A/N: Thanks for reviewing, following and favouriting! I'm so happy you enjoy reading, because I love writing it. It's definitively the most immoral story I've ever had the pleasure of writing. For those of you who thinks Ron is an idiot, I sort of agree. Then again, he is being set up, poor guy.
For those whom I can't give a personal reply:
To NeoQBirdie: does voyeurism count? ;-)
To the guest hoping the Malfoys would be alright: well, I guess I'm sorry? A little. *grins*
To the guest who enjoyed the baking: this was a really silly idea that fell into my head, and the image wouldn't leave! Though, realistically, I picture Voldemort as someone who'd want to do all kinds of things with magic, not by hand, and I guess he had to cook to feed himself in his younger days. No matter how much he'd live off his followers, there would still be everyday needs. So, logically, why not experiment with household magic too?
Part 9: Watching
On Wednesday, he took Granger to visit Delphini. They were to meet up with Lucius Malfoy outside the Rowle's house. He had tolerated the man accompanying him so far, because it was too amusing watching him quake with fear.
Now, he realized that he might have made a mistake. He had revealed more of his darker side to Malfoy, maybe because it had felt natural. The man was, after all, one of his followers, and scaring him was simply fun. Consequently, he had allowed himself to show more arrogance, anger and coldness, and he had asserted his power by ordering the man around. Now, he would have to align that with the nice façade he had shown Granger. But, as always, success was a case of planning ahead and clever manipulations.
He drew her aside, stopping them before they reached the house. "Hermione," he said slowly. She stopped, looking up at him expectantly. "I have to tell you something. I haven't been especially nice to Malfoy."
She snorted. "I can see why," she said.
"Yes, but… It's difficult," he said, pretending to be worried, frowning a little. "He thinks I'm like him. It sets me on edge, a lot, and maybe… I …" he stopped, like he had trouble getting the words out, giving her a pleading look.
"I see," she said slowly, before supplying him with words: "So, in a way, you act differently with him, because he expects you to be … bad."
"Yes," he said, letting out his breath like a whoosh of relief.
Hermione smiled, her warm, brown eyes shining with mirth at him. "Don't worry. I won't tell Malfoy" – her mouth twisting into a sneer – "that you actually are a nice guy. If you want to show Lucius Malfoy that you don't like him, I won't stay in your way. He's a despicable, evil person. I won't ever forget the way he watched me being tortured in his drawing room by Bellatrix…" she stopped short, giving him a look, before continuing: "that is, I won't hold that against the girl, you know."
"I know," he said, patting her arm, plastering a relieved look on his face. Gods, she was so smart, but so very gullible, so ready to believe the best in people. He would have to inquire about her torture sometime later, to satisfy his … professional … interest, of course.
They resumed walking, seeing Lucius Malfoy standing outside the house. This time, the man had dressed in green robes with silver trimmings, his boots polished to a shine to rival the sun, and his hair was gathered at his nape.
"Pony tail," Granger whispered maliciously to him, and he could barely hide his smirk.
"Granger," Malfoy said coolly, before turning to him with that special, nervous twitch that seemed to be especially reserved for Voldemort: "T-T-Tom."
He nodded to him, and Granger said with a disdainful sniff: "Malfoy."
Entering the house, the child came running again, and with a sinking feeling as she hugged him, he realized that he had to fake a new emotion for Granger's benefit: he had to pretend to love Delphini.
It was disgusting, really, and he had never done so before: This was the one emotion he'd never tried to fake before, because he had never needed it. He had faked friendships and pretended to be a good person, but he had never had any family to worry about, nor a long-time partner. And now, he had to play the role of a loving, older brother. Casting around in his mind for someone to model his act on, he was at loss. He would have to freestyle.
"How are you?" he said softly to the squealing little brat.
"Good! I love you, Tom, will you teach me another spell?" the child said with shining eyes. He kissed her cheek, and turned her to Granger.
