Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Right Place, Wrong Time?	By : Shan84 Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 7811 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: 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
- 13
- 14
Author Note: Welcome to Chapter 14. Here is where things get interesting ;) There is a deleted scene here, that I didn't post on FFNet.

Also, thanks Nerys for having a read over and making sure it wasn't bollocks :)

“I still say … Gryffindor.”

“Shut up, Riddle,” Hermione snapped.

“Yes, Granger the Gryffindor. I can just see it now …” he trailed off and pretended to look thoughtful, before a small, amused smirk appeared.

“Don’t call me that,” she grumbled.

It was Friday evening and a couple of nights after she had dealt with Riddle and Phineas together in her flat. They were both currently going over the work she had so far completed… together. But instead of trying to work together (as painful as that was for her to admit), Riddle kept trying to get information from her. He was switching between being sneaky and outright asking her things. Hermione likened it to being like a very spoiled child with a new toy.

“What, a Gryffindor?” he asked with a smirk, interrupting her thoughts.

“No.”

“Your name? But that’s your real last name.”

Hermione gave him an incredulous look. “Don’t get used to calling me that. I don’t want it to accidentally slip out.”

Now it was Tom’s turn to give her an incredulous look. “You think that I would make such a mistake?”

“Well, I don’t know.” Of course she knew that he wouldn’t. He was just trying to annoy her by using it in the first place. Still, it felt like a little bit of revenge for her, after having to put up with him all afternoon, by annoying him in return.

Tom didn’t respond, merely giving her a look, before he started sifting through the Hermione’s notes again.

“How many times do you need to go through notes,” he finally asked, with just a hint of annoyance in his voice.

“What are you talking about?” She raised an eyebrow.

“You’ve read them, I’ve read them.” He gestured at the parchment; a smirk appeared on his face as her expression darkened at his reading of them while she was unconscious. “Why do we need to do this again?”

“Because since we are working together, there is something we might have missed separately that we might find together.” Hermione crossed her arms and bit down on the inside of her cheek. He was the one who bloody insisted on working on this together!

Riddle had the audacity to give her another look. “Yes, well, we already know all of this--”

“Fine then,” Hermione snapped, and put her readings down rather forcefully. “Have you got a list of all the female ancestors in your family yet?”

“No.”

Hermione almost groaned out loud. Almost. As if he didn’t know a basic list of his ancestors. She was sure he would have it memorised already. He had been standoffish about the topic of his family over the last couple of days, and she knew he was doing it on purpose. He obviously didn’t want to risk revealing that he was the Heir of Slytherin. Well, news flash, Voldemort, I already know!

“Well, we need to get a list as soon as possible,” Hermione said instead of voicing her true thoughts.

“I don’t have access to any Wizarding Genealogy books,” Riddle replied, face blank.

Hermione sighed. “Well, where can we easily access your family tree? We could make a request to the Ministry … but that could take weeks.”

“Indeed, it certainly does.”

“Well there’s one other place we could go …” Hermione mused.

Tom smirked. “You want to go to Hogwarts?”

“Why not? I was going to Hogwarts this weekend anyway.”

“What for?” Riddle asked.

“If you must know, Minerva invited me to tea this Saturday afternoon.”

“You didn’t tell me that,” Riddle replied.

“Well I certainly don’t have to tell you where I’m going,” Hermione snapped. What an idiot.

“But if we’re working together on this project--”

“What I do in my private time is none of your business, Riddle,” Hermione cut across him, annoyed.

“I didn’t think you had a private life. I thought it was all dedicated to going back to your own time.”

“Well, most of the time, yes. But Minerva is a friend--”

“I don’t care for an explanation about the intricacies of your petty friendships.” Riddle waved a dismissive hand.

“But you were just making it your business!” Hermione snapped in exasperation.

“Well, what I was meaning to say, before you went about lecturing me … was why didn’t you tell me you were going to Hogwarts? That way we could have avoided you haranguing me about my ancestors.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. Just looking at his smug expression was enough for her to want to raise her wand at him.

“Fine. Will you come to Hogwarts on Saturday and we’ll look at it then?” she asked through gritted teeth.

Tom quirked an eyebrow as he leaned back on her couch, notes forgotten. “I will come with you to Hogwarts and get the information while you take tea, or whatever it is you will be doing.”

Hermione was about to harass him about the fact that he didn’t want her there, but that was a whole other minefield she didn’t want to deal with. She knew he was being secretive about his ancestry, because he didn’t want her to know that he was the Heir of Slytherin. Merlin knows what she would have to put up with if the Veil person had been a man instead of a woman...

“Besides,” he added with a smirk, “I’d know as soon as you left Diagon anyway.”

Of course, his ridiculous tracking spell. What kind of overbearing, crazy man was he? Scratch that, it was Lord Voldemort, it was stupid of her to even question it. So instead of responding to his taunt, she asked, “You don’t want my help with that?”

“No.”

Plastering an annoyed look on her face so he would believe she was really put-out, she quickly got up from the couch and stomped into the kitchen. That should do it, she thought as she put the kettle on and began getting things ready for a long-needed cup of tea. Hearing his footsteps as he got up and followed her, she turned around to face him. He had a smug expression on his face as he eyed her.

“Cup of tea?” she asked primly, turning back around to begin making her own.

Instead of responding, he began to open and rifle through her small pantry.

“What are you doing now?” she asked.

“Don’t you have anything better than tea?” he asked, as he looked through her food stores.

“What, didn’t you get a chance to go through my food the other night as well?” she asked snidely.

“Unfortunately not,” he replied plainly, as if they were only having a conversation about the weather. “I did say that your wards were actually tough to break through, didn’t I?” He gave her a brief look and she scoffed at him. “Though it doesn’t look like I was missing out on much,” he muttered as he picked up a packet of plain crackers and frowned at it before placing it back down again.

“Oh! I have a wonderful idea,” Hermione suddenly said rather brightly.

Tom turned and looked at her, a suspicious expression on his face at her tone. “And what is that?”

Hermione’s expression switched from bright to a sneer within a second. “You could go home,” she deadpanned and crossed her arms.

He had the audacity to chuckle, before moving towards her. “Now, that’s not very hospitable, Granger.”

“You’re one to talk,” she replied, trying to ignore how closely he was standing to her. Someone really needed to pull him aside and explain the importance of personal space.

“What do you mean?” he asked, now standing right over her.

She caught a faint whiff of that spicy cologne he wore and, without warning there was a flash back of his hands gripping her hips tightly whilst she writhed against him in her dream. She could feel her skin immediately start to heat up. No, this was not helping at all! Clearing her throat, she stubbornly met his gaze.

“Talking to me about manners, when you broke into my home the other night and threatened me,” she said, trying to keep her voice level.

