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Snatched	By : Nerys Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 667 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don39t own Harry Potter and make no money from posting this fanfiction

Chapter List
- 1-Snatched
- 1
Prompt Smutfest 2024: Accidental Kidnapping by piquant_eye. Reverse trope: accidental kidnapping of either Tom or Hermione. I couldn't get this oneshot edited on time before the closing date of the smutfest, so here it is. Gifted to both the original prompt creator and smutfest organiser.
Unbeta'd. Proceed at own risk. Got some help with the title at discord and with thanks to Lady Miya for looking this over since I wasn't sure this should ever be posted.
Magical Alternate Universe in which Grindelwald never got defeated as far as is known officially (Tom begs to differ).

~_0_~

Snatched

The idiots.

When a simpering Pettigrew brought Tom Marvolo Riddle the news, the Dark Lord stormed down the stairs to the dungeons, skipping every other step before barging into the interrogation cell, his black silk robes whirling around his tall lean frame like a dark ominous cloud ready to pounce. His followers froze where they stood, their cheerful mood slowly quieting down upon seeing the red flash in his dark eyes. His angry magic electrified the air of the dungeon, causing them all to quickly drop to their knees and bow their heads in supplication. Their confusion at his anger was obvious, but Lord Voldemort didn’t offer them an explanation. He didn’t say a word, letting his silence and power wash over them before he focused his attention to the reason he’d come down here.

Voldemort pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, taking in the bound, gagged and blindfolded witch on the wooden chair. Her bushy brown hair was a mess. Her clothes were covered in dirt. There was a torn gap in her jeans, showing a red abrasion on her right knee. Her favourite burgundy outer robe that she never left the house without wasn’t on her figure. He didn’t spot it in the dungeon’s room anywhere either, so either the fools had left evidence behind or had vanquished it.

They’d left the robe to be found.

He could barely stifle the automatic groan that welled up in his throat. If it had been any other witch or wizard, he’d have them collect it right away, but he knew Hermione’s charms on the coat would prevent the Aurors or that insipid Order from tracking her here through it.

At least he could count on someone using their brain.

There was a long gash visible on her cheek and throat, diving underneath the collar of her cream coloured blouse. Blood dripped down her cheek and bloomed on the right chest area of her shirt. A mere hint of redness on her throat indicated the wound wasn’t as actively bleeding there, as expected with this curse. It wouldn’t let its victim die rapidly.

So, one of his morons had managed to hit His witch with the Bloodletting Curse that had clearly incapacitated her enough for his—Tom’s dark eyes quickly scanned who were here, and with a sense of pride at her accomplishment, a mere hint of a smile formed on his otherwise perfectly stoic handsome features—twelve followers to finally overpower her.

Still, despite her accomplishments, Hermione had got herself damaged in a manner she should’ve been able to counter and protect against. She’d sustained a nasty, eventually deadly wound, too.

A wound Lord Voldemort hadn’t authorised anyone to give to her.

Even though he knew the blood wouldn’t coagulate, he wasn’t worried. The curse was designed to be a slow, painful death. There was no rush. Maybe this would be an incentive for her to finally improve her physical exercise routine?

He’d get to it later.

First he had to take a look at the disobedient fools that had attacked her and then taken her without his explicit order or permission. He wondered what lame excuse Lord Voldemort would’ve to listen to this time.

Oh, we tripped and fell on her. Really, Master, we didn’t plan this. She just fell into our lap. We accidentally kidnapped the Mudblood. We thought …

They thought …

And therein lay all the trouble, some of them thought they were allowed to think. Lord Voldemort would have to cure them of that disease. Quickly. The only ones allowed to think were those with more than one barely functioning brain cell, and basically that didn’t leave him with many, if any at all, besides himself.

No, it was obvious to him that thinking should be restricted to him and him only.

He pushed down his boiling rage and focused. Hermione had clearly given far better than she’d gotten. Most of them could barely hold their proper kneeling position before him. One of them was lying on his back on the floor, barely breathing. He strolled up and down the line, taking note of every vicious dark curse Hermione had used with intense pleasure. Some of them wouldn’t live to see the end of this day, that was certain.

Such a pity.

The absolute incompetence of his followers was at times beyond rage-inducing, and that they actually thought they were allowed to make decisions like this for him!

