Voldemort was feeling rather...lonely tonight. He was sitting in his study as he usually did, enjoying a good book by the fire, as it was a rather cold January. However, he was not joined by his companion of the past month, Hermione, and it had left the room feeling rather lifeless and hollow.
Usually, after dinner, Hermione would join him in his study. First it has started out as a series of theory questions, but soon, he just expected the girl to follow him, and join him, reading her own book. They occasionally had a friendly debate about magic and it's uses and although she sometimes disappointed him with her continued devotion to an odd morality, he found that they were agreeing more and more.
She would sometimes talk to the child which rested in her eight-months pregnant belly. A curious habit at first, but once she told him that the child could hear her, he found it quite endearing. They sometimes listened to light classical music, as that was supposed to be good for his heir as well. Voldemort had never attempted to talk to the child himself, feeling as if that would cross some line that he was not prepared for.
Voldemort had been quite pleased with Hermione's progress since her return from India. She had been much more receptive to Bellatrix's training. He was sure it was something to do with the Daboia's warning about others wanting to harm her child. It was only natural that she should have some maternal instinct that fueled her to protect, no matter what.
Their discussions had also helped. He simply had showed her that despite the fact that she was only using so called light spells, but using them for devious purposes, she was in effect still using dark magic. "Again, there is no light or dark magic, Hermione. There is power, and those too weak to use it to their advantage. If someone were harming our son you would want to do whatever it took to prevent his harm, correct?"
Hermione had reluctantly agreed.
But Hermione had also opened his mind, to his chagrin. They had talked at length about the position of muggleborns in the wizarding world. Voldemort scoffed. He couldn't believe that he was even thinking about them as muggleborns. He supposed it came with the territory of having one for a wife.
Hermione thought that a complete overhaul of the educational system was necessary, and he couldn't agree more. She thought that by introducing muggleborns at a younger age, like five, to the magical system, they would be better integrated into society. And she pointed out that anyone with brains would recognize that muggleborns don't actually steal magic, like the Ministry was claiming.
And she did have a point about the muggleborns not necessarily being beneath all purebloods. She was definitely more of a witch than Crabbe and Goyle combined. And as she pointed out, their son was more muddy than pure, a fact that had him bristling for a time, before he realized what it meant. Their child would be blessed with a raw, natural talent, and Voldemort was sure he would excel in everything. Perhaps skill, power was better than simply blood, lineage.
Tonight, however, his study was empty of their pleasant and good natured debates. Hermione had been sequestered all day in the basement of this home, with Snape, working on the very difficult part of the restorative potion. She had been spending hours a day with him, but today's portion took ten hours of constant stirring. The house elves even had brought the pair's meals downstairs.
But, she wasn't still hard at work on the potion. Severus had dismissed her once it had reached the time that it would be left to simmer. Hermione was now upstairs in her bedroom, likely exhausted. It was wrong of him to expect her to put aside her need - and their child's need - for rest, but he couldn't deny that he was disappointed that she hadn't even stopped by to see him.
When he could stand the loneliness, his neediness, no longer, he decided to head upstairs anyway to see her, wondering when he'd been reduced to this. Voldemort determined to make it worth her while. He had been exceptionally pleased with her lately, and she deserved a present.
After he had made the long trip up the stairs, he found Hermione laying on her bed, talking to Thor, who was enjoying a large bone on the foot of her bed. He could tell that that wolf was a good familiar to her, and he made a note to mention his pleasure to Fenrir.
"Please Thor, I would give you three steaks a day if you would just rub my feet for a little bit," she said with a groan. Hermione giggled as the large wolf put cocked his head in confusion, removing the bone from his mouth, and giving one of her feet a big, long lick. "Sorry, I don't think that qualifies as a foot rub," Hermione told him, looking over her large stomach to see the wolf.
Voldemort cleared his throat.
"Oh, Voldemort. I didn't hear you come in," she said, sitting up slightly, a blush staining her cheeks. She wasn't changed into her pajamas yet, but she was too tired to bother. "Can I help you with something?" she asked.
He hesitated in the doorway for a moment, before entering the room and shutting the door behind him. Voldemort came to sit on the edge of her bed, by her feet. Giving the wolf a firm look, he watched as Thor seemed to get the gist, pick up his bone and vacate the bed in exchange for the rug in front of the fire. "Well, I have been quite happy with your academic progress recently," he said casually, watching as her face brightened from the praise. "And I decided you deserve a present."
