Hermione followed Voldemort through the manor. Instead of returning back to his room, he navigated the many corridors until they came to the heavy doors of the library. There was something in his touch, in the way his hand never left her lower back, that set her insides on fire. He wasn't even using his magic and she still reacted to him.
He gently pushed her through the doors, closing them behind them with a precise click. It was dark in the library, only a single light illuminating them where they stood. She looked up at him, but he was too focused on scanning the room.
The evening had gone exactly as she planned – until it didn't. She had wanted to show Voldemort that she was a worthy opponent, not some puppet he could manipulate. After Narcissa summoned her favourite seamstress for her, she actually understood the other witch's words. Clothes could be power if used correctly.
Voldemort still seemed to find her more of an amusing pet than a witch in her own right, but she would show him. Once he understood that he could not manipulate her into anything, that she deliberately chose her wardrobe to signal her status to the world, his laugh would die in his throat. She couldn't afford to have him belittle her. She felt deep inside herself that if she ever gave Voldemort an inch, he would take her whole.
What was strange though was the way he reacted to Snape's insults. She understood perfectly well that in the eyes of her old professor, she was just a child, despite being legally of age. He had said those things to hurt her and to undermine her. But before she could even say anything, Voldemort stopped her and lashed out at Snape for no apparent reason. He did the same thing, always calling her little and sweet, making a point that she was so very inexperienced compared to him. So why did he care about Snape making the same point?
"What are we doing here?" She could no longer keep her anxiety to herself.
He briefly looked down at her, smiling, despite his eyes remaining cold. Then he pushed her forwards again, steering her between two long rows of bookshelves. His answer came almost as a whisper. "There is a book I want you to read. It might answer some of your questions."
She almost stumbled over her own feet. That was the last thing she expected. So far, Voldemort seemed to almost bask in her lack of knowledge. What was different now all of a sudden?
"Careful, my sweet," he murmured into her ear as he wrapped his arm more firmly around her, "don't break your ankles in those lovely new shoes of yours."
She swallowed thickly, desperate to ignore the heat that again coursed through her body as she felt his voice rumble in his chest. She suddenly realised that under different circumstances, this would be her dream date. A huge library filled with books she probably had never read before, and a man wanting to show her a specific one, possibly so they could talk about it afterwards?
He stopped in front of a bookshelf in the middle of the row. The light source from the doors had not follow them here, so only the barest amount of its yellow glow reached them. The moonlight pouring in from the windows way above them only made the shadows around them deeper.
She was too aware of his tall body directly behind her, trapping her between the rows of books and himself. He reached for the top row, one that she would need a ladder for, while he didn't even have to strain to pull out a book. It was thick and even in the low lights she could see it was old. It was too dark to make out the letters on it, or to read on the shelves what section this might be. Curiosity sparked in her, mixing with the strange heat she felt where his body touched her back.
He studied it for a moment before sending it to a desk at the end of the bookshelves. She half expected him to guide her there now, ask her to sit down and read it in front of him. But instead, he put his arms left and right of her face, stepping even closer, as if to make sure she felt every inch of his body.
"You look divine tonight, my sweet," he whispered to her, placing another kiss on her bare neck.
She shuddered at the touch, only just biting back the moan that wanted to break free. The grand room full of books was silent around them, which only amplified the sound of her own breathing in her ears. She brought her hands up, steading herself against the bookshelf. She suddenly regretted choosing a pair of high heels that she did not feel comfortable walking or standing in.
His right hand gently stroked her shoulder, squeezing it ever so lightly, before travelling down, along her side. The movement was slow, as if to give her time to react. But all Hermione could do was stand absolutely still. She was mesmerised by the feel of his hot breath in her neck and his lean body against her back. The darkness of the library strangely making the desire that coursed through her veins seem less forbidden.
Slowly, his hand travelled to her front, playing with the seam of her pants. Then, he opened only the button, allowing his hand to travel further down without removing the trousers completely. She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and stifled another moan. She could feel the heat pool between her legs as his long fingers inched forward, underneath her tiny slip.
Voldemort didn't move either. Only his one hand caressed her naked skin, the rest of him felt as suspended in time as she felt. She leaned her forehead against the books, bracing herself for what was to come.
One long finger dipped deeper, stroking through her folds. She thought she heard a hiss as Voldemort realised how wet she was, but it was so quiet and her heart was beating so loudly, she wasn't sure. Everything in her longed for him to just rip her clothes off and to take her right here and now. She never needed to feel something inside her so urgently.
Still, she remained silent and unmoving. Fearing that anything could break the spell upon them. Focusing on his fingers that circled her most sensitive parts ever so slowly. She could feel the wetness seeping over his fingers and with every circle, he coated her more in her own juices. It was hot and sticky and just not enough. She wanted to beg him. Everything in her screamed to beg him.
But she didn't dare.
No man had ever touched her like this before. Not her in this body. Not even she herself. And everything about it just felt right. The silence, the darkness, the fact that they were in a library. His tall body behind her, his hot breath on her neck.
As if of its own accord, her head fell back, colliding with his chest. At the same time, the moan she held back for so long broke free. One finger slipped deeper, thrusting into her just as she moaned. What came out of her mouth was a feral groan instead, needy and demanding. The sudden intrusion hurt, but it also felt like it was completing her in heretofore unknown ways.
