Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Two Steps From Hell	By : Ssserpensssotia Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 30378 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. No profit is being made. No copyright infringement is intended. Everything Harry Potter related belongs to J.K.Rowling.

Chapter List
- 18
- 19
- 20
Hi!
The next chapter will be the last. After chapter 20, I'll start the third part of the story, and I'll post it here. The name of the story will not change, but the summary will.
Thank you much, Sherlocked17! You're so awesome!!! :))))
Can you guess the name for the 3rd part? It has a word Horcrux in it XD
Info : 1 Galleon is 5 British Pounds. I base the prices on real world, so it should be accurate. A wand still costs 7 Galleon. I don't pay that much attention to small money- Sickles and Knuts.
Beta: the best!
Serpent In Red
xxx
Two Steps From Hell
xxx
Chapter Nineteen
14th February
"Five Knuts and fifteen Sickles."
How much? But didn't it say on the tag that it was on discount?
If he gave away now five Knuts, he would still have twenty-five. But would that be enough?
He wanted this day to be special.
He wanted to invite Hermione to dinner; he wanted to show her how much she meant to him.
He had woken up to see the world he knew destroyed, and even though he smiled and joked, he didn't feel that happy inside.
His brother was dead, the Dark Side had won, and Hermione was Voldemort's ward.
His Hermione.
How had she changed …
Not only did she looked different—like a gorgeous pure-blood—she also thought differently. They were the small changes, but he noticed everything. He took mental notes.
And he was afraid to say out loud what realization he was coming to when he put it all together.
He would not even think about it!
And he couldn't talk to Harry because Harry was now always busy without telling him, his best friend, where he was spending all his time. Something big was happening to Harry and he could do nothing.
He almost wished to regret crossing over the barrier, but then again, he had had no chance against the magic that simply grabbed him and pushed him over the edge, through the fog.
Voldemort made him wake up.
Sometimes …
Sometimes, he wished he hadn't.
Ron Weasley took out the money and paid for the rose.
A red rose as a small symbol of love from him.
He loved her so much.
His Hermione.
xxx
Was he really that kind of bastard?
He didn't have to do it. Hermione was shaping up beautifully, and he was sure she'd be amusing, but he so wanted to do it that he didn't care about the consequences. He knew the final outcome of this conversation, but it didn't spoil the enjoyment. It only made it stronger.
It was always a pleasure to watch the destruction of a person and know you were responsible for it.
He hoped the pig would not disappoint.
If he had any conscience, it was chained somewhere in the depths with unbreakable chains to a wall and it didn't even make a sound.
Not one.
Since he could remember himself—and his memory was just like he was, brilliant—he had not experienced guilt or remorse even once.
He liked the pain that he caused. And he had caused a lot of pain over the years.
There had not been even one person who he could feel anything for.
He couldn't feel.
He had no flaws, but if he absolutely had to name one, then he'd name the inability to fully understand what those pathetic feeling meant to other people.
How could he explain the jumping-in-front-of-his-Killing-Curses Gryffindors?
He had always been curious and it was an interesting topic.
Human emotions.
He wanted to see them all.
And he already knew the colors of the emotional spectrum the pig would provide.
It fit well with his plan for Hermione, and therefore, he could give in to the temptation.
Lord Voldemort turned in the bright-red chair and put his dragon-hide shoes onto the table.
He wasn't a bastard. He was worse.
xxx
"I will evaluate your work and give you a mark. The test results will be included in the semester's final note. Do you have questions? "
Hermione could only purse her lips as Professor Chantel almost sneered at her.
Not only did she not teach properly, she also behaved like a bitch.
What was her problem?
Hermione could think all she wanted as the professor was unable to read her thoughts—and it really pissed the bitch off—and Hermione had never been more thankful for the Occlumency walls that Voldemort had raised.
Her mind was protected, but she needed to learn how to do it on her own.
Professor Chantel was a pure-blood witch around forty with a long mane of bright-red hair and a snobby face, and it looked like she hated all Muggle-borns. Hermione especially.
"I have a question, professor."
Hermione saw the bitch roll her eyes—seriously!—and with a sneer on her painted face, the professor turned to her.
"What is still unclear for you, Granger?"
Bitch.
