Smut in this chapter.
Chapter 30 – The Burrow – December 15th, 1946
The stretch of land outside the gates of The Burrow was lined with seats under land that had been cleared previously of snow, warming charms had been cast by every guest present, to fight off the December chill, and a weather ward had been erected around the edges of the ceremony, just in case it snowed again. Today was the day of Ron and Géraldine's wedding, and Hermione sat on the women's side of the guest seating, with the exception of Jean Pierre, who sat curled into her side, small hand in her own larger one.
The bride had requested some aspects of her faith be added to the wedding, and Ron, ever the supportive wizard that he was, had jumped on the idea enthusiastically. The ceremony had been lovely, a Chuppah had been erected, where the bride and groom had spoken their vows beneath it (though a standard Wizarding variety, to bond their magic together) and plain gold bands had been exchanged.
Herself, as well as Harry, Ginny, and each of Ron's brothers read the seven blessings, as directed by Géraldine, followed by the bride and groom breaking glass in a bag by stepping on it. Currently, they were all waiting for the two of them to come back from Yichud, where they'd gone into the Burrow's kitchen to spend a few minutes together alone, and eat soup, to which the celebration would continue when they rejoined them.
Hermione turned to look around, everyone was chatting among themselves quietly, and feeling a tug at her hand, she looked down at the small boy whose hand she was holding, looking tired while rubbing at his eye with his other hand. It had been a long day for him, he and Géraldine had been up and around people starting at around six in the morning. She presented her arms to him, and he climbed into her lap, luckily her hair was restrained into a tight bun, as he was able to lay his head on her shoulder while she ran a hand through his hair.
Small things like this reminded her that she truly didn't know what direction her life was going in, at least in the romance department. Would there be a day where she held her own child like this? Or was the life she currently had with Tom all she'd ever know? It's like she knew exactly what she wanted to do when it came to her career, knew all the ways she wanted to change the world, to make it better than it was, but throw in personal issues and she was as good as lost. Out of her friends, four were now married, with Dean and Seamus, Ron and Géraldine, and two were engaged, with Harry and Ginny, and it made her feel like she was doing something wrong. Arguably, what she had with Tom could be considered wrong on its own, and a part of her knew that Tom would never want more than what they had now (and that was to say nothing of even wanting Tom for the type of wholesome relationships her friends had).
She was broken out of her thoughts by a cheer, and looked towards the Burrow to see Ron and Géraldine exit, everyone then started making their way to the large white tent, where there were tables set up for dinner, and small floor for dancing. Mrs. Weasley had offered to take the sleeping Jean Pierre from her arms, the older witch having fallen head over heels for the small boy, and had claimed him an honorary Weasley, so Hermione didn't put up a fuss when Molly ensured that she'd just put him to bed in one of the rooms.
It was many hours later that she was a bit in her cups with Dean and Seamus, all of them laughing and bemoaning about how things were in the wizarding world. It was only when Seamus left to go to the loo, that Dean leaned over, voice slightly slurring.
"You know...I'm real impressed with what you managed to accomplish, an almost full house win for the freedom of elves is no easy feat," he paused, taking a sip of his drink, "to be honest, when you called us over to get Seamus's da to translate that book, I didn't think you'd succeed," he spoke, and Hermione's brows shot up. Dean seemed to understand the insinuation of his words and backed up, panicky.
"Not like I thought you were incapable, just that, these purebloods ain't so accepting of us," he stammered out, and Hermione found herself nodding her head in agreement. Truthfully, the almost unanimous win in October unsettled her, and she still had no definitive answer for how it could have happened.
"To be honest," she started carefully, "I think the Traditional Party only voted in favour because of the slim connection I have with Lord Slytherin, not because of the work I put into it, and it bothers me, but...I got what I wanted, so I feel that I have no right to be bothered, does that make sense?" she finished, warily glancing up at him, she didn't know how transparent her relationship with Tom was, but the last thing she wanted was to be accused of sleeping her way to her goal (even if it might be true?) and Dean nodded, face pensive.
"Yeah, I can believe that, the Ministry is like that too, almost transparent in their favouritism in purebloods and pureblooded names, that even half-bloods with powerful names are picked over the dregs of society, a.k.a us and half-bloods like Seamus, with his muggle father's name. Actually, I'm even surprised that they let Riddle hold such a powerful position," he muttered, knocking back his drink, and Hermione titled her head at him, confused at the first part he said, though the second she already knew why after discussing it with Harry.
