Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling. Recognized characters, places, ideas, or events belong to her and those affiliated with the Harry Potter brand. I am merely a fan.
A/N: I needed a distraction and this came out. It disregards everything that happened after the discovery that Harry is still alive. Voldemort has instructed his remaining followers to go into hiding until called upon. It's been about 10 years, and the wizarding world has lived in relative peace (despite being hyper aware of the fact that he is still out there). The characters are a little OOC. Also, there is a bit of kink during in the "May 5, 2007" flashback, so skip over that if you're not interested. There are also limes all over.
DARK PARADISE
DKM
"Can you even imagine yourself in paradise?
Even the daughter of gods must know loneliness,
must sometimes want nothing more than to be
trapped in a hell of forevers. Thank me, you queen.
I've given you forever."
-Clementine von Radics, Letter from Hades to Persephone
"Hermione Granger."
The witch looked up to see Voldemort standing on the opposite side of the bars, red eyes burning through her with more knowledge and intensity than she cared to know he possessed.
"Tom Riddle," she replied surely, watching as his lips thinned into a smile, displaying tiny, unused rows of teeth. The action alone was as frightening as the idea of him raising his wand to her –it was so genuine, so easy.
"Not exactly, young witch. However, if you'd like to be so familiar, you may resume calling me 'Sir.""
Resume? She stared blankly at him for a long time, fear soaking deeper into her the longer silence stretched. But, she was nothing if not a stubborn witch, and wanted him to realize the ridiculousness of him statement.
"Forgive me if I am not enthused by your allowance."
He laughed happily, passing through the bars as thought they were merely an allusion. She swallowed down the knot forming her throat, alarm shooting through her without the barrier between them any longer. But, he didn't seem to be interested in hurting her. In fact, he barely seemed to be conscious of the fact that she was a Muggleborn prisoner, supposedly absolutely unworthy of regular, human interactions and incapable of such emotions. Everyone she'd encountered here seemed to overlook such beliefs. It was disorienting.
Voldemort looked about as pleasant as someone you'd be joining for tea, if you disregarded his blood red eyes and ghostly pale skin, and it was absolutely horrifying. "Your fear is nearly as intoxicating as your passion," he told her after long. His voice was careful and considerate, as though he was conscious of not wanting to say too much. Unfortunately, it stirred curiosity into her fear, and she blamed her inner Gryffindor for it.
He moistened his lips slowly. "You're curious," he remarked, grinning. "That will be of help to the both of us."
"Whatever it is: No. You're an enemy to myself and the cause I support. I'd rather die than do or be anything to you."
"Oh, dear Hermione. I am quite sorry to be the barer of such news," he laughed, obviously not very sorry at all. "But you're already worth quite a bit to me. Don't you know?" He tilted his head very slightly, waiting for some sort of recognition.
She swallowed down panic, unsure of where he was going with his end of the discussion. Running her hand over her hair, she brushed it over her shoulder and realized how obvious it was that she was worth something to him. Despite the fact that Harry would more then willingly give himself up to save her, Hermione was in no real danger. She'd been given a comfortable cot; three, hearty meals (forced down her throat) a day; a place to use the bathroom and shower when need be; hell, she'd even had the opportunity at companionship during her week here, the guards stopping to chat at least twice a day. It felt more like rehab than prison, now that she thought about it, and she hated herself for taking so long to see it.
They were buttering her up for something horrible, and the false security had nearly worked.
"Don't come any closer," she whispered when she realized he was inching toward her. Strangely enough, he listened, stopping instantly. Voldemort was still too close, though, nearly within arms reach, and Hermione found herself shrinking further into the corner she'd huddled herself in.
"I find myself strangely apologetic toward you, Hermione Granger. If only I'd worked more diligently at becoming a Hogwarts professor. Your mind could be far more valuable than it is now. You've been cheated and lied to by the very people you've dedicated your life…that you're prepared to die for." He hummed thoughtfully, "Very apologetic indeed."
She watched him blankly for a long time, unsure of shat to say, but he finally allowed a small smile to return to his lips, forcing uncertainty to her mind.
"What do you want?"
"Your mind; but I understand your reservations toward sharing something so oddly intimate. Which, I suppose, is why I've gone about this the way that I have."
"You believe kidnapping me will make me willing to…to submit to you?"
"I'm not a teenaged wizard, Hermione," he frowned. "Please, at least credit my intelligence. I do have a few degrees I believe you found impressive."
"What?" She asked, fidgeting slightly.
His eyes danced, and she swore she saw something familiar beyond the burning red of them. Her stomach felt heavy with uncertainty as he observed her curiously, lingering on how her heavy curls fell over her shoulder and where her baby hair curled against her neck on the opposite side. It was too familiar, and caused her skin to turn to gooseflesh as discomfort danced along her conscious.
"You have something that belongs to me."
The sinking feeling she'd begun to feel left, and she laughed, feeling safe enough to unclasp her legs and fold them pretzel style before her. The irony didn't pass her, feeling safe with Voldemort, but he had yet truly pose a threat to her. She was sure the only reason she'd been given such great care since being taken from her flat was because he required it, because he needed something from her. If he kept up his operation, she didn't expect any harm to come from this conversation; and for as fearful as she was, she found that she wasn't afraid. Something in her gut told her she'd be all right, even if it were only for one more night.
"And what, pray tell, is that?" She heard herself asking, and he took the opportunity to close the space between them, squatting down before her.
Panic shot through her at his nearness, and she closed her eyes as he lifted a long, pale finger to run along the curve of her face. She realized that he was waiting for her recognize something, the air around her tingling with familiarity. The witched gasped as everything dawned on her.
"Jean," he whispered just as her eyes opened. That voice was smooth and comforting, honeyed with months of fintimacy –the only difference being that his slight German accent swirled into a gentle English one that drew chills along her skin. Tears swelled in her eyes as she the face of Thomas Rissler filled her vision. She felt as though she were in a very bad horror movie, hating herself for not knowing better. For being so stupid.
"No," she whispered, shaking her head away from his touch. "Please, just let me go."
In this body, Voldemort did actually look apologetic as he sighed, fingers drumming across her foot. "I wish I could, I really do. But, as I said, you have something of mine."
She was still shaking her head, disbelieving of her own stupidity. "You can have it, whatever it is. I don't care. I don't…I don't have anything of yours."
