All: Just a beta-update. Sorry. I guess chapter 19 will come in two or three weeks. Till then...
Beta: Dark Empress V –kiss-
Chapter 17: Therapy success?
People like Hermione Granger are sometimes ridiculed as do-gooders, mostly by those who tend towards egoism. However, this mockery is not entirely unfounded , because the young Gryffindor always did try to fight all injustice and help solve problems.
For the past several months, the latest victim of Hermione's philanthropy was none other than Lord Voldemort. She was on a mission to find the human being behind the monster.
This undertaking could be justified, in Hermione's opinion, with four assumptions:
Firstly: No human being is ever one hundred percent evil. Men and women always possess both positive and negative qualities.
Secondly: In the case of Lord Voldemort, one has to look very thoroughly to find any positive qualities. The circumstances must be extraordinarily favourable.
Thirdly: Taking into account his origins and the unhappy childhood associated with it, one must allow for the possibility of a mental disorder which had contributed to his transformation into an unscrupulous beast. Therefore, if he is indeed ill, then a cure, or at least therapy, is possible.
These first three points build the foundation of the fourth assumption: If there exists a "therapy" that would make Tom Riddle more human, then maybe there is also a chance to make him see the enormity of the evil he had done.
No one can bring the dead back to life again. No one can heal the pain of the victims. But maybe some self-knowledge and remorse could at least become a kind of comfort, or justice, maybe even a form of redress to his victims.
After Hermione had gone through numerous psychology books in her usually thorough fashion, she came to the assumption that her fosterling suffered not only from an inferiority complex, for which he tried to compensate with megalomania, but probably also from severe Muggle-phobia.
His hatred towards „mudbloods" was the logical result of his antipathy towards muggles.
On numerous occasions, she had tried to make him aware of these disorders through "therapy talks", but so far they hadn't been particularly successful. Something more was necessary.
The behavioural therapy sometimes uses desensitization as a way of curing phobias. Targeted, controlled confrontations with fear to reveal its foolishness to the subject.
That was Hermione's latest plan - to bombard Tom Marvolo Riddle with as many positive things about Muggles as possible till he had to admit that not everything about them was dumb and bad.
In order to give the trick a chance to work, Hermione compiled a list of things from the Muggle world that a) might be compelling to a man, and b) would be possible to demonstrate at all.
Take riding a motorcycle, for example. Seems like a great idea….but impossible, because he was locked up in this cell. Same problem with playing soccer.
Hermione would also loved to play with Playstation or show him the Internet, but because of all the magic accumulated around St Mungo´s, Muggle technology wouldn't work there. Pity… but she told him about it. Unfortunately, watching TV was out too.
So in order to compensate for these inconveniences, Hermione "amused" her surprisingly none-too-enthusiastic patient with reports about the latest dramatic developments in her favourite soap-opera, which she watched with avid interest in a muggle pub after work.
Since Hermione had no money to buy expensive robes for him at Madam Malkins, he had to make do with the Muggle clothes she brought him. They were a colourful composition of special offers and flea market finds and so it wasn't a surprise that his enthusiasm at seeing them was rather contained. But since he knew that the only alternative was to go naked..
Music wasn't bad too. In her former life, that is, in the time before she knew about her magical powers, the young Gryffindor had been taking guitar-lessons. She still had her old guitar. After a very pleasant but admittedly a little half-hearted visit to her parents, she brought the guitar temporarily to England. Even better - lo and behold, she still was able to play it!
Wasn't music therapy a recognized psychological treatment in the Muggle world? She really loved this idea. She still remembered how to play several songs. "Candle in the wind" had always been one of her favourites.
Allright, so her „Lord" didn't say anything directly, but it couldn't be a coincidence that the cat peed on her guitar right after she ended her performance. Of course, her prisoner denied any responsibility for that unfortunate accident; after all, cats tended to mark their territory.. But the malicious glint that appeared in his eye when Hermione was putting the guitar away with disgust spoke for itself.
