WARNING: Some lemon, dub-con.
Chapter 24
Voldemort was not a happy man. He had left the previous night, only returning so the witches oath wouldn't wake her in the agony of an unfulfilled vow. Still, he was irate with the little hellion. Rather than confronting her then and there, he had paced for hours on end in the old Riddle house, taking in the scene of his first intentional murders. Certainly the weak such as his father would have been weeded in his new world. His mother, so weak to give a man love potion, would also have been eliminated by the old magics. How could Granger not see that weeding was necessary to ensure the health of the magical population? How could she argue thay he was callous with life, when he left it to old magic to decide? It was survival.
But there was more to it than the argument itself. He knew she would never agree with him in that fact, no matter what he tried, but he expected her to at least stay and enjoy her evening. She had infuriated him with her Dumbledore-esque moral lesson, her proclamation of him being the 'victor' intentionally spoiled by her leaving. He wanted her by his side, how many times did he need to make himself clear? She would also be the victor. She would win a victory over the wizarding world, over those who decried her heritage, and just like him would rise to become the most powerful. What more could he offer?
He decided to restore the Malfoy patriarch's memory of the previous day and discuss it with him further. He needed a confidant in this issue, and Malfoys were known to not only be very charming but very self-serving. Nothing served Lucius more right now than to appease the Master who had the life of his boy in his hands, so he could be sure of his discretion on the matter.
So, around midday he went and found Lucius. When he restored the memories, he waited a moment for Lucius to gather himself again. Finally, the Malfoy patriarch's eyes regained focus and moved to eye the Master sitting across from him. "I did not expect to be taken into confidence again, my Lord."
Voldemort nodded curtly. "I didn't expect to need you again, old friend. But the girl is troublesome."
"One day and you're already at your wit's end, hmm?" Lucius said with a smirk. "Seems like Miss Granger is the best kind of woman. The kind that makes your blood boil at every turn, who aren't at all afraid to show exactly what they think of you. Passionate and unreserved."
"She is illogical and infuriating," Voldemort hissed, lacking his regular venom. "She refuses to see the benefit of my care, and insists on being so deplorably Gryffindor. I gave her flowers, a romantic evening together, and still it degraded into an argument over muggles and the old magics she herself has used."
"And yet, you still want her?" Lucius inquired, knowing full well the answer.
"Unfortunately," Voldemort grumbled in agreement. "She is infuriating, and it should annoy me into hexing her. Still, having been in her mind, she is every bit what she always was and what drew me in. She simply isn't cowed by anything. She walked away from me, Lucius! Midway through the evening, she just picked up with a contemptuous comment and walked away! It was as if she knew I wouldn't hex her while her back was turned, or she was unafraid of the possibility in light of her own anger. She is a Valkyrie when she wishes to be."
"Well suited to accompany a Dark Lord, then, hmm?" Lucius said knowingly. "I imagine your attraction to the girl only seems greater when she's a full-on fury. You can picture her using that passion in bed, or on your enemies."
"You speak from experience?" Voldemort smirked. "Narcissa is unstoppable when she wishes, I recall."
Lucius chuckled at that. "While not as Gryffindor as your Miss Granger, Narcissa's vengeful passion has turned me on more times than I can count. I believe she carries impotence potion in her brassier should anyone less than gentlemanly earn her ire at a social function. She had become quite adept at slipping potions to the unsuspecting."
"And how do you appease Narcissa when her ire is pointed at you?" Voldemort asked, his smirk growing.
Lucius shared his smirk. "I share it. Nothing is better than letting a witch know she is right."
"She isn't!" Voldemort hissed.
"Best trick of the trade, my Lord," Lucius shared. "The woman is always right. Perhaps, if you're lucky, you both can be. But she is never wrong. For example," Lucius put up his hand before his lord could intervene, "you said your arguments were regarding old magic?"
"She does not believe that everyone should enact the rituals," Voldemort admitted. "As Dumbledore does, she believes every life should be their own. No force."
