Venenum
By Koryander
Ok, my lovely readers. It's been 1 year since I posted Venenum. Well, I gave myself this 1 year as a gift. I know it may be annoying to you guys that long without an update, but I needed it because I had planned a life change. Some of you have followed some turbulence in my life, and I had promised myself that I would turn this game.
And I did, although it wasn't easy, I studied and worked so hard that I got a job abroad, and well, it was very difficult, funny and complicated to adapt to live in another country, but it's also the chance of a lifetime to start again, not to forget the past, but to learn from it. I'm living alone. Sometimes it's crazy and I wonder how mad I was to make that decision. But there is a sense of freedom so different from what I was feeling.
What I went through taught me a lot about having to look at myself more without fear. The important thing about saying no.
I can say that romance - and I write a lot of them - is very important, it's good, it makes you feel good, but don't be afraid to be alone because the one who learns to live with itself is the hardest person in the game of life.
With that 1 year, I dedicated it to myself and promised that as soon as I completed 1 year, I would get back to my hobby of writing. Here I am.
The chapter has not yet been edited and has not gone through beta reading. I confess that I will start my search for a beta reader again.
I apologize in advance for any grotesque errors in the text.
You can find Venenum content here: mykory. Wordpress. com
Where there are images created through ArtBreeder by me, how I more or less imagine the characters, there are also other fan-created content I intend to post.
Chapter 18. Hemachatus - What do you fear?
Part I
Once she asked him if he loved her, it was one of the times she asked that question and one of the few times he saw insecurity in her. It was a sincere question, where she laid her feelings bare to him. Her eyebrows drew together in a gentle questioning, but one that demanded an answer.
He said "yes I do", though it wasn't entirely true, empty words weren't, he just doesn't know how to define it and he knows she knows it because he doesn't believe in love or maybe he loves her differently. His own way. To him, 'love' is too vague to define what he feels for her. She was a strange obsession he couldn't get rid of, something that circulates in his bloodstream, an irresistible motivation, an irrational act.
o0o
"Is that so?"
"Yes." Hermione reaffirmed. "Do you know -" She continued "- there is a myth -" Hermione remembered Professor Mcgonagall speaking to her, Ron and Harry. "That Salazar Slytherin created something magnificent, monstrous and secret during his time at Hogwarts?"
"And what would that be?" In Hermione's vision, Tom presented a kind of veiled interest.
She gave a small smile at his curiosity and moved closer, whispering, like a secret or gossip that had to be shared. Attracted by her closeness, Tom also came closer.
"A monster, Tom. Something only an ophidioglot can control."
At her words, Tom retracted, the mischievous grin on his face faltering and crumbling.
"What do you mean, Hermione? What are you getting at?"
She lowered her gaze suddenly, rethinking what she was doing. Is it wise? Is doing that, having Riddle's attention turned to me, being wise? Probably not, she's sure. But in those few seconds, she thinks about all that he means and how necessary he is for her and Harry to get out of here, why the only one who speaks the snakes' language is him, and why the key to it all is a necklace that is attached to her.
"The Basilisk," Hermione replied. "It's a snake. The king or queen of all snakes. Some say Salazar Slytherin hid the monster here, in the Castle and left it so his descendants could continue the work he didn't finish."
"And what led you to this investigation?" Tom arches one of his eyebrows at her. Hermione reckons Tom can disguise it very well when he's bothered by a subject because if she didn't know how the story would end, she might believe him.
"Hm..." Pretending to think, Hermione made a sound with her mouth. "Curiosity?" She tried, playing the fool.
"Do you really think that all Headmasters and Professors wouldn't know if a monster like that was in the Castle? Hermione, it would have come to light by now. It's probably just a myth to scare the students ."
" How do you know?" She wanted to prod him with a challenge. Hermione was aware that Tom liked a challenge and especially if it was a challenge that he could show superiority. "Salazar Slytherin was considered a brilliant wizard, surely he could hide something like that."
Tom snorted at her, "Let me see the book you're reading." He took the book from her hands without blinking.
"Hey!" Complained Hermione, but she was ignored by Tom, who flipped through the book quickly, his green eyes going through the contents of the book.
"Not much content, believe me." He closed the book and handed it to her.
Hermione frowned, a little offended by his criticism. "What do you mean?"
Tom made a sound like 'humph'. "If there's one thing in House Slytherin, it's books about its founder. Believe me."
Staring at the leather cloak, lost in her thoughts, Hermione felt small like an ant that could easily be crushed by him with her attempts to find a way out being insufficient. What am I doing wrong? she asked herself.
Tom squirmed, watching her reaction as she ran her fingernail across the letters of the book's title, thoughtful.
"I understand Professor Slughorn has invited you to the Club dinner."