"Seamus is getting discriminated against too?" she asked, it made no sense to her, the majority population of the UK magical world were comprised of half-bloods, hell, even according to Ron, every single pureblood had some muggle blood as well, else they'd be extinct from inbreeding. The idea that the smallest percentage of the population, purebloods, after muggleborns, of course, could be the loudest and most in control, baffled her on the engine that was the UK.
"Well, nothing didn't not happen, if that makes sense?" he drawled, his voice deep and a bit more slurred but she waved her hand, encouraging him to continue.
"Okay, so, me and Seamus both started in the Department of Magical Games and Sports, right? Back when we graduated Hogwarts, we're both in the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters, we both essentially started out as desk jockeys, running papers and the like, but it's just, when a higher position opens up, regardless that we have the requisite experience, we never seem to be enough to grab promotion," he explained, but pausing to take a breath, "I haven't been promoted a single time, and Seamus has only been promoted once when we could have each been promoted three times on our work ethic alone!" he huffed, frustrated, and Hermione was reminded of when Géraldine had been denied a higher position earlier that year.
"Surely they can't be so blatant about it, there must be a muggleborn higher up somewhere!" she gasped out, outraged, and Dean shrugged before grabbing the bottle in front of him and refilled his glass, before refilling hers as well.
"Ulick Gamp was the first Minister for Magic, elected in 1607, and since then, there has only been one muggleborn Minister, and that's Nobby Leach in 1862, and he had to step down due to assassination attempts in 1868, he disappeared soon after, many say he was murdered, but that case is cold till this day, even his portrait at the Ministry doesn't know anything," he rambled, taking a sip, and Hermione frowned, before huffing and taking her own sip.
"Well then, that's just going to have to change," she sniped, swallowing the burning firewhiskey, and Dean grinned, raising his glass to hers.
"Cheers, I'll drink to that."
That's about when Seamus came back, dragging Jas, Harry and Ginny, where they proceeded to play drunken poker (terribly) and Ron and Géraldine joined them after George attempted to turn it into strip poker. The mood had turned sombre when they each poured a sip from their glasses on the floor for Fred (though Hermione poured a second and third for her mother and Kai), and that was when she decided it was probably time to head home. Since it was Sunday night, she had to work the next morning anyway, and she was certain if she continued to drink, the night would not end pleasantly for her at all.
Saying her goodbyes, and giving hugs all around, she stumbled to the floo, and miraculously managed to slur out 'Alcazar Deslizan' without messing it up, before throwing the powder into the hearth and stepping through.
When she arrived, Niti, the elf was waiting, dressed in proper robes now that she had a salary (she hadn't been able to bully Tom into giving it to them before her bill passed), hands clasped in front of her neatly.
"Miss Hermione, Master Slytherin asks that you go to his office upon arrival," her high pitched voice was polite, and Hermione squinted her eyes for a moment, trying to comprehend what Niti was saying, before nodding and heading in the direction of Tom's office. She looked at her watch, it was only one in the morning, so he was probably (literally) burning the midnight oil, and she wondered what he wanted (she had an idea), she snorted softly at that. Her feet were hurting her, so half way there, she removed her heels and carried them, continuing on barefoot.
When she got there, his door was slightly open, so she entered and leaned against the frame of it, observing him. He was scribbling away at parchments with his quill, and his hair was a touch dishevelled, but he was still, without a doubt, so very attractive, and her drunk brain was spiralling with thoughts on how badly she wanted to wrap her legs around his waist. She bit the inside of her cheek at that thought.
He looked up at her, and his eyes darted towards her heels in her hand, a slow smile crept onto his mouth, as he leaned back in his large leather chair to regard her.
"So? Any reason I'm here?" she asked, walking towards his desk, swinging her shoes onto the floor, before walking around it and leaning her butt against it, beside him.
"I can't check on your well being?" he asked, innocently, and she snorted.
"Since when are you sentimental?" she joked, as he leaned forward in his seat and collected his parchments off neatly to the side.
"I could have been worried," he joked right back, and she scoffed, drunken brain telling her to be a brat on purpose.
"Why would you be worried? Afraid I won't come back? Afraid I'd go home with someone else?" she jibed, and watched in real-time as his playful mood slipped from his countenance immediately. His eyes flashed something dangerous, and he rolled back his chair, turning towards her, presenting his lap.
