His witch was out longer than last time. Even now, an hour later, Voldemort still sat on the bed, cradling her head in his lap, while she slept her exhaustion off. He couldn't leave her. What he witnessed today kept him spellbound to her bed, enthralled by the picture of her soft face resting peacefully after that demonstration of her power.

Right at the start he realised that she was far more advanced than he had assumed. When he touched her aura ever so slightly, he could feel it harden. However she did it, Hermione had obviously found a way to use her aura. That she was not only able to feel it, but already channel her magic into it, was astounding.

Severus showed now such change. Maybe it was simply because the wizard was not actively working on it. Or maybe he already reached his full potential. The fact was, compared to the last duel, his power was the same.

He slowly stroked her cheek. She was so young, yet already had so much magic in her. She would never reach his level, but she would stand at his side unrivalled in might otherwise. He had so much to teach her. It was not her fault that she lacked the proper tools to access all her power. The education at Hogwarts was carefully crafted to keep the true potential of everyone sealed. He himself had to travel the world to develop the skills that allowed him to conquer Britain.

It would be the first thing he'd change once he took over.

He felt Hermione shift and roll over, her eyebrows scrunched into a scowl. A soft groan left her lips, then she relaxed again. He was eager to wake her, but he knew he shouldn't. It was important that her depleted magic had time to heal. Only then her power would grow little by little.

It was not just the depleted magic that had her so exhausted, he understood that. She had wanted to kill Severus. She was capable of violence and cruelty; he had witnessed that in her memories more than once. But seeing it with his own eyes. Seeing her use her hatred to squeeze every last bit of magic out of her to defeat and hurt Severus, that was something else entirely. She felt strongly for this man.

He would need to do something about that. It was hatred she felt, but it was still an intense emotion taking up way too much space in her heart. The only one who belonged there was he. Before today, he had been sure that Hermione Granger would hate nobody more than him. It was easy enough to turn hate into an obsession that chained her to him forever.

Now, he would have to find a way to first erase Severus from her heart. After today, killing him was no longer an option. Unresolved emotions would haunt someone forever. If Severus were dead, Hermione would not be able to let go of her hatred. If he killed him, she would forever resent that it was not her that did it. If she herself killed him, he would forever be the first person she ever killed. Either way, she wouldn't be able to let go.

Voldemort leaned his head back and closed his eyes. That boy. So sharp, so cold. Out of everyone, he always thought Severus was the most trustworthy. Not just because they shared the vision. Many of his Death Eaters did. It was more than that. Severus was driven purely by logic and rational judgement. He always understood what was asked of him, where others asked inane questions.

Now, he was in the way, so very inconveniently a stumbling block in his relationship with Hermione. Even worse, he wasn't sure the man could be trusted anymore.

Maybe he should accelerate what he started with the Occlumency lessons. He had wanted to take things slow, win her over little by little so she wouldn't notice what was happening. After what he witnessed today, he wasn't sure he had that time. He could not allow Severus to win any more of her heart, be it through hatred or otherwise.

Absentmindedly, his hand wandered to her throat. She was so fragile. Too thin after the many months on the run. He could break her neck without much effort. His fingers traced over the exposed skin. He would never get tired of feeling the soft warm smoothness of her, so precious, so easily destroyed.

"My lord?"

He smiled down at her. "Welcome back, my sweet. How are you feeling?"

She blinked slowly, clearly disoriented. "Exhausted. In a way I never felt before. Not even last time."

His fingers still traced the outline of her throat, relishing in the feel of her quickened pulse under his fingertips. "You put not only your magic, but your heart into this fight. It's only natural to feel depleted afterwards."

She closed her eyes for a moment, as though carefully thinking that statement over. Then she looked at him again, a small frown between her eyes. "You should have let me kill him."

He stroked her chin as he shook his head. "No. Severus is useful, despite my recent misgivings. And you, dear one, should not talk about killing so easily. You don't know what it does to you."

She snorted. "You want to lecture me on the effects of killing? As if you haven't split your soul to create seven horcruxes?"

He gripped her throat a little tighter. "It is exactly because I did what you say that I tell you this. Splitting your soul is not something you should do on a whim."

She pushed his hand away and sat up slowly, clinging to his shoulder for support. When she finally sat straight, he could hear her strained breathing. This witch really was at her limit, but she still had it in herself to argue.

"It's not a whim. He might have killed Dumbledore on your orders, but it was still his doing. We were all counting on him. Of course, nobody fully trusted him, given his history, but we trusted Dumbledore and thus him. You cannot understand what it felt like to hear what he did."

He pulled her close, encircling her with both arms as he pressed a soft kiss on her shoulder. "It was not on my orders. I thought you knew that. It was Draco who was supposed to kill Dumbledore. Severus only stepped in because the boy failed."

To his surprise, she leaned into him more, letting her head rest against his chest. "Even worse. He is the ultimate lap dog, doing what his master says without need. If he wasn't so eager to please you, Dumbledore might still be alive."

"Hermione," he whispered into her ear, "don't exert yourself too much. He is just another Death Eater you should not care about."

She shivered against him, but remained silent. For a long moment, they just sat there, her back pressed against his chest and side, as he listened to her slowly calming breathing. It was a marvel that she allowed this kind of intimacy.

"You called me by my name," she suddenly stated.

"Does that bother you?"

She shrugged. "Would it bother you if I called you Tom?"

He stilled. He could feel something deep inside him grow hard and cold. As though his whole body froze for just one heartbeat. It was not right. That name belonged to his muggle father, the worthless man that thought he was better than a witch. It was not his name. It would never be his name. It was shameful, an insult.

