The first thing she noticed was the soft mattress under her and the heavy blanket on top. It was comforting, like a warm hug. The next thing she felt was the strange feeling deep inside her. A throbbing that she never felt before. It seemed to come right from under her heart, the very centre of her being. A very low, slow throbbing that felt almost like a tickle at times. Or an itch. Not unpleasant, but also not something she could ignore.
Like a wound healing.
Hermione drew a shuddering breath and opened her eyes. She was in her room in Malfoy Manor, a very dim light illuminating the rich interior.
"Welcome back." The low voice of Voldemort reached her ears.
Instantly, she sat up, ignoring her spinning head, and stared at the pale man sitting at her desk. He studied her closely, it appeared, but otherwise he looked relaxed. Not like someone who just almost pushed her to death.
"How long was I out?"
He got up and sat down on her bed. "Only about half an hour. You were just exhausted."
She couldn't help the scowl forming at his words. "Just exhausted? I felt like I died back there."
He simply nodded. "And I assume you still feel strange?"
"How do you know that?"
Slowly, as if giving her a chance to back away, he reached out and took one of her hands in his. "It is part of the training. You did something that you probably never experienced before, because you were never pushed to that extent."
Hermione swallowed. She hated how his hands felt nice, how there was a strange comfort in his physical touch. He wasn't using his weird aura magic right now, just the contact of skin to skin, yet it felt so good. She shivered.
"And what, exactly, did I do?" She tried to ignore the feeling and instead focus on what was actually important.
His voice was a low purr as he explained, "You channelled all your magic into your attacks. All of it. Most people are not aware of this, but it is possible to run out of magic. That is what you did. You were magnificent."
She felt heat creep into her cheeks. His words, his tone, his touch, it all suddenly made her uncomfortable. He was too nice, too indulgent. With a huff, she pulled her hand away. He didn't try to grab it again.
"So magnificent that I couldn't even touch Snape?"
Voldemort chuckled. "Oh, my sweet witch. You are so clever and powerful, yet so oblivious. Severus is very good at masking anything he might feel. I'm sure you noticed."
She could only roll her eyes. "What's your point?"
To her surprise, he leaned in at that, bringing his face very close to her while simultaneously placing one hand on her cheek, slowly stroking her jaw. "My point is that you overpowered him, little Hermione."
"Yeah, right. That's why he was still standing in the end and I collapsed."
His eyes seemed to bore right into hers as he watched her every movement. His hand on her face felt too hot, his body too close. Again, she felt herself blushing and she could do nothing against it. She wanted nothing more than to shrink away, but she was trapped between him and the headboard, unable to put any distance between them.
Nervously, she wetted her lips. And watched as his gaze followed the movement of her tongue, his eyes growing darker, his hand suddenly gripping her jaw more fiercely. A very different kind of throb between her legs sent heat through her body.
"He was rooted to the spot. He was unable to move even if he wanted to. Just like you, he had no magic, no energy left. But different from you," Voldemort explained, his gaze returning to her eyes, burning with something, "I had to step in for him. The shields you battled at the end were mine. You held out longer than him."
Her breath caught in her throat. "What?"
"You, my sweet witch, are more powerful than Severus."
He didn't give her a moment to register what he said. Instead, he pulled her closer, snaking his free arm around her waist, forcing her flush against his chest, and captured her lips with his. They were hungry and demanding, taking her breath away.
She couldn't help the moan that fell from her lips. She couldn't help her hands grabbing his robes, or her eyes falling close. Too exhausted, she had no filter to prevent her body from taking over. It craved his touch. She craved his touch.
Craved how he took without asking, despite his promises. Craved how he too seemed to have no control over the hunger that possessed him.
With one swift move, he lifted her up and forced her to straddle him, embracing her with both arms, never breaking the kiss. She groaned when she felt how hard he was between her legs. A groan that was met with a growl and a jerk of his hips as he gripped her tighter.
For a heartbeat, he broke the kiss and instead whispered something against her lips. In the next moment, she was naked on his lap, his mouth on hers again, the coolness of the air caressing her heated body. She should be alarmed, she should protest, she knew that. But she was too tired for that. Too far gone in her own desire to feel every inch of his body.
His hands roamed her back, groping and caressing and ever pulling her closer. Grinding her hips against his erection. And he never stopped kissing her. His tongue slipped between her lips, encouraging her own to do the same. Exploring her, tasting her, imprinting his own taste on her.
"You have so much magic," he growled, "you have no idea. Nobody ever taught you how to use it. Nobody ever saw you. But now you're mine. And I see you."
Through the fog of her lust, she registered what he said. Like moving through molasses, she could feel the meaning reach her brain. But he never stopped kissing her, never stopped grinding his hard length against her core, making it hard to concentrate. She needed a moment, a break, at least a breath to think. But he wouldn't let her.
Suddenly, there was his touch again. The feathering of his magic against her aura. Just a soft touch at first, but as a hungry moan left her lips, his touch grew stronger. More demanding. Her world shrank, consisting only of his hands on her back and his cock between her legs, his lips on hers. And his magic that seemed to embrace her completely. In time with the movement of his hips against hers, his magic seemed to wash over her. Pulsating, throbbing, enveloping her.
Her body was moving of its own accord, writhing against his, as if trying to get even closer. Her arms around his shoulders, she broke the kiss to instead bury her face against his neck. Instantly, he pressed his lips against her neck, licking and sucking and biting. Leaving his marks. She didn't care. There was only one thing that dominated her mind.
"Please, my lord, please. I need you. Inside me. Please!"
He groaned in response. "Anything, my sweet. I would never deny you."