Smut starts here
"Is that so?" he drawled, patting his lap, "come here," he ordered, and a part of her wanted to snipe a 'no' at him just to spite him, the other part of her was too aroused not to play this through, so she lifted her robes and straddled him. She watched as he reached towards his drawer, and retrieved three things, the first was a sobering potion, which she gathered from the bright pink colour, the second was a band of fabric, and the third was a...moonstone? No, she squinted at it, an opal stone, that was small, smooth, and circular.
He handed her the sobering potion first, and she raised an eyebrow at it.
"I want you of completely sound mind for what I have in mind, I was going to save this activity for my birthday, but it seems appropriately needed now" he hummed, and she glared at him briefly before shrugging and knocking it back, she grimaced at the taste, her vision and focus clearing, as well as her nausea. She was only slightly confused as to why she was on Tom's lap, before she remembered why and winced.
She turned to him, and he was rolling the opal stone between his fingers, watching her with barely restrained mischievousness, he reached forward and tied the fabric around her eyes, and her breath shuddered at the implications. Her hands went to the buttons on his robes, but he smacked them away lightly, before restraining them behind her back with a silent incarcerous, and she gasped tugging at her arms, while he edged her robes up to her hips.
"Tom..." but stopped when he ran a finger down her centre on the outside of her undergarments, before placing, what she assumed, was the opal stone against her nub, setting it in place with a sticking charm, when she was about to ask what he was doing, he charmed it to vibrate in place, and it took all of her strength not to instinctively curl in on herself.
He placed his finger that had touched her into her mouth, before removing it and reaching behind her to pull her knickers up between her cheeks.
"So, you think I'd just let you speak about fucking someone else?" and she could barely understand what he was saying because she couldn't drag her focus away from the stone vibrating on her clit. She whimpered, trying to grind her hips down onto him, but he held her still with one hand, while the other smoothed itself over her backside before a crack sounded as he struck it. She cried out, leaning forward and burying her face into his shoulder, it shocked her, but paired with the stone, it heightened her arousal almost ten fold.
"I think nine more will do the trick," he murmured in her ear, kissing her temple through the fabric, before striking her behind again, this time she bit at his shoulder, through his robes, hands pulling at her restraints so she could grip at him, but to no avail. She was just barely hanging onto coherence when he struck again, and her mind was counting with him. Another one, and all she could think of was that there were six more, and that once he finished, he'd better be planning to fuck her.
"How many was that?" he asked her, and she moaned out a 'four', pressing her forehead against his shoulder. He kissed her temple again while whispering 'good girl', before striking her again, and she felt that even if she wasn't blindfolded, she wouldn't be able to see straight. When he was finished, it felt like a hundred years had passed and she could tell that she was positively dripping, she couldn't even move her head from his shoulder from how powerfully that stone was edging her.
"Please," she started, and he just sat there quietly, running a finger up and down her spine, she couldn't see, but she knew he was watching her, and enjoying every second of this, she now understood why he'd wanted to save this for his birthday.
"I'm unsure if you've learnt your lesson, I did not appreciate your earlier comment, maybe I should keep you like this for a few hours," he murmured, before strengthening the vibration on the stone, causing her to groan.
"Please, I'm sorry," she whimpered into his shoulder, panting, she could feel her curls coming out of it's slick bun with how much she was rubbing her forehead against him to brace herself. It was no sooner that the apology left her mouth, that she felt herself lifted and maneuvered only to be bent over the desk, her cheek pressed against the (mercifully cool) polished surface. She felt him tug her knickers to the side, instead of taking them off and felt him place only the tip of himself inside her. She tried to rock back, but he held her still, chuckling all the while, as if this were a game to him, and as if it didn't feel like she was losing her mind.
"Who do you belong to?" he asked, and she wanted to snap back that she didn't belong to anyone, but knew it would only make things worse, so she whined and abstained from answering. His hand was wrapped around her restrained wrists, holding her flat against the desk, and he upped the vibration of the stone again, which brought her to literal sobs as he repeated himself.
"You, only you, please, please," she begged, and he suddenly snapped his hips forward, causing her to keen back and meet him. His grip on her wrists, and one on her hip controlled her movements, and her first orgasm was almost swift and instant, with a second one building, and she almost couldn't even feel her clit anymore, except for the shocks of pleasure that seemed to rocket up her spine, her brain was absolute mush inside her head.