Since Hermione did not want to give up her idea of music therapy, she decided to reconsider her genre choices. She brought along Ron's wooden radio, and tuned in to "Sweeney Todd". The tale of a vindictive barber who killed his costumers. Hemione was sure her patient would love that. Strangely enough, he called it disgusting, but he bore it rather well.
Hermione, however, already had a new, ingenious (in her opinion) idea. Since she had started to take care of him, his meals consisted of sandwiches, fruit, pumpkin juice, milk, and mineral water. Even though he didn't admit it, she noticed how sick he was of all this.
Even so, the dark Lord did not seem to be in the slightest inclined to accept her alternative offer.
"And what is this?!" he snarled at her threateningly, taking a few steps away from Hermione, who was leaning over his bed with a grin, waving a bulging paper bag cheerfully.
„YOU wanted to eat something else. So here you go. Try it." exclaimed Hermione confidently, towering over her patient, who seemed to draw back even further away. The young girl lurked with the left hand, her right arm raised high as if she was the Statue of Liberty and holding a torch, not a McDonald's bag.
The whole room was filled with the heavy, pervasive smell of fries and roasted meat. The small cellar windows could only be left ajar and never fully opened. Furthermore, they were approximately the size of a shoe box, so they did not let too much fresh air into the room. Consequently, the place smelled like an exceptionally large deep-fry pan.
That did not seem to bother Hermione, who continued to beam at him. "Oh, just try it. I brought something else for the cat. But what I got for you here is really tasty."
"I don't eat Muggle food." he almost choked, obviously nauseated. "Take it away, throw it out, and bring me something else." thundered the commanding voice of the Dark Lord while his white, outstretched arm pointed at the bag as if he would sentence the poor thing to death.
The mood-flower radiated a pleasant but threatening azure blue.
„I´m sorry. No can do. I'm completely broke. Today is Saturday and I won't get my salary until Monday. So either you eat that" she lifted the bag again "or nothing. I don't have anything else and I don't have any money to buy you something new."
That sounded almost honest. Hermione was deeply proud of her new idea. McDonalds… well, if that wasn't a typical Muggle food, what was? And he reacted exactly the way she had thought he would.
She hopped backwards onto the bed, placed the bag next to her and patted the mattress next to her to demand him to sit down.
And he did indeed approach her - hands crossed behind his back, his lower jaw rigid with disgust, his nose wrinkled and his gleaming red eyes narrowed to tiny slits.
Actually, he looked as if he would rather eat Hermione than the contents of the bag. He definietly seemed ready to bite her head off.
Normally it would have intimidated her, but a few details prevented that. The first one was that she new him well enough to know that the idea of an entire weekend without food would eventually make him give in. Then there was the way he was dressed. It was August and the room was terribly hot, so he just wore black boxers and a thin, black shirt. One of Hermione's cheap clothes combinations. And even though he'd gained weighted recently, the clothes were still too large. His smooth, pearly skin seemed even paler contrasted with the black clothes, so he looked like a tall, white skeleton dressed in black. Tough luck, but looking like that, he didn't seem frightening at all.
In order to lend more dignity to his appearance, he attempted to look majestic. His back straight as if he had just swallowed a stick, he slowly sat on the bed next to Hermione.
Full of distrust, he looked at the offensive bag emitting such an unfamiliar smell.
"There you go. That's it." Hermione triumphed over the hungry Heir of Slytherin. Then, before his vengeance could reach her, she jumped from the bed and walked over to the trolley to fetch the two milk-shakes she'd also brought along.
"So, I have vanilla and chocolate. But, of course, you don't like vanilla anymore." She said with a friendly wink as she pressed the chocolate shake into his hand.
But somehow, even that did not seem to stir up any enthusiasm in him.
"It stinks miserably. Disgusting, like everything else about Muggles." He hissed irritably, and his red eyes gleamed purple in the dark-blue light of the mood-flower.
"Eat or die" crowed Hermione, certain of her victory, and plopped down into the chair behind her. She leaned back and placed her small, naked feet on his bed.
The innocent bag still lay next to him, smelling enticingly and waiting to be opened.
