"Stars, hide your fires;

Let not light see my black and deep desire."

- William Shakespeare

Chapter Six: New Surroundings

How do you describe the speed of lightening hitting the ground? How do you describe the brute force of a hurricane?

The room was chaos. Flashes of lights and curses sparked and cracked like fireworks. Stone and bricks falling to ground, pews getting split from curses hitting them instead of their intended targets as corpses rained from the ceiling from the room shaking. Hermione fell to the ground as she narrowly missed another curse as it flew at her quicker than the last one, barely giving her time to recover.

Perhaps she was a fool to challenge the most powerful wizard alive to a duel with a wand that wasn't hers. But the roaring in her ears, the fire in her heart, the burning in her veins was far too strong to ignore. She was not the victim. She was not his pet to keep in a cage and yes, she knew the likelihood of her dying was higher than her making it out of this alive, but she would rather die with him understanding that than live being his pawn.

Hermione cast a slicing hex towards him and of course he sidestepped around it with ease. If Hermione didn't have the most hatred and disgust a person could have for another person, she might be in awe of his dueling skills.

It was effortless.

He moved like he was moving through water, a black shadow flushed with the current. He wasn't sweating, he wasn't breathing hard, he wasn't even trying. It infuriated her. She was having to compensate twice as hard from having to use a wand that wasn't hers. Every curse she cast; she could feel the resistance of the wand trying to fight against her.

"Getting tired, mudblood?" He smirked at her as he lowered his wand as he paced back and forth reminding her of a tiger blending in with the bamboo of it's enclosure she once saw at a zoo as a little girl.

Hermione's nostrils flared as she stood firmly in place. "Hardly, Tom." She called him again.

His eyebrows knitted together as a deep frown appeared on his face. "That is not my name."

Hermione scoffed. Looks like Voldemort has a sore spot.

"Actually…" She cocked her head to the side." It is. Tom Marvolo Riddle… A family name, is it not?"

Voldemort said nothing as he continued to glower at her. A coldness seeped into the room, frost growing like mold on the stained-glass windows as Hermione could see her breath vaping in front of her face. Even from where she was standing, she could barely see the white in his eyes anymore as his black pupils took over.

If she had anything left to live for, she might cower at this moment. She might crawl to the ground and beg for mercy and plead for her life.

Too bad she couldn't find a single thing.

"Did I touch a sore spot, Tom?" Hermione teased. "Still haven't gotten over your daddy issues at what, 100 years old?"

That did it.

Glass shattering filled the room with a loud bang as the windows behind her exploded. Turning swiftly, she waved her wand and wordlessly turned it into sand, but not quick enough where a shard cut against her arm as it flew past her.

"Ah!" Hermione grunted as she watched her blood drip onto the floor. The blood she was fighting so hard to keep him from taking. She clenched her teeth hard as she pressed the tip of the wand to her flesh, searing the wound close. It was barely noticeable, but his eyes slightly widened. Only slightly…

Standing straight, keeping her head high, she flourished her wand. "Sectumsempra!"

A flash of purple burst from her wand tip.

Voldemort, clearly surprised at the spell, didn't have time to sidestep but had to jump to the side to avoid it.

"Sectumsempra?" He asked curiously as he looked back to the wall where there was now a black char mark where the curse hit. Looking back at Hermione with his eyebrow raised," I was almost tempted to let it hit me to see what it would do."

"Don't be a little bitch next time and maybe you'll see!" Hermione bit out. "I'm tired of your dancing around!"

This was never going to end if they kept taunting each other. He was playing with her like a cat with a mouse and she was becoming too exhausted. She hadn't slept or ate properly since being captured and she could feel her energy depleting. She had to do the unexpected.

Invade his space.

Hermione took off running towards him and in a snap of a second, she vanished with a crack in the air and reappeared directly in front of Voldemort, knocking him over as she hit him in the chest with the force of her running.

