had a role to play.

He stepped around the table and pulled out a chair right next to her, sitting down as he laid one hand on her neck. She shivered. The easy intimacy that he showed felt entirely out of place and comforting at the same time. Perhaps she should put a stop to Lestrange’s antics right here, right now.

Turning her full body towards Voldemort, she put one hand on his thigh and leaned into his touch. Trying to ignore the heavy weight of Snape’s glare on her back, she smiled up at the Dark Lord. “My lord, there is still the matter of what Mr Lestrange said and did to me the other day. We never talked about that again.”

An indulgent smile played around his lips. “Indeed, my sweet. Is your patience wearing thin?”

She nodded emphatically. “Very much so.”

For a long moment, Voldemort seemed to contemplate her words as he silently stared into her eyes. She waited with baited breath. She had no doubts that he was fully on her side in this. But there was obviously something he was still unsure about, something he couldn’t quite decide.

Before she could ask about it though, he leaned down and pressed a quick kiss on her lips. Then he turned to Snape, a sinister grin on his lips. “Severus. Seeing as you are still a teacher, why don’t you educate Hermione in this as well?”

“My lord?”

Voldemort rose and stepped around the table, stopping right behind Lestrange’s chair. Hermione could not believe that this man still had the audacity to smile smugly. He truly did not understand the situation he was in right now. On the contrary, he seemed to enjoy the spectacle before his eyes, obviously expecting his lord to turn against her any moment.

“I believe my dear Bartemius once taught you the Unforgivables, my sweet? During your fourth year, if memory serves?”

Her mouth went dry. She could only nod.

“Now, Severus. Please refresh her memory. It is time that she puts her knowledge into practice, don’t you think?” He brought both hands down on Lestrange’s shoulders, gripping them hard. “Especially since we have such a willing test subject in our midst.”

Cold sweat formed in her neck. She had expected that Rabastan Lestrange would suffer for what he had done. That it would be she who inflicted that suffering was a shock. Hesitantly, she glanced at Snape. His face remained as impassive as ever, but judging from the way his right hand clenched into a fist, he was surprised by this turn of events as well.

She ran her tongue over her lips and tried to swallow the dry knot down her throat. Did Voldemort really expect her to cast an Unforgivable Curse? She looked back up at him. He was still smiling, but she could feel the predatory aura underneath it. He did indeed.

“Listen to me, Hermione.” His smooth voice demanded her attention. “Casting an Unforgivable Curse requires power, both magical and of the mind. Only the most advanced, confident wizards and witches succeed in it. I believe in you. You can do this.”

She could feel her heart beat faster. Yes. She could do this. Lestrange would never underestimate her again after this, if he survived. And perhaps Snape would stop looking down on her as well. A smile that mirrored Voldemort’s crept onto her lips.

“Very well. Teach me, professor.”

Chapter Text

“As you wish.” Snape’s words were quiet and measured.

With a nod to Voldemort, he got up and motioned Hermione to stand next to him. She hastened to follow his lead, casting just a quick glance at Lestrange. Finally, there was something like doubt in his eyes. As though he wasn’t sure what was going on. As though he simply could not believe that any harm would befall him under Voldemort’s watch.

With a wink of his wand, Snape disappeared the breakfast from the table before moving it to the side of the room. Now, only Rabastan Lestrange remained seated in the middle of the room, his pale face illuminated by the morning sun. Voldemort turned his chair slightly so he faced them, but his hands remained fixed on the shoulders. This man would not escape his fate.

Hermione could feel a tremor in her hand as she grabbed her wand. Swallowing, she searched for Voldemort’s eyes. He smiled at her, a mix of warmth and excitement that was strangely comforting. This wizard truly wanted to see her grow.

“The Cruciatus Curse is only successful if your intent matches your magic.” Snape’s cool words startled her out of her nervousness. “For most spells and charms, speaking the right words matched with the right wand movement will result in whatever you want to achieve. Curses, especially powerful ones like this, cannot be cast that way.”

She took a deep breath and nodded. “Yes. If I don’t want to hurt a creature, it will fail.”

He stepped closer, hovering directly behind her left shoulder. She could almost feel his heavy cloak sway against her thighs. Despite his cold exterior, his body exuded a warmth that enveloped her completely. She shuddered. He was too close. Disgust and anger swirled inside her, but she fought it down. She was here to learn from him. He would teach her.

His voice dropped to almost a murmur, his mouth too close to her ear, his tone not quite as blank as usual. “Everyone carries anger and hatred in them. These emotions fuel the Cruciatus. If you feel these for the person you want to curse, that would be easiest. But it is not necessary. Picture someone that you hate, that you truly loath. Remember what it feels like when you have to see them.”

He paused there, giving her a moment to follow his words. Memories from the day before, where all she wanted was to kill him, swirled through her mind. Heat rose in her as the anger pumped adrenaline through her veins.

“Good. That’s it. Let that emotion grow. It’s too big to contain within your small body. It is violent and powerful. It wants to destroy.”

The deep rumble of his voice sounded strangely seductive to her ears. Her breath quickened as her eyes stayed glued to Lestrange.

“You can let it out. You need to let it out. You know the word. No wand movement necessary, just the word and your intent. You want to harm; you want to hurt. You know it will feel good.”

She drew a shuddering breath as she tried to calm her trembling hand. The more Snape talked– the more he coaxed that emotion out of her–the more she realised how good of a teacher he really was. It stoked the fire of her hatred all the more.

Hermione raised her wand and pointed it at Lestrange. The lanky wizard smiled no more. His pale face was ashen, but he did not try to escape. The hands of Voldemort on his shoulders kept him where he was. She could see the confusion in his eyes, but also that he was truly resigned to his fate. If his lord demanded his torture, he would submit to it.

Snivelling, chinless worm.

“Crucio.”

The word formed easily on her tongue, slipping out with more determination than she knew she was capable of. With it, she could feel her magic being called upon, streaming out of her, taking all those toxic emotions with it. A red bolt erupted from the tip of her wand, instantly connecting with Lestrange’s chest.

The second it touched him, he jerked forward. Voldemort let go of him, smiling as the pale wizard fell from the chair and to the ground. For a moment, Hermione stared in wonder at the groaning and crying man in front of her.

Then, the echo of the curse reached her core. Eyes widening, she felt the horror she was inflicting. Though she felt no pain, every fibre of her being screamed at her to stop, to show mercy, to consider this human being. To show empathy.

In a flash, Voldemort was behind her. She still kept up the curse as she felt his lips on her ear. “Don’t hesitate now, my sweet. You’re doing so well. This man in front of you is not worthy of your mercy. He is trash, scum to be thrown out. He would do vile things to you if he could. Don’t be swayed. Remember your hatred. Keep channelling it. To him, you are just a mudblood. Inferior because of your birth. Show him. Show him that he is the one who is inferior.”

Strong arms encircled her. She no longer felt Snape’s warmth, replaced by the cool touch of Voldemort. He pulled her to his chest, one hand resting on her stomach, the other on her hip. Yes. She was strong and no one, least of all this mad wizard, would belittle her ever again. He deserved to feel pain. He had laughed as Bellatrix carved those bloody letters into her arm, torturing her with every stroke of her cursed blade.

She pushed all her empathy away, making room for only hatred and rage. Her magic was flowing freely, powering the curse even stronger than before. The weak wizard on the ground could only scream, arms and legs twitching uncontrollably.

“Yesss,” she heard Voldemort hiss, “that’s it. By Salazar, you are astounding, my sweet. I wish you could see yourself.”

With an almost feral growl, he pulled her head back and claimed her lips in an all-consuming kiss. Hermione could feel her connection to Lestrange break, could feel the curse end, taking all her anger with it. It was replaced by a heated desire. The need in Voldemort’s kiss, the way he grabbed her jaw and her hip, made her groan.

Never before had anyone found her magical prowess sexy. That he couldn’t stop himself from devouring her when she held nothing back made her weak in the knee.

“You’re dismissed,” he growled suddenly. “Both of you. Take Rabastan and leave.”

“As you command,” Snape replied.

Hermione couldn’t supress a chuckle. She heard the way his voice trembled, betraying just how unnerved he was by what he was seeing. Good.

She had no time to revel in his misery though. She could feel Voldemort’s hardness press against her, revealing just how much he had enjoyed her show. His tongue slipped into her mouth coaxing a desperate moan out of her. Still, he kept her back pressed against his chest, not allowing her to move. Her hands groped at the arm still holding her close, desperate for purchase, as she pressed her hips harder against him.

“Patience, my sweet,” he murmured into her ear.

From the corner of her eyes, she saw that Snape just now managed to pull Lestrange up into a half-way standing position. It was clear that he pointedly did not look at her, but she was sure he saw everything. This time, she felt no shame. No, she only felt elation. All those negative emotions she always kept bottled up, they finally were free, and instead of being ridiculed or scolded for it, she had a wizard at her side that relished her cruelty.

Cold, long fingers slipped under her clothes. Before she could do so much as blink, he pulled down her pants and slip, exposing her to the chilly air of the breakfast salon. When a finger stroked through her wet folds once, she could only groan. She didn’t realise that the whole ordeal had turned her on as well.

Just the softest click told her that the door closed only now. But before she could spend another thought on that, two fingers thrust into her.

“Fuck,” she moaned.

Closing her eyes, she let her head fall back against his chest. It took everything she had not to rock back into that hand. With trembling thighs, she kept as still as she could.

“My sweet witch,” Voldemort whispered. “So good. Always surpassing my wildest expectations. Always showing everyone that being a mudblood says nothing about talent or power.”

Heat pooled between her legs and with a jolt, Hermione noticed how a fresh wave of wetness leaked from between her thighs as the word left his lips. Trying desperately to supress another moan, she buried her teeth in her bottom lip.

“You liked that, mmh?” He sounded way too pleased with himself. “My precious little witch in all her pride. Fuck. You’re just so perfect.”

He held her steady as he started to pump his fingers into her. His lips found a sensitive spot on her neck and sucked, leaving her panting, barely containing her groans. His fingers felt so delicious, his praise so good, but she couldn’t give him the satisfaction to just melt. He couldn’t insult her like that and expect her to just take it.

“You still like to pretend you don’t want this.” She could hear a chuckle in his tone. “Your body betrays you every time, witch.”

She swallowed a moan before she dared to press out an answer. “Wanting something and showing a physical reaction to stimulation are two very different things.”

Instead of replying, he sped up the rhythm of his fingers. Cursing internally, Hermione buried her fingers in the soft fabric of his suit. It was not, in fact, the physical stimulation that got her. It was the feeling of his cock at her back, hard and hot. It was the strain in his voice as though he had to hold back. It was the way he claimed her in front of Snape despite saying that the other wizard would never get to see her like this again.

It was the way her open act of violence turned him on.

She could no longer hold back her moans. The image of Voldemort standing next to Lestrange’s twitching body, pupils blow wide, and then his claiming kiss kept replaying in her mind, stoking the fire that threatened to burn her whole.

Heat spread over her whole body. Everything felt sensitive and yet all she could really feel were his fingers inside her. Pressing her eyes close, her whole world seemed to shrink to this one sensation. She barely noticed how he pushed her against the wall. It was only the last bit of her consciousness that noticed the soft rustle of fabric.

Then, suddenly, his fingers vanished. Instead, she felt the head of his cock glide through her folds, way hotter than any other part of his body. For a breath, she went completely still. Excitement and lust warred with panic and denial. She didn’t dare to move, to breathe, to think.

One cool hand caressed her butt. “Relax, my sweet. I will not take this from you. You have to give it. I will patiently wait until you are ready.”

A tremor shook her body. He sounded warm and caring, but there was an edge to his voice that sent shivers down her spine. Voldemort had no doubt that sooner or later, she would give in. For him, it was a question of when, not if. And that scared her.

Slowly, his fingers entered her again. The stretch burnt this time, even though she was still wet. As though sensing her discomfort, he pumped into her with deliberate care. It was an almost languid movement, not intended to hastened her towards the cliff, but to stoke the remaining embers of her desire.

Through the heavy fog of her fear and rising lust, she heard something else. A slow sound of skin on skin, matching the rhythm of his fingers in her. She blushed.

“Sometimes, you really are sweet.” Voldemort chuckled. “You were magnificent today, Hermione. I could taste your hatred in the air as you tortured poor dumb Rabastan mercilessly. It took everything I have to not just rip your clothes off in that moment. So please forgive me if I now need release before I break my promise.”

A wave of pleasure washed over her. This wizard that everyone feared was helpless in front of her. He was not someone who would deny himself if he wanted something. He was not patient. But for her, he showed restraint.

With another curse on her lips, she gave in. Meating his fingers, she edged him on to pick up the pace. She wanted to feel all the pleasure he could give her.

As his fingers sped up, so did his other hand that wrapped around his cock. His low groans mingled with her increasingly desperate moans, filling the breakfast room with the unmistakable sound of sex. His two hands worked in tandem, driving her ever closer to the edge. At the same time, his groans sounded increasingly strained, his need palpable even though she could not see him.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, please, please, please.”

Hermione did not know what she was saying. A mess of words stumbled from her lips. All she knew was that she needed him to keep going, exactly like that. She could feel her orgasm, she was so close. She did not care that her moans turned into high-pitched whines or that her hips moved on their own. She wanted it. She wanted everything.

In the next second, his fingers were gone. For a moment, she thought that he just had to pause or change the angle. But then his hand came down on her butt, smacking it once before sliding her blouse up. His free hand curled around her waist. Still, she could hear the other hand around his cock working.

“My lord! Please! I’m so close!”

The grip of his hand tightened, but otherwise, he made no motion to answer her pleas. Instead, his groans turned into heated growls. Turning her head just slightly, she could see his hand working furiously, his eyes glued to the tiniest sway of her butt cheeks as she tried to wiggle her hips.

Suddenly, he pushed her blouse even further up her back, exposing more of her overheated skin to the cool air of the sun-bathed room. He leaned forward until his head rested on her shoulders. The sound of his growls and his heavy breathing was almost deafening, but it fanned the flames of her own arousal. By Merlin, she needed him to touch her. To bring her to completion.

“My sweet witch,” he rasped into her ear. “My perfect Hermione. You’re mine. Mine.”

On the last word, she felt him shudder and then, drops of hot liquid splashed onto her butt and her back. He did not stop his hand until every last bit was squeezed out. And even then, he kept her pressed against the wall, his breath hot in her neck, one hand idly massaging his cum into her skin.

“You’re mine, Hermione,” he finally told her. “Mine. But remember. Until you understand, you will have to suffer. I will bring you no high until you recognise the issue in your behaviour and fix it.”

Chapter Text

“How’s their status?”

Voldemort looked expectantly at the wizard sitting across the table from him. He was one of the few Death Eaters who could match Severus in mind and power. If anyone was capable of the task at hand, it was him.

“Stable,” Antonin Dolohov replied, his voice sounding confident. “The magic was powerful and precise. Their minds could have easily been damaged, but I am seeing no signs of that.”

Voldemort smiled. Of course, his witch would be able to create her own memory charm, expanding on the power of a simple Obliviation, and making sure it did no harm. That she dared to do this to her own parents showed just how far she was willing to go if she believed it the right thing to do.

“And the other task?”

Dolohov scoffed. “I’m an expert in curses and curse breaking. I’m not exactly the guy to create a magical artefact.”

“I do not care what you like or dislike. I told you I need results today.”

The other wizard rolled his broad shoulders, but then he nodded. “I asked Thorfinn to help out. It is complete and functional.”

“Show me.”

Dolohov got up and gestured to a tall item covered by a white cloth that stood in the corner of his office. He pulled the cloth aside and revealed a mirror underneath it. Intrigued, Voldemort stepped next to him and inspected the full-body mirror.

Flicking his wand in a very simple movement, Dolohov said, “Ostendo.”

Immediately, the mirror morphed from showing a reflection of them to something else. The surface seemed to ripple like water after throwing in a stone. Then, the image reformed and showed the interior of a different house, viewed from a slightly elevated angle. Two people were moving about in a small, cozy kitchen, silently preparing a meal.

Voldemort studied the scene in front of him. “A silent image?”

“As you requested,” Dolohov confirmed.

“Good. I am pleased with your work, Antonin.”

A smirk crossed over his lips, but he only inclined his head as a sign of acknowledgement. Then he raised his wand again, repeating the same movement, but with a different word. “Abdito.”

Again, the surface rippled until the moving image disappeared and only the two men standing in the small office were reflected. It was an impressive piece of magic, Voldemort had to admit. Not for the first time he realised how useful Dolohov was, even outside his violent, aggressive tendencies.

“They are being watched?” He knew the answer to that of course.

“At all times. Nobody will be able to contact them without us knowing. They are safe,” Antonin immediately confirmed. “They’re in Glasgow. Seemed like the best choice for now. Far away from London, but still big enough for them to be lost among all the muggles. They won’t be found.”

“Keep that up.”

The other wizard nodded. “I always do.”

Voldemort studied his own reflection. When the magic was dormant, the mirror was just that: a simple mirror. These days, he enjoyed seeing himself. The body that once felt so alien, so wrong, he was now used to. He understood that his new face lacked the innate charm he used to have before his not-quite-death, but he did not care. It evoked fear in most everyone, which was all he wanted.

Only his sweet witch saw him differently. He could see it in her eyes whenever she looked at him. She never showed him fear just because of his strange features. On the contrary. She was intrigued. Maybe she saw it as he did. A miracle of magic, a proof of power that nobody else possessed. She was always curious. Her thirst for knowledge knew no bounds. If she thought she could gain access to ancient secrets or acquire a new power, nothing could deter her.

So determined. So clever.

And yet so naïve. Perhaps it was just her age. She was only 18 after all. But it was more than that. He had already killed at that age. Understood the world in a way few did. Age played little role in his mind. No, what hindered her was her belief that people were good.

It mattered not. Her belief was what made the whole thing so sweet. She would see humans for what they really were and then break. Someone like her, so full of ambition and hunger, would break beautifully.

His cock twitched. He wanted to break her in more ways than one, but he had to be patient. Ever since she landed in his bed, trapped in Bella’s body, patience had become his most valued attribute. Every step along the way was marked by his endless patience. He would not falter now, regardless of how much she tempted him.

A soft knock on the door brought him back to reality. As much as he fantasised about taking her, claiming her, he knew that it would never measure up to how it would feel once he actually had her.

“Come in,” he called without taking his eyes off the mirror.

The door opened noiselessly and his witch slipped into the room, closing the door just as quietly. “You summoned me?”

He chuckled. “Such formality. Come here, my sweet, I have a surprise for you.”

He watched from the corner of his eyes as she sat down a stack of books on his desk before she stepped next to him. So, she had been in the library when he sent a house elf to fetch her. Of course, that was where she spent all her time.

“I’m not sure I’ll like any surprise you have for me.” She eyed him warily from the side.

“You will like this one, I promise.” He pulled her closer, circling her waist with one arm, as he gestured to the mirror in front of them. “I was finally able to locate your parents.”

She went rigid in his arms. “My parents?”

“I know, I know,” he said quietly. He pressed a kiss against her temple and rubbed her arm with his free hand. “You sent them away exactly to prevent this. I understand. You thought them in danger because of me.”

He could feel her body tremble and her breath come in short, harsh puffs. Her brown eyes stared at him in the mirror, wide in shock and horror. For the first time since he got her, she seemed to feel real fear. He held her even closer.

“It’s okay, Hermione. I mean no harm. I searched for them because I saw in your memory what you did.” He spoke softly, never breaking eye contact with her through the mirror. “You crafted a whole new spell for your purpose. An astounding feat. But not without its dangers. The longer your parents are under your spell, the higher the chance that they would never be able to remember you.”

She blinked, slowly, deliberately, as though she was questioning what he was saying. He continued, “I know you love them dearly. I saw it throughout all your childhood. I did not want you to lose them. So, I looked for them. And now, finally, I recovered them.”

“Why?” Her question was nothing more than a whisper. “I’m here. I have no intention of running away. You know that. Why kidnap them?”

He shook his head emphatically. “You misunderstand. It is not my goal to use them against you. Let me show you.”

He pulled out his wand and quietly spoke the word Antonin had shown him. In an instant, the mirror displayed the same house again. This time, the couple sat on a couch, enjoying a glass of wine as they silently talked.

A sob rocked Hermione’s small body. Gently stroking her arm, he whispered, “You see? They are just living their life. I truly mean no harm.”

For several moments, the little witch stared at the mirror, her body shaking from barely contained sobs, as tears streamed down her face. Then she blinked them away, forced her emotions down. He could feel her body bristle under his touch. “Do they remember me?”

He showed her a sad smile. “Not yet. We are working on it. We only just found them. It will take time.”

“I didn’t–” Hermione stilled, shaking her head in desperation. “I had to do it. Even at the risk of them never remembering me. What choice did I have?”

“I understand,” he purred. “You are as powerful as you are brave. You thought I might use them against you, so you sent them away. It was a rational, clever thing to do.”

“But in vain,” she hissed, sudden anger flaring up in her eyes as she stared up at him. “You still found them. How much more control do you need? How much will it take until you are satisfied?”

He turned her around slowly. “I meant what I said, Hermione. This is a surprise for you. It’s not a threat. It’s not about control. It’s about giving you a chance to one day reconnect with the parents that you love so much.”

She scoffed. “Don’t insult me by pretending to do this out of the goodness of your heart. I know better.”

She was not backing down. It was not unexpected, but Voldemort still felt a flicker of annoyance at her insistence. Sighing, he cupped her face with his hand and forced a warm smile back on his lips.

“You are right. This is not just altruism. I did it to prevent the Order from finding them. If they had them, they could use them against you. Just like you accuse me of doing, they could do the same. Kidnap them, threaten them, to make you comply against your better judgement.”

Uncertainty flickered in her eyes, but it was immediately replaced by anger. “We don’t play games like that. Harry would never allow them to do that. Not that Remus or Kingsley would even dream of doing that in the first place.”

He nodded slowly, pretending to accept her argument. “You are right, of course. We only recently started to look for them and it was easier than I thought to discover where they went. If we had an easy time finding them, the Order would have gotten to them long before us if they ever intended to kidnap them.”

There it was. The tiniest twitch in her eyebrow. An almost imperceptible narrowing of her eyes. She heard what he said. And she was putting it together. The expression vanished as quickly as it appeared, but it was enough. The seed was planted.

“So? What now?” Her tone was aggressive again, her eyes full of steely determination.

He motioned her to turn back around and look into the mirror again. “We will work on recovering their memories. I cannot say how long it will take. But I promise you, as soon as it is safe, you will get to meet them. They don’t know of our existence yet. If you wish to keep them in the dark, we will work unseen, unnoticed.”

“Can I … can I see them? I mean, visit them?”

“No. Not while their memories are altered. It could … hinder the recovery.”

He watched as she slowly nodded, accepting his reasoning. She really was trusting, even with him. He had thought of putting the second part off for just a little while longer. Waiting for a better moment, giving her time to recover from the shock. Accepting the new reality.

But perhaps it was better to do it now. Her initial shock was replaced by a tentative hope that he actually was true to his word. When, if not now, would be a better opportunity?

He vanished the image in the mirror. Hermione’s expression fell, clearly affected by having her parents ripped away from her so easily again. But it was only sadness he saw, not anger or annoyance.

Or doubt.

“I have another surprise for you, my sweet.” He paused, waited to see her reaction.

She did not disappoint. A long sigh, followed by a small shake of her head. “Out with it, then. It can’t be more shocking than the revelation about my parents.”

“You would not want to bet on that,” he retorted. “I will allow you to visit the Order of the Phoenix tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

“No.” Narcissa Malfoy’s voice had a steely edge to it. “That won’t do, Miss Granger.”

Hermione could only roll her eyes. It was already absurd enough that she stood in front of her wardrobe with Malfoy’s mother of all people. Having her tell her what to wear when meeting her friends was not acceptable.

“My friends aren’t like you,” she argued. “They don’t care what I wear. I’ve been on the run with Harry and Ron for months, the same old dirty clothes on our bodies without change. It really, truly doesn’t matter what I’m wearing.”

Mrs Malfoy turned her whole body towards her, a strained smile on her lips. “Listen to me, Miss Granger. These people are no longer your friends. You must understand that.”

She laughed. “Nothing will ever change my relationship to them. We don’t turn that easily on each other.”

“Our lord warned me of your naiveté, but I thought you more discerning than that.” Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but the older woman cut her off immediately. “No. You will listen to what I have to say. If you then still choose to wear whatever that is–,” she gestured vaguely at her jeans and jumper, “then fine, be my guest. But I promised the Dark Lord to prepare you for the visit, so that is what I will do.”

With a sigh, Hermione relented. She could understand where Mrs Malfoy was coming from. She was surrounded by Death Eaters, after all. She only ever knew backstabbing, scheming people in her life. Of course, she would never believe that other people, normal people, actually could form friendships that went deeper than that.

“You have been gone for weeks. You show up at their safe house unexpectedly, which will already raise their suspicion. They will wonder how we know where they are. That alone will put them on edge.” She spoke slowly as though talking to a child. “Then they will remember the manner of your disappearance. This kiss, which I am told you shared with our lord in full view of most of them.”

Hermione shivered. She had hoped that nobody else remembered that kiss. It was one point that she had to give the other witch. Despite her best attempt at explaining what had happened, that kiss would linger in their minds.

“Then,” Narcissa Malfoy continued, “they will remember that you are a young witch. A muggleborn witch.”

“You really need to talk to people outside your own circles. Nobody cares about blood purity. Seriously.” She could not keep the exasperation out of her tone.

“As always, you deliberately misunderstand me. This is not about blood purity. This is about the fact that you are young and have been brought up outside the wizarding world. You do not know the First Wizarding War. You have heard of it, probably studied it extensively, given your thirst for knowledge. Maybe you even listened to stories the older members of the Order of the Phoenix told you.” Narcissa’s words were cold and aggressive, her patience obviously wearing thin. “But you have not lived it. The older members who don’t know you well will question whether you truly understand the horrors our lord allegedly unleashed on the world. Those are the members among the Order that have influence.”

“Harry trusts me and everybody will trust in him. Even if they don’t trust me, his judgement counts.” She couldn’t help the bad taste her own words left on her tongue. She hated having to rely on being Harry Potter’s best friend. She would rather others saw her for what she was, but she knew that would actually be naïve.

The older witch laughed, a cruel, humourless sound. “Harry Potter is the last person to trust anyone. He is blinded by hatred. Have you already forgotten his single-minded obsession with Draco?”

“And he was right in that, wasn’t he?” Hermione shot back. “We were the ones not listening to him, but he was right. It wasn’t just blind hatred. He was the only one who actually saw what was happening.”

“The point is,” Narcissa snapped back, sounding truly angry now, “he had no basis for his claims. It was a childish antipathy that drove him to suspect Draco at every turn. The point is that Harry Potter is easily swayed by his emotions. Do you truly believe his love for you is bigger than his hatred for our lord?”

She stumbled back as though hit. That question hit her harder than she wanted to admit. As much as she hated being only ever seen as Harry Potter’s best friend, she knew deep down that even that was not true. Ron was his best friend. More than once did she witness the boys ignore her for the sake of keeping their own friendship. Harry never forgave her for breaking his wand while escaping Godric’s Hollow, but when Ron showed up out of nowhere after abandoning them for weeks, he harboured no resentment at all. He welcomed him back with open arms.

The world saw her as nothing more than an accessory to the Chosen One. Could she even call herself that?

She swallowed. Something dark and nasty seemed to scratch at the back of her mind. It made her heart pound and her head swim. This was not a path she should walk down.

“What does any of that have to do with my clothes?” Hermione whispered, suddenly afraid to look Narcissa Malfoy in the eye.

“If they don’t trust you and don’t respect you, you will be in trouble. As I explained before. Clothes can be a battle armour. Show them that you are an adult witch and they will listen to what you have to say.”

“Why do you care whether they’ll listen to me? Don’t you want the opposite?”

The other woman shook her head. “I couldn’t care less, Miss Granger. But I am at our lord’s command and he wants this visit to be good for you. So, here I am, providing advice, however ill it is received.”

Hermione sank down on her bed. This only brought her back to a question she had ever since Voldemort mentioned the visit the day before. Why would he allow her to go? Of course, she knew that she couldn’t run, and he knew that she knew. But even in the one short hour that he allowed her for the visit, she could share any number of secrets with the Order of the Phoenix.

Was he so confident that nothing she had witnessed would be of any help? But even then. What was the purpose? She was sure that there was something he was getting out of this. Just like she did not believe he found and brought back her parents out of the goodness of his heart, she did not doubt for one second that this visit would benefit him.

She rolled her shoulders back. This was not something she could solve right this moment. Despite all her misgivings, Narcissa Malfoy took her time to help her out. The least she could do was pay attention.

“Fine. I don’t think my clothes matter either way, but if it makes you feel better when I wear a shiny pureblood outfit, we can do that.”

Narcissa gave her a tight-lipped smile. Then she turned back to the wardrobe and inspected her new array of dresses, blouses, pants, and skirts. With a quick swish of her wand, she summoned a collection of matching clothes that made Hermione groan. She could see the vision, but she hated it. Sighing once more, she allowed the other witch to help her change,

Hermione swayed slightly as she tried to recover from the side-along apparition. While she had no problem apparating herself, side-along still made her sick. That she had to cling to the muscular arm of Antonin Dolohov of all people made the whole ordeal worse.

“Here we are, little lion,” the huge wizard growled, though he did not let go of her.

She blinked several times, taking in her surroundings. “Are we … are we in Kent?”

“That’s right. Some kind of protected land or something. Strictly controlled by the muggles, so nobody ever strays off the assigned paths. Ideal to hide.”

Carefully, she slid her arm free from his grip. Every fibre of her body felt nauseous just touching him. She was thankful for the cool breeze. It seemed to wash away the itchiness that Dolohov’s closeness caused on her skin. Even her scar that burned ever since he first took her arm slowly settled down to a mild hum.

Around them, barren hills and valleys stretched as far as the eye could see. It was a beautiful, almost untouched natural landscape that she had only seen once in her childhood. Somewhere here, the Order had set up their new headquarters, if Dolohov was to be trusted.

“Come on, little one. We’ll have to walk a bit. Wouldn’t want to alert anyone to our coming too easily, would we?”

With a huff, she grabbed the shimmering satin of her floor length dress and raised it just enough to not step on the hem. The green dress would not be out of place in the Middle Ages and now having to walk through muddy hills in this expensive cloth made Hermione feel all the more ridiculous.

She could appreciate Narcissa’s thinking. It was impressive, clinging to her upper body like a second skin, while cascading down her hips in an impossibly smooth flow. It was both regal and soft, carrying an air of confidence as well as warmth. Combined with the short silver cape that barely covered her breasts and elbows, it made her look more grown-up than she truly felt. But she still was not convinced it was the right choice for meeting her friends.

After about five minutes, Dolohov stopped and looked straight down into a valley. Hermione could see nothing out of the ordinary there, but she knew that any magically protected building would not be visible.

“Now what?”

The tall wizard short her a wolfish grin. “Now you will see the power of properly collected intelligence.”

He raised his wand. As he stared straight ahead Hermione could see his lips move in a silent spell. Then, the air glimmered. Like a curtain falling, a wooden building reminding her of the Burrow flickered into existence.

She gasped. “Was that a Fidelius Charm? Are you a Secret Keeper?”

Dolohov barked out a laugh. “We don’t have quite that far of a reach. It’s a similar spell to protect and hide buildings. A Fidelius Charm is actually super annoying to deal with if more than a handful of people want to regularly use a location, so a more flexible version was created. This one still prevents those in the know to unwillingly divulge the information, but they can share it with whomever they want, and anyone who knows it can in turn share it as well.”

“You mean to tell me that someone from the Order shared this secret location with you?”

“It would appear so, would it not?” He sounded entirely too pleased with himself as he said that.

Hermione quickly crossed her arms in front of her chest to prevent him from seeing how her hands trembled. Perhaps this was the reason Voldemort wanted her to go. To show off that nothing, even the ever-secretive Order of the Phoenix, was beyond his reach. When he first introduced the idea of her visiting her friends, it had not even crossed her mind what that would imply.