‘Why is the Mudblood here?’ he asked quietly, not wanting to out his double agent to a bunch of imbeciles. ‘Lord Voldemort doesn’t recall giving you permission to attack the little witch … for a clearly very good reason I may add seeing how twelve of you are in a far worse shape than her.’

He let that snide putback linger.

One of his braver idiots spoke up. Antonin had a massive shiner on his eye; his mouth was still deformed, despite having used the counter charm, and his left arm was dangling as if all the bones had been removed.

‘My Lord, he told us to fetch her, said it would be a massive blow to the Order.’

Ah, the lamest of all excuses Tom hadn’t considered. Of course.

With ‘he’ Tom knew Antonin meant Gellert Grindelwald. The old fool still thought he was in charge, but that had been the illusion for every outsider for some time now. Tom had absolute control over the organisation, and his Death Eaters were stationed in all key positions. He just liked it better this way. People blamed Grindelwald, and he could do as he pleased, but sometimes, even the old man forgot who was in charge, and apparently, even his insipid Death Eaters needed a reminder every now and then.

‘Oh well, Antonin. My mistake then,’ Tom said, taking on an apologetic tone of voice. ‘If he ordered it, I suppose that means you don’t have to check in with your Lord.’

He knew full well that the only reason Antonin hadn’t done so this time was because of the target. The man had become quite a tad obsessed with regards to Granger ever since she’d survived his curse as a mere fifteen year old. He’d never considered it a problem before, but now he felt that perhaps that had been a miscalculation on his end. Once he got Antonin alone, he would’ve to explain his Lord’s personal displeasure. Nobody touched what was rightfully his.

And it was either him or Bella who’d given her that wound. His burning red gaze turned to the witch. She had two similar yet much larger wounds as Granger’s, going crisscross over her upper body and face. They were simply more visible, because it had sliced through her clothes as well. Ever the exhibitionist, Bella hadn’t bothered to cover up, likely hoping he’d personally heal her. She’d find that wasn’t in her cards today. Bellatrix looked up, catching his eyes.

So it was you.

He saw it on repeat in Bella’s mind, her happiness at striking down the Mudblood, her embarrassment when said Mudblood returned the favour twice fold before even hitting the ground with her knees. Had Hermione stopped there, he wasn’t so sure his men would’ve been able to capture her because she’d taken out quite a large number by then, but through Bella’s eyes, he saw the fury in his witch as she set the scene ablaze. A large dragon Fiendfyre erupted from her wand. Bella’s screams filled the air.

However, that unnecessary double act of revenge had Hermione drop her focus on every other attacker for even a split second, undoubtedly thinking the Fiendfyre would be enough to protect her. That cost her the win. Dolohov had never cast his binding spells faster in his life, Tom was certain of that. Granger had been hogtied before the Fiendfyre could fully erupt and become self-sustainable. There was a distinct redness on her cheeks as she crashed to the ground, defeated, her Fiendfyre turning to ashes all around her.

Well, she should be embarrassed. That was a godawful drop in concentration.

Never take your eyes off all your enemies to focus on one.

When he left Bellatrix’s mind, she audibly gasped from the intrusion before hastily saying, ‘My Lord, we thought you’d be pleased. They say she’s important to the boy.’

He said nothing, merely stared at the witch who twitched nervously under the scrutiny before she scuttled forward to kiss the hem of his robes.

Finally, some common sense.

Bella’s arms were an absolute nightmare to behold. Fiendfyre always left horribly unhealable burn wounds behind, and she’d been its primary target. He supposed she got lucky it was just her arms. Had Hermione been able to get her Fiendfyre fully into fruition, she would’ve likely burned to ashes. After all, His witch’s control over fire was unlike anything he’d ever seen.

‘Pleased that you lot were barely able to catch one Mudblood? Pleased that you went behind Lord Voldemort’s back? Pleased that Lord Voldemort now has to spend his precious time solving this massive blunder?’

Now those who could were all crawling towards him, fearfully bowing down low to kiss the hem of his robes. He refrained from the overwhelming urge to kick them.

‘Get out of my sight,’ he snarled. ‘And if “he” asks, you were unable to capture her. Seeing the way you all look, that’s not much of a stretch anyway.’

As he turned away from them, he was unable to refrain from the temptation of digging his heel in Lucius Malfoy’s clearly injured hand and twisting it around. There was nothing better than making spoiled rich boys cry out in agony.

