Holding Lupin's leather leash loosely in a clenched fist, Hermione stood outside of Voldemort's door, the wood a darker finish than her own, but otherwise identical. Pausing to collect her thoughts, she tried to steel herself for what lay on the other side. She had come here directly from the gardens, not wanting to incur further displeasure by making him wait.
"The only way on is through," she muttered, summoning her Gryffindor courage from wherever it had been hiding, as she drew a deep breath and knocked. The door swung open at a spoken command, and Hermione squared her shoulders and entered. Voldemort was seated before the roaring fire, a book open on his lap and a glass of scotch on the rocks resting on the end table next to him, while Ginny dozed before the dancing flames. The flickering light shadowed his face, rendering his mood indiscernible. Hermione walked toward him steadily, her eyes fixed on the dirty and ragged hem of her now ruined gown. When she reached his feet, she knelt, laying the leash right at the hem of his robes on the polished wood before bending at the waist, arms still outstretched, to lay her forehead on the cool surface. She remained in that position, silent, for several minutes. The fire crackled and the ice rattled while she waited for him to acknowledge her presence. Closing his book with a soft thump, he sent it back to the shelf nonverbally as he raised his glass. After taking a deep sip, he spoke, the liquor honeying his tone.
"Have you come to seek forgiveness or praise, Lutea?" he asked, the words flowing like the finest silk.
Remaining silent, Hermione remained in her supplicant's position as he replaced the glass and stood, leaving the leash where it lay on the ground, her silent plea for grace. Stalking around her, he came to a stop where he began, his dragonhide boots barely visible beneath the formal dress robes he still wore.
"Your position indicates that it is forgiveness that you desire, but your gift seems to be begging for praise. You are quite the contrary creature, Ms. Granger," he murmured, Hermione stiffening slightly at his formality. Forcing herself to relax again, she pressed her forehead more firmly into the floor.
Voldemort crossed the room to his desk, the slight rustling indicating that he was rearranging his ever present research, but he settled into his wingback chair before speaking again.
"Come," he commanded, his voice deceptively soft. Hermione rose stiffly from her position on the floor, trying and failing to banish the trembling in her limbs. As she made her way unsteadily to him, his face softened and he opened his arms wide. Accepting his invitation, she crawled into his lap, resting her head against his collarbone. Breathing deeply, she drew comfort from his familiar scent of smoke and musk. Feeling the tension in her body cease, she simply sat there, enjoying the comfort he provided, knowing that it couldn't last. After a few minutes, Voldemort's voice rang out clearly across the room, her sense of calm shattered at his words.
"I am disappointed, Hermione," he said simply, tears pooling in her eyes instantly at the thought of displeasing her Lord. Sensing her mood instantly, he placed a hand on her small chin, forcing her to look up at him. "Why am I disappointed, pet?"
"I did not give you share with you what happened in the cells?" Hermione asked, her soft voice slightly questioning.
Voldemort struck as quick as a viper, his hand striking the side of her face hard enough to rattle her teeth. Hermione started to lift her hand to her cheek, but lowered it again at the look in his eyes. They were blazing red, a true indicator of the rage that was swirling inside of him.
Shaking his head, he spoke again, his voice still deceptively gentle. "Do I strike you as a wizard who would hold petty grudges, Ms. Granger? You know you wouldn't have been able to keep me out if that was my only concern. I have told you many times that as long as you disclose your activities by the end of the day I will never begrudge you the time you need to overanalyze the situations you find yourself in. Try again."
"B-because I was late to dinner?" Hermione tried again, truly confused now. She had been convinced that he had still been upset at dinner because she had Occluded.
His hand slipped from her chin to wrap around her neck. Squeezing brutally, he held the pressure for a full minute and a half, Hermione's face red and her lips just starting to lose color. He loosened his grip and she drew a ragged breath. She felt the tears in her eyes begin to fall as she looked at him, truly at a loss as to what she had done to earn his displeasure.