The look he gave her felt intense. “But I had to,” he finally replied, causing Hermione to scoff again. “I knew I was involved some way, and sure enough, I am. Now I can help you.”

Yeah, right. “I don’t need your help,” she practically spat and stiffened when his hands came up to rest on her shoulders.

“You don’t?”

She swallowed heavily, trying to ignore her body’s traitorous desire to lean into him, and instead tried to lean back, huffing in annoyance at the bench behind her didn’t give any leeway to move. “No.”

“Now you’re being ridiculous,” he replied, and started rubbing small circles into her shoulders with his thumbs.

“Stop that,” she protested.

Riddle’s thumbs paused in their surprisingly soothing movements, but his hands did not move. He looked at her closely, as if he were memorising her. It was making her feel things that were completely inappropriate. The absurdity of the current situation was something that she thought she’d never find herself in.

“It must be so hard being you,” he finally murmured.

He might has well have yelled it, his words were so jarring. Her defences were immediately up. “What are you talking about?” she asked.

“Have you ever, in your entire life, done something purely because you wanted to?”

Hermione spluttered. “What are you talking about? That’s the most ridiculous statement I’ve ever heard. Of course I have.” She immediately wanted to prove him wrong; she wanted to point out a million things that she did for herself.

He quirked an eyebrow, a disbelieving expression on his face. “It must be so hard feeling so responsible for so many people … and things. How do you hold it all on your small shoulders, Hermione?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she finally replied. Her voice was calm, but inside she couldn’t help but wonder about his statement, and the truth of it. She was a carer, someone who looked after others. It always came naturally to her, yet now she almost felt bad about it.

His hands came up from her shoulders and rested lightly on her neck. She felt his fingers lightly stroke the skin there, causing her breath to stutter.

“Don’t I?” he asked. One of his hands delved into her wild curls and gripped it so her head was tilted right back, so she could only look at him. He stepped right up to her, their bodies only lightly touching, but it shot through like Hermione like electricity.

“No,” she answered. “You don’t.”

He bent down closer to her, their lips were now so close that all she would have to do was push herself up a fraction and they would kiss. She was again reminded of that vivid dream, and the lack of guilt she felt at the thought of kissing him and no one finding out. How easy it would all be …

“I’ve been inside your mind, Hermione,” he murmured, bring his other hand up to lightly cup her cheek. “I may not have seen your memories, but I’ve felt your emotions. All of that responsibility … repression … control … all of it building up and bursting at the seams.” His words were so gentle they caressed over her like a gentle breeze. “Don’t you ever just want to do something for yourself?”

Hermione closed her eyes and ignored the subtle whisper at the back of her mind that agreed with him. She should be ashamed, but all she was thinking of was, just like in her dream, how could she justify this? What sort of person was she when a small part of her wanted to agree with him?

But wasn’t this what he was best at? He seduced people by knowing what their deepest desires were and, regardless of morals and laws, how to obtain them … with his help, of course. When she was wearing the locket during the Horcrux hunt, and he wasn’t insulting her muggle heritage, it was always about how much smarter she was compared Harry and Ron -- “for a mudblood”, of course. At one stage, he had even tried to sympathise with her and her desire to know everything. Try being the key word, because despite how tempting his words were, Hermione never fell for them in the end. Unlike Ron, a small voice at the back of her mind reminded her. She guiltily banished the nasty voice, it wouldn’t help anything.

“You think you’ve got me all figured out, don’t you, Riddle?” Hermione’s voice was a low murmur, keeping with their close proximity.

He looked at her contemplatively. “You’re not as difficult to figure out as you think.”

Hermione smirked. “That’s where you’re wrong, Riddle. You see, there’s a fatal flaw to your whole approach …”

Riddle raised an eyebrow. “Oh, do enlighten me.”

Hermione reached up and placed her hands on his chest, carefully ignoring how warm he felt through his robes. “You think that I don’t see right through you. You think that a few well placed words or manipulations will work with me. Well, Riddle, I do enjoy to disappoint you, and … you’ve lost this round.” She gently pushed him back and felt the air rush around them, and she realised it was their magic, she could feel it.

He didn’t react at first, allowing her to move him, so that he now stood a couple of feet away from her.

“If you think your little games are going to work on me,” she continued lowly, “you’re dead wrong.”

He tilted his head thoughtfully at her, his dark eyes intense, before he smirked. “You assume that I’m playing games.”

“Aren’t you?”

“Still in denial, are we?” he asked instead.

“What?” Hermione found herself spluttering slightly.

“Indeed ‘what’,” Tom replied and moved out of the kitchen and quickly picked up his work satchel. “I’ll see you on Saturday, then.”

Hermione was indignant. How dare he think it was okay to just walk to casually away? Did he actually think that would give him the upper hand? Was this phase two of his plan or something?

“Unless, of course, there was something else?” he asked, his voice low and melodic … the kind that made girls weak in the knees, Hermione was sure of it.

She bit down on her bottom lip and met his dark gaze. “No, Saturday’s fine.” She swallowed heavily.

He looked at her before nodding and walking out the door. Hermione groaned and leaned back on her kitchen counter, not exactly sure who had won that round anymore.

XXX

Saturday had arrived, and Tom found himself sitting in Hogwarts library looking through the Genealogy books. Hermione had left him as soon as they arrived, and he had now been in the library for over an hour.

He had to admit that it was surreal being back here. As usual, it was like nothing had changed, and Tom could have just been there studying, or finishing an assignment. He actually enjoyed the feeling of being back. This was the only place he had ever truly considered as being home. He hadn’t really been back to the school since he graduated. Once Slughorn’s invitations dried up, due to Tom ignoring them, he decided that his return to the school would be on his own terms.

Not that this was such a bad way to return. He couldn’t wait to see that old fool Dumbledore’s reaction to see him working with Hermione. Of course, he wouldn’t really be able to say anything, because without Tom’s help, Hermione would have no one who could see who the woman was. At that thought, a voice immediately crept in and asked whether he actually wanted to help Hermione go back to her time. It was something that had been niggling at him for the last couple of days. With her knowledge of what could potentially happen in the future …

And even though she claimed to not know him in the future, there was no guarantee she didn’t know of him. Tom knew that he was destined for great things. It wasn’t just arrogance either, Tom had an undeniable feeling that constantly coursed through his blood that he was meant for more. He had held onto that feeling since he was a young boy, forced to live in that godforsaken orphanage. When he was told that he was a Wizard, Tom saw it as his real beginning, everything before then was just inconsequential now.

Therefore, he would not be surprised if Hermione knew of him. It didn’t really seem like a far flung theory. When one looked at the way she had behaved with him, compared to other people, as well as some of the things she had said … well, it was more than likely.