"So, you agree with her," Lucius took him through it, "but you argue that it is currently illegal at any rate, and that the first step would be to allow people the choice that she did. Not only do you refuse to promise on future legislation, but you agree with both her opinion and the action that brought her to you. You see?"
Voldemort nodded. "So, in essence, we will always argue if I insist on winning. I will need to swallow my pride with the girl."
"Not too much, but yes," Lucius affirmed. "Yet, never forget, a healthy dose of cock is very good for a woman too."
Voldemort grimaced. "Eloquent as ever, Lucius."
"I'm saying that you don't want to undersell yourself," Lucius said with faked innocence.
"I'm sure that's all you wanted to say on the matter," Voldemort sighed. "Still, your argument has merit. Why, though, did the gestures I made last night mean nothing to the witch?"
Lucius raised a brow. "You know, Narcissa never appreciates having dinner together anymore. At first, it was the act that most endeared her to me. Now, she is more impressed if I bring home a colleague to meet her, or if I show affection to Draco."
"Your point?"
"Not all woman have the same standards for romance," Lucius explained. "Perhaps the stereotypical romantic gestures would endear Miss Granger to another man, but perhaps for you she expects something more or simply different to show your regard. As Narcissa puts it, it must be something that shows you consider her not only attractive, but equal to your desires for her."
"An equal…" Voldemort murmured, suddenly putting the pieces together. Treats for pets were different than for wives, and they should be just as differently used. He had dangled the evening in front of her as if it were contingent on her good behavior. He had presumed upon her, instead of doing it properly.
"I see you understand," Lucius nodded. "All women wish to be valued, but pets are not as valued as what is irreplaceable."
"She is not replaceable, surely she knows this?" Voldemort inquired.
Lucius shook his head. "You refer to her as a pet, and so she believes she is to you. An entertainment, a companion perhaps, but not irreplaceable. I'm sure if another girl enacted the old magic rituals and was a virgin, she'd believe her to be in her place right now."
"Although a greater irritant," Voldemort agreed.
Lucius nodded, but simply sipped at his wine. "Shall I expect this conversation to be shortly removed?"
Voldemort shook his head. "She requires too much for me to discount your future assistance, Lucius. I trust this shall be kept from even your wife? It would not do well for me to have the others question my strength."
"They would understand the attempt to corrupt Potter's pal," Lucius comforted, "but yes, this shall be private. My thanks for trusting my discretion. Obliviation is … uncomfortable."
"Think nothing of it."
After his confession to Hermione about his care for her, Severus left her alone to her own devices. Hermione wanted to ask him about the Occlumency lessons, but a single look from him told her not to ask. He obviously had not allowed anyone to be close to him – or to know they were – for a while before this, and Hermione saw that he needed time to come to terms with his perceived faux pas. So, instead of pushing, she hugged the dour man and let him retreat to his lab.
She, instead of following, went back to the delinquent chambers. Try as she might to focus on the Voldemort-gifted magic text, she found her thoughts wandering.
The last week had been full of ups and downs. Since the torture at the New Year's ball, Voldemort had done nothing to her but treat her with a sort of fond regard. He had treated her like a favoured pet, and she had nearly come to grips with it. Pets could bite their masters, after all. Last night he'd called her wife. Not pet, like he had, but wife: a woman who was regarded as an equal and a partner.
Once she sat and thought about it, her stomach clenched. To be called "wife" by the man who had caused so much pain was more grief-inducing than she'd expected. She didn't want to be an equal to the man who had killed so many but she also didn't want to tell herself she was better.
So where did that leave her? She had taken every day at Hogwarts as a challenge to prove herself equal to nearly everything – spells, people, situations – and now she didn't want to be.
In the midst of her musing, there was a knock on her door.
"Come in."
She expected black hair and stern features, but Draco Malfoy's soft elven features and platinum hair popped through the doorway.
"Granger?" he asked. "Got a minute?"
"Sure."
He entered, but stood there with the ramrod-straight back that was the aristocratic way of dealing with awkwardness. With a roll of her eyes, she motioned for him to sit on her bed. He raised his brow, but sat nonetheless. The casual position did nothing for the awkward silence.