Hermione looked at him, the mane that was her hair swayed with the movement of her head, she blinked a few times.
"Are you going?" Tom asked.
"I don't know." She swallowed dryly and silence settled, the only noise was the swaying of the foliage in the wind.
Tom looked at the profile of her face, the freckles that decorated her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, how her lower lip was fuller than her upper lip, his gaze lowered to her neck, where he watched the movement when she swallowed, then to her shoulders that rose and fell as she breathed, and finally to the swell of her breasts beneath the layers of her school uniform. Despite catching his gaze, he forced himself to return his eyes to her face. Before he could formulate anything, she suddenly stood up.
"I need to go."
Hermione was stopped abruptly when a hand closed around her wrist. She looked over her shoulder, Tom was holding her down. He lifted, his height overlapping hers.
"Come to the Club, Hermione. Accept Slughorn's invitation. You'll finally be with people who might be on your level."
She didn't know what to make of his request, nor why he seemed so interested in the invitation Slughorn extended to her. Hermione just stared at him for a few seconds, blinking solemnly.
"I'll think about it." She replied, before turning and making her way back to the Griffinory Tower, her hand slipping from Tom's grip.
Tom reflexively wiggled his fingers with the loss of touch with Hermione's hand. It was his turn to watch her go. In his mind, it was clear as moonlight on a dark night. She knows.
As he lowered his gaze, he changed the angle of his hand, the ring stone on his middle finger, The Horcrux, did not glow in any light source.
I wish it were simple to gain Hermione Granger's trust.
'' Hermione, are you okay?'' Ectur asked, watching Hermione for a good two minutes before he began to think her behaviour was odd. After all, she was spending those two minutes staring into the fire in the fireplace of the Common Room, making various expressions that ranged from wrinkling her brow, to a smile that he considered oddly megalomaniacal, like when someone comes up with yet another theory that will one day be applied to make new generations of students lose their minds.
"Hm? What?" Hermione awoke from her reveries, being lured back to reality by Ectur's voice.
"Well, you were looking at the fire for quite a while."
"Ah, yes. Don't worry." She smiled. "I think I found the solution to something I was thinking about."
"Is that so?"
"You know, I think you were right. Maybe I should go to the Club, just to see what it's like. I don't know if I'd fit into the situation, but why not?"
"Really? That's really good, Hermione." He came to sit beside her in front of the fireplace. While Hermione was sitting on her legs, much like the seiza position, Ectur sat with one of his legs bent, his arm resting on his knee and his other arm serving as a support on the floor.
Hermione looked at the fire again, she lifted her chin a little finally feeling a little superior. A way to get to Riddle was always in front of her, Slughorn was her chance. It would be a rather risky game of cat and mouse, but it was the best way to cultivate Tom in her favour. If it was all an indication, he wanted her presence at the Club dinner too, his motive was an ulterior motive and that was bound to worry her, but Hermione had already made up her mind that it was all or nothing.
"You're doing it again." Ectur pointed out.
"Sorry, sometimes I get lost in my thoughts."
Ectur didn't really understand, but he could tell that Hermione was often lost in her thoughts, she had a sad look about her and there were a few times he saw her smile happily.
"Hermione."
"What?" she asked when Ectur spoke her name. She turned her face towards him, and felt his hand go to her hair, behind her ear, Hermione heard the soft fluttering noise of a wing flapping and Ectur retracted his hand, on his index finger was a butterfly origami, whose wings were slowly flapping. With magic, he snapped his fingers, bringing the origami to life and transforming it into a real butterfly, which flew around Hermione before landing on her nose. She giggled at the tickle and moved her nose to one side and the other, startling the butterfly which seconds later shattered into a glow.
Ectur laughed at the grimace she made, Bilius came up behind him, a packet of goodies in his hand.
"Um...If you guys weren't at school, I'd think you were on a date." He went to Hermione's other side and lay on the floor against the light of the fire in the fireplace.
"Shut up." Ectur frowned at Bilius, almost narrowing his eyes, which made Bilius smile bigger. Hermione's cheeks turned slightly pink, to disguise it she took one of the sweets offered by Bilius.
"We'll have Quidditch l training tomorrow. Will you be coming, Hermione?"
"Blimey! That's right, I had forgotten!" Ectur grumbled.
"That's because you're the captain's brother."
"Ig would kill me if I missed it."
"What are the positions you guys play?" Hermione tried to mingle. The truth was that she wasn't much of a sports fan, she preferred to be in the company of a good book, but she had spent so much time hanging out with Harry and Ronnie that it seemed easy to follow and cheer for them and the team in general.
With his thumb, Bilius pointed to himself and gave a wink. "The best Gryffindor beater that ever lived is right in front of you, Hermione."
"He's a bit cocky." Ectur raised one of his eyebrows but soon scrapped the expression to smile at Hermione. "Seeker, right here, at your service."