"Oh, but you do." He smiled, lifting his hand from her foot to brush over her stomach. "You're carrying my heir."
Amsterdam, Netherlands
November 21, 2006
"Dr. Granger?"
Hermione looked up from her paperwork to find a pair of dark eyes focused on her, curious and nervous as they waited for recognition. She smiled, her soft pink lips stretching over her teeth in a pretty sort of way that caused the man's cheeks to color very slightly.
"Dr. Rissler," she remarked kindly, motioning for him to sit down. He did. "Great lecture today. I have to admit that questions on life and death are my favorite to tackle with second year students."
He gave her a quiet grin, as though he wasn't sure if she was teasing or not. "Choosing who lives and who dies is an exhilarating discussion. That is your focus, isn't it? Ethics?"
"I'm working on a book, yes. But I wouldn't say it's my focus."
"What is?"
"Metaphysics."
His eyes brightened, burning slowly, and Hermione found herself squirming very slightly in her seat. He was handsome, after all, intelligence and intensity pulsing beneath the calm surface of his being. She really couldn't help it; in the few years she'd spent out of the Wizarding world, she'd discovered that she gravitated toward unearthly power in Muggles, a need to consume them and everything they knew driving her craving for knowledge.
Moistening her lips, she pushed away any reservations. "And you, professor? Someone mentioned that Ethics was just a passing fancy for you."
"It is, Dr. Granger. I prefer Epistemology," he told her surely, his earlier shyness completely evaporated. He smirked at the face she made, "Perhaps I could sway your interests."
She shook her head, fighting a smile. "Call me Jean."
"All right, Jean," he spoke, tasting the name. His accent scent shivers along her spine. It didn't sound pretty at all on his tongue, but it felt nice along her skin. His eyes sparkled interestingly, "I insist you call me, Thomas."
December 14, 2006
"Let me buy you a drink."
Hermione smiled, brushing her sunglasses onto her hair as she studied the man before her. She was sure that Thomas had just stalked her down the street, and toyed with the idea of declining before nodding, taking in the gentle smile that graced his lips.
"You're not going to bore me with one of you 'how do you know what you think you know' talks are you?" She teased as they started down the street.
"And here I thought you enjoyed arguing with me."
A passing group of tourists caused her to step closer to him, and he wrapped an arm over her shoulders causally, as though he'd done it before. Hesitantly, she drew one around his waist, and they neared the crosswalk without hurry. "I haven't eaten anywhere but the Uni and a bistro below my flat," she informed him, glancing up to see that he was pulling his sunglasses over his eyes. It was a strange thought, but the wayfarer frames made him look cooler, drawing attention to the hollow of his cheeks and handsome slope of his nose.
He glanced down at her, pulling her sunglasses over her eyes as well, and smiled. "You aren't living then, Dr. Granger. You're in Amsterdam. Enjoy it."
She resisted telling him that she wasn't used to being the 'teacher,' and having so much free time on her hands –even as she worked on her book. Most of the time, she found herself lying around her flat aimlessly. England wasn't on her mind, but it might as well have been with how homesick she felt. Every moment of downtime left her longing to pop into Diagon Alley for a bit –this being the closest she'd been to home since leaving- but something held her back. Amsterdam felt like the right place to be, even if she'd yet to figure out why.
He pulled the door of the Bulldog Palace open and ushered her inside. As they snagged a table for two, Hermione allowed him to order for her, smiling at the way Dutch fell from his lips so carelessly. From their previous conversations, she knew he was the only person she'd met that was more travelled than she, and everything he had to say wrapped around her easily, drawing her into him more tightly than she would have liked. But, he was brilliant, and she innately craved every inch of himself he would give her.
After the waitress returned with their drinks, Thomas proceeded to roll up carefully, offering it to her after lighting it. He smirked when she shook her head. "Don't tell me you don't smoke, Jean."
"I don't."
He watched her amusedly before reaching for her hand, "We're friends, right?"
She laughed, "Sure."
"Do you trust me?" He trailed his fingers along the lines of her palms.
"I don't know," she told him honestly.
He smirked, "You will." Positioning the jay between her fingers, he encouraged her to take a puff. "I wanted to welcome you…we don't usually give guest professors semester positions. You must be quite the little metaphysician."
She coughed and handed it back to him, watching as inhaled expertly and smiled handsomely at her, waiting for a reply. Sipping her coke to get the taste out of her mouth, Hermione glanced around before saying, "I couldn't say."
He laughed, curls falling into his face.
"The headmistress mentioned that you're cutting back your courses next semester."
He shifted, eyes focusing on something over her shoulder. Hermione glanced over to find an oddly familiar, dark haired man staring dead at them, grey eyes piercing and features sharp. She frowned, trying to place the face before deciding it wasn't worth it. "A friend of mine," Thomas mumbled, "suppose he's considering who you might be." He smirked, eyes fixing her in place, and she realized that she was more attracted to him than she'd originally thought.
"We haven't had any philosophy professors, beside myself and Dr. Stone, for the students to enjoy for quite some time. I encouraged some to take your course. Making my own unavailable seemed like a logical step…I do hope to sit in on some of your lectures."
"You're just teaching one class, though. I didn't want to take your schedule away from you."
He smiled, smoke filtering out of his nose as the burgers arrived. After the waitress left, he explained. "Philosophy in general is a hobby of mine. I am contracted with the University for science and medicine." He watched as she took a messy bite of her burger and moaned at the flavor, his eyes lingering on her lips as she licked the left over juices from them. The look of interest she wore spurred him into saying, "I'm working on a way to regrow limbs, semi-independently, I suppose. Most do not experiment in the same ways that I do, which is why I practice here. The rules are just a little more relaxed."
"Perhaps it's the narcotics."
He laughed again, the sound resonating deep within Hermione, before digging in to his food.
"Are you making any headway?"
He glanced up at her, and she noticed his eyes shift to the man behind her very briefly before he smirked. When he looked back, she couldn't quite understand the expression in his eyes. "I couldn't say."
May 5, 2007
"Jean."
