"Her heart sank into her shoes as she realized at last how much she wanted him. No matter what his past was, no matter what he had done. Which was not to say that she would ever let him know, but only that he moved her chemically more than anyone she had ever met, that all other men seemed pale beside him."
― F. Scott Fitzgerald, A New Leaf

Chapter 11: Broken Doors

"That's not going to wooorrkkkk", Hermione sang out like a teasing schoolgirl as Tom continued to try to find the secret to opening her house's door. He had already been at it for an hour and there was little to no progress made. Hermione was basking in the warm sun of her mind as she snickered at the frustrated 'Dark Lord'.

She heard him sigh in exasperation as he turned to her. "This would go a lot faster if you'd just open the door… What could be so valuable that you're protecting it this extensively?"

Hermione bent her neck up to smirk at the frustrated 25 year old. His black hair was hanging over his forehead giving him a tragically swoon worthy look that even made Hermione admit that the fucker was good looking.

"Maybe I just like to see you struggle", Hermione smiled sweetly at him.

"Maybe you just like it when I hurt you", he grumbled as he turned back to the door. "Unless this is the secret to killing the Potter kid or where your previous Order is, I won't find your memories that interesting."

Hermione quirked an eyebrow at him in question. "Do you really think I'm that naïve? If you really weren't interested, we wouldn't be here, would we Tom?"

He turned his head to glower at her. "Does everything about you have to be so difficult and combative?"

"Does everything about you have to be so psychotic?" Hermione bit back.

Tom sneered. "Yes."

Hermione stood from her relaxed position, her shoulders now tense. The longer they remained her mind, the more she could feel both her physical body and her psyche become anxious and claustrophobic. He was hell bent on taking everything from her. Her secrets, her freedom, her memories, her blood…

Would this ever end? Was she destined to be latched to his side as a pet forever?

Her opinion of the war was still the same. She really couldn't see either side winning until everyone was just dead. Harry wasn't assertive enough to ever make the first move against Tom, and Tom didn't know where to make the first move to finish Harry. They were at a never-ending stale mate.

Unless…

What if?

Could she be the one to make the first move?

Neither Tom nor Harry is ever going to find each other. They had been dancing around each other since the beginning and their dance cards were just about filled up. But if Hermione were to enter herself as a new player, she could be the one to shake things up.

While Tom was busy with the fortified door, Hermione blocked herself off in her own mind. An escape plan was laying itself out rapidly in her mind.

If she could make herself an agent, an assassin for Death Eaters, she could be turned onto the field. She could lead them to one of their hideouts that would have a portkey for her and she'd be gone in a flash.

It had a huge chance of failing and Hermione knew that. The only way Tom would even let her go on a field mission is if he had no choice, if the stakes were too high for even him to pass up. She would have to get close to him. Make him trust her implicitly, make him believe that he turned her against her own friends.

Not that it would be very hard to portray that…

It made her feel somewhat guilty pretending to be against the Order when she had already started feeling that way even before being captured. But it wasn't about being against them and being for the Death Eaters. How could you see the point of any side when they're both losing? Hermione was for herself surviving and being free. And if she played her cards right, she could be free from both the Death Eaters and the Order. The portkey would be here way out. Grab onto it and let it take her somewhere where she could disappear from everything. She couldn't risk going back to the Order and risk being captured again. She had to disappear from existence.

You have to act like you're bending to his will while still being defiant. Start giving in…

"Can we be done?" Hermione whined as she stalked up behind him. "My head is starting to hurt."

Tom's shoulders tensed as he inhaled sharply. "No."

"You're going to cause me to bleed again."

He whipped around to face her, ferocity in his eyes. "I will make you bleed forever and my patience with the antics of yours is running thin."

"Then get out!" Hermione yelled in his face but screamed when she felt a jolt of pain go through her head. Tom advanced on her quickly, grabbing her chin roughly in his hand to look at him. The pressure he was applying to her chin caused her to wince and she knew it was going to leave a bruise.