Hermione definitely sat up after hearing that, her heartbeat quickening, lips parting. Ever since she'd moved in with the Death Eaters, she'd been finding it harder and harder to separate her Tom and the Dark Lord, and she found that she didn't care. She wanted more with him, and she hoped that he was offering. She was sick of the kissing and the light caresses, if she was lucky. She bit her lip unconsciously, looking at the man she loved with heated eyes. "Oh?" she asked innocently, her pupils dilating in desire.
Voldemort reached into his pocket and pulled something out. To her surprise, and secretly, her disappointment, Hermione found that he was actually giving her Slytherin's locket. He passed her the weighty emerald locket and, once it was firmly in her hand, Hermione couldn't help but let out a sigh.
"You don't like it?" Voldemort asked, feeling anger coming over him.
"No, I love it!" Hermione said quickly, her brown eyes searching his face. "I am so happy that you would give me a family heirloom. It's just...I thought...I thought that you might be interested in having sex with me, as a reward for all of my hard work," Hermione said forcefully. She had decided that there was no point in being shy about what she wanted; her desire was so intense that she couldn't hold it back.
HIs eyes darted away from her and she watched as his Adam's apple bobbed up and down while he searched for the words. "I, didn't think that you would want to...be with me, in this body," Voldemort finally told her quietly. "As much as you would like to imagine, I am not the boy you remember. I am not Tom." He was unsure why he was sharing this insecurity with her.
"Voldemort," she said calmly, before reaching out to grab his hand. "Harry told me that you told him...in the Chamber of Secrets that Voldemort was your past, present and future. Tom Riddle is also a part of you, a part of you that you can't erase."
He scoffed at her. "What you remember from your time in the Diary never actually happened, Hermione," he said with a sneer. "You were never physically with Tom. And I am not naive. I know that my looks had great appeal when I was younger, and...they do not hold the same appeal now."
"Yes, but you are still Tom. You will always be Tom to me. I don't care what you look like, or that might act a little bit differently," Hermione said ardently, willing him to believe her. "Although it seemed like Tom to me at the time, it was still you who interacted with me in the Diary! I know that by your own admission. And...you will always be my Tom." Hermione told him this with such sincerity. Her eyes were shining with adoration for him, although he didn't understand it.
He stared at her as if she was something precious, his heart constricting in some foreign way. Making up his mind, Voldemort decided that he would not reject her if this is what she wanted. Leaning forward, he slanted his mouth against her lips in a longing kiss. Although he didn't want to admit it, he had his own hormones that raced through his body every time he saw Hermione. He was still just a man and her neediness was always an aphrodisiac to him. And really, the only thing holding him back was the thought that she didn't want him. The real him.
She returned his kiss with enthusiasm, quickly using her tongue to beg entrance into his mouth, her arms wrapping around his shoulders. Taking full control of the situation, Hermione kneeled on the bed, before slowly pushing him back so that their bodies were next to one another.
When Hermione could no longer breathe, she pulled her mouth away from his, pulling her hair over one shoulder, revealing her pale skin to his eyes, unblemished. She reached for her wand on the nightstand, before locking the door with a flick of her wrist, the click of the lock deafening in the silent room.
"You have been practicing," Voldemort stated, sounding proud. The feeling of a silencing spell settled over the room next. She had been quite insistent on learning non-verbal magic, and some day in the future, wandless magic, and he'd been only too happy to oblige, explaining the theory, but leaving her to practice on her own.
Hermione gave him a devious sort of smile, before pulling her shirt up over her head. "Yes, and now there is no way you will escape my clutches," she teased.
Voldemort was unused to this kind of playfulness, especially when it was sexual in nature, but he found he couldn't care when his...wife revealed her creamy breasts to his view, her pink nipples hard with desire. She was just as beautiful as he remembered. Snapping out of his thoughts, Voldemort followed suit, slipping out of his clothes, until they were both naked together.
This hadn't happened since they were in Turkey. On their honeymoon.
With that thought, Voldemort took control of the situation. He kissed Hermione again, his lips slowly trailing kisses down the side of her neck to place hungry, open-mouthed kisses on her collarbone which left her shivering. To add to her pleasure, Voldemort gently palmed her breast, pinching at the nipple every now and again, leaving her gasping.