"So . . ." Hermione trailed off.
"Yes, um, I came to speak to you." Malfoy coughed uncomfortably.
Hermione chuckled. "That you did. And?"
He pulled a letter from his coat and clutched it in his hand tightly. "Did you read what father wrote?"
"No."
"Do you want to know?" Malfoy asked, his face tense. "I'll share it with you, you know. Just tell me exactly how my father seemed as he handed you this letter."
Hermione shook her head as if clearing her thoughts. "Malfoy, I don't know your father as well as you do. When he gave me the letter he seemed happy to write to you. He was polite, stiff, and, well, normal for what I thought of you Malfoys."
Malfoy didn't take offense to her words, but instead became thoughtful and more discontented. Hermione watched him grip the letter tighter in his hand, his face growing darker.
"I thought I was done," he finally murmured, his voice softer than his eyes seemed to convey. "I thought I was free."
"What did he say?" Hermione whispered.
He seemed to struggle with the words. "I refused the Dark Mark. He wanted me to do something I could-I wouldn't do, and I-I thought by refusing the Mark, it wouldn't happen. Now, the Dark Lord is offering me my life, my way, i-if I help his men finish what I refused to do. I could go home."
His face crumbled in front of her and filled with pain, and all she could do was what she did with the other boys; she hugged him.
"You're fine," she murmured. "You are free."
"But my parents," Draco's voice shook from repressing his tears. "Granger, what if he kills them? Everything I've done, everything I will do, it's for them. They're all I have!"
"He won't," Hermione promised. "I can stop him, and I can watch them for you."
"Nobody can reason with him!" Draco resisted. "He doesn't listen to reason, he only listens to what benefits him! You're not a Death Eater, Granger."
"Then we go to Severus," Hermione concluded. "He can protect them in every way I can't. You can refuse, and you can be sure that we will defend them. You aren't his anymore, Malfoy."
"You don't get it, Granger!" Malfoy exclaimed desperately. "The task he gave me, he wants it so badly that if anyone gets in his way, he will kill. And it'll be my parents that are the first targets."
"What does he want?" she asked. He refused to reply. "Are… are you still considering helping him?"
"No-yes-Maybe!" He raked his hand through his hair so roughly she was sure he was trying to pull it out.
She put a hand on his arm. "All problems can be fixed with enough people. Enough good people. Just tell me."
Draco was tensed and scared, and Hermione could clearly see how terrible whatever his task had been. She wanted to have him trust her. Trust takes two, her mother always said.
"For years I tried to learn everything I could about magic," she started to say, diverting Draco from his reservations and terror. "When I learned I hadn't learned everything, that I wasn't everything I could be, I tried to fix it. I stole a book from the restricted section that had an old ritual to unbind my magic from my body, to let it be free."
"Granger…"
She kept going, not looking him in the eye. "I did it alone, with no one else around and no protection. I thought, before, that the Hogwarts wards might interfere so I did it in a forest I knew, near my hometown. Voldemort felt the power of the ritual, and came to me. I was weak and could barely raise my wand – not that it would have done any good, I realize now. But he took me, and fed me, and healed me, and then, when my magic was strong enough, he bound it to him."
She waved off the darkness of that memory, keeping her emotions hidden and under the surface like Severus had taught her. "I justified the risk as something I would do for Harry, but I knew perfectly well that I just didn't want to let anyone have the chance to stop me. I wanted to be able to do the same magic that Dumbledore could. If I wasn't able to do it, I wasn't a good enough witch."
Hermione looked up at Draco's face. He was looking at her with a foreign look, one she never had associated with him. "So, now you know."
"Granger. . ." Draco murmured, his eyes roving over her manically. "You-Know-Who tasked me with killing Dumbledore."
Suddenly, it occurred to her why he didn't want to tell her. "The necklace, with Katie."
"For him," Draco confirmed, his fists tense. "I knew my curse wasn't strong enough to hold, but I didn't think she'd touch the necklace when she got free. I thought . . ."
"The curse would wear off, or she'd fight it off, and then she'd bring it to a teacher," Hermione finished, her voice low. "You were trying to buy time."
