Rite of Passage

BY : Nerys
Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort
Dragon prints: 2765
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations from Harry Potter created and owned by JK Rowling. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

A:N: With special thanks to my wonderful beta: Serpent in Red.

This story has 4 chapters in total, and is completed. Update pace is depending on the spare time my beta and I have to edit. 


Rite of Passage

 

"Oh please." Hermione buried her face in her hands, thus not noticing the satisfied, harsh glint that ran through Julian's dark eyes.

 

Chapter 2: Darkness 

 

The revels became a common outing for Hermione. Not only did she enjoy being part of the wizarding community again, where the world wasn’t always exactly what it seemed to be, but her eyes lit up whenever she saw Julian. Unfortunately, he wasn’t always there. When he was away on some mission, she missed his snarky comments about the behaviours of others, the debates they had—he was far too smart for his own good, Hermione considered somewhat enviously—and his all-consuming presence. So, she generally kept to herself, watching Lord Voldemort choose another inevitably dead witch or wizard. 

 

She didn’t miss Julian for his extraordinary good looks, that tall slender frame of his, those dark burning eyes, those perfectly formed lips, that flawless skin, those shiny smooth black locks she wasn’t dying to run her fingers through—oh no, that had nothing to do with it. She wasn’t that shallow. She absolutely loved spending time with him for his intelligence. 

 

Despite him being a cold-blooded murderer. 

 

Her mind went back to that revel. She’d thought he wasn’t there and was simply wandering the grounds with a bowl of those delicious cherries in hand. 

 

Why deny yourself when you'd already ingested one?  

 

When she saw that absolute, foul, disgusting creep harass what couldn’t be more than a girl of fourteen, perhaps fifteen, years of age, Hermione’s temper had risen. A deadly calm washed over her when she noted the wizard had his hand down the girl’s skirt. The onlookers stroked themselves at the clear discomfort the girl’s face exhibited. 

 

Hermione stepped up, tapped on Scabior’s shoulder, and said coldly, “Hello, beautiful.” 

 

When the wizard turned his head, his eyes suddenly alight with visions of a threesome, her fist collided harshly with his nose. A flick of her wrist, and her wand was in hand. Her magic pulsed through her veins. Her eyes flashed. She wanted to hurt him, hurt him badly. The onlookers scattered like the wind, fear in their eyes. Their fear for her sparked a sense of power she really liked feeling.

 

She stepped towards Scabior who was backing down on his arse from her, so much fear in his eyes it caressed every inch of her being. Then, she frowned when she realised he was looking beyond her.

 

“I’m done warning you, Scabior,” a soft, deep voice said behind her. 

 

Oh.

 

“Please, I—” 

 

“Crucio!”

 

The former Snatcher’s screams danced around her, ignited her senses, her power. It felt great, watching him thrash around, even if it were somewhat disappointing she wasn’t the one casting.

 

Julian looked at her without lifting the spell, nodded sideways to the trembling, wide-eyed girl, and whispered, “I’ll take care of him. Take care of her. My tent is on the left.”

 

Hermione nodded and walked to the girl whose skirt was still open on the side. Now that Scabior was no longer blocking the view, Hermione felt her anger bubbling up again when she saw the girl’s shirt had been ripped from the front. She was holding it together with her trembling hands. A simple wave of Hermione’s hand, and the shirt mended itself, the buttons on the skirt closed.

 

“Come,” she said, undoing her cloak and wrapping it around the girl. “Let’s get you somewhere safe.”

 

As they walked away, the crowd that had come to watch Scabior thrash and scream parted like the Red Sea for them. She didn’t even have to tell them to give her some space. She knew it wasn’t her they were doing that for—people normally bumped into her all the time at these gatherings. Hermione looked over her shoulder, watching Julian’s back before her eyes went to the now airborne and naked Scabior. Foam frothed at his mouth, and his skin turned an angry red colour and began bubbling like it were boiling. His testicles blackened, and pus wounds grew on his cock. Blood dripped from his eyes, ears, and nose. He clawed at himself as if that would give him some relief instead of worsening his condition. His screams, his agonising, desperate screams were music to her ears. 

 

“He’s going to die, isn’t he?” the girl asked, also looking at Scabior. 

 

“Yes,” Hermione said, feeling no need to sugarcoat it. 

 

“Good.” 

 

“You want to watch this?” she asked softly. 

 

“No, I wanna go home.” 

 

“Let’s get you there then.”

 

 



 

When Hermione returned to the revel, she found Julian in his tent, eyes dark and angry.

 

“I told you to take her to my tent,” he hissed, rising from his chair, stalking towards her, stopping inches away from her body, towering over her.

 

“She wanted to go home, and I believe she’d had enough interaction with men for one night,” Hermione replied, craning her neck but not backing down from the furious wizard before her. 

 

“So now she has to live with that trauma,” Julian said, grabbing her cheek harshly. “I would’ve—”

 

“I Obliviated her,” Hermione interrupted him.  