Voldemort could attack them at any time. That he chose not to do so showed a confidence in his own superiority that made her shiver. Was there truly no hope for them?

Shaking her head, she met Dolohov’s predatory gaze. “And now? Are you to accompany me to the doorstep?”

He grinned broadly. “No, my lady. That would probably be too much of a good thing. I will come back in exactly one hour. It is up to you how you wish to spend that hour.”

When she looked at him questioningly, he bowed down and whispered into her ear, “If I were you, I would think twice before entering that lion’s den.”

Without giving her time to answer, he disapparated. Despite the warm spring sun, Hermione shivered as she gazed down at the house. She was sure that the Weasley’s would all be there at least. Her second family. She longed to see them. Now that she was here, she realised how utterly alone she had felt the past few weeks.

But Dolohov’s words were still on her mind. As was Narcissa Malfoy’s warning. If Voldemort let her come here, it could not be a good thing for her. Something was very, very wrong.

Or perhaps it was all just mind games. His followers dropping hints that she shouldn’t be happy about seeing her friends. His confidence that she would gain nothing from the visit. Maybe he counted on the fact that at the last second, she got cold feet and decided against going down into that valley.

“They’re your friends,” she murmured to herself.

There was nothing to fear. Purebloods and Death Eaters would never know the closeness she had with her found family. They would always underestimate how far each and everyone of them was willing to go for her. How far she was willing to go for them.

Holding her head high, she descended down the sloping hill.

Chapter Text

Hermione did not expect the hostile greeting that waited for her as soon as she knocked on the door. The instant her knuckles connected with the wood, the door swung open and an enraged Remus Lupin grabbed her by the throat. Before she could so much as utter a single syllable, he dragged her inside and pushed her against the wall, one hand still around her throat, the other pressing the tip of his wand against her chin.

“Harry,” he barked out, “ask her something. Something only the real Hermione Granger would know.”

Only now did she notice that she was in a rather welcoming living room and that several more people looked at her with a similar expression to the one Remus showed her. It was fair of him to demand proof of her identity, but the aggressive nature of his question annoyed her.

“What did you tell Ron and me after we saw Fluffy for the first time?” Harry sounded on edge, but she could see in his eyes that he had no doubt about her identity.

For a moment, she was confused by the question, not quite remembering the incident that happened so many years ago. But then it came back to her. Heat crept into her cheeks as she recalled the words that Ron would use to tease her endlessly for many months.

“I’m going to bed before either of you have another clever idea that might get us killed, or worse, expelled.”

A low chuckle rippled through the crowd of red-haired people watching the exchange. Remus stared at her for a moment longer, but then he relented and let go of her. “Sounds like that was the right answer.”

She had no time to reply. As soon as Remus stepped back, Ron and Harry pulled her into a big hug, almost squashing her between their bodies. Coughing and laughing, she returned the hug. For several seconds, all she could do was breathe in their familiar smell and enjoy the feeling of finally being with her friends again.

“Now, boys, let Hermione come in,” Molly Weasley shouted from the back of the room.

Grinning, she noted that both held on a little longer, but then they complied and allowed her to greet the rest of the Order members that were assembled here. Every single Weasley outside of Percy and Ginny was here, as well as Remus, Tonks, Fleur, and Dedalus Diggle. The latter seemed to be needing a break from taking care of Harry’s relatives, who, even after all these months, still were as unfriendly to the wizard as ever.

She left her short cape at the door. While she sank down onto a bright red sofa, she shot Remus a teasing glance. “You know, the question actually wouldn’t help you if I was You-Know-Who in disguised. He accessed all of my memories, after all.”

She meant it as a joke, but instantly, the room grew quiet. Even Ron, who up until a second ago wore a stupidly huge grin, suddenly looked anxious.

Scratching her neck, she dropped the smile. “Sorry. Probably not the best joke to make right now.”

Harry put a hand on her thigh. “Don’t worry, Hermione. I know you are you. Even without any question. There’s no faking being Hermione Granger.”

“It begs the question though,” Remus interjected as he took the armchair next to her, “how are you here? Did you escape?”

She took a deep breath. This was the serious part, the one where she had to tell them the uncomfortable truth about what she had just witnessed. “I did not. In truth, he allowed me to visit. I have exactly one hour. While I don’t fully understand his motives, there is one very obvious thing your question raises, Remus. How am I here? I was escorted by a Death Eater. He knew exactly where to go and how to lift the protection around this house.”

A mix of gasps and groans filled the living room. Opposite her, the twins buried their heads in their hands. “Not again. We just established this base.”

“Somebody leaked our safe house.” Fleur’s melodic voice cut straight to the heart of the matter. “Someone here is working with You-Know-Who.”

Molly instantly shut that down. “Nobody here would ever! But we’re not the only ones who know about this place. Most Order members have access. It could be anyone.”

Silence stretched between them. Hermione felt guilty, knowing that her coming suddenly didn’t feel joyful at all anymore. But she also knew that whether she was here or not, Voldemort would have still known about this place.

“We have to find out who it was. Until we know who the leak is, we will never be able to hide.” Dedalus Diggle’s brittle voice cut through the tension.

“He is right,” Hermione agreed. “I cannot help you with that though. I only have so little time. There are other things we need to talk about. Things I want to know.”

“Hermione, look.” Charlie pushed himself away from the wall and stepped next to the armchair Remus was sitting in. “If you are to return to him, we cannot share anything with you. You have to understand that.”

She nodded. “I know, absolutely. I understand that. I don’t want to know what you’re planning, how the Horcrux hunt is going or anything. I mean, I do want to know, but I understand I can’t. But there is … there is one thing I feel like I have a right to ask.”

Again, the room fell silent. She could feel her own anxiety rise. She had to ask, but she dreaded the answer. Ever since yesterday, she had this sinking feeling that she wouldn’t like the truth.

“My parents,” she finally managed to press out. “Did you … did you look for them?”

She saw Remus next to her lower his eyes. Even Ron and Harry, who sat to the left and right of her on the sofa, suddenly weren’t able to meet her eyes. The hole in her stomach seemed to grow.

“We did,” Remus eventually replied. “Right after you left, we started looking. We followed up on the clues you gave us. But we weren’t able to find them. Whatever you did to their memories, it made them cover their tracks thoroughly. We’re not giving up hope, but it’s been weeks. To be honest with you, Hermione, we have little to go on right now.”

She balled her hands into fists. They were lying. The way nobody here was able to meet her eyes. The way they pretended her parents were too hard to find. It was all lies. They probably never looked in the first place. Or only half-heartedly. She was just Hermione Granger, accessory to Harry Potter, not someone important. Nobody even thought about protecting her parents in the first place, that was all her own doing. Nobody offered, nobody asked.

And when she asked for help, they promised but didn’t actually do anything.

“Okay,” she whispered. She didn’t want to tell them that she knew they were lying. There was already a strain on the relationship she had to these people. She didn’t want to push it further. Fighting about this was pointless anyway.

“How are you, Hermione?” It was George of all people who was the first to ask her that. Everyone else in the room just stared at her like they didn’t know what to do with her.

She swallowed. “Fine, all things considered.”

“Are you truly?” Ron’s voice sounded small and defeated. He still didn’t look at her.

She couldn’t help the slight tremble in her hands, regardless of how hard she balled her fists. He sounded so truly concerned, it made it hard for her to keep her cheery exterior up.

“Nothing happened to me. I promise. It’s not easy living among those people, especially with all three Lestranges under the same roof. But, as insane as it sounds, You-Know-Who told them to leave me be, so nobody has touched me.”

“Have you heard anything?” Harry’s hand was still on her thigh, providing a little comfort, a little warmth. “Anything that might help us?”

She shook her head. “I wish I had. I know that he’s planning something. And that it involves me, somehow. Maybe also Snape. But I don’t yet really know what that is.”

“Snape?” Harry’s calm voice instantly switched to angry. “Is he there as well?”

She shot him a humourless grin. “Yeah. I have to take my breakfast with him every day. And I have to train with him. Don’t ask me why. I wish I knew. But hey, at least I get to beat him up every so often.”

Fred chuckled at that. “So you’re showing the dungeon bat not to mess with a Gryffindor?”

She nodded. “He’s actually not that impressive or dangerous. In You-Know-Who’s presence, he’s nothing more than a snivelling lap dog.”

That seemed to lift the spirits of everyone in the room again. Everyone at least was in agreement that a miserable Snape was a good thing. Still, she felt more alone here among all the Weasleys than she had anticipated. They were afraid to share anything with her, and she wasn’t sure they believed her when she said she had no new insights to tell them.

Maybe this was the reason Voldemort felt so comfortable letting her go.

Determined to not let this visit end like that, she took a deep breathe and stood up. “I’d like to talk to Harry and Ron alone, if possible. Maybe we can sit down somewhere outside? It’s nice and warm today.”

The boys instantly got up as well and eagerly agreed to it. As she grabbed her silver cape, she saw Remus whisper intently to Harry. Rolling her eyes, she took Ron’s hand and pulled him outside. She had no patience to wait.

Climbing up the hill she first landed on, she selected a flat boulder to sit on, indicating Ron to do the same. He shuffled close to her, their shoulders touching just barely.

“Don’t mind Remus. He’s stressed being a new father and having to basically lead the Order.”

She blinked. “What about Kingsley?”

Ron paused, as though he was searching for the right words. “Kingsley is … he has other stuff to do. Important. It’s a good thing, really, but someone had to step in for him, and there was nobody else but Remus. And he really is not someone who can lead.”

She let out a heavy sigh. “Let’s not talk about the Order. We both know you can’t share anything. It’ll just make me feel bad.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“How are you?”

Hesitantly, Ron reached out and took her hand into his. It was an intimate gesture, more forward than she was used from him. It only made her heart all the more heavy.

“Can’t say I’m okay,” he admitted. “Feels like everything’s falling apart without you. Especially Harry. I think he blames himself for what happened. Because it was his idea with the bloody ritual that got you into this mess in the first place. And now, the one mission he got, he can’t do. There are no horcruxes to hunt.”

She sucked in her breath. “What?”

Ron blushed, but immediately shook his head. “Not like You-Know-Who doesn’t know about it. Whatever horcruxes are left, he seems to have recovered them and moved them somewhere else. We did figure out that most of them were at Hogwarts, you know. But they’re not there anymore. That one ghost, the Grey Lady, told us that he suddenly showed up and took a diadem. Ginny also said that You-Know-Who was at Hogwarts shortly after he took you. So, no question what happened.”

Cursing, Hermione rubbed her hands over her face. Of course, he would do that. She had always guessed that he would realise they were destroying his horcruxes sooner or later. But now, with all her memories at his disposal, he obviously knew he had to protect them. It made sense that he moved them somewhere nobody could find them.

From the valley, she saw Harry climb up the hill towards them. He looked angry.

Chapter Text

“What did he want?” Hermione asked as soon as Harry reached them.

He plopped down onto the ground with an exasperated huff. “Remus wants me to make sure you’re still with us. Figure out your allegiance.”

“He really needs to back off,” Ron hissed.

She couldn’t help the sad smile that formed on her lips. It wasn’t entirely unexpected, and in his situation, she would probably do the same. It still hurt. “Don’t worry about it. He’s right.”

“No, he’s not!” Harry glared at her. “Without you, I would have been dead so many times! I know there is nothing that would make you turn from me. I mean it, Hermione. I know you wouldn’t do that.”

Tears welled up in her eyes. This was what she had missed. This stupidly loyal boy. The way both Harry and Ron believed in her without question. They might act like ungrateful babies at times, but she knew they would never doubt her. Where everyone at Malfoy Manor always doubted her, these two would always trust her.

She blinked the tears away. “Trust without doubt is meaningless. When there is no room for doubt, there is no room for trust either. You can’t simply believe in me. Believe without doubt is simply a lie.”

“You spend too much time with backstabbing Death Eaters, Hermione. There is no reason to doubt you, not for a second.”

She elbowed Ron softly. “It’s not about that. I know why you trust me. But it’s different for them. They have to overcome doubt first. Only when they thoroughly doubted me and came up empty-handed will they be able to fully trust me. It’s okay.”

“You don’t get it.” Harry sounded desperate now. “Remus is going too far. You know what he said to me? That I should look at what you’re wearing. How your hair is done. That it’s all so nice and polished and expensive. That it shows that you’re submitting to their pureblood routine. That you’re letting them change you. That there has to be a reason why You-Know-Who trusts you enough to let you visit. That I should remember that he kissed you. None of that is okay. You know exactly what he’s implying, and that is just … it’s not okay!”

“Oh,” she said. It was all she could say.

In a way, it was almost funny how Narcissa’s carefully crafted outfit backfired so spectacularly. Or maybe that was the original intention of it.

“He can’t be serious!” Ron jumped up and started gesturing widely. “This is Hermione we’re talking about. Does he really think she of all people would fall for … him?”

“I don’t know. It sounded like that’s what he was saying.”

Hermione bit her tongue. She could never let them know how much she enjoyed Voldemort’s attentions. She hated him, that was no question. He would always be a monster in her eyes. But she could not deny that there was something pulling her to him, a strange, twisted attraction that cursed her every day.

“He changed.” Harry’s quiet words stopped Ron in his tracked. “First, he wants to abandon Tonks instead of being a father. Now he questions Hermione of all people. I don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

“He shouldn’t be our leader,” Ron agreed. “I don’t know why dad can’t do it instead.”

Hermione couldn’t suppress the snicker. “Sorry, Ron, I love your father dearly, but he’s also not exactly a reliable person, you have to admit that.”

Harry slung his arms around his knees. “It just feels like it’s all up to us.”

“It always is,” Ron groaned. He slowly sat back down next to Harry.

“Tell me.” She couldn’t help herself, she needed to know. “Did anyone actually go and look for mum and dad?”

Both boys looked at her with wide eyes. She didn’t want to throw any more oil into the fire of their uncertainty, but she had to know whether the Order actually cared about her.

“Remus said they did. Neither of us went, of course,” Ron explained. “There have been regular reports, but it was always the same. Nothing found, not even a trace.”

She simply nodded. The longer they talked, the more she got the feeling that she could no longer rely on the Order of the Phoenix. It really felt like only Harry and Ron were there for her. Maybe it was unkind, but she couldn’t help herself.

She looked at the little hourglass Dolohov gave her before he left. Time was mercilessly ticking forward. She had gained nothing, on the contrary, everything seemed even worse than before.

“Listen. I don’t know whether I can do anything on my own. But I will try. I promise you. I will find a way to stop this.”

Ron grabbed her hand again and held it tight. “I hope you can do something. It’s getting bad. Every day, we have to go out and alter the memories of muggles. The Death Eaters won’t stop using magic in front of them. It’s getting harder and harder to keep the Statute of Secrecy. I think they want to break it.”

She shivered. By now, she knew better than most that messing with people’s memories was not to be taken lightly. Having to manipulate the memories of more and more muggles was not good. She got the distinct feeling that time was running out. Sooner or later, everything would come out.

She glanced at the intertwined fingers. Ron’s calloused hand was warm and gentle, holding her with a confidence she never knew from him. Slowly, her eyes climbed up, finding his. He looked at her, so full of love, she almost recoiled. Even without saying anything, his sentiment was clear.

Harry coughed and stood up. “I’ll … give you space.”

“Wait!” Hermione shot up and grabbed his hand. “You can’t leave like that.”

He gave her a sad smile. “There is nothing we can really talk about, Hermione. You know we can’t share anything with you, as much as I’d love to pick your brain. And I know … Ron has something to say to you. That’s what’s important right now. All this rubbish about the Order and the war, it doesn’t mean anything if we forget about … about relationships.”

She felt tears prick at her eyes. Everything he said was true, but it still wasn’t enough. With a huff, she slung her arms around him. “But I’ve missed you too. Merlin, I’ve missed you.”

Harry’s arms circled her waist and pulled her close, just as Ron came up behind her and hugged her as well. She struggled to keep the tears away. All she wanted was to stay here, with them.

“There is no way for you to run away, is there?” Ron’s quiet question sent a shiver down her spine. If only that was an option.

She shook her head, face still buried in Harry’s chest. “I don’t know how he does it, but ever since he touched my aura, he’s able to sense me wherever I go.”

“And you can’t do the same to him?”

She slowly let go of Harry again and slid out from between the two boys. “I wish. It’s the part I still don’t understand. I know more about it now, perhaps even more than he does in this regard, but the tracking? It’s a mystery.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “More? What exactly does that mean?”

She coughed. “You know I can’t tell you, because he would see it.”

“But can’t he see it regardless because he can always access your memory?”

“No.” She smiled brightly at Ron. “Legilimency is not mind-reading, remember? He can see my memories, but all I did was read the same texts that he read. What I understand comes from much more than that. Sure, if he went through every single of my memories again, he might see it. But even then. Just seeing my memories wouldn’t change how he views the world. And I think I understand this one thing just because of how I view the world.”

“I don’t think I understand any of that.” Ron shrugged. “But if you have an advantage over him, that’s good.”

“Speaking of Legilimency.” Hermione turned a hesitant eye towards Harry. There was something bothering her, something she only realised now, standing in front of him again. “Harry, do you think You-Know-Who can still easily access your mind?”

He shook his head. “I don’t think so. I mean, the Occlumency training with Snape never did anything, but I haven’t felt him in my head for weeks now. And I haven’t been able to get into his either.”

“You haven’t?”

Harry shrugged, uncertainty in his face. “I’ve never been able to do it intentionally anyway. It usually only happened when he was particularly emotional. Angry, mostly. Have you seen him angry since he kidnapped you?”

She struggled to contain a blush, but her heated cheeks told her that she hardly succeeded. “He’s shown a certain … exasperation with some of his followers, but I wouldn’t call it angry. He’s way more in control of his emotions than I thought.”

“Don’t fall for that,” Harry immediately snapped. “You haven’t seen what I have. You don’t know him like I do. He can play charming and rational all he wants, underneath it all, he’ll always be an unhinged mad man.”

A flicker of annoyance made Hermione frown. If anyone didn’t know him, it was Harry. He had no idea that this Voldemort was someone else entirely. But would he even believe her, if she explained it to him?

“Look, Hermione. I know it’s my fault that all if this happened in the first place.” Harry took her hands in his. “I pushed you into the ritual. But even with everything that happened, I know I will defeat him. The prophecy will come true. We might not understand why he’s currently interested in you, but it can only serve us. As long as he’s focused on you, I am free to do whatever I need. One day, his focus will return to me. We know his obsession with me and the prophecy. But for now, we have bought ourselves a little time. Maybe it is true what they say. Maybe everything happens for a reason. Maybe the ritual was needed to give me space, even if it temporarily puts you in a tough spot. But I promise you, I will continue this fight.”

A second flame stoked the fire deep within her. Indignation and incredulity mixed with her annoyance. She was sure that Harry wanted to sound encouraging, but he ended up coming across condescending. Taking a deep breath, Hermione swallowed the harsh reply and instead smiled. “Thank you, Harry. We are all counting on you”

For a moment, all three simply looked at each other, silently contemplating their very different journeys ahead. Then, Harry straightened up. She could see a silent exchange between the two boys. They weren’t subtle with their glance, and she instantly realised that they had talked about this scenario. What they would do if she ever returned to them, even if only for a moment. It made her heart swell with warmth again. The Order might no longer trust her, but at least these two were the same as they always were.

Harry pulled her into another tight hug, then he turned and left. For several heart beats, Hermione could only stare at his back as he descended down the hill. All her anger at Harry melted away, replaced by almost overwhelming sadness. She already missed him again. That he annoyed her and took his role as the Chosen One a little too seriously was all part of what made him Harry Potter. She knew she would even miss the anger she regularly felt when he was particularly obtuse.

Chapter Text

She sat back down again, keeping a bit more distance to Ron than she used to. She looked at him again, suddenly feeling shy. From the colour of his cheeks, it was clear that his earlier confidence was also shaken.

But still, he surprised her. Slowly, carefully, he reached out to her and held her hand. It felt warm and rough against hers. His fingers gently intertwined with hers as he intently gazed down. She could see him gather every bit of courage he possessed.

“Hermione. Can I … can I kiss you?”

Her breath caught. Involuntarily, her eyes flickered to his lips. Her heart was thumping loudly in her ears, but it was not excitement that made it beat so fast.

It was anxiety.

She pulled her hand from his grip. “I can’t, Ron. I just can’t.”

“Why?” He sounded like a wounded animal, all his confidence deflating.

Should she tell him the truth? Would that destroy everything? But wouldn’t lying be even worse? They were Gryffindors, after all. Honesty was important. Collecting all her composure, she looked him directly in the eye. “He wouldn’t like it.”

Ron’s mouth fell open. “What?”

She grimaced. “I know it sounds ridiculous, but … he is jealous. Or maybe possessive. Whatever you call it, he wouldn’t like it.”

His expression suddenly turned hard and cold. “Are you telling me you’re rejecting me because You-Know-Who likes you?”

She hastened to shake her head. “I doubt very much that he likes me. No. He considers me his possession. He will not tolerate anyone touching what’s his.”

“And you just … let that dictate what you do?”

Anger flared up in her. “It’s not that simple, Ronald. He’s dangerous. He’s not touching any of you at the moment. But if I let you kiss me, he’ll come for you. I cannot let that happen.”

To his ears, she probably sounded ridiculous. Especially after what Harry just said, there was no way that Ron would believe Voldemort felt anything like that for her. Who was she, after all? Just a muggleborn witch with no place in the ever-lasting struggle between the Dark Lord and the Chosen One.

Only, Voldemort himself told her that the prophecy didn’t matter to him anymore. That he understood what it meant and thus lost a lot of its importance. And if the prophecy didn’t matter anymore, she was convinced that he didn’t care about Harry anymore either. But that was not something either of her boys would ever believe, regardless of how much she tried to convince them. So she didn’t.

For the longest moment, Ron simply stared at her, his face a cold mask of disbelief. She braced herself for the usual temper tantrum that she so often had to endure. Braced herself for an ugly end to her visit.

But nothing of the sort happened. Instead, Ron sagged down and averted his eyes. “Okay. I see. I’m sorry I asked. I guess I didn’t … I don’t even want to think of what he’s doing to you. It makes me sick. But I know that’s nothing compared to you. I’m sorry, Hermione. I wish I could do something.”

She swallowed. Whatever Ron was imagining right now, it was very far from the truth, she was certain of that. How could he ever understand that Lord Voldemort of all people was almost gentle with her?

“It’s okay. I know it’s hard for you too. But please, trust me. I promise you, I am okay.”

He looked at her with big, hopeful eyes. “He’s not r… he’s not violent?”

She grimaced at the word he almost said. “To me? No. I think he wants something from me and for that, he needs me to comply willingly. So he’s … mostly not too violent.”

That he was pretty rough with her and that she enjoyed that, she kept to herself. She didn’t even understand herself why she reacted like that, so how would Ron ever be able to understand?

“Mostly not too violent.” Ron let out a short, hysterical chuckle. “Blimey, Hermione, that makes it sound like you’re really not okay.”

Impulsively, she leaned forward and slung her arms around him. He was trying so hard. Ever since he left her and Harry during the horcrux hunt and came back, he was trying to change. To become more reliable, less emotional. To be there for her, to be supportive. She felt proud of him, how he was able to hold back and instead give her assurance and comfort. And all she could give back was a hug.

Ron pulled her closer, awkwardly shuffling her onto his lap. For a moment, he simply held her, their hearts beating in tandem. For a moment, Hermione allowed herself to just enjoy the intimacy. Harry was the one who always hugged others. She learned from him how much a hug could do to bridge the gap between two people, even if they didn’t know the right words to say to each other. And right now, this hug reminded her of everything she shared with her two boys.

She almost didn’t notice when Ron started to gently massage her back. One hand slid down her spine, drawing idle circles on the satin of her dress, while the other moved up, cradling her neck. He moved even closer, burying his face in her shoulder. She felt the mood change.

“You know I fancy you, right?” A quiet question murmured into her ear for no one else to hear.

“Ron–,” she started, but he immediately cut her off.

“Don’t say anything.” She could feel his lips move against her neck. “I just wanted to tell you. You don’t have to say it back, I know it’s complicated right now. But you needed to know. I told you I love you when you left, and I need you to know that hasn’t changed. It never will. I promise.”

He pressed an open-mouthed kiss against the bare skin of her neck. She could feel the desperation in it, the need to imprint his words into her skin. One hand gripped her hips more tightly, pressing her against him like she was the life line for a drowning man. She shivered.

It felt wrong.

As she didn’t stop him, he continued to pepper kisses onto her neck, whispering over and over that he wouldn’t break the promise. It was sweet, it was passionate, it was everything she had ever wanted. From the time she first had a crush on anyone, the only one she could see was always Ron. She had always loved him. Just half an hour ago she still held the conviction that she would marry him once the war was won.

But now, with his lips on her skin, all she could think, all she could feel was that it was wrong. Like it was a brother that kissed her and grabbed her possessively. It didn’t stoke a fire in her as Voldemort’s touch did. It only made her flinch and want to push Ron away.

Her breathing suddenly sounded loud to her own ears, coming too quickly, just like she could feel her pulse run away in a panicked rhythm. She leaned back a little, putting some distance between Ron and herself, desperate to get out of the situation. But when she met his eyes, she saw that he clearly judged her reaction differently. Catching her heaving chest, his eyes went dark and his gaze dropped to her lips.

“Am I interrupting?” Out of nowhere, Dolohov appeared, a derisive smile on his lips. “Are you pining after the witch as well, little Weasley?”

Wide-eyed, Hermione shot up and stepped away from Ron. Nauseous, she realised that she was thankful for the interruption. Seeing Dolohov was a relief and it made her sick to her stomach.

“Time’s up, my lady,” the Death Eater jeered though he didn’t take his eyes off Ron.

“You!” Only now did Hermione realise that Ron had drawn his wand. “Why are you here?”

“I told you that a Death Eater escorted me here, didn’t I? He’s just back to collect me.” She tried desperately to diffuse the situation. If Ron attempted to duel this wizard, he would surely lose.

“But why him?” Ron demanded to know. “What sick joke is that? He almost killed you!”

Dolohov scoffed and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “If that’s your concern, there would be nobody who could assist Granger. Everyone tried to kill her, Weasley.”

“But you actually cursed her! How dare you touch her after that?”

The tall wizard simply shrugged. “I was ordered to do this. You don’t have to worry about your precious little witch. I’d need to have a death wish to touch the Dark Lord’s lover.”

“Enough!” Hermione shrieked. Dolohov was pressing all the right buttons to bait Ron into attacking him. The last thing she wanted was to leave and have the last moment Ron remembered from the visit be a Death Eater calling her Voldemort’s lover. “Shut up, Dolohov, or I will make sure our lord knows how much you displeased me.”

A flicker of amusement glimmered in his eyes, but he actually remained silent. Only when she turned back to Ron did she realise what she just said.

“Sorry,” she mumbled as she stepped closer again. “I started calling him my lord because it unnerves the Malfoys. Don’t pay it any mind.”

“That’s not … Hermione, did you not hear yourself?” He sounded utterly in disbelief. “That sentence that just came out of your mouth. In what world does it make sense?”

“Really, Ron, I just talk about him as my lord to throw others off. I don’t actually mean it.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” His voice sounded strained, as though he was actively trying to hold back his true emotions. “How casually you invoked his name to threaten a Death Eater. How he instantly backed off because that threat has weight. What the bloody hell has happened to make that sentence so … natural for you?”

She blinked. She didn’t even realise how much this one little sentence would imply. How strange it would sound to others that did not know what was happening inside Malfoy Manor. Again, though, she felt annoyance flare up deep inside of her.

“I do what I have to protect myself. If it means I have to wield You-Know-Who’s name to get Death Eaters off my back, I will do that. I am alone, Ronald. I am a mudblood living among pureblood fascists who hate me. I will do whatever it takes to survive that.”

She knew she sounded harsh. She knew she was unfair because Ron was just worried. But he was unfair too. His question, the way he looked at her, it implied doubt. It implied suspicion. So shortly after declaring that he would always trust her. That he loved her. That nothing would change that. One sentence that sounded strange to him, and suddenly, he doubted her.

Her stomach churned as she looked at Ron. He had the decency to blush at least, but still she felt the sting from his question. It didn’t help that, moments earlier, her whole world came crashing down with the realisation that she was no longer in love with him. That, just like with Harry, she saw him as a brother. One she loved deeply, but a brother nonetheless.

Her lips trembled. This visit that she had longed for turned out to be more disastrous than she ever thought possible. Even Voldemort could not have anticipated this mess.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered as she looked down. “But please. Don’t judge me for this.”

She turned away then, losing the courage to even meet his eyes. As she took Dolohov’s hand for the side-along apparition, she heard Ron’s soft words.

“I would never judge you, Hermione.”

And yet, as the world turned and Dolohov pulled her away, she could hear the accusation and doubt in those words.

Chapter Text

The second they landed back at Malfoy Manor, Hermione jerked her hand from Dolohov’s grip and marched away. She could hear his chuckle as she hurried along the gravel path leading back to the house. The sun was still shining, the breeze was gentle on her skin, and still all should could feel was disgust and despair.

The Order of the Phoenix didn’t care for her. Ron didn’t understand she had to change to survive here. Her parents no longer remembered her.

She felt untethered in the worst sense of the word. Isolated from everyone she loved, bound to everything she hated. She fled from Ron’s touch, desperate to be back in her room again, alone and far from the world. For the first time since she arrived here, she truly felt alone.

Furiously, she tried to blink away the tears forming in her eyes. She wouldn’t give Voldemort the satisfaction to see her devastation after returning from the visit. She was sure that this was why she was allowed to go in the first place. He had anticipated the outcome and would relish her pain.

Eyes fixed on the ground, she rounded the corner. She barely heard the growled “Careful” before she collided with the hard frame of a male body. Flailing, she tried to take a step back, but her balance was already lost.

She had just enough time to realise that it was Severus Snape of all people when she felt one hand on her lower back and another on her shoulder. He stopped her fall, but stumbled in the process himself, pushing her backwards into the wall. For a moment that felt way too long, she felt his tall body press into her. Then, he let go of her and stepped back just the tiniest bit.

“I recommend walking with both eyes open.” The derisive tone of his voice snapped her out of her stupor.

“I could say the same to you,” she shot back.

To her horror, she felt a tear roll down her cheek. All her effort to suppress them, only to now be standing in front of Snape when they finally spilled over. Her face burned up in a mix of shame and anger, which only led to more tears. Annoyed at herself, she wiped them away.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No,” she hissed, eager to get out of the situation. “This has nothing to do with you.”

She waited for him to move out of the way, but instead, he remained where he was, blocking her way to the stairs. She tried to give him an angry glare, but the tears that wouldn’t stop streaming down her face made every effort useless. She knew she looked ridiculous and she hated that it was Snape who saw her like this.

“You visited the Order today.” It was not a question. “Did it not go well?”

Before she could stop herself, she replied, “Obviously, it did not. What, are you going to celebrate my downfall? Hermione Granger, once the Chosen One’s best friend, now nothing more than a discarded pawn nobody has any use for anymore.”

Shame and rage and more sadness swirled in her stomach. She felt so powerless, so useless. At the same time, there was an urge in her, an impulse to hurt someone, anyone. To inflict the pain she felt on someone else. It was hard to supress, especially with Snape’s pale face directly in front of her, almost inviting any abuse she wanted to dish out.

“You are the furthest away from being a pawn, Miss Granger.” His voice sounded almost soft as he said that. “You are here at the Dark Lord’s command. Learning from him, protected by him. Does that not sound more like the role of the queen?”

“Hah!” She couldn’t help the humourless laugh that bubbled up at his words. “That might have more impact if it didn’t come from you. Didn’t you make a point of telling me I’m just a little child?”

Nothing in his face moved, and yet Hermione got the impression that he suddenly was even more withdrawn. His always neutral face appeared to be a blank mask with no life behind it. When he replied, only his lips moved. “That point was not to undermine you.”

“Really?” She wiped away the last of her tears and craned her neck to look him more firmly in the eye. “Calling me a child has nothing to do with me?”

