1951

Sleep finds Hermione but rest does not.

In her dream she is tied with rope to a metal peg jutting from the wall. Her arms are stretched painfully above her head and she is naked, save for a tiny pair of black lace panties.

She is in complete darkness, unable to make out any of her surroundings, the thick, cold air pebbling her nipples.

"Sweet girl" croons a deep, velvety voice in her ear. "Have you come to make a deal with the devil?"

A feathery light touch trails its way up the smooth expanse of her stomach and in between the valley of her breasts.

She supresses a whimper.

"Hush little one, or I'll have to put a gag in that pretty mouth." Hums the voice. The phantom hand hovers over her nipple and then tugs lightly. She crosses her legs.

A hot mouth replaces the hand, covering and suckling her nipple. She moans for real now, a high clear sound fraught with desperation.

He releases her with an obscene pop.

"I thought I told you to be quiet." The voice turns hard, cold. He pinches her breast meanly, painfully.

"I'm... I'm sorry!" She gasps, out of breath and panting.

The mouth returns to her neck and clavicle, tracing patterns across her collarbone with his tongue. She tugs on the rope, desperate to get free. The burning in her centre increases, blazing.

Hands trace over the outline of her body, her ribs, her waist, the dip of her hipbone. He pulls at her panties, slowly sliding them down her bottom and legs. His mouth never ceasing at her neck.

He releases her now, no doubt to examine her. She can't see him but he can see her, she realises.

"Look at you." He says, voice rich and filthy. He takes his time with his words, unhurried. He presses a solitary finger against her clit, finding it immediately. "Look at this pretty pussy."

His voice is so lewd that Hermione cannot take it, she clenches her legs shut, removing his hand from her centre. She is sure red is staining her cheeks.

"Oh, sweet Hermione." He croons, fingers iron at her thighs. He pulls them apart with vicious hands and her feet seem to stick to the floor. "My darling girl, so embarrassed."

She feels his breath and then his mouth is at her pussy, and he is devouring, his licks long and leisured. He has wasted no time with teasing her, his hands bruising her thighs. She tugs on the rope again, the fibres digging into her skin. The pain mingles with the pleasure and she relishes in it.

He sucks on her clit for several seconds and she feels her vision go white, she gasps aloud and then bites her tongue.

Immediately he releases his grip and his mouth is gone. "Wait." She whispers desperately, her voice a breathy whine. She wishes that she could move, that she could see him.

"What is it darling?" The voice is carefully measured, swooping over the syllables like music.

"Don't." She clenches her eyes shut in embarrassment. "Don't."

"Don't what?" The voice purrs, a hand rakes across her stomach and settles at her neck. She whines, feeling his breath at her pussy. He blows a stream of cold air on her clit and tightens his grip.

"Don't stop!" She cries finally, tears pricking at her eyes.

A finger probes at her entrance and then enters her suddenly. The intrusion makes her groan in her mouth. He is by her ear now, she is sure of it.

"My girl." He says. "So shameless, so wanton. You're filthy. You want it so badly, don't you?" He pumps the finger slowly into her, his knuckle grazing against her. Her head lolls onto his shoulder in mindless pleasure.

"Oh." She groans, teeth at his shoulder, drunk on it. "No."

"No?" His finger stills and Hermione thinks she might die. She whines and bites his shoulder. He chuckles, a dark, melodic sound and adds a second finger.

She tries to roll her hips for some desperate purchase but it is too difficult with her hands and feet fastened. He laughs again.

"Do you know whose fingers you have buried in your pussy?" He says in her ear. She whines in protest and pulls at her restraints. "I think you do, despite your protestations." He licks her neck and she thinks she might die of wanting. "Tell me."

She is out of her mind, his free hand wipes something away from her mouth.

"You're drooling, pretty girl." He whispers, a smile in his voice. "Tell me." He flexes his fingers inside her and she nearly tips over the edge. "Tell me who it is and I'll let you come."

"Tom Riddle." She gasps quietly. He flexes again.

"Sorry darling, I didn't quite hear you. Who?" He is the cat who got the cream, practically purring in her ear. He enjoys this.

"Tom Riddle!" She cries, her head falling back.

He fingers her properly now, his fingers resuming their punishing rhythm. His mouth licks her clit in earnest and she feels like she is dying, like she would die with the sheer pleasure of it.

"Let go sweetheart." He mumbles into her pussy. "Let go and come for your Tom."

It is so unexpected that she comes quickly and with a shout, the feeling taking her in stormy waves. It seems to last for hours, minutes bleeding into days. He pushes her just a little too much, for a little too long and she cries aloud at the feeling of his mouth at her sensitive entrance.

His fingers release her and push into her mouth, pressing against her tongue. She sucks obediently and he groans into her ear, a vulgar noise. "That's it. Good girl."

Then he is at her ear and she can see again now, she is in his bedroom at the Manor, the drapes a silky grey, the fire a blazing orange. He releases her from her restraints, a wild look in his eyes, and she is in his arms. He is cooing and shushing her and wiping away her tears.

"That's it, my girl. Isn't that better?" He kisses her sweating forehead. "You did so well, I'm so proud of you."

Hermione is wordless, her mind a hazy blank in the afterglow. Her vision dips towards the door. To her horror, Augustin is standing there, a misty figure in the clothes she had seen him wear on the mountain. He looks slightly sick, his eyes slack at her nakedness. She twines herself further around Tom's clothed body, eyes heavy with disbelief.

"Augustin? Is that you?" She mumbles sleepily. Tom's body stills.

"You have to help me Hermione." Augustin's voice sounds far away, as if he was speaking through a telephone. "You have to help me."

Hermione's vision tunnels and the scene disappears into the ether. She feels like she is apparating, like she is being forced into a very small tube and then out again. Suddenly she is gasping awake, sodden with sweat. She is back at Hogwarts in her plaid pyjamas.

The diary burns under her pillow. She feels nauseous with dread and does not dare to touch it. She leaps out of bed and begins to pace the floor.

"Aguamenti!" She conjures a crystal goblet of water to tip down her aching throat. Curiosity overtakes her.

The message is short and simple.

Dream of me.

It sinks back into the page. Hermione fights the urge to throw it out of the window.