"First, I want you to meet Hermione," he said gravely. "Hermione, this is Delphini. Delphini, this is Hermione."
The child took one look at Hermione, and then she pouted. "Do you love her more than me?"
"What?" he said, flabbergasted.
Behind him, he heard Malfoy chuckle, and his irritation spiked. Being forced to pretend love, being called out on it by his own progeny, and then his thrice-damned follower had the audacity to laugh?
"If she's here, does this mean she's my sister too?" the child asked, looking at Granger with curiosity.
Granger laughed, and shook her head. "No, I'm his friend, Delphini, and I wanted to meet you."
Blinking, he had to admit to himself that his daughter had an odd sort of logic, but it made sense none the less. She had been presented with a brother all of a sudden, and for all she knew, when an unknown witch showed up, she could very well have turned out to be a sister.
"Ok," Delphini said apprehensively, squinting a little at Granger. Then she turned back to him, and poked her little finger into his chest. "You are supposed to love me the most," she informed him imperiously.
At that, he laughed, a real laugh, his irritation sliding off him like drops of water. Yes, she was definitively his daughter. He could recognize his sense of entitlement in her, always expecting to be the one. His brat showed promise, that's what she did.
"I love you," he said, lying through his teeth, turning his most charming smile on full tilt to his daughter, and she beamed at him. An added bonus was the clear effect this had on Granger too. She was clearly touched by the display. Maybe he was better at faking love than he had thought, then.
After a while, Granger was sitting on the floor with Delphini, showing her how to make little bluebell flames in her hand. The child had mastered the spell after a few tries, and Granger was clearly impressed.
Lucius Malfoy was sitting primly in a chair with Euphemia Rowle, a pale, drawn witch, looking like she had had too many sorrows in her life. The woman didn't have much to offer in conversation, and Malfoy was picking at his immaculate nails, managing to look both bored and nervous at the same time. Gods, did the man use some kind of nail polish potion? He wouldn't put it past him.
Himself, he stood by the fireplace, watching Granger and Delphini. It seemed to go splendidly, and he was sure Granger would be able to mother his child if he ended up marrying her.
Though, he had to find a suitable nanny. Granger would not be pleased to stay at home to rear children. The chit had ambitions, and that was one of the things that made her interesting. Besides, in his opinion, you either scared people into submission or you kept them in reasonably happy oblivion. Anything between led to questions and surges of uprising, which again led to either making an effort to suppress them or even worse, trying to make up with people. He did not want to spend time doing either in his private life. Consequently, to acquire Granger, he'd have to settle for making her happy.
Then the Rowle woman left to get something from another room, and Malfoy said in a low voice: "So, you and Granger, huh?"
"What about us?" He moved closer to the silly fop, making sure that Granger wouldn't overhear them.
"I thought she had it going with the Weasel brat," Malfoy answered.
He shot an amused glance at Malfoy, lifting his eyebrow, before saying smoothly: "Oh, she does… for the moment."
Malfoy's eyes widened, and he said slowly: "Ah, I see. Interesting." Leaning back in his chair, he said softly, his eyes intent on Voldemort's face: "A very good move."
Furrowing his brow in displeasure, he said curtly: "She's an intriguing witch." Did Malfoy think he could outsmart him, to make him reveal his plans? Giving the man a glare meant to rattle him, he continued: "You seem to assume many things about me, Lucius. Do not overstep."
Malfoy paled visibly, licking his lips, before whispering: "I'm sorry, my Lo…, I mean, Tom. I didn't mean anything by it. You must forgive an old Slytherin who had been playing games long before you were born."
He snorted, lifting his eyebrow arrogantly. "I'm sure. But I warn you, don't toe the line with me." He wondered if Malfoy really had bought his story. Did he suspect anything? Sometimes, he acted like he thought him to be Lord Voldemort. Why did he do so, and what had given him away?