He sighed as he looked down at the list he had been making. Here was the key to it all ... A list that would hopefully contain the woman who had appeared to both of them. He was lucky that some of the books held pictures, especially of the more notable witches and wizards who had actually achieved something. Not to mention that the Wizarding World in Britain was quite small and pureblood families were quite well-documented through history. He was able to cross quite a few of them just by cross referencing alone. He looked over the remaining list again, even though he already knew them by heart:

Heredia Banks (b1010 - d1115)

Eurydice Macmillan (b1220 - d1242)

Magdalen Nott (b1510 - d1560)

Abbatissa Montague (b1701 - d1760)

Mildred Pyrites (b1755 - d1790)

Delphine Parkes (b1860 - d1920)

Merope Gaunt (b1907 - d1926)

He was pretty sure he could cross his own mother off the list. The stories told of his mother indicated that she was no higher than a squib hag, and while the woman who appeared to him wasn’t a great beauty, she was by no means a hag. However, because he had never seen a picture of his mother, he kept her on the list just in case.

He wondered where he could actually access pictures of the women listed. The Ministry was one potential place, but like he had discussed already with Hermione, requests for information on family and ancestors would take weeks.

Speaking of which, Tom looked up at the sound of footsteps and saw Hermione quickly approaching. A small part of him almost wanted to hide his progress, but he knew that was pointless. If he wanted to eventually get information out of her, he had to give some up as well. Tom wasn’t too worried, it wasn’t like the information would reveal his true secrets ...

Hermione sat down heavily on the chair, looking tired, without greeting him. Trying to blow a stray curl from her eyes without success, she looked at him. “Well?” she demanded.

Tom raised an eyebrow at her. “Has anyone ever told you how bossy you are?” he asked mockingly.

He watched as she rolled her eyes in annoyance, but her cheeks still turned a bit pink. Sitting up straighter, she turned her attention to the parchments laid across the desk.

“This is my list,” he finally replied with when she didn’t offer any sort of comeback.

Hermione took the list and he watched as her brown eyes quickly scanned over it.

“Well, you were able to cross a few off,” she said as she looked.

“There were pictures … you know, society, weddings, general, Hogwarts …”

“Ah.” She nodded, her attention still on the names. “So, now all we need to do is get a picture of each of these women.”

“Correct.”

“We could make a Ministry request … though I really don’t want to wait that long.” She hummed thoughtfully to herself. “Or I could talk to Phineas.”

Tom ignored the anger he felt at hearing her talk about Black. The sooner he could cut the fool from their project, the better. His face remained artfully blank as he watched Hermione think over the list.

“You think Black will have that sort of information?” Tom asked instead.

“Perhaps. It’s worth asking,” she muttered, before taking her wand out, making a copy of the list and folding it neatly before putting it in her robe pocket.

“Well, I know people who still have some of those surnames, so perhaps I will ask them first?” he replied as they both stood from their respective seats.

His attention was caught as he watched as she ran a hand down her robes, straightening them up a bit. He quickly averted his gaze when he realised just what his gaze was lingering on. She had realised too, because now her cheeks had that small dusting of pink that they often had when she was embarrassed or flustered. Tom smirked at the response and flicked his wand, watching as all the books quickly flew back to their places, enjoying getting that sort of reaction out of her. She couldn’t lie about that anymore, either.

Hermione cleared her throat awkwardly. “What’s that spell?” she asked, sounding desperate to talk about anything other than the obvious tension in the room.

“Just something I taught myself,” Tom replied lightly.

“Oh …” Hermione bit down on her lip, looking thoughtful.

Tom sighed. “Do you want me to teach you it?”

Her eyes widened a bit and her gaze met his. “You would?”

Tom shrugged. “As long as you’re not too difficult. I don’t waste my time with just anyone … or imbeciles, for that matter.”

He watched with pleasure as her expression darkened. She always took the bait easily -- especially when the insult was directed at her intelligence. She huffed and began to quickly walk off. His long legs easily kept up with her, which earned him an even darker glare when she realised.

“The nerve,” she muttered. “... Imbecile, honestly!”

Tom didn’t reply. He got more than enough value from his comments through her angry mutterings than if he stoked the fire any more. Plus, it wouldn’t look good if they started firing hexes at one-another in the middle of Hogwarts.

They had just left the library when Hermione turned and looked at him in question, obviously already over his teasing.

“What?” Tom asked.

“Aren’t you going to go visit anyone?” she asked, eyebrow raised.

Tom gave her a look. “I had no intention … why?”

The secret smile she tried to hide instantly made Tom suspicious.

“What are you up to?” he asked immediately.

“Nothing,” she replied, looking away from him. “I just find it hard to believe that the former Head Boy wouldn’t want to visit with any of his old teachers, that’s all.”

“Granger,” he almost growled.

She stopped and looked to be about to chastise him for using her real surname when an annoyingly jolly voice broke the tense atmosphere.

“Tom, my boy!”

Tom turned in horror to the sight of Horace Slughorn waddling his way down the hall towards them. He quickly took another look at Hermione, who looked to be trying to hold in her amusement. Oh, so she wanted to play it this way, did she?

“Professor Slughorn,” Tom greeted with a note of pleasure and surprise. “How good it is to see you.” He ignored the quiet snort from beside him. If he were standing any closer to the bint, he would have given her a good elbow to the ribs.

“And you, Tom, and you!” Slughorn replied and then waggled a finger. “But I’m surprised! It’s almost like you snuck into the castle. If it wasn’t for Miss Edwards here, I wouldn’t even have known you’d be visiting.”

Tom quickly sent an admonishing look towards Hermione. “Hermione, you’ve ruined my surprise.”

Hermione was about to reply with something before Slughorn swiftly began talking again. Some things never change.

“Now, now, Tom, Miss Edwards didn’t mean anything by it.” He sent Hermione a friendly smile. “I am so glad to have met such a bright witch,” he added.

Tom glanced at Hermione and noticed how her cheeks turned slightly pink.

“She is very bright, isn’t she?” Tom replied.

“Yes, yes. So nice to see you with such a bright girl, Tom.” He proceeded to lean towards Hermione and gave her a wink. “Perhaps you can convince Tom to stay here and take a job at the Ministry …” His attention turned back to Tom. “Dugald McPhail was just asking about you at my last party, you know.”

Tom took a deep breath; his placid smile belied his annoyance at his old Professor. “Was he?”

“Yes, yes.” The annoying old man turned to Hermione again. “Tom was offered many prestigious positions in the Ministry, you know. Turned them all down, though. To do ... what was it again, Tom?”

“Travel,” Tom replied, hoping his growing annoyance wasn’t becoming obvious.

“Such a shame,” Slughorn replied, looking suitably put out.