He gave a curt nod.
"We should tell him."
He looked up and glared at her. "So, what? You set me free just so Dumbledore can send me to Azkaban?"
"No!" Hermione exclaimed. "Dumbledore would never do that. He'd want to know, but only so he can help fix this. This can all work out, Draco. Trust me."
He regarded her levelly. "You just called my Draco."
Hermione flushed. "Sorry."
"No-No, don't be, I liked it," he confessed. "Can I call you Hermione?"
She pretended to think about it before sending him a brilliant smile. "You think you can?"
"You may revert to Granger every now and again," Draco chuckled lightly. "Would you mind?"
"It's your nickname for me, of course I don't mind," Hermione answered with an eye roll. "You're going to be Malfoy forever, in my book. You'll just be Draco when you're human."
"Touching. . ."
The familiar drawl alerted them to the dark presence in the doorway, and the stern black eyes looking in on them. She felt Malfoy tense next to her.
"You both need more practice in hiding your secrets," Snape advised gravely. "Moreso in deciding what situation are safe from prying ears. What did you think, that the delinquent chambers didn't have a way of monitoring the occupants? Or that I wouldn't know the moment Draco entered female quarters?"
Draco had turned white next to her so Hermione covered his hand with hers comfortingly. "And this is the part where you tell Draco that you and Dumbledore already had a plan for his mission, right?
"Of course," Snape tipped his head at her in mild deference. "We've known since the beginning."
"You HAVE?" Daco looked sick. "And you still…?"
"Pretended to be loyal to the Dark Lord?" Snape finished for him, his expression snarky. "Yes, that is necessary when one is a spy, Draco, and when the youth I'm speaking to has unclear loyalties. Please do take a moment to use that lauded intellect your father boasts about and just think."
Draco nodded jerkily, obviously going through his encounters with Snape in his mind. "Dumbledore knows?"
"Yes."
"And you just heard everything I told Granger?"
"Correct."
Draco just kept nodding, as if everything made sense. "So, what should I do?"
"I believe," Severus enunciated poignantly, "that the Headmaster will wish to speak with you regarding the letter you received. It is, of course, your choice whether to inform him of the contents, however, so your information may be forfeit regardless."
"I'm done hiding things," Draco informed him fiercely, reminding Hermione every bit of a determined Gryffindor. "Let's go to Dumbledore."
Just then, Hermione's collar began to burn. She flinched. "You'll need to go without me."
"Remember, he wants your favour," Severus reminded her. "Play anything he uses against him."
Hermione nodded and placed her hand on the warm collar.
Draco just looked at them both confusedly. "Wait, what's happening?"
Before Hermione could answer, she was swept up into her magic and pulled along the invisible threads of the bond to stand in front of the blue-eyed recreation of Tom Riddle, known as Lord Voldemort. She recognized immediately the ballroom of the Sayre Mansion, and the glowing, runed circles on the floor. It was a lesson. Immediately, her walls went up and she worried about exactly what kind of lesson she would have.
"You kept me waiting." It wasn't a question.
"Forgive me for not wanting to come back," Hermione snapped instinctively, before she realized the terrible idea it was. "I mean-what I should say- "
"You were afraid." Again, a statement of fact. His face betrayed nothing as he observed her, his cool eyes taking in everything.
Hermione shook her head automatically. "No, but your note. . ."
He nodded and summoned two chairs, putting them in the center of the ritual circles. "Sit, Miss Granger."
The magic of the circles was whole and kind, and Voldemort's was wrapped around her as she sat next to him. She didn't want to admit it, but being next to him in any capacity felt good. She hated being on edge when everything in her felt like being comforted by his presence.
Voldemort looked at her steadily. "Miss Granger, perhaps it is better with you to be forthright. I find myself disconcerted by my change back into what is human. As I told you last night, I have been given a great gift in you. I can taste again, I can interact with others as I haven't done since my return, and I can . . . feel. That is, perhaps, the most infuriating change.