His hand moved between them, pushing away his clothes, freeing his hard cock. Hermione almost sobbed when she saw it. Everything would be good if she just felt him inside her. If he just took her.
"Yesss," his hissed, gripping his cock, "you're so perfect for me. Spread your legs for me, sweet witch."
She immediately complied, pushing her knees farther to the left and right while also lifting up a little from his lap. His magic pulsed again, sending shivers down her spine.
"Oh please, don't make me wait. I need you inside me now!"
He froze under her. Still embracing her aura, still holding her close to him, Voldemort stopped moving. Only his laboured breathing remained. Desperate, Hermione tried to lower herself on him.
But he wouldn't let her. He shoved her away, pushed her down from his lap. With a shriek, she tumbled onto the floor. As she braced herself against the carpet, his magic left her and with it, reality came crashing down on her.
Wide eyed, she stared up at him, her breath still hard and fast. For a moment, she could see the same expression on his face, the same shock and realisation. But then his eyes changed and he stood up, bringing his clothes in order. For a second, he stared her down, his snake-like eyes so blank Hermione wondered momentarily whether she had just imagined the shock she saw before.
Then he kneeled down before her, holding out a hand as if to help. "My sweet, desperate little witch. This is not the time to indulge in your blind desire. You need to heal first. Come, let me help you back to bed."
Hermione blinked several times as she tried to catch back up with reality. He hadn't even touched her with his magic at the beginning and she still reacted so strongly. It made her blush all over again, not from arousal, but from shame.
She swatted his hand away and got up on her own. She was only too aware that she was still naked, cringing at the fact that she had practically thrown herself at him. As quickly as she could, she put her clothes back on, not daring to look at Voldemort.
Who remained strangely silent during it all.
When she finally felt she could think clearly again, she turned around and looked up at him. He was smiling again, this stupid, condescending smile that she wanted so badly to slap out of his face.
"There is my strong and independent girl. Come, sit down with me. But do try to keep your hands to yourself this time, mh?" His voice sounded warm and indulgent in a way that made her skin crawl. Everything about him was just wrong.
Still, as her brain caught up with everything he said before, Hermione realised that she indeed needed to talk to him. She needed answers. Pushing away that nasty feeling, she followed his command and sat back down on her bed.
"So, you want me to believe I am more powerful than Snape. Explain."
Voldemort chose the chair instead of the bed and made a great show of sitting down comfortably before answering. Hermione could only roll her eyes, but she remained silent while she waited until he deemed it right to answer.
"You are untrained, so of course Severus will appear more powerful to you. But in terms of raw potential, you possess more than him. You simply don't know how to properly use it yet."
She shook her head. "That doesn't explain anything. For as long as I can remember, I always struggled with magic. Sure, I never failed at anything in class, but that was because I always read ahead. Whatever subject we study, I already read everything about it in the school books. I am always prepared because I know it doesn't come natural to me."
He simply looked at her. "What do you think it would feel like if magic came natural to you?"
She paused for a moment. Her brain was still too slow, still clogged up from all the arousal and need she felt just minutes ago. While she definitely was back to reality, everything felt surreal to her. Especially this conversation with Voldemort of all people.
"I don't know," she finally admitted after trying to form any answer to his surprising question.
He remained silent, as if waiting for her to elaborate further. Frustrated, she ran her finger through her locks, looking for the right words. "I just feel like I'm missing something. Everything is such a struggle. I'm jealous of people like–"
She stopped. If she was truthful, she was jealous of him. Seeing him perform wandless magic so easily hurt. Back when she was in Lestrange's body, she saw him summon his wand to his hand with such ease, it made her hate him and admire him in equal measures. She wanted to be able to do that. She had never seen anyone do that before and it had lit a fire in her. Showing her that despite everything, Voldemort truly was a great wizard.
Swallowing hard, she met his gaze. There was no point denying it, he would see it in her memories sooner or later anyway. She licked her lips. "I'm jealous of people like you. When I see you perform magic, it looks easy. That is what I mean when I say natural."
For a long moment, he just continued to look at her. One hand under his chin, he thoughtfully tipped his head to the side and seemed to earnestly contemplate her words. Then he nodded. "Thank you for your honesty, Hermione. It explains a lot. But for today, I think it is best if you rest a little more. You can call a house elf to bring you some food, what do you say?"
She blinked. "That's it? That's all I get?"
Voldemort got up and stepped in front of her to pet her head. "For now, yes. As I said. You'll need to figure things out yourself. I won't spoon feed you."
A thousand things were on her tongue, but before Hermione could form a single word, he already left her room and closed the door behind him. Stunned, she sat on her bed.
Nothing made sense. Least of all was this stupid feeling she had, this emotion that really had no place here. It was a very familiar feeling which only made it worse.
Voldemort had knowledge she lacked – and wanted. She was eager to prove herself worthy of that knowledge. She could feel deep inside her that she would do almost anything for it. Usually, only books evoked this feeling. Even as a young girl, she couldn't help but devour new books when they promised insight into something she knew little of. At Hogwarts, Professor McGonagall often made her feel that way. She always strived to do her best so she might learn even more from her.
And, as much as she hated to admit it now, sometimes she felt the same with Snape. This thirst for knowledge, this curiosity that only he could quell.
And now, she sat here, yearning to keep talking to Voldemort, to pick his brain, to learn from him. It made her feel even worse than the thought of having once admired Snape. It was wrong and misplaced and stupid.
Hermione knew though that she would follow this curiosity. She had long struggled with it and then, one day, decided to give into it. All knowledge was worth having; all knowledge was worth effort. If Voldemort was ever willing to share with her how she could become more powerful, she would take that. He might delude himself into thinking he could win her over, but that would never happen.