"Oof!" He grunted as they fell back, this time he hit his back onto the ground. Raising one first, she landed it hard into his face. Hearing the break of his nose was like music to her ears. With a snap, he disappeared from under her and reappeared behind her a few feet away. Turning quickly, still on her knees, she saw him glare at the blood that was dripping from his face as he raised his wand and fixed it with a harsh fracture of bone.

"That hurt." He growled through his clenched teeth, his jaw tense as his eyes were no longer black but flashed red.

"It was supposed to", Hermione spit out and lunged forward, cracking in the air again to reappear behind him. Before she could even manage to get close to him, he disappeared and reappeared behind her. Snaps and cracks filled the room as they kept disappearing and reappearing only a few feet away from each other. What little magic she had left was plummeting with each apparition. Her last one caused her to lean onto her knees and dry heave.

"Giving up?"

Voldemort was a few feet in front of her smiling extremely smugly as he bent over and cocked his head to the side. His eyes went back to their original black and they were glinting, mocking.

"Hardly", Hermione stood, slightly stumbling unevenly on her feet. This wasn't fucking fair. And he knew that and was still pushing her to her limits. She didn't have her own wand, she was unrested, dehydrated, starved… And he was him. Shaking where she stood, Hermione could feel the rage flowing through her from her bare feet all the way to her tired brain. She did not fight so hard to survive, murder the way she needed to, and alienate her friends for nothing!

Hermione was reaching her boiling point and all the while he stood there smirking at her. Mocking her. Beating her.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The moment was delicious to Hermione. Her curse didn't hit its mark, sadly, but the shock that went across his face as he blocked it was perfection.

Turning his head back to her, he raised an eyebrow and looked at her with wide eyes. "Oh, it's like that?"

"Avada Kedavra!" Hermione yelled again and again and again. Green flashed out, one after another. He was blocking them just as swiftly as they were being cast but even she could see through the green flares that he was having to put effort in. Every friend that had died at his hands, every innocent blood spilled, every young life taken, was aiding her in casting her favorite spell over and over again.

She was rallying.

And he had not expected it.

"You can't keep this up!" He yelled at her over curses. "You will exhaust yourself before you land even one blow on me!"

Hermione didn't respond. Just continued launching curse after curse. Tears fall thickly down her face, blood pooling in her mouth from biting her tongue so hard. Her arm was exhausted, and her heart felt like it was sputtering. But none of it mattered. She would push herself until she was dead.

The mudblood girl was relentless with the killing curse. Of all the things he had thought, and maybe expected her to do, she had done the opposite each and every time. It was beginning to – Piss. Him. Off.

People were predictable. It was one of his favorite things about mankind. And it was one of his favorite things about himself - being able to foresee what choices people would make. When he wanted to predict those choices, very few times in his long life was he wrong.

But this girl…

He was seemingly wrong. Every – single – time.

She couldn't possibly think that she would win in a duel against him, but here she was. Giving it her all, pushing herself to the brink of exhaustion just to what? Prove a point to him? To herself?

He could see a brief glimpse of her through the green flashes and she looked sick. Pale, emaciated, and even still, she pushed herself to fire killing curses like they were Year 1 spells. They both knew she wouldn't win, so why? Why? Why?

To kill herself…

Alarm bells started ringing in his ears. She was pushing herself so hard, past the point of magic exhaustion to kill herself. But she couldn't die… He needed her blood. He hadn't yet tested if any mudblood's blood would satiate his youth or if it specifically had to be hers and he could not take that chance.

"Hermione!" He called out her name over the curses," You need to stop."

Nothing but more curses was his reply.

"Enough!"

With one block of her last spell, he waved his wand above his head and suspended the demolished room into inky blackness. Her curses stopped. The only thing that could be heard were her sobs as Voldemort saw the shimmer of her outline through the darkness. He walked around her, giving her a wide birth as he was now behind her.

"Show yourself you fucking coward!" Hermione sobbed into the empty void in front of her. Quiet as air he stepped behind her and as he wrapped his arms tightly around her midsection, clutching her arms tightly to her side, the darkness fell to the ground. She bent over in his arms and sobbed as he held her firmly, not breaking his grip.

