"As you wish." Snape's words were quiet and measured.
With a nod to Voldemort, he got up and motioned Hermione to stand next to him. She hastened to follow his lead, casting just a quick glance at Lestrange. Finally, there was something like doubt in his eyes. As though he wasn't sure what was going on. As though he simply could not believe that any harm would befall him under Voldemort's watch.
With a wink of his wand, Snape disappeared the breakfast from the table before moving it to the side of the room. Now, only Rabastan Lestrange remained seated in the middle of the room, his pale face illuminated by the morning sun. Voldemort turned his chair slightly so he faced them, but his hands remained fixed on the shoulders. This man would not escape his fate.
Hermione could feel a tremor in her hand as she grabbed her wand. Swallowing, she searched for Voldemort's eyes. He smiled at her, a mix of warmth and excitement that was strangely comforting. This wizard truly wanted to see her grow.
"The Cruciatus Curse is only successful if your intent matches your magic." Snape's cool words startled her out of her nervousness. "For most spells and charms, speaking the right words matched with the right wand movement will result in whatever you want to achieve. Curses, especially powerful ones like this, cannot be cast that way."
She took a deep breath and nodded. "Yes. If I don't want to hurt a creature, it will fail."
He stepped closer, hovering directly behind her left shoulder. She could almost feel his heavy cloak sway against her thighs. Despite his cold exterior, his body exuded a warmth that enveloped her completely. She shuddered. He was too close. Disgust and anger swirled inside her, but she fought it down. She was here to learn from him. He would teach her.
His voice dropped to almost a murmur, his mouth too close to her ear, his tone not quite as blank as usual. "Everyone carries anger and hatred in them. These emotions fuel the Cruciatus. If you feel these for the person you want to curse, that would be easiest. But it is not necessary. Picture someone that you hate, that you truly loath. Remember what it feels like when you have to see them."
He paused there, giving her a moment to follow his words. Memories from the day before, where all she wanted was to kill him, swirled through her mind. Heat rose in her as the anger pumped adrenaline through her veins.
"Good. That's it. Let that emotion grow. It's too big to contain within your small body. It is violent and powerful. It wants to destroy."
The deep rumble of his voice sounded strangely seductive to her ears. Her breath quickened as her eyes stayed glued to Lestrange.
"You can let it out. You need to let it out. You know the word. No wand movement necessary, just the word and your intent. You want to harm; you want to hurt. You know it will feel good."
She drew a shuddering breath as she tried to calm her trembling hand. The more Snape talked– the more he coaxed that emotion out of her–the more she realised how good of a teacher he really was. It stoked the fire of her hatred all the more.
Hermione raised her wand and pointed it at Lestrange. The lanky wizard smiled no more. His pale face was ashen, but he did not try to escape. The hands of Voldemort on his shoulders kept him where he was. She could see the confusion in his eyes, but also that he was truly resigned to his fate. If his lord demanded his torture, he would submit to it.
Snivelling, chinless worm.
"Crucio."
The word formed easily on her tongue, slipping out with more determination than she knew she was capable of. With it, she could feel her magic being called upon, streaming out of her, taking all those toxic emotions with it. A red bolt erupted from the tip of her wand, instantly connecting with Lestrange's chest.
The second it touched him, he jerked forward. Voldemort let go of him, smiling as the pale wizard fell from the chair and to the ground. For a moment, Hermione stared in wonder at the groaning and crying man in front of her.
Then, the echo of the curse reached her core. Eyes widening, she felt the horror she was inflicting. Though she felt no pain, every fibre of her being screamed at her to stop, to show mercy, to consider this human being. To show empathy.
In a flash, Voldemort was behind her. She still kept up the curse as she felt his lips on her ear. "Don't hesitate now, my sweet. You're doing so well. This man in front of you is not worthy of your mercy. He is trash, scum to be thrown out. He would do vile things to you if he could. Don't be swayed. Remember your hatred. Keep channelling it. To him, you are just a mudblood. Inferior because of your birth. Show him. Show him that he is the one who is inferior."