Testing the man's mind, he brushed against a fairly strong Occlumency wall. He retreated, knowing that even though he could force entry, such an act would be paramount to ring the bell. The act of forced Legilimency was a very distinct experience, and for a trained Occlumens, it was easy to recognize the feel of another's mind. This wasn't worth the risk, at least not with Granger in the room. Later, he could break into Malfoy's mind and Obliviate him afterwards, but it was too dangerous right now.
Delphini's pealing laughter turned his attention, and Granger was laughing too. The child had made a crown for herself by the small, bluebell flames, and Granger had Conjured a mirror for her, his daughter preening in front of it.
"I'm a queen!" the child crowed. "Look, Tom, I'm a queen, I'm a queen!"
"Indeed you are, princess," he said, smiling indulgently, before sitting down on the floor with them. "And if you are royalty, my sweet, you'll need a dress with a train. Would you like me to Transfigure your dress?"
"Yes!" she shouted, eyes shining with happiness. "And you," she said, pointing to Malfoy, "you are my servant!"
At that, he laughed out loud, helplessly, by seeing Malfoy's shocked face. His daughter had nailed the truth. Malfoy was nothing but a lowly servant, so far below him and his heir, it was almost ridiculous.
Granger burst out laughing too, a husky chuckle turning into full-blown peals of malignant laughter by seeing Lucius' pale face, nervously twitching hands and wide-eyed, frightened stare.
Xxxx
On Friday morning, the very same day as the Ministry spring ball, he quietly hexed Ron Weasley in the hall. The man clutched his stomach, bolting for the bathroom, and soon violent retching was heard. The spell was an easy one, a darker version of the common hex Dia-horr-iblia, meant to fake a stomach bug, and it would last 24 hours. There was no way Ron Weasley would make it to the Ministry Spring ball. He would spend the time crouching over a basin.
Meeting Potter at the door, he said, worriedly: "I think Ron's ill. He's throwing up."
Potter frowned, saying: "He was supposed to go to the ball today, with Hermione. I know she don't want to go alone, because she'll be swamped by wizards. She has a lot of suitors, as well as a couple of stalkers and would-be-attackers too. Could you … ask her to go with you? I know she wants to go, though she pretends that it doesn't matter to her."
"Of course," he said courteously. "I'll do it as soon as I arrive at the Ministry."
Xxxx
Granger looked good on his arm. This ball was a test, to see if she could manage to appear as the lady he would expect her to be by his side.
He had been pleased as she came down the stairs at Grimmauld Place, together with Ginny Weasley. In the foyer, he had waited for ages with Potter, both of them nursing a Firewhisky as their witches got themselves ready. He had thought he had taken care with his appearance, showering, grooming his hair, shaving meticulously and dressing with care, but it was obviously nothing compared to what the witches were doing. Their result, however, was stunning, and he felt his cock lurch in appreciation.
Granger's dress was impeccable, a long, black halterneck with an open back, and her jewellery was elegant and discrete, with pearls in her ears and a single drop in the hollow of her throat. With her hair up, she looked enticing, her neck so slender that he thought he might easily break it with one hand. Out of the corner of his eyes, he noted that the Weasley girl looked good in her green dress, and Potter had beamed at the sight of her.
Himself, he had taken care to wear inky black dressrobes, with a crisp white shirt underneath his coat. Yes, Granger and him looked good together, and now, he could feel the participants at the ball stare at them, whispering and pointing.
Potter and Ginny Weasley were dancing, but Granger seemed to prefer talking to people, just like he did. He made any number of new acquaintances, some who would become useful. Granger behaved herself well, both introducing him to interesting people she already knew, as well as having polite conversations with completely unknown people he had wanted to mingle with. He wondered briefly if she would have done well in Slytherin, Mudblood or no. He supposed so, though she would have had to work hard to sharpen her cunning and suppress her atrocious tendencies for open honesty.