Hermione looked up to see Thomas standing in her doorway, brows furrowed and eyes intense with the emotion she could never pinpoint. She smiled, gesturing for him to come in, and closed her laptop with gentle click as he slid into one of the smooth, black leather chairs on the opposite side of her desk. He'd left behind his blazer in his office, but was otherwise dressed in his usual, uncaring professor way: derby shoes, dark chinos, and an equally dark oxford. Idly, she noticed she he was in his most formal work tie, and that he was toying casually with his tie clasp, the one with his initials engraved into the silver, repeatedly clipping it to the tips of his fingers.
"Long time no see," she teased, watching as the familiar blush bloom along his cheeks. "How was Sicily?"
"Uneventful," he nodded, but she noted that he was a bit browner than he'd been before he left, a light spread of freckles ghosting over his nose, signaling that he'd at least been able to enjoy the sun for a little while. He closed the clip into his fist and tugged at his tie, pulling it off and tossing it onto her desk in a smooth motion that her eyes followed with interest. She knew it wasn't a coincidence that he was wearing the one she favored. Leaning back, he drew his ankle over knee, confidence flooding his demeanor as he looked around the room. He drew an elbow onto the arm of the chair and rubbed into his bottom lip. Hermione looked down at the tie on her desk and bit hers.
Their eyes finally met and he smirked. In a low voice, he told her, "I found myself missing a certain brunette."
"Perhaps we should remedy that," the witch leaned back in her chair, shoulder pressing into the comfortable fabric as a smile ghosted her lips. She watched as his dark eyes danced, skimming over her lips and fixing pointedly on where she'd unfastened the top buttons of her blouse.
"Take your hair out."
She did, shaking her curls to give them more life. Since graduating Hogwarts, she'd learned to manage them –most of the time-, and the smooth ringlets the chestnut colored tresses usually fell in became a point of pride for her, almost like a tangible part of past that she conquered. Of course, it pleased her greatly that any lover she'd taken found joy in them as well.
"Lock the door, Jean," he instructed, and her body suddenly tingled with life. She did so, discreetly charming the room so that no one would hear or bother them before filling the space before him. The tie was back in his possession, draped over the arm of the chair, and as he licked his lips slowly, she felt her core tightening. She'd missed him, too.
Thomas looked up her, "Unbutton your blouse." He moved forward, legs opening enough for her to stand between them, and she took a small, eager step toward him. He smirked again, brushing his fingers over her stockings and up her legs before grasping her hips firmly. "Take it off," he tugged her closer to him as she did so, tossing it somewhere to their left. His breath skimmed her stomach and her eyes fell closed as he asked, "Have you been a good girl, Miss Granger?"
She groaned, hating it when he didn't use her proper title. Still, she replied, "No."
He sighed, let her go, and leaned back. "Skirt off."
Hermione opened her eyes, hands reaching behind her to unzip her skirt. She watched as he ran his tongue along his teeth, eyes devouring every inch of bared skin. "I dreamt of you a few nights ago," she explained.
His eyes lifted to hers briefly, fiercely, as though he wasn't interested in her talking. But she knew better. A small smile played on her lips as she pushed the waist of her skirt over her hips, the action stealing his attention.
"Do you enjoy every guest professor like this?"
He hummed as she kicked her skirt away, hands smoothing over her thighs. "You're special," he whispered, lifting a hand to slide over her hip. He leaned forward again and pressed his lips to her navel. Her fingers laced through his hair, enticing a moan, and Hermione laughed lightly and as he turned her around. "You know that, don't you?" His breath ghosted over her spine. "I haven't done something so silly since seventh year."
She felt his fingers ghosting up the backs of her thighs, slipping over the tatting of her stockings and onto her skin. Naturally, she believed him. Their first time together had started hesitantly and ended with renewed passion that had yet to die out. His nerves, though they'd left quickly, had been charming and true.
The feel of his hands cupping her bum drew her from her thoughts, thumbs touching dangerously close to her slit. He laughed at the sound of her sharp breath in, lips tracing the small of her back. "Do you believe me?"
"Yes."
"Do you trust me?" He asked, barely above a whisper.
The question didn't faze her. He asked it each time they were intimate, and each time she replied, "With my life," because it was exactly what he wanted to hear. And the truth. (On their second date, she'd had a few drinks with lunch and stepped clumsily into the street without checking the roadway. Time had seemed to slow as he tugged her back onto the sidewalk; a bus speeding past them just as she'd made it to the safety of his chest. He'd held on to her for a little too long, and they'd slept together that afternoon.)
He tore the lace of her panties, grabbing them from between her thighs. It caused the flesh of her hip to burn on the side he hadn't torn, and she hissed as he smiled into her skin. The chill of her office alerted her to how wet she was, both having gone unnoticed due to fire burning within her veins. She was suddenly aware of how painfully her nipples strained against the fabric of her bra, and how much she needed him. Two weeks had been too long.
She hummed as his fingers trailed along her inner thigh, gathering the moisture that slipped from her opening. His smile was obvious as he lewdly asked, "Fingers aren't quite as skilled as mine, are they?"
Hermione groaned as he pulled away, pushing her forward as he seemed to reclaim the position he'd taken during their chat earlier. He was right, which was no surprise. Before leaving, he'd asked her not to cum, and she hadn't followed through with the request. Of course, nothing she did to her body was quite as satisfying as the way he'd been making her come alive for months, and now she was more needy and desperate for him than she'd ever been. And he knew that.
"Jean," he spoke her name as though he were speaking to god, as though he were confessing to something, and it set her skin aflame every time. The sound of his fingers popping out of his mouth sounded in the air. "Legs open, straight. Good girl. Hands on the desk."
She leaned forward, fingers gripping the edge of the cherry wood as her back arched. The sound of his shifting slightly in the leather filled the room, and she smiled. "Thomas?"
He sighed, "Yes?"
"Did you touch yourself while you were away?" She swallowed as he chuckled. "That's what I dreamt. You, in the shower…your cock in your fist while you thought about me." She wiggled a bit, straining to get a bit of relief, the feel of his eyes on her filling her mind with smoke.
He hummed in appreciation. "I did think about you," he murmured. "But it seems that, between the two of us, I've a bit more self-control."
"Well, I'd imagine so," she replied testily, weight shifting to one leg. He didn't mind her talking, but not following his orders was another thing completely. "Having not been so 'silly' since seventh year and all."