He didn’t move. “Of course, it has something to do with you. Don’t twist my words. But it was not meant as an insult.”

She stared up at him, studying every inch of his face. They were close enough that she would see even the smallest movement. But he remained blank, just a mask with dull eyes. He held her glare and blinked mechanically, but he did not offer any emotion in return.

She wanted to hurt him. That she ran into him of all people after what just happened, and that he remained to calm, so stoic at all times, it drove her mad.

“You need to overcome your unhealthy reliance on your friends.” She gasped at his sudden words. “You are alone and no matter how much you wish it was different, you cannot change that. Better come to terms with that.”

He was too close. An immovable object trapping her against the wall. She searched, desperate for something to say, anything that might hurt him. Some insult. Or even just a threat. But she came up empty. All that aggressive energy she just felt evaporated as his words sank into her. She really was alone.

If only he didn’t sound so robotic as he said it.

She blinked. Pushing herself up slightly, she studied his face even closer. That was it.

“You’re occluding.”

Nothing changed in his face, again. It was only the slight pause before he answered that told her that her words did have some effect. His voice was still flat. “How observant.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why are you occluding?”

She thought he was here to intimidate her or belittle her for her naiveté. Why would he need to occlude if that was the case? He didn’t do so at the start of this conversation, she was sure of it. Why did he suddenly start occluding?

“It is for your benefit, Miss Granger.”

Before she could react to that, he finally stepped away and turned to leave. She watched his back as he disappeared down the corridor, his black robes billowing behind him. When he was out of sight, she led out a shuddering breath. Whenever he was close, she felt like she couldn’t breathe. His presence was suffocating.

With a quick look in all directions, she scurried up the stairs and into her room. The last thing she could use right now was any other member of the house popping up to corner her. She was exhausted, tired, and above all, sad.

As soon as the door closed behind her, she tore the green dress from her body. Narcissa Malfoy’s advice had been the opposite of helpful. A part of her suspected that it was done on purpose, but despite everything, the lady of the house had treated her civilly so far. If anything, she did it because Voldemort commanded it.

It didn’t matter, the damage was done. The short hour in Kent had been illuminating.

Someone in the Order worked with the Death Eaters. If not that, someone was unreliable and shared the secret hide out with outside people who then in turn sold that information to Death Eaters. It didn’t matter which of these two had happened. The fact was, the Order was not the tight, close group that she got to know during year five. With Dumbledore gone, Sirius dead, and Kingsley on some opaque mission, it was apparent that the bond of trust was brittle.

With a huff, she fell backwards onto her bed. She couldn’t even fault them for doubting her. Outside of Harry and Ron, nobody knew her that well. She was the only muggleborn witch in the group and thus had a life that nobody could really understand. She was alien to them, despite their best efforts to include her.

When she first stepped into Hogwarts, she was delighted by magic. Everything seemed wonderful in the truest sense of the word. It was Ron who made her feel unwelcome during her first year. A harsh reminder that even here, she was different. Where she never fitted in with her muggle classmates because of her thirst for knowledge and all those unexplained accidents, she again felt alienated at Hogwarts because most other students grew up with magic.

Of course, the Weasley family was warm and welcoming, but she would never be considered like a sister or daughter as Harry was considered their adopted son. She didn’t belong.

Groaning, she rubbed her burning eyes. It was unfair of her to think like that. Harry had no real family, of course they would take care of him like a son. She always was quick to judge others. Personal relationships were not something she could dissect with logic alone, so she ended up passing judgement on others because she hated to be emotional about it. It was a habit that pushed others away. She would talk down on others, show her intellectual and moral superiority, talk too much, and annoy everyone. It was her own fault that she had no friends outside of Harry and Ron.

Though it was questionable whether Ron was still her friend after today.

Did he really love her? Or was he just confused like she was, thinking that his brotherly affection for her was love? Did he even feel brotherly affection? Maybe it was just habit. Expectations from everyone that they would end up together because she wouldn’t end up with Harry who so obviously loved Ginny. She was the girl in their trio, of course she would end up with one of them.

She groaned again, louder this time. Her thoughts were in a death spiral of despair and she felt powerless to stop it. None of this made sense, but she couldn’t help herself. She was just so alone.

“You are alone. Better come to terms with that.”

Snape’s words echoed in her mind. Perhaps, just this once, she should take his words to heart. They were true after all. She could not change the fact that right now, she was alone. All her dark thoughts sprung from her desire to not be alone.

She was alone. But she was not powerless.

The Order would not come to rescue her. That was never the plan. She chose to come here. There had to be something she could do from here. As Snape said. For whatever reason, Voldemort kept her close and protected her. She should find a use for that.

She sat up straight, her eyes wide. Perhaps she had been thinking too small up until now. Voldemort was a danger to wizarding Britain, but he was not the only thing that was wrong with magical society. If she could find a way to change things. Influence him, possibly, to make changes for her. Small things. Things that wouldn’t matter to him. He was the government after all, shadowy and invisible though his followers acted. It would take time for her to kill him, so she could as well use the time to follow her own agenda.

She was alone. She could only rely on herself. But maybe that was a good thing. She was free to do whatever she wanted.

Slowly, she could feel her lips break into a smile. She should thank Snape some time. He did unwittingly inspire her. Perhaps she should also thank Ron who showed her how much she had changed in so little time.

She replayed the conversation with him in her head. While she never had any intention of letting on just how close she had to be with Voldemort, she had to tell him that any intimacy with anyone else, even Ron, could be fatal for that other person. Even if she still felt the same for Ron, she had to protect him from the wrath that Voldemort undoubtedly would unleash if his jealousy got the better of him.

Jealousy.

She licked her lips. Of course. Voldemort made a point of always telling her that she was his. How could she not see that this mad wizard felt threatened by Snape? That was what his whole punishment and all his speeches about her having to figure it out were about.

Goosebumps travelled down her back and the smile evaporated into thin air. She wasn’t able to see it before because the notion was so disgusting, so abhorrent to her that she didn’t even think of it. Bile rose in her throat. Snape did watch her intimate moment in the library with a little too much interest, now that she thought about it.

He hated her, that much was clear from every word they exchanged. But maybe that moment in the library changed how he viewed her body. She could easily believe that a bastard like him regularly wanked to images of his naked students. Why should she be any different, especially since he had a clear view of her pleasure that night.

She swallowed thickly against the knot in her throat. Voldemort had sensed that from the first moment and for whatever reason thought she returned that kind of interest. That was why he wanted her to spy on Snape. That was why he punished her. It all made sense.

Shivering, she looked down at her hands. There had to be a way she could use this. As vile as everything about this new revelation was, she would be stupid not to use it to her advantage. Yes. There was a plan in here somewhere. She would figure it out.

She was alone. Alone and free to do whatever she wanted, without judgement from anyone else.

Exhausted, she fell back down, letting the mattress carry her weight. Tomorrow, she would find the strength to turn this miserable day into a plan. Take courage and new determination from it. But right now, as she felt the softness of the bed and the absolute stillness of the room, the only emotion that was left was sadness.

Fresh tears welled up. Maybe it was okay to cry just for a moment. Maybe she should allow herself to feel her loneliness just this once. Allow it and then move on.

Chapter Text

“I know you are not interested in details or observations.” Antonin stood up straight, hands clasped behind his back. “Still, I think you should know this.”

Voldemort rolled his eyes. Why was it so hard for everyone to understand that he didn’t need insight into what his witch was doing? Anything he needed to know she would give up herself. He didn’t need to read her mind, he didn’t need others to spy on her. She was an open book to him.

Nonetheless, Dolohov had proven useful these past few days and he should be rewarded. If letting him voice an opinion mattered so much to him, he could suffer through it. With a lazy gesture of his hand, he motioned the other wizard to speak.

“I arrived a minute early to collect Miss Granger. She was with the Weasley boy. It was very obvious to me that he tried to be intimate with her.”

Voldemort leaned over his desk and looked up at the Death Eater. “So?”

“From the intelligence I gathered so far, it seemed like they were expected to marry after the war. Everyone in the Order thinks so at least.”

“I am aware.” He could feel his patience running thin. As much as he hated the thought of anyone touching what was his, he had expected it to happen if he let her go.

“When I arrived at the scene, I got a different impression. To me, it seemed as though Miss Granger was not in the least bit interested in Weasley. If anything, she almost seemed relieved to see me. Which, given everything that happened, is more than strange.”

“I see.” He rested his elbows on the desk and laced his fingers together. That certainly was an interesting detail. “Thank you. You are dismissed.”

Antonin gave a short nod, then he turned and left the room. As soon as the door closed, Voldemort leaned back in his chair. If what Dolohov reported was true, his calculation had been wrong indeed. It would make things easier for him.

He tilted his head, studying the door leading to Hermione’s room. Up until now, he had thought her still in love with that little boy. It wasn’t something he worried about as he knew that a poor dumb Weasley would never measure up, but it was part of all his calculations. Finding her instead indifferent was surprising.

He closed his eyes. In his mind, he saw the scene Antonin described. Ronald Weasley, tall, lanky, freckled, pawing at his witch, perhaps even kissing her. Roaming her body with awkward hands, not knowing where to touch or how. He knew that she was inexperienced, that no man really had touched her before she fell into his lap as Bella. Those hesitant, overeager hands would be met with similar hesitant awkwardness, but probably welcomed under normal circumstances.

Only, his witch was no longer normal. He grinned. She knew what a touch should feel like. She knew the sensations she could expect if someone stoked a fire in her. Obviously, the young Weasley failed in that. She was no longer innocent, and so, his inexperience turned her off.

She still knew nothing, but already was she disappointed by her former lover. Her hungry, ambitious mind would never be happy with someone who knew less than she.

Oh, how much she would despair once that realisation settled in. The visit to the Order was only meant to show her how far from her allies she actually was. But now, it seemed that it also served as a wake-up call for her more personal relationships. He licked his lips. She was desperate right now, he was sure of it.

Schooling his features into careful empathy, he stood up. The sooner he visited her, the easier it would be to take advantage of the situation.

He didn’t knock before entering her room. What he saw was exactly what he expected. Hermione lay on her bed, tears streaming down her face, her body barely covered by the almost see-through chemise Narcissa so kindly selected for her.

“Hello, my sweet,” he greeted her.

For a moment he thought she didn’t hear him. Then she blinked through her tears and sat up. “My lord.”

Despite her tears, she seemed oddly composed. After everything Antonin told him, he expected her to be an emotional wreck. Instead, she appeared almost resigned. As though, despite crying, she was not actually as broken as he expected.

“How was your day?”

She smiled at him with watery eyes. “Do you really have to ask? Was it not your plan to devastate me by showing me just how little the Order cared?”

Of course, his sweet witch would see through his intentions right away. He almost chuckled as he realised that once again, he underestimated her. Instead, he joined her on the bed and pulled her onto his lap.

“You always assume the worst.”

His hands moved to her hips on their own volition. Before he could stop himself, he pulled her close and buried his face in her shoulder, inhaling her intoxicating scent. This witch was so much stronger than anyone gave her credit for.

He saw the goosebumps erupt on her skin and couldn’t help the grin that slipped onto his lips. “And yet, you so eagerly anticipate my touch. Tell me, Hermione. How does it feel, knowing that the one you’ve loved for so many years is unable to elicit this reaction from you?”

She gasped, a choking sound that felt as though she tried to hide a sob. He moved slightly, studying her face as new tears spilled over. Even without slipping into her mind, he could see the emotions war in her eyes. Determination and sadness and anger and resentment. It was everything he expected to find, and yet still not enough. Something was missing.

His cock throbbed, suddenly all too aware how she pressed down on him, all soft and hot and pliable. She remained silent, watching him as he watched her. Her tears didn’t stop, but there was nothing for him to grasp. No room for him to slither in. His whole body tensed.

“You really should give me an answer when I ask you a question,” he hissed as rocked against her soft core.

She moaned in reply. She actually moaned, a breathy, whiney sound that seemed to come from deep within her. For a heartbeat, he thought she pushed her hips back against his cock, but then, she shook her head, as if to deny that she made that sound.

“I’m sorry, my lord. I just … I don’t know what to say. You already seem to know everything about what happened anyway. What more can I say?”

Her voice shook, weak under the weight of her tears. She obviously didn’t want to talk about what happened, probably because it hurt. That was to be expected. That was how it should be. Still, he was not satisfied. There should be more.

Having her on his lap, her thighs tightly pressed against him, made it hard for him to think. His cock demanded to be released, to drive into her now that she was so helpless under his hands. He wanted her to know how little she could do against him. He needed her to know that. That was the whole point of this day.

“You are a clever witch. Powerful and bright enough to not easily fall for tricks. But that won’t help you.” He pressed his lips against her neck. “Because you’re alone. Nobody will come to rescue you from me. You are alone.”

She shuddered. “I know,” she sobbed, “I know!”

He gripped her harder. There it was. The merest hint of the desperation he so anticipated. His sweet witch breaking, crumbling under the realisation that she had nobody in the whole world. He on the other side, prepared to be there for her, to take up the space in her heart that the Order left. Only, it was not enough space. As though she immediately patched the hole.

He felt her take several deep breaths. Then, she whispered, “I know that I’m alone. If I didn’t get the message after meeting the Order, Snape made sure that I’d understand.”

He stilled. “Severus?”

“Yes,” she rasped, her voice still thick with tears, “He intercepted me when I returned. He made a point of telling me how alone I was.”

A simmering rage bloomed in his stomach. Severus. He was not supposed to be here today. That he happened to meet her just as she returned with Antonin was too much of a coincidence. Nothing Severus did was ever up to chance.

With a hiss, he pushed Hermione off his lap. Everything made sense now. His sweet witch didn’t seem close to breaking because Severus got to her first. Whatever vulnerability there was to exploit, he made sure it disappeared right away. He still protected her. A fucking knight in shining armour, always to the rescue of his beloved mudbloods.

He really should just kill him.

If only that way an option.

“I’m sorry.” Her quiet words made him look at her again.

She was kneeling in front of him, an expression of earnest contemplation on her face as she furiously tried to blink away her tears. “I understand now. In my hatred for Snape, I didn’t realise how carelessly I acted around him. That is why you are punishing me, is it not?”

He stared at her. She finally realised her mistake. Only, it came at the worst time. He had intended to reward her once she figured it out. Give her a hint of the pleasure he could bring her if she proved worthy. Right this second though, he couldn’t tear his mind away from the one dominating thought.

Severus destroyed everything he was trying to do.

It was tempting to just slip into her mind. He wanted to see what exactly had happened between them upon her return. How Severus so easily managed to mend her broken heart. She still hated him, that much was clear. How did he do it?

No. She was just Hermione Granger, a young, naïve witch. He lived in her memories long enough. He knew how she thought and felt. Severus probably just riled her up, made her angry enough that she forgot all about the pain the Order meeting had caused her. There was no need to see it.

He pushed his anger down. He would deal with Severus later. A change in course was needed, but he was still on track. This was nothing but a small wrinkle in the grand scheme of things. He didn’t need to worry about it.

“Come here,” he commanded.

Hermione instantly crawled onto his lap again, snuggling into his arms. He pulled her chemise aside a little and pressed a kiss onto her naked shoulder. With her in his arms, he felt his rage subside. What did he care for Severus when he had the perfect witch on his lap? Soft and warm and small and willing.

“I’m glad you understand now,” he told her. “Punishing you didn’t make me happy either, my sweet.”

She scoffed. “You know that you could have stopped at any time, right? Nobody was forcing you to deny me.”

Her tears were dried and she had that haughty tone in her voice again that he got so used to. She really was way less affected by the visit than he had hoped. Perhaps he should add another lesson to this day. She already earned her reward. What better way to do that than to combine it with a lesson?

“You are right in that nobody was ever able to force me into anything, dearest. But you changed that.” He showed her his warmest smile and took pleasure in the way her eyes widened in shock. “Come. I want to show you something. And you deserve a reward.”

Chapter Text

Hermione hesitantly followed Voldemort to his room. He spoke of a reward, but she doubted that anything he was willing to give her was truly something she wanted. Especially right now, when all she yearned for was a hug. She tried so hard to keep playing the role of a strong witch, but everything inside her was a mess.

She just wanted her mum to hug her and tell her everything would be okay.

Instead, she got a Dark Lord placing gentle fingers on her shoulders to remove her last pieces of clothing. She shivered under the coolness of his touch, but didn’t stop him. The soft fabric of her chemise slid down her arms, a brush as light as a feather. It pooled around her feet, white, almost see-through innocence that left her exposed now that it was gone.

Voldemort’s hand splayed over her stomach as he used the other to brush her hair to one side. His cold lips pressed a soft kiss onto her neck. He was being so careful, so slow, so gentle, it made her tremble. Despite her exhaustion, a low heat pulsed in her belly at his touch.

“You are so beautiful. Hermione.” Her name on his lips sounded almost reverent.

His hands travelled lower, encircling her wrists and guiding her towards his massive bed. She let him push her down onto it, the mattress softer underneath her than she expected. Looking up to him, she could only see warmth in his eyes. Whether he way playing a part or really feeling it, she couldn’t tell.

Then, a blindfold and ropes appeared in his hand, and her stomach dropped.

“I thought this was meant as a reward.”

He showed her a broad smile. “It is. I want to show you how much these things can enhance the experience for you. They are not just tools for punishment and submission. Trust me, my sweet. I am here to worship you.”

Goosebumps erupted on her skin. His voice was as soft as his eyes, the smile never wavered. If it had been anyone else, she might have believed the man in front of her to be in love.

“Roll onto your stomach and put your hands on your cute butt.” When she just stared blankly at him, he added, “Please?”

With a resigned sigh, she followed his command. His bed creaked slightly as she turned. For a long time, she laid there, her hands gripping each other behind her back, and nothing happened. She peered up at Voldemort, wondering what he was doing.

What she saw made her swallow. His eyes raked over her exposed backside, drinking in not only her bottom, but her thighs, her back, her neck. He took a small step forward until his knees bumped into the bed. His right hand reached out, so very slowly, softly closing around one thigh.

Lightly at first, but then ever more firmly, his fingers travelled up and down, edging closer and closer to her sensitive core before sliding down again. Hermione’s breathing grew ragged. Anticipation and dread swirled inside her as the heat in her belly grew.

Then he let go again and instead leaned down to face her. “Lift your head a little.”

This time, she followed the instructions instantly. He brushed a few loose hairs from her face before slipping a crimson blindfold over her eyes. The fabric was velvety and closed around her head almost without touching her. Her world grew dark.

“You can peel it off at any time by simply turning your head. But I implore you to give it a chance.” His husky voice reached her ear, a low murmur from a disembodied source. She shivered.

Before she knew it, her hands were bound by rope. She still was able to move around or sit up if she really wanted, but the softness of the mattress and the coaxing voice of Voldemort kept her down. It was inviting, a period of absolute darkness that wanted nothing from her.

It started with a tingle on her arms. Something called to her magic, just the merest hint of a touch. She inhaled deeply. He was reaching out to her aura again. The heat in her belly turned to a low throbbing, reminding her of how quickly this could morph into an all-consuming fire.

Ghost fingers travelled over her arms, to her shoulders, down her spine. They found that one spot between her shoulder blades that always seemed to be in a knot and pressed down harder. She moaned in relief. A pain she had pushed from her mind suddenly gone.

More fingers reached out, connected with her aura. In the darkness, she tried to listen to any sound Voldemort made, but the room around her was completely quiet. Strong tendrils of magic wrapped around her thighs, pushing them open just a little. The warm air hit her core, washing over her already dripping folds.

She moaned again. His magic flowed over her whole body, circling her, embracing her. She could feel her nipples grow hard, rubbing against the silky fabric of the sheets. Wetness trickled down her thighs, leaving a damp spot on the mattress.

His touch grew more insistent, calling to her magical core even louder. She felt something deep within her reverberate as though answering the call. Her mouth fell open, the complete darkness and quietness of the room only enhancing the sensations his magic brought.

Instantly, his magic pushed between her lips, exploring her mouth as a tongue would. She groaned, desperate for more, opening her thighs even wider. She wanted to be touched. She needed to be touched.

His magic followed her wish. She could feel the gentle pressure between her legs, rubbing against her core like a dextrous finger would. Even though she could not see or move, she knew her aura was glowing. Drawing in even more of his magic.

Power coursed through her veins, reminding her of how very superior Voldemort was. Flooding every nerve with just one message, one thought. Submit. Obey. Give herself to him without holding anything back. His cool fire seemed to bathe her in molten lava.

Every single thing that happened to her since she first saw this man in Lestrange’s body tumbled through her mind. His power. His monstrous intellect. His promises and threats. The soft touches and claiming kisses. It was all for her. For whatever reason, the most powerful wizard in all of Britain wanted her.

The pressure on her most sensitive nub increased and with it, any thought disappeared. In the darkness, splashes of colour erupted. A groan turned into a cry. She could feel the throbbing between her thighs turn into a furious storm, waiting to be released. It was building. She knew that feeling all too well now.

“Please,” she sobbed. She wouldn’t be able to survive if he denied her again.

With her arms bound, she couldn’t even touch herself. He wasn’t even touching her. It was just his magic, intermingling with hers. And he didn’t stop. Her heart beat furiously in her chest, but all she could hear were her own wanton moans, driving her need even more.

She shuddered. She was so close. Just a little more, she needed just one final push. She lifted her hips slightly, parting her legs even further, inviting in a touch.

Then, his fingers were on her. Out of nowhere, she felt two long, cold fingers slide through her folds, matching perfectly the rhythm that his magic had built. She could hear her juices coat his hand, the sloppy sounds her folds made as he ran his fingers through her.

“Yes,” she cried, opening herself up to him even more. “Please, please, please.”

A dam was broken. A mess of begs and please tumbled from her lips, mixing with her moans. She was chasing the high, it was so close.

“I’ll be good,” she whined, desperate to show him that she would do anything to come. “I promise. I’ll be so good. Please, let me come. Please!”

Two fingers thrust into her, tearing her apart. Pain flooded her system, robbing her of all her words. Then, the pleasure finally overtook her. Her walls fluttered, clenching around the intruding fingers. Her thighs trembled, unable to hold her up any longer.

The darkness made way for blinding light. The orgasm hit her, crashed into her like an all-consuming wave that left nothing behind. She cried out, her throat already hoarse.

And then, relief washed over her. As every limb sagged down, shivering with a slowly subsiding high, she exhaled a long, content sigh. Finally, finally, all the tension was gone. She melted into the mattress, not caring that his fingers were still buried deep within her.

For several heartbeats, she just existed. His magic still enveloped her, held her, while her mind remained blank.

The bed creaked, a jarring sound in the silence of the room. Suddenly, his fingers were gone. Instead, his whole body pressed down on her.

“My perfect precious witch,” he growled into her ear. “You have no idea how glorious you are when you come.”

Something hard and hot pressed against her opening. She stilled. In an instant, she noticed the ragged breathing of the man on top of her. His hands groping her waist, her hips, her breasts. His lips on her neck, urgent, hungry. She could feel his hips rock against her, nudging her folds open with his hard length.

“I will never deny you again, my sweet.” He pushed in just enough to slot between her folds. “I don’t think I can.”

Hermione felt completely frozen underneath him. Her arms still bound, her eyes still blindfolded, she was too aware how very much at his mercy she was. And his intention was clear. Desire still coursed through her veins, wetness still leaked from her.

“Beg me,” he growled.

She shook her head, unable to utter a single syllable. He groaned into her neck, his cock still pressing against her entrance. Then, she heard a curse and he rolled off her. Before she could so much as blink, her arms were free and the blindfold disappeared. And with it, the touch of his magic.

Exhausted, she looked at him as he pushed himself up and summoned his clothes back on. She blinked. She hadn’t even noticed that he was naked before. She followed, struggling to sit upright. With an amused smile, he closed his arms around her waist and pulled her onto his lap.

“There is no one like you, sweet witch,” he murmured as he buried his face in her hair. “Everything about you is perfect. Watching you come on my fingers is a pleasure I will never be able to deny myself again.”

Suddenly, she realised how tense she was. The moment he stopped touching her, a strange emptiness crept into her bones. But now, his words softened her again. It was like a balm for her flailing soul. She allowed him to pull her even closer.

“Soon, you will beg me to fuck you.” There was a chuckle in his voice. “And it will be my greatest pleasure to fulfil that plea.”

She shook her head with an eyeroll and leaned into his embrace. It wasn’t what she really needed right now, but in the absence of it, this was the next best thing.

A hug from the Dark Lord.

She still didn’t fully understand why she was here. It still made no sense that Lord Voldemort treated her with this much respect. But right at this moment, she didn’t care about any of that.

With the Order abandoning her and her parents, she needed to protect herself. She truly was alone. If protecting herself meant inviting Voldemort in, she would do it. If it meant learning Occlumency from Snape or studying the Dark Arts with Voldemort, she would do that.

He was a monster. But right now, he posed no threat to her. She could focus on forging her own path while figuring out how to defeat him. As long as she kept up the appearance of submission, she was safe.

Chapter Text

Voldemort let his gaze wander over the vastness of the Hogwarts grounds. Even now, he felt a nostalgic sense of home whenever he visited the school. Despite Dumbledore’s best efforts, this castle was now his to command. Standing atop the Astronomy tower while a stiff breeze plucked at his robes brought him a sense of calm he’d been missing the past few weeks.

Hermione Granger was a tougher nut to crack than he initially thought. Even after he lived in her memories for a prolonged amount of time, he didn’t fully grasp the sheer determination this young witch possessed.

He also, time and again, underestimated the pull of her magic. He touched her aura again three days ago in an effort to reward her for finally figuring out that she should be careful around Severus. It was supposed to bring her pleasure, nothing else. A show that if she was obedient, good things would happen for her.

Instead, he was overcome by the desire to swallow her whole – again. He thought he could control it if he kept his distance, if he didn’t touch her physically while stimulating her magically. But her aura tasted so sweet, promising him power and submission, he only just resisted. He needed her to break sooner rather than later. He wouldn’t be able to hold out for much longer, and he doubted that she would grant him this last barrier without crumbling first.

From the corner of his eyes, he watched Severus. The headmaster stood a few feet away, his dark eyes looking into the distance without seeing anything. He’d followed him up here without question, as he always did. Despite everything, Severus was the one wizard who rarely asked for explanations. He simply followed orders and always executed the tasks given to him.

At least he finally found a use for Severus and the strong feelings his sweet witch had for the man. It would be the final nail in the coffin of her hopes.

Without looking at Severus, he said, “Gain her trust.”

The dark-clad wizard turned slowly to him, his face showing the slightest bit of confusion. A calculated mask to hide that he was occluding, as Voldemort knew all too well.

“I don’t believe that is possible, my lord.” He didn’t need to ask who her was. Between them, there was only one witch.

Voldemort moved to face him fully. “Why? Are you not the great spy, the double-agent that fooled even Dumbledore? Why should a little school girl be too hard to convince?”

It took a while for him to come up with an answer. The howling wind was the only thing cutting through the silence that engulfed them. Severus was looking for an excuse, that much was clear.

“Dumbledore didn’t trust me when I came to him, but he had pity for me,” he finally explained, his voice sounding ever so slightly bitter. “Miss Granger hates me. I betrayed the Order. She will never forgive me and thus, she will never trust me.”

Voldemort cocked his head and stared at him. “You’ve heard of lying, right?”

Severus narrowed his eyes. For the first time in a long time, the other wizard seemed actually annoyed with him. He almost chuckled in reply, which would have made Severus all the more incensed.

“No lie in the world could make someone like Miss Granger give up on her hatred.” He said it with such conviction. As though he knew her intimately.

Which he didn’t.

“Tell her you secretly plan to overthrow me. That you wish me dead. That is her own goal, is it not?”

“My lord.”

“What, Severus? What is your actual problem with this?” Voldemort snapped. He could feel his patience running thin.

As amusing as it was to see Severus squirm, he needed him to do this task. It didn’t matter to him how he did it. It didn’t matter to him if it was difficult. He just needed it to be done.

The other man let out a long breath. “If I understood the meaning of this task, I might have an easier time accomplishing it.”

“It’s not for you to know.” Severus didn’t need to know that it was all in service of one simple goal: breaking his sweet witch. After the betrayal she felt at the hands of the Order, having a new ally would feel good. She would cling to it. A last thread of hope. And when that snapped as well, she would be his.

“Very well. Consider it done.” Severus indicated a short nod, then he turned and descended down the stairs, his black robes billowing around him.

Voldemort inhaled deeply. Just when his witch finally realised her errors, he sent Severus out to get even closer to her. The thought of him actually succeeding made his blood boil. Once this was over, he would kill him. There was no other choice. Once Hermione Granger was well and truly broken, Severus Snape had to die.

But first, he needed Hermione to give Severus at least a little bit of a chance. It would seem strange to her that suddenly, he wanted her to get close to him again. He would need to tread carefully, mask his true intentions, otherwise she would grow too suspicious. She was clever enough to see through conflicting messages.

He was not surprised to find Hermione in the library, books stacked so high on the desk that she almost vanished behind them. He moved silently over the old wooden flooring, admiring the view the afternoon sun painted for him.

She was not uncommonly pretty. The only noticeable feature was her curly hair that seemed to almost have a mind of its own. But to him, she was more alluring than any well-bred pureblood could ever be. Her power, trapped in that small body, coupled with her ever-inquisitive mind never ceased to fascinate him.

He leaned against one of the old bookshelves, crossing his arms before his chest, not taking his eyes off her for even a second. If he was honest, he had expected to have grown tired of her by now. She was just a mudblood with a righteous moral code that was too inflexible and naïve. She was young, too, with little experience of what the world and magic truly had to offer. As fun as it was to open her mind, he never was one to indulge in the education of others.

There was of course the mystery of why her aura pulled him in so easily. He still didn’t understand how that happened and it was something that kept him interested in her. There was no puzzle he couldn’t solve, after all.

But it was more than that. It was the way she looked at him when he touched her. How she never held back her reactions when he gave her pleasure or pain. He still remembered vividly how hard she came disguised as Bellatrix, when all he did was inflict pain and humiliation. She hated him so much, yet she still craved his cock.

He licked his lips. Back then, he had dreamed of capturing her and turning her into his perfect cock-warming little whore. He could feel himself grow hard from the mere thought of it. Being able to take her wherever, whenever it pleased him, always ready, willing, wet for him. The clever mudblood, best friend of the Chosen One, turned into a mindless, wanton doll. He stifled a groan.

It was not an option. Just the thought of anyone else seeing her face, twisted by pleasure, slack with lust, drove him mad. She was his and his alone.

“Are you just going to stand there like a creep?”

For a split-second, Voldemort froze. Hermione was looking straight at him, her teeth buried in her bottom lip, eyebrows drawn tight. He smiled beside himself. She never minced her words.

“Just admiring the beauty of a studious little witch,” he finally replied before he pushed himself away from the shelf and walked over to her.

Her scowl deepened. “You know that it’s incredible off-putting hearing that kind of flattery out of your mouth?”

She continued to stare at him with an annoyed expression, but when he remained silent and simply smiled, she rolled her eyes and returned to her book. He leaned further over the desk, glancing at the text she was reading.

“House elves?” That was not what he was expecting.

With a sigh, she leaned back in her chair. “Yes, house elves. Believe it or not, I am capable of caring for more than one problem at a time. It might not be something you purebloods ever think about, but I’ve always cared for them. And now finally, I have a library at my hands that actually has good sources on them.”

He thought back to a very short, very irritating conversation with Lucius about this when Hermione first arrived. It seemed his witch was not one to give up lightly. He could only continue to smile. If she wanted to find a way to free house elves, she should do it. He really couldn’t care less about this issue. Soon, there would be enough slaves for everyone anyway.

“Is there a point to all this?” She twirled a quill between her fingers. “You usually only seek me out when you have something to tell me or when you…” She blushed, but carried on. “Or when you want to fuck me.”

“Such language,” Voldemort chided her. “But you are right, of course. There is something I wanted to discuss.”

He stepped around the desk and leaned against it right next to her chair. With his arms casually propped up on the table, he studied her closely. She was giving off an air of nonchalance, as though she was completely unbothered by his proximity. But she couldn’t quite hide the too fast rising and falling of her chest. She was anxious – or maybe aroused.