He reached forward and gripped at her shoulder, pulling her to stand, continuously snapping his hips, his hand around her throat while she laid her head back against his shoulder. The change of position ripped another climax through her and all she could do was groan lowly, to which he then pulled himself out and turned her around, he hoisted her up onto the desk, and guided her to wrap her legs around his waist. He released the restraints on her wrists, so she could wrap her arms around his shoulders this time, while he set a brutal pace, his lips against hers, she scraped her nails against his scalp, and she could feel his shudder from it. He raised the stone vibration one last time, and she screamed as she came a third time, the vibration also causing him to climax, as he slammed into her to the hilt and stilled, he whispered against her lips, his breathing heavy.
"Remember those words, because no one touches you, understand?"
"The stone, Tom," she whined, and he licked her tears away that had escaped her blindfold.
"Answer the question, Hermione, and I'll take it off," he whispered, removing the cloth from around her head, and kissing her still closed eye lids, his hand then coming to sweep back her sweaty curls away from her forehead, and she sighed at the cool air it brought to her overheated face,
"I understand."
Smut ends here
Ministry of Magic – December 16th, 1946
Hermione was legitimately exhausted, she'd gotten maybe five hours of sleep, and had woken up with a sore bottom, and swollen clit that had made going to the washroom sting something fierce, to Tom's joy. She lectured him into healing her when he woke up, and he did, after he ate her out first in the bath, and a part of her was glad he'd given her a sobering potion the night before, because she knew her morning could have been so much worse.
She felt her face heat, she had never been that mindless during intercourse, sure, she got caught up in the moment of it, but never so much that she begged while crying, that stone was something else, truly, she felt like she'd lost everything that made her who she was in that moment, and that had scared her.
She'd gone into work, and today she'd been working on a pro-bono case for an immigrated Chinese couple, to which the wife was muggleborn, and had been reminded of what Dean had said to her while they were talking the night before. Sure, it was a bit hazy, and she'd been quite tipsy at the time when they spoke about muggleborn discrimination, but the idea that there had only ever been one muggleborn Minister in the history of the UK magical governance hadn't sat well with her.
So, here she was, in the Ministry of Magic, after a long work day, on minimal sleep, looking for the portrait of Nobby Leach, in the hallway that held all previous Minister portraits. There had to be an explanation for the rampant discrimination against muggleborns, because the majority of the people she knew and interacted with, didn't seem to buy into that nonsense. She didn't think for a moment that every single person of the Progressive Party was innocent, or that every person in the Swing Party was neutral to every cause, including discrimination, and despite noted behaviours, she did not think the Traditional Party was evil.
She didn't even think Tom was evil, was he distinctly lacking in empathy? Yes, and did he have no trouble hurting people for his own gain? Probably, she wouldn't put it passed him, but he was not inherently evil, or unhinged, he didn't kill, maim, or hurt indiscriminately for no reason, and despite how much he always seemed to want her, he'd never actually forced himself on her, if she said no, he backed off.
Of course, she realized the bar was so, so low for him, and this opinion was formed solely on what she knew about him. Were there parts of him he likely hid from her? She didn't doubt it, but she would not and could not pass judgment until she'd either seen it with her own eyes or had indisputable evidence. It was a part of being a barrister that really skewed her sense of right and wrong, where normally she wouldn't be so partisan for those who meant her harm.
She wanted to research this before Leo came back from Hogwarts this weekend, she thought of the boy, she felt almost afraid of how much she cared what happened to him, she'd never had a sibling, but she felt like if she did, they'd be like Leo. She was worried about what type of world she'd essentially dragged him into, but then, would he have had a choice? What would have happened to him if her mother hadn't called for her, it was clear this world didn't care for muggleborns, and she winced at the possibilities, mind running wild with worst-case scenarios.
She read the names of the previous Ministers, starting with Ulick Gamp, a dark-skinned squat looking wizard with a white curled wig over his own hair, to Eldritch Diggory, the minister of 1733, who had tried to removed dementors from Azkaban. Some glared intensely at her as she passed, like Josephina Flint, who was Minister in 1819, and was famous for her fanatical hatred of muggles and their inventions. Radolphous Lestrange, Minister of 1835 watched her strangely, and his amber eyes made her shudder as she passed, until finally, she reached Nobby Leach.
With a sigh, she looked upon him, he was a tall wizard with a shock of ginger hair and exceptional beard. He was rather young looking, no older than mid-thirties, if she had to guess, he had a big forehead, wide blue eyes, and something about him reminded her of Ron. He looked up from the book he was reading to her.
"Minister Leach, I was wondering if I could speak to you," she asked, to which he cocked his head at her, regarding her curiously, and to her peripheral, she could see the other ministers in their portraits, straining to overhear. She snapped her wand out and erected a small sound ward that covered herself and Minister Leach's painting.