She hadn't noticed when he stood up, but the feel of his palm smacking firmly into her ass caused her to cry out. He leaned against her, the curve of her bottom fitting perfectly into his pelvis, the swell of his manhood causing her to rub into her slightly. The fabric of his pants provided a very small bit of relief to her burning flesh. He was cool –always so cool- against her. Slowly, he wrapped an arm around her waist and trailed his tie clip up her stomach, drawing a line under the wire of her bra before he grabbed one of the fleshy mounds in his hand. Hermione groaned.
"I should really stop being so lenient with you," he told her thoughtfully, and she felt the words pulse through her and settle painful over her core.
"Tom," she moaned, wiggling a bit for some sort of release. However, he'd positioned himself in a way that didn't benefit her at all. Without really thinking about it, she hit her hand on the desk in frustration. He chuckled, using his free hand to swat close to her opening. "I'll be good," she heard herself saying, "I swear."
"I don't' care for your words, Jean. You know that. They mean nothing," He tugged the breast he was caressing out of it's cup and pulled at the sensitive tip skillfully. She moaned his name again, and was rewarded with him clamping the tie clip over her nipple.
Hermione mewed, and he ground his pelvis into her measuredly. Not to help relieve her discomfort, but to encourage it. His hand continued up her chest, clasping around her neck as he pulled her up, back flush against his chest. He pressed his lips to her ear and wrapped his free arm around her waist, simply holding her to him, breathing in her sugary scent.
"And what of my punishment?" She asked after a few moments.
He smiled, pressed a kiss to her hair and tweaked the nipple on her opposite breast over the flowery lace of her bra. "Call me 'my lord,' Dr. Granger."
She tensed beneath him, on edge nerves falling into distress at the idea. The words sounded strange in his mouth. Hermione turned her had slightly, feeling herself softening as he pressed a gentle kiss to the curve of her cheek. However, she found that she couldn't follow his request. "I can't."
His nose brushed her temple as he murmured something like 'baby steps,' to himself. "What can you do then, sweet pea? Impress me."
Hermione took three deep breaths, running through the titles she could give him comfortably. She closed her eyes, a smile played on her lips as she whispered, "What of my punishment, Sir?"
Thomas hummed with approval and shifted slightly, allowing them to see each other easily. "Look at me," he demanded, and she did, allowing his eyes to roam her face and take in the need in her dark, chocolaty orbs. A smile played on his lips as he shifted, moving closer he drew her face in and kissed her soundly. When he pulled away, he resumed his place behind her and pressed his lips to her temple, pressing his erection into her briefly.
"You won't find even a grain of relief this evening," he promised, hand dropping from her breast to slide over her back, the cleft of her bum, and onto her cunt. His pointer and forefinger flanked her lips as the middle glided over the soaking, sensitive core. She ground against his touch, soughing, and he nipped at her ear, the hand around her neck tensing.
"Perhaps then you'll learn to be a good girl." He pulled his hand from her center and placed his middle finger before her lips. She sucked at it readily, and he laughed humoredly before pulling away from her completely. "Bra off."
Hermione did as she was told before allowing him to tie her hands behind her back, leaving no room for extraneous movement. He turned her around took her face in his hands, and guided her down to the floor. "You're quite beautiful, you know."
"I know," she replied arrogantly, knowing he found too much pleasure in having her in heels, stockings, and garter belt.
He shook his head, smiling, and took a few steps back to sit back down, "Sit."
She took a deep breath, skin tingling as his eyes focused on the way the swells of her breasts jutted outward at the action before she lowered onto her haunches. Like he usually did during their sessions, he began to come alive, feeding off the control she gave him. His dark eyes swirled with need and lust, soft red lips pursed slightly and moistened by his tongue. Even his skin seemed different, as though his skill and intelligence were shining through him, and Hermione ate every bit of it up.
For as much as he enjoyed it, she felt her own power growing stronger from every inch she handed over. It wasn't exactly something she could explain, but she'd taken to consuming the raw energy that surrounded Muggles as their passion and desire mounted, storing it away somewhere within her. Thomas, bless him, was the youngest, most successful man she'd been with in her near ten-year absence form the Wizarding world. In a twisted way, his credentials alone drove the witch wild, and she couldn't help but revel in the fact that he seemed to simply have more and more to give to her. Damn near willingly.
"I meet an Australian philosopher while I was away," he offered, smirking when Hermione groaned. "She was nothing like you," his voice was strangely airy as he spoke those words, as though he were disappointed in both himself and the woman he'd meet. His head tilted as he continued, "She wanted to change my views on my public moral standings…as well as my private."
"Private?"
"She tried to seduce me."
"I see," Hermione nodded, and hid her jealousy well enough for him to frown slightly. "I imagine that many woman both in the field and out are quite interested in saving you."
"Are you?"
"The only thing I'm interested in at the moment is your cock."
He tilted his head back and laughed, hands moving to unfasten his belt and trousers, manhood springing free almost instantly. She mewed, wiggling against the backs of her shoes to relieve some of the tension of her core. Her eyes followed his hand as his fingers stroked over the top of himself, and he took mercy on her very briefly, leaning forward to pluck the nipple he'd clamped. She whimpered as his hand fisted over his cock.
"Are you interested in saving me, Dr. Granger?"
"No," she licked her lips as he gathered his pre-cum and smeared it down his head and over himself.
"I want to save you," he told her seriously.
"From whom?" She questioned, watching as he pumped himself, foreskin moving with his fist. After Ron, nearly every man that she'd been with had been circumcised, and discovering Thomas' uncut state had been a point of handsome fascination to her. While he wasn't the largest man she'd ever been with, he was longer than average and perfectly thick, filling her completely and deliciously during each of their couplings. Watching him reminded her that it'd been two terribly long weeks, and every minute he drew out of their time together left her needier and needier.
He shrugged. "Yourself. All those people who poisoned that brilliant mind of yours with widely accepted ideas of morality."
"I think for myself, thank you very much Dr. Riss-, Sir."
His eyes twinkled with delight before a concentrated look took over his face. "I almost bedded her, you know. Just to see…" Thomas sighed, "She wasn't quite you, Jean. Funny, isn't it?"
"What?"
"Obsession."
Her eyes snapped up to his, but the action was too quick from her current mental state. His words were too much, even. All she wanted was him. Still, she found the strength to ask, "You're obsessed with me?"
