Voldemort listened with great interest as Lucius Malfoy recounted all that their new guest did all day long. As instructed, he had the house elves record her every step and every word, invisible forces that could be anywhere without getting noticed. It amused him to no end that after his short visit, she spent a considerable amount muttering to herself, stressing out over his motives and actions.
She would understand sooner or later. It was clear to him that she had not yet unlocked her full potential, too focused as she was on using her brain to solve problems. It would take time to train her, but once she saw, once she understood, she would realise what he wanted quickly.
And probably turn into a feral cat, trying to scratch out his eyes or rip out his throat. It would be fun.
"Thank you, Lucius," he said after the other wizard finished his report.
The blond man nodded. In the last couple of weeks, he finally started to look like his former self again. He had hated how the proud head of one of the most influential families had let himself go. Voldemort would make sure that maybe in the past he did not care, but now it was important to him that everyone looked like they were meant to rule. No exception.
"My lord," Malfoy started, sounding a bit hesitant. "If I may. I want to bring to you attention an issue arising from your request that Miss Granger be allowed access wherever she pleases."
He raised an eyebrow, already feeling annoyed that the Malfoys could not even follow his direct command for one day without complaining.
"As you heard in the report, she went to the kitchen around noon, presumably to find something to eat," Lucius continued. "While I don't generally see a problem with that, I fear she might be a bad influence on the house elves."
"The house elves? How so?" He could not care less about whatever this was.
Lucius swallowed hard. "Well, as you know, we lost one of our older house elves to Harry Potter. It seems that Gr–Miss Granger shares similar soft sentiments. She even brought up Dobby directly to them and how happy he was without a master."
"Lucius," he cut in, "I will say this only once. I do not care. If you cannot control your slaves, that is your problem. Are you really telling me one mudblood is enough to make your house elves run away? Miss Granger will have access to every part of the manor, whether it suits you or not. Is that clear?"
He could see the other man blanch, but Voldemort had no patience left for him. It took all his self-control not to give him a taste of the Cruciatus in response. This matter was beyond trivial. This was exactly why he punished the Malfoys after the matter in the Department of Mysteries in the first place. They were incapable of doing anything on their own and needed his guidance for the smallest things.
So much for the proud and longstanding pureblood family line.
With a shake of his head, he left Lucius in his study. It was late already and he could not wait to visit his witch again. On his way across the manor, he couldn't help but smile to himself. Her hatred of Severus Snape was an amusing thing to watch, especially since they would be spending a lot of time together. Severus was the only one he could trust to always understand his intentions, but he already knew that the Granger girl would drive him insane. Maybe Severus didn't deserve that, but it would still be an entertaining thing to watch.
He paused in front of the door again, giving a short knock before entering. Voldemort knew that it was a considerate gesture that confused his witch immensely. Maybe he would keep it up forever.
"Good evening, Hermione," he greeted her joyfully, relishing in the mix of fear and annoyance on her face. Yes, his little witch could not stand his presence, but there was still that fear that he loved so much.
"It was a better evening before I had to see your face."
He laughed and pulled her from her chair onto the bed with him. Her eyes immediately grew wide, but there was the tiniest hint of a blush on her cheeks. She did know how to seduce him.
"I had a thought earlier today," he told her. She sat primly next to him, both feet planted in the floor, her eyes looking straight ahead instead of at him. He wouldn't press her on that. For now.
"I saw in your memories that you had a run in with some of my friends two years ago," he continued.
She glanced at him before quickly looking back at the wall again. "In the Department of Mysteries, yes. Where you manipulated Harry into retrieving that prophecy about you two."
"That was a clever bit of magic, don't you think?" He chuckled when she shot him an angry look. "Though I have to admit, after seeing your memories I didn't actually care about that prophecy anymore."
This time, she turned her whole body to look at him. "You what? What do you mean? What was all that for, then?"
He took one of her hands and brought it close to his mouth until he could plant a soft kiss on the palm. The blush on her cheeks intensified as he looked her straight in the eyes, but she only frowned and pulled her hand away.
"I figured out what that prophecy meant after observing your memories. Of course, it did help to hear the full part of it, but in truth, I wouldn't even have needed that."
She blinked. "You figured it out through my memories?"
"Indeed. Don't worry, my sweet. While I possess most of your knowledge, you possess none of mine, so it does not reflect badly on you that you haven't figured it out. Maybe you will in time. But it truly doesn't matter."
Her frown deepened and she started to chew on her bottom lip. Voldemort could almost see her mind at work, trying to figure out what she was missing. But he doubted she would arrive at any conclusion today.
"This is not why I brought it up, though," he explained. "What I really want is something else."
He eyed her long-sleeve button up shirt that was made out of a strangely coarse material. Slowly, he reached for the first button. She allowed him to open it, though he could feel her breath catch as his fingers brushed against her collarbone. He continued on to the next button, and still she let him.
When his fingers travelled down to the third, her small hand caught his wrist. "Where is this going?"
Uncertainty and fear shone from her brown eyes, but he could tell from the way she was breathing a little too quickly that she did not fully want to stop him. He twisted his hand to break free from her grip and pushed her down on the mattress instead, climbing on top of her as she brought her legs up.
Instantly, her hands collided with his chest and pushed. "What are you doing?"
"Don't worry, my sweet. Nothing bad will happen today." He gave her a reassuring kiss on the forehead.
