I just want to thank all those who reviewed the story ! Your comments really warm my sinful heart... And of course thanks to everyone that has favorited or followed the story.
You're great readers ! Oh and I have a Tumblr account now as a writer : ffourultraviolence.
Ron froze on the threshold of the storage room panting. A man, the man who had pretended to be... Lord Voldemort, was holding Hermione captive in his arms. His eyes widened in fear when he saw she was not moving, she was unconscious.
"What the fuck ?"
"What ? You found her ?" yelled Harry behind him.
The raven-haired boy pushed him and froze in turn. He frowned.
Tom smirked. If they had so little reflexes, it would be easy to overpower them. He stood, letting the woman slide on the ground. Their eyes remained on her, apparently not realizing he was the danger. They were the prey and he was the predator. His grin turned feral. This was going to be so much fun.
He noticed the redhead had a small revolver in the hand.
"What did you do to her ?"
Tom's head snapped up at the angry yell. The redhead's friend was looking at him, his eyes shared between complete panic and anger. He shrugged, grin still in place.
"Oh she's just unconscious, doesn't matter."
The man clenched his fists. Tom blinked. He actually looked quite familiar. He did not have the time to ponder on the feeling as the redhead surged towards him. Tom beamed and quickly bent down, letting the strong man stumble upon him and fall to the ground. When he stood again, the green-eyed man was also surging, with the intent of shoving him.
Tom was not bulky, he was rather lean, but he was strong. So when his fist landed in the man's stomach, it was only natural for his prey to fall to his knees, breathless. He turned to face his other victim who was trying to get back on his feet but was still stunned. Tom did not wait. He was not a loyal fighter. He was a winning fighter.
So he threw a vicious punch in the redhead's face. The man shouted and fell back on the ground, nose bleeding profusely. Tom smirked. There was his revenge for their first meeting.
Suddenly he was shoved on the ground. He grunted when his chest met the hardwood floor and glanced at his back. The raven-haired boy apparently made more of a danger than he had thought.
Tom turned over and faced him. He was panting heavily, he might not have recovered as much as he thought. He analysed the situation. He needed to regain the upper ground. He threw the boy's legs a nasty kick, sending him tumbling into the ground. Tom then proceeded to crawl to the woman's body, left on the side of the fight.
He grabbed her wrist and pulled her to him, quickly covering his body with hers. Well, she was much thinner so it would not have been an efficient shield had she not been friends with his two opponents.
He wrapped one of his slender hands around her neck and the other one fixed herself on her relaxed jaw.
"If you assault me, I'll break her neck," he stated calmly.
The two men stayed in their kneeling position away from him. They were panting, breathless. Tom chuckled internally, he had not lost his breath. Controlling one's breathing was the most important thing to do if one wanted to win a fight.
"What do you want ?" spat the redhead.
Tom smiled coldly at him, ruthless. "Well, I want all of your heads. After all, I will be paid if I bring you back to the Malfoys."
They shared a look.
"How do we escape you ?" asked the man with the glasses.
"You don't."
Tom felt Hermione's pulse quickened under his fingers. She was regaining consciousness. He almost frowned. He did not want to play with his preys there, in a storage room, without much light. He wanted for them to watch him torture her and then have her watch him torture them. This would not do.
He slowly rose, holding Hermione with care, only one hand on her jaw now. Her body was still limp although he could feel the muscles of her backside slowly tensing as she came around.
"Give me your revolver."
The redhead face contorted with anger but he threw his weapon on the ground. Tom quickly picked it and pressed the muzzle against the woman's temple. His other arm was snaked around his waist. He noticed he was much taller than her as the top of her head barely reached his shoulder.
"Now we're all gonna go in the main street, and we'll see what we'll do then," he smirked.
They warily raised their hands to show him they did not intend to attack him. Slowly they backed down the shop and then into the main streets. Tom blinked. The sun had pierced the thick black smoke, once again bathing the main street in its light. A lot of dust was still stuck in the air, waiting to rest again on the reddish road.
He glanced at the saloon. His men were behind the windows, watching him and his preys. He gestured with his head for them to come out. As they began to fill out the building, he raised his arm from Hermione's waist, choosing to circle her shoulders in order to prevent any rash movement. He could feel her breath quickening on his forearm. It tingled.