He hummed thoughtfully before replying, "Sometimes." He smiled softly, legs opening to welcome her, "Come."
His fist rested firmly on the base of his cock as he guided it to her mouth, his free hand gathering her hair and wrapping it securely until he reached the roots, fingers grazing her scalp. "Kiss it," he instructed, and she did, tongue swirling around his near purple head as she sucked him gently into her mouth.
He let out a long breath through his nose, tongue moistening his lips as they watched each other. "Take it in your mouth…good girl," he removed his fist, lifting his hand to bite at his knuckle as she lowered her mouth on him, allowing her to set the pace. The hand in her hair was a cool reminder that he was the one truly in control, and a hint at what would come. Her cunt clenched uncontrollably, seeking relief.
"Suck my-" before he could finished his thought, she allowed him to pop from between her lips, tongue seeking out his balls expertly. He groaned seemingly painfully as she sucked one into her mouth. "Both, Jean."
She did as told, eyes smiling when he looked back at her. It was obviously that he'd cum soon, especially after his two weeks of supposed abstinence, and she waited as patiently as possible, cheeks tightening around his sac. He groaned, shooed her away, and took himself in his fist.
"Where?" His voice was lower than usual as he stood up.
Hermione shivered. She knew the routine. Opening her mouth, she tilted her head back and moaned as his head rested against her bottom lip. Her tongue darted out to taste him one more time, and he emptied himself easily in long, warm spurts that she allowed to sit at the back of her throat until he finished. As he groaned, her body and core thrummed with near desperation.
Once he was through, he leaned down, pressed her chin until she closed her mouth, and kissed her firmly before pressing his thumb into her jugular. She opened her mouth and allowed him to see his seed before swallowing it with a satisfied moan.
"That's my girl," he smiled, drawing her up by the neck before pushing her into the desk behind them. He tucked himself back into his briefs but didn't bother do up his chinos. He lowered himself slightly, drawing her nipple into his mouth and suckling before biting down, eliciting a cry. "Where's the bag, Jean?"
Her eyes, which had fallen closed at his attentions, opened to find her barely a breath away. His fingers glided along her thighs teasingly, and she whimpered slightly before saying, "Bottom drawer, right hand side."
He pressed a kiss to her jaw, teeth nipping at the skin before moving away from her. After a few seconds, he returned, unzipping the small, black pouch with a worrisome gleam in his eyes. Pulling a small, weighted magnet from it, he leaned in and kissed her gently, tongue exploring her mouth curiously as her body shook with anticipation. His fingers drummed against her thigh, and she cried into his mouth as her clamped nipple throbbed with the addition of the magnet.
He pulled away and smiled at her, fingers ghosting over the sensitive tip before pulling her lipstick from the bag. Carefully, he traced it over her lips, admiring his work before leaving behind a chaste kiss and lowering himself before her. His lips pressed into her knee and trailed up to where she needed him most. She struggled slightly against to binds of his tie and he laughed, breath ghosting over her damp folds and drawing his name from her lips.
"Was your onanism gratifying, sweet pea?" He questioned, nuzzling her opposite thigh, where the lace meet flesh.
"No," she breathed as his mouth latched onto her, skillfully avoiding the bundle of nerves at the top.
His tongue swirled and dipped into her opening concisely. As he teased her, she swore she could feel him spelling something against her. She looked down at him, eyes catching the tie clip on encasing her swollen nipple. A laugh fell from her lips as she saw his initials etched into the metal; they matched the letters he was tracing over her folds perfectly, and she found the extent of his domination made it feel as though little bombs were exploding within her.
Her fingers ached for his hair and she struggled against closing her thighs to hold him in place –he seemed to sense her thoughts anyway, and took a firm hold on her legs to keep them from tightening. He glanced up at her as he brushed his tongue very lightly around her clit. Hermione moaned and bucked and took a deep, strangled breath before biting out, "Thomas, please. I just want you to fuck me."
He smirked, fingers slipping into her and dragging to her to the edge before backing off, laughing at her sound of frustration. Carefully, he isolated her clit and squeezed a clamp around her already needy bundle; the pain caused her to sob with pleasure. He kissed it gently, just enough for her to shudder achingly before standing up.
From his pocket, he tugged the scraps of her panties and balled them up tight, smirking. "We wouldn't want to ruin the floor with your arousal now, would we?"
"Thomas, are you-" Before she could finish the statement, he drew his finger along her slit and shoved the lace into her, digits ghosting around her opening.
Hands wrapping around her jaw and slipping into her hair, he observed her blood red lips before pressing his own to the corner of her mouth possessively. "I'm going to fuck your throat now," he whispered, leaving no room for argument.
It was her least favorite time with him, handing over the control of his oral pleasure completely always lead to her throat aching for days after, but she allowed him to help her to her knees. "Kiss it," he instructed, and she leaned forward enough to press her lips over the thin fabric of his briefs. He groaned, slowly pulling his cock out. He was still half soft, and Hermione swallowed, lust spiraling through her as he twisted her hair around his fist and drew her close to him.
She opened her mouth eagerly, and he allowed her control just long enough for him to become fully erect. The witch shivered desperately for release, every inch of her body tingling.
"Open wide," he demanded. She followed the order promptly, watching him as he guided himself in and out of her mouth shallowly, tip barely reaching the back of her opening. His eyes were watching the action with fascination, pleasure slowly increasing as he dipped into the tight warmth of her throat. The sound caused them both to moan. She relaxed the muscles as their eyes met, and watched the exact moment his need to own her took over, his expression becoming fierce as his thrusts deepened and intensified, hand tightening in her hair.
Hermione gagged, wrists working desperately against the tie as he pressed himself into her without care or consideration. When her fidgeting became too much, he gripped the back of her jaw with his free hand and tightened very slightly. It wasn't enough to hurt her, but it was enough to remind her that she'd given this control over freely and her life was currently his to decide for.
Despite the fact that he'd shoved her panties inside of her, arousal leaked down her thighs, inner walls shivering and screaming for release. As her lungs begged for air, she felt herself uncontrollably nearing her breaking point. He seemed to sense her dilemma and smiled vindictively, "I won't fuck you for a week if you cum, sweet pea."