"Come on, Hermione. It'll be nice to go and watch them train. Algie will be there too and at least it will be a moment without having to deal with subjects." Enid arrived, bringing with her a tray of sandwiches. She sat down as Hermione and gave each of the boys a sandwich and then offered it to Hermione, who thanked her as she took it. "Gilmey prepared it for us at my request," Enid explained. "She's a very lovely elf. Who knows, maybe I'll ask her to be my house elf when Algie and I get married."
"You're already preparing the event? That's quick."
"Yes! Mum and I spent the whole summer looking at wedding dresses. Oh, Bilius, I'm so happy. Now, Hermione, when I go to try on the dresses, why don't you come along? Some of my friends will also be there, it will be wonderful to have you there. Mum would also like to meet you."
Hermione remained silent, but Enid didn't seem to mind as she considered Hermione's silence by the fact that she had the sandwich in her mouth.
"Have you picked a date yet?" Ectur asked, wrinkling his nose a little.
"Just as soon as we finish the school year. At the height of the summer in July. We're still deciding on the location, but we'd like it to be in a field, specifically camellias."
"Why camellias?" Bilius put the question to Hermione.
"They were the first flowers Algie ever gave me. Red camellias, do you know how sweet that is?" Enid gave an emotional sigh. "Surely you agree with me, don't you Hermione?"
"Hm...Yes?"
"Ah, don't you know the meaning of Red Camellias, Hermione? My heart burns for you. Isn't that romantic?"
Bilius and Ectur fell into a laugh, to the point where they put their arms around their stomach area to appease their laughter.
"I'll never leave Algie alone with that." Bilius, with his index finger, dried the tears from his eyes.
"It's not funny, okay? Only a mature gentleman of responsibility has the decency to show his feelings. Something that by the looks of it, neither of you two have." Enid lectured, hitting both of them on the head with her napkin, before turning to Hermione and showing her teeth in a perfect smile as if nothing had happened. "Oh, Hermione, it's the language of flowers. A silent poetry."
Hermione understood only a little about the language of flowers, her knowledge was not vast in that branch, even if she found beauty and peace in nature, but only by her own choice. However, the meanings - in general - never went unnoticed if she felt the urge to research.
"Maybe I can talk to my Aunt Muriel, she has a house near Ottery St Catchpole, she has open fields there, if we do some spell to grow camellias it might help."
Enid's eyebrows rose to almost touching the root of her hair.
"Oh, Ectur! Yes, yes. Please!"
"What's all the commotion?" Algie asked, moving closer, sitting down next to Enid and leaning his back against the sofa.
"Oh, wonderful news. Maybe we'll find the place for our wedding." Enid replied, pouring a cup of black tea.
"To think you guys still have a year for that," Bilius commented, emphasising how Enid seemed to be thinking ahead of time on the matter.
"It may not seem like it, but weddings are complicated. There are so many preparations. It's never too early and I also want everything to be perfect on the day. Oh, I can imagine..." She continued, closing her eyes and resting her head on Algie's shoulder.
" She won't stop talking about it " Ectur whispered, no sound came out of his mouth, only his lips moved.
Bilius propped himself up on one elbow and with his other hand, he signalled as if Enid was going a little bit crazy.
Hermione placed her fingertips against her lips to stop herself from laughing over Bilius and Ectur's comments, even Algie held back, though genuine happiness was present in his facial expression.
"Hm? What's that?" Enid lifted her head, opening her eyes again.
"Nothing, dear."
"Nothing."
"Humhum, nothing "
All three responded at the same time.
"I know you guys are messing with me." She replied. "Including you, honey." She slapped lightly against Algie's chest, with a false grimace of anger.
"Well, to the bride and groom?" Bilius suspended a cup of tea as if to make a toast.
"Certainly, to the bride and groom." Ectur reached for a cup and Hermione did the same.
"To the bride and groom." Hermione smiled, lifting her teacup.
Both Enid and Algie took their respective cups in thanks. They toasted and each took a sip, Bilius was the quickest to finish.
"Bleh, I hate black tea." He muttered, visibly shuddering and drawing laughter from everyone.
How strange , Hermione thinks, this feeling... It was easier to explain it as something warm, like when you snuggle in cold weather. It would be so easy to forget, moments like these make her feel that way. But she knows, it can't be something true, she has no intention of staying here, during this period. She wants to go back, to see her parents and her friends again, however, she was confused about what she would witness when she returned - if she and Harry did . The ' if ' is unpleasant, with the imposition of a condition and an uncertain future, Hermione doesn't like, the unpredictability.
o0o
Tom learned over time to appreciate watching her as she got ready, there were many processes he frankly didn't fully understand, but the final effect was stunning in his eyes and every move she made seemed strangely sensual. The waves her hair made to be pinned into a bun near the nape of her neck, with a few strands - always rebellious - to decorate her oval face, had sparkle, the gesture of so slowly painting her lips the colour red was inviting and as she lifted her gaze to look at him through the reflection of the mirror, it drew him to her.