"My Lord, please-" Hermione was cut off as he flexed his hand again, the words dying along with the breath in her throat.
"Let's take a look together, shall we?"
Looking deep into his crimson eyes, Hermione felt herself transported back to the entry parlor at Malfoy Manor. Walking slightly behind Voldemort as she conversed with Narcissa, she was surprised to hear him chuckle as she teased the witch.
"I said no such thing, you naughty minx," he said, smiling softly.
Still anxious about what was to come, she smiled weakly at him, rubbing her throat. "She asked for a naughty bit of gossip, My Lord. I knew that she had been to see Lucius, so my white lie was a safe bet."
Shaking his head slightly as they arrived at her with meeting Draco, Voldemort turned back to the scene that was playing out before then. Not wishing to be reminded of the outcome of the previous day's attacks, Hermione allowed her thoughts to wander. The Dark Lord's particular method of Legilimency was potent, allowing him to relive the memories of another person while also interacting with them when he so chose, serving much like a Penseive. It was helpful when she wished him to listen to her motives, as would possibly come later with Severus and perhaps Lupin's death, but could also be quite painful, as the memory of losing control with Ronald would surely be. Looking up, Hermione was surprised to find that they were already in the high value cells, her memory self lecturing Ron in her best Prefect tone, her lips curling slightly as she witnessed herself casting the spell that would turn his blood to ice. Voldemort said nothing, content to simply watch the scene unfold without any additional commentary.
As she Crucioed the defenseless wizard, she allowed her gaze to wander to the other occupants of the cell. She remembered waving playfully at Kingsley and Aberforth, and now she wandered closer to their cells, marveling at the details her mind was able to capture, even without conscious thought. The wizards were sitting near the front of their cells, their gaunt frames supported by the narrow bars that served as doors. She watched in amusement as they listened, enraptured, to her recounting of the second half of her third year, Kingsley flinching as she disclosed the scope of her research to Ron. Suddenly both wizards crawled to the backs of their cells, along with the other 3 occupants of the solitary cells, and she turned back to the memory just as she began to torture Ron in ernest. She was enchanted by the image before her, her rage displayed so clearly on her face, the darkness in the room oppressive even in this more shadowed form. However as her screams of rage grew more crazed, she flinched slightly, her similarities to Bellatrix being much to pronounced to ignore. Looking instead at Voldemort, she was pleased to see the lust evident on his face as he witnessed firsthand the rising Darkness she was unleashing. Behind her memory self, Hermione could see the door creak open, just as the Lacerating curse fractured from her wand, striking not only Ron, but Kingsley and a witch Hermione did not know, but believed to be Hestia Jones. She had been present the night that Harry's protection had ended at the Dursley's, but Hermione had not seen her since.
Watching Blaise run across the room and wrap his arms around the petite witch, Hermione gasped at the rage with which she clawed at his face. As he sat with her on his lap, rocking her slightly and singing some Pureblood lullabye, Voldemort turned to Hermione, pleasure written across his face. He held out his hand to her and she took it, allowing him to bring them out of the memory.
"Lutea," he whispered, his words like a caress. "My precious flower blooming up from the filth of your birth. How do you always find new ways to please me?" He wrapped his arms around her waist, forcing her chest to his. She shivered at the contact, her evening gown providing little protection from the heat of his body.
"Did you see anything there that might have caused my current wrath?" He asked calmly, his hands toying with her shoulders.
"No, My Lord," she replied truthfully, knowing that he was pleased with how she had lost control.
"Indeed. Let us continue," he said, running his eyes down her form hungrily, the short nails on his long fingers digging into her back. As she arched into him, moaning softly, his eyes met hers and she was transported back to the impromptu gathering before dinner.