"You have lost, Hermione", he stated as a fact, saying her name again.

"Just kill me", she sobbed. Her once lively hair hung like death in her face, her spunk and fury diminished to nothing. She had broke. "Please, just kill me."

"I can't and won't do that", he shook his head. "Drop your wand and kick it away from you."

She did nothing but cry as he shook her violently.

"Drop. It." He hissed, his patience growing thin as he crushed his arms around so tightly she gasped for air. Merlin, this girl pushed his fucking buttons. He heard it clatter to the ground and saw it be kicked away from them. Letting go of her, she crumpled to the ground, catching herself on her palms and her knees as her head continued to hang.

"Were you trying to kill yourself?" He asked.

A sob rang out as her shoulders violently shook. "Yes."

"You would rather kill yourself trying to kill me than survive and try to defeat me?" He snorted with laughter and moved to stand in front of her. She said nothing and again, his patience was growing thin.

Answer me, dammit…

Slowly she raised her head to look at him and as her big, brown eyes bore into his, he felt himself again, thrown off course because she didn't do what he expected her to do. Looking up at him, she didn't look like she feared him. She didn't look like she was about to beg for his mercy or plead.

She looked tired.

Inhaling deeply, she spoke. "I would rather kill myself than be locked up as your blood pet."

And then she fell to the floor. No longer conscious. No longer casting curses at him. Kneeling down, fearing the worst, he pressed his two fingers into her neck and felt relief for himself at the pulse he felt against his fingertips.

He needed that blood.

Standing, he rolled her body over with his foot and glared down at the girl. She was filthy. She was vile and wretched. But he needed her and so far, it was for an undetermined amount of time. Looking away from her, he observed the room that was previously for ceremonies and gatherings but now looked like it had been through war. Pews were broken in half; holes were made in the walls from stray curses and all the windows on the side were shattered.

And she managed to mostly hold her own and duel against him on the brink of magical exhaustion.

The cunning bitch…

Staring down at her, his shoulders held high, he felt himself torn between both appreciation for a witch giving her all in a duel and then disgust for who the witch was.

He hated that he needed her. It filled his stomach with bile and rage, that he, the Dark Lord, the most powerful wizard to ever live, was reduced to needing the blood of some mudblood nobody to sustain his life.

It was a new low for him.

Lower than a baby taking him out the first time…

He snarled his lip up in distaste and frowned deeply. He was feeling mercy tug at him. A feeling that he had spent decades repressing, but every now and then seeped out. Not ever for the wellbeing of others, of course, but the wellbeing of people only if it benefited him. And having the mudblood alive and at least somewhat in good condition was certainly beneficial to him. He didn't enjoy going down to the dungeons to extract his new life source and perhaps, maybe if her living situation was better, she wouldn't be so unbearable to be around. Perhaps a new living arrangement was in order…

Hermione groaned as consciousness slowly started taking over. Her body and her mind felt like lead, and she felt utterly magicless. Like a squib, but worse. Gritting her teeth, she raised a hand to her forehead and pinched the sides with her thumb and middle finger, applying light pressure to her temples.

"Bit off more than you can chew, eh?"

Pinching her eyes closed tighter, she moaned in agony as her head pounded.

"Come on, mudblood!" the voice shouted at her. "Gotta get up and get you cleaned. Captain's orders!"

"For Merlin's sake…" Hermione cried out, her voice nothing more than a hoarse whisper," Just leave me to die."

"If only we could but then I would be forced to join you."

Hermione, with extreme reluctance, opened her eyes to barely a slit and was thankful that wherever she was, was at least lit dimly. She tried to open her eyes more but could barely manage a crack. Even her eyelids were exhausted.

"For Merlin's sake, Granger.. I don't have all day."

Before she could even manage another attempt at opening her eyes, she felt hands scoop her up roughly.

"No!" Hermione rasped out as she tried with all of her might to squirm and kick her way out of whoever was carrying her, but it was like a toddler fighting a grown adult. Useless.