“I rewarded you for figuring out my displeasure with the way you acted around Severus.” Instantly, her cheeks turned scarlet. Aroused it was. Good to know.

“What about it?”

“No reason to be so defensive, my sweet,” he purred, watching with glee as the blush spread from her cheeks down to her decollete. “Now that you know, I can be certain that you are more guarded around him. And because of that, I know I can trust you with the next step.”

She frowned. “Next step?”

“We are partners, after all. Your Occlumency lessons with Severus will continue, but I want you to open up more. See whether you can potentially gain his trust.”

For several heartbeats, she only stared at him, mouth agape. Then, she tossed her quill onto the desk and sprang from her chair. “You cannot be serious. First, you punish me for getting too close to him even though I wasn’t even aware that was happening at all. And now you want me to do exactly that? I thought you were saner than the Dark Lord Harry always described. But this feels like the definition of lunacy!”

His hand shot out and closed around her throat before he knew what he was doing. “Don’t you dare compare me to that. I am nothing like him,” he hissed.

He could feel her throat bop under his fingers as she swallowed, but she did not back down. “If you want me to believe that this is not complete insanity, explain why I should do it.”

Tendrils of rage nipped at his mind. There was this simmering anger that he always felt at all hours. It was close to erupting, stirred by her condescending ignorance. It was only made worse by the realisation that it was exactly this ever-present rage that he had in common with his other self.

He took a deep breath and let go of her. “Forgive me, my sweet. You have every right to ask questions.”

She rubbed her fingers over her neck, massaging where he grabbed her too tightly. She was still frowning, but there was no fear in her eyes. “If I have every right, you should give me an explanation.”

He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Full of defiance, full of self-righteous indignation, Hermione stood there and met his gaze without any hesitation. Again, he underestimated her. From one moment to the next, their conversation switched, he switched, and still she showed no fear.

There was no way in hell that he could send her to Severus. If she found it in herself to adjust to the Dark Lord she always feared and hated, she might have it in her to actually forgive the man who killed Dumbledore. He should call the whole thing off. Tell Severus to forget it. That was the only thing he could do to prevent her from letting go of her hatred. That hatred could so easily flip on its head and turn to desire. He couldn’t risk it.

She was his, and his alone. He would never allow her to look at anyone else.

She raised an eyebrow, clearly growing impatient as she waited for an answer. She was too strong. He needed her to break. Only broken would she be the perfect piece in his grand puzzle.

He exhaled slowly. Right. Pushing her towards Severus served a very specific purpose. It had to be done. Once she broke, none of this iron-willed person would be left anyway. He would be the one putting her together again, shaping her into a new, submissive doll. By then, she wouldn’t care about Severus, and he could be safely disposed of. Yes. That was the plan.

“You already know that I am using you against Severus. I want to go one step further. If you show him even the slightest bit of encouragement, that could change how he behaves. I need to know whether his loyalty to me could be swayed by his desire for you.”

Hermione was listening intently to his explanation. She didn’t need to know that the outcome of this test was irrelevant. Severus needed to die, whether he proved to be unerringly loyal or not. He just couldn’t do it right now, while Hermione’s feelings for him were still so strong. She had to break first.

“Okay,” she whispered, her expression growing more determined. “I guess I can deal with a bit more of his attention. If he turns out to be so easily swayed, then what? Can I kill him?”

“Of course.” She never would get the chance to do that. “It would be my pleasure to see him die by your hand.”

A grin, all tooth and sharp edges, appeared on her face. She was glorious in her hatred, even if it was another man who stirred these feelings. He would just need to endure while Severus and Hermione played each other. If he could be patient, the reward he would reap would be more than worth it.

A perfect doll, powerful, obedient, primed to assist him in his ritual without question. And if she survived that, she would be his forever.

He just needed to hold out a few weeks.

Chapter Text

Hermione smoothed out her skirt for the millionth time. She was nervous, more nervous than the first time she visited Snape in the headmaster’s office. Last time, she was anxious because she didn’t know what to expect and went into it resolved to just let things play out.

This time, she had a clear goal in mind. Voldemort wanted her to try and seduce Snape to see whether his loyalty was wavering. As much as she hated the mere thought of Snape wanting her, it was exactly what she needed. If she managed to prove to Voldemort that his right-hand man was not so dedicated to the cause, she would finally be allowed to kill him. She just needed to be a bit more open in her mannerisms.

And that made her so very, very nervous.

The door to the office opened and Snape stormed in. He only nodded to her in greeting as he slipped into his chair on the other side of the heavy table. Hermione barely managed to shoot him a smile in reply, but he noticed. For just a split second, his eyes widened. Then, his cold mask returned, stronger than before.

He was occluding again. Like he so often did in her presence. If Voldemort’s suspicions were right, Snape occluded because he liked her. She shuddered internally. The thought of her former teacher actually being interested in her as a woman never failed to make her sick. She would have to play one hell of a role to get what she wanted today.

“In our first lesson, I showed you what Legilimency feels like in your head. I showed you how I can get to a specific memory even if you try to keep your mind blank. I did that while retaining eye contact, which is the easiest way to access the mind of another person.” He rattled down his lesson without pause or emphasis on any specific words. It was just an empty waterfall of information drowning her. “Before we move on to actually attempting Occlumency, I feel it is prudent to show you that eye contact is not needed. Any physical contact of skin on skin can suffice to access another’s mind with ease. It is imperative that you fully understand that, so I will demonstrate it.”

He stood up from his chair and pointed to his side. “Come here.”

Hermione licked her lips. This was going better than expected. He made her life a lot easier. Still, it was a struggle to get her feet to move. The visceral repulsion she felt for this man made her want to run in the opposite direction. Being so close to him, knowing he would touch her, was almost impossible to allow.

With a deliberate inhale, she stepped directly in front of him. For a second, he looked down at her, his dark eyes deep empty pools as always. Then, he carefully put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around.

Hermione suddenly regretted her choice of clothing. This morning, while she was preparing for the lesson, she thought herself so clever, picking out a dark blue skirt that reached to her knees and swayed in a similar fashion her school uniform previously did. She even paired it with an ivory blouse that was just see-through enough to hint at the lacy bra she wore underneath. She had liked what she saw in the mirror, especially with her curls forming a perfect crown around her face. An adult witch that knew what she wanted stared back at her.

Now, she just felt naked.

She turned around at the touch of his hands and tried to calm her nerves. Maybe it was not bad that her breathing was elevated and she felt hot all over. But the urge to vomit was still strong. Trying to focus on something else, she stared down at the dark wood of his desk.

“I will touch you now, Miss Granger,” he whispered into her ear.

She startled, realising just how close he stood behind her. She felt trapped between his body and the table, but it was too late to protest now. His right hand travelled down her right arm until he reached her wrist. As though he wanted to give her time, he hovered there for a moment. Then, his long pale fingers slipped a little further, feathering the lightest touch against the palm of her hand. His thumb rested on the back of her hand, pressing into her skin just a little more.

She let out a breath that she didn’t realise she had been holding. To her horror, it sounded like a sigh. She could feel Snape behind her freeze immediately. He obviously did not expect that sort of sound from her.

She swallowed thickly, trying in vain to get rid of the knot in her throat. It was now or never. The stage was set.

Many heartbeats, she started and failed to utter a single word. They stood there, frozen in time, Snape obviously blindsided by her sudden reaction, she struggling to get her vocal cords to work.

“I wanted to thank you.” There. It was finally out.

Encouraged by the first words she pressed out, she continued on. “I don’t know whether you did it on purpose or whether you wanted to achieve the opposite, but I have to thank you. For your words. When I returned from the visit to the Order, I wasn’t in a good head space. You … your words pulled me out of that.”

“Miss Granger–,” Snape started, but instantly cut himself off.

“You don’t have to say anything. If you didn’t mean it, fine. But if you did do it to help me, then … just know, I understand what it means to be watched. To be unable to speak freely. I understand. Professor.”

She heard him draw a shaky breath behind her. Her eyes were still trained on his desk, as despite her surge of courage she found herself unable to actually look at him. She heard the slight shuffle of his feet, the rustling of his heavy, black cloak. Then, his body pressed against her back, a warm, all-encompassing presence that shut out all other sensations.

His left hand appeared in her field of vision. It splayed on the desk as though he had to grab on to hold himself upright. His breath feathered over her neck and cheek, tickling her, sending goosebumps down her spine. His right hand still held hers, his thumb moving just the slightest amount. Caressing her.

He remained like that, caging her in with his body, burying her with his scent, his aura, his warmth. Hermione almost dared not to breath. The moment felt intimate and she knew, the smallest movement would destroy the spell that he had cast over them.

She didn’t want to be the one who ended it. He needed to do it. He needed to see that she was willing to stay in his embrace for however long he desired. Her heart hammered in her chest, the only thing she could feel outside of Snape’s towering body. His thumb was still drawing little circles on the back of her hand, the rest of him stood as still has she did.

Something touched her ear, just barely enough for her to notice. With a gasp, she realised it was his nose brushing against her as he dipped his head further down. She heard him inhale, deeply, through his nose. Then he exhaled, his breath hot on her skin, and she realised that his lips were almost touching her neck. She shivered.

With a jerk, he stood upright again. Before she realised it, his grip on her hand tightened. She just had enough time to hear his “Prepare yourself.”

In a flash, the office disappeared around her and she felt the pull of her own mind, conjuring up images. Moments from the past few days whirled around, glimpses of scenes she would rather keep private. She desperately tried to find the calm that Snape talked about. The relaxation that would help her clear her mind.

Green hills appeared before her eyes and suddenly, she was in the memory, watching alongside Snape as Harry walked up to her and Ron.

“What did he want?”

“Remus wants me to make sure you’re still with us. Figure out your allegiance.”

The scene sped up, going through her trying to calm Harry down, trying to explain why it made sense that Remus would distrust her. How doubt was good.

“Remus is going too far. You know what he said to me? That I should look at what you’re wearing. How your hair is done. That it’s all so nice and polished and expensive. That it shows that you’re submitting to their pureblood routine. That you’re letting them change you. That there has to be a reason why You-Know-Who trusts you enough to let you visit. That I should remember that he kissed you. None of that is okay. You know exactly what he’s implying, and that is just … it’s not okay!”

Harry’s monologue played out before her eyes. She remembered very well how angry he sounded when he repeated what Remus had said. But there was something else now. Perhaps it was because she was watching it forcibly through Snape’s Legilimency. Perhaps it was because some time had passed.

There was a half-second glance. A question in his eyes as he shouted his denial into the world. She felt her stomach drop and the image grow blurry before her eyes.

The next second, she was back in the headmaster’s office. Snape no longer touched her. He had stepped away from her, turning his back as he pointedly looked out the window. For a long moment, she could only stare at the dark wood of his desk.

“This will be all for today, Miss Granger.” Snape’s cold voice made her finally look up again.

“That was rather … short?” She was glad to be rid of him, but the student in her was unsatisfied with the lesson.

“The point of today was to show you that even without eye contact, it is very easy to break into your mind.” He didn’t look at her as he explained. “I unearthed a memory that contains information best kept to yourself. It was easy for me to get it. Remember that in preparation for your next lesson. Learn to calm your emotions. Meditate, if that is a thing you do.”

She laughed before she could catch herself. He told her to meditate while he stood there, occluding again, not even looking at her. She stepped right next to him, forcing her way between the window and him, and crossed her arms before her chest. “Is that what you do? Meditate so you can occlude?”

He finally looked at her. It was a glare down his nose, but at least he acknowledged her existence again. He let out a long breath and when he met her eyes, she could see some fire in them again.

“I do not meditate, no. It wasn’t how I was taught. But newer research shows that it is a good first step for those wanting to learn Occlumency.”

She blinked. “Research? How would you even research that?”

He rolled his eyes at her, an expression so full of life, she wasn’t sure she actually saw that. With a shake of his head, he turned around and moved over to his book shelves. “Your parents are doctors, if I am not mistaken? I am sure they have told you how research works in their field. Just because wizards still use parchment and quills doesn’t mean we are completely blind to the advances of science. We research. It’s the only way to develop new potions or change existing ones. With this particular subject, it was a chance discovery.”

He looked around a row of books for a moment, then picked one out and turned back to her. “Someone noticed that especially muggleborn witches started to eclipse their pureblood counterparts in the speed they gained mastery in Occlumency. A bit of qualitative study showed that these muggleborns learned meditation from muggle friends or family they had. Thus, a connection was drawn. Several peer reviewed studies later, we now know that Occlumency benefits from a mind practiced in calming itself.”

He tossed her the book. She wanted to open it immediately, but he stopped her in her tracks. “No, Miss Granger, that is homework. I don’t have the time to babysit you while you read in my office.”

She grinned up at him. “Sorry, force of habit. I’ll make sure to return it next time.”

When the last words left her mouth, she froze. She did not just smile at Snape and talk to him like she would with Professor McGonagall. She did not just forget for a split second who he was and what he had done.

Snape cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow. Blushing deeply, she almost sprinted to the apparition spot at the other side of the room. Despite all her pretence earlier, the fact that she so naturally treated him with respect made her tremble with humiliation. How could she forget who he was?

She reached for her wand, desperate to get out of there, when his voice stopped her again.

“The eagerness to learn that is so deeply rooted within you is one of your greatest assets, Miss Granger. I still feel it is necessary that I warn you. As your teacher. Some forms of magic leave their marks on us when we study them. We might not realise the change as it is happening, but they do change us.”

His tone was back to that flat diction, completely detached from the words he spoke. Only his eyes still carried any emotion at all. They burned into her as though he wanted to imprint the importance of his meaning into her soul.

She licked her lips and gave a short nod to show that she acknowledged his warning. As she prepared to apparate, only one thought was left. The single thing that she should remember after this lesson.

If Snape was warning her against using certain forms of magic, she should make sure to study them even more. Whatever he said, the opposite was what she should be doing. Nothing that came out of the mouth of that murderer would ever be good advice.

Chapter Text

“A ball?”

The incredulity in Narcissa’s voice was palpable. Voldemort almost smiled, seeing the ever-collected lady of the house flustered and confused. Instead, he raised an eyebrow and looked down at her. “Is the graduation of your only son not worthy of celebration?”

She blanched slightly. “Of course it is. I just thought–I assumed that there was no time for leisure, as we are still at war.”

“It’s not much of a war, seeing as the Order of the Phoenix went even deeper into hiding.”

From his perspective, the outcome was already decided. With his horcruxes safely recovered and stored where nobody could access them, and Kingsley Shacklebolt chasing a golden goose that didn’t exist, the Order no longer had anything uniting them. Harry Potter lost his bite, and Remus Lupin was more likely to alienate everyone than lead them to any kind of victory.

The only one who could still throw a wrench into his plans was Hermione and he was very much working on preventing that from happening.

“You are, of course, correct, my lord. I will gladly prepare a glamorous ball for Draco. Are there any guests you would particularly like to see included?”

He looked around the ballroom that was currently empty and devoid of any life. It was as magnificent as could be expected from the manor of one of the richest pureblood families. It would easily hold a hundred people and make for a splendid occasion to show everyone the future.

“There are a handful that I’d like you to invite, but this is a celebration of Draco. The most important thing is that he has his friends around him.” He showed Narcissa a bright smile, relishing in the widening of her eyes as she took it in.

“Of course.” She summoned parchment and a quill that started taking notes for her. “Should Miss Granger be part of the ball?”

He crossed his arms before his chest. “What do you think?”

She grew even paler as she stared at him. Still, she surprised him when she dared to ask another question. “So far, we were not to tell Draco or anyone else about her residing with us. I do not want to presume what your plans are for her.”

He didn’t uncross his arms while he looked at her. This proud woman was a breath away from trembling like a leaf. And yet, she showed more courage than most Death Eaters in asking him questions. That she dared to have Severus swear an Unbreakable Vow to protect Draco, in secret, not knowing that he was well aware, showed a strength he sorely missed among many of his followers. Maybe she should be rewarded just a little for that.

“It is my intention to present Hermione as my companion during this ball,” he explained. There was the quietest gasp from her, but otherwise, she just let the quill take notes. “Before that, the secret still stands. I do not wish to have teenage boys discuss her among themselves while away at school. But once they graduate, I expect them to fall in line. Make sure he and his friends understand that. I don’t want to see or hear anything from the during the ball. Are we clear?”

She nodded emphatically, but he could see more questions burn in her eyes. With a wave of his hand, he gave her permission to ask them. She only hesitated for a moment. “As the hostess of this ball, I endeavour to keep it civil and pleasant for everyone. There currently are only a handful among us who know that Miss Granger is with us. While I doubt anyone would dare to question you, especially at so public an event, I cannot help but worry that there might be confusion among the guests of why she is singled out by you to this extent. She is muggleborn, after all, and many know her to be a close friend of Harry Potter.”

“You wouldn’t happen to be among those confused?”

She laced her fingers into each other with a tight grip, but otherwise remained calm. “I am ever at your service, my lord. What I understand or don’t is of no importance.”

She almost rivalled Severus in her ability to say the exact right things, he had to give her that. She was right, of course. While he expected his Death Eaters to keep their mouths shut and make sure that everyone else remained quiet as well, there would be whispers. She was the mudblood, after all.

“I believe your dedication to serving me will help you clear any confusion your guests might feel.”

Narcissa’s eyes widened ever so slightly, but then she dismissed the parchment and quill with a sharp snap of her finger and nodded. “Of course, my lord. I will await the list of special guests you want invited.”

Just as she left, a house elf popped into the ball room. With shaking hands and trembling ears, he bowed deep down, his nose almost touching the ground. “A Master Dolohov is here for Master.”

Voldemort narrowed his eyes. He had not scheduled a meeting with the wizard. He ordered the house elf to bring him to his office, contemplating whether he should indulge surprise visits from men like him. For his sake, Dolohov better had a good explanation for why he was here.

“You told me that they are stable and their minds safe.”

Dolohov grimaced. “That is because it appeared that way to me. The spell … it turns out it was more powerful than I thought.”

“It’s been ten months. How come you only discovered that now?” Voldemort could feel rage threaten to take over.

The other wizard leaned forward in his chair, placing both hands on the desk between them. His eyes showed his concern, but his voice was calm as he explained, “We reversed the spell Granger placed on them as soon as she left the house. It was pretty tough, because she really made sure to slip into all the cracks of her parents’ minds. But we did it. After that, we regularly checked in on their minds, cleaning up bits and pieces that we overlooked before. It’s hard to know where to look for missing memories if you don’t know the people, and it’s easy to go really deep if you know them very well. Granger really got in there.”

“Get to the point.”

“That is the point.” Dolohov looked him straight in the eye. “We spent months discovering new small bits that we thought we missed before. Of course, because they couldn’t know what we’re doing, we couldn’t work on them for too long, so I thought it was normal that we didn’t find everything at once. Until yesterday. I found a memory blocked that I knew I had recovered half a year ago.”

Voldemort instantly understood. “The spell keeps on trying to block their memories.”

“Exactly. I don’t know how she did it. Or whether that was ever the intention. I can’t even say yet whether we’ll ever be able to definitively stop it. Haven’t looked into that yet. Fact is, for now, they need continuous work on their minds to remember their daughter.”

He cursed internally. When he looked at Hermione’s memories, he realised pretty quickly that she didn’t simply obliviate her parents. It was a modified spell that was much more precise and also worked to cut her out of all the pictures and prevented anyone from mentioning her to the parents, even if those other people remembered her existence. It was one of the most impressive spellworks he’d seen her do.

That was precisely why he ordered Dolohov to move in as soon as Hermione had left the house. The earlier they were able to undo the spell, the better. The Grangers spent not more than half an hour without memory of their daughter – or with plans to move to Australia. He only asked Dolohov to keep an eye on them because he needed to keep them undetected. Checking in on their minds seemed just a formality back then.

“What’s your plan, then?”

Dolohov rolled his shoulders back. “Don’t have one yet. I definitely need to spend more time with them. But I don’t know what to tell them why I need to do that. We don’t want to scare them away.”

He nodded. As far as the Grangers were concerned, they were adult friends of Hermione, tasked by her to keep them save during the war. They didn’t know their daughter erased their memories. They didn’t know that their minds were checked regularly. He couldn’t care less about their well-being, but they were useful tools.

“Tell them that the other side started cursing the minds of other muggles, so you need to check whether anything happened to them.” A sharp grin flittered over his thin lips. “It’s not even a lie after all. Seeing the Order obliviate so many muggles so carelessly will come to the surface sooner or later.”

Dolohov gave a short nod and stood up. “Got it. I will start looking for a focus. There must be something that continues channelling her magic. It wouldn’t happen on its own, that much is certain.”

Voldemort watched as the other wizard left the room. He hadn’t expected any complications in working with the parents. Not that it really mattered, he didn’t plan on letting Hermione actually visit them any time soon. She would find out that he’d had them for months now if she did, and that had to wait until much, much later.

But it did show him, once again, how powerful she was. A self-replicating spell that even his most powerful curse-breaker didn’t detect easily was something.

His gaze wandered to Nagini who was sleeping on his bed, curled in on herself. Ever since he recovered the remaining horcruxes, he didn’t let the snake out of the room more than absolutely necessary. Initially he thought that only her, the cup, and the diadem still existed. But further study of Hermione’s memory revealed the actual truth.

The night he tried to kill Potter, he split his soul again. And because it was already so fractured from the many horcruxes he created, that piece of soul did not stay with him, the rip did not heal, no. It attached itself to the boy and turned him into a horcrux-like creature.

That was what the prophecy was actually about. Nothing about Potter was special outside the fact that he carried a piece of him.

Which was a problem. He needed all remaining pieces of his soul for the ritual, so he needed Potter. Of course, he could always use his witch to lure the boy out, but she would never let him. If he used her to trap Harry Potter, she would never forgive him. That couldn’t happen.

It was not a pressing issue. While she showed immense growth, Hermione had to further her magical core even more before he could even risk an attempt at the ritual. Until she was ready, it was unnecessary to have all horcruxes ready.

He closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. The graduation ball in a couple of weeks would be a turning point for everything. It would mark the beginning of the end for the Order. They would see just how many wizards and witches were on the right side of history, and realise their own insignificance.

Most importantly, it would show Hermione how good life at his side could be for her. Everyone would bow before her. She would finally know what it meant to be respected. She would probably also enjoy the look on Draco’s face when he realised the position she held. If he knew anything about his witch, it was that she could be very vengeful. She deserved to get back at Draco for all the bullying he inflicted on her over the years.

And if she didn’t do it – because her bleeding Gryffindor heart might think it beneath her – he would make sure that the boy suffered all that was due. Nobody had the right to make his witch cry, even if it was at a time when both were mere children. She really should make him pay for that.

Chapter Text

Hermione slowly opened her eyes. Reality seeped back into her mind, her eyes focusing on the closed door leading to Voldemort’s room. With each time that she meditated, she got better at it.

When Snape gave her the book about the connection between meditation and Occlumency, a bratty part of herself had wanted to throw it out directly. But she couldn’t resist the urge to learn, even if the source was a traitorous murderer. That she already had started to meditate in order to master her own magical aura had proven to be an advantage.

Now, whenever she sat down, legs crossed, hands resting comfortably on her thighs, eyes closed, her body instinctively knew to slow down. As thoughts passed through her mind without her directing them any which way, she felt the deep calmness that the book had promised. It felt good, like an invigorating full night’s sleep.

She let out one long breath, ending the session for good. The book she got yesterday explained how a calm mind is more capable of constructing false memories or slightly altering existing ones. That was her goal for today. She knew that the first step in Occlumency ordinarily was to empty the mind so a Legilimens wouldn’t find anything, but that was not enough for her. It would never protect her from Voldemort, so she could just as well skip that step.

Contemplating how best to go about her plan, Hermione let her eyes wander about the room until they stopped at her desk. Cocking her head, she thought about it for a moment. She just needed an emotion, not actual physical circumstances. But perhaps having something to grab on to would help her.

She stretched her limbs, willing them to come back from their completely relaxed state, and then carefully got up. She had quickly learned that standing up directly after finishing a meditation session could make her faint. The slow beat of her heart needed to ramp up a little to support her again.

She stared down on the blank surface of the desk. Her plan was risky, she knew that. If she read Voldemort wrong, it could cost her everything, including her life. But she also knew that she had to do something. Voldemort clearly had plans for her, for everyone around him, and he moved all of his followers around like chess pieces. She refused to be just a pawn. Snape could talk her up as the queen as much as he wanted, Hermione was all too aware that currently, she was just the lowest piece on the chess board, being used to a clandestine goal that she might never fully understand.

If she wanted to change that, she had to act. She had to turn Voldemort’s machinations against him. So far, he only ever showed a loss of control when their magics intertwined. She couldn’t rely on that, even though she was pretty sure she knew why it happened. Same with calling him Tom, which also seemed to touch a part of him that he struggled to contain. She didn’t fully grasp why his name had this effect on him, so she was not yet able to wield it to her advantage.

He said he couldn’t deny her. Hermione didn’t delude herself into thinking he actually meant that, but she would bet that it was closer to the truth than Voldemort knew. So far, she had not really done anything to displease him, so how would he know whether he was able to punish her more severely than just keeping pleasure from her? How could she know?

If he was just the same old Voldemort from Harry’s stories, she would have surely died with what she had planned. But he wasn’t. He was saner, maybe even colder.

She took a deep breath. She needed him more emotional, less in control. That’s why she was doing this.

That it might lead to a sooner death of Severus Snape was just an added bonus.

The sunset bathed the library in a golden-red light that made it almost impossible for Hermione to concentrate on the text before her. It was also a reminder that Voldemort still had not sought her out. She had expected him to come to her immediately after her return from the Occlumency lesson the day before, like he did last time, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Not that she was complaining. It gave her the time she needed to prepare. But that another day was now gone by and she didn’t know where he was started to worry her. If there would have been even the slightest chance that he might have been killed, she would rejoice at his absence. As it were, it was disconcerting.

With a huff, she put her quill down. The Malfoy library had a surprising number of books on house elves and their history, though the actual truth was hard to decipher. Every source seemed to uniformly and strongly point out that house elves existed to serve wizards and witches, and that they would be unhappy and probably die if they lost their masters.

She knew that to be the reality, as she learned her lesson back at Hogwarts when she tried to convince her fellow students to join S.P.E.W. The house elves were terrified of accidentally receiving clothes, because they hated nothing more than the thought of being without master.

It was only her muggle brain that told her something was wrong. Nowhere in nature could one see a master-slave relationship like this. Of course, there were parasites that took other life forms hostage, but that was always a hostile situation; like the orphiocordyceps that made ants hang onto leaves with a death grip so they could grow.

Then there were the symbiotic relationships, like between wolves and ravens. The ravens easily found prey, but couldn’t hunt it. The wolves could easily hunt prey, but had a harder time finding it. Working together, the ravens led wolves to their prey and in return, they could scavenge whatever the wolves left over. Nobody was the master over the other here. She still remembered when her grandmother told her stories of friendships between wolves and ravens. She’d been just a little girl back then, not understanding how significant it was to observe such a thing in nature.

She shook her head. All that she knew about nature was that a master-slave relationship was always parasitic and hostile, never such a superficially amiable one as wizarding society wanted everyone to believe. So why should there be such a thing as a natural master-slave relationship between house elves and wizards? It just didn’t make sense.

All textbooks on the topic were eerily similar when discussing the willingness of house elves to work as slaves. Even those dating back hundreds of years didn’t differ too much from newer works.

Annoyed with her lack of progress, Hermione stood up from the desk and walked around the long rows of bookshelves aimlessly. Perhaps she wasn’t looking for the right books.

On the other end of the library, the door swung open with a creak. She half expected to find Voldemort, but it was instead the lord of the house. He hesitated briefly upon spotting her, but then let the door fall close behind him and leisurely walked towards her.

“Miss Granger, I hope you're having a pleasant evening, “he greeted her with obvious disdain.

She gave a short nod without returning the pleasantry. While Narcissa Malfoy at least tried to appear civil, this man never failed to show his hatred towards her, even if he remained bound to Voldemort’s commands. She had no patience for him.

“Is there anything I can assist you with? I see your desk is full of books, yet here you are, obviously searching for more.” His sharp eyes were fixated on the desk, but she could see in the slightest crinkle of his eyebrows that he was not able to surmise the nature of her study from this distance.

She had no intention of disclosing the subject of her research, but she knew that his offer could still proof valuable. She inclined her head and slowly walked along the bookshelf, farther away from her desk. “I have been wondering whether my methods might be insufficient. I am used to reading textbooks from my time at Hogwarts, but I feel like they are not as enlightening anymore as I hoped.”

She could see his unwillingness to walk with her, but he still fell into step next to her. His voice was smooth and cool as he replied. “Works of non-fiction are a rather modern invention. For centuries, wizards used diaries and travel reports as means to put their thoughts into writing.”

It took everything in her not to let her excitement show on her face. She carefully copied his tone. “It was not too dissimilar for muggles throughout history. Those texts are hard to impossible to find though.”

“If you would follow me.” Malfoy indicated with his right arm towards another section of the library.

Curious and still excited beyond belief, she let him walk her into a darker part where a magical light was needed to see. Hermione instantly realised that the books here were much older and in way worse condition than the rest of the library. None of them seemed to have titles on the spine either.

“My family has worked on this library for as long as we existed. This means of course that we had the pleasure of directly receiving letters, diaries, travel reports, and the like from the authors themselves. While we never felt the need to catalogue them as we did the rest, they are still part of the collection.” He let the light swiftly fly down the narrow path between the two long shelves stacked with non-descript, leather-bound books.

Hermione’s eyes grew big. There was an unmissable note of haughty pride in his voice as he explained that, but she still doubted that he fully realised what a treasure he had here. The state of these books spoke to severe neglect. She could only hope that they wouldn’t crumble into dust as soon as she touched them.

When the light returned to them, Hermione looked up at the older wizard, just as he was studying her. From the first moment of their acquaintance, back in Diagon Alley during year two, she had always known that this arrogant man had nothing but contempt for her, simply because she was muggleborn. As his son was a ridiculous bully and all-around arsehole, she never felt wrong in hating Lucius Malfoy with all her heart – or showing him her animosity whenever the rare chance for it occurred.

Now though, he held the key to knowledge she never dared to gain before. He was, of course, bound by Voldemort to assist her with any question or issue, but she knew that this racist old man would find ways to withhold knowledge subtly. He might not treasure these books as he should, but he still knew better than her what was in here.

She blinked slowly and tried to remember every single word Narcissa Malfoy ever said to her. What had not worked on her friends and the Order would definitely work on Lucius Malfoy, the man around whom Narcissa’s life revolved. Hermione suddenly was all too aware that she was wearing her simple muggle jeans, but at least she wore a form fitting dark blouse with it. Not quite as elegant as she perhaps should be, but good enough.

“Thank you for sharing this hidden treasure with me, Mr Malfoy. Truly. Your library is vast and already appeared magnificent to me before I knew this existed. I would have continued to stumble in the dark, not even thinking about old personal texts like this.” She forced her face to relax and a polite smile to form on her lips. Friendly, reaching her eyes, without coming across as over eager. At least, she hoped it didn’t.

His face remained impassive for a moment, almost mirroring the stoic expression she knew from Snape. Then, she thought she could detect the tiniest hint of a derisive grin on his lips. She balled her hands into fists behind her back, ordering herself to keep up the friendly smile.

At length, he nodded. “We rarely have guests who appreciate our collection. If you wish for my further assistance, it shall be yours.”

For another long moment, she held his gaze, allowing him to revel in his conviction that she was currently grovelling before him, utterly at his mercy. It mattered not. Her research would turn Malfoy’s world upside down, doubly so once he realised that he himself gave her the tools to unlock this mystery. What was a bit of pretend submission and humility in the meantime?

She allowed a bit of her excitement to shine through now. The more he thought she really depended on him, the better. She only needed to carefully navigate getting his help without alerting him to the subject matter of her inquiry. She already sent a silent spell back to her desk so the books sorted themselves back into the shelves.