 

Julian’s jaw snapped shut, his fingers loosening, but his dark eyes still held a storm within them ready to erupt. “That’s not—

 

“I’m excellent with Memory Charms. She remembers going, she remembers it was boring, no one of her age to talk to, she recalls eating a lot of fruit, being embarrassed by adults her parents’ age fucking on every surface—” Hermione placed a finger on his opening mouth. “—and she knows they have to get consent if she ever goes to another revel. She will remember to refuse next time if it’s not someone to her liking. I made certain of that.”

 

“How old was she even?”

 

“Thirteen.” 

 

Julian hissed and stepped back. “I want a word with her parents,” he said, turning his back to her, one hand stroking through his hair.

 

“I talked to them.”

 

“Where do they live?” 

 

“I handled it,” Hermione said in a clipped tone of voice. 

 

He turned and regarded her. “Handled how?”

 

“They won’t send her again until she is of age and wants to go herself.”

 

“Handled how?”

 

Hermione gritted her teeth and stepped towards him. “You,” she poked his chest, “are,” poke , “not,” poke , “going”, poke , “to,” poke—

 

His hands grabbed her face abruptly, and his mouth caught her lips in a furious, demanding kiss. When her body sank against his, her hands grabbing his shirt pulling him closer, he deepened the kiss, arms sliding down her back and pulling her tightly against him. She felt his erection before the burst of Voldemort’s ritual power flushed over them. They swayed on their feet, kissing with an urge like their lives depended on it. When her hand moved down and cradled his erection, he grabbed her shoulders and pushed her away. 

 

“No, not like this,” he whispered, cupping her cheeks upon seeing the hurt in her eyes. “You’re magnificent, Hermione. You deserve better.”

 

She froze, staring at his face in horror. He realised his mistake a tad sooner than her ability to come into action and was a lot faster with his wand. “Obliviate!” 

 

He placed a kiss on her forehead as her eyes glazed over. “I’m rather excellent at Memory Charms myself, too,” he whispered against her skin. “And it’s not me you belong to.”


 



 

She tossed and turned in her sleep, head thrashing, and waking with a scream of completion, her limbs still trembling, her body covered in sweat, and always, always , Lord Voldemort’s piercing, red eyes still lingering above her as she tried to get her bearings.

 

After a couple of breaths, she felt rejuvenated, powerful, on top of the world, satisfied. It was disconcerting that the person causing these feelings was her biggest enemy. Yet, as she jumped out of bed and felt her magic pulse through her, she really couldn’t care less. So much power, it was like a high she didn’t want to come off of.

 

She took another cold shower—it had become a habit in her mornings. The cold soothed her flushed skin, helped ground her, and stopped any magical outbursts. It wasn’t like she needed to relearn magic; it was like it had finally found her. She bathed in it, rolled in it, and vowed she would keep it, cherish it for the gift it truly was. 


 



 

Her brown eyes scouted the table. She realised they were long out of season; it was January after all, but last time, they’d still been there. A smile erupted on her face when she noticed one last bowl of cherries. Quickly, she grabbed it and immediately stuffed one in her mouth—sweet, plump, full of moisture, and oh so luscious. 

 

Seriously, so good .

 

“Worth killing for,” she mumbled to herself. 

 

“Really?” a familiar voice said, snatching a cherry from her bowl as he whirled past her. 

 

“Hey! Thief!” she yelled, running after him. 

 

She almost crashed into him when he abruptly swirled around and made quite a show of eating the cherry in front of her eyes. How his teeth pulled the fruit from the stalk, how his tongue rolled it around in his mouth as he slowly, but surely cleaned the meat from the pit, it made her throat bop. And when he held out the completely clean pit to her with a taunting smirk, and a “There are so many uses for an excellently skilled tongue, wouldn’t you agree, Jean?” her insides clenched so hard it almost hurt. 

 

Instead of grabbing his hair and pushing that head between her legs so he could make good on his claims, she smacked his hand holding out the pit away and moved on. “Asshole.”

 

“That, too,” he added cheerfully, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, as he quickly sped up his pace and walked alongside her.

 

After a while of quiet reprieve and her enjoying her cherries in silence, she held out the bowl to him. “Want another, show off?”

 

“If my lady so wishes.” 

 

Hermione felt positively victorious when he ate it. She'd found how to combat being owned by eating a given fruit in an obscure scroll. It had been surprisingly simple: returning the favour would even out the playing field. She wasn't certain he owned her due to her eating that damn cherry from him—it was really old magic that required intent, and he hadn't acted upon it—but better safe than sorry. He noticed her face and stopped chewing. 

 

“What?” he asked with his mouth full, swallowing.

 

“Oh my God, you’re just as disgusting as—” Her mouth snapped shut, face paling.

 

“As?”

 

“Just someone I used to know,” she grumbled, realising he would keep pestering her for information if she didn’t say anything. “And no, you’re not getting their name. I’d rather not find their mangled, dead body drifting onto the shores.”