"Will the magical guardian only have to supervise the practical part or does the guardian also have to create the initial base before we add our layers of spells, Professor?"
The Mind Arts wasn't only Legilimency and Occlumency; there were so many branches of the Mind Arts that at first Hermione was horrified.
How was she supposed to learn it all if the professor didn't teach properly?
"Your guardian has to build the base and mark the direction before you start adding your spells. Is that a problem?"
"No, professor. Thank you for the explanation."
At least Voldemort would do it quickly and she'd have more time for her own layers.
If only this so-called professor knew just who her guardian was ...
They had to create a mental landscape in a Pensieve that would show waterfalls that changed to flowing rivers depending on the will of the caster. This practical lesson was meant to teach the basics for Introvert Occlumency, and only when they learned how to switch the landscape would they be able to learn how to build the Occlumency walls.
It wasn't as easy as it sounded, and that was why the guardian had to do the base part.
She was lucky Voldemort was a genius in all parts of the Mind Arts; otherwise, she'd get a Troll.
xxx
Ron closed the door—he had a key—and with a smile, he walked to the living room. Hermione would be late today because she had a lot of classes, but he came earlier to decorate the living room with candles for Valentine's Day. He wanted to ask Hermione to be his girlfriend.
Officially together.
As Ron entered the living room, the rose fell from his fingers to the floor.
In the bright-red chair sat a man with his polished shoes on the table, and Ron could only stare at him.
It was one thing to see him in the newspapers, but it was a completely different experience when he was so near. He could feel magic radiating from the half-leaning figure of what could be only Lord Voldemort.
He had jet-black hair that was elegantly styled, his face was refined, and he was a handsome man. His eyes were very pale, and he was wearing a white shirt and a blood-red tie. The shimmering vest was the same deep-purple color as his trousers, and the shoes on the table were made of what could only be dragon skin.
This was Voldemort?!
"Is the branch for me, Weasley? You shouldn't have. I dislike weeds."
His voice was smooth but had a demeaning note to it, and Ron felt an angry blush spread over his face.
"What are you doing here?"
He was a Gryffindor and he wasn't a coward.
It couldn't get worse.
"Me? I own this place. What are you doing here?"
Voldemort got up from the chair and Ron swallowed hard. What was he supposed to do?
"Sit quietly and listen, lover boy."
Ron wanted to say that he wasn't taking orders from him, but the pale eyes shone red and Ron sat onto the couch, his limbs tense.
He tried not to pay attention to the handsome, cruel face, or tall and lean figure, or the silky clothing that shimmered when the rays from the sun landed on the material.
Who am I compared to him?
And Hermione saw this man almost every day.
"Tell me, Weasley, what do you think I and Hermione do when she comes to me?"
Voldemort walked slowly around the living room before sitting back into the red chair that Hermione so loved.
Ron was sitting opposite of him, and he had never felt so pathetic in his whole life.
He tried not to think about what Hermione did with this man when she was all alone. He couldn't think about it if he wanted to remain sane.
"Do you think that we have sex, Weasley? Do you imagine how I take Hermione's body in every possible position while listening to her moans of pleasure?"
Ron couldn't feel his heart anymore. It was frozen in horror.
"Or do you imagine her pretty mouth around my cock, sucking me off?"
Voldemort was smirking, and Ron dashed forward, trying to do anything but sit and listen to this horror.
"Maleo Sensa!"
The next second, Ron was on the floor, his body thrashing in horrible pain, and he screamed.
The curse was lifted, and a shiny shoe was now on his face as Voldemort stood up.
It was dragon skin.
"Or you imagine her full naked breasts as I suck her nipples?"
Ron could not do anything as the shoe was pushing his face to the floor, almost breaking his cheek. His mind was numb and his heart shattered. Voldemort was telling him exactly what he had imagined in his nightmares.
"Hermione would never touch you!" Ron managed to bark out before the shoe hit him, breaking his nose.
"If you dirty my shoes, you'll have to buy new ones. And thirty Sickles will not really help you, lover boy."
How Ron hated him.
How could Hermione spend so much time in his presence and not go crazy?
The shoe was removed from his bloodied face with a broken nose as Voldemort went back to sit in the red chair.
"Listen to me carefully and don't make me repeat myself."