"Get it through your thick fucking skull", He hissed," You are not in charge around here and I'm getting tired of your little acts of rebellion. I don't care if you bleed out through your face, I will see every one of your memories."

Pinching her chin harder, she cried out as he pulled her face closer to his, his words having their own force as they hit her. "Open the fucking door Hermione. NOW!"

Hermione glared at him, rage filling her as he held onto her face, the entire act reeking of being condescending. With flared nostrils and eyebrows scrunched together, Hermione heard the door creak open behind them revealing a dark entrance.

His lips turned upwards as he threw her chin back so hard she stumbled backwards and tried to catch up with him as his tall frame entered the house.

"Happy birthday, darling!" Hermione's mother called out as 6-year-old Hermione smiled at the lit cake being placed in front of her. Camera flashes were going off around her as her school friends surrounded her, clapping and singing. Hermione beamed brightly as she inhaled deeply and blew out her six candles in one breath.

"What did you wish for, darling?" Her father smiled at her, bending down to rest his hand on her back.

A 6-year-old Hermione laughed," I can't tell you, daddy! Or it won't come true!"

"What the fuck is this?" Tom grimaced at the memory before him. Hermione smiled.

"It's a birthday party! Don't you know one when you see one?"

Tom's hands started shaking as he reached up and combed his hair back out of his face. His face was deep in a frown, rage in his eyes.

"This? This is what you fought so hard to keep me from seeing?" He asked incredulously.

Hermione took a daring step forward into his space, looking up at him through her eyelashes and smiled sweetly. "It brought me great pleasure to see you struggle with something so simple."

Turning on her heal, she stalked out of the house and down the cobblestone pathway to the street. She was about to turn and say something sarcastically when Tom brushed past her, quickly walking up the sidewalk to the next house.

"Hey!" Hermione called and watched with wide eyes as he waved his hand at the front gate, the door of it flying away as it broke off of its hinges.

"Tom!" She ran after him. Just as she reached the next house, he was already in front of the front door, his chest heaving with angry breaths. He raised his right leg and kicked so hard at the door that it immediately splintered into two pieces causing a shock of pain to go through her head. Hermione gripped her temples as she ran up the front porch steps and into the house where her memory was already playing in front of him.

A first year Hermione Granger was unpacking her trunk in her brand new dorm at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. There was a new peace in her as everything that had been occurring for years had finally made sense. The weird water pipes bursting, catching things on fire, or even making the tv static all finally made sense.

She had magic! She was a witch!

And she was finally where she was meant to be.

A school that not only taught subjects she had never heard of but encouraged intellect and exceeding the best you can. She was going to make lifelong friends; she was sure of it.

The door to her dorm opened and in walked two girls, one blonde and one brunette. They were talking excitedly amongst each other.

"Hello!" Hermione greeted them, her face beaming with happiness as she extended her hand.

"Oh, hello", the blonde looked the girl once over and didn't extend her hand.

"I'm Hermione Granger. Are you two going to be my roommates?"

"It would seem so", the blonde snickered at the brunette who smirked. "I'm Lavender Brown and this is Parvati Patil."

"It's so nice to meet you both! I'm so excited! I have been looking forward to this all summer. It's going to be so much fun. We get to be friends and stay together. It's going to be like one long sleep over, and-"

Lavender cut off Hermione's enthusiasm with her hand.

"I'm sorry, but what is that?" She pointed to Hermione's Walkman that she had brought with her.

"Oh this?" She picked it up and extended it to the girls. "It's my Walkman. My dad gave it to me. It plays music, want to try?"

Hermione held it out for the two girls who stared at it with turned up noses.

"You mean it's a muggle item?"

"Muggle?"

"Non-magic people", Lavender said slowly like the girl was stupid and couldn't understand English.

"Oh, well then yeah!" Hermione nodded. "My parents aren't magical."