 

“Oh, I’m not that sloppy. You’d never find the body,” he said, angling for another cherry.

 

“That’s reassuring,” she said, holding out the bowl.

 

He winked at her in response and mmm-ed while eating the double piece of cherry in one go.

 

“By Godric, you’re in an awfully cheerful mood. Did someone you hate die a horribly slow death?”

 

The cherries practically came up his nose as he snorted and started laughing and coughing. 

 

Actually, quite a bit of coughing. 

 

Hermione’s eyes widened when she realised he was choking. With a flick of her wrist, the half-eaten cherries violently erupted from his windpipe, landing on the face of a man in expensive, all-white robes walking towards them. Everything he wore was white, even his leather boots—though they had a trim of gold along the edge. One of the cherries landed on his nose, the other on his forehead. Disgusted, the posh-looking wizard rubbed away the fruit on his nose and muttered something under his breath as they stood there, watching silently as the other piece clung like glue to his forehead. 

 

When the wizard was far enough away, they burst out laughing.

 

“Oh my god, the look on his face.”

 

“It looked like someone had shot him in the head,” Julian snorted. 

 

“Do you know who that was?” Hermione asked, clutching her belly. “That was Cormac McLaggen. He’s aiming to become the next Minister for Magic.”

 

“Seriously? That guy?” Julian said, looking over his shoulder, bemused. “He didn’t appear bright enough to understand what is necessary for that job.”

 

“His family is well-connected, and he’s got an ego the size of a planet. Thinks he's God's greatest gift to women.” She shivered at the memory. “Can't take a bloody hint either.” 

 

“Sounds like you're talking from experience.” 

 

“Don't remind me. He used to follow me around everywhere after I made the mistake of asking him out once. I even hid in Filch’s broom closet to avoid him. Do you have any idea how disgusting Filch’s closet is?” She made an exaggerated barfing noise. 

 

“You hid in a closet?” Julian said, snorting.

 

“Oh yeah, laugh at my misery. Was totally worth it though. I take bugs over his sticky hands any day.”

 

“You should’ve cursed him.” He looked at the devious smile and the glint that appeared in her eyes. “Okay, now you gotta share what you did.” 

 

“Only if you shared what you did last Saturday.” She snickered at his silence and added, “I suppose we shall take our crimes with us to the grave in silence. No witnesses.”

 

“Did he always wear such ridiculous outfits?”

 

“Why? Are you planning to ask him on a date?” She just jumped out of reach of his elbow. 

 

“Just curious what you were seeing in him to ask him out.”

 

“Har, har.”

 

“All that whiteness. If you put a light on it, you’ll be blinded forever.”

 

She snorted. “It’s probably some political statement or so. Hey, look at me, I’m good. I wear white. Wouldn’t surprise me if he thinks he can overthrow the Dark Lord.”

 

“Really?” Julian said slowly.  

 

Hermione vanquished the empty bowl and looked at him. “He’s an idiot, not a real threat, Julian,” she admonished. 

 

“Whatever you say, darling,” he hooked his arm in hers and moved them along. “I know the perfect spot to watch the ritual tonight.”

 

A week later, Cormac McLaggen’s mutilated body was found drifting among the rocks surrounding Azkaban’s shore. 


 



 

With her growing powers, her dreams started to stick. She still woke with a scream, his red eyes right above her. But now, she also recalled the feel of his alien body against hers, his hands caressing her skin, her sex clenching around him, being thorougly filled. It should scare her after witnessing all the witches he’d fucked to death, but for some reason, it didn’t. 

 

Maybe because there hadn’t been spikes in her dream?

 

Or snake cocks biting her clit or that third cock, entering her from behind?  

 

She didn’t know why and when she stopped being afraid of Lord Voldemort. 

 

She didn’t know when she started longing for him to pick her, to take her, to make her …

 

Hermione shook her head, trying to get rid of these silly thoughts and emotions. She was his enemy. He’d kill her on sight. She would do the same if she ever got the opportunity. 

 

Yes, yes, she would.


 



 

Her eyes filled with wonder at the site. A small spring caused a huge waterfall thundering from skyhigh rocks, turning the water of the lake below into white foam and mist. That lake turned into a stream, which branched off into three crystal-blue lakes surrounded by meadows with many priceless flowers and herbs—any Potions Master would have a field day here, she considered. Surrounding the area, making it one of the most private revel sites she’d ever seen, were humongous trees and shrubbery so thick you wouldn’t be able to get through with a machete or scythe. This place breathed magic at every twist and turn. 

 

One of the lakes contained a giant whirlpool. Somehow, she knew that it was connected to the spring. An endless loop, like the forces of time in a turner. Nothing to change except what was already predestined to happen. 

 

“Like what you see?” Julian asked, stopping beside her.

 

“It’s beautiful.”

 

“It has its purpose.”

 

“Spoilsport.”

 

“Not afraid to fall down?” he taunted. 

 

“This is solid ground, not a lintel,” she countered. 