“I, er, think travelling is quite important … when you’re young, that is,” Hermione awkwardly added.

Tom quickly glanced at her and she gave him a ‘what?’ look before shrugging.

Slughorn shook his head. “I guess I’ll never understand this generation,” he replied good naturedly.

“Well, I suppose we must be off,” Tom said, and looked at Hermione for her confirmation.

“Oh, nonsense! You’ve got to stay,” Slughorn said. “I’m having a party tonight, and I insist you both attend!”

Tom briefly flirted with the idea of pushing his old Head of House down the nearby stairs. He imagined Slughorn bouncing down, with nothing to break his fall … how satisfying. He turned to look at Hermione who looked as though going to a party the last thing she’d want to do as well.

“I’m afraid what I’m wearing is quite unsuitable,” Hermione said, gesturing at the rather casual skirt and blouse.

“Don’t be ridiculous, my girl, I’m sure you can fit into something of Minerva’s,” Slughorn replied, before turning to Tom. “I’m sure we can rustle up something for you as well, Tom.”

Tom highly doubted that. He shuddered at the thought of wearing the robes of one of the other Professors.

“Well, Tom, there’s nothing stopping you from going,” Hermione said a little too sweetly. “I’m sure you’ll want to catch up with all your old chums. I, on the other hand, am quite busy … So I apologise, Professor, but I don’t believe--”

“Actually, Hermione,” Tom started, and took a step towards her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, and had to stop himself from smirking when he felt her immediately tense. “You said that we had reached a good point in the research just before, and that there was nothing to do until you either contacted the Ministry, or Mr Black,” Tom replied, enjoying how her eyes narrowed at him.

“Mr Black? As in Phineas Black?” Slughorn caught on too quickly.

“Er, yes?” Hermione said awkwardly.

“Oh, well, Phineas and I go way back! In fact, he might even be here tonight. I provide him with potions for the work he does, you know,” he replied in a conspiratorial manner, tapping his nose.

“Well, that’s, um … wonderful,” Hermione replied.

“The point being, dear, is that Phineas will be here tonight, so what a perfect time to talk to him?”

“Oh. Yes, that’s true,” she answered slowly.

Tom felt her shoulders slump in defeat under his arm. Serves her right. Besides, it would be interesting to go to a Slug Club party with her. Who knows what new information he would be able to get from the other guests. The parties were always the perfect atmosphere for Wizarding World gossip. Not that Tom cared much for idle gossip … but there was much to be said for what you could use against people with the right information.

“Well, it’s settled then!” Slughorn exclaimed and clapped his hands together. “I’ll see you both in a couple of hours at the party.”

And with that, Tom watched the man waddle off again. Immediately he felt himself being pushed and a loud huff next to him notified him that Hermione was currently walking off muttering.

“Thanks a lot.” She glared at him when he finally managed to catch up to her.

Tom raised an eyebrow at her. “You were the one who notified Slughorn of my presence. Therefore, you can suffer,” he replied in amusement.

“Technically it was Professor Dumbledore who did that,” Hermione replied, holding a finger up for emphasis.

“Typical,” Tom muttered with annoyance.

“Speaking of which, perhaps Professor Dumbledore can lend you some dress robes,” Hermione said, barely holding a gleeful smile in, looking at him contemplatively. “You both look as though you’re about the same height …”

“If this is your way of trying to provoke me, you seriously need some more practice,” Tom replied, internally shuddering at the thought of wearing anything that old fruitcake deemed as stylish. “Besides, I can easily transfigure these robes into something more suitable.”

Hermione looked at his robes and then huffed, muttering something along the lines of men ‘having it so much easier’.

“You, on the other hand …” Tom trailed off and gestured at her outfit.

She stopped, put her hands on her hips, and turned to scowl at him. “What?”

“Well, you couldn’t even transfigure that into something acceptable.”

He watched as a disbelieving expression appeared on her face, before her eyes rolled and she turned to go. “I’m going to find Minerva and get ready for this ridiculous thing. Don’t follow me,” she snapped.

Her bossy nature was always highly amusing, Tom thought, as he watched her stomp off.

“What am I supposed to do while you take hours trying to tame that hair of yours?” he called out after her.

“Not my problem!” she snapped back, not even bothering to turn around as she stormed off back down the corridor.

XXX

“Well I’m glad you’re going, at least it means I won’t be bored,” Minerva said, the muted sounds of the party travelling down the corridor they walked.

“Why do you go, then?” Hermione asked smoothing down the pretty purple robes Minerva had lent her for the night for what felt like the millionth time.

“I do admit that I normally pretend I’m too busy marking assignments to go. But as you’ve experienced, Slughorn can be very persuasive. Besides, you never know who is going to be at a Slughorn party.”

“You mean Alphard might be there?” Hermione asked and grinned at Minerva’s telling blush.

“Well, he’s been Owling me again,” Minerva replied, looking slightly guilty.

Hermione held in the urge to groan at the on and off nature of their relationship. Although, she couldn’t really judge relationships, could she? Considering the fact that her and Riddle were doing some kind of weird dance, and oh, the ever so wonderful fact that she was practically engaged to someone who wasn’t even born yet. No, she couldn’t judge at all.

“So, what’s happening between you and Riddle?” the other woman asked, obviously trying to detract from her own love life and inadvertently honing in on Hermione’s thoughts.

“Nothing,” Hermione replied a little too quickly, causing Minerva to look at her disbelievingly. “Er, would you believe me if I said it’s complicated?”

Minerva raised her eyebrows. “I would actually … though that doesn’t automatically disqualify you from telling me though,” she added, sounding somewhat stern, like the teacher that she was.

Hermione grimaced and looked around before sighing in relief. “Oh, look, we’re here!” she exclaimed in fake enthusiasm gesturing at the entrance of the party, causing Minerva to give her a look. “We can discuss it later, I promise,” Hermione whispered to her as they walked through the entrance.

Hermione looked around wistfully at the room. Even though she hadn’t exactly loved going to Slughorn’s gatherings in the past, it was a reminder of something familiar, something she knew. The room was lit in golden light, little bright fairies flitting around groups of wizards and witches engaged in lively conversation.

“Ah, Minerva and Miss Edwards!” Slughorn greeted happily near the doorway. “You both look lovely. Miss Edwards, I do believe I saw Tom speaking with Phineas Black over by the drinks table. Now, off you go, enjoy yourselves!”

Riddle and Phineas were talking? This caused Hermione to worry immensely. She wasn’t blind to the obvious instant loathing between the two men. Her eyes quickly flitted around the room until they met a pair of familiar dark ones intently watching her across the room. Riddle.

Minerva, who had been stopped by a wizard with an exceptionally large top hat quickly waved her on when she said she was going to the drinks table, with a promise to ‘talk later’. Obviously Hermione wouldn’t escape her interrogations that easily.