Watching them all struggle to leave was a sight to behold. Antonin and Bella had to levitate four of them—all former Gellert men, Tom noted. He was pretty sure that wasn't a coincidence. His little witch had shown excellent restraint in her counterattacks, picking those that were a possible future problem to him to seriously injure but still leaving him the option to save them. Two of them never had fully accepted his authority; they were Gellert’s men through and through. They played along but were buying their time. Too bad for them they wouldn’t survive the night. He supposed Lord Voldemort could’ve healed them, but this would be a good reminder to the others about who was truly in charge. The other two …

Well, it all depended on their reactions later whether they lived or died. It was no skin off his back.

With a snap of his fingers, the door closed. Silence filled the room. He let that linger until the noticeable shift of her body. She was nervous.

Rightfully so.

Lord Voldemort didn’t take kindly to failure. They never should've been able to kidnap her. How dare she even put herself in such a compromising position for that to occur?

Leisurely he strolled to the little witch on the chair, clicking his tongue in disapproval. He placed his hand on the back of the wooden chair and leaned in, having his breath brush her earlobe, knowing how sensitive she was there.

‘Sloppy, Hermione,’ he said barely above a whisper, his fingers stroking the bleeding wound on her cheek, making her wince. ‘You’ve let them ambush you. I’m surprised and daresay a tad disappointed.’

Despite her blindfold and gag, he could still see how her face took on a furious shade of red, and as he opened her blouse, he saw it extended all the way down her neck and chest. She grumbled something incomprehensible into her gag and bucked with her body against the ropes as if ordering him to release her.

He sniggered softly, knowing how much she hated not being able to counter and explain. She probably had a whole story memorised about how it was all his fault that she got hurt and kidnapped.

Lord Voldemort was entirely uninterested in hearing it.

Her actions caused the ropes to slide into her chest wound, opening it up farther. Blood started to seep continuously instead of drip. Her furious grumbling turned into a soft whimper as she stilled, trying not to hurt herself any further.

Upon seeing the full extent of the damage, Tom cast ‘Evanesco! ’ on her clothes, firmly removing not only her blouse but her bra, trousers, underwear, socks and shoes as well while leaving the ropes, blindfold and gag right where they were.

His smile widened at what he was sure was a clear grumble of ‘asshole’. Hermione had always been reluctant to have him constrain her, distrustful even. That wasn’t without merit, Tom could acknowledge that at the very least. But now that he had her so deliciously, properly tied up, what was Lord Voldemort to do? He squatted down, his long fingers wrapping around her ankles. A muffled surprised squeak sounded above him. His fingertips trailed her skin next to the ropes, inspecting the knots and their strength with immaculate precision, making sure to touch her as he went along, slowly moving up the inside of her legs, noting every shiver and muscle spasm he saw. Her knees were strapped tightly against the top of the chair's legs, so she was spread open before him, exposing her glistening cunt.

‘My dear Mudblood, you are getting wet for your Lord,’ he said teasingly, his fingers following the ropes that circled the top of her thighs and hips to trail along her waist before he stuck his nose between her legs and sniffed. ‘Your sex has such an exquisite scent, always available to its Master.’

She twisted, her hips bucking as he slipped his tongue through her wet folds.

‘You taste ready, little one.’ He swirled his tongue around her sensitive nub. ‘So wet for your Master, so eager and needy, and you said you didn’t want Lord Voldemort to restrain you, to bind you like a proper witch should allow. Such lies you told.’

Hermione groaned against the gag, wiggling in what little room the ropes allowed. She was clearly testing their strength, and if she got out, he was sure to be in heaps of trouble, but he was unbothered. She wasn’t going anywhere unless he allowed it.

Tom slowly rose, walking around her and trailing his fingers over her belly and breasts before sliding over her shoulders to reach her tightly bound elbows and downwards to her wrists. He recognised the knots and positioning of the ropes, definitely Antonin’s handiwork again. He wasn't sure whether to curse the man for taking such liberties with his witch or reward him for delivering her in such a well-packed manner.

‘You make for a perfectly trussed up sacrifice, little one,’ he said, breathing into her ear. ‘Antonin really bound you well for me. Perhaps I should reward him? He so does seem to have taken quite an interest in you. What say you, Hermione?’

He mockingly laughed.

‘Oh, I forgot, you can’t talk right now. Such a pity.’