Suddenly, she stiffened, and he looked at her. "Draco Malfoy," she muttered, staring straight ahead.
Walking towards them with a slippery smile, he recognized the young, blonde wizard from his first day at Diagon Alley. The young man was swaying slightly on his feet, and he clasped Granger's hand much too tight with a feral grin.
"Granger, you look good," he slurred, eyes unfocused. "Where have you hidden the Weasel, and why are you here traipsing around with the spitting image of the young Dark Lord? Have you finally acquired a taste for darkness and resurrected the man?"
Voldemort felt his anger start simmering, but outwardly, he just lifted an eyebrow, giving Granger a questioning glance.
She rolled her eyes in irritation, snapping: "Malfoy, Ron is ill. This is Tom Riddle, and yes, if you hadn't lived in a barrel of Firewhisky over the last months, you would know who he is. Please, leave me alone, will you? Go bother someone else, or even better, make your poor wife take you home!"
The Malfoy heir looked affronted, saying: "There's no need to be so rude, Granger, though I shouldn't be surprised with your background and breeding."
He wondered idly if he should step in to defend Granger's honour. Certainly, that would be something a wizard was expected to do for his witch, though he had never cared to so for any other fling. If she was to be a more permanent fixture, he should probably put in an effort. But Granger reacted quickly, and all by herself:
"Shut it, Malfoy!", she snarled, eyes glinting dangerously. "You Malfoys might tell the Wizengamot that you are reformed, but I don't believe you for a second. You're still a Pure-blood bigot who'd gladly start the war all over again. Watch me, or I'll dig up whatever dirt you are hiding!"
"Not bloody likely," Malfoy snorted. "He," and he pointed a shaking finger at Voldemort, "he almost fucking killed us the last time. I wanted to give you a piece of well-meaning advice, Granger. Don't mess with the likes of him."
Grumbling, Granger dragged him away, and he gathered her into his arms, moving onto the dance floor. "Merlin," she muttered, "keep me away from him, or I'll hex him, that bloody…." She bit her lip, giving him a quick glance, before saying: "Sorry you had to be dragged into this."
"What the hell was that about?" he asked, both angry and at the same time curious about her reactions and the odd behaviour of this younger Malfoy. Very irrational, very non-Slytherin. Almost like this Malfoy too knew who he was behind his nice-Tom-façade.
She visibly tried to calm herself, and said curtly: "He had a nervous breakdown of sorts after the war, and has marinated his brains in Firewhisky ever since. His wife, Astoria Greengrass, works in the Department of International Cooperation, that's why he's here. And he still gets away with everything, being a Malfoy. They still have clout, unbelievably enough, after everything that happened and what they all did."
Musing, he said: "Do you really think him to be so far gone he can't see the difference between me and …"
She snorted. "Not at all. As I said, he's sick. He just wanted to get a raise out of me, or you, because that's what he does these days, drinking and starting fights."
He shrugged arrogantly. "If he wants to fight me, let him try."
She looked up at him, irritation leaving her eyes, and she gave him a mischievous smile that went straight to his groin. "I wouldn't put my money on him. You could take him out without breaking a sweat, or what?"
"Probably," he murmured, adding for good measure: "you could do it too, you know."
"Maybe," she said, resting her head against his chest, "but I might be hard pressed. Malfoy was actually very accomplished and promising while we were at school."
He pulled her closer to him, because he wanted to feel her body against him. She felt good, soft curves pressed to his stomach and chest, and he let his hand trail up and down her bare back in lazy circles. His cock was stirring, and he wondered how she'd react to feeling his hardness against her sternum.
"Hermione! There you are," Molly Weasley's voice broke through his thoughts. "And Tom! How lovely of you to take Hermione here when Ron fell ill. How is my baby boy, Hermione? Is he in a bad shape?"