Ron swallowed the blood he so wanted to spit into that refined face and sat onto the couch.
Is this really happening?
"Hermione is my magical ward, and I am her guardian. She doesn't interest me physically, you idiot boy."
Ron's heart started to beat again as the frozen ice started to crack.
He wasn't lying, was he?
"I am Lord Voldemort. I don't touch Mudbloods."
Ron wanted to say Hermione wasn't a Mudblood, but he kept his mouth shut. If Voldemort saw Hermione as a Mudblood, then he wouldn't touch her. Would he?
"There is no relationship between us, Weasley. So you can breathe now."
"Why are you here?"
Hermione had told him herself that Voldemort never visited the apartment. What did he want?
Whom had he come to meet—Hermione or him?
"Have you seen your reflection, Weasley? How can you go near my ward dressed like a riffraff?"
Ron could only grit his teeth.
It wasn't his fault that his family had always been poor, and after the Dark Side took over, it became even worse. He couldn't find any job!
"You will allow the Mudblood to buy you the clothes she wants and you will allow her to pay for everything. Do I make myself clear?"
He wasn't a fucking charity! He was a man!
"I will not allow my ward, who has a part of my soul in her, to run around with garbage as her company. It reflects badly on my reputation. I am the Dark Lord and not Dumbledore."
Voldemort crossed his feet and Ron saw dark-purple socks peek out.
"You don't have any relationship with Hermione?" Ron asked with held breath as Voldemort lean back into the chair, the piercing blue eyes drilling holes in him.
"I think I told you already, haven't I?"
Thank Merlin there was nothing between them as Ron could not even sleep without jealousy and fear of losing Hermione clouding his mind and heart. Nonetheless, a bitter taste filled his mouth as Ron understood finally who Hermione sounded like.
"What can you do, Weasley?"
"What?"
"'I beg your pardon', not 'what'. Have some class, boy." Voldemort was looking at him with a smirk. "I'll rephrase the question for the dimwitted. What are you good at?"
He wasn't a dimwit!
He was good at many things!
He could play chess well, and he was good at Quidditch, and….
"You have an unfinished Hogwarts education, and even those six years you should have spent studying as hard as possible, you were being the lazy idiot that you are and copying Hermione's work or cheating otherwise."
Ron's face was red with anger, and he could feel his fists clench and unclench.
"You have no job not because I won, but because you're a lazy loser, Ronald Weasley."
"I am not a loser!"
He wasn't a loser, he wasn't pathetic, and he wasn't lazy!
"Of course you're not. You're the epitome of success. Will you give me your autograph?"
Voldemort was now smiling, and with hate, Ron thought he resembled a snake. Or a crocodile.
"What can you offer the Mudblood? Enlighten me, Weasley. I am very curious to hear your genius thoughts."
Ron felt fire burn his insides. He had never been so humiliated, and there was nothing he could do about it.
"I can offer her love, I can offer her a family, I can make her happy!"
Ron did not know why, but he felt the need to explain himself, to make Voldemort see that Ron had more to offer than him. Hermione wasn't interested in money or success; she wanted to be normal.
Just like he was—normal.
Ron saw Voldemort smirk slightly as he drank his wine. Ron hated the sweet wine Hermione always drank, but it looked like Voldemort didn't.
"Yes, your family is known for its productiveness. How many new riffraffs do you plan on producing with the Mudblood? Three, five, or you'll go for the record? And who is going to feed them all? Me?"
Dear god how he hated him.
"We are not riffraffs! At least we're normal."
He expected a curse to hit him, but he didn't expect Voldemort to laugh.
"If you say so. I am offering you a job, Weasley."
What?
"'I beg your pardon', not 'what'. Are you really that dense?"
A job? Voldemort?
"Whether or not you accept it is up to you. You can start working tomorrow already with the Chudley Cannons."
Ron could not believe what he was hearing. Voldemort was offering him a position on his favorite team!
His family so needed the money! He could earn the money and then ask Hermione to be his girlfriend—he won't be doing it today.
It was Voldemort who was offering, and it was crazy, but he did need a job!
"What position would I play?"
He was a good goalkeeper, but he would gladly try any position. It was a dream come true! Maybe he would be famous; maybe luck would be on his side and he would become someone like Viktor Krum.