"Stop fucking moving Granger before you make both of us fall."

She heard a door open and before she could even grasp what was going on around her, she was dropped. Her flew into her throat as she suspended in air for a moment before immediately feeling lukewarm water envelop her as her bottom hit the ground hard.

Sputtering for air, she immediately opened her eyes clearly and full of anger as she stared into the grey eyes of one, Draco Malfoy, who was looking down at her with disgust. Her hair hung in her eyes as her clothes stuck to her skin. Breathing hard, she saw the large porcelain clawfoot tub that she was in.

"What the fuck is this?" Hermione asked. "My wakeup call?"

Draco snorted. "Hardly. Bosses' orders. Why else would I be here?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes at the tall, fair-haired man. "I don't understand. Who's boss?"

"The boss." He raised an eyebrow.

Voldemort? Hermione's nose scrunched up; her eyebrows knit together.

"Voldemort ordered you to give me a bath?" Hermione asked dumbfounded," Why?"

"Because you're disgusting…" Draco gestured to the water that she was in that was turning a dark shade of brown. "Probably going to need several rounds of clean water."

"Why does he care if I'm clean?" Hermione pried. "I lost. Why am I not dead?"

"I don't know." Draco stated," It's not my business and I don't plan to make it my business."

"Oh, right…" Hermione smirked," Malfoy's only do what their told."

Draco face went placid. "Watch it Granger. I was ordered to get you clean. Not that I couldn't hurt you in the process."

Hermione rolled her eyes and leaned back against the smooth porcelain. "I survived a duel with Voldemort. I'm not that scared of you."

Draco gripped the sides of the tub, leaning over the murky water as he made direct eye contact.

"You should be."

"Now get clean. Empty the water and refill it till it runs clear. And don't even think about trying to drown yourself as a way out."

Hermione looked on with disgust as she watched him walk past her and slam the door shut behind him, no doubt waiting on the other side of the door. Turning forward, the water sloshing around her, her eyes darted around her erratically. She was in an incredibly polished bathroom that held two sinks with a large vanity mirror behind them. Marble flooring shone underneath her as white walls surrounded her, a shower stall on the far side, the tub she was in against the wall facing the sinks. A toilet in the corner.

What the fuck is this?

She lost the duel and now she's getting pampered? What- to look nice in her coffin?

Leaning forward, she pulled on the plug in the drain and watched as the dark brown liquid slowly started spiraling down in a water tornado. She stood in the tub, carefully stepping over the edge to not fall on the floor as she left large puddles of water where her clothes were dripping. Padding over to the sinks, she caught sight of herself and grimaced.

Malfoy was right. She was disgusting.

Her curly hair was matted to her face with Merlin knows what, her face was swollen in places, gaunt in others, and bruised everywhere. Her dirty clothes were sticking to her showing her bony frame. She felt ugly. And small. Hermione slowly started taking the wet clothes off and left them in one of the sinks as she stood naked in front of the mirror, taking in every part of her. The mudblood scar alive and well on one arm, her other sporting a new scar from where he carved into her. Bruises kissed her skin and welts coated her.

No wonder they looked at her like was a disease. She looked like one. Hermione walked to the now empty tub, shoved the plug back in and filled it with steaming hot water, relishing in the curls of heat that warmed her skin. She could feel her pores opening and her nerves calming as she inhaled the heat deeply and felt nourished by the warmth. When the water was high enough, she turned it off and stepped carefully into the water.

"Oohhh…" Hermione moaned deeply as she lowered her bare-naked body into the water.

This is almost better than an orgasm.

Every knot in her started loosening, her nerves now feeling smooth as she slowly lowered herself more into the water until her head was submerged. Malfoys warned against her not drowning herself rang in her ear as a reminder, but if she had to be honest with herself, death was far from her mind at this precise moment. Voldemort wasn't in her mind, Death Eaters weren't in her mind, or the Order. Being under the water was a level of peace she didn't know she was missing until now. Even at the Order's headquarters, she wasn't able to bathe like this. Whatever punishment waited for her after this, she didn't care. Nothing would ruin the bliss she was feeling at this moment.