"I'm unaware the proper lengths to take to beg for your forgiveness, but I hope you will accept the apology for my words last night," Voldemort offered carefully. She could see that his jaw was tense as he spoke, though his words held none of that tension. "I offended you, and it was not my intention."
"What was your intention?" Hermione asked, now curious at what he was leaving unsaid.
Voldemort sighed. "I wanted only to show you how I had begun to care for you, and give you the opportunity to ask me for whatever you wished to prove it. Instead, I belittled the values you had been raised with. For that, I-er, I offer my sincere apologies."
It was strange, watching this man who had brought a nation to a halt through fear, stumble over his words to apologize for his callous words. It was so . . . humanizing. Hermione once again had fallen into the trap of seeing only Tom Riddle, and not Voldemort. And this man, this human one, was admitting he cared for her.
"Is it difficult?" She asked sincerely. "Apologizing?"
Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "It is not comfortable, no. But I was informed that swallowing your pride shouldn't be."
"I appreciate it. Thank you."
Those words charged the atmosphere between them. What had been uncomfortable was now heady with tension, as if each were waiting to see what happened next. Voldemort leaned forward, his face getting closer to hers. Her eyes flickered to his lips.
"Miss Granger, perhaps. . ." Voldemort shook his head and his eyes hardened. "Let us move on to your lessons."
He pulled back to both her relief and disappointment. His dismissal of the moment did nothing to alleviate the tension was ever-present, but it lessened the desire to act on it as they moved to the ritual circles. They returned to the lesson on the life/death ritual circle.
He seemed to be observing her for some cue throughout her process. He had her meditate, initiated a push and pull on their mutual life force, and drew the rune, eihwaz, on the back of her hands with a yew berry paste of some sort. Still, during the entire learning process, his eyes were observing her and burning her with heat. She was unable to get the thought of him kissing her - 'wooing her' as Severus had said - out of her mind. Still, she tried to get through the teachings he was running her through.
After an hour of little progress, for the second time with that circle, Voldemort was clearly unhappy with her. His scowl had deepened and his eyes were glaring. Still, she tried.
"Do you often reject your nature so entirely?" Voldemort hissed after a failed attempt.
"I'm not!" Hermione denied.
Voldemort rounded on her. "Then tell me why, when you recite the ritual spell, you produce only the life magics? When you incant the ritual, you must have internalized every aspect of the circle - you reject death completely!"
"I'm sorry I'm not a murderer like you!" Hermione shot back.
Voldemort's eyes darkened as he observed her. "Can you see thestrals, Miss Granger?"
She shook her head, suddenly extremely aware of who she was in front of. This was a Dark Lord, a man so well-versed in death he came back from it.
"You have never observed death," Voldemort said with a sneer. "It is no wonder you fail to internalize the subtleties of death when you are inexperienced in its artistry. We will rectify this."
"No!"
He ignored her, walking over to the door.
She wasn't being ignored, not on this. "You can't just kill people whenever you want! I can do this! Even if you just showed me in a pensieve-"
"Antonin!" He called, ignoring her completely.
A figure drew into the room, and Hermione's body went into overload. A face that had haunted her nightmares was now in the same room. He bowed his head to his master, not having seen her yet. Her eyes were fixed on his long burly figure, and his name involuntarily left her lips.
"Dolohov," Hermione breathed, immediately shrinking.
At her whisper, the man looked to her. His dark hair was longer than it once was, waved around his twisted, scarred, and pale face. His blue eyes zeroed in on her like a predator on prey, and Hermione lost the ability to breath. She could feel her body go into shock at seeing him again.
"We meet again, mishka," Dolohov greeted, his voice dangerous and low. "I spent much time in Azkaban because of you."
"I-I…" Hermione's voice failed her. Later, she'd think of a retort – Well, I spent lots of time in the hospital because of you! – but for this moment she was a ball of adrenaline and fear. From his words and his eyes, she had the disturbing thought that he'd spent too often in Azkaban prison picturing what he'd do when he saw her again. Her hand flew to her collarbone automatically, even if her scare was now gone. His eyes flashed to her hand's movement, and his lips curled into a sinister grin.