The battle was won. The Heir of Slytherin grabbed the overflowing bag, reached inside, pulled out an oversized burger and unwrapped it reluctantly. Judging from his look, she might as well have asked him to eat the contents of a freshly filled diaper.
Hermione snatched her own bag which lay on the floor beside her chair, unpacked a burger and began to eat. Her body shook with barely suppressed giggles. She tried really hard, but he simply looked too funny eyeing his meal with such mistrust.
Murderous glares hit Hermione, but she continued to eat unperturbed. Now there was no escape. Tom Riddle sighed resignedly, yielded to his fate and bit into the triple-burger.
SPLAT! Suddenly, he was only holding the roll in his hands while its contents –meat, vegetables and cheese - lay splattered all over his lap.
„That's disgusting. Clean it up, immediately!" he yelled at her furiously, searching for something to wipe his hands, a disgusted expression on his face. One flick of her wand and everything that had slipped out found its way back into the burger.
He tried again…and the contents landed on the bed. The third attempt would have sent them to the floor if Hermione's Levitation Charm hadn't caught them just in time. It cost her a lot of effort to suppress a violent fit of laughter.
"Come on, I'll help you. I´ll do that." She rose from her comfortable chair with a groan and placed herself in front of her patient. She showed him how he had do hold his fingers and put her own fingers on the roll too to secure it. Now he finally managed to bite into his burger. Growling in annoyance, he shoved her aside because he was now able to do it alone.
The hunger left him no other choice. All she had brought aside from the fast food was some fruit, and he would have to keep it for Sunday. But the bag was pretty full of different kinds of burgers and fries. Since in the end the bag was empty, the food probably didn't taste as bad as he had feared.
There now, Hermione thought with satisfaction. I'll get you some Chinese on Monday.
And there was plenty of fast food cuisine from many different nations in London. They had a lot to look forward to in that regard.
Filled with pride at her accomplishment, Hermione savoured the rest of her meal. But she still had another surprise for him.
Hermione smiled mysteriously as she sat herself next to her ward on the bed. "I've got something else for you."
Immediately suspicious, Voldemort placed a little more distance between himself and his young benefactress.
„What is it?" he asked, visibly tense, remembering all of Hermione's previous surprises.
She started giggling in great anticipation, sat on her heels and waved her beaded bag in front of his face. But then her movements became slower, and she bent over the bag as if she wanted to hide what she was about to pull out. She opened the bag slowly, almost with relish, and winked at her patient as she pulled out a book with a sweeping movement. She presented it to him with flourish, holding it out in both hands, beaming.
„Oh." A sigh escaped from Voldemort's mouth, who looked as if his worst fears had been confirmed. "A book again. The same sort as the last time?"
Hermione's smile faltered and a slightly pink flush covered her cheeks, turning into a deep red at her ears.
„No, it's something else." She muttered embarrassed and laid the book in her lap.
Ah yes, the last time. Last week she'd also brought a book for him. Of course, she did it more often than just those two times. After all, she wanted to make good use of her Muggle library card. So far, she had been bringing him the classic works of famous Muggle authors. Even though he hadn't looked enthusiastic about these books, it seemed that he read them. Well, at least she had caught him with his nose buried in one of the books more than once as she entered the room to begin her work.
After all, days were long, and he had to do something… So she had come up with the idea of using this need of his for therapeutic purposes. Last week, with her pedagogical goals firmly in mind, she had chosen another famous book.
Oliver Twist.
A novel about a poor, orphaned boy who had to grow up in a London orphanage, then got mixed up with the wrong crowd but managed not to be corrupted and finally found his way back to the light side.
Unfortunately he'd already heard about that book. It was a long time since she'd seen him really angry, but then….well, it's enough to mention that the whole room had turned the deepest shade of blue from the mood flower. Every blue light would have been envious.
Now, book in hand, Hermione crawled closer to her fosterling who backed away with his snake-like nose wrinkled. All for naught. Hermione was right beside him and her knees slipped down over the edge of the bed so that now their legs dangled next to each other. Gathering her courage again, she winked at Voldemort. "No, no more books about poor orphans. This is something completly different. Take a look." And without waiting for an answer, she jerked her hip and threw the book onto his lap.