Granger straightened, leaning slightly away from him, and gave a forced smile to the Weasley woman. Arthur Weasley came tagging behind his wife, and he grinned widely at them. "Typical, but Ron hates these things. Are you sure he's ill, Hermione, or is he merely hiding somewhere, playing chess?"
Voldemort felt his irritation rising at the interruption. He was about to rub his cock against Granger, and her stupid inlaws came running to make a bother of themselves. Could they be any more in his way?
After a short while of mindless conversation, he excused himself, leaving for the bathroom.
In front of the urinal, swaying as he tried to unbutton his fly, the young Malfoy was swearing softly to himself. Voldemort narrowed his eyes as he saw him, taking care to stand as far away from him as he could. Who knew? Malfoy could be drunk enough to miss the urinal.
The young wizard looked up, staring bleary-eyed at him, before slurring: "You! How come you came back? Did you time-travel, or what? You look different. Not so… snakishy."
He felt his mouth thin in irritation. Gods, the last thing he needed was a drunk Malfoy going about proclaiming him to be Lord Voldemort.
Swivelling his head sharply to the side, he snapped: "If you really think I am him, you must really like living on the edge, don't you?" Rage was bubbling inside, and he wanted to curse this Malfoy to Camelot and back for his drunken perceptiveness. He had to stay in character, he had too! But how could the man even suspect him? Was he clairvoyant, or what?
Malfoy hiccupped, moving closer, and put his hand heavily on his shoulder. "You coming back here to fuck the Mudblood princess is not what I expected at all. If you're after her, you would want to keep a toe on the right line. She's so prissy and prudish, she'd die of shock if you showed her dark magic. So if you want her… Nah, that's why I'm safe and good, you can't kill me. She'd kick you out and kill you. Again."
He shook off the boy's hand, his former follower, a traitor, and gritted out, his temper flaring dangerously: "Don't interfere with my actions, Malfoy, or I might show you a thing or two about your rightful place!"
Malfoy sniggered, finally succeeding in opening his fly, and said tauntingly: "Must be dreadful for you, not being able to Crucio at will anymore. Father says your true self shines through at times. Come on, do your worst, Lord Voldemort." And by that, Malfoy spread out his arms to present himself as a willing target.
Unfortunately, the young wizard wasn't done urinating, and his flaccid, pale cock sprayed a fine shower of golden drops over the wall, Mafoy's own pants and then – almost in slow motion – Voldemort saw several droplets hitting his black, polished shoes. Everything went red, and he had his wand up in Malfoy's face in a second, snarling the silly incantation of the Tongue-Tying Curse, "Mimblewimble, Tom Riddle est Lord Voldemort!" With that in place, Malfoy wouldn't be able to talk about him as Lord Voldemort anymore.
The Malfoy boy's face grimaced comically, as his tongue was knotted by the curse, and Voldemort grinned maliciously, before casting a weak "Reducto!" at Malfoy's left kneecap, crushing the bones with a sickening loud, crunching sound that made his spine tingle with pleasure. The blonde man sank to the ground, whimpering in pain. Looking up with those scared, blue eyes – oh, the rush of seeing such a fear, it was intoxicating – Malfoy tried to drag himself away from Voldemort, using his arms and one, good leg.
Cocking his head, Voldemort ruthlessly broke the sink away from the wall, Levitating and smashing the sink into the crawling man's legs, and there was a short, quickly Silenced scream of pain, before Voldemort extended his wand with a whispered "Obliviate!"
Water flooded out from the broken pipes where the sink had been, quickly making a pool on the floor, as Malfoy's memories of the event and his theory of the young wizard named Tom Riddle being Lord Voldemort shimmered out of existence in his mind.
Panting, he felt the rage recede like a waving rolling back from the beach, and a rush of pleasure scoured through him. Merlin, to put people in their place like this was something he missed. This was … excellent. Manipulation would only give so much satisfaction, but violence, causing pain – there was nothing like it, really.