"Antonin," his lord greeted. "I require your assistance in training Miss Granger."
Dolohov's lips curved upwards. "It would be a pleasure, my Lord."
"Then I have an errand for you …"
Voldemort and Dolohov consulted for a moment, quiet and whispering so Hermione could hear nothing. With a curt nod, Dolohov flashed away, presumably to fetch something. Hermione could guess what. With him gone Hermione found her tongue. She left her ritual circle and approached the man who had made himself her owner.
"Don't do this," Hermione pleaded. "You promised you wouldn't use people against me."
"I gave you my oath not to use anyone to discipline you," Voldemort reminded her darkly. "However, this is not about forcing you to behave … this is about educating you in an area you clearly have no respect for."
"Respect?" Hermione hissed. "I have no respect? You're planning on killing people in front of me!"
"No," Voldemort smirked.
Hermione glared. "No? Just no?"
"No," Voldemort drawled, "you are mistaken. I plan on doing nothing."
"Really?"
His blue eyes laughed at her. "Antonin will kill them."
Hermione's heart was beating violently in her chest. She couldn't let this happen, but Voldemort was here. This wasn't the man who tried to woo her, who apologized not an hour ago. This wasn't Tom Riddle, this was the Dark Lord Voldemort.
She reached out, hoping that with her touch she could unlock some humanity in him. When her hand touched his arm, he stiffened under her.
"Please, please don't do this," Hermione begged.
Voldemort's face was stony. "I will not stop Antonin from following my orders."
"You're the only one who can!" she insisted. "You gave him the order, you can take it back!"
His demeanor shifted at her insistence. His stiff posture melted and he stepped towards her, a dangerous look in his eyes. She moved back, even more wary.
"You seem to underestimate your own power, little witch," Voldemort purred at her. He walked forward, following her as she retreated from him. He grabbed her forcibly, twirling her around and pressing her against the wall. The face he gained from their bonding was in her face, his eyes dark and fierce, his face in a determined set. Hermione's breath caught, and her mind froze in fear. "You are one of only three beings in Britain with old magic flooding through their veins. Am I truly the only one who can stop Antonin?"
Suddenly, she knew what he was doing. She hated Dolohov, hated how much he made her afraid. And Voldemort had seen in her head enough to know it. He wanted her to kill him.
"I can't kill him," Hermione begged. "I won't."
"Then you'll watch a family of muggles die," Voldemort hissed. "If he does not die, they do. If they live, he doesn't. This is the balance you lack, Miss Granger. Death is necessary."
"It wouldn't be if you didn't-"
"And if he was killing on his own?" he prompted harshly. "He is my assassin, Miss Granger. He enjoys the hunt, the thrill of taking down an opponent using his wits and his strength. If I hadn't recruited him, he would still be killing. Now tell me – would your idea of a perfect world include him?"
Hermione couldn't say that.
Voldemort leaned forward then, his breath fanning across her face. "Then you know what to do, don't you?"
"You don't even know if I can," Hermione pleaded. "The bond …"
"Antonin does not bear the mark," Voldemort told her with a pleased look. "My assassin must be more discreet than any, and a mark of mine would neutralize him. You will not be kept from harming him by the bond."
"But …" Hermione struggled to find anything to sway him. "He must have a family. A lineage you want to extend."
"He has heirs," Voldemort smirked.
"He'll suffer," Hermione insisted. "You can't want that."
Voldemort's smirk grew to a malicious smile. "You know the incantation, Miss Granger. You only need to mean it."
She shook her head instantly. "No, I can't. I won't use the Killing Curse. Dark magic has so many side-effects. My soul-"
Suddenly, the wards shifted and Hermione could see Voldemort's reaction to it. He straightened up and away from her, a glint in his eyes. The chance for negotiation was gone. With a high-and-mighty air, he extended her his black wand.
"He has come back through the wards," Voldemort informed her. "You have your choice, Miss Granger. Is his life worth more than the muggles he brings with him? Are they worth anything to you?"
"Stop this," Hermione begged.
"No."
