- Chapter 2 -
The Turning
"I…" Voldemort stammered. "I… Yes! I am yours!"
Hermione smiled, as she slowly stood, stretching her body sensuously. Voldemort couldn't move his eyes from her lithe form - a woman who wanted him, as he was. Voldemort was many things, but he was not a fool. He had seen his face in a mirror - bald with missing features, and red eyes that glowed when there was little light. But she wanted him. She had chosen him, in spite of knowing exactly what he was.
"No," Hermione whispered gently. "Not in spite of what you are, because of it…"
"You… you just read…?"
"Yes, and you'll be able to read minds we are one also. Not those with strong Occlumency, but most minds, love." She smiled widely. "Now, let me come to you. Lower your shields."
Voldemort drew in a deep breath through the remnants of his nose, and then dropped the Occlumency shields that he'd held for as long as he could remember. His eyes widened as he felt another presence on the border of his mind, and he gasped sharply as he felt a real hand on his face, stroking his cheek.
"Let me in, love." The vampire whispered gently. "Show me your core!"
Voldemort gasped as her lips pressed against his own.
"Open yourself to me, love." She whispered against his skin. "Let me in!" Voldemort tilted his head further, exposing more pale skin to her milky-white teeth, that scraped, and nipped, and-
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When he woke again, all he could remember was a haze of amber pleasure, and a warm liquid filling his mouth.
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He cursed when he recalled how to speak. He was weak, so, so weak. It was almost like the days before his resurrection. Warm, struggling souls were brought to him, then they became cold, still and lifeless and he grew stronger. And stronger. And stronger.
Hermione spoke to him in the hours and days before he could move. She told him of her childhood, how she had been happy. At Hogwarts too, she had been happy. Until… Until she had been bitten.
"I know, logically, that it's not my fault." She told him early one morning. "And I know that I am better off now, but sometimes, I just wish to be happy, just one more time. If I'd known then, that that was the last time…"
"Not… the last…" he gasped, still struggling to do much of anything without painful effort. "I will… make you… happy, again. I… swear."
She had smiled then, with her eyes as well as her lips, a rare sight indeed, and one that Voldemort was proud that he had managed to induce. It was strange, he reflected, that in so long he had not wanted to make anyone happy, and now he wanted nothing more than to please this woman. His woman.
"Oh, love," she crooned, moving to sit on the bed next to him, a cool hand stroking his fevered brow. "Each day you prove to me that I chose well. It shan't be long 'til you are strong again, and then we will show the world just how strong you are. Together." This time, her smile didn't reach her eyes, but to Voldemort it was just as beautiful as her previous one.
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The next time she fed him, he was awake, and coherent enough to see the warm, struggling body, to press his own lips to the torn flesh, to drink down the succulent nourishment. And when his eyes opened again, and he saw the babe's skin was blue, his sadistic grin was, in a word, bloody.
"He was called Daniel." Hermione's head was tilted, eyes fixed on the dead child. "Daniel Everglade." A hand reached out, and grabbed a hold of its foot, dangling it in the air between herself and Voldemort who was still lying prostrated on the bed. "His mother was screaming for him, trying to work out where he'd gone." It swung now, the corpse, like the pendulum of a morbid grandfather clock. "But Lottie Everglade won't find her little Danny, now will she?" With a sound that was half-giggle, half-sob, she waved her hand at Daniel Everglade's body.
Fire started at the foot that she wasn't holding, the sickly smell of burning flesh causing Voldemort to gag slightly, but Hermione didn't notice. No, her eyes were still fixed on Daniel's face, licked by flames.
She didn't move until there were only bones and ashes left, not even blinking as Voldemort attempted to heave up his last meal.
"Bye-bye, little Danny!" She crooned. "Don't you worry. Your brother will be joining you soon…"
And his brother did, six days later when Voldemort watched Hermione play with the nine year old. The boy darted this way, and that, trying to escape the small bedroom, but to no avail.
When Hermione kissed him afterwards, Voldemort thought that she tasted sweeter than any honey he'd ever known.
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It took nearly three weeks for Voldemort to regain his strength enough to stand on his own. Hermione still refused to let him catch his own food, delighting in bringing him small children from up and down the country.
"The parents are sooo funny," she confided in him as he sat up, back against the wall. Hermione climbed onto the bed next to him, wiping the blood from her lips with her hand and squirmed under his arm to lean on his chest. "They just keep looking, and screaming, and crying… Have you ever tasted tears, Voldemort?" Her lover shook his head. "We'll have to fix that. They're so beautiful. We don't need them, but they make a nice treat. Haha, my treat to you!"
Thinking on it, Hermione reminded Voldemort of the Bellatrix of the old days, but younger, and prettier, and more full of… death.
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It was a full month after Voldemort's transformation that Hermione declared him ready to become Tom once more. They left the house for the first time, and as Tom looked around at the bare trees, and the frost that already covered the ground he was forcibly reminded of how much he'd already missed. When he voiced his concerns to Hermione, he was rewarded with her tinkling laughter.
"Oh, Voldemort, of course you've lost time… but just think of what you're gaining in return!" Her eyes flashed, bottomless black.
He took her hand in his as she side-along apparated them to Boscawen Un, a stone circle in Conrwall. His hand still in hers, she led him to the centre of the nineteen stones, bidding him to lie against the obelisk.
Hermione hitched up her skirt, causing Voldemort's breath to catch as he glimpsed her upper thigh, from where she pulled a previously sheathed knife. Slowly, so that he could see exactly what she was doing, Hermione slit her wrist and walked in a circle around him, letting the blood form a perfect circle.
"Blood, of my blood, bring back the beauty that once was. Stone, of thy stone, bring back the youth that once was." Hermione repeated the chant, over, and over, and over. Voldemort couldn't tell how long he'd been lain over the stone, all he knew was her voice, and the magic that poured out of him with frightening speed.
Before he passed out, he saw her eyes, as black as the night sky behind her. Her fingers traced gently over his face, and she pressed a kiss to his lips.
"Tom, you're back." Her smile was a memory to treasure.