Taking a step back, he swished a quick "Tergeo!" at his shoes, mouth wrenching in distaste by the thought of having Malfoy's piss covering his shoes.
Hearing a noise, he looked up, seeing Potter, the man's face turning into an expression of comical shock.
"Merlin, Tom, what happened here?"
"Malfoy just had an accident", he said, pretending to be flustered and worried. "He was taking a piss, and then suddenly he was flailing about with his wand, and the sink exploded right into his legs. I think something must be broken."
Kneeling down by Malfoy's side, he said, trying to hide his malicious glee: "Can you talk, Malfoy?"
"Oooof," the blonde man groaned, his breath a stink of Firewhisky and wine, and he curled up into himself, rocking slightly. Voldemort quickly rose, shaking his head to Potter: "We need to send him off to St. Mungo's. He's clearly not alright."
Potter nodded, staring at Malfoy with worry, before looking at Voldemort with a serious expression. "Did he, did he … say anything to you?"
He felt his face wrench into a look of scorn, and he grunted: "As a matter of fact, he did. He claimed that I'm him, and his wand waving was him was aiming to defend himself from me, though it didn't work out as he had planned."
"You didn't interfere in anyway, did you?" Potter looked nervous, but he had a professional, no-nonsense attitude about him.
Voldemort snorted. "No, what happened to him, was caused entirely by himself." That's exactly how it was, because if the man had known when to shut up, nothing would have happened at all. It was all Malfoy's own fault, really.
Potter looked relieved, giving him a small smile. "Just doing my job, you know."
At that, he grinned. Potter was such a goody-two-shoes. And how was it possible to be a professional Auror with such a lack of suspicion? It was close to unbelievable. Out loud, he said: "You are, aren't you? Well, Malfoy is more a case for my office than yours. Someone should sort out that mess that passes for his mind."
Xxxx
The rest of the night had been pleasant, with quiet, useful conversations and some dancing with Granger. She had turned out to be literally hunted by a few wizards, and he had had to assert his authority as her date a couple of times to give her a dignified rescue. They had, of course, scattered by the sight of his glare. She had been grateful, telling him that this and that wizard had been stalking her since the end of the war, trying to get attention and to get her alone with them. Shrugging, she said: "Maybe it would be best if they actually tried something. Then I could curse them, and after that, they would leave me alone."
"Or not," he murmured, knowing a thing or two about the minds of angry, possessive wizards, while he slowly rubbed her bare back, making her sigh in pleasure, sinking into his touch.
Later, he had a whispered conversation with his colleague, the Head of the Space Research Office, Amanda Trelligorn, about the quickly deteriorating health of Saul Croaker. The witch was in her forties, and had proven herself to be fairly smart.
"The man started to cough earlier in this week, and look at him now, his breath is rattling in his chest," she whispered, both glancing at their boss. His eyes were red-rimmed, and he was stooped, regularly clutching his chest, like his hands could steady his breathing.
"I know," he said with a serious expression, "he should go to St. Mungos."
"He won't," she said with certainty, "not before he's close to dying, at least. I think he's afraid of Healers."
"If he's ill, who'll be the interim Head of Department?", he asked, knowing full well that it wouldn't be anyone but himself. Though it was always a sound strategy to find out what other people believed.
She furrowed her brow. "Usually, it would be Lauryn Melliflour, but she will not do it anymore, claiming to be too old, as she's thinking about retiring. Those other two…" she gave him a significant look, and his mouth quirked. They agreed, then. The Heads of the Offices of Love and Prophecy were idiots, after all.
"What about you?" he said softly.
She shook her head. "I have five children. Being Head of the Space Office is enough for the moment, I don't want the added responsibility. At this point in life, I want to spend time with my kids too, not just work every evening and weekends."
"Do you think Shacklebolt will find someone outside the Department?" he asked.
She gave him an indulgent smile. "No, Tom, I'm quite sure he'll choose you."