He petted her head demeaningly, sensing her fury and desire all wrapped in one.

‘Unable to see, unable to move, unable to talk and …’ he took an exaggerated breath, ‘unable to evade being captured.’

His tongue clicked once again since he was pretty sure nothing vexed her more right now than his condescension.

‘And it's not like Lord Voldemort hasn't graciously warned you about your less than stellar physical condition.’

He could practically feel her fury burn him to cinders, given how many times she'd lectured him about that not being a necessity for people who possessed magic.

‘I suppose,’ he paused, trailing her wound from cheek to chest with his fingers and delighting in her soft whimpers and the way her face scrunched up and her body tensed, ‘you'd rather wished you had “run around at the crack of dawn like a madman”. Maybe then you wouldn't be in pain and exsanguinating right now?’

Nonverbally he cast, adding a magical vibration to his voice, which was bound to electrify his little witch to the point of despair. All he had to do was keep talking. Lord Voldemort had no issue accomplishing that.

‘All these things you’re unable to achieve. Such an incapable Mudblood you are. But don’t you worry, Lord Voldemort will find a proper usage for your limited abilities. He’ll guide you and make use of your talents, of what you were born for. You know what you were born for, right Hermione? What all Mudbloods are born for? They forgot to teach you this at Hogwarts, I know, but I will remedy that omission, my dear. Don’t you worry.’

Her discomfort at her rising arousal was obvious even without his ability to use his Legilimency skills on her. He knew her well enough to understand. The heat of her body rose, her skin glistening. Sweat drops pooled on her forehead and in her neck, and her breathing came raggedly through the cloth. He stepped closer, pressing his body against the back of the chair. She shivered as her blood slipped through his fingers when his hand gripped around her wounded throat, coming to rest at her pulse point. Her heartbeat pounded ferociously against the top of his fingers.

‘So weak, so helpless, so completely and utterly at Lord Voldemort’s mercy,’ he added quietly.

His wand pointed down as he simultaneously cast a stimulus charm on her clit, while squeezing her throat closed.

Her shock was so immense that the toes of her feet jolted the chair back into him. His cock twitched at the contact between their bodies, and he let out a moan, enjoying the way she gasped futilely into the cloth for air, how her heart fluttered against his fingertips, turning weaker and weaker and weaker. Her whole body shivered as she came for him, her cunt squirting gloriously hard.

He released his iron grip, watching her desperately pull in air through the cloth while her entire body flushed.

‘So much confusion,’ he said barely above a whisper, steering his magic around her trembling form. Her chair lifted up into the air until he could rest his chin on top of her head, enjoying the contact and the scent of her surplus magic in her hair.

‘So many conflicting thoughts. But Mudbloods don’t get a choice, pet. They obey. They follow their Master’s lead as he knows best. You can feel it, don’t you? How hard you came for me, for your Lord. You made such a mess on this chair and the floor. And still, my Mudblood isn’t satisfied. She’s still aching, still empty. She needs more, right pet?’

He smiled into her hair as she nodded. Her inevitable surrender was a sight to behold. It made him so hard. He had to see her thoughts, feel her submission through her eyes.

‘Good girl,’ he purred, feeling her shoulders jerk and hearing her quiet sob. ‘Good girls deserve a reward, and Lord Voldemort wants you to acknowledge his generosity.’

He snapped his fingers. Her blindfold disappeared. Her chair flipped back. Their eyes met. He was inside her mind in a flash; she didn’t put up a fight. His proper, obedient, little Mudblood allowed him inside. Hermione shrieked in fear of falling as the seat underneath her chair cracked in two forcing her legs to spread wider, while something intrusive, thick, cold and hard pressed against her entrance and forced her slick cunt to give way. She whimpered, shifted, trying to adjust to an intrusion that was on the verge of being painful, but she couldn’t move. He knew it was unlike any cock or toy she’d had up there before. It was solid, harsh, ridged and unforgiven. Her inner muscles clenched, trying to stop its progression, but there was no solace. It kept on going until she was properly filled. Tom’s eyes darkened, pupils blown, at seeing the discomfort, the fear and the desire in her brown eyes. He marvelled at how tears welled up in them and how she still kept their eye contact, knowing he wanted to see what she felt, that he wanted to see her break and accept everything he offered. She was magnificent in her submission. He’d never get enough of this.