 

“But is it truly solid?” he pondered, laughing when she hastily took a step backwards.

 

“Ass.”

 

“We should go down. There are no cherries up here.”

 

Hermione huffed. “I’ll have you know I eat other things besides cherries, Mister.”

 

“You could’ve fooled me.”

 

As they moved down along the stone path, she asked, “Who created this?”

 

“What makes you think it’s a creation?”

 

“It’s too perfect, too magical, and …” she paused, pondering. 

 

“And?”

 

“Just a feeling,” she said, flushing. 

 

She really hated it when she couldn’t put rational words to her ideas. Yet Julian never seemed to mind when things were beyond words or ration. Hell, he valued Divination, something that still made her think less of him.

 

“Maybe you should research that feeling.”

 

“Oh, shut up,” she said, stomping off and ignoring his laughter.

 

Feeling a sense of ants running down her skin, she stopped so abruptly Julian crashed into her back. Her wand appeared in her hand with a flick of her wrist. She tried to push him back, but he was like a rock, unmovable. So she turned, rubbing her arms frantically now. Her eyes scanned around for what could’ve caused this sensation.

 

“We need to go back,” she said, her voice urgent upon noticing his questioning gaze. 

 

“Oh, the wards,” he said, taking her shoulders and drawing his hands down her arms in one go. The creepy sensation of bugs crawling under her skin stopped. “Not many wizards and witches notice them.”
 

“How can you not notice bugs crawling under your skin?” Hermione asked, her voice shrill. 

 

“Look,” he ordered, nodding to the scenery. 

 

There were people everywhere, witches and wizards, and even animals. Noises filled her ears. She heard a crow cawing and realised she hadn’t heard any animals before now. It had all been deadly quiet apart from the waterfall. Hermione pressed her eyelids together hard and looked again. Where had they all come from?

 

“They were already there,” he answered her unspoken question. “You couldn’t see or hear them until you passed the wards, a little bit of extra security I added. Probably why you sensed this place wasn’t natural earlier—you just couldn’t put your finger on it.”

 

“You made all this?” she asked, gesturing around. 

 

“Yes,” he said, seeming more and more smug at her impressed expression.

 

“What happens if someone who doesn’t belong here tries to walk down?” 

 

Julian gestured from waterfall to whirlpool. 

 

“That’s disgusting.”

 

“So are filthy Muggles,” he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her along.

 

Hermione’s wandhand twitched, a darkness seeping into her posture and clouding her eyes, like something inside flicked a switch and turned everything upside down. The previously peaceful scenery lost its colour; everything turned black and white. Dark clouds rolled around her, entering her lungs with every breath she took. It was thick and heavy, a burn inside she couldn’t exhale. It grew and grew and grew beyond her control. This wasn’t her world. This wasn’t her. She pulled away, staring at the dark veins that had erupted on her hands. What the hell was wrong with her? 

 

“Well, there she is,” Julian said, satisfied. “I was beginning to wonder if it would ever come out.”

 

She’d forgotten he was there. Her head lifted. The whites of her eyes had vanished and only black remained. Her vision of him was oddly clear though, compared to everything else that remained shrouded in black smoke or clouds—she had no idea what she was inhaling, or was she exhaling it? 

 

“What is happening?” 

 

“You’re accessing all your powers. It’s about time.”

 

“Oh, is it?” Hermione replied sweetly and blasted Julian off his feet into the blackberry bushes. She snorted upon hearing his painfilled groan. “Handy thorns you created there, Sweetie. Oh yes, this I can get used to.” 

 

She cast a Blasting Charm at a nearby tree with astounding effect and looked at her hands. It was odd how with every move she made, it almost seemed like a slowed down, shadowed version of hers trailed the movement and then enhanced it, like there were two of her. She took in the compound—the people downstairs seemed too busy to notice anything going up there. The animals, however, had run away, and the forest noises had ceased to be. She rejoiced upon seeing the colours of the many wards oscillating for the first time. She’d read about it. 

 

Naturally. 

 

Truly powerful wizards and witches could see wards, not solely magically detect them. It had always stung a bit she wasn’t one of them. Now, she could. 

 

Then, she realised there was a silvery ward with a radius of, give or take, thirty to fifty feet circling around her, possibly the reason why none of the people below were taking notice of her Blasting Charm. Only one person would know it needed doing and could’ve erected that ward so swiftly. She focused all her powers, located him, and swirled around. Her wand cast. It struck him dead on, but this time, nothing happened. 

 

Well, to him.

 

Hermione furrowed her brow when he held her cast curse between his fingertips.

 

“Interesting choice of curses, Sweetie,” he mimicked, taking a step towards her, while his fingers moved around, making the dark magic between his fingertips grow and spark. 

 

There was something deeply ominous about watching him stalk towards her with his torn robes, the way his blood trickled down his face and arms from the scratches of the thorns she’d tossed him in, and the sheer intensity of his dark gaze now upon her, like a predator coming to eat her whole. Her heart pounded in her chest. Faster and faster. A part of her reckoned he hadn’t healed himself precisely for this effect.