He stood up from the armchair he was sitting in as he watched her like a VIP spectator and walked over to her, placing his hands on her shoulders, before offering his hand for her to take so she could get up from the dressing table, Tom led her over to the standing mirror so she could see herself completely. She looked perfect in the long straight black dress with long sleeves, the fabric of which shimmered depending on her movement, but there was still something missing. Yes, he took the velvet box that held the gift he had bought for her, he fastened the necklace around her neck, the emerald colour matched.
Ah, she certainly looked more than perfect.
Placing his hands on her, letting them roam down her arms in a slow caress, the tip of his nose rubbing against the skin of her neck as he let out a chaste kiss or two. His fingers caressed the outline of her chin, watching in reflection as she touched the necklace he had given her.
He loved it when she was like this because she was one of the many ways in which he displayed the power he had, through her, he displayed the economic power he had gained.
She didn't ask for many things, in fact almost nothing, although he saw her genuine expression of surprise and graced him with the jewellery she received.
"Am I not enough?" She once asked. He wanted to say yes, but why does everything have to be a choice? Why can't he have everything? So he did.
Tom turned her towards him, looking into her deep brown eyes, he placed one hand against her face, his thumb resting against her cheek, while his other hand rested on her waist. He kissed her. She would probably have to retouch up her lipstick and he would have to wipe his own lips.
That night, when they returned from the party, he would make love to her.
o0o
"Isn't there anything I can do to change your mind?" Ectur asked, offering his right hand to her as he stood mounted on his Quidditch broom and wearing the clothes of the colours of House Gryffindor The sun between the dark clouds formed a golden halo when the light touched his hair, quite unlike Bilius whose light made his hair resemble fire.
Hermione gestured in denial with a simple polite smile. Strands of her brown hair flew against the wind as they detached themselves from their braid.
"So you are afraid of heights?" It was a rhetorical question, the conversation in the Common Room was long and pleasant and at some point, Hermione cited why she didn't ride broomsticks, not if she could help it. "That's something I'd find hard to believe."
"You can go, Ectur, I'll be fine." She meant it. They had already been on the Quidditch field for a good fifty minutes, while she was sitting in the stands reading a book of translations for Magical Languages, Ectur, as well as the others, were training. The thought of denying the invitation to come and watch the training occurred to her, thinking that being in the presence of others while she tried to read and make notes might irritate her, but the opposite happened, the open air, the wind and even the sound of the sticks as they hit the balls were a background sound to her concentration. Well, apart from Ectur who would come up to her, again and again, to ask if she was feeling well or comfortable.
While on the one hand it made her feel good or cared for, on the other, Hermione realised that Ectur Prewett had been much more aware of her presence since the incident at the lake .
Ectur levitated, reaching more altitude and moving away from the stands while keeping control of the broom. Bilius stops next to him as he fixes his gloves, Ig passes quickly above Bilius and Ectur's heads, and Algie followed close behind, such had been the speed with which they passed that they made a gust of wind strong enough to catch everyone off guard. It was clear to see the sips in their hands, Ig was the first to raise his arm, with the right angle and a somewhat surprising force, the quaffle was thrown towards the centre ring, drawn like a magnet towards the goal, though the explanation of such movement was practically simple physics. But what appeared to be an inevitable goal, even if the keeper was present in the ring, was not. The Quaffle was largely rejected from the goal when the bat hit the centre of the ball, reversing direction to Ig - who deflected in time before the ball hit against the centre of his chest.
"What the fuck?!" Hermione heard Bilius exclaim, as superb laughter was the sound of glory. Lestrange proudly juggled the bat, before keeping a firm grip on the object. He raised his eyebrows and then lowered them, completing the expression with a cynical smile. Lestrange knew how to tease someone.
"Uh-oh," Enid muttered.
Dolohov caught Bilius off guard, kicking the base of the broom and pushing Bilius towards Ecutur, causing them both to almost fall, then joined the rest of the team, who were slowly taking over the field. The green cloaks had arrived.
Before she could scream or say anything, he stopped the broom in front of her. With the agility of a feline, he dismounted from the broom and balanced himself on the protection of the bleachers, letting the broom float as he held it in one hand. Alphard Black was dressed in the full uniform of the Slytherin Quidditch team, he had half his hair tied up in a short, masculine ponytail, a small lock of hair falling in front of his face. Alphard smiled at her. Hermione narrowed her eyes.