She groaned in protest and her stilled within her, eyes falling closed as he filled her throat, cock throbbing against the muscles. The sound of her gagging filled the air, and he seemed to grow harder. He pulled out with a growl, admiring her watery eyes and the saliva spilling down her chin and chest. Tenderly, he stroked her cheek. "And if you think you'll find any pleasure during such time, you're wrong. I found the most perfect set of key-lock clamps while I was away."
Hermione whimpered and he leaned down, hand still holding her jaw, to kiss her messy mouth. She moaned and leaned into him. "Thomas…I need you. Please, I-" Her body shook with desire that caused him to press his thumb and forefinger into her skin, mouth falling open for his usage. He thrust into her readily, holding her head in place until her body convulsed below him.
"Over the desk," he demanded, leisurely pulling himself from her mouth as he dragged her up and turned her. His fingers slid along her spine comfortingly as she leaned over the edge of her desk, pelvises fitting into one another hauntingly. She moaned uncontrollably, grinding into him.
"Did you miss me?" He asked, rubbing his cock along her slit.
Hermione whimpered, "Yes, Sir."
He smiled, gathering the moisture along her upper body and rubbing into her bottom. "Come home with me."
For once, she didn't hesitate as she said, "Yes. Anything you want. Please, Thomas just-"
He leaned over her, hand tightening around her neck as he lined himself up with the tight ring of muscle he liked to indulge them both in. "Patience, sweet witch," he murmured as he sunk into her.
If she hadn't been seeing stars, she would have noticed.
September 24, 2007
Hermione awoke to find herself nestled against Thomas's chest, her face pressed securely into his collarbone as his arms held her in place. She inhaled slowly, memorizing his scent, and felt his fingers filter through her hair soothingly, as though he'd been doing it for hours.
"You back yet, Jean?" He asked, voice low and focused in the darkness her flat.
She blinked a few times, humming in response as she attempted to remember falling asleep. He pulled away just enough to see her, hand lifting to brush hair away from her face. She looked up at him, hands sliding along his jaw to bring his lips down to hers. Their eyes met, and he offered her a small, confident smile that took on an amused look as she murmured, "Your eyes are green."
They'd been sleeping with each other for nearly a year, but the trait had gone unnoticed. He tucked her head back under his chin and entangled their legs, "You pass out for two hours, and that's what you notice?"
"Two hours?" Hermione murmured in disbelief. She fidgeted long enough for him to let her go, and sat up, rubbing at her sore back. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and groaned at the effort. "Thomas," she glanced over her shoulder to see that he was smiling smugly at her, eyes dancing. Ignoring his smugness, she continued, "I'm hungry and quite sure I can't make it to the kitchen."
He rolled over the bed, arm circling around her waist and lips brushing over her hip. "What do you want?"
"There are some pastries on the counter, and chocolate milk in the fridge," she reached behind her thoughtlessly, fingers running through his curls as she glanced around her flat. He'd nosed around while she'd been unconscious, folding their clothes into a neat pile on the chair and tidying up her desk. His laptop was next to hers, and a pencil was missing from her cup. She smiled at his comfort in her home. It only took forever.
He smiled against her skin, "Do you mind if I smoke?"
"I told you to make yourself at home, didn't I? Could you make me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?"
Thomas sat up beside her. "That good, huh?" He grinned smugly before gripping at her thigh soothingly. Brushing a kiss to her hair, he got up and disappeared to the other side of her flat. When she was sure he was out of sight, she summoned her panties and his undershirt, inhaling deeply before slipping the soft fabric over her head.
"You have like seven different spreads in here, Jean. What flavor do you want?" He leaned against her bookshelf and smiled when he noticed she was in his clothes.
"Strawberry and grape. Make it a triple decker, would you?"
He laughed as he turned to head back to the kitchen. She watched him go, running her hand through her hair before twirling it into a heavy bun. They needed to talk, and she didn't know how to break it to him. Despite having discussed the idea of her leaving plenty of time, the thought of initiating the official conversation hurt her, and she couldn't imagine what would happen when she dared to mutter that it was time for her to go. He'd become such a constant part of her life that leaving would feel like parting with a limb.
Idly, she wondered what it would be like to live without a leg. She could get a false one –until he figured out a way to regrow it, of course-, but it wouldn't be the same, and the idea left her no closer to figuring out how to tell him she wouldn't be renewing her contract with the University. He rejoined her with a taunting grin and a tray full of food.
"Eat quickly, would you?" He set the tray across her lap and crawled over her. Swiping one of the sandwiches, he gestured to his hardening cock with a wink. "I'm not quite done with you."
November 5, 2007
His fingers brushed her skin. "You'd actually leave?"
Hermione looked down at him sadly, brushing her lips to her collarbone. "I can't very well stay here, Thomas. Besides, my contract is up January first."
"You know they'd renew. Another year wouldn't hurt. Or even just a semester."
A slight frown formed on her face, unsure of his motivation for trying to keep her here. She swore she could hear a bit of vulnerability in her voice, but it didn't make sense. He'd known she'd leave; they'd talked about nearly once a month for a year now, his curiosity over what she'd do next never-ending. "My life is in England."
"You've been avoiding that place for ten years, Jean. What on earth is there for you?" He rolled them over so that he was lying on top of her, weight grounding her swirling thoughts.
She realized that he was here, and exactly the reason she'd even signed on with the university for a year to begin with. Their time together had been enlightening, and he was just as loath to let it go as she was. Still, her life was in England. She had to go back…she'd promised Harry that she would be. "My friends are expecting me. I can't just leave them hanging."
"We're friends-"
"We can still be friends, Thomas. Nothing has to change."
His eyes searched her face, "You'll be countries away. Tell me how this will remain the same." When she took too long to answer, he kissed her chastely. "Jean, just stay. You've been running from England for years. Stay here."
"They're the only family I have left, Thomas. I can't just abandon them."
He laid his head on her chest, and Hermione ran her hands over his back soothingly. "We could be happy," he murmured. "We could stay here. We could be a family."
Her hands found his hair, "Thomas."
"Don't say anything." He told her, arms tightening around her. She could practically feel him thinking, thoughts weighing nearly as much as he did, and she continued to run her fingers through his curls as gently as possible. Seconds turned into minutes that dragged into the sun slipping through the holes in her bookshelf, creating patches of light on her bed.