“I think I’d like to start with something light,” she explained, keeping her voice polite and humble. “Perhaps there are letters or diaries from past generations of Malfoys? Of course, I don’t want to intrude on anything private, but I would assume your family has always been at the forefront of magical society. It is a topic that someone like me knows little about.”

Malfoy’s eyes sparkled at the invitation. “Of course, I understand that the likes of you would never have access to material like this. As our lord commands, I will gladly open our prized memories to you, Miss Granger. Follow me. All correspondence and writing by the Malfoy family is kept at the other end.”

It was almost funny how eagerly he jumped at the chance of calling her a mudblood without speaking the word, but Hermione contained her amusement. While she didn’t believe that any Malfoy of any generation would ever have anything of interest to say, she imagined that they would always have had house elves. If she could trace back the first mention of them, she had at least something. And if not a first mention, then maybe something that indicated a change in the relationship between the family and the future slaves.

Lucius Malfoy slowed down and let his fingers glide over the spines of one row of books. For a moment, Hermione was almost spellbound by how sensual that gesture was. Just like his son, this man was unfairly attractive, even at his age. People said that character could make anyone ugly, but she knew by now that at least this family was an exception to that. They were all still stunningly beautiful, an injustice to every sense of karma she ever encountered.

Blinking away her wandering thoughts, she focused back on the task. After a short discussion, Lucius Malfoy pointed her to the diary of an ancestor from the twelfth century. It was a thick volume, speaking to unusual dedication to diary-keeping. She thanked him with a bright smile, clutching the tome to her chest, and did a half-curtsy that earned her another arrogant grin.

As she watched him exist the library again, she couldn’t contain the giggle any longer. All these men were so easy to read, now that she was free to think about and judge them as she liked. Voldemort didn’t know what he stoked in her when he made her see so clearly that she was alone.

Grinning, she returned to her desk and started her new read. She would find what she was looking for. She knew it.

Chapter Text

He found his witch in the library, as always. The only new thing was the lack of books stacked around her. She read one single old tome that appeared to be crumbling with every page she turned.

“Good evening, Hermione.”

She winced, betraying how lost she had been in her read. With slightly reddening cheeks, she looked up at him. “Good evening, my lord.”

He slid behind her chair, peering down at the pages. They contained neat, small script clearly written hundreds of years ago and barely legible. “Did you find new sources?”

Hermione quickly closed the tome and smiled up at him. “I did indeed. Mr Malfoy was very helpful today. Perhaps you might want to reward him for his excellent services? After stooping so low as to help the likes of me, he should at least get something back.”

“Cheeky witch,” he purred. He understood her meaning, delighted that she slowly started to play the same games all these purebloods played. With Narcissa’s help, she would grow into a fearsome woman, fit to stand at his side for as long as he had use of her.

“What can I do for you, my lord?” She licked her lips as she asked that. For a moment, he wondered whether she meant it as an offer, or whether it was just her nervous habit shining through.

He held out his hand. “I’d like to examine what happened yesterday. Come with me.”

For just a heartbeat, he saw excitement flash in her eyes, but it was quickly replaced by hesitation and a hint of fear. He narrowed his eyes, watching as she placed her hand in his and allowed him to pull her up from her chair. She was so very obviously playing a game, it was almost cute. He had no doubt that even clever men like Severus would fall for her ploy eventually, but to him, she was an open book.

It didn’t escape his notice that she sent the book back to where it came from instead of taking it with her. Curious. Whatever she was reading, she obviously didn’t want to show her hand yet. He made a mental note of that and then offered her his arm to walk her back to his room.

He had deliberately delayed getting her memories of the last Occlumency session. After his command that she opened up to Severus, he was sure that she had executed on that immediately – and would by now probably be more than eager to share whatever devious intrigue she had come up with. Her main objective was to get her former teacher killed, Voldemort knew that all too well. The flash of excitement in her eyes let him know that she thought she succeeded in whatever she had cooked up to make him hate Severus.

That he already planned on killing the man, and that nothing she did would hasten that plan, she didn’t need to know.

When he opened the door to his bedroom, Nagini instantly slithered away to the bathroom where she had her own little nest. She moved silently, but he could feel Hermione tense next to him.

“Your snake is here?”

He gave her a slight nudge to make her step through the door, then closed it behind them. “Of course. Since I realised what Potter’s objective is, I keep her with me at all times.”

Her eyes were fixed on the door leading to the bathroom, a tiny crease between her eyebrows showing her fast-working mind. “How come I’ve never seen her around before?”

“Because I didn’t want you to.”

Her gaze snapped up to him. “Why?”

“I wanted you comfortable first. Few people are comfortable around snakes, especially ones as large as her.”

“You think me comfortable?” The corners of her mouth tilted downwards as she scowled at him.

He grinned. “Are you not?”

“If you mean aware of my surroundings at all times yet resigned to my fate, I supposed I am comfortable.”

“Don’t worry, my sweet,” he purred, “whatever you lack in comfort right now shall soon be rectified. I promise.”

She arched one eyebrow in obvious distrust, but remained silent. He would tell her about the upcoming ball and his plan to official introduce her as his woman, but not quite yet. He didn’t want to give her too much time to prepare, and he needed her a bit more educated.

“Now, please, lay down on the bed. I want to examine your memories thoroughly.” He motioned her towards his bed and to his surprise, she complied most eagerly.

Oh yes, she definitely thought that whatever had happened during the lesson would make him hate Severus more. Or perhaps, she thought that she already mastered Occlumency enough to keep him out of her head. Whatever it was, she would soon find out that she was still far beneath him.

He waited until she was settled on the mattress, eyes closed, hands diligently folder over her lap. Then, he pulled a chair close to sit next to her and gently put two fingers against her temple.

When he entered her memories, he first found only white nothingness. He could sense her effort to keep her mind empty, but emotions bubbled underneath the surface. Soon, the first images emerged without him having to push her. For someone who just started her lessons, she already showed great progress.

He quickly flicked through the memories, deliberately not looking at anything that he didn’t want to see. She should know how little he cared to explore her mind. How easily he could read her even when he was never in her head.

There.

The headmaster’s office flickered into existence. She sat on a chair, nervously rubbing her thighs. She was wearing a pretty blouse and a sensible skirt, attractive yet reserved. Voldemort almost chuckled. Her idea of opening up to Severus was to be dressed nicely, apparently, but she obviously still struggled to fully commit.

With a whirl of black clothes, Severus appeared in view. He noted his stiff greeting, amused that the wizard was already occluding. But then Severus stilled for a split-second, his eyes widening as he looked at Hermione. Voldemort stepped to a different spot in the memory and replayed it. Ah. His cheeky little witch smiled at her teacher. Just the smallest movement of her lips, displayed hesitation and uncertainty, but enough to confuse Severus.

He watched as the other man explained what he had planned for the lesson, as Hermione grew ever more nervous – and then elated. He could feel her excitement vibrate in every image the moment Severus mentioned that she should stand close to him.

When she moved around the huge desk, the image around him suddenly lost its colour and with it, any emotion drained from it. He saw her stand in front of Severus, staring down at his desk, but he felt nothing. He paused the moment.

This scene had all the tell-tale signs of being a carefully constructed memory, not a real one. He hadn’t expected that. He instantly realised why there was a brief moment of excitement in Hermione – she was looking forward to testing her new skill. It was not too badly done, he had to admit. If it wasn’t for the usual vibrance to all her memories, this might have passed as a convincing, real scene. Though even someone who didn’t know her as well as he did would notice the difference.

He allowed the scene to play out. Noted her thanking Severus for his words after her disastrous meeting with the Order. Watched as the outrageous wizard dared to almost embrace her. When the scene broke and Severus entered her mind, Voldemort paused it again.

The always smouldering anger deep within him threatened to light a fire. He had prepared himself to see some unpleasant moments between Hermione and Severus when he instructed both to get close to the other. Still, actually seeing it was worse than he could imagine. Hermione was his, Severus knew that. Yet he dared to linger, dared to inhale her scent.

In the quietness of his room, Voldemort took a deep breath. This was not unexpected. He never liked others touching what he considered his possession. The intensity of his anger was more than it should be, but that, too, was not unexpected. He still wasn’t whole, after all. What he was feeling right now wasn’t actually reflective of his emotional state. Once he regained his soul, he would have more control over rage like this.

Slowly, the anger simmered down again. He went back to the moment Hermione stepped in front of Severus and waited. Despite her best efforts, there were hints of her emotions. He just needed to tug on any thread that he could grasp, and the whole illusion would unravel.

He stared at the image before him, Hermione standing trapped between Severus and the desk, eyes downcast, he still a step away. Voldemort circled them, studying every aspect. There. Despite the discolouration, he could see the red along Hermione’s neck. She was blushing. He grabbed that, forcing himself deeper into her mind, pulling up the emotion behind it.

All at once, the image sprang to life. Colours returned and with it, the full force of her emotions hit him. Her racing pulse, her heavy breathing, her nervousness. How she swallowed thickly, needing several attempts before she could speak the words. Then, when she finally said them, her blush increased.

An avalanche of confusion and nervousness hit him, throwing him off balance for long enough that the scene advanced before he knew it. Severus stepped closer, crowding her even more. Every sense seemed heightened, attacking him with a ferocity that almost made the images around him vanish. He could feel, as Hermione felt, the warmth on her back, the tickle of his long hair on her neck, the brush of his cloak against her legs.

Then, Severus inhaled. What was formerly nearly imperceptible now appeared almost deafening. Lips hovered over her skin, just barely not touching.

And heat pulsed through Hermione, a low throb of need.

Instantly, the fire of his rage threw him from her memories. When he opened his eyes, he found her wide stare looking up at him. Her lips parted, as though she wanted to say something. Before he could control himself, his fingers left her temple and closed around her throat.

“Not a word, witch,” he hissed, impressing the seriousness of his command into her with the force of his grip.

She blanched, but kept her mouth shut. He sat frozen, hand still around her throat, as the torrent of emotions swept through him. Even the reminder that he only felt so strongly because he wasn’t whole couldn’t calm him down.

No. This was more than just rage elevated by his broken soul.

She was so open, so vulnerable in this moment. Quietly uttering her thanks to Severus, hesitant, confused, but so very obviously welcoming his almost-embrace. It was not right. That side of Hermione, the warmth, the willingness, the desire, it belonged to him. Only him. Not even her school crush could elicit these feelings in her.

He desperately closed his eyes. He could feel his control slipping. He should kill her for this betrayal, but he couldn’t. He still needed her. She needed to be punished, harshly, actually punished for this, not just teased by denying pleasure. Yes. He would teach her pain. Once she knew the pain he could inflict, she would never dare to feel like this about any other man again. Ever.

Perhaps the pain would break her. No mind, regardless how strong, could forever endure torture. Sooner or later, her mind would break, fracture, leaving her behind as just a doll to command as he pleased. Then, he could just kill Severus. No need for elaborate plots to manipulate her feelings, to break her emotionally. He could get rid of that half-breed right now.

Suddenly, he realised that his wand was in his hand. He opened his eyes again, staring down at the hand that somehow held his wand, gripping it so tightly his knuckles went white. Yes. He just needed to lift his wand and show her the true extent of a Cruciatus by the Dark Lord. She would comply then. Now. Forever.

A featherlight touch against the wrist of his other hand startled him out of his tumbling thoughts. He blinked, looking up, finding Hermione’s fingers gently stroke him. Then, her other hand came into view, slowly, very, very slowly, stretching towards him. Before he knew what he was doing, he leaned down until he felt the palm of her hand against his cheek.

“Tom,” she whispered. His eyes snapped to her face, all rage evaporating. She looked at him with concern in her gaze. “I’m sorry. What you saw was not the truth. It was meant as a test of my abilities. Please. Do you want to see the true memory?”

He almost didn’t hear her words through the haze of his own mind. All he heard was his name, spoken so softly, so reverently. It held none of the abhorrence he used to feel. This one syllable from her lips wrapped around him like he imagined her naked skin would feel against his.

It took several deep breaths before he realised what she said after that one word. Reality came back to him. “What?”

She licked her lips, but didn’t lower her eyes. “I was sure you would see right through it. It was just meant as a tease. Just an exercise to get a feeling for changing memories. Please. Reach back into my mind and look.”

He didn’t hesitate. Staring straight into her eyes, he dove back in, ripping her mind apart, unfeeling to the pain he caused. The memory was back, just as vivid and colourful as before. He advanced it frame by frame, always testing, always searching, trying to see through the deception. But he came up empty. There was no other thread, no veiled emotion but what he was feeling in tandem with Hermione.

Disgust. Repulsion. Fierce determination. A sick, sinking feeling in her stomach as Severus stepped closer. A barely contained shiver when he inhaled. Nausea that sent goosebumps down her back.

He replayed the scene again and again, not caring for the viciousness of his attack. He was looking for the emotions from before, the arousal, the throbbing desire. It was nowhere to be seen. He went through the scene one final time, stopping when all Hermione was able to see anymore was the wooden surface of the desk.

Something flickered at the edge of his consciousness. Without thinking, he grabbed it, pulled the scene before him and pushed the headmaster’s office away. Suddenly, he stood in Hermione’s room as she stared down at her own desk, face scrunched up from her immense focus. He could feel a whirlwind of emotions surround her, as though she was deliberately conjuring them up. Then it settled and he could feel desire set her body aflame once more.

Finally, Voldemort understood.

He closed his mind again and yanked his hands away from her. There were tears in her eyes, her teeth buried into her lower lip as she obviously tried to suppress sobs. The pain she would be feeling after his unrelenting attack would be excruciating, but he couldn’t care less about that right now.

He was stunned, vacillating wildly between roaring amusement about his blindness and screaming rage over her trick. She deliberately conjured up a memory that would hurt him like nothing else could. Taunting him, reducing him to madness.

It was cunning, clever, and beyond his wildest dreams. She was astounding, even when she enraged him.

A sob broke from her lips, followed by an almost silent, “I’m sorry, Tom. I’m so, so sorry.”

He slipped his wand back into his sleeve and pulled the whimpering witch onto his lap, embracing her with both arms. She was formidable when she put her mind to something. She deserved a reward for her good work, for how she followed his order immediately. She deserved to be punished for what she did to him.

“It’s okay,” he replied soothingly, “you did well today. Come, let me help you to bed. Your head will hurt. Sleep now, and we’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

He held her close to his chest as he stood up, carrying her to her room with as much gentleness as he could muster. She deserved rest, yes, but she needed punishment. She needed to realise that the way she went about demonstrating her progress was very wrong.

Most of all, he needed time to fully understand how she managed to trick him so easily where even Severus usually failed.

Chapter Text

Hermione watched through tired eyes as Voldemort closed the door behind him. Her mind was screaming; pain that was so much more than just a headache pounding against every nerve in her brain. When he looked at her memories that second time, she instantly understood what it meant to have someone force their way into her mind.

She hadn’t expected this. Of course, she knew that it would provoke Voldemort. It was a calculated risk that he would turn his anger at the scene against Snape. Most of all, she expected the ruse to work only momentarily, and to be found out immediately. That he fell for it completely without even looking for lies was surprising.

And valuable.

She didn’t fully understand yet why it sent him into such a rage. It was the first time she had seen him so completely out of control. Of course, there had been that one time when he touched her aura for too long and was sucked into the seduction of it all involuntarily. But that had a clear, magical cause, even if he didn’t understand it as she did now.

But this? This blind rage that made him overlook so obvious a trick and almost led to her death then and there? This was something else entirely. The Voldemort she had gotten to know so far was detached from human emotions in a way that was almost scary, but at least she could always see logic and sense in his actions. He was a power-hungry monster, just like Harry always described him, but guided by a rational mind.

She thanked her lucky star that not too long ago, she discovered the power of his name. Even then, there had been some sort of uncontrollable emotion in him, first detesting the name, then urging her on to say it again and again. She had stored that safely in her mind for later use, but never looked at his emotional state again.

Now, she had to face the truth that somewhere in this cold, calculating Dark Lord, there was an unstable, raging man that could flip at any second.

She closed her eyes and pulled the blanket over her head. Even now, in the complete darkness and silence of her room, she felt assaulted by too many sensations. She wished she could push the world away, not feeling or sensing or thinking anything. As though every synapse in her brain screamed at her for every thought she allowed to pass through.

She needed to sleep. Whatever this was, she would have to think about it tomorrow. Right now, her mind was fractured and broken, her head hurting in a way she didn’t think was possible.

Deliberately, she slowed down her breathing, face buried deep under her blanket. Tomorrow, she would put her mind back together.

Heat was the first thing she noticed. An uncomfortable, sticky feeling that pulled at her mind, slowly bringing her out of her dreams. She felt hot all over but was unwilling to give up the embrace of sleep. Half-conscious, she tried to roll to the other side.

It was then that she realised the other body pressing against her back. Cool, hard, naked. Just like she was naked.

For a moment longer, she tried to fight against the reality seeping into her mind. But as much as she wanted to go back to the black nothingness of sleep, she couldn’t ignore the cool fingers between her legs or the hot breath in her neck.

With a groan, she opened her eyes and tried to roll away once more. Instantly, she felt a hand on her stomach that trapped her against the chest of the man behind her.

“My sweet.” His voice was nothing more than a low rumble in her ears.

His fingers moved languidly and suddenly, Hermione became very much aware that the heat that pulled her from her dreams was desperate arousal. His left hand grabbed her thigh and pulled it back over his hips.

Then, she felt his very hard length slide between her legs.

With a gasp, she tried again to roll away. “Wha–what are you doing?”

He started to move against her, still holding her in place with an iron grip. “While you were out, sleeping without a care in the world, I had time to think.”

The hand on her stomach wandered up, grabbing one of her breasts. Another wave of heat shot through her body. Involuntarily, she arched her back and pressed herself against his hips.

“Yesss,” he hissed, “exactly right. You can barely hold back when I touch you, right, my sweet? Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to be patient? You are magnificent when you unleash the full power of your mind. Even when you use it against me. You think you know what it means to be denied?”

He slotted his cock between her folds, nudging her entrance. Desire and dread swirled in her, quickly melting away the last bits of her sleepy drowsiness. His next words were a deep growl. “You have no idea how patient I am with you. How much I’m holding back. And what do I get in return?”

In one swift movement, he rolled her onto her back and trapped her underneath his body. “You tease me with a memory of another man. You knew what that would do to me, isn’t that right, Hermione?”

She shook her head, aroused and scared in equal measures. “No. I didn’t, I swear. I just thought it would make you angry enough to go after Snape sooner.”

His eyes flashed red. “Don’t lie to me!”

Her mind was racing, trying to come up with anything to say to calm his rage. She hadn’t had time to think about what happened yesterday yet. How was she to know that this fake memory would make him lose control? There was no reason for his rage. She understood that he felt jealous, but he was still the Dark Lord. This switch that flipped without warning and unleashed the unstable monster was completely new. He usually was detached from normal human emotions, so how could she possibly begin to understand this sudden possessiveness?

“I thought you would see right through it,” she pressed out, desperate to explain herself. “I just wanted to test what Snape told me about Occlumency and what I read in books. Yes, I admit, it was meant to make you angry, but not more than before, when you punished me for not being more guarded around him. I swear. It was a test of my abilities, just for myself, nothing more!”

“You’re playing a dangerous game, making me angry deliberately.” The raging fire in his eyes slowly subsided. “Do you value your life so little?”

She swallowed. “I just wanted to get Snape killed.”

“Your single-minded obsession with Severus is getting old, my sweet.” He parted her legs and pressed his hips into her. “You’re here, under me, naked, and still you speak of another man.”

She hated the way his cock felt against her skin, hard and heavy and so unbelievably hot. She hated how she almost rolled her hips in answer, desire and need still coursing through her veins. She hated how she had to desperately press her lips together to suppress a moan. All she could do was shake her head.

It would be so easy. She could just give in, spread her legs and tell him to take her. It would quell his anger and would give her what she had desired since the moment she awoke as Bellatrix Lestrange in his bed. She stared up at him, into those eyes with their pupils blown wide, so much more human than their usual snake-like appearance. He would take her without compromise, without holding back. Maybe the rage he currently felt would make it hurt for her.

It would hurt so good.

“I’m sorry, my lord,” she whispered, barely able to hold back a groan. “You are patient with me, I know that. Really, I do. I shouldn’t have tried out Occlumency like that.”

She tried to put as much sincerity as she could into her words. She didn’t fully regret doing it. She never intended for it to succeed in the way it did, and it gave her valuable insight into Voldemort, even if she didn’t fully understand it yet. But she needed him to believe her apology.

“So you know I’m showing considerable restraint.” His eyes seemed to burn into hers.

She nodded. “Yes, I do. I really, really do.”

For several heartbeats, he just looked at her, studied her. His heavy cock twitched, a reminder to her how vulnerable she currently was. She barely dared to breathe as she waited for him to let her go again.

His face went dark. “Then beg me.”

Her eyes grew wide. Against all common sense, the way he snarled those words, low and venomous and demanding, only stoked the fire of her need. His eyes held a promise. He would hold nothing back once she let him take her. He would use her for his own pleasure, in whichever way he desired, for however long.

By Merlin, she wanted nothing more than to feel him inside her. She clenched around nothing, her body too aware of his perfect length just millimetres away from where it should be. To finally give in, it would be glorious.

And dangerous. That he still held himself back for her sake was one last bit of control she had in this madness. She didn’t know what would happen when he no longer had to pursue her.

She took a deep breath in through her nose and forced her throat to relax. No ill-timed moan was to escape her. Then, she licked her lips and arranged her expression into something she hoped would be a demure smile. “Is that an order, my lord?”

The fingers on her thigh dug deeper into her as Voldemort went completely still above her. She didn’t dare to breathe while she waited and hoped that it worked. She watched his gaze travel down her naked body until his eyes lingered on her parted legs. His left hand right next to her head closed into a white-knuckled fist. She licked her lips, fighting the urge to rub herself against him.

Then, he snorted and buried his face in her wild hair. “Of course not, my sweet.” His lips nipped at her neck. “You win, as always.”

She let out a shuddering breath. As the anxiety slowly left her body, she couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment. She wanted him to claim her, right here, right now. God, she wanted nothing more than to end this constant power struggle and these mind games and just let him win. To give herself over to the pleasure he promised and forget everything else.

His hand left her thigh and closed around his cock instead. For one breathless moment, Hermione feared – hoped – that he had changed his mind and decided to take her despite her protests. But then, she could feel him move his hand in the tight space between their two bodies, up and down, and heard his desperate groan right next to her ear.

All sense left her. Blinded by the feral sounds of the man above her, she grabbed his face and pulled him into a kiss. He reacted just as eagerly, sliding his tongue into her mouth. He devoured her, coated her in his growled moans, but never stopped his hand.

Desperate, Hermione sneaked one hand between their bodies. She needed to feel something inside of her, even if it was just her own fingers. She plunged in, urged on by the feel of her own arousal. Their kiss broke as she focused on her fingers. Instantly, Voldemort buried his teeth in the soft spot where her neck and shoulders met. She cried out, edged on by the delicious pain.

He groaned again, louder this time, just as hot droplets of liquid spurted onto her stomach. His hand worked furiously, squeezing every last bit of his orgasm out. Tears spilled from her eyes as she frantically, hopelessly tried to follow him. Her fingers just weren’t enough.

“Please,” she sobbed, uncaring for how pitiful she sounded, “I need you, please, please!”

Through the haze of her desire, she could hear Voldemort trying to catch his breath. Then, his hand closed around her wrist as he pulled her fingers out. She couldn’t see him, but his voice betrayed the malicious grin on his lips all the same. “You’ll need to do better than that, my sweet. Tell me what you need, with all your heart, and I shall provide.”

From somewhere, a hint of sense returned to her brain. She couldn’t give herself over to him just like that, regardless of how alluring it was. With the last of her strength, she leaned upwards and ghosted a kiss against his neck. “I want your fingers buried deep inside of me. Tom.”

A shudder went through his body and she could have sworn that he moaned, even though no sound left his lips. The hand next to her head suddenly grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled, forcing her to arch her back. Right then, he let go of her wrist and thrust three fingers into her.

The cry died on her lips, caught by his as he devoured her once more. She tried to wriggle away, to tell him that he hurt her, but the grip on her hair was iron. More tears streamed down her face while he claimed her mouth and started to pump his fingers into her with an unforgiving pace.

Helplessly, she dug her fingers into his shoulders, clinging to him, just as the burning pain brought a new wave of heat over her. She didn’t even notice how she spread herself wider, how her hips started to match his rhythm. It hurt and burnt and consumed her.

With a jerk of her head, she finally broke free from his lips. “No–” Her voice cracked as she tried to plead with him.

“You always pretend to hate it,” Voldemort snarled without stopping his fingers, “but then I feel your arousal drench my hand. The more you protest, the more you want it. Isn’t that right, my sweet?”

He increased the strain on her hair. “That’s why you ran from your lover. That’s why his touch didn’t excite you. So careful. So gentle.”

As if to emphasise his words, he curled his finger deep inside her. An animalistic sound tore from her throat and made him chuckle. “This is what you want, Hermione. You’re helpless. Powerless. Completely at my mercy. I could fuck you right here, right now, and all your protests would be in vain. Because you would still come on my cock and you would crave it again and again and again. Regardless of how often you say no. You always spread your legs. Want to be filled. Because you already know the truth.”

He turned her head and forced her to look him in the eye. “You’re mine. And you always will be. Because that’s what you want. That’s the only thing you want.”

His words washed over her, slipping into every little recess of her mind. Every word sent a shiver of pleasure down her spine. Transformed the pain into pleasure. Right in this moment, every single thing he said was the truth. The only thing she wanted was to feel his body on top of her and be his.

“Yes,” she keened, breathless, senseless, “yes, yes, it’s all I want. Please. I want to come, please. Please.”

He thrust his fingers deeper into her and pressed his palm against her centre. “Then come,” he growled.

She cried out. Her body shuddered as she pressed her hips against him with everything she had. Her fingers dug deep into his shoulders. Heat ripped through her like a shockwave. She could only cling on as the pleasure took over. Her eyes went blind and her mind shattered. Then, all strength left her.

Exhausted, her arms collapsed onto the bed. Aftershocks rolled over her body, making her tremble, while Voldemort still kept the pressure between her legs. Only when she finally lay completely still, drenched in sweat, did he pull out his fingers.

She watched as he slipped them between his lips and licked them clean. And he watched her. His eyes were piercing, challenging.

“Not long now,” he purred as his gazes bored into her. “Soon, you will beg me, Hermione.”

Chapter Text

Severus was punctual as ever. Standing in the training room, completely still, only his eyes blinking every now and then, Voldemort knew exactly what he was feeling and thinking. This absolute stillness, the way his greeting had been short, but more subservient than usual, highlighted the anxiety his once trusted advisor felt.

Voldemort didn’t try to hide that he was staring at the other man. He leant against the wall, arms cross in front of his chest, and studied the profile of the Hogwarts headmaster. This man made his life so much more difficult simply by existing.

And by being besotted with a mudblood.

The unfortunate thing was that despite everything, Severus Snape was still the only wizard he trusted. The only one he had ever trusted. Not that he believed in his loyalty. There was no such thing as absolute loyalty. But Severus was the only one that combined a sharp intellect with the right ideology – and he joined the cause very young, easy to mould into what he needed to be.

He never truly enjoyed the company of any other human being after the death of Abraxas, until Severus. He could trust that Severus would understand his vision. That he would do all the right things to support him, even while he was barely alive as a wraith.

He could overlook his obsession with Lily Potter – he was just a boy then, after all. But Hermione? First, he had the audacity to criticise him over a situation he knew nothing about, and then he went and replaced one mudblood obsession with another. Despite the trust Voldemort had, he could not forgive that.

Severus needed a reminder where his loyalties should lie. Even though his fate was already sealed, he couldn’t let this man continue to court his witch.

Just like his witch needed a reminder that at the end of the day, the only one with power here was Lord Voldemort. She played a dangerous game, riling him up with a fake memory of another man and then coyly denying him again and again. She needed to be punished, truly punished for that.

The door to the training room opened and closed with a soft click. He turned his head to look at his witch as she made her way over to them. She still looked tired after the night and early morning she had, but the large breakfast he had the house elves deliver to her room had at least returned some colour to her cheeks.

“My lord. Professor.” She sounded calm and collected as she greeted them.

Severus only nodded to acknowledge he noticed her existence. Voldemort almost chuckled at that. It was pathetic how much this boy was smitten with Hermione, and how much he tried to hide it. It would be interesting to see whether he was even able to do what he was supposed to today.

“Thank you for joining us, Hermione. I trust you enjoyed your breakfast?”

“I did.” She shot him a daring glare. “Ready to continue training.”

She really thought they would continue as if nothing had happened. She tricked him, then denied him while still demanding her own pleasure, and thought he would let her get away with that. Cheeky, bold girl. Today, she would learn that some actions did have consequences.

“We will be doing things slightly differently today. Please step into your usual spots in the middle of the room,” he instructed them.

They followed his words swiftly, though he did spot a quick moment of hesitation in Severus. His eyes darted between the two of them before he joined Hermione in the middle of the room. If Voldemort had to guess, Severus probably tried to find out whether the incident during the last Occlumency session was already known.

“I always like combining lessons,” he explained as he looked both of them in the eye one after the other. “For example, our training can be advanced by bringing in an element of reality. Duelling with pure magic in a safe training room doesn’t accurately reflect what would happen outside. So, I want you both in a state of exhaustion and distraction. To achieve that, another lesson will be taught first.”

He stepped directly behind Severus and put both his hands on his shoulders, smiling brightly. “I heard that you enjoyed Hermione’s company a little too much when she visited you last time, my boy. And I think it is time you finally learned your lesson.” He gripped him harder and lowered his voice to a quiet hiss. “She’s mine and if you ever dare to even breathe so close to her again, you will regret it.”

He could feel his shoulders tense underneath his fingers, but otherwise, Severus remind as stoic as always. “Of course, my lord.”

He moved to the other side until he towered in front of Hermione. Gently, he put two fingers under her chin and bend her head a little so he could look into her eyes. “And you, my sweet. You already know what your lesson is about, don’t you?”

She licked her lips, but her gaze didn’t waver. “I do. I’m sorry.”

He pressed a quick kiss onto her forehead before he stepped behind her and closed his arms around her. A drum of excitement swept through him. They both were ready to please him. Especially Severus. The man probably thought he still had a chance to save his life if he just acted exactly as was expected. They didn’t know what was coming.

“Severus, please prepare to cast the Cruciatus curse on Hermione.”

His tiny witch tensed in his arms. “What?”

“Don’t be so alarmed, my sweet,” he purred into her ear. “You need to learn that taunting me will only lead to pain for you.”

“I don’t need pain to understand that!”

He held her trapped against his body, bathing in the scent of her rising fear. “This will happen, Hermione, whether you like it or not.”

With that, he slipped her wand from her hand and pushed her to her knees. She was shaking now, but her mouth set into that hard, thin line that told him she would stubbornly endure whatever he had planned for her. She probably thought she could prevent screaming if she set her mind to it. So naïve.

“Get to it, Severus,” he ordered the other wizard.

“As you wish, my lord.”

It amused him to no end that there was no hesitation in Severus. He simply raised his wand and pointed it at Hermione. Even though he was so in love with the witch, he still followed orders promptly and without question. Too bad he was no longer trustworthy.

“Crucio.” The word came practiced, a quiet yet forceful command.

Voldemort watched with fascination as the red light of the curse erupted from the tip of the wand and connected with Hermione’s chest. She immediately toppled over, bracing herself on her hands and knees. Lips still pressed together, he could see her neck strain as she suppressed a cry.

It was in these rare moments that he could feel his heart beat furiously in his chest. He seldom felt human anymore, but right now, the blood was rushing through his veins, his pulse sped up, and he almost swayed from the glorious feeling of excitement.

His witch whimpered. A sound that shot right through his body and pushed his heart beat even more. He blinked once. This excitement felt different than usual. More alive, more ferocious. It made him sweat, where usually he remained cool.