"Is anyone in your family?" Parvati asked.

"Nope!" Hermione beamed with pride. "Just me!"

"Oh…" Lavender scrunched her nose and frowned. "Well, it probably won't be easy for you to be here then, since you don't really belong and all. And I'd put the muggle stuff away. No one is going to want to use your stone age stuff."

Before Hermione could interject, the girls left the room, leaving behind their negative comments and taking Hermione's excitement with them.

She didn't understand. Was she not supposed to be here? Was her letter addressed to her wrong? She was magical, wasn't she? Slamming her trunk shut, she sat on the edge of her bed, wiping tears from her eyes that were threatening to spill.

She would just have to be the best witch they'd ever seen…

"This is pathetic", he sneered as he walked away from the memory. Hermione caught up with him as he was already walking up the road to the next house, to her next memory.

"Why would you bother to keep something so trivial as childish squabbles?"

"It didn't feel pathetic at the time", Hermione told him and winced when he broke the next gate door," Not everything has to have importance to you for it to be important."

He turned to her, his face twisted in disdain," Tell me how that is important? Do you keep it locked away to have some pity party for yourself that you felt lonely in school? Did you even bother standing up to her or did you just feel sorry for yourself?"

Had this been a few years prior, his words would have stung her. She would have cried and wallowed in the fact that she always felt like a loner and like she never belonged or was understood. But war had hardened her and showed she didn't need anybody.

Hermione sucked at her teeth, her lips pursing as she did so. Did he really think so little of her that she would lock away memories just to cry about them?

Glaring at him, she met his patronizing stare head on. "I keep the memory, Tom, because it helps make me feel less guilty for not caring that she was killed at the Battle of Hogwarts."

Tom clearly had not been expecting that response because his black eyes went wide as his twisted smile fell.

When Hermione had seen Lavender's deceased body lined up with the other fallen victims, she had truly felt nothing. At the time, it bothered her immensely that she felt nothing. It must have been the shock of the battle, she told herself, the sorrow would come with time.

But it never did…

The more time passed, and the more fallen soldiers she saw, the less she cared. What did someone like Lavender Brown have to offer the world, the Order, besides her mundane opinions and unimpressive skills? She didn't even believe in their cause until it benefited her. Lavender Brown was a 'hero' out of convenience.

"It helps holding onto a memory of her that shows what a piece of shit she was to justify not caring that she died."

Silence stretched between them as she could tell Tom was weighing her words carefully. He seemed genuinely shocked at her response and her reasoning which surprised her. He of all people should understand.

"You're judging me." Hermione frowned.

"No, no", Tom shook his head quickly, his voice actually normal and she noted that his normal speaking voice was actually pleasant sounding. It was clear and precise.

"Well- I am actually…"

Hermione scoffed," You're judging me for not caring about someone's death? That's rich coming you."

Tom laughed," No it's not that, I assure you. It's more so that I am surprised you feel the need to have a reason not to care. Who gives a shit about some memory that makes her look bad? If you don't care, then you don't care."

He stalked towards her in a saunter that gave him an air of arrogance.

"Tell me…", he smiled slyly at her. "Tell me what you really think of her death."

Hermione said nothing as she turned her gaze away from him, not giving into his game.

"C'mon", his cold words teased her. "I won't tell anyone… Besides, no one here cares about you anyways."

Turning her eyes on him, she took a deep breath, feeling herself getting heated at his prodding. "I don't think it matters at all that she died. She has been heralded a hero for dying for a cause she didn't even believe in until it was popular to do so. Everything about her was superficial, from her clothes to her stupid makeup, even her death. People mourned her like there was something worth mourning but what did someone like Lavender fucking Brown have to offer this world besides equally unimpressive offspring to match her unimpressive skills as a witch?"

By the time she was done, her chest was heaving and her cheeks felt flushed. Never had she ever spoken her true thoughts out loud so candidly. Everyone in her life would have been horrified at her opinion of the girl and so many others that had died in similar fashion.

