This piece was written for the Dark Lords Poison's March Madness Prompt Competition. In response to a prompt by OverlyInvestedFangirl in the March_Madness collection from AO3.
All canon characters, plots, dialogue, and situations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. I am not profiting from this work. Thank you to my beta Pamela RR for their work on this piece.
The way she half-smiled while gently placing the old tomes in their numbered spots made his skin tingle in a repulsive, yet pleasant way. The way she took her time to read the pages of a book she had yet to explore was maddening and sickly alluring. Watching her and being close to the young Mudblood had caused something to stir, something Voldemort thought was long dead. The only part of him that he would even allow to die. But...here he was yet again, wanting to be in the presence of this young woman he was supposed to detest. A habit created or perhaps a game created between them for the last year and a half.
He had no idea why he had let the young woman live after the war, but...here she was, surviving in a world he thought would be rid of the filthy creatures.
The memory of after the battle played in Voldemort's head: his victory over the Potter boy and the collection of prisoners he gained from the battle. He could recall perfectly the salivating tongues of his Death Eaters as Harry Potter's Mudblood was thrown to his feet. He listened as each follower of his inner circle argued why they should be the one to win the girl. How they would be able to make the girl pay for her disgusting existence. He remembered how he stared at her. He could even taste the fear that lingered in the air around her as each horrid word spilled from their mouths. Yes, she was afraid, battered, and dirty on the dust-covered floor. But that didn't stop the girl from meeting his eyes. It was only a brief moment as though daring him to choose his worst. But before he could say anything, a quiet yet demanding voice filled the room causing the other Death Eaters to stop their bickering.
Narcissa Malfoy, tired and battle-ridden but lovely all the same, stood with poise and confidence. Even after the death of her useless husband, she kept her composure like a good Pureblood.
"I want Hogwarts," she simply stated. "Severus is gone and so are a handful of the professors. I know if I'm headmistress I can return our school to its rightful glory."
He couldn't care less who ran Hogwarts. In fact, he didn't think about it even though they were still gathered in the old Great Hall. He had no reason to suspect deceit from Narcissa's request and so he agreed. She bowed and smiled, but like any true Slytherin, she stopped and lowered her eyes to the floor.
"I will also be taking the girl."
With that, Narcissa Malfoy turned her back and left the Great Hall with the control of a school and Harry Potter's Mudblood. Perhaps one day he thought he'd thank the Malfoy widow for her bold actions. She managed to rebuild Hogwarts and provide a life to someone who would have been killed and forgotten. But then again, perhaps not. He himself found the damn woman hard to forget! So, it is truly Narissa's fault why he finds himself here. Lurking in the shadows as though he were that young man of seventeen again. Hiding away from his fellow classmates to prevent any distraction as he studied. The subject being the only difference.
"Are you going to make an appearance or hide within the shadows all night?" Came her voice without turning to greet him. Voldemort straightened his shoulders before stepping out from his usual spot. He continued to watch Hermione reading the spines from her cart of books and placing them in their appropriate location.
"Your cheek is not appreciated, besides I was not lurking," he said, walking towards Hermione while internally admiring her overabundance of frizzy hair.
"I wasn't being cheeky, it was a simple question," she replied, finally turning around to meet the eyes of her visitor. "And besides I knew you were there. Your visits are like clockwork really. Every Friday and Saturday around 10 PM. You're more punctual than, well...me. It's quite impressive."
"Is that so?" He asked.
"It is," Hermione smiled.
"How amusing." He watched the girl raise a curious brow. "I'm the most powerful wizard in the world. I rule over the wizarding world and plan to extend my might to the Muggle world." Hermione's brow still did not falter. "After all my achievements, my punctuality is what impresses you?" This time, Hermione shrugged her shoulders.
"It's a good quality to have," she said, moving down the stacks to continue her work. It was these moments that irritated him the most. How can her nonchalant answers make him desire her even more?
"Do you have the information I told you to gather for me?" He asked, knowing full well that she no doubt had everything ready for him. He was sure one day she would figure out his motives. Always needing her to do some mundane task for him just so he had the excuse to visit Hogwarts.
"I do. I'm almost done here. I'll meet you at our table."
He sat waiting and slightly hating himself for doing so. Since when does he ever wait for anything? However, when he heard her approaching, he pushed that emotion deep within. His favorite part of the evening was about to occur.
"Here we are. I made sure to bookmark all the information I thought would be useful and colored-coded my notes to correspond with each topic." He was in complete bliss. This was what he looked forward to, the feeling of her leg touching his as she leaned in close to explain her work. The sensation of her floral scented hair ticking his face when she reached for a book he purposely moved away from her. "Do you want me?"
"Yes," he hissed. Suddenly all the sensations he felt dissolved. He only realized then that his eyes had been shut. "Why did you stop?" He turned to see Hermione with a slight frown on her face.
"You told me to," she replied. "I asked if you wanted me to stop. If you feel this information is not adequate, I'll try again. I wanted to make sure-" Her voice was cut off by the pressure of his lips pressed against hers. The familiar scent of her blanketed him with a warmth he had scarcely ever felt. But even through the wonderful uproar of feelings, his brain questioned why the woman did not push away. Was she mad? Was she enjoying his moment of weakness? Voldemort made himself slowly pull away, but the grip of his robes gathered within her hands kept him in place. "Don't," she whispered through her breaths. "Don't stop."
"He wasn't sure how to feel about her request. Two simple words that held such weight. Should he be shocked, disgusted, thrilled? He didn't care, he only knew to take the opportunity. An opportunity that had been in the making for months.
"Follow me," she whispered. And so he did, like the schoolboy he never wanted to be. She led him between the stacks hidden from the glow of the lanterns around them. She turned to face him and without any words, removed her clothing. His own robe followed not seconds after.
The smoothness of her skin against his own was indescribable and he took a minute to absorb that moment. The wetness of her mouth on his neck easily intensified his need for her. Quickly he lifted her body and pinned it against the hard wooden shelving. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his hips pulling him closer to her willing flesh. Their bodies molded to fit one another, a heated magic that made him feel youthful again.
That night seemed to be stretching longer with time, but he didn't care. All that mattered was the softness of Hermione in his arms and the quiet that filled the room. He knew this was bad, very bad indeed. But again, another fact that didn't matter. He was here and whatever occurred in the shadows was his and his alone.