 

Hermione took a step back, clutching her wand. “What are you doing?”

 

“Now where is the fun in telling you that?” 

 

She shrieked when he opened his arms wide and released it towards her. Quickly, she cast another curse in his direction as she dove to the ground, pretty certain no defensive charm would hold whatever he threw at her, the loud gong behind her as it hit the silvery ward confirmed that suspicion. She yelled in frustration, seeing her other curse die out into the opposite side of the ward, because Julian no longer was where he was a few seconds ago. She rolled on her back, cast, and watched satisfied how he got thrown through the air and crash-landed roughly. If that damn ward hadn’t been there, she would’ve had the pleasure of watching him test out his lovely waterfall for himself.   

 

“You’re so predictable, Hon,” she taunted, as they both got to their feet.

 

“You think so?”

 

“I know so,” she said smugly, adrenaline and something dark rushing through her veins and clouding her mind. 

 

“Maybe I’m holding back so I won’t hurt you too badly?”

 

She snorted. “Arrogant much?”

 

“You’re delicious when you give into your darker tendencies, Jean. Alas, for you, they lack focus, determination, and are still somewhat … unrefined.

 

She’d show him unrefined. Her curse was en route at once, black tendrils splitting up and forming multiple attack vectors chasing towards him. He narrowed his eyes at them, but then, he merely smirked. 

 

Crap!

 

His hand held up, her tendrils halted, and then, to her horror, they reversed course. 

 

Crap! Crap! Crap!

 

She waved her wand, but her cast curse didn’t extinguish. Instead, it grew in multitude—more and more tendrils moved back at her. That wasn’t supposed to happen. That shouldn’t be possible. She swallowed.

 

Shit! Shit! Shit!

 

She took a step back, and another. The darkness of the tendrils came closer and closer. Through it, Julian’s eyes glinted with pleasure. 

 

“I do think a witch like yourself should be taught how to properly wield your powers, Jean,” he said ever so casually, like they were just having a nice conversation about the weather. “It would be a shame if you got yourself hurt because I failed at my duty to … tame such an unruly, troublesome, little wild creature, wouldn’t you agree, pet ?”

 

Hermione gritted her teeth, ignored his barbs, and kept backing up slowly, her wand casting all the possible spells she could think of to undo what was coming for her. A couple of times, she noted his eyes following what she had cast attentively, giving her the idea she was close to whatever she could do to stop him. However, she was running quickly out of time and space to do it in, and none of it actually worked. 

 

When her back hit the silvery ward, she wanted to scream in frustration. Nothing she did worked. Nothing.

 

Why. Won’t. You. Extinguish?! she thought, slashing her wand in rapid succession at the dark tendrils now inches away from her body.

 

Julian’s lip curled up. 

 

“Ready to submit to your superior yet, Jean?”

 

“Never,” she hissed, her eyes scanning around for an out.

 

“I’ll give you one more chance to surrender yourself into my care voluntarily before I make you.” 

 

She cast a vicious dark curse at him. 

 

He swatted it away and laughed. “I’m glad you didn’t take my generous offer, foolish little witch, because I do have to say I prefer taming unruly pets this way.” 

 

The tendrils crashed into her like a freight train. She screamed, grabbing her hair and falling to her knees, her wand still between her fingers. 

 

The pressure as the darkness surrounded her was enormous. This wasn’t what she had cast. It wasn’t even close. No wonder she couldn’t extinguish it. He’d turned her spell into something else entirely, and now that spell was enveloping her from all sides, pushing her body into a position without her control. 

 

“Must be so painful to be so unorganised and disgustingly powerless,” he said in a sing-song voice. “So weak.”

 

She so wanted to throttle that neck of his, to make that obnoxious sound stop. Forever. 

 

“However, you do look positively scrumptious on your knees before me. Perhaps if you beg prettily enough, I might be persuaded to show you mercy?”

 

With that last word, another force of dark magic hit her, rushing through her from head to toe, inciting her nerve endings and making her body come to life. 

 

“Oh God,” Hermione groaned, placing her head between her knees and covering her arms over her head, feeling her clit pulse with need. 

 

“Not even close,” Julian taunted.

 

“Cheat,” she hissed, not knowing whether to focus on the crushing force or the thrumming power, which now alternated through her body in intervals too fast for her to react properly to.

 

“I do like to turn the tables to my advantage in any way I know how,” he said, his voice coming from right above her as he pulled her wand easily from her fingers. “I suppose your misbehaviour is partly my fault, given I’ve allowed you too many liberties before. Not anymore, my pet. Tonight, I shall tame you fully.”

 

“Go away,” she said through gritted teeth—she would not submit to him. She would not. Not even if she died here of—

 

“Oooooh,” she moaned. 

 

Her inner muscles clenched hard around nothing as she felt another rush run through her, and she realised she couldn’t move an inch of her body to relieve herself.