When she made it over to the drinks table, Riddle and Phineas both turned to her, with quite differing expressions on their faces. Phineas greeted her charmingly with a kiss to the hand and compliment on her dress, which Hermione accepted with grace.

When her attention turned to Riddle, however, his expression caused her mouth to suddenly go dry. His eyes, dark and intent, caused her to breath to catch. He took the chance to take her hand in his, his fingers rubbing against her palm in a surprisingly soft manner. When his lips met her knuckles, Hermione hoped that the jolt she felt go through her was just a mental reaction, and wasn’t physically obvious. In return, his eyes -- if even possible -- seemed to gleam.

Okay, obviously not only a mental reaction.

“You clean up well,” he finally said.

Okay, spell broken, Hermione thought with some annoyance. Clean up ... well? What was she, a dirty old cauldron or something?

“As do you,” she sniffed, looking him up and down.

Okay, that really was an understatement. Riddle looked dashing in his severe black, transfigured dress robes. On anyone else it would look like they were trying to poorly impersonate a muggle priest, but on Riddle, it looked powerful and almost regal.

An amused smirk graced his face at her words. “Pretty good for late notice,” he replied.

“Indeed,” Hermione replied, giving him a tight smile.

He chuckled at her and squeezed her hand, causing Hermione to realise that yes, they were still holding hands. She quickly pulled hers away, trying to not be obviously embarrassed. She really hoped that Phineas wasn’t noticing any of this … She chanced a glance at the older man and was relieved to find his attention had been distracted by the arrival of some hors d'oeuvres. Thank Merlin.

“Would you care to dance, Hermione?” Phineas asked, after popping a mouthful of something strange-looking in his mouth.

“Er, sure,” Hermione replied, taking his hand. Chancing a small glance at Riddle, she noticed his impassive expression as he watched the two of them.

But before anything could be said, Phineas had swept her off to the small dance floor, and she watched Tom turn his attention to the drinks table.

“I believe you have news,” Phineas said as soon as they were comfortably dancing.

“Tom said something?” Hermione asked disbelievingly.

“No, I’m just asking the person who will actually tell me something.”

“Oh. Well, we have a list of female ancestors … Some were able to be ruled out because a picture was already available. But the others--”

“You’re wondering where you could source pictures?” Phineas asked.

“Yes.”

“Well, the Ministry would be obvious, but you’d have a lengthy wait. Your second bet, if they are pureblood, is to approach other families linked to them,” he explained.

“That’s what I had considered, too. I was wondering though, if you had any sources?”

“Well, I can help with the families -- the ones who are more liberal, of course. Bring me the list soon and we can go over it.”

“Okay,” Hermione replied.

They slipped into a comfortable silence, Hermione content to look around the room and people watch, noting that she was getting some looks from people herself; obviously wondering who she was and why they had never seen her before.

She noticed Minerva, who was still chatting away to the same man that she had left her with. She realised her friend looked slightly distracted, and when she followed her line of sight, she realised it was because Alphard Black was standing on the other side of the room. Hermione sighed when she realised that Black was with Malfoy and Lestrange. Great, just great. She watched as Black sent Minerva covert glances, even though the three men were currently surrounded by several young witches.

Of course she couldn’t help herself in seeking out Riddle. She justified that she needed to keep and eye on him as technically they were invited together. After a short time she found him talking to that stupid chit Holly Fudge. Hermione realised that this Slug Club party vaguely resembled some kind of reunion of the most annoying people in the forties -- bar an exceptional few, of course.

She couldn’t help but watch the way Holly flicked her hair and gave Riddle all of her attention, smiling prettily and laughing in all the right places. Pathetic, just pathetic. She was not jealous; no, not at all. She just thought it was idiotic, that was all.

“You should be careful about how involved you get with him, you know.”

Phineas’s statement caused her to flinch slightly, she realised with embarrassment that her people watching wasn’t very discreet at all.

“We’re not involved,” she replied automatically and internally cringed, feeling like she was telling a very bad lie.

Phineas looked at her in a way which confirmed her inner-thoughts. “Right. Well, I’m not your father -- thank Merlin -- so that’s about as involved as I’ll get. If I can add one more thing though …”

Hermione stopped herself from rolling her eyes. “And what is that?”

“You need to work better at your denials.”

Still in denial are we? Riddle’s words reverberated through her again.

“Thanks,” she snapped.

Phineas outright chuckled and they came to a stop when the music ended. “Thank you for the dance, young lady. I need to go speak with someone, but I’ll owl you later, okay?”

“Alright,” Hermione replied, and they both left the dance floor.

Hermione noticed that Riddle was still talking to that bint … well; in all honesty, it never really left her notice that he was talking to her. What would they manage to talk about that whole time? Surely his plans to take over the wizarding world didn’t match her views on the latest collection at Madame Malkins.

She was still stuck in her thoughts when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Spinning around she had to hold in the groan when she realised it was Alex Lestrange.

“Oh, hello,” she greeted a bit awkwardly. “How are you, Alex?”

“I’m well. And yourself?” he asked.

“Very good, thank you.”

“Look, I, er, wanted to apologise for everything--”

“It’s already forgotten. Really,” Hermione answered quickly. And it had been. It actually seemed like ages since she had last seen the wizard.

“Oh, right. That’s good. So … how’s your project coming along?”

Hermione wanted to groan. She didn’t understand Alex Lestrange. He was always so weird around her, making conversations seem like more work than what they had to be. She wondered how soon she could escape him … She discreetly looked for Minerva, and her eyes widened slightly as she watched Minerva walk out of the room and into the hallway with Alphard following a few seconds later.

“Hermione?” Alex asked and Hermione flushed, realising that she had completely ignored his question.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. It’s coming along really well … I think I’m making a lot of progress.” Well, that wasn’t a lie.

“That’s great to hear. You know, my family library is one of the oldest in Great Britain. If you’re stuck with anything, I could possibly help,” he offered.

“I’m sure we won’t need your help,” a smooth voice replied from somewhere beside Hermione. Riddle.

She gave Riddle a frown for being so rude to interrupt her conversation, annoyed that he would dismiss a potential source like Lestrange, who was pureblood and could possibly have access to books that would help them. She turned to look at Alex who was glaring at the aforementioned wizard.

“You’re working together?” he finally asked flatly.

“Yes,” Riddle replied and Hermione wanted to slap the smug expression off his face.

Hermione started tapping her foot in annoyance. Bloody control freak!

“-- if you don’t mind, Lestrange, I need to speak to Hermione.” Hermione’s thoughts were interrupted surprisingly enough by Riddle being rude.