Although she was going to question him about what he was doing, her attention was stolen as she looked over his shoulder at the field. Now the team from Gryffindor was gathered against the team from Slytherin.
"I wanted to talk to you." Alphard crouched down, still balancing on the protective bars.
"About?" She frowned, in the background, she heard Ig growling against Lestrange and Algie trying to separate the two as the voice of reason.
"I rephrased it. I improved what I had to say."
"Hm? What?" she didn't understand.
"What I had said before." Alphard explained "I still want us to be friends. We are friends, right? I mean, not that we ever go out together or drink together or anything like that. It's never been our kind of friendship. Can that be considered friendship? I like you -" He pointed at her and Hermione automatically made an expression, rejecting. "Not in that way, it's obvious.'' - He shrugs. "But... you understand."
"Why?" She shook her head, the question seeming to catch him off guard. Alphard blinked, the long eyelashes looked like a hereditary Black family trait. His forehead wrinkled.
"Actually, that's a good question." He glanced over his shoulder, sighed, rolled his eyes and then turned his attention back to her. "Do you want to take a walk?"
"W-what-" Before she could finish formulating her sentence, Alphard climbed onto his broom and slipped his arm around Hermione's waist. As soon as she felt her feet were no longer on something solid, she dropped the book she was holding, watching it fall open, the pages wetting, only for her to hold on to Alphard's grip. She screamed, alarmed.
Turning as far as she could, she braced herself against him. Alphard laughed out loud, as if this was a comedy and increased speed as he climbed, Hermione's eyes opened wildly and her stomach churned as she noticed the height she was at and the speed of her descent to the ground, as he made a parabola turn, at the same instant her hands became like claws to prevent her from breaking free of him. Looking for a safer place than Alphard's arm, Hermione quickly groped for his shoulders and pulled as hard as she could, unconsciously tugging at the good part of his shirt, including the collar.
Alphard's neck resisted the squeeze as he tried to straighten his position on the broom.
"Hermione, you're choking me." He tried to warn her, but she didn't seem to be listening, especially when she was screaming.
And what Alphard means by 'screamed' is that it was loud, like a banshee, rivalling even a mandrake. He felt her squeeze against his ribs and how she lowered her head to avoid having to see the sight that height affords.
"Put her down" Bilius ordered, stopping in front of him. " She's scared, you idiot."
Well, in Alphard's view, Bilius Weasley didn't need to state the obvious, he had already noticed it himself, after all, she was kneading his ribs with an iron grip.
Alphard gradually lowered his height while still trying to breathe through Hermione's grip and when he was close to the ground and she was still standing in the same position, he made a sound with his throat to get her attention.
"Hm...Hermione, you can let go of me now. We're already on the ground."
Hermione lifted her head so fast that she almost hit her forehead against the back of Alphard's head. She was standing still in the same position as if the muscles in her body couldn't respond to her mind's commands. The colour of her skin was probably green with nausea.
Hermione pulled away from him, her legs wobbly, barely able to support her weight and her throat dry.
In the background, she heard a small audience laughing at her state and even though she felt momentarily weak, she wanted to launch balls into the centre of their foreheads just to get them to shut up. Falling onto her ass, feeling the icy grass through the fabric of her skirt, her hands served as support and she took a deep breath to get back to normal and eliminate the momentary feeling of panic she felt.
Ectur, Ig, Algie, Bilius and Alphard surrounded her, their bodies blocking any air passage that might help her. Hermione could hear their questions about how she was feeling if she had been hurt, but her mind could barely reason.
Veronica Grimm, from Gryffindor, pushed each of them away, ordering them to stand back. She lightly slammed her fist dressed in the protection of her sportswear into the centre of Ig's chest to make herself understood. Thanks to her, the feeling of being choked left Hermione and she soon recovered.
Standing up slowly, her legs still looking weak, Hermione stood and slowly raised her hand towards Alphard, who understood as if she needed help. In one swift movement, she grabbed his collar and pulled his body towards her, even though Alphard was taller and probably had more physical strength than her, he found himself following the movement involuntarily, caught off guard by her.
Alphard found himself face to face with her and widened his eyes at the fierce expression on her face, his hand immediately releasing his broom.
"If you do that again, you'll regret it." She warned and he fell silent. "Do you understand me?" She asked and he shook his head like a child. "Good!"
Suddenly, he found himself sitting up, legs stretched out and wide-eyed. He hadn't even noticed when she picked up her wand, let alone when she cast the spell. He only felt the electricity run through his skin, up his body until it reached his hair. The straight, black strands of his hair shivered with the static.
Hermione cast a glance at the others, who broadly moved away from her. Bilius raised both hands.
"I didn't do anything, I swear."
Alphard laughed, his laughter was loud. He threw his head back, the spiky earring sparkled with movement. He understood then, she never really hurt him, and the spell wasn't even aggressive. It was something childish, a joke, something he even did when he was smaller to get the rare chuckles out of his brother Cygnus. At most, it made him look funny.