She watched as he blinked in surprise and snapped his book shut, giving her his full attention.
"Not many try to speak to me, miss...?" he started, heavy Scottish brogue rumbling through the paint strokes, and Hermione answered quickly.
"Granger-Riddle, sir."
"Ah, the one who caused the house-elf commotion, yes?" he asked, a mischievous glint in his eye, and she nodded.
"Yes, I wanted to ask you, as the only muggleborn minister...how did you do it? How did you become minister and overcome all of the blatant discrimination?" she asked, and his expression saddened for the moment.
"Aye, so it's still happening?" he murmured, more to himself than to her.
"Pardon, sir? What's still happening?" she asked warily, and he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"The discrimination does go far back. My da was a very wealthy muggle, truth be told, when I inherited everything after his death, I bribed a lot of people to vote for me, because I had a theory to prove," he paused, to ensure she was following along, which she was, and she was unsurprised that underhanded tactics had been used, "there was a group of us, muggleborns who were tired of being held down, and so we created a small fringe coalition to uncover why the ruling class was so intent to do so," he continued, stroking his beard.
"I had a theory, there are more of us then there are of them, more muggleborns and half-bloods combined, than purebloods, and they don't care which name is in power, as long as you have their best interests in heart, so I won the election with a few bribes and honest promises." his expression then became troubled.
"Unfortunately, this portrait of me was created in '63, a year after I was elected, and seeing as I was murdered somewhere in '68 or '69, my older self must have stumbled upon something devious that ended his life, so I, as I am here, do not have many answers for you," he finished, face sympathetic.
"You didn't find anything in the year you can recall?" she pleaded, there must be something she could use, a line she could research.
"There is one thing we, as a group, had heard whispers about, and I'm assuming it lead to somewhere, but you need to be careful, especially because you are muggleborn," he cautioned, and she felt a chilled hand grip her spine, "whatever it turned out to be, apparently it was lethal to take out our entire group and if nothing has changed to this day, you are up against something big, I suspect, if you continue to chase this." his eyes were wary as he eyed the other minister portraits, and she looked around, the majority of them looking miffed that they could not eavesdrop.
"What was it?" she asked, turning back to him, and he sighed again, he brought a hand up to stroke his beard again, but this time covered his mouth, essentially to prevent the other portraits from reading his lips.
"Again, we only heard whispers of it, but it was called 'le plafond de verre'," his answered from behind his hand, his voice low, and she copied him, placing a hand over her mouth.
"le plaf- the glass ceiling?" she asked, and just then she heard voices and footsteps coming from the other end of the hall, she turned her head towards the noise, to see who it was, but Minister Leach hissed at her.
"Go, before anyone sees you speaking to me, and be careful."
She nodded frantically, cancelling the ward and disillusioning herself, she sneaked away back to the lifts, and it was only when she was back in the semi-populated atrium that she felt her heart rate slow, she carefully went over the conversation in her head. It all sounded ominous and very dangerous, but if she got to the centre of it all, things would be better, surely? Or they could start to, at least. She gulped, grabbing a handful of floo powder and making her way home, mind reeling.
What had she gotten herself into?
What was 'The Glass Ceiling'?
End Book One
Authors Note: To be honest, after the trouble of trying to upload that last chapter, I almost didn't want to update again on this platform, but I figured I may as well since I've gotten this far already.
This is the end of the first book, as this is the first in a series of three stories, all ranging at about 30 chapters each (or that's the plan, trying to write with school and work has certainly slowed me down)
The next story is titled 'Le Plafond de Verre' but because ffnet is as tedious as it is (it's uploading and sorting system being nowhere near as clean as ao3, not to mention it gives no options to link stories into a series, as ao3 allows) I won't be posting the sequel story as it's own standalone fic, instead I'm just going to keep adding it's chapters to this one, so by the time I finally finish it all, this will likely be around 90 chapters.
Anyway, so far I hope you've enjoyed the first installation of the series. Kudos to you for making it this far, considering I haven't written anything to this magnitude ever in my life. This story started off as a brainworm to write a Tom RiddlexHermione Granger story with efforts to be as inclusive and diverse as possible, because I, personally, find the HP fandom to be direly lacking in it (no hate though, fandom is an escape for everyone in their own ways).
So yeah, I'm about 15 chapters already finished into the sequel, and I will try to upload regularly, however, again, school and work cause me to forget very easily, but I hope you continue to read and enjoy what I write as I do update, as well, I hope you all staying safe during this shitty pandemic.