The warmth.

The comfort.

The relaxation of it all.

-Interrupted –

Hermione shot up from underneath the water reflexively before she even registered that she did. In the midst of feeling the most peace she had had in years, she felt it. She felt it.

Him.

Snapped her head all around her, there was…

Nothing.

Nothing at all. The only sound being the occasional drip of water from the faucet. But she knew she felt it. Felt him invading her space. Her peace.

Him…

Voldemort, Tom Riddle… Whoever the fuck he was.

In the cracks of her peace, she felt his darkness seep in like little tendrils tickling the recesses of her mind. It was so small she barely noticed it but the feeling of him couldn't be forgotten. She knew how his magic felt at this point and any small trace of it, she would recognize.

"Hello?" Hermione called out in an extremely small voice. Had she not been naked and vulnerable, she would ask more boldly, but right now, she was a sitting duck.

Nothing replied.

Looking side to side, she determined that maybe he was just nearby. His magic was strong enough to feel from a distance so it would make sense.

That has to be it…

Slowly and carefully, she continued bathing, but it was different now.

The peace was gone.

"About time", Draco rolled his eyes and sighed deeply as Hermione emerged from the bathroom, a large towel wrapped around her.

"I didn't know I was on a time limit", Hermione sneered.

"You're not. I just don't like waiting."

Hermione stood awkwardly in the doorframe as she slowly took her eyes off of Malfoy and started to look at the room she was in.

It was warm and dimly lit. She was standing in a door that faced a bed that was in the middle of the wall to her left. On the other side of the room was a fireplace that was lit with a couch facing it. On the wall directly in front of Hermione was another door. Windows were on either side of the bed, but the curtains were drawn.

And her she was. Naked with only a towel separating her from Malfoy.

"So- ", Hermione shuffled. "Is there a change of clothes somewhere or-?"

Malfoy said nothing as he pointed to the pile of clothes that were folded on the bed.

"You may use those. There is more in the wardrobe. The only time you will be escorted from this room is by either Theo, Blaise, or I. Until then, you stay here, and you stay out of trouble until you are needed."

With that, he turned and was heading towards the closed doorway, but Hermione jumped forward.

"Wait!"

Malfoy turned with his hand on the doorknob.

"I don't understand…" Hermione shook her head. "Why am I here? What is going on?"

Malfoy didn't say anything for a moment. Just continued to stare at her until she was shifting her weight from foot to foot.

"Like I said, not my business."

He opened the door and shut it firmly behind him. The sound of firewood crackling filling the room. Letting go of her towel, she ran across the room naked and tried pulling on the door as hard as she could, but it didn't budge.

Figures.

Turning towards the bed, she reluctantly picked up the clothes. It was a simple black long-sleeve shirt that was clearly made for a man and a pair of grey sweatpants that slightly fit her better but still hung on her hips loosely.

The thoughts rang in Hermione's head as a never ending echo as she looked around the room.

What the fuck is all this?

She had lost, hadn't she? Padding over to the couch with bare, cold feet, she sat on the couch in front of the fireplace, curling her legs tightly into her as she rested her chin on her knees. Hermione tried recalling the duel as best as she could.

She remembered them apparating around each other, him taunting her and saying how she would lose. As she watched the flames dance around each other, she remembered casting Avada after Avada until she was practically comatose. His voice calling her name, telling her to stop, that she would end up killing herself came back to her. He had used her name. Her actual name and it seemed his voice had actual concern in it.

Surely for himself for whatever he needed her for. He said he would tell her what he needed her blood for if she won, but alas, she didn't. Hermione knew deep down the chances of her winning against him were slim to none, but at the time, she didn't care. She at least had to try.

And now she's getting rewarded? It doesn't make sense.

Sighing deeply, she closed her eyes tightly and tried to find an inner voice to speak logic to her but found there was none. All there was, was confusion at the state of her current situation. She felt totally alone. Isolated. And she hated it. For so long she longed to be left alone and now she was. Opening her eyes, she glared at the fire.