Hermione looked apologetically at Alex. She didn’t exactly like him … but at the same time she was annoyed at Riddle. “Sorry, Alex, perhaps another time?” she said with a smile.

Alex narrowed his eyes at the two of them before nodding slowly and walking off. Hermione rolled her eyes and turned to Riddle, who looked a bit too pleased with himself.

“Could you be any ruder?” she hissed as she dragged him towards the edge of the room and pulled him behind a set of gauzy curtains. This needed to be discussed in private.

“What?” he asked innocently..

“Oh don’t play Mr Innocent with me!” she hissed. “I had everything completely under control with Alex and you have to barge in like a wildebeest.”

“A wildebeest, you say?”

“Yes, a wildebeest. Or a cave man … either way, I do not need you to try and control my life. Just because you became bored with your little floozy--”

“Floozy?”

Hermione sighed. “Can you please focus on what’s important? I was handling Alex the way I wanted to, and now you’ve ruined things!”

“You were failing miserably. Honestly, you don’t need to be so polite all the time. Just treat him like you treat me.”

Hermione huffed. “He has a very large library and is a pureblood! We might have been able to use it.”

He shook his head, a small smirk on his face. “Hm, perhaps not Gryffindor … that’s a very Slytherin thing--”

But he was cut off from what sounded like a very loud bang from outside. Everyone immediately hushed their conversations, and a worried murmur travelled through Slughorn’s room. Hermione’s eyes widened in horror; Minerva and Alphard were out there! Before Riddle could stop her, Hermione pushed past him and started running with most of the crowd down the corridor, as fast as she could in her dressy robes and heels. She gasped in shock when she found Alphard standing in front of a collapsed Minerva, while pointing his wand at Abraxas Malfoy.

“What did you do?” Alphard demanded, his voice as cold as ice.

“What did I do? Only what’s right! What were you doing out here, cavorting with that Mudblood!”

“Abraxas, what did you do?” Alphard demanded, this time dropping down to Minerva and attempting to help her.

“What are you doing Alphard?!” Abraxas sneered. “You cannot tell me you actually care for this mud--”

“Shut up! Just shut up! Fuck!” Alphard’s voice cracked as he checked Minerva’s pulse. “She needs to go to St Mungos ...”

“What’s going on here?” Slughorn pushed his way through to the front of the crowd. “Dear Merlin! What happened?” he demanded.

Both boys looked at each other before looking at their old Professor. Abraxas swallowed heavily, glaring at Alphard, while Alphard turned away from the Professor, looking frantic.

Hermione rushed forward and crouched down next to Alphard. “Here, let me check her,” she muttered, running her wand over the semi-conscious witch. She felt her panic begin to rise as she couldn’t find any external injuries on her, yet Hermione could hear that she was short of breath, and her skin was taking on a bluish discolouration.

“What spell did you use?” Hermione demanded, looking up at the sneering blond.

“Why would I tell you?” he spat back.

But before Hermione could respond, like a flash, Alphard was up and had pushed Abraxas against the corridor wall, wand digging into his neck. “So help me, if you don’t tell me what you did to her, I will make you pay,” Alphard snarled.

“Don’t touch me, you filthy blood traitor,” Abraxas replied, eyes full of hatred.

Alphard flinched at his words, but then with a frustrated cry pushed and then shook him against the wall, Abraxas’s head making a sickening cracking noise as it hit the wall.

“Boys!” Slughorn yelled. “You will not help Minerva at all with this behaviour. Alphard, step back, now.”

Alphard stilled, but then after a second, seemed to think better of cursing the sneering blond, and stepped back tensely.

“Yeah, go on, Alphard, step back. You’re just a little coward, anyway,” Abraxas taunted. “You sicken me! You’re defiling your family ... centuries of purity! And for what? Running around behind everyone’s back for Minerva McGonagall?” he spat incredulously.

“Alphard, come here and pick her up. We need to take her to St Mungos, now,” Hermione demanded, deciding that pretending Abraxas wasn’t there was the best course of action.

Alphard flinched and turning his back on the blond, quickly came and scooped Minerva up in his arms as if she weighed nothing. He was up and away before Hermione could get another word in. She quickly jumped up and followed him.

“Do you know where you’re going?” she asked breathlessly when she had finally caught up to his long strides.

“Headmaster’s office,” he replied after several long moments.

“Do you need--”

“We just need to get her to hospital,” Alphard quickly cut her off, obviously not wanting to speak.

“Right.” And she followed him, no extra questions asked.

XXX

Hermione trudged up the stairs to her flat tiredly, having spent the last few hours in the hospital making sure that Minerva would be alright. Apparently Malfoy had cast a dark curse known as Pulmonis Embolus, which caused a blockage to the lungs. Hermione had never actually heard of the awful curse before, but they were lucky that a Healer who specialised in dark magic had, and was able to help her just in time.

Alphard was a mess, but still refused to leave her bedside. When she had left, he simply sat there, unseeing, and she knew that he was in shock. The truth had finally come out, but in the worst possible way. Hermione hoped that he would be safe. She knew that it was dangerous for him, and even more so the way it had come out.

She got to her front door and sighed in annoyance. It was unlocked, which only meant one thing. Or one person, to be exact. Fantastic. All she wanted to do was get out of these robes, have a nice cup of tea, have a soak in the bath, and then go to bed.

Walking through the door, she didn’t even look, but knew he was there. She could feel his gaze on her.

“What are you doing here?” she muttered, as she kicked her heels off, giving a sigh of relief for her feet, and then moved into the kitchen to make some tea.

“Is that the way you show gratitude?” he asked as he stood from her small couch and followed her into the small area.

“Gratitude for what?” Hermione internally cringed a little at her snappy tone. She was sounding much more annoyed at him than what she really was.

“For making sure you’re okay,” he replied.

“I’m not the one in a hospital bed,” she replied sarcastically, giving him a brief glance as she prepared the tea.

He leaned casually up against one of the counters. “Yes. Malfoy’s father is going to have a lot of trouble covering those shenanigans up.”

Shenanigans.

She shouldn’t have been surprised at his teasing, nonchalant tone. She really shouldn’t have -- it was him, after all. Still, it made her tightly grip the teaspoon she was holding, and clench her jaw at his attitude.

She was so tired. So very, very tired of it all. The prejudice, the fighting. The bad blood. Hermione thought that she had escaped it once before, but now she had been thrown right back in the thick of it. And who was to become the centre of it all -- the leader -- was standing right in front of her.

All of a sudden, it got too much for Hermione. Everything. Seeing Minerva on a hospital bed, struggling to stay alive. Seeing Alphard and knowing he would be disowned for simply falling in love with what his society considered was the ‘wrong’ person. The hatred in Malfoy’s eyes at someone who was supposed to be one of his best friends. The casual way Riddle mocked Malfoy for something that he encouraged his own pathetic followers to believe …

The fact that she was one the very individuals that they hated.