To make Hermione proud.
Ron's internal musings were interrupted as he saw Voldemort hold a hand over his eyes as he laughed.
"You'll be the cleaning service, you idiot. You wouldn't qualify for the team even if I killed all your competition."
What?!
"Cleaning service?!"
"And what did you expect with your level of knowledge and magical power? The post of the Minister, perhaps? You certainly outshine pathetic people like Lucius Malfoy, who has two Masters from Illuminus University of Magic. What can you—under-schooled, uneducated, magically-weak fool with no perspectives—do but clean after others? You have to be useful somehow."
Voldemort was leaning back in the chair as he was inspecting his manicured fingers, and for a second, Ron wanted to hide his fingers with bitten fingernails.
"I will not be wiping floors!"
Ronald wanted to hit that smirking, mocking face so much that he heard his teeth grit from the force of his will that was holding his jaw closed. He would never even reach Voldemort for the hit and he knew it.
They both knew it, Ron understood as the smirking bastard clicked his tongue in mock understanding.
"I am sure your mother will be disappointed to hear that her son refused a job offer because he thinks so highly of himself. You have three days to decide. Your majesty can contact the team owner for the information."
Voldemort got up from the chair, walked around it once—weirdo—and straightened his vest before turning to face Ron.
"Tell the Mudblood I'll be away. I will contact her when I am back."
And with that, the Dark Lord Apparated away.
Ron could only stare at the empty red chair. He felt numb.
xxx
Hermione opened the door and was surprised when she didn't find Ron in the apartment.
Taking all her three bags into one hand, Hermione took the heels off and sat into her favorite red chair.
As she leaned back, massaging her foot, she noticed the familiar cool scent in the air.
Especially around her red chair.
With quick eyes, Hermione saw the wine glass on the table and she understood.
Voldemort had been here.
Before Hermione could start the hysterics in regards to why Ron was now missing, she saw him walk in from the balcony.
"He said he would be away. And that he would contact you himself."
At least she didn't have to guess anymore if Ron had met Voldemort.
"What did he do to you?"
She should be grateful Ron was alive and well.
What did Voldemort tell him? If he told Ron anything about the agreement …
Ron sat on the sofa opposite of hers, and Hermione thought she had never seen Ron so serious.
What did the bastard do to her Ron?
xxx
"Twenty-five million Galleons."
How much? This was preposterous!
The team wasn't the best in the world, and he knew the owner was losing money instead of making them.
He'd fix it.
"Twenty million, Mr. Cannon."
Five million here, five million there, but it was the point of bargaining. He didn't care about the five million that his wife would spend on some crap anyway.
"Twenty it is, Minister Malfoy. It's a pleasure to do business with you."
Of course it was. He was Lucius Malfoy and he had a reputation.
As the now-previous owner of the Chudley Cannons left his office, Lucius leaned back into his black leather chair.
"Would you like anything, Minister?"
The pretty head of his attractive secretary was now in the doorway, and Lucius pondered for a second if he would leave earlier today.
What Narcissa did not know would not hurt her.
He loved Narcissa only, but it was like a candy store. And always eating milk chocolate made you crave for lacritz or lollipops.
As long as he was cautious and careful—his wife's direct words from years ago—he could do anything he wanted without having to fear for Narcissa's reaction.
And Narcissa didn't have to suffer when he was in a special mood. She didn't appreciate it and gladly pushed him to the other sources when she saw that he needed an outlet.
Lucius was about to tell Andrea what he wanted when the door opened fully, and she was pushed to the side.
Lucius shot up from his Minister chair as Lord Voldemort entered the office and sat on the sofa.
What did he do? Did he fail somewhere? He couldn't have, but—
"Lucius."
"My Lord." As Lucius bowed, he noticed the purple colors his Lord was wearing today.
He hoped his fourth tailor pleased his Lord because he now wanted a similar suit as well.
If he lived that long.
"Did you acquire the Quidditch team?"
He did, but he still couldn't understand what his Lord wanted with it. He had never seen his Lord watch Quidditch.
Was this a new hobby?
"I have, my Lord. Everything is done exactly like you wished."
