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The Forbidden Ship
By : Nerys
Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort
Views: 18082 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter series nor any of the characters from the books/movies. I don't make money from writing this fanfiction. - Chapter List
A/N: Review replies can be found at the previously named site in "chapter one".
Codes: NoSex; N/C (implied)
Prompt: Citrus
Tom Marvolo Riddle stared at it long and hard, narrowing his dark eyes to tiny stripes that flashed red in revulsion. Carefully, he pulled a part off, watching the juice flow through his slender fingers with a disgusted expression on his handsome face. He'd never, ever tried one of these before, and now, he remembered why. That damn juice was just too sticky.
Still, Lord Voldemort was never one to back down from a challenge, especially not when it came from some mocking, insignificant, obnoxious, babbling, Mudblood prisoner.
So, his Lordship was about to put it in his mouth when the realisation came: He'd almost forgotten to check it. With a flick of his wrist, his wand appeared and he smoothly waved it over the suspect fruit.
"It's only an orange," Granger said, making a face. "Think I poisoned it by my mere presence? Oh, if only ..." she trailed off, sniggering.
How she was able to maintain that irritating demeanour while being chained to a wall was beyond him. Every single other person in this world bowed down in fear before him after becoming aware of what he was capable of, but not her.
Nooooo, she always had something to say ... about everything! Even about bloody oranges. Why was he even considering this?
Abruptly, he slammed the fruit back on the table, squashing it fully.
"Does that mean I win?" Granger mocked triumphantly as he rose from his chair and glided towards her.
She was sitting on her knees on the concrete floor—her robes tattered and filthy—but that feisty spirit of hers remained untouched. It was something he enjoyed thoroughly, though he wouldn't acknowledge that to anyone, but there simply was no fun in breaking the weak.
No challenge.
Now, this witch—this disgusting, filthy Mudblood—was strong. He'd tear her apart inch by inch and enjoy every second of her resistance, until there was nothing of her left but the pieces of a once remarkable advisary.
And then ... he'd kill her.
Not one moment sooner. Not before she begged, begged for his mercy.
He stared down at her coldly. There'd been a brief flicker of recognition in those brown eyes as if she knew what he'd been thinking. He hated how clever she was. Too clever for such despicable blood.
"I don't like oranges," he said quietly whilst he squatted down, placing his pale hand beside her head and allowing his black robes to fall around her as if he were engulfing her. Despite his new posture, he was still towering over her tiny frame, and to unnerve her further, he twirled his yew wand demonstratively around between his fingers.
She swallowed, ever so briefly, but he'd spotted it nevertheless and the corner of his mouth curved up in a vicious smirk.
"Well, that's the point of a dare," she snarled, recovering far too quickly to his taste, "you do something you don't like to do—in this case eat an orange—otherwise ... you ... lose." The last word was spoken ever so sweetly, and thus, ever so viciously, too.
He merely snorted at her antics.
"Lord Voldemort never loses, Mudblood," he whispered, placing the tip of his wand in the hollow of her throat. "Your dare didn't specify I should eat an orange, silly girl."
He leaned in, his dark locks tickling her cheek as he brushed her ear with his breath while his wand trailed down over her body, vanquishing her robes.
"And I much more prefer a lemon."
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