Strong arms encircled her. She no longer felt Snape's warmth, replaced by the cool touch of Voldemort. He pulled her to his chest, one hand resting on her stomach, the other on her hip. Yes. She was strong and no one, least of all this mad wizard, would belittle her ever again. He deserved to feel pain. He had laughed as Bellatrix carved those bloody letters into her arm, torturing her with every stroke of her cursed blade.
She pushed all her empathy away, making room for only hatred and rage. Her magic was flowing freely, powering the curse even stronger than before. The weak wizard on the ground could only scream, arms and legs twitching uncontrollably.
"Yesss," she heard Voldemort hiss, "that's it. By Salazar, you are astounding, my sweet. I wish you could see yourself."
With an almost feral growl, he pulled her head back and claimed her lips in an all-consuming kiss. Hermione could feel her connection to Lestrange break, could feel the curse end, taking all her anger with it. It was replaced by a heated desire. The need in Voldemort's kiss, the way he grabbed her jaw and her hip, made her groan.
Never before had anyone found her magical prowess sexy. That he couldn't stop himself from devouring her when she held nothing back made her weak in the knee.
"You're dismissed," he growled suddenly. "Both of you. Take Rabastan and leave."
"As you command," Snape replied.
Hermione couldn't supress a chuckle. She heard the way his voice trembled, betraying just how unnerved he was by what he was seeing. Good.
She had no time to revel in his misery though. She could feel Voldemort's hardness press against her, revealing just how much he had enjoyed her show. His tongue slipped into her mouth coaxing a desperate moan out of her. Still, he kept her back pressed against his chest, not allowing her to move. Her hands groped at the arm still holding her close, desperate for purchase, as she pressed her hips harder against him.
"Patience, my sweet," he murmured into her ear.
From the corner of her eyes, she saw that Snape just now managed to pull Lestrange up into a half-way standing position. It was clear that he pointedly did not look at her, but she was sure he saw everything. This time, she felt no shame. No, she only felt elation. All those negative emotions she always kept bottled up, they finally were free, and instead of being ridiculed or scolded for it, she had a wizard at her side that relished her cruelty.
Cold, long fingers slipped under her clothes. Before she could do so much as blink, he pulled down her pants and slip, exposing her to the chilly air of the breakfast salon. When a finger stroked through her wet folds once, she could only groan. She didn't realise that the whole ordeal had turned her on as well.
Just the softest click told her that the door closed only now. But before she could spend another thought on that, two fingers thrust into her.
"Fuck," she moaned.
Closing her eyes, she let her head fall back against his chest. It took everything she had not to rock back into that hand. With trembling thighs, she kept as still as she could.
"My sweet witch," Voldemort whispered. "So good. Always surpassing my wildest expectations. Always showing everyone that being a mudblood says nothing about talent or power."
Heat pooled between her legs and with a jolt, Hermione noticed how a fresh wave of wetness leaked from between her thighs as the word left his lips. Trying desperately to supress another moan, she buried her teeth in her bottom lip.
"You liked that, mmh?" He sounded way too pleased with himself. "My precious little witch in all her pride. Fuck. You're just so perfect."
He held her steady as he started to pump his fingers into her. His lips found a sensitive spot on her neck and sucked, leaving her panting, barely containing her groans. His fingers felt so delicious, his praise so good, but she couldn't give him the satisfaction to just melt. He couldn't insult her like that and expect her to just take it.
"You still like to pretend you don't want this." She could hear a chuckle in his tone. "Your body betrays you every time, witch."
She swallowed a moan before she dared to press out an answer. "Wanting something and showing a physical reaction to stimulation are two very different things."
Instead of replying, he sped up the rhythm of his fingers. Cursing internally, Hermione buried her fingers in the soft fabric of his suit. It was not, in fact, the physical stimulation that got her. It was the feeling of his cock at her back, hard and hot. It was the strain in his voice as though he had to hold back. It was the way he claimed her in front of Snape despite saying that the other wizard would never get to see her like this again.
It was the way her open act of violence turned him on.