"I don't want you to leave," he told her lowly. "I didn't think you'd want to."
"I don't want to. I have to, Thomas. I have a life to get back to. You have a study to focus on. This wasn't meant to be anymore than it is."
"Bullshit," he groaned. But, instead of continuing the conversation, his lips pulled her nipple into his mouth. Hermione gasped, fingers tightening in his hair and pulling his face up.
"We should finish talking," she chastised.
His stare was blank as he watched her, eyes seeming to breathe her in. Finally, he said, "You're leaving, and I don't want you to. There is nothing more to discuss, Jean." He shifted, pushing himself up over her, and kissed her jaw. "Just shut up and let me have this."
Thomas brushed his lips over her face before latching onto her mouth. Hermione became heavily aware of him, then: the coolness of his body soothing her; knees parting her legs; erection pressing distractingly into her inner thigh.
"You've ruined everything, you know."
"How?"
"I've been so good this past year," he turned his face into the curve of her neck, leaving a trail of kisses along her skin. "And all for nothing."
"We could have been amazing together, Granger," he whispered before thrusting into her in one, smooth motion. Her eyes closed, and he pressed his mouth to hers softly, as though he wasn't quite sure he wanted to, swallowing her moan. He pulled away and studied her, rolling his hips against hers and watching as she arched, bearing her neck to him. He sucked at the swell of her throat, teeth nipping at her skin. "It'll take so much work now," he murmured.
"I don't understand, Tom."
He smirked, thrusting again, pressing his full length into her. "You will," he gave her a bruising kiss, "You will."
January 3, 2008
Thomas filled the space behind Hermione and wrapped his arms around her waist. She placed her hands over his, lacing their fingers and leaning into him. He felt strange, tense, and she know that he was thinking too much about the evening. It was the last they'd spend together, after all.
Like always, his flat smelt like the ocean, and although she knew it wasn't because he'd made his dining room table from pieces of driftwood, it was her favorite piece in his home. She found herself constantly lingering in the area, staring blankly out the window, breathing it in. Honestly, she never wanted to leave, and if he asked her not to one more time, she wouldn't.
"This is my favorite space," she told him, watching a couple kiss goodbye on the street below.
His hand took hers on an exploration of her body, rubbing her stomach and thighs carefully, as though he were memorizing her. "Mine, too," he murmured, resting his palms flat against her stomach, her fingers still hooked between his knuckles. "Jean," his lips brushed the curve of her neck.
Say don't go, she silently begged.
"Let's fuck."
Hermione laughed as he kissed her neck. "I think I may die if you're anymore romantic, Dr. Rissler."
He smiled against her skin. "Spend the night, sweet pea. Let me," his nose trailed along the shell of her ear and into her hair. "I want to be with you forever. Let me show you that."
She let go of his hands and turns in his arms, her own wrapping around his neck and pulling his mouth down to hers. He lifted her and carried her to his bedroom, kissing her passionately the entire time. As he tugged off her clothes and pushed her into his bed, remaining standing as he watched her carefully. "Don't forget about what we have," he spoke seriously.
"I won't," she swore.
"Promise me, no matter what, you won't forget about this," his eyes widened slightly.
"I promise, Thomas. No matter what."
He nodded, pulling his shirt over his head. "Hands and knees, Miss Granger," he demanded. Hermione grinned and did as she was asked, feeling his hand brush over her bum as the bed dipped behind her. His lips brushed against her back as his fingers caressing her thigh and between her legs. "God, I'm going to miss this." He kissed her thigh, breath ghosting over her center. "I'm going to miss you, Jean."
.
.
Hermione laid perfectly still, her eyes fixed on Thomas' ceiling as he drew circles along her hip. Light began to warm his bed, and they knew they really needed to get a move on it if she planned to make her flight. However, neither moved, the witch massaging his scalp soothingly, mimicking the pattern of his fingers. At length, she sighed. "I don't want to leave, Thomas."
"I know, sweet pea."
"Ask me to stay…just one more time."
He smiled, lips brushing her stomach sweetly. "No. We both need to get back to reality. It'll be okay, Jean," he laid his head back down on her, fingers dancing along her thighs and lower tummy. "Everything will work out for us."
Hermione felt nauseated as Voldemort carefully lifted her from her position on the ground. He deposited her on the cot and conjured a chair for himself, crossing his knees as he sat before her. Despite herself, she was curious.
She'd noticed changes in her body, but she'd also just returned to England after a break from it all. She'd gotten a few degrees, but considered herself a student, touring and traveling the world in order to get in touch with who she was before the war, and develop as a Muggle…as she'd intended to do before she'd discovered she was a witch. Of course her body would change upon returning, she was reacquainting herself with all things British, after all. Food had been her friend in the last month of her return. The changes had gone uncared for. She was on the pill, for goodness sake, not to mention using Wizarding means for contraception as well.
Admittedly, she wasn't surprised to learn that his sperm could surpass all of that. What she was surprised by, however, was the fact that he was capable of producing life. It was alarming and disturbing, and her hands moved to rest on her stomach as fear breached ever inch of her body. She was carrying his child, and Merlin help her, he didn't seem incredibly upset about it. In fact, he'd gone to far as to choose her for such things. He'd told her it was what he wanted.
Closing her eyes to steady herself, she took a few deep breaths. "Why?"
"Why not?" He countered. She opened her eyes to discover that he was smirking at her. "You're brilliant, Miss Granger-"
"Dr. Granger," she murmured. It was an automatic reaction to being referred to as 'Miss.' She'd worked hard to achieve all that she had in the last few years, and she wasn't going to let him undermine that. Not if this has happening.
He chuckled, but corrected himself as he continued, "Of course, Dr. Granger. You're brilliant, and an incredibly powerful witch. I will admit that I hadn't intended on impregnating you, I just," he sighed. "I told you. I wanted to change you, and I didn't quite get to finish that. You decided to leave and ruined everything. I had to think quickly, and this felt right."
"It felt right?" She questioned disbelievingly.
"Amazing, actually," he commented lewdly. "Makes me wonder why I'd abstained for so long." She wasn't quite you, Jean…
The pair stared at each other for several minutes, Voldemort's smirk never leaving and Hermione's disgust slowly peaking. He unlaced his fingers and slowly moved one of his hand up his leg and over to hers. She shoved away from him violently, causing him to laugh. "No worries, dear Hermione. Everything in moderation."