So, what was her problem? She finally got what she wanted. She got to be alone. Granted, being held prisoner but she was alone. Looking deeper into her emotions, she still didn't feel strongly about missing Harry or Ron, or particularly anyone from the Order. She didn't miss the loudness, the cold-wet hideouts, or the miserable small talk they all insisted on making.

So why did she feel so alone?

You miss your horcruxes…

Oh, how she missed them.

She had been running on adrenaline and survival since being captured. But here, now, in this room, with the fire crackling, the room dimly lit, her body and hair washed, clothes clean… Everything slowed down. There was no adrenaline spiking through her, her breathing was slow and even. Everything felt calm. And the lack of feeling and emotion, the lack of everything she had felt back home was slowly starting to set in.

She was back to feeling dead inside.

And she needed her horcruxes to feel alive again. But that fucker had taken them from her. Merlin knew, they were probably destroyed reviving his rotting body. But if she was being honest with herself, and she rarely liked to be, it was just the horcruxes she missed.

Breathing deeply, she lowered her forehead to her arms and tried not to shudder at the disgust she felt for herself.

She missed his voice.

She missed having her inner thought companion in her head always telling her the words of wisdom she needed to hear when she needed to hear it. Hermione had become so accustomed to having that inner voice speaking to her like a long-time friend that she forgot what it was like to be feel truly isolated from the people around her. There was no justifications she needed to make to the voice, no excuses she needed to make for herself. The voice understood her, always saw why she did what she did.

His voice had become her closest confidant.

And now it's gone. Stripped from her psyche, leaving her bare and missing Voldemort's voice of all things.

Lifting her eyes slightly, she continued to glare at the fire. "I'm utterly pathetic." She whispered to the room.

"Am I interrupting?"

Jumping up in a flash, she whipped around with a throw pillow in her hand, posed to strike.

There he was! In all of his stupidly, young looking, charismatic-charming self, dressed like he was attending a funeral, his perfectly wavy hair in place and not a scratch on him.

He raised an eyebrow, his expression dumbfounded as he lifted one corner of his red-tinted lips.

"The killing curse didn't work. You think a pillow will do the trick?"

"Perhaps you're allergic to feather down pillows and you don't know it", Hermione snarked as she threw it on the couch with more force than needed.

He laughed.

It was small but it sounded alarming, foreign, and distinctly like the sound she used to have ringing in her head.

"So specific, but alas- "He raised a hand casually," I am not."

"Let's cut the nicety bullshit, alright?" Hermione said in a stern voice. His amusement gone.

"What the fuck is going on here Tom? I lost, you won. Why am I being rewarded? Why am I here? Where am I?"

"You would do well to not call me that…" He warned, his eyes shifting to crimson. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Or what? You're clearly not going to kill me and quite frankly, that is your name. You look more of Tom Riddle now than you do of Voldemort. You were transported to what age? 23? 25? You were Tom then."

"I am estimating myself to be out 25", he answered. "But I have left that name behind me with my father's corpse."

Hermione, feeling extremely brazen and possibly stupid, circled around the couch to stand in front of him. Cold, dark magic was rolling off of him like fog. The closer she got to him, the more goosebumps appeared on her skin. Stopping about a foot in front of him, she tilted her head up to make purposely direct eye contact with him and placed her hands on her hips.

"Until you tell me what you need my blood for", Hermione pointed at him and then herself," I'm going to call you whatever I want, and I want to call you Tom."

His name came out in a singsong manner as she dragged out the single syllable name. His eyes darkened as his lips formed a straight line, his nostrils flaring slightly.

"You are taking something from me, I get to take something from you", Hermione told him.

"And what are you taking from me?" His voice dripped with malice.

"Your name that you prefer", Hermione smirked at him," Voldemort. I'm taking it away."

"And what are you going to do with it?" he bent his head down and eyed her playfully. His emotions flashed from one thing to the next extremely quickly. Hermione found it difficult to keep up.