He gave her a smile, as the rush of satisfaction went through him. One thing was knowing the fact himself, but it was even better when other people realized he was the obvious winner too.
Xxxx
He had delivered Granger at the library door at Grimmauld Place at exactly one a.m. in the morning. Tiredly, she had hugged him goodnight, before slipping inside to sleep with the books. It seemed cosy: The fire was going in the fireplace, and she had a big, woollen blanket on the sofa. He could very well have curled up in there for the night, though it was better to stretch out in his own, luxuriously large bed.
The next day, Granger had nursed Weasley back to health, and on Sunday, Voldemort managed to extricate himself from visiting the Burrow, getting some much appreciated time alone. He was simply not used to being around other people all the time. It grated on his nerves.
Later in the day, they had all Floo'ed back to Grimmauld, and it was obvious that Weasley and Granger was having a go at repairing their relationship. What had happened while he was doing his solitary practise rounds of dark magic? Had they become friends again? Why?
Seeing Weasley holding Granger possessively to him, he felt irritable. Watching Weasley's hands, pawing her delicious body, and his mouth doling out slobbering kisses made him sick. Granger looked slightly uncomfortable in the face of being fondled in front of her friends, and she suggested rather quickly retiring for the evening. Witnessing her leaving the room, while Weasley walking beside her as he caressed her buttocks, made his heart pound in time with his rage.
It was wrong. Granger belonged to him. Making a spur-of the-moment decision, he excused himself to Potter and his girlfriend, and in the hallway, he Disillusioned and Silenced himself, Apparating right into their bedroom seconds before Weasley dragged Granger over the doorstep. He would destroy this. It couldn't come to pass.
"'Mione," Weasley murmured, "I've missed this." He kissed her neck, and wrenched off her button-down shirt, attacking her chest with wet kisses. Voldemort winced by the sound, and from the looks of it, Granger wasn't all that impressed either.
Weasley worked effectively, and in a minute, Granger was naked. Voldemort felt his breath hitch, and his cock swelled to attention. Even through his anger at watching the display, he was able to appreciate Granger's body. He had been right. Her tits were lovely. Round, firm, with pink nipples, and rather small, virginal areolas. The size was just right, and he was willing to bet they would fit nicely into his palm. Rubbing his cock outside his trousers, his eyes wandered down to her narrow waist, and lower, where her hips flared out, with a dark thatch of curls in the middle.
Then Weasley parted her legs, pushing his fingers between her legs, and he groaned: "I love your pussy, 'Mione! You're so tight, just a moment, and I'll get some moisture here…" Weasley retracted his fingers, spat on them, before gripping her sex again with a grunt.
The girl winced with a small grimace, and she said softly: "Not so rough, Ron, you know I don't like that before I'm wet enough."
Gritting his teeth, Voldemort decided this had gone on for too long. He wouldn't watch this, his witch being groped, no matter how sweet the view of her body was.
He entered Weasley's mind, finding a jumbled confusion of pornographic images. Most of them were fairly harmless, but he chuckled as he found a few he could utilize. As Weasley pushed the witch down on the bed, creeping up on top of her and straddling her hips while Vanishing his trousers, Voldemort made his move. With a nasty smile, he took control, making the young wizard lose all of his social inhibitions, forcing him to tell her his most perverted fantasies.