A soft cry broke from Hermione’s lips as she crumpled onto the floor, no longer in control of her limbs. It sent another shockwave through his body, but this time, it froze him to is spot. With his heart thumping away at an impossible rate, he could only stare down onto her small frame, writhing and undulating on the floor.

It was wrong. His sweet witch crying in pain was wrong. Just wrong.

He blinked again and forced his eyes away, instead focusing on Severus. The other man’s face was nothing but an empty mask, his gaze dull, his skin pale and shiny. He was inflicting unimaginable pain onto Hermione and felt nothing while doing it.

“Stop,” he hissed, “that’s enough.”

Instantly, Severus broke the curse. Another loud sob fell from Hermione’s lips, and before he knew what he was doing, Voldemort was kneeling next to her, cradling her in his arms.

The moment he felt her small, soft body against his, his breathing slowed and with it, his heart calmed down. This was right. This was how it should be. The excitement he just felt was nothing compared to this.

His curled one hand into her hair and breathed in deeply. Was that even excitement? He enjoyed watching others in pain, be it by his own hand or anyone else’s. He especially loved it when Bellatrix got creative with her torture methods. The screams of those muggles and mudbloods sang to his heart. And while Severus was in no way as creative as she was, he had a real talent for efficiently breaking others. His mastery over the Cruciatus curse was unparalleled.

But just now, his excitement had almost felt threatening.

He looked back up at Severus, who was standing motionless like a puppet awaiting new orders. Of course. As always, he was the source of the problem.

Hermione was not just someone who needed punishment, not some wayward Death Eater or stupid muggle. She was his in every sense of the word. If he truly wanted to enjoy her pain, he had to do it himself. What he just felt had not been excitement, but anger. Anger that someone touched what was his. Anger that she submitted to someone that was not him.

Yes. Anger. That was the emotion he was looking for.

“I’m sorry.” The quietest whisper came from his witch.

He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “It’s okay, Hermione. All is forgiven. You have learned your lesson.”

“I told you I already got it before this,” she murmured weakly, though her eyes were alight with accusation.

He nodded. “I know. But now, I also learned an important lesson. One that you will benefit from, I promise.”

She wiggled around in his arms until she was sitting upright on his lap. He could still feel the smallest tremble in her whole body, aftershocks from the Cruciatus curse that would not go away that quickly. But outside of that, she masked the pain she had to still be feeling extremely well.

“And what lesson is that?”

“I will not allow anyone to touch you or hurt you ever again,” he growled. “You are mine and mine alone. I will see the world burn before you come to harm by someone else’s hand again.”

She gasped, her eyes wide and searching as she looked at him. He could almost see the wheels turning in her head as she processed what he just said. There was a flicker of disbelief that quickly made way for pride – and then a warm smile spread over her lips and forced him to smile in turn.

“Okay,” she breathed. She didn’t question him, didn’t ask to elaborate. She simply smiled and accepted him.

His cock twitched in anticipation, but he shoved the growing arousal away. While this was about punishing Hermione, it was also about rewarding her for her fast accomplishments in Occlumency.

And about punishing Severus.

“Now, my sweet, it is your turn to have fun,” he purred.

Holding her close, he stood up and made sure she was standing securely on her own two feet before he let her go. She was a strong witch, but the Cruciatus would weaken her considerably for some time.

He gave her back her wand and then pointed at Severus. “As a reward for your accomplishments, you are allowed to curse him now.”

Her fingers curled around her wand as she gripped it tightly. “It will be my pleasure.”

Chapter Text

Hermione was grateful that Voldemort’s hand still held her. Every nerve in her body screamed in pain, overwhelmed by the combination of last night’s torturous Legilimency and now the Cruciatus. A tremor had taken hold of her and regardless of how much she tried to slow her breathing or relax her muscles, it wouldn’t go away.

But he was giving her the opportunity to really hurt Snape, and she wouldn’t let that go just because she was in pain and exhausted.

Her wand was warm in her hand as she turned around to face Snape. It was laughable how easy it seemed for this man to torture her when he supposedly was in love with her. It only emphasised that if anything, he wanted to fuck her. He didn’t regard her as a human being. He lived to serve his master, nothing else.

Beneath her exhaustion, anger began to simmer. It felt good, dispelling the tired slowness of her muscles, sharpening her mind. Using the Cruciatus on Rabastan Lestrange had already been surprisingly easy. With Snape as her target, she knew she would succeed even with a tired brain.

As her mind slowly regained control over her body, it pushed something else into focus. Voldemort’s words. His actions. She had accepted his declaration that he would burn the world down before he let anyone else hurt her again, replying with nothing more than a smile.

But now, she realised that this was actually the missing piece to the confusing puzzle she hadn’t been able to figure out.

There was no time to think about that right this second, but she still intended to take full advantage of her newest realisation. She leaned back deliberately, resting her shoulders against Voldemort’s chest as she craned her neck to peer into his eyes. “Hold me, will you? I’m not strong enough on my own right now.”

His eyes flashed, pupils dilating for just a breath. Then, he leaned over her and planted an upside-down kiss onto her lips. “Whatever you wish, my sweet.”

Voldemort’s arms circled her waist and puller her flush against his body. If he were a normal man, she would feel his body heat envelop her. As it was, only his breath felt warm where he pressed his lips against her neck before standing up straight again.

Her eyes focused on Snape. He watched them dispassionately, his face unmoving, his eyes dull. It was obvious to her that he was occluding. The simmering anger erupted into rage. Coward. Always fleeing into the safety of his own mind.

“I would prefer it if you endured the torture the same way I did. Without any protection,” she told him icily.

Voldemort chuckled behind her. “You heard the lady, Severus. Please lower your shields.”

Snape didn’t reply. He simply shifted on the spot and then, life returned to his eyes. Hermione allowed the triumphant grin to show on her face. He still was as unreadable to her as ever, but now at least, he would feel the curse. Not only physically, but emotionally. She would put all her hatred of him into the spell, forcing him to face just how much she abhorred him.

Her arm trembled slightly as she raised her wand hand. It hurt, a stark reminder that she needed rest. But Hermione pushed through it. It would be worth it in the end. With several deep breaths, she started to draw on her magic. Let the hate flow through it. Shape it. Give it meaning. With her eyes closed, she allowed herself to fall deep into that pool of rage and hate and fury. Her magic roared to life, pushing against the restraints, demanding to be released.

“Feed it,” Voldemort hissed into her ear. “I can feel your power. Feed your hatred into it. Let it grow. I know you want to. Allow yourself to feel how powerful you are. Allow yourself to be powerful.”

She couldn’t help the moan she let out as his words sank in. Keeping her eyes closed, she followed his instructions. As her rage grew, so did the energy she fed into the curse. It no longer only lived within her centre, but flowed out through her whole body until even her fingertips felt the power of the not-yet cast spell.

Voldemort’s right hand slipped under the thick fabric of her black turtleneck, his fingers digging into her waist as though he could drink her power through the skin. He steadied her, held her.

When she was ready, she opened her eyes, zeroing in on Snape. “Curcio.”

As though it had only been waiting, the curse immediately hurled towards the other wizard. With it, all the power she had accumulated erupted at once, engulfing her in the inferno of her own magic.

Snape fell to his knees just as Voldemort groaned loudly. Hermione could feel the suffering that gripped Snape’s body, but where before, with Rabastan, she was horrified by it, she now only felt triumph and elation. Finally, Snape got what he deserved. Finally, he was on his knees before her, reduced to a whimpering mess. His cool façade broke instantly, showing all the pain and desperation that he felt.

Voldemort’s hand slid higher until it closed around one of her breasts. A feral groan tore from her throat as the combination of his possessive grip and the power she felt mixed into one explosive cocktail.

He grunted as he pressed his hardened length against her back. “I will never grow tired of you unleashing all your fury on pathetic men.”

Hermione laughed out loud, vicious and free, relishing in the torturous act. Nobody would ever dare to attack her over her impure blood again if they could see her now. Nobody would ever doubt that she belonged to Voldemort if they could see the way he was groping her, clutching her against his body with all the possessive force of a mad man.

The world would be hers if she allowed it to see her like this.

With a snarl, she ended the Cruciatus. Snape sank on all fours with a groaned sob, his whole body shaking. Pathetic, worthless little cockroach.

“Impressive control,” Voldemort growled behind her. “I would take your right here, right now, sweet witch.”

She arched her back, pressing her breast harder into his hand. Her body ached and trembled, but she still had to fight to not voice her desire to him. For the first time since she arrived here, she did not see any reason to deny him anymore. But even now, some part of her brain reigned her in, demanded that she thought this through in a quieter moment before doing something she could never take back.

Breathing heavily, Hermione pushed down Voldemort’s hand and smoothed over her crumpled turtleneck. With a smile that she hoped looked confident, she turned around to face him. “So, I gather I did well?”

He slid his hands into her wild curls and ran his fingers over her scalp, smiling as she shuddered. “Very well indeed, my sweet. Did you know your hair grows even wilder when you let your magic flow freely? It’s a sight to behold.”

She blushed at the warmth in his voice. Even his eyes, usually so alien, seemed to soften as she held his gaze. The moment felt intimate.

Clearing her throat, Hermione stepped away from him. She could feel her emotions getting carried away by the whole situation. Her exhaustion and pain, Voldemort’s declaration after her torture, her elation over the glory of her own power, it all mingled perfectly to make her lose sight of reality.

That was dangerous.

A knowing grin played around Voldemort’s lips, but he didn’t comment on her sudden withdrawal. Instead, he looked down at Snape who was still on his knees. “Come, Severus, enough playing weak. There is still training to do.”

Snape’s face was pulled taut as he slowly rose to his feet. But when he stood fully straight again, any sign of pain dropped from his face. Hermione could see that he was not occluding, yet his face returned to the impassive, disinterested mask he always wore.

She gritted her teeth. It was unfair how easily he could portray the unaffected, unharmed wizard to the outside. She knew he hurt, just like she did, but if one didn’t know, it would be impossible to tell.

“Now that we’re all warmed up, why don’t we go back to our usual training?” Voldemort sounded way to happy as he said that.

With an unnecessary flourish, he gestured both to take their places across from each other in the training room. Hermione rolled her shoulders in a futile attempt to rid herself of the anxiety that this chipper, relaxed Dark Lord caused her. Any thought of intimacy had gone out the window and left her with nothing but unease.

Worse yet, she knew that she was in no condition to fight. In this instance, Snape’s experience would trump any advantage she supposedly had in raw power. She had channelled so much of her magic into the Cruciatus, while at the same time suffering the nerve damage from her own torture, it left her with almost nothing to fight.

“Remember, only pure magic, no spells, no words.” Voldemort’s words seemed to mock her as she took position.

Ten metres away from her, Snape carefully resumed a wide, firmly planted stance. His eyes were determined as he met her glare. Contrary to her, he had not forgotten about the real purpose of this training for even a second.

Defiance sparked within Hermione. She couldn’t win the battle, but if she managed to land one good hit, she would be content with her performance. She grabbed her wand harder, not bothering to raise it. From the corner of her eyes, she waited for the signal from Voldemort.

The Dark Lord seemed to relish the silent stand-off. Just when Hermione was about to turn to him, he did a negligent wave with his hand.

She didn’t hesitate for a breath. With one twitch of her wrist, she unleashed all her magic, every last drop she still had, and threw it low, aiming for Snape’s leg. She could feel the crackle of her energy slither over her skin as everything that made her a witch hurled towards her former teacher.

He only had time to blink before the full force of her magic hit him and threw him to the ground. Snape gasped in surprise, but despite his pain, he was still nimble on his feet. Two seconds later, he was up again, slashing his wand through the air as he retaliated.

With nothing left, Hermione dived to the side, narrowly escaping the hit. As far as she was concerned, this was already over. As far as she was concerned, she had already won. Still, she rolled away from his next attack, using what little strength she had left.

It was clear that Snape only used the smallest amount of his magic to attack. Just as it was clear that once he landed one hit, he would follow that up with everything he had. It was a struggle to breathe. Her legs were shaking, refusing to do what she told them to.

Hermione gritted her teeth. With every leap and every dodge, she felt less like she won anything. This was no way to end a training session that had made her feel more powerful than ever before. No. Nothing about this was dignified.

She jumped one last time. Then, she stood up straight and stared right into Snape’s eyes. He stilled for a split-second, drinking in her sweating face. The next moment, a tiny amount of his magic hit her straight in the chest.

As she went down, she saw him release an even bigger blast. It would hurt. She knew it would hurt. But at least it would put an end to this farce. And maybe, she could crawl back into her bed.

The pain never came. Instead, she felt the distinct caress of Voldemort’s magic on her skin. He was suddenly next to her, catching her as she toppled over. Snape’s attack shattered against a shield that wasn’t hers.

Voldemort sank to his knees as she lost all strength. One hand supporting her back, the other cradling her face, he smiled down at her. “Ever the stubborn Gryffindor. You are incorrigible, my sweet.”

She blinked and settled her eyes on the other side of the room, where Snape stumbled back until he hit the wall. Exhaustion was written all over his face, even though he pretended to still have some magic left within him.

“You may go,” Voldemort told him without even looking.

Warmth settled in Hermione’s chest. For all their differences, at least in this one matter the Dark Lord agreed with her. Snape’s presence should be kept to the barest minimum. Sleepily, she returned the smile.

“Let’s get you back to bed,” he murmured as he pulled her closer to his chest and got up. “A couple of days of leisure should do wonders for you. And who knows? Perhaps you’re ready for the next step by the time your magic is recharged.”

“The next step?” Hermione asked weakly.

“Don’t worry about it right now, my sweet. All in good time.” The softness she had seen in his eyes earlier was now also in his voice.

She trembled in his arms. Something was happening to Voldemort. Or had happened? She wasn’t sure. He never really was cold or threatening towards her, but she always felt the distinct inauthenticity in his smile, his voice, his eyes when he was especially sweet to her. This felt different.

She swallowed. Maybe she was just tired and saw things she wanted to see.

Not that she wanted authentic sweetness from the Dark Lord.

Hermione let out a deep sigh. Just another stupid, complicated thing to add to her mountain of things to mull over. Things. Just things.

Because giving it any other name felt dangerous.

Chapter Text

The impatient knock on the door startled Hermione out of her focus. With a frantic “One moment!” she hurried over to her wardrobe and pulled out one of the silken dressing gowns Mrs Malfoy insisted she needed to own. Once she was sure that no inappropriate skin was showing anywhere, she opened the door.

Lucius Malfoy scowled at her as he entered, his arm full of books. “How gracious of you to let me wait.”

Hermione had to bite her inner cheek to stifle a laugh. Voldemort had been good for his word: She got three days in which she was not allowed to move from her room except when absolutely necessary. The two Malfoys were instructed to help her with anything that she couldn’t use house elves for.

And because Lucius Malfoy would never allow a house elf to touch any of the books in the library, he had to play errand boy for her when she needed more research material.

She showed him where to put the books down. “You know me, Mr Malfoy. Always gracious.”

The expression in his eyes was scathing, but he kept his voice as smooth as usual. “Is there anything else I can assist you with?”

“Not at this moment, thank you very much. I’ll call for you when I need more.” Hermione tried to sound casual, as though it was the most natural thing in the world that she got to order the lord of Malfoy Manor around.

His eye twitched and his lips went pale as he pressed them into a harsh line, but again, he remained polite. He indicated a bow, then he left the room with long, quick steps. As soon as the door was closed behind him, Hermione collapsed onto her bed in a mad giggle.

It was the funniest thing in the world to her that Lucius Malfoy actually had to dance to her tune. Since the day he helped her in the library, she had smiled and bowed her head when they met each other in the corridors or during dinners. Always with just a hint of submission, inviting him to think her deferential to the awe-inspiring pureblood culture.

The blazing anger in his eyes when she called on him yesterday to ask for books from the library had been a treat. It had to be killing him that a mudblood he thought so far below him was able to order him around, especially after she showed so much respect towards him.

She bit her lips and started to open all five books he brought her. Today was the last day of her forced holiday, so she should see to it that her research went as far as possible. At least she had been able to pin point the time frame when the house elves turned into slaves. That made it so much easier to navigate the vastness of historical accounts that the Malfoy library held.

Now, she just had to hope that someone had mentioned the new slaves in their letters or biographies.

“Good morning, Miss Granger.”

“You’re here!” Hermione almost screamed as she whipped around to face Snape.

He stood next to one of the bookshelves in his office and raised an eyebrow. “Obviously.”

With embarrassed heat creeping into her cheeks, Hermione shuffled over to him. “No, I mean, obviously you are here, but the last times you weren’t actually in your office when I arrived.”

Snape closed the book he was holding with a loud thud and put it back. “If you prefer to arrive when I’m not here, we can arrange that.”

Exasperated, Hermione shook her head. “That’s not what I mean. I just wanted to explain my surprise. I don’t care whether you’re here or not.”

He studied her for a moment longer, eyebrow still raised, gaze burning into her with an intensity that made her shiver. He wasn’t occluding, Hermione realised with a start. She had gotten so used to the blank, neutral Snape that she almost forgot how intimidating a single look from him could be.

Unconsciously, she licked her lips. She instantly regretted that, as Snape’s eyes turned dark when they followed the motion of the pink tip of her tongue. It took every bit of self-control not to let the disgust she felt show. He was supposed to trust her, and for that, he needed to believe she no longer hated him.

She watched as he took a deep breath in through the nose, and only then did his gaze move back up to meet her eyes again. He schooled his face into a passive expression, though Hermione could still detect a strange warmth in his eyes as he looked at her.

“I take it you have recovered?” Snape asked her as he gestured her to step into the middle of his office.

She followed his pointing finger until she stood exactly where he wanted her to be. “More or less. I didn’t expect the after-effects of the Cruciatus to be quite so long-lasting.”

Snape took position only one metre away from her, rolling his wand between his fingers. “That’s what makes the curse so insidious. It leaves no obvious wounds, but if you looked at it through the eyes of modern medicine, you would find severe damage to the nerves. It’s why you temporarily had trouble with your motor functions.”

Hermione nodded. She had assumed – and hoped – as much. Her right leg still wobbled without cause even now, four days later, when she wasn’t careful in how she walked. Knowing that the Cruciatus was the cause of it was relieving. Though it also underlined how lacking her own curse had been.

“I didn’t see you with any such issues,” she spoke her thought out loud.

Snape froze for a moment, eyeing his wand. He sounded rough when he explained, “I had occasion to practise.”

Hermione almost scoffed at that. She could imagine the delight he took in the suffering of those he thought beneath him. And probably those he thought above him, given that he was a half-blood. She forced her scornful thoughts down and instead replied evenly, “So it comes easy to you?”

His eyes snapped back to her. “Nothing about the Dark Arts or casting Unforgivable Curses is easy, Miss Granger.”

“Funny, it seemed to me like you had little trouble torturing me.” The words were out before she could stop herself. It was only now that she realised how angry she actually felt that he had not had any difficulty cursing her.

Snape’s jaw worked as he stared right to the bottom of her soul. She could see that he was annoyed by her remark, if not outright furious. His words were barely more than a hiss. “Torture is what we do under the Dark Lord. It doesn’t matter whether we enjoy it or have trouble with it.”

Hermione wanted to slap herself. The whole point of her act during their last Occlumency session was to make Snape believe she started to come around. Why couldn’t she just bury her emotional, stubborn side and keep quiet?

Snape’s shoulders sagged and he let out a surprisingly heavy sigh. “You still don’t trust me, do you, Miss Granger?”

A glimmer of hope appeared in front of her. Maybe, if she managed to come across truthful and authentic in her reply, this could actually work out in her favour. She allowed a little bit of what she really felt to show on her face. “I want to, sir. But you have to understand my perspective here. You killed Professor Dumbledore.”

The pain in her voice was a too real reflection of how she truly felt. Even now, a year later, she still couldn’t talk about it without tears threatening to take over. While she never felt the personal loss that Harry experienced, it still hurt to know that the strategic mastermind of the Order was gone, and they were so much weaker for it. These many months of starving and Horcrux hunting could have been avoided if the headmaster was still around.

Snape took a small step in her direction, closing the distance between them to an uncomfortable degree. Swallowing, Hermione craned her neck to look him in the eye. Something like hesitation carved deep wrinkles into his face. With bated breath, she waited for his next move.

“What if I told you that his death was the plan?” Snape’s voice was deep and quiet, a low rumble that connected with every bone in her body. “What if I told you the headmaster knew it was about to happen?”

She opened her mouth, ready to throw that pitiful excuse right back at him, but he kept talking. “What if I told you that it was not the Dark Lord’s orders, but Albus Dumbledore’s that guided my wand that night?”

She laughed humourlessly. “That’s a very convenient story. The only one who could corroborate it is dead, so I have no way to verify its validity. How do you expect me to believe that?”

Snape inched ever so slightly forward, invading her space even more, forcing her head even further back. Everything within Hermione screamed at her to step back, to move away from him, but she stubbornly held her chin high and met his gaze. She would not allow him to make her feel small and frightened.

“Think, Miss Granger,” he growled. “Think about everything that happened during that year. Potter’s accusations. The many pathetic attempts. Your own feelings about Potter’s accusations. And then think about where the murder left me.”

She wanted to scream in his face that it left him in a pretty cozy spot, established as the right hand of Lord Voldemort. The words were on her tongue, vicious and venomous. But just as she was about to spit them out, a light bulb went off inside Hermione’s head.

Severus Snape, the double agent for the Order of the Phoenix, returned to Voldemort late and suffered under the doubts of his fellow Death Eaters. If he murdered the greatest threat to the Dark Lord, nobody would be able to question him anymore, and Voldemort would be as thankful as he would be trusting.

She dropped her gaze as she followed that thought. Harry had accused Draco of trying to kill Dumbledore all year. She never believed it, until the proof was literally in front of her, but even then, she felt like the attempts at the headmaster’s life had been so pathetic, it was almost as though Malfoy didn’t truly want to go through with it.

All of that was information Professor Dumbledore also had. He knew his life was in danger. Hermione closed her eyes and tried to recall what else happened during year six. What else Harry told her, what else she thought back then.

Of course.

Professor Dumbledore’s strangely black hand, which was the result of an ill-timed attempt at destroying Gaunt’s ring. A Horcrux, as she now knew. Harry had told her that the headmaster had been pretty vague about what the illness in his hand actually was.

What if that blackness was a curse that wouldn’t heal? What if the headmaster was dying already? What better way to go out than to let Snape kill him and thus turn him into the perfect spy whose loyalty now was seemingly out in the open?

No.

He wouldn’t tell her this if it was true. She was still far from good in Occlumency, and he wouldn’t risk telling her this knowing it would get back to Voldemort. There was no proof for his words and while there was some sense to it, she had to stick to pure logic if she wanted to solve this net of lies and half-truths.

If he truly was on Harry’s side, he would never tell that to anyone the Dark Lord had access to. He would risk exposing his secret allegiance if he opened up so carelessly, and it didn’t make sense for him to do so, not after he, according to his own words, sacrificed the headmaster for his own position as a spy. If he was indeed such a masterful double agent, he would never trust anyone with that information, especially not her, seeing as she was around Voldemort all the time.

Thus, the only conclusion she could draw was that none of this was true and he was just trying to get her to trust him for some mysterious reason.

Probably to get in her knickers.

Nausea coated her tongue at that realisation. As she tried to gain Snape’s trust, partly because Voldemort told her to, partly because she wanted to find something to use against him, he tried the same. With every step she took to appear more trusting, she gave him an opening to get to her. At this point, he probably thought she wanted to sleep with him.

She swallowed, trying in vain to get the sickly-sweet taste out of her mouth. If there was an opportunity to pretend to change her mind about him and drop the hatred, it was now. She only needed to overcome her revulsion.

“Take your time thinking about it.” Snape’s deep voice made her snap out of her spiralling thoughts. “For now, let’s focus on Occlumency.”

She nodded quickly, more than relieved that he didn’t expect an answer from her right this second.

“I will look for the memory of our last training session. Specifically, when my curse hit you,” he explained calmly, as though the prior conversation never happened. “It’s a memory associated with pain and intense emotions, which will make it hard to hide. I’ll give you five minutes to clear your mind and to try to come up with a strategy to keep me away from it.”

She nodded again, not yet trusting her voice to come out evenly. Whatever she did, she needed to keep her most recent thoughts out of Snape’s way when he dove into her mind. He absolutely couldn’t know what she really thought about his revelations.

A devious thought crossed her mind. Perhaps she could use the construct she created for Voldemort to distract Snape. Show him how Voldemort entered her head, how he found the memory, and how it looked like she very much welcomed Snape’s touch in it. If she managed to trap Snape in the illusion that she wanted him as much as he wanted her, maybe he wouldn’t find anything else inside her mind.

Just then, Snape cleared his throat. “Five minutes are up, Miss Granger. Prepare yourself.”

Gritting her teeth, she met his gaze openly, allowing him easy access. “I’m ready.”

Chapter Text

Hermione couldn’t stop smiling. If Voldemort saw her right now, huge grin on her face, all giggly and happy, he would assume the worst. After all, when had she ever left an encounter with Snape happy?

But how could she not be proud of herself right now?

She showed him the constructed memory, just as she showed it to Voldemort. She even put another layer on top of it, showing him how the Dark Lord penetrated her mind to uncover this version of the memory. She had managed to surface it so naturally, Snape didn’t even realise he was being manipulated.

And when he noticed she was aroused in that memory, he instantly broke the spell, only catching a glimpse of one enraged Voldemort who also pulled out that very second. It was clear that Snape was very much affected by the memory.

For several minutes, he was barely able to look at her as she explained what she had done. He actually complimented her on how well she used Occlumency. And then, just as he had hoped, he forgot all about wanting to see their last training session, and instead sent her home. Mumbling about needing to change the curriculum for her because she advanced too fast.

She had never seen Snape like that. Flustered, completely caught off guard. It felt good to know that her success made him feel so miserable. She pink hue of shame on his cheeks, the smouldering fire in his eyes whenever he managed to glance at her. She just knew that he hated how good she was.

Hurrying up to her room, she resolved to take the next step. A part of her still felt like it would be a terrible mistake, but after thinking it through again and again for three days, Hermione could come to only one conclusion: It was the right thing to do. It made sense. Logical sense. It was a rational decision that she came to after inspecting the issue from all angles.

It had nothing to do with the pulsating curiosity she felt even now.

Hermione looked at herself in the mirror one last time. The almost blinding white of her form-fitting yet playful summer dress contrasted perfectly with her intricately sculpted curls that framed her face. She opted for ballet flats instead of high heels – even with Narcissa’s wise words about fashion being an armour for her, she didn’t want to sit down to dinner with her legs and feet awkwardly trapped in uncomfortable shoes.

She took a deep breath. She had a whole script for the evening in her mind. Perfectly designed to keep every second of it under her control. She needed to be the one in control.

Otherwise …

Hermione shook her head. There was no alternative.

The knock on her door told her that Voldemort was ready to escort her down to dinner. She should be used to the dinners with the Malfoys by now, but it still made her anxious every time. Taking Voldemort’s arm, she purposefully moulded herself against his side, staying closer than usual.

“You look exceptionally radiant today, my sweet,” he murmured in a low purr, his eyes travelling down her body as he slipped his arm around her waist.

She smiled up through her long lashes. “I aim to please, my lord.”

As they descended down the stairs, Hermione once again noticed how much taller Voldemort was. She had worn some form of heels for the past couple of weeks now, so it was easy to forget that she barely reached his chest. And yet, despite his long legs, he was so much more graceful taking the steps as she was.

Mr and Mrs Malfoy already stood behind their chairs as they arrived, both smiling polite, but tight smiles.

“My lord,” they said in unison and bowed ever so slightly.

“Good evening, Narcissa, Lucius,” Voldemort greeted them back, not even sparing them a glance.

He pulled a chair out for Hermione and helped her get settled before he took his own seat at the head of the table. Once everyone was seated, the table filled with bowls of a clear, steaming soup in front of everyone.

Hermione closed her eyes for a second and tried to calm her beating heart. She could do this.

Dipping her spoon into the soup, tilting it backwards just slightly, and then raising it to her lips without moving her upper body too much, she settled her eyes on Voldemort. It took a moment, but then he noticed her stare. Smiling ever so slightly, he raised an eyebrow.

Hermione carefully swallowed the soup. Then, she ran her tongue over her lips in one exaggerated movement, never taking her eyes off him. His grin deepened, but he remained silent.

While she dipped her spoon into the soup once more, she shot one quick glance to the Malfoys. They both were intently focused on their own appetiser, clearly making an effort not to look in her direction.

When she raised the spoon to her lips the next time, she made sure to stare right at Voldemort through hooded eyes and moan ever so softly as she swallowed. This time, it was he who licked his lips. His hand still held his spoon, though he didn’t move it anymore. His eyes were fixed on her throat.

The next time she swallowed the rich, herbal soup, she made a show of closing her eyes and moving her entire body, as though she could feel the hot liquid travel through her veins. She opened her lips to let out another soft sigh, and peered at him through nearly closed eyes as she licked her lips once more.

“Are you playing with me right now, my sweet?” He sounded calm, but she could detect the tension in his neck as he said that.

She smiled softly. “I don’t know. Am I?”

Voldemort chuckled, but it didn’t sound amused. “You shouldn’t test me right now.”

“Test you?” Hermione forced herself to keep her tone light and airy. “I am just enjoying my meal.”

She took another spoonful of soup, making sure that she spilled the tiniest drop that would roll down her chin. Widening her eyes in fake surprise, she quickly put the spoon down and caught the drop with her finger. Instead of wiping it on her napkin, she raised the finger to her lips.

Voldemort’s gaze was burning into her, watching every little movement with an intensity that made her shiver. Deliberately slowly, she slipped her finger between her lips. Then, she swirled her tongue around it once and moaned, eyes focused on him.

“I believe we’re going to need some privacy,” Voldemort snarled.

For a moment, neither of the Malfoys moved. Hermione kept the finger in her mouth, watching with faint amusement as the two noble purebloods appeared completely overwhelmed by what they were witnessing.

“Do I need to spell it out for you? Leave!” Voldemort’s hiss cut through the air and finally, both shot up from their chairs and hurried towards the exist.

The door shut behind them with a loud crack that almost made Hermione jump. She slowly pulled out her finger. So far, she was on script. She hadn’t expected Voldemort to be angry about her little show, but she could sense the underlying need in his voice.

He stared at her for several heartbeats, as though he needed to puzzle out what he was seeing. Then, from one moment to the next, he suddenly stood right next to her and pulled her up out of her chair, forcing her back against the table.

His lips came crashing down on hers, his tongue instantly invading her mouth. He forced her back, shoving the plates and bowls and silver ware out of the way as he hoisted her up. His hands were in her hair, between her shoulder blades, on her waist, kneading and pressing and gripping her with unfiltered desire.

“You know exactly what you’re doing, little witch,” he growled as he ground against her core.

She moaned into the kiss, enjoying how desperate he already was for her. Emboldened, she took one of his hands and slipped it between her thighs, under the skirt of her dress.

He cursed. “You’re already wet. Fuck, you were more turned on by your little show than I.”

He didn’t wait for a reply from her. Shoving her tiny little slip aside, he thrust two fingers into her.

They both groaned in unison.

“You know I can never resist you when you’re so wet for me,” he rasped.

She simply nodded, unable to bring her mouth to form words. Even though she had planned this, she was still too caught up in the sensual feel of it all. His fingers pumped into her with a frantic speed, as though he needed her to come right this second. He broke the kiss, instead opting to bury his teeth in her shoulder.

Hermione clung to him, arms slung around his neck, her gaze focused between her thighs. Her pure white dress clashed perfectly with the obscene movements of his hand. She couldn’t stop the greedy moans that left her lips with each thrust. He fucked her with his fingers as though it was his whole purpose in life, and it was all she wanted right in this moment.

“My lord,” she keened wantonly. “Oh god, yes. Right there. There!”

His left hand let go of her back and instead came down between them too. He palmed his cock through his black trousers, groaning in pained restraint as he did so. Hermione moaned louder at the sight and brought one arm down herself. Unable to say anything, she just offered it to him.

He instantly grabbed it and put it flush against his hard length, grinding into it in the same rhythm as his fingers took her. He groaned with each thrust, matching her whines as she moved her hips to meet his hand.