She licked her lips then and again, Voldemort felt the urge to just throw away his sanity in favour of burying himself in her completely. His eyes stared at her lips, remembering how well she took him when she was in Bella's body. Imagining how perfect she would look now with his cock between her full pink lips.
He suppressed a groan and instead continued to open her shirt. Her eyes were round and full of panic, but she no longer resisted him. Instead, she lay perfectly still under him, her arms flat on the bed.
When he finally released the last button, he pushed the shirt open a bit more. Her perfect round breasts jiggled just a little, enough for him to want to grab one with his full hand. Ignoring the urge, he let his fingers travel lightly over the scar that sat between her breasts. She hissed as he touched her.
"Does it still hurt?"
"No, not really. It is just a … weird sensation." The fear receded from her eyes, making way for curiosity.
"It was Dolohov who gave you that scar, right?" He didn't have to ask as that memory was fresh on his mind, but he wanted her to acknowledge it.
"If that is the name of a huge man with dark hair, yeah, that was him."
He leaned further down, planting a soft kiss right between her breasts. He was rewarded with the sweetest sound, a mixture of a sob and a moan, both surprised and eager. Smiling, he sat back up and pulled out his wand.
"I can fix that for you. Make it disappear." He tapped the tip of his wand against her exposed skin. "I assume neither Severus nor the medi-witch at the time knew how to do that?"
She was strong to have survived Dolohov's spell. The presence of mind to silence a powerful wizard who was just about to unleash a dark curse told him a lot about her combat prowess. That she still carried a scar despite her success was not right.
She lifted one hand, hesitantly at first, but then with a firm determination in her eyes that made him shiver. To his shock, she gently placed it on his cheek and shook her head. "No. Thank you for the offer, but no. This scar is part of me. Proof that I can survive against all odds. I wouldn't change it for the world."
He could barely hold back a scoff. Of course, Gryffindors and their need for bravado and courage on full display. He should have known that this would be her answer. To mask his displeasure, he closed his eyes and put his hand over hers. "Okay, little witch. As you wish."
When he opened his eyes again, the sleeve on her outstretched arm had fallen down slightly, exposing a wound that would soon turn into a scar as well. He gently shoved the fabric further down, inspecting the nasty red letters on her arm. Bella's cursed blade had done a lot of damage here, but again, it was Hermione's magical strength that prevented the curse from actually taking hold.
"What about this one?"
She shivered under his gaze, but again shook her head. "That one hurts like hell, I have to admit. But isn't it fitting? A little reminder left by your favourite mad woman, so that you'll never forget what I am. Does it make you shudder with disgust when you see the word and remember who it is you're touching?"
There was no venom in her words, as though she was truly just curious. She watched him, almost as closely as he was watching her.
"I haven't been disgusted by you or other mudbloods since the day you fell into my bed."
Hermione snorted. "And I am Santa Claus. Right. The great Lord Voldemort doesn't hate mudbloods anymore because he suddenly grew a conscience."
He let go of her wrist and instead pushed both her arms over her head, pinning them with one hand, while the other travelled further down, over her belly, and further, until his fingers slipped under the elastic of her pyjama pants.
"Be careful when you mock me, my sweet," he hissed as he pulled the fabric of her panties aside. "You will find that I am easily displeased."
Her mouth fell open and her eyes grew wide as he let his middle finger slide through her folds in one long stroke. There it was, the disgust and hatred that she accused him of but showed so freely herself. And the desire, her barely contained hunger to be touched by him.
"It is not a hard concept to grasp, Hermione," he told her, putting on a tone of fake disappointment. "To unite one group you need another group that you unite against. And seeing as the pureblood families already hate mudbloods and muggles, it was just common sense to use that for my own goals. If they hated all witches instead, I would have used that."
She struggled against his hold in earnest then, trying to free her arms or to ram a knee into his side, but he did not let her. He kept his hand between her thighs, not going further, but reminding her with every move of her hips that he was there. Her cheeks were flushed and her breathing laboured when she finally gave up.
"I don't know what's worse," she rasped, "oppressing muggleborn witches and wizards because you truly believe them to be inferior, or oppressing them because it is easy and convenient."
He couldn't hold back a laugh at that. Carefully circling her sensitive nub, he leaned down until he could feel her breath on his face. "You are still so naïve. Nobody hates mudbloods because they truly think you are inferior. Everyone hates you because it is the easy thing to do. I might have once truly hated you lot, but all those proud pureblood families? It is just the easiest way to retain as much power and influence as they could. And it's almost impossible to truly eradicate you, so you will always be there to hate."
"Fuck you," she spat, her voice hoarse and full of hatred.
But he could see as he backed up a little that her eyes were brimming with tears. She truly was that naïve. He could see in her face that she didn't want to believe him. Her mouth was set in a hard line, only the slightest quiver of her chin betraying how much she hated everything he just told her. Because she did believe him.
With a sigh, he pulled his hand from between her thighs and closed her shirt again. Then he let go of her arms and left the bed. Hermione quickly scrambled into a sitting position, buttoning her shirt again. She did not look at him.
"I'm not the only monster out there," he told her.
Instantly, her eyes snapped up to his, a scowl on her face. "Get out!"
He smiled. "As you wish."
He pulled the door close behind him as noiselessly as he could. Then he allowed himself a silent chuckle. Oh, she was so deliciously naïve. The world was not good or fair. She clung to her hope that she could believe in people. A shining light in the darkness of this house.
He could not wait for that light to disappear and for her to break.