Weasley started blabbering, damning himself, as he pumped his medium-sized cock with his fist, kneading her breast with his other hand:
"Gods, 'Mione, I want you to do so much with me, to try so many things. First, you will command me to lick your arse, and then you'll order me to fuck your arse. You'll boss me around, won't you, and maybe you could force me to watch you with another wizard, commanding me to lick his come out of your pussy. Or you could tie me up, fuck my arse with a strap-on, while the other wizard fucks you. How about that, having two wizards at your command? What about Harry? I'm sure he'd love to have a go at you, you could even let us fuck both your holes at the same time…"
Quick as lightening, Weasley was propelled backwards, falling on his arse on the floor with the bang of a shouted "Reducto!" from Granger. Voldemort saw to his delight that his little, pretty witch was shrieking in fury, her hair emitting red sparks again, zinging the bed clothes with a hissing sound: "What the hell, Ronald Bilius Weasley?! Did you think I want to join in your fantasy of sharing me with Harry? Harry, of all people? He's like my brother, Ron, not someone I want in my arse! And speaking of that, you suddenly want me to fuck your arse with a strap-on? How's that for a romantic reunion? Sometimes, Ron, I swear you're so bloody stupid I'm amazed you're able to tie your shoelaces! At least now I know I'm doing the right thing. Because make no mistake, Ronald, this time we're through! Go fuck yourself, Ron, or pay a whore to do your arse-fantasies!"
She climbed down from the bed, pointing her wand at the flabbergasted Weasley, shooting a hex at him. Voldemort winced, almost feeling sympathy with Weasley, as the witch obviously had followed the time-honoured tradition for angry witches by Shrinking her ex-lover's cock to the bare minimum. Weasley yelled in shock, as she gathered her clothes, stomped outside the room before running to the bathroom.
Voldemort ran after her, barely getting inside before she locked the door.
She stood in the middle of the room, chest heaving, while tears ran in rivulets down her cheeks. She lifted her wand to run a bath, standing still, muttering to herself: "Gods, maybe this was a good thing. I had no idea that he… How stupid, fucking idiotic… Merlin, I should have hexed him even worse, I should have Vanished the damned thing…" Drying her tears as she continued to mutter under her breath, she climbed into the now steaming tub, sinking down below the bubbles.
Still, she sniffled softly, but Voldemort stared at her, mesmerized by those pert nipples, now half-way covered in foam. His cock literally ached, and his slow palming wasn't helping. He wanted her so badly.
Slipping into her unsuspecting mind, he spun her back to the fantasy he had projected at her at the Burrow last week. He was amazed how quickly she responded, and with an embarrassed laugh, the scowl faded from her face. Soon, she was writhing slowly in the water, one hand caressing her breast, while the other one slipped between her legs, rubbing her sex slowly.
He opened his trouser, still Silenced, and fisted his weeping cock slowly, wishing that the foam hadn't covered so much of her quim. Moving closer to stand at the edge of her tub, he could smell her though, a sweet smell of arousal mingling with the rose-scented bathwater. Then she arched up, and he caught a glance of her pink, wet pussy lips, and her fingers teasing her clit. She plied her lips open, circling that little nub, and then she flitted a finger to her entrance, fingering it, before returning to her clit.
The sight made him instantly even harder, and he could feel his orgasm approaching. His cock swelled in his hands, the head now an angry, red colour, and then the moaning, naked witch came undone, gasping, panting, making waves slosh around her in the tub at with her vigorous movements. As she whispered his name – "Tom!" – he came, bucking into his hand, shooting his load out in her bathwater, adding a milky colour to the foamy water.
The witch laid her head back on the edge, chuckling happily and quietly to herself, as she relaxed into the water. "I needed that," she whispered, "I really did."
Breathing hard, he felt lucky indeed that she hadn't noticed the splash of his seed into the water, but with all the noise she had made herself, it was easy to miss.
He did wonder if Granger was on a Contraceptive Potion. There was no way he could cast the Contraceptive Charm on her now, she would be suspicious indeed if the water flashed up in violet for five seconds. A smart girl like her would probably have taken the potion, especially when she had been expecting to have sex. He could find out from her mind, but there was no hurry. He could deal with this later, making sure there weren't to be any more brats for the time being. There was no rush, not at all. No need to reveal himself and Obliviate the girl for the moment. He realized he might be a little giddy after his orgasm, but he felt fairly certain that Granger would have things in hand. Then again, he rather enjoyed the fact that Granger now was bathing in his come.