 

“And leave you wanting and in heat for any passerby to take advantage of?”

 

If she weren’t already frozen on the spot, she would’ve now. 

 

He wouldn’t dare ...  

 

“I suppose that might seem preferable to you than admitting your weakness and inferiority to me. However, I should warn you that the only one able to grant you any relief is me. So, I could have this entire compound fuck you, and still, you would be longing to be properly filled, longing for your true Master, longing oh so much for a release that would never ever come.”

 

Hermione grumbled something indistinguishable under her breath. 

 

“What was that ... pet?

 

She cringed as his magic began crushing her tighter together—she figured any more of this and her bones would start to shatter as his magic hovered all around her, shifting between hurting and taunting, teasing, titillating

 

It was too much. 

 

Too, too much.

 

But she wouldn’t. She couldn’t. She shouldn’t. 

 

No, no way.

 

“Foolish little pet. This could’ve been so easy and pleasurable for you. Unfortunately, we are running out of time,” Julian whispered before he whisked her into the air and threw her over his shoulder.

 

Surprised the pressure was gone, Hermione looked up, noticing him moving back up the steps and sideways to the waterfall. 

 

“What—wait—where are you going?” she said, trying to kick him, but failing miserably when he took a tight hold of her legs and slapped her behind.

 

“Behave.” 

 

“You behave, you caveman,” she snapped, clawing at the skin on his back through the holes in his robes.

 

She enjoyed making him bleed with her nails, but why wasn’t her magic working like before? Why wasn’t her magic working at all? She “eeped” when her arms flung backwards and her wrists got stuck together. 

 

“Kitty got claws,” Julian commented coolly. “Perhaps a declawing first before we continue.”

 

The thunder of the roaring water was nearing, and she already felt the spray of it on her legs. Was he going to throw her in? She panicked.

 

“Wait, you can’t—” 

 

She coughed and sputtered as the water of the fall fell relentlessly on her back, into her face, and up her nose. When he exited the fall on the other side, she was gasping and coughing for air. She was drenched to the very marrow of her bones. The cold water left her shivering as her clothes clung to her body, leaving nothing to the imagination. She swivelled her head around, taking in the surroundings of the empty, roundish cave behind the fall. 

 

I suppose caveman was the proper way to address him , she snidely thought.

 

He flung her off his shoulder onto the floor on her behind. Luckily, she could catch the rest of her fall on her hands because her wrists were no longer glued together. She crawled back when he snapped his fingers and dark smoke left his hand, forming a strand that she tried to swat away but failed at as it slid smoothly around her neck. A clicking sound as if a lock had sealed came next and then the dark smoke solidified into a leash. She was still crawling backwards, but one warning pull on the leash had her stop and stare at him, feeling the collar around her neck constricting. 

 

Immediately, it loosened. 

 

“Good,” he praised. “It looks like my kitty can be taught after all.”

 

His dark eyes went over her soaked clothes, taking in her shivering figure. “Take those off. I can’t have my kitten catch pneumonia.” 

 

“No, that would be unfortunate,” Hermione mocked.

 

His lip curled upwards. “Take it off or I’ll do it for you.”

 

“Think you can manage? Women’s clothes aren’t that easy to—Eek!” 

 

“You were saying?” he taunted, as her clothes had fallen into pieces to the ground. 

 

“That was an expensive dress.”

 

“It was in my way.”

 

“Just admit you don’t know how to work a zipper.”

 

Julian opened his robes and placed his hands on his trousers. “Perhaps I should work this zipper and have you do something useful with that mouth of yours.”

 

“Well, I wasn’t in the mood for sausage today, but I suppose without cherries, a girl’s gotta eat something.” She clicked her teeth together threateningly. 

 

With a flick of his wrist, she slid towards him on her behind. She clawed at the ground trying to stop, but it was futile. Hermione ended up right before his feets, her legs spread wide around him. The vicious curve of his lips and the dark glint in his eyes made her stomach do little anticipatory flip-flops. Then, he pulled her up by the leash, lifting her slightly off the ground, her breasts bumping against his groin, and her collared throat baring before him like a prey’s surrender with her head tilted back. She kicked with her legs trying to gain purchase when the ground immediately turned slippery like oil and had her dangling helplessly again. She sensed a bit of her magic inside and tried to blast him off his feet. The power inside her chest tingled and sparked as it grew and grew and then roared in anger as it got pushed back in its cage. It felt suffocating, like a vice around her chest. 

 

"How are you containing my magic?" she asked breathlessly. 

 

He winked in response. Her hands attempted to grip his body, his robes, to relieve some of the pressure on her neck, which for some odd reason didn’t cut off her air supply. 

 

Damned sorcery.

 

Her fingers slipped right off him and through his robes like her fingers weren’t even there. His robes were dry though, that much she could tell. 

 

“Why aren’t your clothes wet?” Hermione noted, puzzled. She hadn’t noticed him putting up a Banishing Charm or anything when they moved through the waterfall, and that wouldn’t have worked solely on him anyway.