It was frantic and animalistic and completely out of control. Hermione could feel the heat everywhere in her body, her muscles trembling, need throbbing between her legs, the coil, the tension.

“Yesss,” he hissed as though he could feel it. “That’s it. Come for me. Come for me, my sweet witch.”

She let go of his cock, instead pressing his hand against her clit just as she liked it. As she needed it. With a high-pitched wail, she screamed her climax into the world, shuddering under the intensity. Pleasure rocked her body as Voldemort held still and let her ride the waves. She had his name on her tongue, his real name, but she buried her teeth in her bottom lip to keep herself from saying it out loud. It was just a chant in her head.

Tom. Tom. Tom.

Breathing shakily, she slowly came back to her senses. His fingers were still deep inside her, trapped between her thighs and her left hand. Hermione rolled her hips experimentally and laughed. She was far from done.

“Don’t be unfair, my sweet,” Voldemort admonished her. “It’s my turn now.”

She snorted at how petulant he sounded, but let go of his hand nonetheless. Licking her lips, she watched as he opened his trousers and freed his cock. It was intimidating every time, seeing it in front of her.

As if sensing her unease, he took her left hand gently and placed it around the base of his length. Hermione swallowed. Her hand was so tiny that she just so failed to close it around him. Her fingers didn’t quite touch her thumb.

Voldemort leaned forward, splaying one hand on the table, the other still holding hers around his cock. His hot breath feathered over her neck as he stood completely still, his laboured breathing the only indication that he was alive.

And his twitching cock.

“Even your hand feels good, sweet witch,” he groaned into her ear.

Hermione took a deep breath and swallowed thickly. Now that she had his cock in hand, the next step of her script suddenly seemed so much worse. She couldn’t believe that she had actually swallowed him once already. But she had a plan and she would stick to it.

Still in control.

She carefully slipped out of his grip and sank down to the floor in front of him, keeping her hand around his hard length. His eyes followed her, pupils blown wide.

She let her eyelids flutter as she wet her lips one more time. Then, she leaned forward and swirled her tongue around the flared head.

Chapter Text

She had never done that before.

Voldemort could only stare in disbelief as his sweet witch slowly, carefully explored his full length with her tongue. As much as he knew that she enjoyed his touch, she never once took the first step. He had expected a trick. Thought she just wanted to come by his hands and then hang him out to dry again.

But then she just went down on her knees and opened her mouth. Eyes glassy with desire, a fine pink blush on her face. She looked delectable.

“Let me show you,” he growled as he noted her awkward motions.

Her blush deepened, but she nodded. Gently, he curled his hand around hers, relishing in how small it was compared to his. He closed it around the base of his cock again and showed her exactly how much pressure he liked. Guiding the hand up and down, twisting it ever so slightly with each stroke, he taught her just the way he liked it. When he let go, she continued on her own, mimicking his strength and his motions perfectly.

“Always such a good girl for me.”

She didn’t reply, just grinned a lopsided, cheeky smile up at him. Chuckling, he caught her hand again and pulled it away. He gripped his length and fisted his fingers into her wild hair. Hermione instantly understood and opened her mouth again.

“You already did so well last time. Let me show you how to make it easier for yourself.”

He guided his cock between her lips, gently nudging her to open even wider. As she moulded her lips around him, he let go and instead took her hand in his again, urging her to close it around his length just as he showed her before. She blinked up at him through her lashes, eyes shining with appreciation.

“Now, move your head and your hand together. This way, you don’t need to force yourself to take me down your throat,” he explained with more patience than he had.

She hummed, almost making him thrust forward. Shaking his head, he gripped her curls harder and steadied himself against the table with his other hand. If Hermione knew how she looked, she would understand how hard his life was right now. That white dress, that fucking innocent, shining dress.

She started to move, haltingly and anxiously at first. Voldemort cursed under his breath and gritted his teeth. Even just this was torture. She seemed encouraged from his struggle though, as she bobbed her head more confidently now. Every time she twisted her hand around him, she also ran her flattened tongue up and down his cock.

She was so focused. He could still feel the slick on his fingers from where she came earlier, still smell her arousal, yet she was completely fixed on her one task right now. As though she truly wanted to do this.

He groaned miserably. She wanted to bring him pleasure. As much as she was still denying him the one thing he truly desired, she was on her knees now of her own volition. She wanted this.

Of course, there would be some selfish, ulterior motive behind her actions. Voldemort was sure that once she was done, she would ask him for something. But right this second, he could only stare in wonder and enjoy the way she took him.

She increased the speed of her hand and mouth. With each stroke, he could hear her slurping as saliva and some of his precum trickled down her chin. Her eyes were watering, her lips were shining with drool, and her dress remained perfectly, innocently white. She looked positively debauched with his cock between her lips.

“Fuck,” he grunted as he thrust deeper into her throat, only barely stopping himself from taking over the rhythm. “You have no idea how you look. Sucking my cock like a willing slut.”

She moaned. The sound vibrated against his length as much as it shot right to his core. The little minx really enjoyed this. She kept one hand around his cock and the other on his hips to steady herself, but he could see the way she was rubbing her thighs together. She was aching to touch herself.

“I can see how desperate you are. You want to shove your own fingers deep inside your cunt, isn’t that right, my sweet? It feels so empty without something inside, doesn’t it?”

She peered up at him, pupils blown wide, her honey-brown eyes swimming with need. She didn’t say anything, couldn’t say anything, but he saw it in her expression. She was desperate.

“Sweet Circe, you are driving me insane.” His hip was moving on its own, thrusting into her shallowly while she continued to bob her head. He couldn’t stop the string of curses that left his lips. “I want to fill you up. Just think how complete you would feel if I took you right now. Merlin, I would fuck you so good.”

She hummed and pulled away, releasing his cock with a quiet pop. She licked her lips as she glanced up at him. “Then do it.”

Voldemort froze. “What?”

Hermione slowly rose up. “Take me.”

Eyes wide, he stared at her. For several seconds, he could do nothing but look into her eyes and marvel at what he saw. That unbridled lust. That determination. There was no hesitation in her eyes, only a challenge and blazing desire.

With a growl, he turned her around and bent her over the table, sending more plates crashing down to the floor. He ripped her slip apart and shoved her skirt up, revealing her glistening, inviting folds. Eagerly, he gripped his cock and guided it to her opening. Finally, finally, he would have her. As he slid the tip through her folds, gathering her juices, he had to clench his jaw to stay in control. He couldn’t wait to feel her. To split her open for the first time in this perfect, soft, small body.

He stilled.

With another curse, he pulled away and flipped her around. Hermione looked at him out of big, fearful eyes, clearly not understanding what was happening.

“Beg me,” he snapped.

“W-what?”

He took a deep breath and put both his hands on the table to trap her in between. “I told you. You will beg for my cock one day, and only when you’re ready to beg will I listen. I won’t take you unless you beg for it.”

She got him good. He almost fell for it. He just knew, if he had continued, she would have pushed him away and told him no again. This little witch was out to test him today. And she would regret it.

“Please.” The quietest sound reached his ear, almost silent in the huge dining room. “I mean it. I want to-to feel you. To have you … inside m-me.”

His hand shot to her throat and pushed her down onto her back. “Don’t play with me right now, Hermione.”

Tears were leaking out of her eyes, revealing her words for the lies they were. And still, she shook her head. “I’m not. Please. I want this. My lord. I really do.”

He ground his hip against her, sliding his still painfully hard length between her folds. “Are you sure, my sweet? Is this really what you want?”

“Yes!” She sounded almost angry now. “Please! Don’t … don’t deny me now. Don’t tell me you don’t want this now! Please. My lord. Tom.”

With a gasp, he stumbled backwards, away from her embrace. There it was again. His name. Her tone of voice that caressed this single syllable in a way that almost made him lose all sense. Scowling, he forced himself to look at her, really look at her.

The confidence she had just minutes before was gone. Instead, there was a vulnerability in her gaze that he’d never seen before. Even in her most desperate, most fearful moments, there was always defiance and apprehension in her eyes. She didn’t look afraid now.

Only confused and vulnerable.

“You truly want this?”

She shuffled back into a sitting position on the table and nodded. “Yes. I do.”

Voldemort exhaled slowly. Something in his body wasn’t right. His heart was beating too fast, his chest felt constricted. He took a step towards her, gently parting her thighs as he slid between them again. He cupped her face with both hands and tilted it backwards. She allowed him to do it, melting into his touch as though she really craved it.

The pain in his chest grew more pronounced. Something really wasn’t right with him. But there was an urge underneath the pain. An instinct.

He followed that impulse. Closing his eyes, he pulled Hermione into another kiss. She sighed into him, throwing her arms around his neck as she completely gave herself over to him. Heat shot through his body as his cock hardened again.

With a wave of his hand, he disappeared her clothes. Hermione yelped in surprise, but didn’t protest. More careful this time, he pushed her back onto the table, trapping her wrists against the cool surface with one hand while the other closed around her now freed breasts. She mewled into the kiss, opening her legs even wider.

He could slip into her right now. She wanted it, she was ready, she would welcome it. Every part of his body screamed to finally, finally feel all of her. It would hurt and she would cry and Voldemort knew, he would love it. Since the very first time, back when she was in Bella’s body, he had longed to see her face twisted in pain and pleasure again. He needed it to hurt for her. It was what he dreamt of.

He held back.

This uncomfortable throbbing in his chest only grew more painful the more he thought about hurting her. It was just like when Severus was torturing her. A feeling that didn’t belong to him, that just wasn’t right. That he couldn’t shake nevertheless.

“Please,” she begged, ripping him away from his spiralling thoughts.

“Let’s take this slow, my sweet,” he purred against her lips.

If she enjoyed her first time without pain, she would be much more eager to repeat it again. Voldemort nodded to himself. Yes. That was right. It would serve him well to be cautious now, so he could set up the future he envisioned so many years ago.

A Hermione who was always ready to spread her legs for him.

He leaned down further until he could close his lips around her nipple. A deep groan tore from her throat and she struggled against his hold on her wrists. She brought her legs up, wrapping them around his waist, ankles interlocking, urging him towards her. But he only continued to grind against her in slow, measured movements, careful to never actually breach her.

Fresh wetness trickled down her thighs and coated his cock as he slid through her folds. She was breathing hard now, her chest heaving, her cheeks flushed red. Her eyes were wild with need, demanding him to take her.

He swirled his tongue around her nipple one last time. Then, he gently wrapped his arms around her to bring her into a sitting position. Closing his hands around her hips, he inched her forward to the edge and angled her so he was perfectly positioned.

“Oh god,” she breathed as her eyes travelled down between their bodies.

“I will take you now.”

She licked her lips and nodded without looking up. Her hands were splayed on the table left and right of her, thighs parted as wide as she could. She was waiting for him, holding her breath.

Slowly, Voldemort pushed forward. Only a little, just enough to breach her. He could hear her gasp and how she let out a shuddering breath. Still, her eyes were focused on where they were now connected.

He thrust in a little further, biting back a feral groan. She felt better than in his wildest dreams. So warm, so wet. Perfectly made for him. He pushed deeper, relishing how her muscles tensed and then made way for him.

One of her arms shot up and grabbed his shoulders, fisting into the fabric of his shirt. Voldemort’s gaze flickered to her face. Tears stood in her eyes and she had her teeth buried in her bottom lip.

His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her thighs as he groaned deeply. “Fuck, Hermione. You feel so good.”

She shivered under his fingers. “It hurts for me.”

Voldemort took a deep breath. Her whispered confession made his cock twitch. The urge to thrust all the way in, to split her open and hear her scream, was almost unbearable. He needed to hear her cry and sob as he pounded into her. Only when she completely broke under his fingers would he be satiated.

With a strained growl, he pulled out completely. She sobbed in relief, only to have tears fall as she blinked up at him. She looked so small and lost.

“Perhaps it’s better if we stray from the romantic ideals,” he told her through gritted teeth.

“What?”

“Turn around and lie down on the table,” he commanded her. Once she did as he wanted, he ran his hands up and down her back. “You need to relax. Let your whole weight sink onto the table and relax. You know you want this. It just feels strange to you because it’s new. I’ll take care of you, my sweet. I promise.”

He continued to stroke her gently, massaging her shoulders, kneading her waist, scratching his fingers along her perfect round ass. Bit by bit, he could feel her muscles relax. Her body heated up under his ministrations and before long, he could hear her sigh and moan whenever his fingers grazed her slick folds.

Voldemort licked his lips. She was more than ready now. Yes. Finally he would feel her in all her glory. He would take her slowly, prolonging this first time as much as he could. He would make her scream in pleasure, have her beg him to make her come, to release her from the torture of an ever-building orgasm.

Grunting, he positioned himself again.

Chapter Text

He felt even bigger like this.

It took her breath away how huge he was. It was like her whole world suddenly consisted only of his cock and the burning sensation as he pushed into her ever so slowly. Hermione couldn’t think, couldn’t feel anything else.

But he was right. Somehow, it hurt less like this. Before, she had felt the urge to clench every time he pushed. Now, she just wanted to melt into the table and never move again. She was just a hole to be filled, a channel to be stretched. Her whole body submitted to the glorious feeling of his cock.

Voldemort grunted behind her and then, she could feel his hips pressing against her. He was buried to the hilt and it was perfect. Like she was made whole in a way she never knew before.

He didn’t move for the longest time and Hermione was thankful for it. Simply breathing was hard right now. It was all she could do. Breath and feel.

Out of nowhere, her body shuddered. He didn’t move, she didn’t shift, but something was changing in that stillness.

Heat.

Heat that had only pulsed low and slow in her belly now crawled up her spine, along her arms, into her thighs.

Heat that demanded more heat. Demanded friction.

She moaned and clenched around his perfectly hard length.

As though he read her mind, Voldemort started to move. Slowly, deliberately, he rolled his hips. His cock moved just a finger’s breadth, but it rocked her world.

Yes. This was it. She needed more.

Hermione rolled her hips in response, meeting his slow, shallow thrusts with her own. Experimenting, testing. With a frown between her eyes and her teeth buried in her lip, hands gripping the sides of the table, she started to move her whole body. It felt good, so good. Flames seemed to lick at her thighs and back, urging her on to move even faster.

“Easy now, my sweet,” Voldemort purred from above, his hands suddenly pinning her to the table. “We don’t want to rush things.”

She shook her head. “No. Please. I need more!”

“I know, I know, sweet witch. But trust me. It will feel so much better if we take our time.”

He gripped her hips with unrelenting strength, holding her in place as he prolonged his strokes. It felt like he almost slipped out all the way before he pushed back in. So slow. Torturously slow. She wailed, writhing beneath him, shaking with coiling need.

His thrusts felt almost leisurely, like there was no urgency at all. And with every stroke, Hermione could feel the tension rise. Her breathing grew louder in her ears, laboured, like a storm threatening to carry her away. Her heart was thumping against her chest, the rhythm just as wild and unrestrained.

How could he go so slow? Didn’t he feel the same drive, the same desire? Was he not also consumed by need? Never before when she came on his fingers did she feel this out of control and mad.

“Pleeeease,” she whined, not caring anymore how pathetic she sounded. “Oh god, please. Move faster. I can’t … can’t take this.”

He chuckled as he continued his languid strokes. “Patience, my sweet. Patience.”

But Voldemort gave in a little. His thrust became more forceful, his hip snapping every time he filled her completely. It only served to make her need all the more desperate. She wanted him to take her hard and fast, claim her body, make her come, and then be done with it.

This. This was too slow. It forced her to feel too much. There was an intimacy to the way he connected with her that she did not want to acknowledge. Gentle. Slow. Patient. All the wrong words for Voldemort. It was easier to give up control when he was demanding and selfish. She had counted on him to just fuck her, bring her to an orgasm as fast as he did with his fingers.

Not this torture.

She only noticed that he picked up the pace when another shudder racked her body. A moan broke from her lips as goosebumps erupted all over her skin. Another followed and then, like a waterfall, every breath turned into a greedy moan. Hermione closed her eyes and gave herself over to the rhythm.

She would trust him. He said he would take care of her.

Restrained grunts reached her ears. With every snap of his hips, Voldemort groaned, low, desperate, strangled. Hermione turned her head as far as she could and peered up at him from the corner of her eye.

There he was, the black of his dress-shirt perfectly clashing with the marble white of his face and hands, eyes nothing but dark, bottomless rounds that were glued to her cunt. She could see his jaw working, his lips pressing together, nostrils flaring with every grunt. He was holding back.

She had planned to make him lose control. Seduce him and have him fuck her, reduced to nothing but his basest animalistic instincts. Show him that even he wasn’t above the simple human urges. She had steeled herself for the pain that would bring.

But this?

Something deep within her purred. He held back for her. He wanted to make this good for her.

Fresh heat washed over her. Turned her unstoppable moans into high-pitched cries. He was pounding into her now, hands still holding her in place, hitting her just right. The rhythm was perfect, edging her on, making her shiver and tremble. She could feel it building, growing, slowly taking over every other sense.

“My lord,” she whined, suddenly needing him to know what she felt. “Like that. Just like that. Feels so good. So good.”

Hermione could feel his hands shake before he gripped her tighter. “Call me by my name, Hermione. I want to hear it. Say it!”

Without thinking, she complied. “Tom. Oh god, yes. Tom!”

He growled, unrestrained, demanding, his thrusts turning more frantic. “Again. Don’t stop. Say it again!”

She mewled in response. “Tom!”

She said his name over and over again, crying it out like a prayer every time he made her body jerk with his thrusts. Whenever she stopped, he growled, “Again!” into her ear, urging her on just as much as he was getting lost in it.

Her brain turned to mush. Only one word existed anymore, only his name. He was no longer gentle, skin slapping against skin, slick running down her thighs, obscene sounds filling the room as he thrust into her again and again. Her whole body felt too hot, too tense, her fingers tingling, her toes curling. She needed to be released, but it still wasn’t enough.

“Mine,” Voldemort suddenly panted, breathless, desperate. “You’re mine. I’ll never let you go again. Hermione. My Hermione. Perfect, sweet witch. All mine.”

The release hit her before his words reached her mind. As though they bypassed her brain, they struck deep within her and brought on a blinding wave of pleasure that carried her away. She came with his name on her lips, crying it out into the world, like it was the only thing holding her here.

She felt her walls clench harder around him, gripping his rock-hard length with all her might. It was perfect. He shuddered above her, his thrusts frantic, short, broken as she continued to flutter around him. Then she could feel him pulse deep within her, a roaring grunt in her ears, fingernails breaking her skin as he pumped his seed into her.

She moaned again, the climax overtaking her once more, pulling her away just as he collapsed on top of her, his chest pressing her down onto the table.

Hermione didn’t know how long they stayed like that, bodies intertwined, breaths mingling, his cock slowly softening within her. But when he finally pushed himself up again and slipped out of her, she felt tired and empty and lonely all at once.

Shivering in the sudden cold, she forced herself up and turned around. Voldemort was already cleaned up and dressed again. When she stood fully upright, she could feel a mix of his cum and her juices slowly drip down her leg. Blushing, she looked away.

Her heart ached. She wanted him to embrace her, hold her close to his chest and whisper declarations of love into her ear. She never knew she could feel so small and lonely as right now. She couldn’t believe that she actually really slept with him. With Lord Voldemort. She had held out for so long.

And now?

Trembling, she collected her dress and underwear that lay neatly folded on a chair nearby. Hermione suddenly wasn’t so sure anymore whether this had been the right choice.

“Don’t cover up just yet, my sweet,” his voice called out to her.

She gritted her teeth and looked up at him. “Why?”

Something flickered in his eyes, something unknown and unknowable. She shivered under his piercing gaze as his expression turned cold. “Are you so desperate to get away from me now?”

She swallowed thickly. If he were a normal man, maybe Ron, she would tell him how she felt. She would ask him to hug her and to comfort her. She would explain that she felt insecure about what just transpired and just needed to hear him say that he still loved her and still wanted her.

But this was Lord Voldemort. He didn’t love her, despite whatever possessive claims he made. She could accept that maybe, he had some modicum of tenderness in him. But she would never be able to open her heart to him like that.

She pushed all those feelings aside and steeled herself to meet his glare. “I apologise, my lord. If you have further need of me, of course I’m still at your service.”

For too long, he remained quiet. His eyes just burned into hers, barely contained rage simmering in them. He was angry, but Hermione couldn’t understand why. She finally gave him what he demanded from the second she set foot in this manor.

Before she could react, his hand suddenly shot out and grabbed her throat. She had just enough time to notice the wand in his hand, then he invaded her mind. Without care, he dove into her memories, searching for the emotions that were attached to what just happened. Hermione screamed and struggled, trying to push him out, to flood him with other memories, but he was relentless.

Just a heartbeat later, he let go of her again. Breathing heavily, she clutched her head and groaned. Every time he did this, she was left with a pounding headache.

“I’m sorry, my sweet,” he whispered almost gently as he pulled her into his arms. “I needed to see.”

She wanted to fight the embrace, to push him away and scream her frustration at him. But her heart ached too much, yearning for every little bit of tenderness she could get. So instead, she buried her face in his chest and let out a long sigh. “You can’t do that every time you don’t get your way.”

His arms tensed for a split second. “What choice do I have? If you won’t tell me what it is you feel, I need to see for myself.”

She scoffed. “You don’t care what I feel.”

Voldemort put two fingers under her chin and forced her to look up. “Is that what you think?”

Rolling her eyes, she explained, “You might think you care about me. That’s probably why you don’t want Snape hurting me or why you insist that I am yours. But you don’t actually care, do you? Wanting to possess me is not the same as caring.”

“And what do you want?” Voldemort hissed.

Her breath hitched. “Why do you even ask? You just saw for yourself, didn’t you? You know exactly how I feel and what I want.”

He smiled cruelly at her. “I think you don’t even know the answer to that question yourself. You don’t want to admit what you feel and want because it scares you.”

She wriggled out of his arms and pushed at his chest. “And what about you? You don’t care about anyone because that scares you!”

Voldemort cocked his head and continued to smile. “Right, whatever you want to believe. But at least I am honest about what I want.”

“Oh, really?” Hermione shot back. “And what does Lord Voldemort want?”

His eye twitched as she said his name, but he remained surprisingly calm. “Power. Real power.” Hermione scoffed derisively and wanted to mock him for it, but he continued, “And you. I want you at my side when I rule the world.”

Chapter Text

For a long moment, Hermione simply stared at Voldemort. Forgotten was that she was still naked or that she could still feel wetness trickle down her thigh. She could only stare at him, open-mouthed, her mind blank.

But then, she returned to reality and scoffed. “Yeah, right. I already spread my legs for you. You don’t need to make up lies to convince me.”

In a flash, Voldemort grabbed both her arms, pulled her to his chest, and apparated them away. When the world stopped spinning, Hermione recognised his bedroom. Stumbling away from him, she plopped down onto the mattress and pulled his blanket up to cover herself.

“I see,” she mumbled defeated, eying him warily. “Now that we’ve done it once, you probably expect me to be available at all times. Should’ve figured.”

There was an unreadable expression on his face as he stood in front of her. Hermione tried her best to calm her nerves. Whatever she thought she could accomplish by sleeping with him, it clearly backfired. She should have known that his many years of experience would make it easy for him to take her while staying completely in control.

“We’re partners, Hermione.” His cold words startled her out of her anxious thoughts.

“Oh, come on,” she retorted. “We both know you only said that because you wanted something from me. It’s a game you’re playing.”

He remained where he was, completely still in the silence of his room. Even his giant snake was nothing but a shadow in the corner, unmoving as though she could sense the tension between them.

Hermione clutched the blanket harder to her chest and ran her free hand through her messed up curls. She was annoyed with herself, with him, and with the whole situation. Most of all though, she was scared and she hated that she couldn’t fight that down, no matter how aggressive she worded her replies.

“I am training you. Why do you think that is?” Voldemort asked as though he didn’t even acknowledge her words.

With a roll of her eyes, Hermione shrugged. “I don’t know. You told me I’d be able to figure it out on my own, but just as I thought, I wasn’t. Is this the part where you exposit all your evil schemes and taunt me with my ignorance?”

Again, he seemed to not even hear her reply. “This body I currently have is not very useful to me.”

She groaned and closed her eyes. Everything about this was pointless. She had achieved nothing and was now in a worse position than before. What use was it that she understood their intense aura connection? What use was it that she was now a more powerful witch? It all meant nothing because clearly, Voldemort was still the same as ever. Pursuing his goal of immortality and world domination without being swayed in the slightest.

All she had to show for her efforts was a murderous Potions professor who wanted to fuck her, and a Dark Lord who took her virginity.

She sniffled involuntarily as she tried to swallow her tears. She just didn’t expect to feel so vulnerable after sex. The act itself had felt so good, overwhelming her in the best sense of the word, especially since Voldemort took care to not hurt her. But right now, she felt overwhelmed like a little child having to navigate the world without parents to guide.

“My sweet.” His words brought her back to reality.

At some point during her spiralling panic, Voldemort sat down on the bed next to her. His face was still a cold mask, but there was an awkwardness to his posture that was so foreign to his usual oppressive presence that Hermione felt compelled to meet his gaze.

“You enjoyed the sex, didn’t you?”

Hermione wanted to snap at him, but she reigned herself in. Showing how emotionally frail she felt right now wouldn’t do her any good. “I did.”

He cocked his head. “Then what is your problem?”

Despite her earlier resolve, she hissed viciously, “You! Isn’t that obvious? You are my problem!”

Flaming crimson flashed in his eyes for a split-second, but then he seemed to reel himself in just like she did before. “I am open with you right now, witch. Don’t test my patience. I made your first time better than your precious Ronald could ever have. I told you that I want you as a partner at my side. I’m sharing why I needed you in the first place. What, exactly, is your problem with me?”

The confusion his words caused only stoked her simmering anger. “Open? Is this what you think being open is? You’re telling me nothing! You fuck me for your own pleasure, then you dress as soon as we’re done, only to deny me the same curtesy. Then you apparate us into your bedroom, while I’m still naked. And then you ask a bunch of cryptic questions without even acknowledging anything I say in return. Nothing about this is open!”

“My own pleasure?” Voldemort spat. “You think that was for my own pleasure? You should know enough about me by now, my sweet, to know that I certainly did not enjoy that!”

“Didn’t stop you from spilling your disgusting seed into me, did it?” Hermione barked out venomously.

Instantly, his hand shot out and grabbed her by the throat, just as he pushed her onto her back and crawled over her. Hermione tried to shove him off, but he easily captured her hands in his and trapped them above her head. The look in his eyes was murderous.

“I remember you begging me for my cock,” he hissed, “so don’t pretend it was so disgusting to you.”

“Fuck you!” Hermione growled.

Despite herself, she could feel fresh tears in her eyes. She was so angry and confused and just so, so alone. She didn’t even really fear Voldemort, not anymore. But her heart longed for a tenderness that he wasn’t capable of, and instead, all she got was insults and threats.

Cursing internally, she closed her eyes and ignored the tears that spilled over as a result. What was even the point in fighting anymore? She was hopelessly inferior to him in every way. She was completely alone. There was nothing she could do to win the war while she was trapped her. Any designs of trying to make thing happen from the inside seemed utterly ridiculous to her now.

The softest tingle ran down her spine. And ice-cold touch that felt like hot flames. She pressed her eyes shut even more, trying to ignore the pleasant heat that coiled low in her belly. It was not fair that her body reacted to his in this way. That her magic betrayed her.

“I know you can feel this,” he whispered into her ear. “This connection we share. Do you think it’s a coincidence? Do you think I could ever let you go when we share this?”

Hermione moaned quietly and rolled her hips against the thigh that he slotted between her legs. It was so unfair. She looked up at him through hooded eyes as she tried to gain back control over her body. “Do you even know what this is?”

Voldemort pushed his magic harder against her, silently watching as goosebumps travelled down her arms and back. To her surprise, he slowly shook his head. “Not fully. But I don’t need to understand it to know that I have something valuable on my hands.”

She shuddered under the intensity of his gaze. No longer cold, his eyes shone with both desire and determination. Hermione swallowed another moan before she could muster a reply. “Looks like for once, I know more than you.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Oh really? Just a couple of weeks ago, you didn’t even know magical auras exist.”

“And now I do,” she retorted. “And contrary to you, I know muggle science and don’t discard it as useless. So, here we are. The great Voldemort doesn’t know something even a mudblood understands.”

The grip around her throat tightened just as she spoke his name. “Careful, my sweet. You’re awfully close to being a brat and I don’t particularly enjoy that.”

“That so? And here I thought you got off on me resisting you. My bad. Should I be more like dear old Bellatrix Lestrange and just meekly take whatever you want to inflict on me?”

A wave of his icy magic washed over her and robbed her of every coherent thought. She could feel it curl around her thighs and she spread them further to allow him better access. She could feel it probe at her entrance, just as he vanished his clothes and brought his cock in position. His hand let go of her wrists, but she had no intention of fighting against him. On the contrary. Just as he guided his hard length through her folds, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer.

He pushed in all the way with one single thrust. Despite the firm hold his magic had on her, Hermione cried out in pain. A part of her, somewhere buried beneath her animalistic reaction to his magic, realised that she was too sensitive from earlier, unused as she was to sex. But that primal part of her had too strong a hold. Her legs wrapped around his hip on their own accord.

He growled in appreciation and started to pump into her, short, harsh thrusts that burnt her insides. Every time their hips collided, he pushed a new wave of magic against her aura, wrapping her completely in it, robbing her of any other sense.

Voldemort finally let go of her throat. Instead, he grabbed her hair with both hands, twisting her head back until he had perfect access to her mouth. Without interrupting his rhythm, he claimed her lips, slipping his tongue deep into her mouth, tasting and devouring and drinking every little sound from her. Hermione held on to him, curled around him in a desperate struggle to be as close as she could. Welcoming every part of him that buried inside her.

There was a crackle in the air around them where his magic poured out of him freely, no longer just connecting with her aura. She couldn’t see it, but she could feel it and it made her heart sing. All that power, all that raw magic, enticed and coaxed out by her. Her own magic, her aura pulsed in response.

Right in this moment, with his cock brutally thrusting into her and his magic almost drowning her, Hermione understood beyond a shadow of a doubt that she, too, would never be able to let go of this again.

She wrenched her lips away from him and cursed as the realisation brought just enough of her sense back. “Fuck. Oh, god, Tom! Fuck! This isn’t … oh god. You can’t … you shouldn’t … fuck!”

“Such language,” he growled without stopping. “Do you see now? Do you finally see?”

“You don’t know what you’re doing!” Hermione sobbed.

Despite her protests, her body didn’t let go of him. She clung to him, relishing the pain he brought her, drinking in the pleasure underneath it. It was perfect and beautiful and everything she could ever want.

As if just to spite her, Voldemort poured even more of his magic into her aura. Every millimetre of her body seemed to burn in his cold fire, while heat that was almost unbearable coursed through her veins. His thrusts were punishing, hitting her deep, relentlessly plunging into her again and again. Somewhere in a far corner of her mind, Hermione registered that his eyes were unfocused, his jaw slack. He was just as much under his own spell as she was. He didn’t even seem to notice what he did with his magic anymore.

Frantically, he pulled out of her and flipped her onto her stomach. She arched her back just as he thrust back in, fingers digging into her skin, wet skin slapping against wet skin. His thighs trapped hers between them, just as he leaned forward and curled his hands around her shoulders instead. His whole body covered hers as he took her like a man possessed.

With a loud grunt, he came deep inside her. His hips were still moving, still trying to get even deeper inside, as he collapsed with his full weight onto her. And just then, when she felt like she was suffocating, crushed under his tall body, her own orgasm carried her away. With a strangled cry on her lips, Hermione’s world shattered.

She didn’t know how long they just existed like this. Tangled into each other, he still inside her, on top of her, breathing heavily. His magic no longer touching her, but the air still carrying the remnants of it.

Only when Hermione noticed how hard it was to breathe did she find her voice again. “Can you please move?”

Voldemort chuckled and rolled away. “Sorry, my sweet.”