But Tom didn't look horrified.

He looks the exact opposite actually.

His black eyes were glittering like black diamonds and there was a shy smile pulling at his lips like he had a secret he was dying to tell someone; and for a brief moment, she felt free.

Not physically free, but mentally. Emotionally. She felt the way she did when she would caress her horcruxes in private. The feeling of being understood and comforted in the turmoil and darkness she spiraled herself around felt exhilarating and almost intimate in a way that she had never experienced. There was no judgement in his eyes. Only, admiration.

Hermione felt vulnerable. She needed to even the playing field.

Without saying a word, she wordlessly opened the door behind Tom's back causing his attention to finally relinquish her as he turned to look at the dark doorway. He stalked towards it; Hermione following closely behind and watched her memory unfold before them.

"What was he like?" Hermione asked eagerly, not able to contain her curiosity.

Harry grimaced. "I don't really want to talk about it right now, 'Mione."

Second year Hermione huffed in exasperation. How often did your best friend see the Tom Riddle in the flesh? She had to know what he was like before Harry forgot. Since last year with Professor Quirrell, the man, 'myth', Tom Riddle, Voldemort, had been haunting her mind. She didn't even know Voldemort had another alias, another name, besides Voldemort until Harry had told her about the diary. He had only briefly told her the memory he saw when Moaning Myrtle's body had been found, but now Harry had actually seen him! He was alive and resurrected, granted at Ginny's expense, but he was there!

And Hermione had to know…

Beside her, she could feel Tom's interest pique at her younger self's fascination with his own younger self.

Harry sighed, knowing that his friend wasn't going to let it go. "He was young and normal looking. You wouldn't think that someone that looked like him would become what he did. I can see why his professors didn't suspect him in Myrtle's death or even being responsible for releasing the basilisk."

"Was he nice?"

"Intimidating…" Harry stared into the distance, like he was seeing the memory of young Voldemort in front of him. "He definitely was intimidating. It's not surprising to see what he accomplished with being manipulative and good looking, and all…"

"Good looking?" Hermione questioned. That was hard to believe… Not that she had ever seen a picture of Voldemort before but based on Harry's description of what his face looked like on the back of Professor Quirell's head he was quite horrifying.

"I can't imagine him to be very good looking", Ron laughed beside them.

"No doubt a Weasley", she heard Tom sarcastically say. "Rich coming from that lot."

"Shh", Hermione hushed him, paying attention to the memory.

"I'm not attracted to him or anything", Harry explained. "But I could see him being popular during his time. He had black hair, and really dark eyes. He looked well put together."

Hermione didn't say anything at first, but tried to imagine a younger version of Voldemort, but it was impossible. All she could see was Harry's description of the face from last year. There has to be a way…

The memory before them swished around and spiraled, almost like it was being flushed before it unfolded itself in front of them again like origami.

Hermione had asked for an audience with Headmaster Dumbledore the following night and much to her delight, he was free.

"Are you having trouble coping with being petrified, my dear?" Dumbledore asked her younger self.

"Petrified?" Tom asked in awe. She saw him turn to her in her peripheral. "You've seen my basilisk?"

"Your dead basilisk?" Hermione quirked an eyebrow, not meeting his eyes. "Yes. I have. Thanks for making me miss most of my second year…"

"Asshole", Hermione whispered as she looked at her memory.

"No, nothing like that", Hermione shook her head. "I'm just happy Harry and Ron were able to decipher my notes that she was getting around the school in the pipes."

She felt Tom's breath catch at her comment of how she knew his basilisk got through the school and couldn't help but feel pride in her younger self.

Dumbledore smiled at her. "You are certainly one of the most brightest additions to this school, Miss Granger. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit then?"

"I was wondering…" Hermione shuffled from foot to foot.

Dumbledore smiled knowingly. "You're wanting to ask a difficult request… I assure you, dear, I owe you a great deal. Name what you want, it's yours."