Alphard stood up quickly and ran to catch up with Hermione, as soon as she realised he was coming towards her she quickened her steps to get away from him, however, she felt his hands on her waist as he whirled her around and reversed the direction she was going.
"Put me down, you brute ," Hermione said, for lack of a better adjective. It wasn't her intention to offend him and apparently, he understood that, as his laughter increased. As she was lighter and smaller in stature, Alphard swung her around like a doll, though he placed her gently on her feet afterwards. It was obvious he was just teasing her, joking around and something made Hermione think that Sirius' personality when young must have been similar to his uncle's.
Their friendship seemed strange and disconnected from reality, they had never been seen together and didn't even seem to talk, no more than the polite good morning, good afternoon and good night, however watching the teasing made those around, strange. Alphard was not known for being haughty, but he came from one of the richest families in Hogwarts and lived in groups of equal class, not that the Prewett were poor, but it was clear that they did not have the same kind of bank value in the family account, however, the name has value. If it wasn't for that, the Blacks would never give Lucretia's hand to Ignatius. For Hermione's colleagues, it was unbelievable to see him interact with anyone outside his circle of close friends, even though he was generally charismatic to the point of being quite popular.
Alphard put his hand on Hermione's head and messed up her hair a little more to get more reactions, though he should be worried about his own appearance, as his hair was still returning to normal.
"Hey-" Ectur stopped him. "Enough, okay?" With a serious face, he kept a grip on Alphard's arm.
Alphard frowned and then raised one of his eyebrows. He wasn't much for confrontation, he preferred to avoid it if he could. Casting a glance up and down at Ectur, he read the facial expression and realisation came to him. Ah, so that's really it then. Alphard knew that look, he'd received too many of them in his short life, God knows how many boyfriends and fiancés he'd pissed off to recognise the jealous look he saw on Ectur.
"Relax, Prewett." He spoke, yet Ectur did not loosen his grip. " Hermione and I are friends, aren't we Hermione?" Alphard looked at her for confirmation. "Hm? Hermione?" He looked around for her, raising his arms and looking around as if she had disappeared into his clothes.
She wasn't even there anymore, pulling away before she got more involved. Hermione didn't have the patience, will or charisma to deal with teenage drama, not anymore. She strongly believed that her time for such situations had passed, even without her realising it. The reality of the situation she found herself in her true time had robbed her of most of those types of experiences and now, she believed she was ' adult' enough - too mature even - for that.
She was making her way to the stands to collect her belongings when she stopped suddenly, realising who was present, she couldn't even contain her expression as her mouth opened into a small 'O'.
It was clear that He would be there, with the rest of the sixth and seventh-year Slytherin students. His gaze went through all the commotion, stopping at Alphard and Ectur and then focusing on her for a moment before his gaze drifted to his feet. Tom picked up the book she had dropped. Wiping the cover of the book with the sleeve of his robe, Tom quickly read the title of the book, before raising his gaze to her.
There goes another book, Hermione thought.
He closed his eyes and smiled at her and all Hermione did was swallow the lump stuck in her throat in an almost audible 'glup'.
o0o
He touched, kneaded, felt in his fingers, in his grip, the soft flesh that was her body. His breathing was hot, panting, and he couldn't control himself. His movements were irregular, yet strong. He was at the peak of arousal, the wet sounds coming from the collision of their coupling, skin on skin, as he held her from behind. He spread his hand against one of her small breasts, kneading it, feeling how well it fit against his palm. With the force of the relentless movements he was making, she leans herself with one hand and with the other, she holds the wrist of the hand he was teasing the flesh of her breast. With her plea, he pulls her towards him, her back against his chest, one of his hands squeezing her hips, to try and keep her as close as a fuck could allow, the other hand on, making a trail down to her jaw, turning her face, calling her mercilessly for a kiss. A tongue kiss so erotic it would make the most puritanical blush with debauchery.
Ah, the spoils of war.
Victory did that to him. He gets so high, the adrenaline running free in his blood like a drug, the feeling of winning was addictive to the point that he felt restless inside his own skin, with the immense desire to do...more. To take more, to have more, to consume more, to destroy more...more and more. Destroy every single enemy he made throughout his life until there are none left.
And when the battle is won and he has nothing else on which to discount the cumulative energy, he goes to her. Because if not her, then some or many will pay far worse until he is sated of something. It is either the pleasure or it is the sadism of his 'reign'.
It's in most people's best interest that he ends up here until the orgasm hits him and his reasoning gets back on track. Getting back to thinking with intentional coolness instead of volatile emotions and bloodlust.