She was perched in Voldemort's lap, Bellatrix standing next to her, rubbing her stomach where Hermione had caught her with her elbow. She watched as Voldemort released her, nudging her towards Severus. As her memory self made her way to the low couch, Hermione kept her eyes on the Dark Lord, trying to see what he wanted her to see. As she began to confide in Severus, she watched Voldemort stiffen, his enhanced hearing clearly able to hear their quiet conversation. She felt cold dread fill her stomach once again and she couldn't hold back her gasp. This was why he was still upset with her. She had withheld the truth from him, but sought comfort and reassurance from Severus just minutes later. She knew that Voldemort demanded she be reliant on him, to never bring her worries to another without first seeking his counsel. The night before her initiation had been forgiven because he had already dismissed her concerns when she brought them to him, she simply didn't like his answer. Hanging her head, she laid a hand on his arm, drawing him out of the reviere he seemed to be in as he watched the flames dancing in the fireplace. Dropping to her knees before him, she lay her hands across her knees, palms up, in a true display of submission this time. He laid his hand on her head and the memory swirled, Hermione once again finding herself seated in his lap.
"Do you know now why I am disappointed in you, Hermione?" He asked, his voice still soft, but clearly showing his displeasure.
"Yes, My Lord," she began, her voice trembling as she looked at his chest, afraid to meet his red eyes again. "I didn't trust you with my fear after losing control, and I placed the counsel of another above your own."
He placed his hand on her chin again and roughly forced her gaze upon to meet his. Recoiling slightly at the heat still very much present in his eyes, she continued to hold his gaze, resigning herself to his punishment, knowing that she deserved it.
'I am your Lord, Hermione. You seek comfort only from me." He punctuated his words with his teeth, biting the exposed skin above the dress she still wore. Opening a drawer, he pulled out a knife, and Hermione stilled as she recognized the skull carved into the green hilt. Unable to tear her eyes away from the silver knife, her hand reached to grasp her left forearm without thought. The movement caused the mud that had dried on her hands to flake, and Voldemort's gaze sharpened,
seeming to notice the mud staining her dress and the tears Lupin had inflicted on it.
"Whatever has happened to your beautiful dress?" he asked, his right hand trailing langiously down her body to pick slightly at the dried mud. "I only gave permission for Rowle to walk with you this evening."
Gazing down at him from her position in his lap, Hermione swung her legs so that she was straddling the Dark Lord. Placing her hands on either side of his face, she bid him to enter her thoughts in a more conventional manner, the scene with Lupin foremost in her mind. He arched an eyebrow as she stayed Finn's hand, a knowing smile playing across his lips as she explained the reality of the situation to him. Voldemort hummed along with the Eric Clapton tune, surprising Hermione slightly, until he groaned deep in his throat when she killed him. Withdrawing from her mind as Finn bent to kiss her, he leaned forward and captured her lips with his own, the reality mingling with the memory still playing in her mind.
Hermione moaned as he deepened the kiss, the sound rousing Ginny, who hissed at the pair as she made her way to her chambers that sat off of Voldemort's, slamming the door behind her. Breaking the kiss, the Dark Lord chuckled as Hermione attempted to catch her breath, a smirk lightening his dark features.
"I believe we have upset Ginerva, princess," he murmured, his lips against her throat. "I find I quite like the moniker Ronald came up with, I believe it suits you well."
Her lip curling slightly in disgust, Hermione beckoned him back into her mind without a second thought, her interaction with Snape playing out between them. Voldemort laughed as she stamped her foot in frustration, the sound ending quickly as Severus pinned her to the wall, Voldemort's hand on her waist tightening as the pair kissed. He pulled out of her mind as she entered her bedroom, anger once again battling with the desire still evident in his face, the potent mixture causing him to swell beneath her, the evidence of his arousal clear to her beneath the silk of her ruined dress.
Growling deeper this time, he gripped her dress tighter, the fragile fabric tearing under his hands. He shredded the skirt of her gown, his lips devouring hers angrily. Hermione moaned, low in her throat, her fear of punishment and the knife he still clutched fleeing as she chased the pleasure only he could offer. She weaved her free hand into the front of his robes, tugging fiercely as the remnants of her skirt fell away. Straddling the Dark Lord in little more than her bodice and silk stockings, she felt his hands toying with the emerald garter belt she wore to keep them in place, as any proper Pureblood Princess should do. Snapping the ribbon against her thigh cruelly, her moans grew louder as he lifted her into his desk. He pressed his hands against her chest, the pressure causing her to fall backwards, sprawling out across his desk.