His men surrounded her two friends who were still panting and were staring at Hermione. They were afraid for her. Tom was certain her eyes were now opened, her look probably mirroring theirs.
He leaned and placed his mouth beside her ear, her delicious, riotous, curls brushing his skin. "I told you no one escaped me. Now we can begin to play."
He then gave a sharp nod to his men. Simultaneously, as they had done so many times, they knocked all three of their victims unconscious. Less usual was the way Tom carefully handled her, like he cared if he broke her. But his feral and feverish grin told a whole other story.
Hermione felt dizzy. Her head was pounding and each pound reverberated in her whole body. Slowly she attempted to open her eyes but quickly closed them again. The light on the outside was blinding. What had they done last night ? Why had they set camp in a place with that much sun ?
When she came up with the idea of rubbing her eyes to alleviate their soreness, she realized she could not. Her hands were bound in her back. Her eyes snapped open sending a jolt of pain in her brain, flooding it with light.
As they recovered, she examined her surroundings. She was relieved to see Harry and Ronald sat in similar chairs and bound in the same manner in front of her. On her right there was a small window showing the main street of Pagosa Springs. She scowled. Blasted village. She glanced to her left. The only furniture of the room was a small bed, neatly made, and a chest of drawers. The door was seemingly closed. She could not see any personal belongings. Judging by the color of the sky, it was approximately late afternoon.
"Harry ! Ron !" she whispered trying to lean towards them.
The redhead seemed to slowly regain consciousness. That is when she noticed the state of his nose, caked in dry blood. She gasped. The scab was crowned with green, purple and blue. She shook her head and decided to focus on his eyes, she would have the time to heal him when they got out of this shitty situation.
"Ron !"
Awareness seemed to finally win him over as he focused on her and acknowledgement flashed in his eyes.
"Fuck Hermione..."
"I know we're in deep... We have to get out ! Soon !"
He nodded and turned his face to Harry. Their raven-haired friend was still unconscious, his hair hiding his face turned toward the ground. Ronald began to whisper his name but it did not appear to be succeeding in waking him up.
"Fuck, they probably hit him badly..."
She swore in turn. She pulled on the rope tying her more forcefully to no avail. Fuck. She could feel tears forming in her eyes. She hated being helpless. She could not be helpless. So she started pulling again, chafing her skin against the coarse material. The burning intensified as she struggled. She whimpered before ceasing her effort and sharing a desperate look with Ronald.
"I can't untie myself..."
He shook his head. "Me neither."
Suddenly hardwood creaked somewhere in the building. Their heads snapped toward the door before turning to each other. She could see the fear contorting her friend's face.
"We need to get out of here !" she whimpered hysterically, quickly losing her breath.
"It's too late 'Mione, fuck !"
They could now hear steps on their storey. She tried to convey all her love for them in a single look at Ronald. Then the door opened and he stepped in. She did not turn to see him, staring solely at Ronald's face. But she recognized the smell she had experienced earlier. He smelled like sweat, smoke, soap and leather. The smoke was preeminent thanks to their little trick.
Abruptly he hid Ronald from her view with his body. He was facing him. She raised her head to see his clean black hair curling against his pale neck.
"So, who wants to die first ?"
She observed his neck movements. He watched Ronald, then Harry. A nauseating sound broke the heavy silence. He had slapped Harry with a harsh movement. She flinched as she heard the whimper of pain of her friend.
"I'll repeat. Who wants to die first ?"
His voice sent shivers down her spine. It was so cold, blatantly ignoring his violent outburst.
"Go to hell you fuck-"
Ronald's yell was cut short by the man's fist. The sound, the cracking, it made when it touched his jaw was sickening. Hermione felt bile rise from her stomach. The man sighed.
"This is getting tiresome, I don't like to repeat myself."
She could see his right hand go into the pocket of his leather coat. She shuddered. She had not managed to see the object he had gotten out, but she had noticed a glint. Her blood went cold as he held out the object, a knife.
"Maybe I should kill her first to get you talking."