"Lucius, tell me. Why couldn't you have been so efficient all those years? Why are you only now showing your full capabilities?"
It was a praise and Lucius wanted to laugh in glee, but the hinting at his failures made him bow instead.
"I live to serve you, my Lord."
Not only, but he did.
"When was the last time you went to the Sahara for the Sand fest?"
Lucius didn't have to think long as he had not been to the fest since his Lord was delayed by the toddler Potter.
Was his Lord really saying what he was saying?
A shiver ran down his spine as he remembered the last time he had been there, almost seventeen years ago. While he was a Malfoy and he could go anywhere, he kept away from the Sand fest in order to maintain control over his darker side while his Lord was away.
The Sand fest was made for the Dark Wizards and Witches who had not-so-standard tastes in carnal pleasures.
It was like a slave market, but all the slaves were willing and they enjoyed the special attention. The quality and purity of the products were incredible, and even after seventeen years, Lucius could not forget what he had experienced there.
"You have showed me that you are trustworthy and you have redeemed yourself, Lucius. You may come with me, if your tastes hadn't changed."
Fuck yes!
"My Lord, that would be an honor. Thank you."
Lucius had to lick his lips as he could already imagine what kind of evening he'd have today.
And he was thinking about some shitty secretary …
His sadistic side was now raving in anticipation and Lucius had never been happier to serve his Master.
The Dark Lord understood him better that anyone else.
xxx
"And then he offered me a job, as a cleaning service, Hermione!"
Hermione was sitting in her chair with her legs bent as she listened to Ron explain what had happened when she hadn't been here.
She wanted to say that a job was a job and that there was nothing to be ashamed of. Her mother and father had not always been doctors, and Hermione could remember well how she played with jigsaw puzzles while her mom cleaned the rooms when Hermione had been four years old. Money was money.
But somehow, she felt it was wiser to keep her mouth shut.
As Ron was about to continue expressing his feelings, Cleo flew through the opened windows and dropped a roll into Hermione's outstretched hands.
Quickly opening the roll and the seal—Illuminus—Hermione almost smacked her face when she read the content of the document.
She had forgotten to get Voldemort's signature for the Dark Arts practical test. And without the guardians'—or the second responsible figure's—written approval she could not take the test.
Shit.
Voldemort was away—where did he go?—and with pursed lips, Hermione understood she needed to go to the Ministry quickly to get Lucius's signature instead. Lucius Malfoy was her second guardian and it meant that in some cases, his approval would be enough. Voldemort had approved it anyway, just not signed it.
Shit.
"Ron, I am sorry, but I need to go to the Ministry of Magic."
Ron was looking at her with pursed lips, and Hermione wanted to hug him, but she needed to go.
"The Ministry? Why?"
Hermione was putting her heels on and already had a coat in her hands.
"Because I forgot to get Voldemort's approval for the test, and seeing that he had told you he'd be away, I need Lucius's signature."
Hermione had been to the Ministry five times already as it looked like Voldemort did not enjoy paperwork.
It had been Lucius who had signed the necessary documents—the bureaucracy was horrible in the magical world—and while Hermione did not forget that Lucius was also a monster, he wasn't that bad with her. Not anymore, at least.
And he asked her to call him "Lucius".
Since Malfoy had always been Draco, Hermione didn't have a problem with it. She could refuse, but what would she get out of it? It was better to have normal relationships with people who played a role in her life now. Malfoys included.
"So he's Lucius now. Do you drink tea with his wife as well?"
Ron was now standing with his arms crossed, and Hermione wished to stay and talk sense into him, but she was in a hurry. If Malfoy didn't sign it today, she'd be in huge trouble tomorrow.
"I'll be back soon, ok?" Hermione hugged the tense figure of her friend and kissed him on the cheek.
"I'll be at the Burrow, Hermione."
Oh.
Well, he did spend a lot of time here, so it was logical he'd want to go home. Especially if he had met Lord Voldemort today for the first time and lived to tell the tale.
At least Voldemort used Maleo Sensa only. She knew how creative he could be when he really wanted to be.
"I'll see you soon then!"