 

He grabbed her chin and leaned in, causing her buttocks to land on the floor and removing the strain on her neck. 

 

“Why do brats always think they’ll get answers for free?”

 

Hermione shrugged. “Because you love boasting about your prowess?”

 

“I should restrain that jaw of yours, pull your head back, and fuck that throat of yours so deep and until it is so raw you won’t be able to utter a word for weeks.”

 

Hermione opened and closed her mouth. 

 

“What? No witty comeback? No barb? Have I finally rendered my kitten speechless?” 

 

“I’m just confused.”

 

“Confused?”

 

“Yeah, I doubt it would even reach past my teeth, so I’m trying to envision a possible anatomically correct way in which it could ever hit the back of my throat,” she replied, raising an eyebrow in a dare. 

 

He stared at her. Didn’t speak, just stared. 

 

Hermione shifted on her butt, a little unnerved at his silence. She’d expected a forceful move by now, but he was merely gazing at her with narrowed eyes. He knelt down on one knee before her, their faces almost touching, his fingers that previously grabbed her chin now stroking along her jawline.

 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? If I took you like that.”

 

Hermione’s pupils dilated. 

 

“Oh yes, my little kitten wants her Master’s cock.

 

“Needs it,” he corrected viciously. “I wonder how wet you are for me now, kitten.” 

 

His hand moved from her jaw over the side of her breast down her belly to dip between her legs. She squirmed when his fingers slid easily over her folds and between them. 

 

“So wet for her Master,” he whispered against her skin, their eye contact so intimate she couldn’t look away. 

 

His finger slipped into her cunt, and she clenched around him, gasping and arching her back. 

 

“You want this, don’t you, kitten?” he asked coolly, curving his finger inside of her, whilst his thumb brushed her clit.

 

A desperate sound erupted from her lips. 

 

“My kitten meows so prettily for her Master.” 

 

Hermione tossed her head and arched her back farther when his magic caressed her clit. 

 

She needed to come. She needed to come. She needed to come. 

 

“No, I don’t think I will make you come tonight,” Julian said, satisfied, removing his hand. 

 

Hermione’s eyes snapped open in despair. “What?” 

 

With a dismissive gesture of his hand, she flung into the air and smacked into something metallic with a groan. Straps snapped shut around her arms and legs and then spread them wide. A belt slithered around her thighs and waist and snapped shut, keeping her firmly in place, unable to pleasure herself with even the tiniest of frictions. She was able to look out over the grounds, and if for whatever reason the magicked waterfall would vanish, she would be on display for all to see.

 

A tingle of a cast spell rushed through her. 

 

“What’s that?” she asked, her head moving right in an attempt to follow him as he moved around the contraption he had her strapped to and stopped behind her. 

 

“Something special to tame my disobedient pet into submission.”

 

Then, he trailed his hands along her sides, and it was like her world exploded, yet not entirely. He caressed her wherever he pleased, and her whole body stood at attention for him, apart from the area she needed to react. There was an overwhelming desire but a disconnect that was making her squirm, thrash, cringe, and beg. 

 

Oh yes, she begged. 

 

She couldn’t help it. She begged for mercy. She pleaded. She grovelled. She promised to do whatever he wanted. He merely laughed in response. A laugh that whirled around her, made her hairs stand up, and erupted goose bumps all over her skin as its darkness touched her everywhere apart from where she needed it most. 

 

“Please, Master, please,” she begged again.

 

Softly, he wiped the perspiration off her face and leaned over her shoulder with his face, their cheeks brushing. 

 

“Watch,” he ordered, pointing to the scene at the meadow where Voldemort had just taken a young man with him to the sacrificial stone. “Watch and learn.”

 

After the young wizard divested his clothes and sank on his hands and knees, Voldemort thrusted into him from behind. 

 

“Watch how a proper pet behaves and gets rewarded,” Julian said softly, his hands trailing down her front and pinching her nipples. 

 

Hermione cried out, feeling the spark travel down and then extinguish right before striking her clit and g-spot. 

 

She needed to come so badly.

 

With every thrust, Voldemort seemed to stare straight at her. She couldn’t look away from that intense red gaze—she was drowning, drowning fast. The faster Voldemort thrusted, the more Julian teased her body with caresses. She was going to die here, she was sure of it. No body could take this torture. 

 

“Too much, please, too much,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. 

 

Then, Lord Voldemort tossed his head back, and she felt the surge unlike any other before. It enveloped her, flushed through her, struck her clit, and clenched her inner walls beyond her control, and with an unearthly scream she came so hard, she squirted all over the floor.

 

“You’re ready,” Julian whispered. “Next time, you will do as you’re told, won’t you, my little pet?”

 

“Yes, Master,” Hermione said, exhausted. Whatever got her down, so she could sleep.

 

His strong arms caught her as he released the bindings, and he lifted her up in his arms. Her head dropped to his shoulder and her eyelids felt heavy. 

 

“Think of home,” he said barely above a whisper. 