Hermione inhaled deeply. "I was wondering if you had an image of Tom Riddle, sir."

Clearly Dumbledore didn't mean anything because his smile faltered, and he grew a concerning look.

"May I ask why you would want to see something like that?"

"Harry said he saw him…" Hermione explained. "And I want to see what he saw because all I know is the horror he described on the back of Professor Quirrell's head. I am having a hard time seeing what he is describing."

Hermione said nothing as Dumbledore was thinking over her words. Would he deny her? Did he think this was too much of a favor to ask? Would he even have what she is asking for?

"I feel there is more you're not saying, Miss Granger", he finally said. "Tell me the whole truth and I will grant you your request."

Hermione could feel her cheeks turn pink as she looked down onto the floor away from her Headmaster's quizzical gaze.

Gathering her Gryffindor courage, she tried to quell her beating heart.

"Harry said… Harry said he was good looking. And manipulative and he implied that because of how he looked and the air about him, that he could see why it was easy for him to fool everyone around him. And I am having a hard time seeing how someone who seems so charismatic and charming turned into something so evil and hideous. I feel like I almost need to see him with my eyes to see if it's true that someone who could have had everything good in this world, turned it down to have everything be ugly."

Hermione didn't have to look at Tom to tell he was speechless. His intrigue was at full capacity as she glanced over at him and saw him mesmerized by the scene in front of him.

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "There is a reason why there is word of you being the brightest witch of our age because I wish you weren't right, but you sadly are. I spent many days with him and sadly, he turned out to be exactly what I feared most for him."

Dumbledore pulled open a drawer in his desk and pulled out a small piece of parchment.

"He was an extraordinary wizard. Capable of more magic and strength in his first year than some adults do after decades of practicing. There is no doubt in my mind that he was always destined for greatness, whether it was for darkness or the light."

He walked around his desk and extended the small piece of paper towards Hermione, who took it gingerly. It was a photo. A sepia tinted photo of a group of boys standing together. Their chins were held high as their hands were clasped behind their backs. Beside them to their left with Dumbledore and to their right was another man.

"That is Professor Slughorn. He was Slytherin's Head of House before his retirement. This was the student council. And there, in the middle, is Head Boy, Tom Marvolo Riddle."

Hermione's eyes went to the very aristocratic looking boy in the center of the photo. He was beautiful. She could tell even from this photo that his eyes were dark and held a lot of knowledge in them. His black hair was quaffed perfectly, and he held himself in a manner that demanded respect even through the photo. If he was Head Boy while Hermione was in school, she definitely would have had a childhood crush on him, almost like a celebrity.

Tom's unease could be felt throughout the memory, and she did all she could not to snicker. She knew she had him…

"What a shame", Hermione whispered.

Hermione lurched forward from her chair onto the ground as she coughed violently, the same blood flowing from her eyes and nose as she coughed until her voice was hoarse.

"Do you have to rip yourself from my mind so violently?" She wheezed, looking up at Tom from her spot on the floor.

"Do you have to be so dramatic about it?" He droned, rolling his eyes.

Wiping her blood on the back of her sweater sleeve, she glared at him.

"Did you see everything you needed to see?"

His black eyes met hers in an instant before looking away, almost in shame. "Nothing that interested me."

Bullshit…

Hermione stood, wiping the blood on the back of her sweater sleeve.

"Really? You didn't find that last memory to be interesting at all?"

He scowled before looking at her. "I thought it pointless. All that it showed me was you were just as silly and immature as every other girl I went to school with."

He had to be joking… He could hardly blame her for reacting to his face as a teenager. Even now, as much as she hated to admit it, he was attractive. She wasn't deluded enough to not be able to admit that. But maybe he didn't? Did he possibly think himself as ugly?

"Do you think you're good looking?" Hermione asked blatantly.

His eyes went wide, his face that was normally placid turned a slight, very slight, shade of pink.

"What?"