Hermione Apparated away, not noticing the rose in the trashbin or the sad eyes of Ronald Weasley who understood that Hermione did not even remember that today was Valentine's Day.
xxx
Her heels clicked on the polished marmor as Hermione approached the wing of Minister for Magic. The cool grey, black, and silver tones were really tasteful, and the dim lights fitted the atmosphere.
Now, when the Minister was Lucius Malfoy—with Lord Voldemort behind his back—the level of respect towards the Minister and Ministry in total drastically changed.
Hermione could see four people sit in the waiting lounge, and as she approached Andrea, she could feel the eyes of the visitors on her.
"Hermione!"
Andrea Andersen was a friendly witch with long, sand-blond hair and smart eyes. Even though she was a pure-blood and was a definite fan of the new regime, she took an instant liking to Hermione. It would be a lie if Hermione said she didn't like her.
"Andrea! How are you?"
Andrea came around her huge desk and hugged the smaller witch.
"I am wonderful. And you? Don't tell me you forgot to get documents signed again?"
Andrea was smiling mischievously but not mockingly, and Hermione smiled back.
"I have. Do you think I could get it done quickly?"
She could wait with the others, but if she didn't have to …
"Mister Malfoy is not alone, Hermione. No one is allowed." Andrea made a small movement on the inside of her left arm where the Death Eaters had their Dark Marks, and Hermione understood who was now inside the office.
Voldemort.
Even better.
"Could you still ask them if I may come in?"
Hermione saw Andrea wince and shake her head. Even though Andrea knew who her guardian was, she wasn't willing to take any chances.
Not that Hermione blamed her.
Even if she'd gotten used to the company of Lord Voldemort, it didn't mean the others did as well.
As Hermione was about to twist her ring and ask for the Portkey activation, the door opened and both Voldemort and Lucius walked out.
Hermione's heart missed a beat as she took in the dark shimmering suit and the blood-red tie before meeting pale-blue eyes.
He looked so good today.
"Hermione?" Voldemort sounded surprised and Hermione smiled a bit as she handed him the roll.
"I am sorry. I forgot to get this signed, and tomorrow, I have the test, and without—"
Hermione's ramblings were stopped when Voldemort simply opened the roll, and taking out his wand, he signed it.
"Anything else?"
Well … not really. Was he in a hurry?
Hermione saw Lucius tell something to Andrea before coming over to greet her.
"Hermione."
Voldemort allowed it—otherwise, Lucius would have never offered—and Hermione nodded her head in greeting.
"Lucius."
She was on the first name basis with the Minister of Britain and the Dark Lord—Marvolo in private—who controlled both Britain and France.
Hermione told herself it didn't matter, but she felt pleased anyway when she saw the other visitors glance at her with incredibility and envy in their eyes. She was a Mudblood, and she still stood higher than them all.
Lucius had a black suit on with a dark-grey tie, and the contrast with his pale-blond hair was astonishing.
Voldemort and Lucius looked like day and night. Two opposites but both extremely alluring.
Where were they going?
"Out."
Very funny, Hermione thought as Voldemort and Lucius put their cloaks on.
She wanted to talk to Voldemort—Marvolo—about his visit to her apartment and the conversation with Ron, but it looked like he wasn't interested in listening to her now.
"I will contact you." Voldemort fastened the black coat that ended just above his knees and Hermione saw the deep-purple trousers shimmer lightly.
Silk.
"Hermione." Lucius now held his famous cane in the gloved hand.
With those words, both Dark Wizards were gone.
That was fast ...
"They are going to the Sahara."
Andrea was now whispering into her ear so that the others would not overhear.
Lucius had to give his location as he was the Minister for Magic of a country and therefore Andrea—his secretary—knew a lot.
"What is in the Sahara?"
Were they going camel riding?
"The Sand fest is today."
Hermione heard Andrea whisper, and she felt sick to her stomach.
She read about the Sand fest, and she knew what camels they both would be riding today.
She didn't care what Lucius did—the nasty cheater—but Voldemort …
Marvolo was going to be having fun today and not with her.
She never knew it would hurt so much.
She wanted to cry rivers now, but she wasn't some love-sick fool who allowed people to wipe their feet on her.
Fuck him and his fest.
Asshole.
xxx
"Do you plan on taking over Italy as well?"