"Throwing it away." Hermione leaned forward as well, meeting him head on. Their noses less than a foot away. "Like I'll do with the rest of you when I kill you."

Straightening his back, he stood tall. "Good luck with that. You nearly killed yourself last time you tried."

"Maybe I'll take you with me then."

Hermione turned her back to walk back towards the couch, sitting with her legs tucked under her. She may be cocky, but she didn't suspect him trying to kill her if her back was turned on him. He needed her alive.

"So, are you going to explain my current surroundings?"

Hermione watched with wide shock eyes as he walked around the other side of the couch to sit next to her, an empty couch cushion between them. He sat elegantly on the couch, crossing his long legs over each other at the knee and leaned back into the cushion.

He stared ahead at the fire as he told her," You are going to be here for an undecidable about of time and I don't enjoy going down to the dungeons."

"Are you going to tell me why you're keeping me like a tormented pet?" Hermione asked again. His black eyes shifted towards her and Hermione felt ice in her veins.

"No."

Quicker than she thought possibly, he reached out with his right hand and snatched her left arm, pulling her towards him roughly.

"Stop it!" Hermione took her free hand and started prying at his fingers that were leaving a bruising grip on her wrist.

"I have to do this", he stated in a voice devoid of all emotion. Hermione looked up at his face in terror as his eyes were saturated in black iris as he stared at her hand.

"No, you don't!" Hermione pushed with her feet against the couch causing him to stagger forwards on the cushions," Please, just talk to me! Tell me why you're doing this!"

He said nothing as he continued to pull hard on her. Her wrist felt like it was about to break. Hermione pushed hard against the couch and managed to wretch her wrist free as she fell onto the floor, immediately scrambling to her feet towards the bathroom.

"Hermione don't even think about it!" she heard him get up from the couch to follow her, but she already slammed the door shut, pressing her body as hard into as she could, pressing her feet into the tub to give herself leverage. She felt him press against the door, turning the knob.

"Open the door."

It was the most frightening sentence she had ever heard. His voice was horrifically hollow. Hermione kept her body firmly pressed against it.

"Hermione…" His voice purred darkly. It sounded like it was right in her ear like a whisper.

"Open the door and this won't hurt as bad as I want it to hurt."

"This is your last chance…"

Her heart was pounding. Was she really foolish enough to think that this ruse would work? He was fucking Voldemort for Merlin's sake. Did she really expect a bathroom door to keep him out. He was coming in one way or another and he was going to take her blood whether she wanted him to or not.

Bide your time. Get on his good side. Be cooperative so he will think you've submitted.

Standing, Hermione took an extremely deep shuddering breath. Placing her small hand on the doorknob, she turned it slowly.

There he was. His head hang slightly, his frame filled the doorway like the Grim Reaper as his black eyes bore into her.

"Are you done with your temper tantrum?" He hissed.

Hermione nodded, swallowing deeply. His eyes watched her throat as it bobbed and flashed back up to hers. An emotion in them that she wasn't quite sure what it was. He grabbed her bruised wrist causing her to wince as he walked past her into the bathroom towards one of the sinks. He turned to face her and placed his hands on either side of her hips.

"What-?"

Hermione gasped with what little shock she had left as he picked her up and set her on the counter, her arm hanging over the sink.

He eyed her darkly. "Less mess."

Hermione's eyes brimmed with tears as he pulled a dagger out of his robes and watched through watery vision as he took a deep breath before placing the tip of it against her skin. Hermione hissed loudly as he dug it into her palm, dragging it slowly so the incision ended just below her bruised wrist.

"I know…", she thought she heard him whisper as he pulled the dagger away. Like he knew the pain she must be feeling that was being inflicted by him. Her tears were flowing freely and slowly as she watched him soundlessly slit his own fleshy palm open.

"This will hurt again", he told her and before she could even brace herself, he clasped their hands together.

Pain.

Nothing but searing, white-hot pain.

Hope you enjoyed xoxo