Hermione spent her time learning her body. Her hands smoothed up and down the planes of his chest, and judging from the noises she was making, she was not disappointed in Voldemort's form. Although it was not Tom's body, the essential bits were the same. He reminded her of a statue, pure muscle, pale and hard. She was so enjoying all of the attention that he was lavishing on her, but that did not mean she couldn't reciprocate. She reached down between their bodies, grasping onto his hardness, letting her hand glide up and down his shaft.
She felt him tense and make a quiet noise of what she assumed was pleasure, because next thing she knew, he was kissing her full on the lips, and was settled between her legs, his cock nestled firmly against her. "I'm sorry, I can't wait anymore," he said, looking at her significantly for a bit.
When she did not object, he pushed forward, inside her. Hermione wasn't sure more to be shocked about - him entering her and the white hot pleasure that accompanied it, or the fact that he apologized. In the next second, she found that she couldn't be bothered to care, as he began thrusting insistently, an intense push pull of their bodies. Oh, it felt so wonderful - her body was singing in pleasure in a way that it hadn't since Constantinople. She felt so full and so...delicious. She was sure to tell him how much she was enjoying it as well, her voice making unstoppable little moans, which she could feel him reacting to.
As he rhythmically moved against her, again and again, he coaxed her body nearer to orgasm, winding her up, tighter and tighter. She could feel the ache in her core coiling up, feeling so good it nearly hurt with the intensity of the moment. It had been so long for them both that it wasn't long before they were both tumbling over the edge of climax together, Hermione clutching onto Voldemort, her nails digging into his shoulders.
He stilled, his body weight on top of her, anchoring them together, while he caught his breath. She wasn't sure why, but the moment of vulnerability made her heart ache for him. She smiled when she felt him sigh in content, and then place a gentle kiss on her forehead. Reluctantly, Voldemort removed himself from Hermione, rolling over to rest beside her, breathing slowly to regain his heartbeat.
He was shocked when he felt Hermione rest her head against his chest and wrap her arm and leg around his body, coiled around him as if she were a snake. He was completely unused to this kind of contact, especially in the nude, but he found that he thoroughly enjoyed it, although if pressed, he would deny it.
When she had finally recovered, Hermione sat up slightly, placing a hand on her stomach. She was so excited for Evan to finally join the world, but at the same time, she hoped the day would never come, because she knew that it would mean there was nothing halting the progress of the potion.
"Voldemort...would you please, reconsider about the potion?" she asked, her voice sounding small. Nothing like the confident tone she'd used before.
Voldemort was suddenly overcome with ire. "Why would you ask me that? Do you want my soul to be destroyed by Dumbledore?" he seethed, all good feelings forged evaporating in an instant.
"No! Of course not!" Hermione argued back. "It's just that, I know about the consequences of blood magic, and..." Hermione could feel the tears welling up in her eyes, voicing something that she hadn't realized she'd been feeling the whole time. "I just, I don't want to lose you. Please, just think about the possibility of repairing your soul using remorse."
"I don't feel remorse for the people I've killed," he answered, savagely, as if he were trying to hurt her with his brutal honesty. As if he were trying to push her away, force her to face the man that he truly was. "They all deserved it."
"But..." Hermione trailed off, thinking it over. She couldn't imagine what Myrtle or Hepzibah Smith had done to deserve murder, but she didn't trust herself to ask him. "But what about Evan...what about me? What will happen to us if it doesn't work?"
He had to look away from her tearful eyes, unable to face the truth that he was hurting her. "Believe me, Hermione, the potion will work. I know it will," Voldemort said, thinking about getting up and leaving the room, but the idea of spending the night snuggled - yes snuggled! - against Hermione's warm body was too much of a treat to pass up.
Hermione laid back down beside him, pulling the covers up over her now chilled body. She put her head up against his chest again. "Yes, but at what cost?" she asked him quietly, always needing to get in the last word.
He didn't respond to her quiet question because he didn't know the answer absolutely. Hermione wasn't expecting an answer from the usually stoic man either. She knew that tonight was the most affection and human contact she had received from Voldemort in a long time, but she also knew that she shouldn't push him if she wanted it to continue.
She knew that with him there would be no declarations of love, and romance would be given in his own way. In their own way. Because if she was honest, Hermione would prefer a special book over roses any day. They were so suited for each other and that was why she was scared. Because she didn't, couldn't lose her other half.