She rubbed her forehead tiredly and looked at Tom. “Just go home, Riddle.”

He continued to look at her blankly, and didn’t move from his spot. Hermione turned to make tea -- for one -- and ignored him. Until she felt him standing right behind her.

“What part of ‘go home’ don’t you understand?” she asked.

His hands came up and rested on her shoulders. Hermione couldn’t help it; she flinched and awkwardly shrugged his hands off and picked up her tea, moving away from him.

“Don’t do that,” she said.

“Oh, so we’re doing this again, are we? Still in denial?”

“There is nothing to de--”

“You’re pathetic,” he sneered over her.

Hermione snapped. Her shoulders tensed, and her frustration grew to a level where her anger was getting to an unmanageable stage. Pathetic?

“That’s rich coming from you,” she snapped.

“And what am I in denial about, hmm?”

“You’re a fucking hypocrite, Riddle!”

His eyes darkened and his posture tensed. “Hypocrite, am I?”

“Yes!”

“How?”

“What, don’t tell me you haven’t wondered where the name Granger comes from. Don’t tell me you haven’t had at least ten thoughts about it!”

“And are we going to get to a point?”

“Yet you still want to put your hands on me. You still want to ...” she couldn’t finish the sentence. It would confirm far too many things for her.

“Touch a Mudblood?”

“Don’t hold back on my account!”

“So you confirm it?” he asked, an eyebrow raised.

Hermione was sick of lying. So what if she admitted it? She suspected that he didn’t exactly need her to tell him. He wouldn’t kill her, she was still too important to him. Besides, too many people were involved. He could possibly hurt her, but he couldn’t kill her. And if it made Riddle stop trying to ... well, if he didn’t want her in that way, that was ... good. That would mean she wouldn’t have to make a decision.

“So what if I do? Need a bath now, Riddle?”

“You assume I would be ... displeased about this?” he asked.

Hermione remained silent. Of course she thought he would be. He was Lord Voldemort! He was a racist and a power-hungry bully.

“You’re telling me you’re not?” she finally scoffed.

“Think you know me, Granger?”

“Just as much as you think you know me,” she spat back.

“Oh, please enlighten me,” he replied.

“Piss off, Riddle,” she replied, her temper finally snapping.

Before she could walk off, he grabbed her arm. “Tell me,” he demanded.

“Let go of me, Riddle!”

“No, not until you tell me what you meant.”

“Don’t order me around,” she replied in a low, dangerous tone.

“Why are you truly afraid to say what you think?”

“Why are you?” she returned.

He remained silent, his gaze penetrating hers.

“You call me a liar, Riddle, but your whole life is a lie, she finally said.

His eyes turned dark and Hermione tried not to tremble as his grip tightened around her arm.

“That’s right. You are a hypocrite, Riddle. Don’t think I haven’t heard the whispers about you and your ‘friends’ ... and you think I’d actually want to kiss you?” She laughed incredulously before a serious expression came upon her face. “Why would I even want to touch you? she asked disdainfully.

His face was blank, but Hermione could feel the fury coming off him in waves. Suddenly, a mocking smirk appeared on his face that confused her.

“That’s the sad thing, isn’t it, Hermione? The fact that you know, and yet you still do want me, despite what you’ve heard. You are still attracted to me, even though you consider it wrong.”

Hermione was about to yell at him that she certainly did not want any of those things, but she didn’t have a chance as he roughly pulled her against him, finally closing the small gap between them, his lips slamming down on hers with an intensity that burned right through her.

The air thrummed around them. His magic was curling over her, tasting her, exploring her in a way she would have never thought possible. Her own magic soared at the feeling, causing her stomach to tighten and finally she responded to the kiss.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me … She knew it was wrong. She knew that she couldn’t pass this time off as a mistake, nor say it was a trick by Riddle, like the last time. Responding to his kiss confirmed that there was an underlying attraction there.

And it hurt. It hurt that she had never experienced this intensity with anyone else. It hurt that such perfect kisses would always be tainted by a past that he hadn’t even seen yet. But most of all, it hurt that it was him.

Yet there was no point denying it any more, or pretending. They were both adults here, and denying it would only be pointless and childish.

His hands roamed up her back to cup her cheeks. She shivered as she felt his fingertips lightly run over the sensitive area of her jaw line. He groaned in response, but slowed their kiss down, and they both finally pulled back, trying to catch their breath.

Their magic still hummed around them, and Hermione took the small opportunity to study him closely. His eyes were so dark, they were almost black, his lips were slightly swollen from their less-than-gentle kiss, and his normally pale cheeks were actually flushed. She was sure she appeared quite similar, and cringed slightly when his hand went up and touched her hair, a small amused smirk curling his lips.

“What, no denials? No backtracking? No lectures about this being ‘work only’ and that it means nothing?” he asked and she could detect the anger in his tone.

Her comments the other evening must have really ate at him, she realised. Hermione stepped back from him, the idea of having her own personal space giving her a bit more clarity. “I think it would be idiotic to deny things further,” she replied.

He pulled her back into his arms and kissed her again, his hands running over her shoulders and arms before moving to her back. So intent on his kisses, she squeaked slightly when he suddenly picked her up, forcing her to wrap her legs around his hips, without breaking their kiss.

“What are you doing?” she asked breathlessly.

“You said you wanted to go to bed,” he replied.

“Yes ... alone.” Lie.

He quirked an eyebrow; they were already in her bedroom. Curse her tiny flat!

“Liar. Nobody wants to be alone,” he replied.

Except you, she thought, but held her tongue. Before she could think any more on the subject he unceremoniously dropped her on the bed and quickly followed her, his body hovering over hers as he began kissing her neck, while running one of his hands up her torso and onto her chest. Hermione’s breath hitched when he squeezed one of her breasts and bit down lightly on her neck.

“Tell me that you don’t want me,” he muttered against her skin. “Go on, tell me,” he goaded.

“I -- I ...” she stuttered.

“Tell me that this doesn’t feel right. Tell me that you don’t notice how our magic feels when we touch,” he added, much more quietly, before he pulled away and looked her in the eyes. “Look me in the eye and tell me.”

Hermione stared back up at him, and was dismayed at how perfect he looked, even with his normally immaculate black hair in complete disarray, and his lips pink and swollen from their kisses. A wave of anguish mixed with underlying relief washed over her when she realised that she couldn’t. She couldn’t tell him she didn’t want him. It would make things so much easier, but it was like she was under a Silencio, as the words just could not leave her mouth, even though she opened and closed it at least twice.