"I could tear his lips from his face for daring to touch you, Lutea," he whispered, lips trailing across her collarbone as she lay, sprawled wantonly across his desk. "He spoke true. You are mine, and I do. Not. Share."
He punctuated his words with the point of the blade, slamming it into the ornate desktop with each syllable.
"Recognized this little beauty, did you?" Voldemort chuckled, twirling the knife while staring down at the witch, who was trembling now out of fear, her arousal still evident even as she quaked on the desk. "Bellatrix gave it to me the night I gave her a scar to match yours. She isn't as proud of my handiwork as you seem to be of hers, but I'll admit, it isn't my best work," he continued, his fingers stroking the Dark Mark on Hermione's right arm, the brand clearly displayed as she still clutched her forearm. "However one must understand the finesse required to carve an arm belonging to an individual whose blood is slowly turning acidic. Connasse has so many delicate letters, you see. You can tell from the double O's she gifted you, the curvy letters are the trickiest ones."
Hermione looked up at him, her jaw having literally fallen open as he calmly related this little tale.
"You took this blade to her arm? For me?" she asked, breathlessly.
"No, my Pet," he replied, trailing the blade down the front of her dress. "For me. You belong to me. My Lutea...do you know the meaning of the word?" He asked, nicking her collarbone lightly with the cursed blade.
"I thought it meant yellow, My Lord," Hermione answered, gasped at the sting, finding herself slightly confused by the turn the conversation had taken.
Continuing to run the knife down her torso, Voldemort made a series of small cuts across her decolletage as he watched her face. Hermione bit her lip, drawing blood, but made no noise as blood began to mix with the mud staining her body.
"That seems to be it's most persistent translation, but that was not its original usage. It means good for nothing," he replied, smiling as the witch frowned slightly. He turned his attention to her bodice now, cutting loose the tiny gems and glass beads that had once adorned her dress. "Belonging to mud or filth. Never forget, Hermione, my pampered little princess, that whatever else you may become, that is where you began. From the mud of your birth has risen a glorious creature, blooming like a lotus, the bloom held tall as though to distract from where it roots in filth. Yet despite your unfortunate beginnings, you outshine all those around you, those who have been given every opportunity since infancy. That is what you are to me, My Lutea."
Her eyes filling with an unexpected tenderness, she reached up for him, clutching at his neck to pull him closer. As their lips met once again, Hermione felt herself freeing her Darkness, the air in the room humming as it flirted with his own. Rising above her, he brought the small dagger up, cutting through the bodice effortlessly. As she lay bare, save for soaked lingerie and silk stockings below him, he dropped the knife to the desk with a clatter. With the softest of touches he traced the runes carved below her breasts, goose bumps breaking out across her pale skin. As he caressed the runes spelling out his gift of protection, he ground into her, her breath coming in pants as her hair spilled out of the careful updo Jilly had created.
Claiming her lips once again, he wordlessly removed his robes, relishing in the feel of her soft skin beneath him. Her nails dug into his back as she drug him still closer, craving the feel of him on her like nothing else before. His lips toyed with her ear as she moaned, biting her abused lips in a futile attempt to quiet herself. He pressed hot kisses across her collarbone, licking the blood that pooled there, before he journeyed languidly to her breasts, her nipples stiff points in the overwarm room. Taking one between his lips, he bit down cruelly, the coppery taste in his mouth made sweet by the sound of her cries.
"My Lord!" Hermione cried, her voice somewhere between a moan and a plea. "Please!"