"I want to go home," she told him measuredly. It was worth a shot.
"I'm sorry you feel that way. Perhaps, once this is over, I'll let you. But, surely you understand why I can't have you in danger with my child in your womb. I wouldn't be a very good father, or lover, if I let you go. Would I?"
She couldn't help the tears that brimmed in and fell from her eyes. She knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that she wasn't dreaming. That she wouldn't wake up to discover she was safely tucked into her bed at her Diagon Alley flat. And it was a suffocating feeling that consumed nearly all of her rational. "We aren't lovers," she managed. "It was all a mistake."
"One we repeated, quite a few times. One I wouldn't be opposed to making again."
A strangled cry sounded from her throat, and she could feel him drinking in her pain. Hermione found that she couldn't really think her way out if this. Upon mentioning the fact that she was pregnant, she realized that she knew she was. She could sense the foreign magic within her, coming into being in a gentle, quiet sort way. As though it knew it was unwanted, and wanted to cause her as little distress as possible. Rubbing her stomach carefully, she continued to take deep, calming breathes.
She was pregnant, and an abortion wasn't in the question. Despite knowing that she wouldn't be going anywhere for her foreseeable future, it was against everything she believed in. If she'd discovered it on her own, she would have dealt with it smartly. She wasn't a poor, struggling Witch, after all; quite the opposite, really. She had room for a child, and the capacity to love and care for it as well as a planned pregnancy would have unrolled.
But this…this thing growing inside her was Voldemort's child. He was pure, inhuman evil, and the fact that he possessed the ability to create life the way she, or any other living creature, could was problematic. Not only was she unsure just what the child would be, but she also had no idea what it meant that he wanted to be involved with it.
"So, you trapped me so that you could use my brain for whatever you're working toward."
"When you say it like that," he drawled with a small smile. "I think we could raise an incredible child, Hermione. Don't you?"
The serious tone of his voice caused the witch's head to feel heavy. She lifted a hand to rub at her forehead, attempting to sooth the pounding. He conjured a glass of water and offered it to her. Without hesitation, she took it. If he wanted to kill her now, so be it. It was better than the idea of bearing his child.
"We could be happy. We could have an amazing family."
"You're a psychopath," she told him evenly after finishing the water. "Or a sociopath, depending on which body you're using."
He looked amused. "Not exactly. In fact, I'm quite disheartened by your judgment of me. We really can't have that sort negativity around the child."
"Stop," she closed her eyes in attempt to get ahold of the situation. It was hard to do when he looked like the handsome German professor she'd slept with for a year. "I don't know what you want, or why you felt that getting me pregnant would help you achieve anything. Just, please let me go home. We don't have to even acknowledge that this happened."
"No. I'm enchanted over the idea of having a family. Because I didn't sway you toward me well enough in Amsterdam, it will take some work, but I'm sure you and I will be just fine. Please don't hold anything you thought you knew about me against me. You promised you wouldn't forget."
She looked at him in disbelief. "You're crazy," she murmured, using both hands to rub at her stomach. As she continued to interact with the new magic, she realized that she'd been a fool to overlook the feeling for the last few months. He must have even sensed it, on their last night together, and she resisted a sob as she said, "If I had stayed…"
He blinked a few times, eyes taking in her worried, curious expression, and Hermione noticed the distinct differences between Thomas and Voldemort. In this body, he was far more vulnerable, his expressions relatively open and understandable. It was hard to hate or fear him, and she found her heart beating painfully in her chest as he reached for her hand.
Visibly swallowing, he seemed thoughtful as a small smile ghosted his lips. "We could have been happy."
Fear, anger, and heartbreak flooded her. "What's wrong with you? Do you realize what you're saying? That I'm a Muggleborn? That this thing-"
"Child. Our child."
She scowled, "Thing is not even going to be considered human or valuable in your circuit?"
"I told you, Jean. You're special. I wouldn't have even considered this with some other witch –Pure or otherwise."
"Don't call me that. Don't call me Jean."
He sighed. "Blood means very little to me at this point. I am a politician at heart. I adjust. That being said, I want this child, and I don't care if I have to put you in a coma to get you to carry him or her to term, Doctor Granger. Of course, I would much prefer you willing in this. I'm sure we could both be quite satisfied if you submit to my wishes. I can promise you that none of my followers will cause any harm to you. I will respect you, so long as you respect me. There is really so much for you to gain from this, I'm sure you know. And once the child is born, should you choose to walk away, than so be it."
"How exactly would I walk away? Everyone would know that I was the one to bare your child. No one would want anything to do with me."
He frowned. "The only people that will know you carried my child would be my followers."
"So, I am to remain here until I give birth?"
"Oh heavens no," he laughed. "I have a place set up for you."
"And you will be…"
"With you, of course," he grinned. "I am excited about this. Lord Voldemort, a father. It's a beautiful new development. I wouldn't have even considered it before you arrived in Amsterdam."
Hermione wiped away her tears. "And when it's over I can just walk away?"
"If you choose."
"You don't think I will?"
He appeared thoughtful as he said, "I don't really want to lose you again. I haven't felt this fond or stimulated in ages."
"You're disgusting."
He smirked. "I think you'll find my presence far greater than that of the Wealsey boy you're so fond of. You did for a while, you know. My change in appearance doesn't change my mind." Before her eyes, he began to change back into the Voldemort she knew, and Hermione found herself letting out a breath she hadn't known she was holding. His eyes squinted, lips pursing in a way that could have been either amusement or distaste. "But, I can accept that you haven't come to accept that, yet."
"I don't like you at all," she told him coldly.
He laughed. "Of course not," he murmured as he stood up. Stepping toward her, his hands came to rest on either side of her neck, forcing her to look up at him. She didn't move, or breathe, for that matter, eyes boring into his as she trembled unknowingly under his hand.
She felt apparition tug at her, but it was different then any other side along she'd experienced. It was gentle, and she felt a fresh wave of despair tug at her, lacing with confusion as he said, "But love grows."
The end for now. If I do decide to post the rest of it, it'll happen on this thread. Please review ^-^
(And if you read my other Tomione story, I will do my best to update that soon! Chapter 20 is proving to be a tough one.)