"It does bother you, doesn't it?"

He swallowed thickly. She sounded so genuine, so openly warm as she said that. As though she truly cared whether she hurt him. The warmth of her seeped into his cold body, reminding him of just how alive this little witch was.

"It's an … unpleasant memory," he finally admitted.

With a surge of strength he did not expect from her, Hermione turned around and threw one leg over his, straddling his lap. His hands moved to her hips automatically, reacting before he knew what he was doing. She on the other hand carefully put her hands on his cheeks, staring into his eyes with a warm determination that made him hesitate.

"You know, I learned this from Harry. And from you, kind of. Everyone only ever calls you You-Know-Who or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named when talking about you. Nobody dared to say Voldemort out loud."

His lips twitched. "As they should. Made it easy for me to track your useless resistance."

She rolled her eyes. "I know. Harry would never stop using that name. If it were not for his stupid bravery, we would have never been caught by the snatchers."

He gripped her hips harder and pressed her more firmly against himself. She felt good on his lap, right where she belonged. "I'm glad that happened. It was what set all this in motion. Without your imprisonment here, you would have never ended up in poor Bella's body."

She moved, just the tiniest bit, almost imperceptible, but he noticed. He couldn't help the grin on his lips as her cheeks reddened. His sweet witch couldn't resist rocking against him when she felt him between her thighs.

Still blushing, she cleared her throat. "That's not the point I wanted to make. What I wanted to say is that you fear your own given name just like everyone else fears your chosen name. Isn't it time to change that?"

"I do not fear anything," he hissed before he could stop himself.

"Oh, bullshit!" She rolled her eyes. "You fear death, at least, or else you wouldn't have created the horcruxes. And you might not see it that way, but you hate your name because it reminds you of a past you don't want to remember. That's fear. Tom."

It was just three letters. One short syllable. But it made him shiver. The way it rolled of her tongue, warm and soft and yet so confident. He could feel his body bristle, but there was more. His hands closed around her arms, gripping her tightly, as he held her completely still.

Leaning his head against her shoulder, he whispered, "Say it again."

"Tom."

It was he now who shivered. His spine tingled as goosebumps spread over his back. The old sensations he knew too well, the icy coldness and the stoney hardness in the pit of his stomach, were still there. But something else was happening, as though a wave of relief washed over him.

"Again," he rasped, unable to stop whatever was happening.

She leaned closer, as close as the grip around her upper arms allowed her, while running her fingertips over his chest at the same time. "Tom."

He groaned. He couldn't stop himself. The way she said his name, his old name, felt more intimate than anything he ever experienced. It pushed away the hatred he usually felt, that cold stirring that reminded him of just how much he abhorred his father. In its place, there was only the need to hear her say it again and again.

Before he knew what he was doing, his lips were on her. There was nothing left but the burning need to devour her right here right now. Her surprised gasp as she felt his lips on hers only edged him on.

His hands slipped down again, caressing her perfect round arse before gripping her hips again, holding her still as he rocked against her. Without realising it, he was achingly hard. She moaned against his mouth, meeting his frantic movement just as she slung her arms around his shoulders.

He needed to claim her. Now. She needed to feel that she was his, mind, body, and soul. With a growl, he pushed her down, shoving the blanket away before settling between her legs. She did not protest. Instead, she opened herself to him, her arms above her head, her thighs clutching his hips.

He returned to kissing her, one hand slipping under her tight black jumper, the other a white-knuckled fist next to her face. The burning desire he felt for her in this moment consumed his every thought. She was his perfect little witch, soft against his hard body, warm against his coldness. So perfect for him. She didn't resist. She would give whatever he wanted to take. So perfect.

"Tom," she sighed as his fingers grazed her nipple. Her hip bucked against him, her eyes were closed.

He stilled. This word. His name on her tongue. It pulled him in like nothing before.

Cursing, he let go of her and sat back up. No, this was not right. He felt out of control, at the mercy of her pretty little song that consisted of just this one note. His name. He needed her to say it again. He needed her to never speak it out loud ever again.

He stared down at her, trying to calm his hammering pulse. She held his gaze, unblinking, lust shimmering in her glossy eyes. Her question was almost as silent as a breeze. "My lord?"

He clenched his fists. Yes. This was better. Shaking his head, he patted her cheek. "You're overeager, my sweet. As always. But you need rest. I shall ask a house elf to bring you a warm meal, and then you should sleep some more."

Slowly, struggling against her exhaustion, she sat back up as well. She looked at him with these honey-brown eyes, questioning, thinking, calculating. Then she nodded. "You are right. I apologise for that. I will refrain from using your name again."

"No!" It was out before he could stop himself. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. "No. You don't have to do that. I do not fear that name. Because it is just that. A name. If you want to use it, do it. I just delight in hearing you say my lord."

She chewed on her lip. Her eyes were still on him and continued to show every thought that crossed her mind. Then something like a sly smile crept onto her lips. "Okay. I understand. My lord."

He chuckled. "Cheeky little witch."

He pressed a quick kiss against the top of her head, then he got up from the bed. With a wink of his wand, he summoned a house elf and commanded her to order a hearty meal, despite her reluctance. Then he placed another kiss on the back of her hand, before he stepped through the door leading to his room.

As the door closed behind him, a scowl appeared on his face. For several moments, he could only glare at the flimsy wood that separated him from his witch. Loathing flowed freely through his body, eating away at any triumph he felt earlier when he carried Hermione back to her room.

He couldn't wait to have his body back. But that was still far off.

In the meantime, he should really proceed to the next phase of his plan.

It was time to involve the parents.