The muscles in her body refused to cooperate, so Hermione remained exactly as she was, her cheek pressed into the mattress. Even her tongue was hard to move. “You can’t do that when you don’t even understand it.”

Voldemort lay on his back, just as unmoving as she was. “Looks like I can. And I don’t really care anymore.”

“I find that hard to believe. Lord Voldemort, willing to accept his lack of knowledge? Once the sex leaves your brain, you’ll want to know.”

He groaned and rubbed one hand over his face. “Silence, witch. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”

Despite herself, Hermione smiled. “And what am I doing?”

He glanced at her from the corner of his eyes. “You just want to gloat that you know something I don’t. That’s not a very attractive feature and definitely not good for your health.”

Struggling against the pain and bone-deep exhaustion, Hermione lifted herself into a sitting position. Through heavy eyes, she studied Voldemort as he was before her. Naked, exhausted, and so utterly, strangely human despite his alien face and grey skin. Just a man feeling the after effects of intense sex.

The same lonely sadness she felt before welled up inside her, almost bringing new tears to her eyes. No. She couldn’t give up quite yet. Seeing how affected Voldemort was by their unfortunate connection gave her a glimmer of hope. Perhaps there was something to exploit here after all.

And if he wasn’t able to give her what she wanted right now, she would take it herself.

With a deep breath, she laid back down until her head and half her upper body rested on Voldemort’s chest. She could feel all his muscles grow tense underneath her, just as his breathing stopped. But then, he relaxed and put one arm around her back to clutch her even closer to him. A content rumble reverberated in his chest.

Smiling to herself, Hermione whispered, “You want to know what’s happening between us?”

“Hmmm?”

She peered up at him, meeting his eyes as he gazed down towards her. He seemed sleepy and still disinterested. The sex seemingly really did a number on him.

Keeping her voice nonchalant, she said, “It’s our magics telling us we’d make perfect babies.”

Chapter Text

Perfect babies.

The words hung in the air between them like a bad omen. The last thing Voldemort wanted to do right now was think about what her words could mean. He wanted to catch his breath and then take her again. Now that he finally claimed her, he didn’t think he would ever be able to spend a single night not buried deep inside his witch ever again.

But he also couldn’t ignore the strange, uncomfortable tingle in his spine that these two words caused.

Groaning, he sat up. “You want me to believe our magic wants us to fuck?”

She blushed slightly, but still nodded. “More precisely, it wants us to reproduce. Because we are perfect for each other.”

He waved his hand dismissively. “I didn’t take you for someone who believed in that nonsense. You know that the concept of soulmates has been disproven years ago, right?”

She shot him a look of such withering contempt, Voldemort had to stifle a grin. It was cute how she tried the same tricks on him that she used on her bumbling friends. She even sounded annoyed when she explained, “Obviously I do. This is not about some esoteric idea. This is biology. And magic, in some ways. I suspect you don’t know what pheromones are?”

For a long moment, he studied her face. This was the Hermione Granger that Severus and Draco were so annoyed of. She just had sex, twice, for the first time in her life, and now she sat in his bed and wanted to talk about muggle biology and some esoteric destiny that supposedly made them perfect for each other.

It was ridiculous.

But he couldn’t help the smile that was still on his lips. This was probably the closest his witch had ever been to her true self in his presence. It wouldn’t take too long now until he had her exactly where he wanted.

“Please, do enlighten me,” he replied smoothly as he planted a kiss on her bare shoulder.

Hermione shivered, but she didn’t move away. Instead, she went into a long explanation about how pheromones guided animals to find the best partner to produce the best offspring and how she thought their magical auras did basically the same.

“Still sounds like soulmates to me,” he purred when she took a breath.

She groaned. “It’s not soulmates. Look, from the books that you gave me, from what we talked about, it seems as though magic is a reflection of ourselves. Ourselves as we are at any given moment. It’s why some people are more adept at healing or transfiguration or curses. The magical talent I possess and the magical talent you possess appear to be uncommonly suited for each other.”

“So, soulmates.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Do you want to understand why you can’t keep your fingers off me or not?”

He shrugged. Of course, he wanted to know. But now that she finally gave herself to him completely, there was no reason anymore to hold himself back. He could just grab her aura, wrestle her into submission, and take her whenever he wanted.

“Don’t even pretend like you don’t. You want to be able to control this, like you control everything else. That’s part of who you are. Who you currently are. People change, even if parts stay the same always, other parts are also in flux. Right now, who I am and who you are fit together exceptionally well, as disgusting as that thought probably is for both of us.” She shook her head and continued on. “We would probably always produce powerful children, at any point in our lives, but the strength of our magical connection right now seems to be exceptional.”

“What I’m hearing is that I should fill you up every day, every night, always, to ensure our magic is happy,” he purred as he pushed her back down into the mattress.

She blushed, but her scowl deepened. “The last thing you’d want is children, my lord.”

That was true, of course. Voldemort had no need for an heir, as he planned to live forever. Children only caused more problems. He would never share his reign with anyone just because they happened to carry his blood. It was his own blood line, his ancestor Salazar Slytherin, that gave him his might. But it was his own intellect, his own will power that got him to where he was now. Nobody would ever compare.

But when he looked at Hermione beneath him, a becoming blush on her cheeks, eyes still full of disapproval, he couldn’t help but imagine.

His sweet witch, round with his child. Full of his seed. Carrying the obvious sign of his ownership for the world to see.

“And what about you, Hermione?” Voldemort growled, his lips hovering over the racing pulse on her neck. “How would you like to bear my children?”

He feathered a kiss against her heated skin and relished the way she had to swallow a moan in response. When he leaned back up to look into her eyes, they were big and round and shining with a raw emotion that she instantly blinked away.

“I’m not your brood mare,” she hissed venomously.

But he had seen enough. She couldn’t deny what her eyes so clearly told him. Very carefully, he took a tiny amount of his magic and wove it against her aura. The pull was instant, the urge to channel more of his power into the connection, to embrace her fully. Gritting his teeth, he withstood the overpowering instinct.

“What is it you feel?” Voldemort asked her as he watched the flush in her cheeks spread to her neck.

She swallowed again and shook her head. “No, please. Not again. I can’t–”

He immediately put a finger on her lips. “Ssshh, my sweet. Don’t worry. I just want to know what you feel when I touch you like this.”

She let out a little puff of air, a sound caught somewhere between relief and disappointment. When she closed her eyes, Voldemort smiled. His witch would deny she wanted him, but she never learned to truly hide her emotions.

“I feel,” Hermione started hesitantly, eyes closed, a slight frown appearing on her face, “I feel power. Your magic is like … raw power. It’s as if I can actually feel how much stronger than me you are.”

She licked her lips, eyes still closed, before she continued. “It’s like magic comes naturally to you. Like you breathe it. Where I always need to consciously pull on my core to channel magic into spell, you live it. Like magic is your whole being.” She got breathless as the words kept tumbling out of her mouth. “I can feel how inferior I am. That I should submit to you. That I should learn from you. When you touch me with your magic, it’s like ice, but it burns. Like velvet that soothes my senses and inflicts pain at the same time. I want to lean into it. I want to bathe in it. But I know I can’t. I shouldn’t. I know I can never submit to you, but when you touch me, I just … want to do it. Like I know the world would be right if I let you take care of me. Oh god.” She sobbed and pressed her eyes close more desperately. “I want to feel you. When you touch me like this. I want to always feel you like this. Like this is my natural state. I need you–”

Her words broke in a throaty groan as Voldemort pushed more of his magic against her. Her words sang to him. Even as the words formed on her lips, he understood that what she felt was just a mirror of his own desires. Touching her, feeling her magic, felt good in a way nothing else ever did.

Maybe that was what she tried to explain with her worthless muggle science. They were made for each other because their desires were mirrored. Voldemort knew, when he touched her, it hurt her. He knew, when he inflicted pain onto her, she felt it strongly – and craved it. The pain he wanted to give, she wanted to take. He could do whatever he liked to her and she would love it. She would beg for it.

She writhed beneath him, shaking her head, silent Nos forming on her tongue, as her hips ground against his rapidly hardening cock. He understood instantly.

She still feared the pain. His sweet little witch didn’t yet see the whole picture. She didn’t understand that she wanted this precisely because she didn’t want it.

He aligned his cock with her entrance. Her eyes instantly snapped open, wide and fearful, swimming with unclouded lust. “No! Please, my lord.”

Voldemort curled both of his hands into her hair and stared straight into her eyes. “Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll stop. Say the words. I don’t want this. Say them exactly like this, and I’ll stop at any point.”

She groaned and tilted her hips towards him, just as she shook her head desperately. “No! Oh god, please. Don’t.”

“Last chance, Hermione.” He nudged her folds apart. “Say I don’t want this, and I’ll let you go.”

Her lips trembled, but she remained silent. Her hands came up and closed around his shoulders. She spread her legs wider. He could see her mind at work, the battle within her. Despite his warning, he waited. Just rocked slowly against her, his cock sliding through her slick folds without ever entering her. His magic held her securely, wrapping her in everything he was. He knew she wanted this. He knew she longed to submit to the pain. She just wasn’t ready yet to admit it.

“You want it, don’t you?” Voldemort growled, his lips almost touching hers, his eyes never straying from hers. “I can see it in your eyes. How you want to be filled up. How you crave my cum. When you go to sleep later, you’ll dream not of my cock or of my fingers, but of my seed deep inside you.”

He had to force those last words out as a groan mixed into his voice. Breathing heavily, he tried to reign himself in just for a moment longer, but the battle was lost.

With a grunt, he entered her. She cried out, a heady mixture of pain and pleasure lacing her voice. He wanted to relish the feeling of opening her up, the welcome her tight channel held for him. But then the sweetest sigh reached his ears and all control crumbled.

It was like her aura pulled all the magic out of him to wrap around her. The more he felt of her, the more he wanted to make her cry. His hips moved of their own accord. The world around him fell away. There was only Hermione. Only the heavenly feel of her hot, slick walls wrapping perfectly around him. Only the sound of her greedy moans. Only her pathetic little whimpers, the “No” and “Don’t” that left her lips even as she met his harsh pace and clutched him to her chest.

He wanted to stay in this moment forever.

He wanted to come right now.

To fill her up and breed her and watch his seed take hold.

He picked up the pace. Every snap of his hips forced a whine from her lips. Her eyes were glossy, unseeing, the mouth open and slack with pleasure, even as every thrust made her flinch. She wrapped her thighs around him, ankles locking behind his back. She was just as lost as he was.

As he continued to pump into her with reckless abandon, uncaring whether he hurt her, something in the back of his mind started to crack. A realisation.

He shook his head and pushed the thought away. Nothing mattered right now. He was fucking his perfect little witch and she loved it and hated it and that was all as it should be.

His spine tingled in a very familiar way and robbed him of any coherent thought. With a grunt, he came, spilling himself deep inside her. His magic surged, pulling him with it on another wave, prolonging his orgasm for another heartbeat. Even when he was totally spent, his magic urged him to stay where he was. To remain inside her, so nothing would seep out.

Growling, he pushed himself away from Hermione. She whimpered at the loss, eyes wide from the orgasm she was just denied. But Voldemort didn’t care.

Breathing heavily, he stood up from the bed and stumbled over to his desk where he planted both hands on the cool wood to steady himself. This would not do. He would not allow his magic to coerce him into things he didn’t want.

Despite himself, he glanced at his sweet witch. The moment he left her, she buried her hand between her thighs and was now chasing her own high alone. The crack grew more pronounced. He could feel it. Closing his eyes, he relented.

It crumbled instantly.

Chapter Text

Hermione couldn’t remember falling asleep. When she opened her eyes, it was dark in the room, but she instantly realised she was not in her own bed. This was Voldemort’s absurdly huge four-poster bed, and he was nowhere to be seen.

She flinched as she sat up, her body reminding her of everything that happened the day before. The words she said to him.

She cringed and pulled the blanket securely around her shoulders. How could she have said those things? Even under the pressure of his magic touching her aura, she should have remained silent. She didn’t mean any of that. It was all just the delirious talk of a woman basically high on magic.

She shouldn’t have mentioned babies. It wasn’t even really the point she wanted to make. It was just meant as a funny way to phrase magical compatibility. But somehow, that had unlocked something in Voldemort, which in turn unlocked something within herself. It was a poor attempt at a joke that now left her with a reality she really didn’t want to face.

More than anything, she hated how right it felt when he was inside her. His magic on her skin, his cock buried deep within her, it was a state of being that she now longed for so intensely, it made her flush red hot in shame.

Groaning, she pulled her legs up and rested her face on her knees. She should shower and dress and try to pretend none of that insanely emotional stuff even happened. Most of all, she should get out of his bed.

In the grey light of the slowly dawning sun, Hermione caught a sudden movement in the corner of her eyes. With a gasp, she scrambled to the far end of the bed. There, where she just sat, the huge snake languidly slithered onto the bed. Its eyes were on her, tongue tasting the air, her long body gliding over the sheets towards her.

Before Hermione could react, the snake wound its way up one leg, wrapping around her ankle, then her knee, then her thigh. Frozen to the spot, a silent scream on her tongue, she watched as Nagini’s head came to rest on her belly while the rest of her body remained tightly wrapped around her leg.

For several seconds, Hermione held her breath and just stared in horrified shock down onto the snake. But when the strange reptile didn’t make any attempt at hurting her, she slowly led out a shuddering breath. Uncomfortably leaned against one of the bed posts, she tried to relax.

Somehow, this huge snake felt good on her skin. There was something familiar about the touch even though Hermione knew she had never before in her life touched a snake. Despite her earlier fear, she now could feel her worries and anxiety seep out of her. Because the snake held her in place. It just felt right.

Almost like …

Her breath hitched.

Of course. When they’d thrown around ideas what Voldemort could have used as objects for Horcruxes, they had talked about the possibility that his pet, Nagini, was one. It would explain why Harry was able to see the attack on Mr Weasley from the snake’s perspective. But they never were sure whether a living being could even be a Horcrux, so they dismissed it at the time.

But now, feeling it so close, Hermione was sure that she could detect a hint of Voldemort’s magic in it. A low thrum that spoke to her like nothing else. She swallowed and carefully placed one hand on the head of the snake. It blinked slowly, but didn’t protest. On the contrary, it felt a bit like when Crookshanks nuzzled his head into her hand when she gave him pets and scratches.

“One of the advantages of having my soul inside a living creature.”

Hermione almost shrieked as she whipped her head around. Without her noticing, Voldemort had slipped back into his room, clad in nothing but a black satin robe. In the low light of the morning, she couldn’t see his face fully, but she got the distinct impression that he was smiling.

He moved over to the bed in two long steps and sat down right next to her. A faint smile played around the corner of his lips. “Nagini must have sensed that you wanted to flee and decided to prevent that.”

“So, now I can’t leave your bed?”

He sighed and stroked once along the snake’s body. It uncurled and slithered away, hissing something that was probably Parseltongue as it went. Voldemort shook his head, but didn’t say anything back to his pet.

“Of course you can leave my bed,” he finally replied. “I just prefer you in it.”

She shivered at the implication and instinctively pulled the blanked over her naked chest. “I will not be your bed-warming whore.”

He shook his head again, but stayed silent. His eyes were on her, studying her with an intensity that unsettled her deeply. For all his scheming and attempts at subduing her, he never looked at her quite like this. She licked her lips and tried to remain calm.

“I’m dying.”

Hermione blinked. Voldemort’s expression stayed the same, intense, burning into her, looking for something within her. She blinked again. Still, he just sat next to her and waited for her response.

Did she hear that right? And if she did, why wasn’t she elated to hear that? This whole thing, basically her whole life ever since she entered Hogwarts, had revolved around vanquishing Voldemort once and for all. Now he told her he was dying and she felt … nothing?

No, worse than that. She felt a strange anxiety. Like worry. Like she actually worried for him. Like she didn’t want him to die. She swallowed and shook her head. He had manipulated her from the first time they ever interacted. This was just another obvious ploy to manoeuvre her where he wanted her.

She balled her fists. “Right. The great Lord Voldemort is sitting in front of me on his bed and telling me he’s dying.”

He grimaced. Then, he turned away from her and leaned his back against the other post, resting his head in his neck, eyes closed. “For once, I’m not lying. It’s this body. This abomination Wormtail created as a vessel for my soul. It’s not compatible with life. Never was.”

Her heart rate sped up. Was he actually telling the truth? She snuggled deeper into the blanket. “Why tell me this?”

He glanced at her through half-lidded eyes before closing them again. “Because we’d make perfect babies.”

Hermione almost choked on her own spit. “Excuse me?”

Voldemort chuckled. “I meant that about as seriously as you did when you brought it up. But there is a kernel of truth in it. You said it yourself. Our magic can sense that we’d be good together. And you admitted tonight that for as much as you still hate me, you want to give in.”

“I don’t understand,” she whispered.

“I tried to explain it yesterday, but you were in no mood to listen.” He tilted his head towards her and opened his eyes to look directly at her. “I need a new body. I’m training you to enhance your magical strength. It’s all connected. For the ritual to give me a body I can actually work with, I need a powerful medium. A witch or wizard to channel the spell through.”

Her mouth fell open. “And that is … me?”

“Precisely.”

Hermione’s head swam. It was too much. It was all too much. If she had known that having sex with Voldemort would spiral into this insanity, she would’ve held out longer. “You cannot expect me to consent to that.”

He sighed. “It’s why I had Severus train with you. His innate strength is close to yours. If I couldn’t get you to grow as much as necessary, I was going to use him. He would never deny me. And he’s expendable.”

“Expendable?”

Voldemort nodded emphatically. “Yes. The power of the ritual could kill the medium. I would prefer to use him, as I don’t care whether he lives or dies. Alas. He isn’t progressing in the way he needs to. So, you are my only option.”

Hermione could only laugh. “You are delusional if you think I’d risk my life to extend yours.”

The expression in his eyes grew cold. “Am I? After everything, can you really say you still want me dead?”

She opened her mouth to give a sharp reply, but he instantly leaned forward and close one hand around her jaw, forcing her lips shut again. “Think carefully before you answer that. And try, for once, to be truthful with yourself. Do you really want me dead?”

The softest brush of his magic washed over her as he said that. Her eyes fluttered shut and she had to suppress a moan. Every time he touched her like this, she realised that she forgot just how good it felt.

“Can you feel that and tell me honestly that you don’t care whether I cease to exist?” Voldemort growled.

She ripped her head away from his hand and glowered at him. “That’s just … it’s physical. Biological. A reaction my body has to stimulation. It might be magic that’s causing it, but that has no sway over the logical decisions of my mind!”

“Bullshit,” he snarled, his eyes suddenly ablaze with fury. “You said it yourself! Magic is just a representation of who we are. It’s our body and our mind combined. That you react so strongly to me is because of your mind, not despite it!”

“Even so!” Hermione shot back. “None of that matters! I still have my free will. I can make decisions however I like. I will not be bullied into giving you another chance at life! That you think I would agree to that for even a second is insane!”

He ripped the blanket away from her and pushed her down onto her back, one hand wrapping around her throat while the other pressed her hips into the mattress. “Oh, you really are blind, my sweet. You beg me to touch you, you come on my cock, you declare that you want me to take care of you, and yet, here you are, pretending as though you wish me dead.”

Hermione clawed fruitlessly at his arm that clutched her throat too tightly. “You forced me to say all those things! You know exactly how out of control we both are when our magics touch.”

“You want me to believe that everything you said yesterday was a lie?” Voldemort sneered.

“Not a lie, but stupid, senseless ramblings under the influence of your stupid magic tricks!”

A wave of his magic crashed over her, carrying any words she still had away with it. Her eyes went wide as she had just enough mind left to realise what was happening. In the next moment, she groaned and arched her back, spreading her legs as an urgent need like nothing before took hold of her.

Voldemort’s eyes glimmered red in the slowly rising sun. His lips were set in a harsh line, but when she rocked her hips against him, he groaned just as helplessly as she felt. He let go of her throat and grabbed her hips to raise her towards his rapidly hardening cock. She stared at it in wonder, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that all her worries would go away once he was inside her.

A shudder went through her body. From somewhere, beyond a veil of cotton wool, a thought wafted through her mind.

This wasn’t right.

She didn’t want this.

His cock rubbed against her cunt, gathering her slick as he prepared to enter her. It was hot and hard and everything about it was so perfect, it was hard for her to concentrate on anything else. But this thought. It felt important.

She opened her mouth. Looked up into his eyes. Worked her throat as she struggled to form coherent sounds. There was something she wanted to say. Needed to say.

Just as he was nudging her entrance, the words finally spilled out.

“I don’t want this.”

Voldemort froze. Eyes wide, he stared down at her. Then, his magic was gone and he shoved her away from him.

Hermione coughed and rasped as she scrambled back into a sitting position. This was insane. Pure insanity. At any point, he could force her into this powerless, submissive state and there was nothing she could do. It was a wonder he even heard her, knowing as she now did that he was just as out of control in those moments as she felt.

“I’m trying, Hermione Granger.” Voldemort’s voice was uncharacteristically quiet. “You accuse me of manipulation and coercion at every corner, but when I’m honest with you, you throw it in my face. You know I could force you to do whatever I want at any given point, right?”

His cool, low tone chilled her to the bone. “Is that supposed to comfort me? Should I be grateful for your mercy?”

He stood up from the bed and brought his robes in order. Without looking at her, he replied, “I told you the truth. This body is useless. It’s dying. I need a new body and you hold the key to the ritual. I am asking for your help. This is life or death for me, and I am being patient and asking nicely.”

He stepped towards the door to his bathroom. Just before he opened it, he shot her a glance back over his shoulder. “Just think about that.”

Chapter Text

When Hermione descended down the stairs just half an hour later, she was glad that nobody was there to witness her awkward steps. Despite her best efforts, the pain in her whole body, but especially between her legs made walking naturally impossible. She had to stop and take a breath after she reached the bottom. The next part would be even harder.

There was no way that she would let Snape catch on to what happened last night. She was forced to take her breakfast with him still, and while she tried to charm him so he came to trust her, the thought of him knowing she actually slept with Voldemort made her cringe.

When she saw the back of Snape turned towards the door, sitting in his usual place at the breakfast table, Hermione stilled. For some reason, the thought of facing him after her night with Voldemort was anxiety inducing. Sooner or later, she would have to continue the Occlumency lessons and she just knew, he would immediately see what transpired this night. How could she ever look him in the face again?

She took a deep breath and steeled her back. If she acted like nothing happen, or like whatever happened was perfectly natural, maybe she could sit at the table without a beet red face.

“Good morning,” she greeted him as she walked past him as elegantly as she could manage.

He lowered his newspaper and raised an eyebrow. “Good morning, Miss Granger.”

She couldn’t help the tiniest flinch as she sat down onto her chair. It just all hurt so much. When she glanced at Snape, she caught him openly staring at her. Instantly, heat crept into her cheeks, but he simply lowered his gaze and returned to the Daily Prophet.

Hermione let out a muted sigh. It didn’t seem like he noticed anything, and if he did, he was polite enough not to ask.

She was deep in her study of one of the old Malfoy diaries when Snape found her in the library. Without so much as a greeting, he put down two vials in front of her.

“Here. You should drink these.”

She eyed the blue and purple liquids with suspicion. “Drink these? If I’ve learned anything in your class, it is that I should never drink a potion that I don’t know the purpose or origin of. What are these?”

He stoically raised an eyebrow at her. “Do you really have to ask that?”

Hermione put down her quill and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Obviously. I have no context at all why you would be giving me potions.”

He blinked and stared down at her. Then, he let out a deep sigh as the tiniest hint of warmth seeped into his eyes. “The blue one is for pain. The purple one is contraception.”

Her whole body erupted in heated shame. He knew. From just one flinch at the breakfast table, he understood everything. Hermione wanted to sink into the floor and never emerge again.

“It is part of my duty as head of house to recognise which students are sexually active and provide them with the necessary tools to stay safe,” he explained when she remained silent. “Every single one has the same reaction you have right now. Rest assured, it’s nothing I’m not equipped to handle.”

“It’s different,” she hissed before she could catch herself.

“Is it?”

Her breathing stuttered. She would not sit here and discuss with Snape of all people how sleeping with the Dark Lord was different from students shagging each other. She would rather die than have this conversation. She had to be mad to even have said anything in the first place.

Snape put two fingers onto the desk and leaned down slightly. “Miss Granger. You are in a unique position that you, as far as I understand it, did not ask for. You should, at the very least, stay safe. This potion will protect you for a month and I’ll keep providing you as long as it is necessary.” His tone was hard when he added, “I assume the last thing our lord wants is a baby of inferior blood.”

A baby.

We’d make perfect babies.

Hermione groaned and let her head fall onto the desk. Why had she ever said that? It was meant as teasing, but now those words were out in the world and she’d have to live with them forever.

When you go to sleep later, you’ll dream of my seed deep inside you.

Voldemort mocked her with those words, but she heard all too well how thick his voice sounded in that moment. If anything, he was the one who dreamed about filling her up.

She swallowed and mumbled against the cool wood, “I actually am not so sure.”

“What was that?”

With a huff, Hermione sat back up and raised her head to meet Snape’s eyes. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that assumption.”

His eyes widened ever so slightly. “Miss Granger. I’ve known the Dark Lord for longer than you are alive. His views on this matter are pretty well known.” He stopped himself and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Wait. Are you trying to get pregnant on purpose?”

“What?” Hermione gasped. “Ew! Of course not! How can you even think that? I have to endure basically getting raped and you accuse me of wanting to baby-trap the Dark Lord?”

Snape blanched, but before he could say anything in response, a dark voice sent a chill through the library. “So, we’re calling it rape now?”

All blood drained from Hermione’s face as she spotted Voldemort emerging from the shadows of the long rows of bookshelves. His eyes were blown wide, a cold fury emanating from him that made her shiver.

Snape immediately bowed before him. “My lord.”

Voldemort completely ignored him, his eyes fixed on her. “I remember distinctly that you were begging for my cock.”

Hermione glanced at Snape who was frozen in a bowing position, eyes fixed on the floor in front of him. She hated everything about this. She didn’t want to face Voldemort right now. She didn’t want to discuss her sex life with Snape. And she absolutely did not want to discuss last night’s events in front of Snape.

“You know perfectly well that if I had a choice in that matter, I would have never slept with you,” she told him quietly.

“Choice?” Voldemort let out a short, humourless laugh. “You had every choice. I told you I wouldn’t touch you until you begged, and I did exactly that.”

“As if that means anything! I’m a prisoner here. You told me just this morning that you’ll ritually sacrifice me. Excuse me if I find it hard to believe that the choice was ever real.”

His eyes flashed red and he suddenly turned to Snape. “Out, Severus. You’re not needed here.”

Snape nodded once and then made for the entrance at a speed that just barely allowed him to keep his elegance. Hermione watched with a furiously beating heart as the door fell shut behind him.

When she turned back to Voldemort, he looked at her with the strangest expression. “You’re not honest with yourself, my sweet.”

Hermione got up from her chair and stepped around the desk. Even though she was so much smaller than him, she wanted to at least attempt to be eye level with him. “You don’t know me. You have no idea what I actually feel.”

His hands were surprisingly gentle when he cupped her face and tilted her head back. “Do you truly not care whether I live or die?”

Her breath hitched. She could still see the anger flicker in his eyes, but there was something else. Something more. It almost seemed like uncertainty. If she believed that he was capable of self-doubt, she would have maybe even called it vulnerability. But seeing as this expression lived on the face of Lord Voldemort, she could only assume it was something else entirely.

And still, she couldn’t answer his question. She knew what she felt, but if she said it out loud, it would become reality. She couldn’t allow that to happen. She just couldn’t.

Instead, she gave a question back. “Isn’t it you who doesn’t care whether I live or die? You are ready to sacrifice me in that ritual after all.”

He instantly shook his head. “No. I told you what my plan was. But it is no longer just that. Because contrary to you, I am honest with myself. I can admit that I want to keep you around, alive and preferably in my bed. So, I will find a way to ensure you survive the ritual.”

“Oh, will you?” Hermione scoffed. “Excuse me if I find that hard to believe coming from the wizard intent on eradicating muggleborns.”

“Stop it!” Voldemort suddenly roared. His eyes were burning with rage and his hands gripped her shoulders painfully hard. “You’re intentionally dodging the question. You’re trying to distract me with accusations that have nothing to do with this. You stop that right now and give me an honest answer, Hermione Granger. My patience has limits.”

She shuddered under the anger that emanated from him, but refused to back down. “What do you want to hear? I already poured my heart out yesterday! I told you exactly what I think and feel! You forced me to do that. What more do you want?”

His grip around her shoulders tightened. “You were the one that said that you meant none of it. You can’t have it both ways.”

Hermione threw her full weight backwards to escape his grip. She shoved him away with all her might just as she stumbled backwards against a bookshelf. Breathing heavily, she stared at him. She hated it. All of it.

She hated how right it felt when they connected, be it during sex or with just their magic touching. She hated how human he sometimes appeared to be. How he allowed her to tease him and joke around, how he teased her just as much. It was all wrong.

He was a monster hellbent on killing Harry and destroying the world.

Just a monster.

Even if her magic told her that they’d make perfect babies, she could never acknowledge that as anything else but a biological reaction. Something primal that her rational mind could easily ignore.

She would not allow herself to imagine what carrying his baby would look like. Or how it would feel to be the mother of the heir to the Dark Lord. There was no space in her heart for that as it was her mission to kill him.

And more selfishly, he would never be able to give her the gentle kindness that she craved. The warm hugs that she got from Ron. The attention and caring embraces. Allowing her to cry and be frustrated and be angry and still love her.

“This thing that connects us. Our magic. I know it’s more than what I described in pheromones. It’s not just a physical reaction, because magic is also our mind.” She spoke slowly, tonelessly, without meeting his eyes. “It’s intense and like nothing I’ve ever felt. But it still is just a compulsion by nature. I cannot let that determine my decisions. I won’t deny that a part of me really does crave your touch. But that’s all this is. All it can be.”

“Is that why you called it rape?”

Something in the back of Hermione’s neck prickled at his tone when he asked that. She couldn’t fight the shame that fluttered in her stomach as she recalled her words. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I just wanted to make Snape feel bad about his accusation. It wasn’t … I don’t know. I guess I do believe you when you say I have the choice. Despite it all. I … I did want it.”

“But that’s all it is to you? Just sex? Just the physical compulsion of your magic?”

She finally looked up. There in the grey light of the library stood the fearsome Lord Voldemort, his shoulders drooping, his mouth nothing but a harsh line. Her heart stuttered when she saw him, but she immediately pushed that down.

“What else could it be?”

“Right.” He scoffed. “What else?”

With that, he turned around and left the library, left her.

Shaking, Hermione sank down onto the floor and slung her arms around her own body. Everything was so, so fucked. She’d been here too long, been isolated from her friends and the real world far too much.

Even if she believed him that he acknowledged her as something else, something more, she would never be able to overlook what he planned to do to the rest of the world. Her mission was to ensure his downfall and, for as long as she wasn’t able to actually act on that, to try and find ways to influence him into a different direction.

Helping him restore his body wasn’t part of that plan. Even though a part of her worried about him and wanted to save him, she could never do that. She fought down the tears that pricked at her eyes. She would not cry over Voldemort.

If anything, he was probably still trying to manipulate her even now. He was not the mad, obsessed wizard that Harry always described. He was a calm, calculated, stone-cold man who had a plan for everything and was always at least two steps ahead.

Yes.

She wiped away the errant tear that rolled down her cheek.

That she wavered even for a second in her conviction just showed how good he was at manipulating her. She could easily believe him that he enjoyed the sex and was overwhelmed by the compulsion of the magic as well. But he didn’t care for her. Even if she believed him that he would have never forced her into sex, he would definitely force her to die in the ritual if she didn’t offer herself up willingly.

Hermione swiped the two vials of potion from the desk and fled the library. There was no place safe in the manor, but at least in her room, in her bed, she felt some sense of comfort. With her wards up, she felt like she could keep Voldemort out.

As she hurried up the stairs, she couldn’t help the bitter thoughts spiral further.

His question, no, his accusation was nothing more than an admission of guilt.

It was purely physical for him.