Second update! Would love to hear some more feedback on what everyone things about the story! ;)
Thanks for reviewing cosettex, Amylion (I am trying out your advice hope I do it justice), and Sabaku no Uchiha! Please enjoy! Reviews are always appreciated! (P.S. Not sure if I am really happy with how my Rodolphus turned out, but the point of view was a little hard to write since it is slightly comical. You'll understand.) There are a couple of perspective changes because something are better told through an observers eyes, lol, and I wanted to get the emotions in, but they are easy to follow. Hope you like!
Dark Troy
His cool forehead pressed to her own was bliss and she could not help but cling to his neck as she pecked the skin between his slit-nostrils, "thank you," his eyes were wide with shock and the look momentarily stole away his anger, I am getting used to this dumbfounded look of his, "Neville has grown accustomed to my stubborn-ness and actions over the past couple of years. BUT," she cut off his retort with a soft brush of lips on lips, very much like the look, quickly not wanting another fight; she did not want to deal with more nausea and exhaustion, "nothing would have been done about it if you were not here. Neville sounds like a big dog," she gave her mumbling friend a soft smile, "but he lacks the bite, and unfortunately I would not have shared my distress," she could not help but to press another chaste kiss to his non-existent nose, I would have figured it would be strange but the skin is so soft.
"This has happened before?" His tone was cold and harsh; it burned her cheeks cherry, how could I forget whom I am with, for a moment he was just…a lover? Snapping out of her gentleness she recoiled, sitting back, her bum on his knees; arms folded neatly over her chest defensively, It shouldn't bother me so much.
"The Carrows, my lord, found the Know-It-All to be most entertaining with her violent reactions to their favorite curses," she could practically feel Serverus's scowl and anger boring into her back, "and with her Gryffindoric-heroic-must-answer-all-questions attitude, it gave them plenty of opportunities to perform on her," the red eyes at her front bore into her with an air of reprimand, displaying the physicality of a hot-scolding-slap-on-the-wrist, worse than words or actions; her behavior, both past and present, were unwelcome, he has no right to judge me, to reprimand me for who I am, "it was the first time we discovered how dangerous the Cruciatus curse could be to one in Miss Granger's predicament."
She could feel the quiver of his knees as the silent growl of frustration rumbled up from his chest; the memory of him ripping her insides to shreds just to prove a point in the bath was still fresh, serves him right, "it was not as bad as the other day, but we did discovered that the curses have a far more brutal consequence to my body. Madam Pomfrey was in hysterics. I barely remember it, though."
His hard crimson stare never left her, making her self-imposed bindings cling tighter, harder, I wish he would stop, "anything else I should know for future references? Or are you just full of surprises?"
The words were meant to sting and she would be lying if she said they did not, so she did what she always did when hurt; drawing herself off of him swiftly she thumped into the opposite bench, determined to seem unfazed; her reaction was too quick for his fingers to catch. Frustrated, and more than a little exhausted she could not hide the acid sarcasm in her saccharine tone, "you know as much as I do, maybe if we're lucky we'll get to discover something new," a giddy bouncing on the seat cushion was a half-hearted attempt to belie her mockery.
The majority of the small group that had come along on the trip drew away from the tense couple. Voldemort's negative emotions towards her actions beating against her brain, and still she refused to look away from the window. Even the warm hand of Neville gripping her should did nothing more than draw a smile to her lips, "your colors coming back. Tan is a way better look for you than pale, Mione," he was being lighthearted to try and dampen the thickness of the air, to avoid confrontation.
But instead it set fire to Voldemot's rage. A furious wave of Dark Magic, familiar, washed over her body and the overwhelming emotion that she experienced days before burst to life behind her eyes. Startled Hermione tore herself away from the window's view and turned; fangs exposed, body tense, and hood fully-out the Dark Lord advanced on a terrified Neville, who had no chance of living through the encounter. A subtle wave of a different emotion brushed across Hermione's side of the bond, if she had not been comparing Voldemort to a Cobra she would have missed it completely among the overwhelming rage, is he jealous? A squeal and Hermione snapped to. Terrified for her friend she pushed the thought away and went to stand when a violent movement outside the window caught the corner of her eye. Panicked and without a second thought she tackled Voldemort, catching his abdomen with her shoulder and sending them both tumbling to the ground in a heap of limbs and robes. Seconds later a blood curdling screech swallowed the silence, much like a bird, much like the black abyss she had been trapped in a day ago. The glass window shattered, someone screamed, and Hermione's world went black.
When she came to the room was dark and she could smell Voldemort on the sheets, the pillows. Upset still and refusing to allow herself a moment to enjoy the sent she stood and stretched, rubbing her temples slowly, trying to remove the resounding whistle buzzing about in her brain. His scent followed her and to her annoyance she noticed that her body was clad in his large white oxford shirt, ONLY his large white oxford shirt. Groaning and cursing her lousy luck the past, weeks? Days? Does it matter? She slowly put one foot in front of the other and made her way out into the brightly lit hall; through the empty compartments' windows night had fallen and if her guess was correct they were somewhere in Switzerland, I'm sure Voldemort wouldn't be up for stopping to taste the chocolate.