He pulled his finger back slightly, only to thrust back in again with more force. Hermione sobbed, not caring anymore whether she made sounds. This was what she needed. The movement burned, but each time he sank his finger back in, she adjusted more to it. Voldemort behind her remained motionless except for his hand picking up a fast rhythm. With the last of her self-control, she forced her hips to keep steady instead of meeting his hand.
She brought her arms up, grabbing his shoulders, his neck behind her, looking for purchase as his forceful thrusts rocked her body. His free arm encircled her waist, holding her steady against him, while he pushed her harder against the shelves. She could feel his breath becoming more laboured, but still, he made no move to give her anything more than just that one finger.
Something was building inside of her. She could feel it. The tension that gripped her legs and arms. The pressure between her thighs. The sweat forming between her brows. She knew she was close, so close. As his one finger sank into her again and again, his thumb applied soft pressure on her swollen nub, sending shivers down her spine.
She could feel him behind her, hard and hot, but he made no motion to relieve himself. His desire for her shot new waves of heat through her body each time the thrust of his hand made her hip jerk and her bottom rub against is length. Another deep groan fell from her lips as she struggled to keep still. If he would just remove the layers of clothes between them and sink into her, reward her with his thick cock, she knew she would come instantly. It was all she could think about.
Voldemort stepped back suddenly, not letting go of her or breaking the rhythm, but just enough to pull her out of the shadow and let the moonlight illuminate her face. Her eyes shot wide open, surprised by the sudden change.
It was in that moment that she saw movement out of the corner of her eyes. There, at the far end of the bookshelves, right under the light, stood Severus Snape, one hand still on the door handle as though he was just entering. Shame, hot and raw, engulfed her body. Yet still, her desire was building. Transfixed, she stared at him just as he seemed frozen by the sight of her face, her pleasure exposed by the silvery moonlight.
Just as she was about to tell Voldemort to stop, he thrust a second finger into her. Stretching her just a little more. A cry fell from her lips as she felt all the pressure grip her body at once – and then release. Moaning and sobbing and shaking, she came in his arms, while she could not tear her eyes away from Snape who stood there and watched.
Voldemort grabbed her jaw and twisted her head so pull her into a messy kiss. All teeth and tongue, he drank her little sobs from her lips until she stopped trembling. When he let go of her again, she saw that Snape was gone, the door closed.
"See, my sweet," Voldemort purred as he slipped his fingers out from between her legs, "Severus might talk all high and mighty, but in the end, he's also just a man."
He took a step back, allowing her to turn around and face him completely. She watched horrified as he sucked two fingers into his mouth, licking them clean and almost groaning with delight. He watched her too, she realised, drinking in her flushed cheeks and heaving chest.
With a huff, she closed the button of her pants again, smoothing over her clothes in an attempt to regain a semblance of control. She hated everything about what just happened. The ease with which he was able to seduce her, that she put up no fight and instead almost welcomed his hand between her thighs. That she couldn't blame his aura magic for her lust. That for a moment, she considered this whole thing romantic.
But most of all, she hated that Snape watched her come on Voldemort's fingers.
Rattled, she glared up at the pale man. "If you have to touch me, don't make a display out of it!"
He chuckled at that. "But you liked it so very much, my sweet, didn't you? You came right as you spotted him, after all. I think you like being on display."
She wanted to argue that she already was so close when Snape entered, that it was the addition of a second finger that made her come, not her former teacher. But every word that came to mind sounded like an excuse – and why did she have to defend herself anyway? His accusation was all around untrue.
"Don't worry your pretty little mind," Voldemort said smoothly. "I don't plan to ever show you off like that again. You are mine. Your desire is for my eyes only. But Severus needed to be taught a lesson."
Hermione swallowed. The way he told her over and over that she belonged to him, so casually too, did not bode well for the future. "So you summoned him here to let him watch?"
He shook his head, grinning. "Of course not, that would be too crude. No, I simply know my friends well, dearest Hermione. Severus always comes to the library after dinner here. We just had to wait."
A rotten taste settled on her tongue. He had used her, plain and simple. This was never about his or her pleasure, only about making some kind of point. A part of her was disgusted with herself – she was fine with having sex with Voldemort, but she drew the line at being used? But she couldn't shake that sickening feeling. He had used her for a power play that did not really involve her. That was the problem.
She breathed in deeply, pulling herself up, standing as tall and confidently as she could with these shoes. "If you ever feel the need to punish your friends again like this, let me know in advance. I am not above teaching others a lesson. But I do not want to be surprised by it. Involve me, or stop doing it."
Unblinking, she looked him in the eyes. Of course she knew she had nothing to bargain with, but she had to try. All of this, her new look, her outward pretence of being more malleable, it was all take back control.
For several heartbeats, Voldemort simply stared back, his face a blank mask, hiding whatever he might be thinking. Then, a slow smile crept over his lips, reaching his eyes as they glimmered with triumph.
"Of course, my sweet. I apologise. You are my partner after all, isn't that right? I will make sure to let you in on the plan if it involves you."
She met his smile, though she couldn't shake the feeling that her attempt to win back control had just resulted in the opposite. For now, they seemed to be communicating, actually talking to each other, for the first time. That had to count for something.