But now he doesn't think about it much, he can't even say he's thinking coherently. All that's happening at that moment is an instinctive knowledge rooted in his brain about how he knows how his and her bodies work together and how they achieve that pleasure that seems to last for such a short time, but is too good to be left out a lifetime.
Today they celebrate.
That night he wants nothing more than to celebrate beside her, or rather inside her, his - their - victory in a good fuck that would make her twist her toes and grab him for her life.
Then, he promises, he will make love to her, to placate her desires, just as she placates his.
He just wants her to feel the same pleasure and euphoria that he's feeling, and if the juices that are making his cock wetter every time he enters and exits her pussy were any indication, then he's doing a good job.
He feels the half-moon marks of her nails in the strong grip she keeps on his wrist; he stops, gasping, and rests his forehead against her back, stroking her slowly. The non-movement is almost unbearable, but it's no worse than pulling away from her completely; the air is cold compared to the tantalising warmth of the interior between her legs and he wheezes. He takes a step back and she turns towards him, her hands go to his pecs and his remains on her hips, pulling her towards him and this time, he is the one lying on the bed, bringing her over so she can mount him.
He moves further back, more towards the middle of the bed, with her on his lap. Her hands are on either side of his face as she kisses him. He holds her hips and lifts her just to get into position, before lowering her to be buried in her warmth again. There is the intake of air as she feels him inside her, she stops the kiss to focus, to adjust to the position and he smiles mischievously, he has his grip on each of her thighs and urges her hips to move. She rests her forehead against his, her lips separated from his by only a few inches and undulate her hips, causing him to close his eyes.
It's sensual and erotic at first, such smooth and controlled movement. It's something of hers and he loves it, really, but he wants more than that now, he wants her to fuck him.
He lays down fully and rests his heels on the bed, his hands keeping a grip on her thighs, and starts fucking. She leans on him, spreading her hands on his chest.
He is proud then, as his muscles are fully developed. Although in his school years, his body was very good for his age, he realises that he had by no means reached full manhood, he was just a green boy.
And so did she. Her breasts grew just a little more, the soft curves of her body became more prominent, and there was simply that indicated that in those years ago she had not reached the aṕice of womanhood.
"Harder." He asks, taking his hands off her thighs and holding her wrist, bringing her hands to his neck. She knows what he is asking and she squeezes to give him the suffocating sensation. She never squeezes hard, never completes the act, she just squeezes so he can feel her hands around his neck.
He closes his eyes in euphoria, pleasure forming at the base of his spine, in reward, his thumb makes circular motions on her clit, feeling her movements become erratic.
[...]
The sound of the movement they make, the moans and the pleasure, is too much. Soon he will come.
He turns and is on top of her, she doesn't even have time to be surprised when he starts to move. He gets on his knees, holding her legs wide open for him, getting the spectacular view of his cock being sheathed by her pussy several times, her hands are on his abdomen, looking for something to hold onto when she closes her eyes and throws her head back.
Her hair is long and full, spread across the bed.
She comes, stopping breathing for a moment, the tightness around his cock enough to make him cum. He props his hands on the bed to avoid putting his weight on it, as the ripples of orgasm rush through his body and out in spurts.
Her thighs press against him and she wriggles incessantly, seeking friction.
Pulling out of her, he collapses beside her on the bed, their rapid breathing matching. He puts an arm against his eyes, his left hand searching hers until he finds and squeezes, though her grip is weaker than his, she curls her fingers into his.
After a good moment of recovering from the act, he gets up from the bed. She is still lying there with her eyes closed, still coming back from the waves of pleasure. He envies her a little, that she feels this pleasure for longer, but he is also proud in equal measure to be the man who does this to her.
He unceremoniously steps on the clothes thrown on the floor and goes to the drinks trolley, where he pours himself a glass of whisky and drinks, for her, he pours a glass of sweet wine.
When he returns, she is getting up on the bed, staying on her knees. He hands her the cup and lies down, one arm behind his head for support, his fingers caressing her leg.
She drinks and looks at him. They exchange glances.
"Ours is the victory."
"Hermione, what was that?" Enid was following her down the corridors.
"That what?"
Enid turned around, to interrupt Hermione's path, who almost collided with her.
"You and Alphard." She shook her head as if the topic of the subject was clear. "Are you two...I don't know...together?" She tried. "Look, don't take this the wrong way, but are you going to have to deal with a large...amount of fans?" Enid blinked repeatedly, her big eyes glittering as if she couldn't find the right word to convey her thoughts.
"No!" Hermione promptly denied it, walking back.
"No?" Enid ran to keep up with her steps.
"No!"
"So-" Enid interrupted Hermione's path again. "First Abraxas, now Alphard?"
"Malfoy would be the last person in the world I would look at. Alphard is a friend and nothing more. I'm not interested in either of them." Hermione clarified, to put a stop to the matter.