Full of distrust, he eyed the black, ancient looking, leather-bound book. Then he dared to touch it, lifted it carefully and began to examine it from all sides. Title and the author's name were engraved on the book cover, also in black, so they weren't that easy to notice at first sight.
When he finally saw the letters, Voldemort knitted his „eyebrows" and muttered „Marquis de Sade." Perplexed, he raised his head and glanced at her for explanation. "Who is that? What is the book about?"
Hermione wasn't able to repress a girlish giggle, threw her bushy hair over her shoulder and murmured conspiratorially. "That" still giggling, she pointed at the black book, which looked almost weird in Voldemort's white hands. "That´s Marquis de Sade."
„Yes, I can see that for myself." He replied irritably. "But what did he write about?"
Hermione flushed even deeper than before, and covered her mouth with her hand as if she didn't want to be seen saying the things she would have to tell him now.
"The Marquis de Sade lived in 19th century France. He wrote some philosophy books, among other things. But that" - now she had to avert her gaze from his red eyes. "Well, that´s „Justine". It contains very detailed.. Um, very detailed descriptions of.. of sadomasochistic sex scenes. And I thought .. Well, you are Lord Voldemort. And you know, just this association … the Dark Lord – Marquise de Sade." A shy glance at him told her that the Dark Lord was starting to doubt her sanity yet again. She hurried to explain her choice further. "And you´re a man. And well…." An embarrased cough broke her nervous stammering. „Erm, yeah…and I thought... You´re here all alone for months. And you hadn't… and you couldn't…" Hermione's ears got more and more red with each word. "And if men cannot… for such a long time, they'll surely get frustrated, won't they? And so I thought… something sadomasochistic, written by someone famous... I thought.. you would like that."
Voldemorts facial expression, almost fearful a moment ago, now changed slowly. His eyes widened, his already narrow lips became an almost invisible slit and he clicked his tongue audibly. Then he lifted the book again and seemed to want to make sure that what he'd just heard wasn't a sign of his own mental illness. He cleared his throat, pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose for a moment and looked at Hermione, who was so tense with anticipation of his verdict that she'd clenched her hands into fists.
"So" he said in a calm, thoughtful voice "You brought me this book because the author's name reminded you of what I am. Correct?" Hermione pressed her lips together, her eyes darting left and right uncertainly, but finally she managed a tense nod.
Voldemort sighed again, flipped the book open and put his finger on the first page. "And you are also of the opinion that I get aroused by sadistic phonography. Moreover, you think I am sexually frustrated and you would like me to.. let us say..alleviate that feeling with the help of this book?" he questioned with an unfathomable expression.
Uncertain about how she should interpret his reaction, Hermione could just shrug helplessly and nod. But when he said it like that, it all sounded rather silly.
His bony, white hand was pressed to his nearly lipless mouth. Hermione had the impression that he was trying to stop himself from laughing.
Instead, his large hand suddenly flew away from his face and patted her on the knee in a good-natured manner. It lifted slightly as if he wanted to pull back, but then it was lowered again onto Hermione's naked leg and remained there with a slight pressure.
He hesitated. His pale tongue slid over his thin lips in an almost nervous movement. His breath, steady and calm just a moments ago, now seemed to quicken and grow slightly louder, as if about to erupt into an almost indecent gasp.
The hand on her thigh seemed to tremble ever so slightly and pause, perhaps waiting for resistance. It did not come. Hermione felt a bit unsettled and yet, she did not move. She waited to see what he would do if she did not stop him. It wasn't the first moment like this between them, nor the first touch.
What would happen if she played along? If she moved her legs just a little further apart and her thighs touched his? She knew he was watching her from the corner of his eye. What if she yielded to the tingling on her skin, closed her eyes and indicated that it wasn't forbidden to take this indecent little game further..?
It wasn't much, at least not at first glance. But upon a closer look one could see the straying white finger stroke her thigh slowly and, as the leg moved a little closer, bury itself gently in the hollow of the young woman's knee while a slightly hesitant hand slid to the inside of her thigh and clawed more insistently at the warm flesh.