Still, his wand was extended before her. She had no other option but to take it and hold the strangely compatible wand in her hand. Even as her magic encircled it, she refused to hold it tight in her hand. She held it gingerly as a loaded gun.
Antonin marched into the ballroom with captives in tow, bound and gagged. It was a family much like her own, with two parents and a young child with them. The woman was crying and her tears were soaking into the rag around her mouth.
Dolohov had a satisfied smirk on his face.
"Excellent hunting?"
"Take a child and the parents do what you want," Dolohov chuckled happily. "Begging the whole while."
"Remove their gags," Voldemort ordered. "Show Miss Granger what we do to our … guests."
He was playing her. Their gags had been a mercy for her, and now their screams, begging, pleading, and bargaining were all ringing throughout the ballroom. She knew what would stop it, and yet the thought of casting the Killing Curse made her stomach curl in revulsion. Her light grip on her owner's wand became increasingly tight.
Dolohov was enjoying torturing the muggles. Every second of their screams increased the chances of them losing their minds before she could save them. Every scream was becoming more unbearable, knowing she could stop this.
She felt a presence behind her, and a hand on her own, helping her grip the wand. His magic was comforting and warm, reassuring her. She didn't want to be reassured.
"Open your eyes," Voldemort purred into her ear. "See what happens when you refuse to kill those who deserve it."
Hermione's eyes flickered open and zeroed in on the mother, writhing on the ground. Her tears and pleading. Her husband was begging to take her place, her child was inconsolable. Dolohov looked just as Dark Magic users did in her texts, addicted to the power brought on by the curse. His eyes bright, his sneer gleeful.
"You know the curse, Miss Granger," he murmured. "Think of how you felt in the Department of Mysteries, of every time the girls in your dorm stared at your scars with revulsion, of every nightmare he induced. Then point your wand him and take him from the world you want to have. He does not deserve to be in it."
"That's not my choice," Hermione whimpered.
"You kill him, or I will order them dead this second," Voldemort hissed, his impatience showing. "Kill him, or he kills them."
The screaming stopped for a moment, drawing her eyes back into focus on the mother's brown-haired form. She whimpered and shook, her body looking as if it were in a seizure. Dolohov pointed his wand at the child then. The look of fear on the child's face was the final stroke on the canvas of her choice.
She raised Voldemort's wand at Dolohov and yelled, "Avada Kedavra!"
The green light that shot from her wand streaked in one straight line for Dolohov. She saw the moment of shock and fear of Dolohov, and then the light left his eyes. His body crumpled to the ground. But the worst part was her magic.
The power of the dark curse shot through her veins like liquid ice, a strange numbness and euphoria that screamed of absolute control. And when the curse connected with Dolohov, she could feel the magic of his body released from it and running wild through her. That was what the books meant when they said it was addictive, that it increased power – with her curse, she'd severed the man from life and was actually rewarded for the darkness with a small influx of magic. Her victim's.
The stillness afterwards was the most disturbing bit. There were soft sobs from the family, but Dolohov's corpse lay there, still and peaceful. Every bit of dark euphoria in her veins was all the more disturbing in contrast to the peace of the moment. Like the world had halted.
She unlocked her joints slowly, learning how to move again.
She didn't even realize when Voldemort obliviated the muggles and waved them away. She almost didn't care. Then a simple touch from the Dark Lord who had done this to her, and Hermione's magic jumped and took over her body.
"Wha-?"
The peace had broken into chaotic fire. Her body lurched her towards Voldemort, and she found her nerves craving the man. She turned from him, leaning against the nearest thing.
"What's happening to me?" Hermione croaked.
Voldemort touched at her arm, and her bond surged. "Your magic has been changed. As it is shared with me, we must renew the bond."
"Renew…?" Hermione murmured. Her body was high on the magic and her brain addled. "How…?"
"You'll enjoy it this time, Miss Granger," she heard the man purr behind her.
Her magic-addled brain took that comment and spun it. The seductive voice behind her made her shiver, her magic wanted to give in, and she had an excuse – if anyone asked, it was the dark magic. For once, she could just give up. So with a groan she turned, grabbed the man's robes in tight fists, and drew her mouth to his.