His fingers brushed from her cheek to her chest, following the long line of the open wound to her breast once more. She held her breath, waiting resignedly before screaming into the gag as his fingers dug into it, opening it up farther while chanting in a sing-song voice. The sound of his voice did things to her insides that he couldn’t have even imagined. She craved it. She would do anything for him to continue chanting and bringing her that pleasure while his fingers spread pain all through her body. She was the perfect masochist for his sadistic desires. Her eye contact never wavered as the pain made her clutch around his dildo, which in reaction came to life and started vibrating, thrusting in and out her tight cunt, rubbing her raw and beyond comfort. He relished in how well her body responded to painful and pleasurable stimuli together. How she screamed, how she begged in her mind. She wanted more. She wanted less.

Please, please, please.

The sound of her pleading thoughts were like a velvet brush in his mind. Her reverence and acceptance of his subjugation of her was intoxicating, wondrous, addicting. He needed that kind of worship around his cock.

Now.

With a flash her wound knitted together, closing up and stopping the bleeding, leaving behind only an angry red scar that was softly fading. Within an hour it would be completely invisible. Lord Voldemort was nothing if not talented and precise at every kind of magic he performed.

His fingers fumbled with the knot of the gag before vanishing it into thin air impatiently. Before she could close her mouth, he grabbed the joints of her jaw between his fingers and chanted.

What? Oh god. Too much. Please. I need to. What are you doing? Ooooh. I need to come. Please, please, please.

‘That mouth of yours is mine, Mudblood.’

There was a hint of panic mixed with excitement when she realised she had no control over the muscles of her jaw. He forced her to keep her mouth open like this. He relished in her acknowledgement of that.

‘This is what you are born to do, witch, pleasure your superiors.’

With a flick of his wrist, the chair vanished, and he had her kneeling before him. The ropes quickly readjusted around her legs; her arms were still tied behind her back. His dildo was still firmly in place and fucking her hard. With her clit on continuous stimulation and her mouth open wide for him, she made quite the picture. A picture he had to have forever.

So, he stepped back and summoned a camera, seeing the horror in her eyes as he snapped shot after shot. He forced her to orgasm again and again and again in this position with simple bursts of his magic while he took close ups and full body shots, enjoying the visual of the slickness of her legs and the spreading pool of her ejaculation underneath them. Her hair was slick from perspiration, sticking to her skin. Drool leaked from the corners of her open mouth. She was an utter mess. A sight to behold. Properly and fully conquered. He took a close up of her face, relishing in her humiliation and wondrous defeat. His Hermione was so expressive when she let go of all of her silly inhibitions, he didn’t think he’d ever tire of seeing it. And she only showed that side of her to him.

For him.

He would cherish these pictures forever.

He smiled, taking in how red and embarrassed she looked, how she hated that she liked this, how she hated that she wanted him to do more to her, how she hated that she needed him to do more to her, to take her in any way he pleased. It was all there in her mind.

It was glorious.

He gently stroked her cheek, removing some of the drool that had leaked out of her mouth with his thumb before vanishing the camera and his robes, drawing her eyes immediately to his rock-hard cock that was already weeping with need.

‘Lick your lips, witch.’

A devious glint ran through her eyes as she moved her tongue slowly, demonstratively around, causing his throat to bob. He stepped right in front of her, slapping her cheek with his cock before guiding the tip to her lips.

‘Make me come,’ he merely ordered.

She hollowed her cheeks, drawing her lips over his head while teasing the veins underneath with her tongue. Slowly she took him in farther and farther, tentatively looking up and checking if he liked what she did. He gave her nothing to go on, stared back blankly. He allowed her this brief illusion that she had some control, that she could decide how to please him, how to make him come. It would make it all the more sweeter when he took that control away. He shifted his hips, handing her a little victory. He could see how much she liked it, how pleasure built up inside of her, how her whole body started to sing in delight. She took him down fully, relaxing her jaw, breathing through her nose and swallowing around his cock. It was a most marvellous feeling, being so far inside of her, feeling her tongue stroke against the underside of his cock and her throat massaging him every time she swallowed.

He reached out, a fake soft expression spread all over his features as his fingers entangled into her wet curls. There was a moment of unease in her eyes; she didn’t buy that expression.

She really was clever.

That’s why he’d picked her. She saw him.

She'd always seen him, the real him not the act.

All of him.

Even the parts he never showed anyone, she somehow knew. He hadn’t told her. She just knew. She saw him.