Maybe she could do a little more.. The hand with which she used to support herself lifted, and tender fingertips brushed the black fabric of his shirt. It was almost imperceptible, she was barely touching him, but the moment it happened, his whole body seized as if an electric shock had gone through it. He arched his back, his body stiffened and shivered as Hermione ran her fingertips a little less gently upwards along his spine until they slid off his shirt, touched the white skin and made slow, circling movements over the back of his neck.
She felt burning in her fingertips, her hand, her arm.. The heat spread itself through her shoulder into her chest until her whole body pulsed.. The hand on her thigh was about to slip under the skirt of her dress.
But at that exact moment he regained control. His hand withdrew abruptly and clutched at Marquis de Sade's book in a way that seemed almost defensive. "That was most considerate of you. Very well, I´ll read it."
Hermione's hand was back in her lap.
Well, it had gone much better than she'd expected. Maybe erotic books could really "help" him..
Hermione's skin still remembered his touch from a few days ago This gesture had been impossible to misinterpret. And so was the way he had touched her today. Weren't his intentions obvious? Hermione was much too proud and too embarrassed to admit that the reason she hadn't resisted was because... she had enjoyed it.
No, I definitely cannot think of him as my child, Hermione admitted to herself in her thoughts.
Encouraged by the almost companionable silence, she asked „Have you ever had a wife or a girlfriend?"
He stood up, shaking his head. He put the book on the bedside table bed and walked to the opposite end of the room. "No." his tall figure turned towards her as he stopped next to the window. He crossed his arms, leaned against the wall and shook his head again, more decisively "I already told you. I get no pleasure from these things. Love…" he scoffed, disgusted. „A pitiful excuse used by the weak to justify their helplessness. They are meaningless and all they can hope for is that their miserable lives won't be completely redundant or that they can blame someone else for their own mediocrity." He gave Hermione a contemptuous glance.
No matter how friendly he seemed sometimes, he still despised her and everything she stood for. These glances still hurt her because they showed how very far she was from achieving her goal. The only reason he listened to her was because he was bored. He was as cold and as heartless as ever.
But Hermione wasn't ready to give up just yet. "How can you be so certain if you've never tried it?! Listen!" Hermione crossed her legs, lifted a finger and tried to explain her reasoning to this defiant "child", who was now at least looking at her again. Even though the gaze dripped with contempt.
"Yet again you are rejecting things you know nothing about." She moralized fervently. "How can you know that you wouldn't like it, if you never even tried to have a deeper relationship with someone?" she pointed at herself now, coming up to him, her head high and her voice full of conviction. "I've known Ron since my first days in Hogwarts. He's my first real boyfriend and I think I'm going to marry him some day. In fact, I'm sure of it. Am I weak because I dare to enjoy what he can offer to me? Closeness, intimacy, security… You know nothing about these things."
Voldemort had had decades of practise in contemptuous rejection of all arguments advocating the value of morals and friendship.
His eyes narrowed, and his relaxed posture suddenly became tense as his long white fingers clawed into his crossed arms. The mood-flower started to shine blue again and his breathing grew heavier. He towered over her threateningly, waiting for her to go too far.
But Hermione wouldn't have been herself if she hadn't told him anyway what she considered to be morally valuable. "Everyone wants these things. You're lying to yourself if you contradict that. But perhaps that's the point." Hermione tilted her head and began to twist a lock of her hair on her finger thoughtfully. "It's like a pattern. You don't even want to be human. You think that by rejecting everything human you become stronger. But you are wrong. You just make yourself weak by denying yourself true happiness and you don't even see it."
Suddenly, amusement replaced anger on the snakelike face. Obviously he'd just come up with a new idea to dismiss Hermione's beliefs as misconceptions.
"You and your friends, haven't you adored that old fool, Dumbledore? But didn't he also die alone?" he asked with satisfaction. His gaunt figure passed Hermione, he turned on his heels and walked to the other end of the room. Then he started pacing, recounting his arguments angrily.