She could feel a calm frustration from their link but nothing more and she prayed he did not decide to kill Neville in her absence, someone needs to learn the difference between 'oh what a good friend' and 'yea, I'd tap that'! Rubbing and rolling her tired eyes she stumbled down the hall in search of the large compartment where Mr.-My-Emotions-Are-Out-Of-Control-And-I'm-Bipolar and everyone else had been gathered earlier, hopefully they are still there. Voices floating down from an average looking train compartment door lifted her spirits; she pushed the wooden blockade aside and stepped through the threshold. What she found was, well…irritating, enraging.
Every occupant was too preoccupied to notice her entrance but her eyes were centered on the Blonde Bombshell Bimbo straddling a certain Dark Lord; her red dress hiked up mid-thigh and dainty, aristocratic hands pressed against his chest. The pouty look on said Bimbo's lips increased the sickeningly fake innocent glow of what part of The Bimbo's face was visible, making Hermione bristle. The man being straddled seemed to be unabashed and unfazed by the beautiful woman sitting astride him; his hands resting lightly on hips. Hermione did not bother to keep her emotions in check as they brutally assault the link she shared with the furious I-Have-To-Be-A-Freaking-Playboy-Dark-Lord!
Ruby eyes snapped to her, an amused glint dancing around in their blood pools, setting her off; claws extended, teeth bared, and the fine ridge of hair running down her spine stood straight. Ready to make a snarling response she froze; familiar baby-blue eyes were watching her sweetly, innocently, mockingly, but she could not bring herself to muster back the fury, it cannot be, "I know you."
The Bimbo's eyes grew wide, startled by Hermione's declaration, "I am afraid, darling, I have never seen you in my life," a slight hint of Greek permeated her speech just like in her vision. Hazel eyes met crimson and she was prompted to continue, he knew too; she desperately tried to ignore how The Bimbo's, according to me she still is, hands began to move up and down his chest, "mmm, powerful, I have never met a man soooo," a flutter of lusciously long eye lashes, a flash of seductive eyes, and a tongue rolling whisper against his cheek, "overpowering."
The growl of warning came involuntarily to Hermione and echoed about the room, but she did not bother to care, I am not Jealous! I just do not want the man who is determined to sleep with me sleeping with someone else, perfectly logical, something came to her, inspiration, and she could not control the mocking venom that oozed in her words, "I have seen you before, lover of France."
A flash of pain and the red dressed female leaped from the Dark Lord's lap as if stung, but instead of retreating she tore across the room toward Hermione, murder in her eyes, "how dare you!"
Of course, Hermione was not worried a bit, but that was before the Bimbo began to change. A shrill screech, like a birds—like her nightmare—permanently blared from her open mouth; the pink flesh contorting, hardening to something yellow. The nails of each hand sharpened, grew, and thickened to black metallic looking talons and real fear settle into Hermione's gut, I wish I had a wand! What in Merlin's name is she! Feeling her flight or fight instincts kick in Hermione did the only thing her Gryffindor-bred mind would allow her to do; she grab Lucius's cane from the hanger and with a wild swing nailed the half-bird, half-woman, half-lion right in the face, dropping her, it, inches from bare feet.
"What in, Merlin's name, is that thing!"
Distantly she recognized the awkwardly deep yet shrill tone of Lucius Malfoy but her eyes were glued to the creature. Grotesque cracking and squelching signaled that it was not finished, and Hermione gripped the cold ebony metal of the staff tighter, brandishing the silver snake head above the distorted body. Feathers, black as coal, were sprouting, sickeningly, from her, its, back; shoulder blades grinding, shifting loudly, as strange pillars of hard ligament pushed past and out of fair skin. With wide eyes Hermione could see that the larger feathers were attached to the ligament and were spreading out to blanket the wooden floor while much smaller ones devoured the flesh of her, its, torso, neck and face. Fur, golden in color, sprung up where the feathers ended at her waist and covered the rest of her, its!, body right down to, paws?, and the thickly corded flame-tufted tipped tail; the forearms once soft and fleshy with no hint of being touched by sun were a steel-grey, rimmed with lines down to clawed feet, and as hard as the beak covering her face. Ears tipped with black feathers were relaxed back against a patch of golden feathers adoring its crown. The Bimbo was, is...a Griffin.
Shifting robes caught the corner of her wide-wild-eyed stare; the flash of ivory flesh bringing back all of her pent up emotions from moments ago and she did, in her opinion, 'the stupidest thing Hermione Jean Granger has ever done or will ever do in her life', and she could not care less. Black metal cane met black robed shin.