Blasted little witch.

She was like an addiction, something he couldn’t go without, something he needed to survive.

Desperately.

She knew his weaknesses and his fears; she was dangerous to him.

A liability.

He should’ve killed her a long time ago.

Tom curled his fingers, pulling painfully on her roots and holding her head in an iron grip, before taking back full control and thrusting inside her hot wet mouth with abandon. Forcing her to take all of him. She gagged, choking on his flesh as he fucked her mouth ruthlessly. Drool leaked down her chin into her neck. Her eyes welled up at the abuse. Her surrender was striking, spectacular.

Lord Voldemort really should keep her around.

He sent another surge of sensual delight through his witch’s devoted body. Her responsive shudder spurred him on. It was something to behold. To bend such a powerful, intelligent witch to his will was a majestic victory. A true testament of his power, his superiority, his dominion. Murder wasn’t necessary. She was his all the way. One by one, all would fall before him. It was the way of the world that predators ate prey. And he was more than that, more than a mere human, more than a wizard, more than a leader, he was but a God among men, expecting piety and reverence from his subjects. They would become his creations, ready, able and willing to serve. And she’d be his priestess, showing them all the way.

He came hard, spilling his seed all over her tongue, forcing her to swallow it all around his slowly softening cock. As he withdrew from her mouth, he undid the charm that kept her mouth ajar, holding her jaw in the palm of his hand. She winced at the cramp in her muscles but didn’t close her mouth as he hadn’t ordered her to.

‘Beautiful,’ he whispered, eyeing her up and down. ‘Such obedience should be rewarded, pet. You may lick your Master clean now.’

She inhaled deeply through her nose before slowly moving towards his member. He stroked her face, slowly massaging her skull with his other hand as she licked him.

‘Does my Mudblood need to come again?’ he asked softly, knowing that his voice would push her need up a notch.

She shifted, trying futilely to rub her thighs together. Tom chuckled at her wanton behaviour.

‘Take me in your mouth again,’ he ordered.

With her arms still bound tightly behind her back, that was a bit of a struggle for his Hermione, but he wasn’t assisting his little witch this time.

‘I want to feel your climax around me, witch. Sometime this evening would be nice,’ he mocked.

He noted how she no longer blushed at his demeaning words, but instead carried on and succeeded in getting the tip of his soft cock caught in the corner of her mouth before allowing it to slide down on her tongue. She held him there, her eyes upturned towards him like in a prayer.

‘Such a pious sight you make, my child. You are truly worthy of the honour of having all your holes fully filled by your God, your Lord and Master. You are ready to take whatever he will bestow upon you. Now be blessed, little one, and experience the rapture only Lord Voldemort can bring.’

With a snap of his fingers, Hermione exploded. Her brain became a white glowing light, and her body sang with ecstasy. She flew high and far. Her eyes had that faraway look that came with true abandonment and intoxication. She was high on him. He felt the vibrations of her exhilaration around his cock. He saw it in her mind. He sensed it in her magic, her body, her soul, the very essence of her being.

Everywhere and always.

Sweet Salazar, he got hard again at seeing his witch surrender like that.

A furious male scream filled his ears. Alarm sprung in his little witch’s eyes, but darkness claimed him before he could react.

~_0_~

When he woke, he was strapped tightly to a chair, gagged and buttnaked. His eyelids squeezed together at the blinding light in the room. His pitchblack hair stuck annoyingly to his forehead, creating an irritating itch. He shook his head, trying to dislodge the locks of hair and failing miserably. When his eyesight had adjusted, she was sitting right across from him. His throat bobbed when he realised she wore that tightfitting, petite black dress he loved so much. He allowed his gaze to slowly drag over her crossed legs to her delicious curves before coming to rest at the demonstratively placed burgundy outer robe on her left shoulder.

Oh, Lord Voldemort was so going to punish her for that indiscretion.

A smug smirk erupted on her face when she witnessed his realisation. With one fluent move, she lifted her leg, placing her high heeled boot in his crotch. He winced, realising he was still hard as a rock and that high heel dug painfully into his balls. His heart picked up speed, pounding in his ears.

‘So sloppy of you to get caught, Tommy boy,’ Hermione purred, her eyes dancing with a wicked merriment. ‘You’ve let them ambush you. I confess myself … disappointed.’
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Snatched