He could never keep himself still while talking about Dumbledore. The hatred that surged up within him was too intense to let him stay in one place. Even in death, Dumbledore managed to make him lose control to his wrath and envy.
Yet, it did not keep him from continuing his contemptuous speech. "He knew very well that love stood in the way of higher aims. But of course, he wouldn't say that to you children. He and his love… his secret weapon…. But love didn't protect him from my curses in the end, did it?"
He threw her a disdainful glance over his shoulder, and waved his hand at her mockingly. She understood the gesture instantly. An allusion to Marvolo Gaunt's cursed ring, which would have killed Dumbledore anyway if Snape or Draco had failed.
Even though he hadn't killed Dumbledore with his own hands, he was still responsible for the Headmaster's death.
Suddenly, rage flamed up in Hermione. Yet again, he was demonstrating his alleged superiority. The great Dark Lord, who felt nothing but amusement and pride with regard to his despicable actions. If he managed to even remember them, of course.
Perhaps it was childish, but she wanted to hurt him as badly as possible in return. "Maybe you're just making the most of your abilities. Dumbledore always did say that you were unable to love." Hermione's sneering gaze travelled lower and lower until it stopped below his abdomen, her expression hardly ambiguous. „Well, it seems that my assumptions have been correct. You clearly haven't.. risen up to the occasion more than once."
He understood her sarcastic taunt perfectly. He slid towards her in a fluid, snake-like movement, stopped abruptly and towered over her, his expression threatening.
Slightly awkward, but still defiant, Hermione changed her position and pushed herself upwards to meet his eyes levelly. Her voice dripping with false compassion, she patted his cheek insolently. "You poor dear. How long has it been since you were able to manage it?"
Her hand was slapped away furiously, like a bothersome insect. He glared at her with murderous hatred. His hand was still raised, frozen in an undefined movement, as if he was still considering whether he was going to hit her or not.
Hermione's hand disappeared into the folds of her cloak and emerged holding a wand, which she pressed warningly against his throat. She'd learned a lot from him. Threatening glances and gestures… One could express so much without words..
Unsurprisingly, he still didn't seem intimidated, but instead started to laugh at her in obvious amusement. "You silly girl." In an expression of utmost contempt, his forefinger touched her forehead with what might have been mistaken for tenderness "Don't be so stupid as to think you would stand a chance."
Images from the day he had tried to wrest the wand from her flashed through her mind again. Healed up wounds flared with pain again. He couldn't defeat her with a wand, but he was still able to knock her down. And he sent her these pictures on purpose to tantalise and discourage her.
An icy, invisible hand clutched at her throat as the flaming red eyes stared into hers. But she wouldn't admit defeat that easily. She broke the eye-contact and managed to push him out of her mind.
He summarised her efforts with a derisive nod, turned around and started pacing again. "And you are wrong, of course. I had a very satisfying sexual life before my captivity. Lots of women let me have my way with them." the Heir of Slytherin boasted. Then his voice lost its swagger and took on a more wistful tone. "I liked it. I liked sex and I had many different women." His eyes gazed off into the distance and took on that strange glint she´d noticed a few times before, every time he had spoken about his past.. Every time he remembered things he would never be able to do or have again.
„Did any of them do it voluntarily?" Hermione broke his nostalgic reverie harshly. She slipped off the bed quickly, certain she had gone too far. Better be prepared if he… but he did nothing. Hermione was rather confused as she noticed that her prisoner turned around and walked over to the window instead of punishing her. The rage in his face was replaced by emptiness. "You should go now. That's enough for today." She looked at his profile, and he appeared to be - was it possible..?- slightly flushed.
Keeping his eyes away from her, he walked over to the tub and extracted the curled up cat. He threw a brief glance in Hermione's direction, but finally brought himself to scratch the animal's ears and then pressed the freshly awoken, indignantly growling furball into the arms of his nurse.
She hated it when he sent her home like some silly schoolgirl, but then again, why should she stay with him any longer than necessary? Especially when his moods changed as fast as they did today. It was just a job, nothing private. Wasn't it?