To say what he had witnessed was wickedly entertaining was a horrendous understatement, and sadly he would not have traded seeing it for a thousand muggle deaths, even now in the current situation. Suddenly, his Lord's Little Mudblood went from being tensed and terrified, brandishing Lucius's cane at a Sexy Griffin Woman, to slamming the rod into his Lord's unguarded shin. Of course, the strike coupled with his Lord's undignified howl, which he would immediately forget and never mention again, made Rodolphus cringe; his Lord's Little Mudblood had just knocked that Sexy Griffin Woman out cold with one swing, and there was definitely some pint up frustration on the swing to his Lord's leg.
The whole scene went from his Lord removing the weight from his leg to backhanding the Mudblood right off her feet, which he thoroughly supported with a "make her head swim!", to her kicking his other leg out from under him, making him wince for both of them as his Lord came down hard, landing half on the floor and half on the Little Mudblood; they made an awkward heap of black and white in front of the compartment door, his Lord's shirt had almost ridden up enough to give a nice view; it escalated to snarling, biting, hitting, rolling, all of course the exciting part, and finally, a high pitched laugh later to horrify your torture victim, to a very intimate, very passionate, very awkward make-out session, in front of the compartment door. His Lord's Little Mudblood pinned beneath the black clad body of his Lord. Her arms, contained at the wrists by long fingered hands, stretched far above her head and their hips moving slowly against the others. The worse part, they were lying prostrate in front of the compartment door and no one, NO ONE, had the courage or stupidity to step over the Dark Lord as he ravished his woman.
Of course, Rodolphus was not opposed to watching his Lord claim is Little Mudblood again; the display had been extremely hot, but he had no desire to get in trouble for having the image branded permanently in his mind with a certain Lord, his Master, replaced by, well, himself, I like delivering death not accepting it. A moan brought his attention back to the writhing couple. The Little Mudblood's hands were now shackled together while one of his Lord's devious hands slid provocatively down her arching sides, not good, his mouth went dry as a slender, olive leg was hoisted up and around followed by a particularly hard grinding of hips, very hot, very dead, spinning he scooped Luna up and carried her troll like to the corner, keeping his back to the passionate duo on the floor. There moans fueled his lust.
I am not seeing this, close eyes, open eyes, no, no no, close eyes, just a nightmare, open eyes, NO! "M'Lord?"
Lucius cursed how squeaky and quiet his voice had become at the notion of disturbing his Lord from his 'task' with Potter's Mudblood. He even cursed the fact that Rodolphus and the Quibbler Girl were furiously making out against the far back wall of the compartment. The whole 'there is a Sexy Woman who had been straddling the Dark Lord and is now a Griffin lying knocked out on the compartment floor' went completely unnoticed. Feminine moans where chased around the room by purely masculine growls, bringing a flush to all occupants trapped inside the compartment. The Weaslette sported a brighter shade of her hair across her cheeks; his Mad-Hatter-Mudblood was drooling over the sight of his Lord grinding Potter's Mudblood into the wood floor; Severus and Neville were standing awkwardly next to one another, fiddling their hands nervously, Severus would be furious to find how similar he is to the boy; Lupin was glaring…glaring? A shout filled the room.
"HERMIONE!"
Everyone turned toward him; his body trembling in the last vestiges of constraint on his seething anger. They all are betraying their training! Ignoring it like the Order had not busted their butts to drill this into their brains! Lips were parted, panting, and bruised from the Alpha Male's, Dark Lord's, attentions. A dominate flush covered her skin but could not overcome the golden tan of her flesh that had returned with a vengeance. But what fed his anger were her eyes. Glistening molten gold stared up at him, sparkling with desire, need, want, adoration, and, could it be…love? No. Impossible. She reminded him of Tonks in their last moments of passion before the final battle; before she was brutally ripped from him, and it tore his heart apart. She cannot care for that thing!
Hermione's attention was on him but her mind, her body was locked on the Alpha Male, Dark Lord!, pressing down from atop her, keening for him to continue. He could smell it on her, on him; see how she arched up achingly toward her chosen Mate, who to his shock returned the sentiment with blazing blood eyes and heaving chest, but did they see, no, both, oblivious, lying. He does not deserve those eyes, those caresses, that love. This will NOT continue! His thoughts boomed inside his head with such power and finality, but he was delusional to believe he could stop it. He was in denial.
"Yes." Breathless.
"You're failing," Cruel. He was Cruel, "Harry and Ron." Passion died and his heart clenched. He wanted to weep as her eyes glossed; teeth clamping down on a swollen lower lip to stop the pain. They had been her brothers; her best friends; her lifelines. Cruel. I have no choice. They are letting themselves go. Forgetting their mission. Forgetting those who died. It is not fair. They have to fight!
Snarls were his only warning.