She could no longer hold back her moans. The image of Voldemort standing next to Lestrange's twitching body, pupils blow wide, and then his claiming kiss kept replaying in her mind, stoking the fire that threatened to burn her whole.
Heat spread over her whole body. Everything felt sensitive and yet all she could really feel were his fingers inside her. Pressing her eyes close, her whole world seemed to shrink to this one sensation. She barely noticed how he pushed her against the wall. It was only the last bit of her consciousness that noticed the soft rustle of fabric.
Then, suddenly, his fingers vanished. Instead, she felt the head of his cock glide through her folds, way hotter than any other part of his body. For a breath, she went completely still. Excitement and lust warred with panic and denial. She didn't dare to move, to breathe, to think.
One cool hand caressed her butt. "Relax, my sweet. I will not take this from you. You have to give it. I will patiently wait until you are ready."
A tremor shook her body. He sounded warm and caring, but there was an edge to his voice that sent shivers down her spine. Voldemort had no doubt that sooner or later, she would give in. For him, it was a question of when, not if. And that scared her.
Slowly, his fingers entered her again. The stretch burnt this time, even though she was still wet. As though sensing her discomfort, he pumped into her with deliberate care. It was an almost languid movement, not intended to hastened her towards the cliff, but to stoke the remaining embers of her desire.
Through the heavy fog of her fear and rising lust, she heard something else. A slow sound of skin on skin, matching the rhythm of his fingers in her. She blushed.
"Sometimes, you really are sweet." Voldemort chuckled. "You were magnificent today, Hermione. I could taste your hatred in the air as you tortured poor dumb Rabastan mercilessly. It took everything I have to not just rip your clothes off in that moment. So please forgive me if I now need release before I break my promise."
A wave of pleasure washed over her. This wizard that everyone feared was helpless in front of her. He was not someone who would deny himself if he wanted something. He was not patient. But for her, he showed restraint.
With another curse on her lips, she gave in. Meating his fingers, she edged him on to pick up the pace. She wanted to feel all the pleasure he could give her.
As his fingers sped up, so did his other hand that wrapped around his cock. His low groans mingled with her increasingly desperate moans, filling the breakfast room with the unmistakable sound of sex. His two hands worked in tandem, driving her ever closer to the edge. At the same time, his groans sounded increasingly strained, his need palpable even though she could not see him.
"Yes," she breathed. "Yes, please, please, please."
Hermione did not know what she was saying. A mess of words stumbled from her lips. All she knew was that she needed him to keep going, exactly like that. She could feel her orgasm, she was so close. She did not care that her moans turned into high-pitched whines or that her hips moved on their own. She wanted it. She wanted everything.
In the next second, his fingers were gone. For a moment, she thought that he just had to pause or change the angle. But then his hand came down on her butt, smacking it once before sliding her blouse up. His free hand curled around her waist. Still, she could hear the other hand around his cock working.
"My lord! Please! I'm so close!"
The grip of his hand tightened, but otherwise, he made no motion to answer her pleas. Instead, his groans turned into heated growls. Turning her head just slightly, she could see his hand working furiously, his eyes glued to the tiniest sway of her butt cheeks as she tried to wiggle her hips.
Suddenly, he pushed her blouse even further up her back, exposing more of her overheated skin to the cool air of the sun-bathed room. He leaned forward until his head rested on her shoulders. The sound of his growls and his heavy breathing was almost deafening, but it fanned the flames of her own arousal. By Merlin, she needed him to touch her. To bring her to completion.
"My sweet witch," he rasped into her ear. "My perfect Hermione. You're mine. Mine."
On the last word, she felt him shudder and then, drops of hot liquid splashed onto her butt and her back. He did not stop his hand until every last bit was squeezed out. And even then, he kept her pressed against the wall, his breath hot in her neck, one hand idly massaging his cum into her skin.
"You're mine, Hermione," he finally told her. "Mine. But remember. Until you understand, you will have to suffer. I will bring you no high until you recognise the issue in your behaviour and fix it."