Consumed by her thoughts, Hermione walked out onto the street and set out for the place from which she could apparate to the Leaky Cauldron.
Why had she been sent away? Why would he want to avoid this topic? Hermione was almost certain that he didn't feel embarrassed about his body (she'd seen him naked lots of times) nor about anything he had done with it. Still, he had sent her away even though she had been there just one and a half hour.
After all, her question had been foolish and unnecessary. Had she forgotten that she and her patient got along with each other best when she didn't delve too much into his past? Disgusted, she kept remembering the things he´d said.
He had often had sex? But with whom? Certainly not with one of his female Death-Eaters. He would have been much to paranoid to put his guard down with one of these powerful witches. Even though some of them would have only be too happy to be called to perform this particular task. Bellatrix Lestrange definietly would, in any case. But if a woman were to give herself to him voluntarily, perhaps multiple times.. That would have been much too close to emotions, that would have unsettled him. He definitely had no children, he'd probably made sure that something like that would never happen. In his life, there had never been a place or interest for children. They'd only have become his competition. Or worse, he might have actually liked them..
In the past, when he'd been young, he had probably invented flattering lies and created illusions to make these women want him. Later on, he might have considered it unnecessary. So…who was it? Victims, captives, just before they died… females he'd raped before the eyes of their fathers, brothers, sons or husbands, just to humiliate them? Perhaps…
Was Helen one of them? She´d never said a word that would indicate anything of the sort had ever happened. But maybe it was just luck or pure coincidence that prevented him from touching her. In any case, whoever his lovers had were… his sexual life had defiantly nothing to do with affection or voluntary intercourse..
Strangely enough, even when she confronted him with these actions, he didn't seem as proud or unapproachable as usual. One might think he wanted to avoid this topic. As if he didn't want to remember. Was it at all conceivable that he felt ashamed for some of his crimes?
There was another thing that made Hermione wonder. When he had caressed her, could there have been any doubt as to what he had had in mind? It hadn't been the first touch of that kind between them.. This forbidden game of implications and hints, covert gazes and gestures.. They had played it for quite a while. It almost gave her pleasure - this apparent hesitation of her.. suitor?
He, who had taken so many women by force was unsettled by.. lack of resistance?
Hermione played with dominance and power by remaining still for the shortest moments or responding to the softest breath of a touch. This game was dangerous, she knew. And yet the game never became reality.
If he was accustomed to getting whatever he wanted, why hadn't he just taken what he desired? If it hadn't seemed so absurd, she'd almost have thought his awkward "advances" could actually mean affection.
It would have been nice to believe he felt uncomfortable, even embarrassed about his earlier sexual life, that he might even have realized how repulsive the things he did were to others.. That he felt ashamed of having taken all these women against their will.
For a single, wonderful moment Hermione hoped that he didn't want to be a slave to his urges anymore. That he was willing to try other ways to get close to someone, without breaking the boundaries. Wouldn´t that mean Hermione's therapy was at least a little successful?
However, it was probably just her imagination.
Hermione was almost ashamed as she caught herself with a humiliating thought that since she was a "Mudblood" he might consider her unworthy to be even raped by him.
Her ears suddenly turned very red. Yet another thought she could never share with anyone else for the rest of her life. It was much too embarrassing to ever say aloud.
Great, now she felt offended because she hadn't been raped..
Hermione walked towards the Leaky Cauldron, consumed by her thoughts. She didn't notice the people around her, wasn't even aware that whenever she thought of her prisoner, her hand wandered to her neck, touching the place where he had caressed her.
Back in her room, Hermione's gaze fell onto a photo standing on her night table. A framed, black-and-white picture of her and Ron embracing each other, kissing over and over again.
Ron. She might be mistaken, but it seemed that the mood of her unpredictable friend had shifted from calm to aggressive the moment she told him how happy she was with Ron.
No, that couldn't be true. Hermione lifted Ron's picture and looked at her red-haired boyfriend with a tender smile.
Voldemort wasn't jealous of Ron, was he?