 

For a brief moment, 12 Grimmauld Place came before her mind’s eye before she dozed off. 


 



 

Startled, she sat up straight in her bed. Her dream was so odd, so different from ever before. Sure, Voldemort’s eyes had been there, but this was strangely enough her first sex dream involving Julian touching her so thoroughly. She moved to the side, groaning when her sore muscles protested the movement. She stilled. She'd never before had sore muscles. Carefully, she moved every muscle one by one, noting that not a single one was untouched. She scratched her head, got up, pulled her nightgown straight, walked into the bathroom, and looked into the mirror. Her “Jean” disguise was staring right back at her. She never went to sleep with that charm still active. 

 

Why? 

 

Her mind strained as if she was trying to solve a puzzle with a missing piece in it. With a wave of her hand across her face, her own bushy hair exploded with a force unlike ever before, her face had a flush to it, and her eyes shone with, with... 

 

She leaned into the mirror, her hand supporting her on the wall to the side. What was that in her eyes? 

 

It was almost like there was a blackness to the veins in her eyeballs. 

 

Was she imagining that? 

 

Then, her eyes fell on her hand, and she gaped. The veins on her hand! She held up both hands next to each other. Both hands showed that same black display through her veins. It even moved a bit up her arms. Flashes of dark clouds rolled before her mind’s eye, and she stepped back, reliving that entire revel within a matter of seconds.

 

“Think of home.”

 

Oh, no, she’d shown him where she lived. She’d granted him access to the house with her silent acquiescence.

 

Her wand!

 

She ran back to the bed and pulled away her pillow. To her utmost relief, there it was. She reached for it immediately. It gave her a safe feeling holding it. He hadn’t kept it. He’d brought her here. He’d put her in bed. He’d dressed her in her nightgown.

 

Had he left the house or…?

 

She flashed her wand. “Homenum Revelio!”

 

It turned up empty, but right after her spell, a scroll of parchment appeared right in front of her and unrolled in the air. 

 

“Dear Jean,

 

My apologies for destroying your dress. I’m afraid it could not be mended.” 

 

Suuuure.

 

“You’re free to buy a new one at my expense at Madam Malkin’s. I’ve told her you would come by right after closing hours today and would give her my full name. She’ll know not to charge you.”

 

He told the shopkeeper his name? Wasn’t that supposed to be some big secret? 

 

“I’ll hope you’ll wear whatever you buy there to the next revel.”

 

Yeah, sure, darling. As if she weren’t going to get the hell out of this country now that her hideout had been compromised.

 

“I have a promise I need to fulfill to you after all. It would be a shame for such powerful, dark magic to go to waste in your remarkably unskilled hands.” 

 

She growled and narrowed her eyes. Her “unskilled” hands had done some damage to his almighty person if she remembered it correctly. Pompous ass.

 

“You need to be properly trained by a competent, superior Master.” 

 

Oh, really? And he supposed that was him? She snorted.

 

“Lesson one: No snorting at your Master.”

 

She stilled, then realised she’d already checked that he wasn’t here. He had probably predicted her reaction. Did he really know her that well?

 

“Lesson two: Take notice of the changes in your body and your casting. I won’t be able to see or help you before the Beltane revel, but whenever it feels like the darkness is overwhelming you, focus on something that strengthens you, like me.”

 

Oh, she was so going to call him Gilderoy next time. 

 

Wait, next time?

 

“If you don’t trust my words, which wouldn’t surprise me being the little brat that you are, do read up on Beltane and its properties. You’ll see it’s in your best interest to attend. I left you a book on the subject that won’t be easy to obtain, but go right ahead and prove me wrong by finding contrarian information. I always enjoy wasting my time listening to silly, illogical, incorrect arguments. I, however, do implore you to try not to put dogears on every page like you did with the other one. This book is actually not mine and rather valuable.”

 

Hermione bristled. She hadn’t put dogears on the pages of Rituals in Magic , they’d just appeared out of nowhere whenever she’d turned a page. Come to think of it, she hadn’t even given the book back yet because she was still looking for ways to undo whatever charm he’d cast on it. So the only way he would know those pages had dogears would be if he’d charmed the book to do so, and now she had proof of that in his own letter. 

 

“Got you, sucker.” 

 

“I understand a month’s time is a long wait for an unruly kitten, but treat it as your first lesson in discipline.”

 

So lesson one again. He surely needed some lessons in arithmetic. She should owl him an application form for an admission to first grade elementary school.

 

“Until we meet again,

 

“Julian B. Barnes 

 

“P.S. Doesn’t every kitten need taming?”

 

Her insides didn’t just clench at the dark promise left in those last words. 

 

Nope.

 

Njet. 

 

Nein.

 

The parchment went up in flames when she’d finished reading. No matter how quickly she doused it with water from her wand, it wouldn’t stop the disintegration. 

 

So much for her proof of him having dogeared the book. 

 

Not like it mattered because she was gathering her things and getting the hell out of there.



 



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