Smirking up at her, he continued his torture of her pert breasts, swinging from soft caresses to punishing bites with no warning. As the smell of her arousal filled the room he trailed his hand to her secret place, known only by one other wizard. He slipped his long fingers into the silk, pausing to tug on the soft hair there as he bit at the underside of her breast, stopping only as his teeth met unforgiving bone. At her cry, he allowed his fingers to trail over her opening, the satiny fluid there leaving no doubt as to her desire for him.
Hermione was lost in a sea of pleasure, her body humming with desire for the dark wizard above her. She could feel his length pressing against her thigh, and thought longingly of how it might feel inside her. She gasped as his fingers brushed against her clit, fireworks exploding in her brain. Lifting her hips from the hardwood, she felt him tear the expensive silk from her body. He threw the scraps to join the others littering the floor, his gaze hungry as he leaned over her, hands gripping her hair. Kissing her again, he ground himself into her wet heat. His teeth tore at her lips, both of them breathless. Wrapping his hand around her throat, he pulled her from the desk, forcing her to kneel at his feet. Her eyes wide, pupils blown out with need, she shifted uncomfortably, desperate for relief. He clenched his fingers in her hair again, and Hermione keened with desire. Leaning forward, he rubbed the head of his swollen member against her lips.
"Would you like to please me, Hermione?" He asked, his voice thick.
"My Lord, please" she moaned, eyes turning hungry.
Exhaling loudly, he entered her parted lips, head falling back as he hit the back of her throat. He set a punishing rhythm, not allowing her to catch her breath. Hermione dug her nails into his thighs, drawing blood in her passion. Her eyes watering, her nose clogging as he forced himself into the back of her throat, she struggled to breathe, his pace growing erratic as she attempted to swallow around him and find some way to force air down her throat. He drew back slightly, the stiffening in his posture Hermione's only warning. As she felt the thick fluid begin to shoot out, she pulled her head back and opened her mouth wide. His release was messy, her mouth full and dripping down her chin by the time he was spent. Hermione stayed kneeling, mouth open, until he opened his eyes again. Gazing down at her, his gaze darkened further as he saw her on her knees, mouth still open, awaiting his wishes.
"Swallow," he said, his voice hoarse from shouting as he came. Hermione did as commanded, her eyes never leaving his. She brought her fingers up to her chin, gathering the cum lingering there. Lowering her hand, she spread the thick offering across the runes spelled out across her ribcage, eyes rolling back in her head. Voldemort growled, dragging her back to her feet. He picked her up, wrapping her legs around his torso as he carried her to his bed. Laying her down almost reverently, his lips began to trail down her body again. Using his tongue more than his teeth this time, Hermione was keening with need and fisting the down coverlet by the time he made his way back to her mound.
As his lips hovered above her, he looked up at her, his eyes a burning red in the darkened room. Hermione flinched minutely at the memories those eyes called to mind, but lost all thought as he pressed his lips to her. He teased her exquisitely, biting her clit softly while shallowly fingering her slit, his fingers honoring her body's defenses even now. She was lost to reality, Voldemort having slipped into her mind when their eyes met. He was feeding her the most sinful visions, images of her writhing on his cock as she rode him furiously, her hair wild and unbound. His tongue slipped inside her, drinking her offerings as she had so eagerly swallowed his just minutes before. He ran a hand up her stomach, fingers pinching her nipple as he bit down on her clit. Hermione mewled as she ground against him, so close to the relief she was craving. He pressed his other hand against her inner thigh, forcing her wide open to him. He brought a thumb to her most sensitive place, rubbing circles against it as he rolled her nipple under her fingers. He licked her deeply, kissing her there as passionately as he had her lips while he had he spread across his desk. Just before she finally broke, he pulled his lips from her with a smack. With a glint in his eye, he whispered. "Crucio."
As her body stiffened in pain, her screams were an exquisite blend of agony and bliss. Voldemort continued his worship of her, filling her with his tongue while he continued to rub furiously on her clit. He lifted the curse as she crested again, and when she came the second time, it was with only his name on her lips.