There was not a second of hesitation before he kissed her back, passionate tongue dancing and setting fires through her body. She expected to feel terrified, terrified of him. But since she initiated it, her consent made all the difference and now she wanted it. She had succumbed.
She could feel his magic pull and whisk her in a side-along into their shared room. She didn't want to think about it. If she stopped, she would feel the guilt for her actions. She was rushing, she wanted it and was impatient to get it. She didn't want to fiddle with the robes, so a wandless divesto was in her park. Both naked, she pushed him onto the bed.
He cocked a brow as he observed her naked body standing by the bed. "Coming?"
"Shut up," she growled climbing on top.
He pulled her town, meeting her lips in a demanding kiss. His fantasies of having her, willing, around him again were coming true. She was a glorious magical being, her magic surrounding them and increasing the intimacy of the act. He had been so turned by the wave of darkness he'd felt shudder through their magic at her curse, he would sacrifice many more to have her desperately moving against her again. "Anything … anything you wish … my beautiful … commanding … Dark Lady."
His words hummed through her and her mind caught a respect in his tone that turned her on. She ground against his erection, the pleasure overwhelming her.
"Tell me … you want me," Hermione hissed.
"As no one else," Voldemort growled into her neck, kissing down the sensitive side and pulling a moan from her lips. "You are perfection."
She felt desired. He rolled her over, pinning her to the mattress. A brief moment of panic before he ground against her now, replacing her panic with pleasure.
When he slid inside her, there were no more words. Their coupling was quick and furious, fueled by dark magic and lust. Hermione's high was added upon by the ministrations of the man on top of her, making her feel like a dark goddess with the power to level nations. She felt invincible and beautiful.
When the magic around her settled and she was wrapped in Voldemort's arms, she realized what she'd done in her dark magic haze. She'd slept with public enemy number one, and enjoyed it. Practically begged for it.
"You are glorious," Voldemort murmured against her neck, more sleepy than seductive.
Did he know they'd need to renew the bond? Had she taken her will away a second time in order to have it?
"What do you want from me?" Hermione asked.
His arms tensed around her. "In what way?"
"Do you just want a … a bed warmer?" Hermione hesitantly forced out through her teeth. "You spent last night trying to woo me, and today you … you forced me to kill. What do you want?"
"You want to determine this while my come is drying between your legs?" Voldemort chuckled seductively. "Tell me, do you think I expend the same effort with the others? Do you think, for a moment, I've indulged as I have tonight with anyone else since my return? I have not wanted a witch for such a long time, and never to the degree I want you."
Hermione grimaced.
"Rest, Miss Granger," Voldemort sighed. "Your mind overcomplicates the simplest of matters."
She scoffed. "Still Miss Granger? After tonight, I think perhaps we're on a first-name basis."
"Hermione," Voldemort drawled, "rest."
"Just tell me what you want," Hermione hissed into the darkness. "Tell me what you expect from me."
There was a pause, a moment of reflection. Voldemort was inwardly contemplating the words of Miss Granger, and he found himself putting her into various facets of his life. An ally, dangerous and powerful. A lover, passionate and warm. A counselor, intelligent and analytical. He wanted all of them. He wanted her. And this was his chance to use the understanding he'd gotten from Lucius to tell her she was more than a simple pet.
"I want you," he repeated, his voice low. "I want you as mine, in every way. You've been bonded to me as a wife, and I want you by my side in that capacity."
Hermione's thoughts were running a million kilometers an hour, but it kept coming back to what she knew of the little boy, of Tom Riddle who could feel no love. Could he be starting, with her? Not a week ago he had told her she needed to remove the delusion of him being her husband, and now he was acknowledging it as fact. What had changed?
He turned, shifting her in his arms so her face was pressed against his chest. "Now rest."
Her head loaded with thoughts and conjecture, she accepted his direction and fell asleep against the current Dark Lord.
AN: For the ritual circles, I've drawn a sketch that can be found in my authour's bio under Rune Circles. Your reviews are excellent, and they help so much! Thanks!