"Is that so?!" The mirth in Enid's voice made Hermione frown.
They make the curve of the corridor and Hermione stops immediately as soon as she realises that He is standing there, leaning against the wall, looking at the shoes that were not new, but were immaculate just the same.
When he notices their presence, he raises his gaze and pulls himself away from the wall. Tom goes to meet them, his gaze moving from Enid to Hermione.
"Hello, Enid. How are you?" he asks.
"Very well, Riddle. Kind of you to ask." She replies, smiling. "What brings you to the Gryffindor wing?"
With their exchange, Hermione watches intently, undecided between staying or not. To bury the nervousness she feels, she clasps both hands behind her back.
"I would like to speak to Hermione, if possible," Tom answers Enid, but his gaze is on Hermione.
Enid also looks at Hermione, waiting for her response.
"Sure. Feel free to express yourself, Riddle." Hermione finds herself saying, though she doesn't rule out Enid's presence.
Whether he knows what she is doing or not is hard to say, but as always, he finds a way around it.
"That's what it's about." He pulls out of his cross-body bag, the book she left on the bleachers. "There's something else too. I wonder if we could talk in private. Sorry, Enid."
Hermione won't let that happen, she holds the book before it's too late to be in her possession.
"I'm sorry, Riddle, but there's something I need to do. But I thank you for retrieving the book I left. I will not forget your favour." She denies being left alone with him. "Shall we go, Enid?" Hermione entwines her arms with Enid's, as girls normally do, and they walk into the Gryffindor Common Room, leaving him behind. Here, Riddle has no dominance.
There is a clear hierarchy among those who serve the Dark Lord and order of mission importance depending on which types of servants can visit.
On the lowest rung was a mass of support, loyal but not significantly important for the Dark Lord to deal with personally, the Death Eaters passing on their master's order. Non-humans, with varying degrees of sentience or humans under the imperium curse, were on this rung.
Snatchers are the second lowest rung, yet with greed, they aim to reach higher in the ranks of the Dark Lord, Fenrir Greyback is a notable member.
Above the snatchers are the Death Eaters, but they were unmarked. Because their loyalty is fragile, they were useful enough in the Lord's eyes.
The real Deathly Eaters, are the ones who are marked. The Dark Lord's inner circle, the ones who heard of the planning and had far more freedoms than everyone else. Loyal, highly useful. The markeds had high status in the Dark Lord's twisted social order.
For the person who was receiving a 'visit' there was a degree of probability of coming out alive depending on which rank was coming for you. Your chances dropped rapidly the higher the rank, but then, when the Lord, in the flesh, came...
It was a black mass, dark as pitch, a shadow that moved with tentacles, making the air icy, a clear warning that what was bad could and would get worse. Out of the darkness, he stepped, walking slowly, the black mass behind him coalescing into the very shadow his body emitted. The Deathly Eaters were stunned at the Dark Lord's arrival, as the whimpers of despair grew louder.
His footsteps made a wet sound as the blood was fresh and he was leaving footprints.
"My lord, please..." He heard someone pleading. "Have mercy."
But already? He hadn't even done anything.
He stops, turning part of his body and his face, as he senses her arrival. With a *pop* too audible for the terrifying silence, apart of course from the clamouring and crying, she appears.
She walks over to him, her eyes glued to the ground. She has no desire or courage to look at the corpses, but it doesn't feel good to look at the blood trails either.
Lift your fucking gaze. He wants to tell her.
She lifts her gaze and stares at him, soon after standing next to him. Her gaze falls on the people cowering on the floor, some are under the tables and she swears she smells urine somewhere, but the smell of blood stands out.
It is the night of the Slughorn Club meeting. Tom and his Housemates are already present, they drink punch while waiting for Lovegood, Black, Runcorn and Granger.
There is a soft knock on the door before the handle turns and Granger enters. She is wearing a large red jumper that seems to swallow her whole and doesn't look her size, let alone feminine, her skirt coming halfway down her calf in a tedious beige, finishing with jack Purcell.
By etiquette, all the young men rose from their chairs in the presence of a lady.
"Miss Granger!" Slughorn exclaimed upon seeing her. "I am so glad you decided to grace us with your presence." He walked over to her, placing one hand on her shoulder and bringing her to the table.
"Thank you so much for inviting me, Professor Slughorn. It's an honour."
To Hermione, this was as strange as the feeling of déjà vu.
She was placed facing Riddle and Lestrange.
"Miss Granger." Lestrange is the first to greet, there is something behind the smile as if he is constantly bragging.
"Lestrange." She acknowledges his presence.
"Hermione." Tom is second.
"Tom." She gestures with her head.
Hemachatus haemachatus, also known as the Ringhals, is the eighteenth most venomous snake in the world