And suddenly he turned and faced her. Her eyes widened. His eyes were dark, darker than she remembered, and they were emotionless, yet something carnal could be seen in them. He seemed manic, dangerous. And he was staring at her.
"No don't you fucking touch her !" yelled Ronald.
The man kept looking at her before moving to the back of the chair she was tied to. She gasped as she felt his hand delicately sink into her thick hair until it was resting against her scalp. The gesture was almost tender but she could not help but remember the vicious blows he had given her friends. This man was dangerous, a threat, not remotely tender.
He gave a little tug on her hair and her head fell back as she inhaled sharply. Her throat was uncovered, defenceless. She could hear the chairs of her friends making the hardwood floor creak. They were struggling to escape. But he was holding her frozen in his stare. His black eyes held fire, a consuming kind of fire. And she was drowning, helpless, in it.
His lips curled up in a smirk, although the smile never reached the dark abyss of his eyes. She did not blink, but tears were starting to form in her eyes. She frowned. She might be defenceless but she was not going to show any weakness. She got a grip on herself, reigning in her emotions, her fear. If looks could kill, she was quite sure he would be falling dead on the floor. Alas, they could not.
So when she felt the cold blade on her naked neck, she scowled, holding back a whimper. She would not give him that satisfaction, not anymore.
She thought he would be angered, frustrated, by her lack of fear. But he chuckled. Hermione shivered, it sounded genuine, as though he really thought the situation was funny.
"I have to admit that very few people look at Lord Voldemort with so much spite and so little terror... Amusing."
He licked his lips and glanced at her friends. She would have liked to see them.
"Oh, but you are terrified by my name, aren't you ?" he smiled with eagerness.
She closed her eyes. Fuck. She knew his kind of people they fed on fear. She had mistaken him for a man not posing any danger. He was a predator. She needed to reassure them. Even if it was useless. No need to give him release.
"Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself."
She had not opened her eyes but she could almost feel his scorching eyes igniting her skin. She realized he had gotten closer when his chuckle reverberated through her body, low and deep.
"Right darling, it does."
She felt the freezing blade move up her neck making her breath itch. It finally rested on her burning cheek. She fluttered her eyes open. She could see the glint of the metal, so close to her eyes. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from letting out a sob.
"But if you heard the stories about me, you should know better than to not be terrified of me."
Despite her mounting terror, Hermione decided to say something stupid. Well, as Ronald had once said, she could be short-tempered and acting on impulse rarely led to good things.
"We've heard stories of a Voldemort, but nothing proves that you're that guy."
She glanced at him. His attention was solely on her. He seemed disturbed.
"What ?"
"What tells us you're Voldemort ? You could be someone pretending to be him."
His smile was positively voracious. She gulped. He leaned closer to her.
"I could," he whispered, his cold voice clashed with his smile, "but then... Are you willing to risk it ?"
"Don't hurt her !"
The man's, Voldemort's, head snapped up and his eyes narrowed, lips pinching.
"Stop interrupting my fun, boy."
"You can't hurt her please ! Kill us but let her live !"
He sighed and looked back at her, trying to convey his boredom, before glancing at them.
"Of course I can hurt her, I'm going to hurt all of you, well," he chuckled, "to kill all of you, by the end of the night ! Stop making a fuss."
She did not like his light-hearted tone. She was shaken by it as it appeared to soften his cruel words. At this moment, she believed his claim of being Lord Voldemort.
The hand in his hair pulled harder, burning her scalp. By sheer reflex, she whimpered, focusing back on him. Looking at his eyes, noticing the feral glint lighting their darkness, she felt that it would be more dangerous for her to look at him than for him to actually hurt her. The hunger that contorted his face made her stomach twist. He seemed to be starving, craving blood and flesh. She was not terrified by his name, but by his look of pure fervent want.
Abruptly she felt a burn in her cheek. Her mouth opened in surprise and her eyes widened. He had cut her. She heard the yells of Harry and Ronald. But all she could focus on was the hand holding the knife that got closer to the cut. The fingers delved into the vermillion blood, now dressed in the reddest of dresses. She flinched as a jolt of pain shot through her when he pressed on her scared skin.
She could not think when he brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked her blood. He grinned. His white teeth were bloodied.
"Delightful."