She gestured to him with a wave of her hand. "Your appearance. I'm assuming you thought you were good looking back then in school and when you were in your 20's. This is what you looked like in your 20's, yes?"

"… Yes", he bit out. "I look exactly as I did at 25 as I do now at 25."

"So do you think you're attractive?" Hermione placed one hand on her hip, the other one still gesturing at him. "Or do you think you looked better when you were all, I don't know, like gross and inhuman looking?"

Tom pressed his hands into her couch as he slowly stood, his height still throwing her off guard as he moved towards her, never breaking eye contact. His black eyes were dancing with amusement, his lips quirked into a smile as his skin had a pinky, healthy hue to it.

"Do you think I'm attractive?" He smirked down at her. "And not as a schoolgirl. I mean now, Hermione."

"Objectively speaking, of course I do", Hermione said flippantly, trying to say it like it was casual but in reality her heart was pounding. Regardless of her opinion of his atrocities on the world and how evil he was on the inside; she was a red blooded female, and he was a good looking man. And not that she'd ever admit this to anyone, but he was exactly her type.

"I have eyes. You must have broken a lot of hearts back in your day."

"Back in my day…" He looked up in laughter before looking back down at her. "You make me sound like I'm ancient."

Hermione looked confused. "Tom, you're like, 100. You're old, you're ancient. I'm surprised you aren't made of dust."

Fire flashed across his face as his black eyes swam with something dark and lustrous that Hermione didn't want to acknowledge gave her a flutter.

Get on his good side.

Slowly, he reached out his hand and gripped her right wrist tightly in his hold. Pulling it towards him, he flattened her hand against his broad chest.

"Does this feel like dust to you?" He asked, his voice coming out deeper than normal.

Hermione splayed her fingers across his chest and noted that, no, it didn't feel like dust.

It felt firm. Solid. Warm…

"No, I suppose not", Hermione didn't take her eyes off of her hand on his chest, but she could feel his eyes on her causing her cheeks to turn more red.

"Does this-" He guided her hand to his neck and pressed her index and middle finger into his pulse point," – feel like dust?"

His neck felt smooth and soft. His pale complexion under her two fingers and when she pressed slightly further into the spot, she could feel his pulse quicken.

"N- no", Hermione's voice came out like a whisper," It does not."

The fire behind her felt like it was heating her entire backside in lava, her cheeks now fully burning.

"And does this-" He moved her hand to behind his neck but because of their height difference, she staggered forward, her chest practically touching his as she felt his breath fall on top of her head, as he tangled her fingers into the back of his hair,"- feel like dust?"

Fear gripped her throat and squeezed tightly, depriving her of air, as she spread her fingers into his black hair, twirling it around her fingers, noting how soft it was.

"Answer me."

Hermione closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. She couldn't let him rattle her, but as his chest was only right in front of her, she was rattled. Fully and completely.

Tilting her head up, her sorrow filled eyes looking at him - brown clashed with black, both emanating something that neither wanted to confess with breaths coming out harshly against each other like heat meeting cold, creating the perfect storm.

"No", she whispered, shaking her head as she gripped his hair tightly in her fingers causing his jaw to tense. "You don't feel like dust."

She saw his eyes flick down to her parted lips as they met hers again. Darkness was flowing from him like an illness, wrapping itself around her limbs, like it was about to pull her apart.

He swallowed once, so loudly Hermione could hear it, before speaking.

"And does this-" He lowered his head to meet hers, stopping right when there noses were hugging, their eyes an inch away from each other, his lips hovering right over hers to where his words kissed her tongue. Hermione's heart was going into cardiac arrest as she slowly realized the magnitude of where her plan was getting her. His words coming out like an illness into her mouth.

"- feel like dust, Hermione?"

Hermione wished for death to take her. She wished for lightening to strike her where she stood, for fire to set her alight, for the devil to crawl up from the ground and drag her down with him because all of those things is what she felt when his lips crashed into hers.