Viscal Pare was a dark-skinned wizard with white hair and brown, smart eyes, and if Voldemort removed the atrocious Voodoo clothing that Pare had always been wearing, he could say he looked interesting.
Pare didn't leave his territory in Africa—if only for the feasts—and that was the only reason he was still alive.
Normally, Voldemort would have killed him as well—fire elemental and a powerful wizard—but Pare had never cared about power or glory.
He liked to play with his dolls and talk to fire, somewhere in the woods or desert.
And he was an interesting conversationalist when he wasn't high.
Voldemort was about to say that he had not decided yet, when he felt his mind shake.
What?!
The shelves with his memories and mental notes shook again as he heard a loud bang echo around his mind.
Now that had hurt.
He had come to the fest to talk to Pare and to get new knives—he had his kicks—and while Lucius was already somewhere around, Voldemort hadn't come here to fuck.
He wanted to tighten his leash on Lucius and he didn't even think about the Mudblood—Hermione—before meeting her in the Ministry.
But it looked like she thought about him.
The loud bang sounded again, and Voldemort gripped the knife tighter. He was going to kill her.
xxx
Hermione didn't know when she became so crazy, but she didn't care now about anything but causing someone as much discomfort and pain as possible.
"I really suggest you stop." That blasted Horcrux could not keep his mouth shut when she needed to concentrate.
"I'm not talking to you."
With a nasty smirk and shining eyes, Hermione raised her wand and cast one more Magnifying Spell on the biggest bell she found in the whole Italy, in Rome. The barrier around the huge bell wouldn't allow the others to hear it, but she could hear it very well.
Bang.
Her mind shook so hard that Hermione was afraid she'd get a concussion, but she was obviously insane already, so the damage would not be noticed.
If Voldemort felt her mental slaps, then she was sure he'd feel the loudest bell in Italy, especially if she was standing so close to it.
Asshole.
She was egging the Dark Lord on and she knew it.
Let him come here and Cruciate her. At least she'd know where he was and what he was doing.
Hermione used to think she knew what jealousy felt like, but she was proven wrong again when after leaving the Ministry, she could not concentrate on anything, and she just wanted to cry in anger and hate … and hurt one black-haired bastard.
Who did he think he was?
Did he think that, what, he could play with her and then just fuck around?
They hadn't had sex yet, but ...
And she needed his help with the Mind Arts!
She was so used to the fact that he always had time for her that today had been a nasty wake-up call.
Bang.
She really hoped he enjoyed it.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Just as Hermione was about to cast the most powerful sound spell she knew—and probably lose her hearing for a while—she was brutally turned around and was now staring into angry red eyes.
"Are you a masochist or just insane?"
Probably both, Hermione thought as she mentally danced in glee.
Hahaha. Look who came for a visit.
Is something the matter?
Hermione saw Voldemort hold a knife in his hand—an elegant dagger—and before she knew what she was doing, she grabbed the knife from his relaxed hold.
She saw his eyes turn pale-blue when she held the dagger in her hand, near her throat. Just like all those months ago.
She could kill herself and end this nightmare she was becoming. She understood that the hole was getting deeper and deeper every day, and soon she wouldn't see the skies anymore.
"Be my guest."
Voldemort was smiling nastily now, and Hermione had never wanted to hurt him more.
The thought that crossed her mind was so insane, but she so wanted it, and as she raised her hand with the dagger, she saw honest, unveiled surprise in Marvolo's pale eyes.
As her hand plunged the dagger into his shoulder—far away from the heart but very deeply— she saw his pale eyes turn black as his pupils became so large that the blue almost disappeared.
She heard his hiss of pain before she was roughly pulled by her hair and those cruel lips crashed onto hers.
As Hermione felt Marvolo rip the dagger from his shoulder, one of his arms held her tight around her middle and the other—with his blood on it— was now on her face, holding her head as he ravaged her eager lips.
He had lost control, Hermione understood while shivering from a maddening mix of arousal, fear, and anticipation.
Finally.
xxx
a/n Smiles :) I hope you liked it. I wanted to show you the difference how Lucius sees money, and how Ron sees money. 20 million for a Quidditch team is ok when you think about how much Real Madrid, Bayern or any NHL or any American Football team costs.
Please review and let me know! Waves!
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Two Steps From Hell