His eyes darkened with lust as he took in her expression. Leaning down, he surprised her when his lips softly met hers, a complete turnaround from the passionate, almost biting, kisses they had shared earlier. She found her hands moving up his arms and shoulders till they finally reached his hair. As their tongues and limbs entwined, she found herself running her hands softly through his hair; she felt nervous to touch him on her own accord, and her actions relayed that.

When he finally pulled away again, there was a small part of her that waited for him to mock her about her choices, even if her choice was to not pull away from him. Because he had still ‘won’ in whatever game it was that they were playing. He surprised her again when he said nothing, but leant back down, placing hot, open-mouthed kisses on her neck and shoulders, as his hands moved to the buttons on the front of her dress robes.

She couldn’t stop the soft moan when he finally got through her garments and his hand ran across her bare stomach. He pulled back and she watched him as his gaze danced across her now exposed skin. He sat up slightly, and both his hands moved up her stomach, moving her robes apart slowly, but surely. Hermione’s felt a flutter in her stomach as she watched his gaze darken to unfathomable depths as he took her in.

To desire someone in your dreams and constantly deny yourself their touch, only to finally receive it was driving Hermione mad with want and need.

So she sat up slightly, pushing them both up into seated positions, and kissed him. She felt his hands on her shoulders as he finally pushed her robes off her shoulders, and she shivered as she felt the cool night air curl around the both of them. Her own hands moved to his clothes, and she made quick work of removing his robes and undershirt. She wanted to feel his skin; she wanted them to be on equal ground.

They kissed and touched and drank each other in, until there was nothing but skin against skin. Hermione let out a deep breath when Riddle pulled her to sit in his lap, and her body melded against his, revelling in the surprising warmth he provided.

She sighed and her head fell back as his lips descended down her neck, to her breasts, while one of his hands moved down her stomach until she felt his fingers brush against her clit. There was a flash of a memory from her dream, and she moaned as his finger moved up and down and around, exploring and caressing. Her legs tightened around his hips and she began grinding against him, wanting something more, wanting to feel complete.

His lips moved away from her breasts, causing her to finally look up, only to meet his gaze. They stared at each other, the only thing breaking the silence of the room being their erratic breathing. She felt his fingers move away from her sex and shivered as he left a damp trail along her hip, to her back, where his hand splayed out and pulled her impossibly close to him.

She moaned when she felt something hard brush against her, and her body automatically responded, her hips undulating against him while both of his hands moved up and down her back, pressing and kneading.

But she wanted more. Looking into his eyes, she reached down and ran her fingers over him for the very first time. He was nice and thick, and she felt a tingle go down her spine and bloom in her belly when he quietly groaned at her touch. Making him react made her feel powerful, more powerful than she had felt in a long time. Gripping him tightly, she began moving her hand up and down his shaft as he kissed her like he was drowning. It was getting to be too much; she needed him there, inside her.

As if reading her mind, he pulled away from her kiss suddenly, his hands moving to grip her hips. She met his gaze as she lifted her hips and slowly lowered herself onto him, holding onto his shoulders for support. The room seemed to silence completely, as they both stopped breathing, their entire concentration on the feel of each other, so close, so complete. Time seemed to suspend itself when she finally felt his whole length inside of her. They remained quiet, staring at one-another and it didn’t feel real to Hermione. All her senses sharpened, and suddenly she was aware of everything. He was all around her, and yet she had never felt more aware of herself.

She let out a long-held breath when she felt his hands move to grip her hips. Wrapping her arms more tightly around him, she began to move. At first, it was slow and tentative, her body acclimatising to the feel of him, to what they were doing. She looked at him, and he was staring right back her. She closed the gap and kissed him before pulling away again and speeding up her movements.

It was all so easy, doing this, with him. There was no need to direct, no need to instruct, he was there, right with her and knew exactly what to do. Hermione moaned as one of his hands moved from her hip, back down to her clit and began stroking her. She looked at him in that moment, and he was studying her so intently that she wondered if his attention was simply on her, no other thoughts or distractions, like hers was on him. It was a heady thought, and it made her feel so powerful in his arms.

She almost protested when he removed his hand and pushed her back onto the bed. That was until he quickly lifted her legs to his shoulders and began thrusting into her like there was no tomorrow. She couldn’t stop the moans that came every time his cock rammed into her, she had lost control a long time ago.

He was hitting a spot in her that they both knew would cause her to unravel. He leaned down, her legs bending in a position that would have been uncomfortable if she wasn’t so desperate for release. All she wanted was for him to go faster and harder. As if he had read her mind, he did just that.

“Come for me,” he muttered in a low silky voice.

The words caused her eyes to snap open again, her attention on him. His hair hung loosely around around his eyes and even in the dark she could tell that his cheeks were flushed. If she had thought he was handsome before, it was nothing compared to how he appeared now. She bit down on her lip, pushed her hips up slightly, not breaking eye contact, and hooked her legs more tightly on his shoulders.

Her stomach tightened, and her toes tingled. All she could think about was the feeling of his cock moving in and out of her. She knew she was on that delicious precipice, it was so close. He let out a low groan, and that sound was what finally did it for Hermione. She gasped, and stilled as she felt her walls clench and flutter around him. He didn’t stop thrusting the entire time, but became more frantic, obviously wanting to keep time with her. Finally, he stilled, and she felt him shudder as he let go too.

Hermione slowly moved her legs down from his shoulders and loosely wrapped them around his hips as he dropped down and rested his face between her neck and shoulder, letting out a deep breath. She lay there silent for a several moments, staring at her ceiling, trying to regain her bearings.

That was her first mistake. The guilt bloomed into her almost immediately. Ron. She had cheated on Ron! And this couldn’t be passed off as a simple mistake. It didn’t matter that Ron hadn’t been born yet. When she eventually went home – and she would, it was only a matter of time – this would be on her mind.

“Urgh,” Riddle suddenly muttered and pulled himself up so he was hovering over her.

“What?” she asked.

“I can hear you thinking already and it’s hurting my head,” he said. At the look she gave him, he sighed and rolled his eyes. “Figuratively, of course.”

“Maybe it would be best—”

“Oh no, we’re not going through this now, Granger. Go to sleep, we’ll talk about this in the morning,” he said as he moved off her and pulled the rumpled blankets over them.

Hermione didn’t protest when he moved behind her and pulled her into his embrace. With his arm locked tightly around her middle, and her back lined up against his chest, she couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable at the contented feeling that washed over her.

She had to admit, she was tired. The night’s events all suddenly caught up with her, and she found herself more than happy to settle into Riddle’s embrace, allowing exhaustion to pull her into a deep, dreamless sleep.

XXX

Author Note: I hope you enjoyed that! Thanks for reading! :)
- 13
- 14
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Right Place, Wrong Time?