His lips were soft, but the kiss itself was anything bet. He was pressing into her hard and with shocked eyes, she looked at him and saw his were closed tightly shut like he was in pain. His hand let go of her wrist as his arms slowly wrapped around her, pulling her so much against him that it felt like he was trying to crush the air out of her chest.

With horror that both filled her with dread and butterflies, she felt his tongue that certainly didn't feel like dust, ghost across her bottom lip pleading with her to deepen the kiss.

She hated that he was a good kisser.

She hated that kissing him hurt.

And she hated that the hurt felt So. Good.

This was the kind of hurt that she needed. The kind of hurt that made her feel alive. This hurt more than any duel, any fistfight, or any knife fight that she had been in. She felt like she was kissing Death and living to tell the tale.

Before she could stop herself, she felt her arms snake around his neck, her one hand tightening even more in his soft, black hair before parting her lips slightly and on instinct, she sighed as she felt herself melding into him. Tom clearly liked how her body was responding. He growled against her lips, causing the butterflies to flutter ferociously, before pushing his tongue deeper, seeking hers out, his body wrapping around her like a snake as his hand made its way up her back and into her hair. He sighed with content as his hand gripped her hair at its roots and fisted it tightly, Hermione winced at the pain but did nothing to stop it. r

Let it hurt…

Tom detached from her lips as he pressed hard kisses into her neck, his lips finding a sensitive spot that made her moan and her toes curl in her socks. His lips were nothing close to gentle. They were harsh and painful as they latched onto her throat and sucked hard, using his teeth to bite into her skin no doubt leaving a bruise. Hermione was so lost in the moment of embrace that it wasn't until his hips ground into her, and she felt it – the part of him that showed how much he was in the moment, did her eyes flash open in absolute terror.

Stop! Stop! Stop!

Hermione immediately detached her fingers from his hair and started pushing hard on his shoulders.

"Tom stop!" She winced as he gripped her tighter, his hand in her hair turning her back to face him.

"No." He moaned as he pressed him lips back into her, his tongue fully invading her mouth. Hermione was grimacing at the taste of him as she continued to push against him, squirming in his arms to try to create space. Every space she made, he was quick to snuff out as he pressed himself into her further, her head entirely bent back as he continued to advance on her and pushing into her lips.

"Stop!" She managed to murmur against his lips, but he ignored her. Her only response was his groaning as he ground his hips into her again.

Get away from me! She screamed in her head. But he was far bigger than her, and stronger, and he had a wand, and she had a rope made of hay that wasn't even on her. With determination in her heart and taking a chance on herself that he wouldn't kill her, she bit hard into his tongue.

His eyes flew open as he yelled out, immediately pushing her away from him as he held out his tongue. It was dripping blood onto the floor below him. She tasted nickels in her mouth as she looked at him in gross panic, the true fear of their indecent act dawning on her quickly and heavily.

Tom's eyes were wild. His hair was sticking up from having her hands move through it, his lips red from their passion, his face flushed. Blood continued oozing out of his mouth until he raised his hands across his face wiping away the blood and saliva that dripped from his face.

"You are going to regret that, mudblood", he hissed. All lust gone from his face as he looked at her with hot anger and fury. His eyes turned to red, and fear gripped Hermione's heart. He didn't look like Tom…

He looked like Voldemort.

She said nothing. The last few moments still reeling in her brain as she laid on the floor from where he had pushed her away from him. Blood was on her sweater and her face felt hot. Her breathing was rapid and harsh as she looked on in true terror to what he might do to her.

But luck was on her side because as he looked at her, she saw a thousand different emotions and thoughts move through his eyes. She wasn't sure if he wanted to take her on the floor or take her life, and both options terrified her because she didn't know which one she wanted more. In one swift movement, he turned wordlessly, leaving the room and slamming the door shut behind him leaving her to curl in on herself, sobbing and fearful for when he'd come next.

xoxo