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The Wicked Four	By : bloomsburry Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 12376 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I don't own anything from the Harry Potter Universe. They all belong to J.K Rowling. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-The Trickster and the Scholar
- 2-The Warrior
- 1
- 2
PREVIOUSLY…..
CRASH!
All of them landed in a tangle of limbs on the floor. Hermione's face was pressed against a male chest, her arms were entwined by other limbs while the rest of her body was flushed against every Goddamn-male-parts who were piled up underneath and above her. She could feel something hard nudging her inner thigh from behind her, and something heavy and grating on her spine. While underneath her, the naked torsos of both Tomas and Tomson were pressed against her chest, and just every inch of her front.
There was the sounds of groans and grunts of discomfort and pain as they tried to untangle themselves from each other.
The man behind Hermione was heavier than Professor-Tom-Riddle. So, when his weight was gone in a flash, Hermione removed himself from the two men who had began reacting to her proximity.
PRESENT…..
She stood up and faced the new-comer, her eyes going round and wide as saucers while she slowly regarded him from head to toe. The tall man was wearing some kind of dragonhide get-up with a boiled leather underneath a ring mail.
Hermione had to slowly tip her head up and look at him properly, only to stare at another Tom Riddle's handsome visage.
This man was all hard, strong and masculine. His features didn't have the softness that she had seen from the first two. He was all frown and no smiles. He looked like he had a far more difficult life compared to the Riddles behind her.
The new Tom Riddle had a lot of buckles and straps on his person to hold more than a dozen set of daggers and pouches on it; while there on his left hip, hang a long sword and short one on his right.
Despite the fact that he was only wearing a light mail, Hermione could tell that the man was heavily armed; notwithstanding that his hard, muscled frame was already a weapon in itself.
This version of Tom Riddle was far more dangerous than the other two combine. The danger he presented had her body surging with adrenaline and trembling with a sense of trepidation.
Hermione's instinct told her to flee from there and hide, but she curbed it down. She needed to handle this mess that she had put herself in.
"Droagar hatanreial ryashkryen fureena drami?" The warrior-Tom-Riddle said to her in language she couldn't understand. She saw his eyes fleeting from her to the two men behind her, with Tomas Reed still unable to move and speak due to her last command.
The warrior stared at the Professor and Tomas Reed. His eyes going flinty the longer he stared.
"Excuse me?" Hermione asked and the man's attention turned towards her again, "I don't understand what you said."
The new Tom Riddle cocked his head to the side, apparently not able to comprehend her as well.
"Jurahmarell nandecroash dumishta?" He responded, and Hermione had the urge to pinch her nose and rub the skin between her brows.
She felt a migraine coming.
"I'm sorry, but I really don't understand you." She told him, "Perhaps I-"
"Is he another one of me?" Professor Tomson stepped in.
Hermione saw the warrior-Tom-Riddle narrowing his gaze on the Professor, his hand instinctively reaching out for the long sword strapped to his right hip.
"Frashkroa mantisena boradul?!" The warrior said harshly with his eyes flashing. "Dramdia chana!"
Hermione watched in alarm as the man slowly unsheathed his sword from its scabbard. It emitted a sharp, screeching sound when the gleaming black blade slid out.
SCREECH - SCREECH
Seeing the murderous look on the warrior's face as he glared at the Professor, made Hermione's heart clenched in alarm.
The third Tom Riddle must have instantly noticed the uncanny resemblance between him and the Professor.
In spite of the threat, Professor Tomson remained apathetic. He stared at the other man without even flinching, like he was observing a fascinating bacteria under a microscope.
"Hmn...Taking his DNA sample would prove to be-" the Professor murmured out loud.
Then, without warning, the warrior-Tom-Riddle stepped towards him with his sword slashing forward, intending to cut the Professor's head off.
The black blade glinted like the blackest obsidian. It sang a sharp note when it cut sharply through the air.
Professor Tomson reacted by leaping back, his eyes widening in surprise. Even with the admirable speed that the Professor had exhibited earlier, it was no match to how this new Tom Riddle moved.
One second he was standing right there, and the next thing Hermione knew, his black sword was swinging wide open.
The Professor didn't stand a chance. He wasn't fast enough to avoid the attack. The black blade grazed across Professor Tomson's naked chest, raking skin and slicing through a bit of flesh.
The spray of blood hit Hermione squarely on the face after she had frozen up in terror. A heartbeat later, she felt the blood slid down the bridge of her nose and into her chin, gravity pulling it down slowly and leaving a scarlet trail mark in its path.
Hermione's body shook, watching in abject horror - almost in slow motion - when the Professor staggered back, shock written all over his face, where he promptly collapsed on his knees.
With pain contorting his features, the Professor used his left hand to touch the thin straight gash that ran from his left pectoral and slanted down towards his right side, just below his ribcage.
Flesh peeking from the open wound while rivulets of blood flowed unerringly from the laceration; heavy and thick that gushed down into his lower torso, the hard planes and dips of his abdominal muscles, and down to his boxer shorts.
The colour on the Professor's face turned white than ever before.
But his eyes, his eyes soon blazed with an inner fire that belied his wrath.
He looked absolutely savage as he gazed down at the blood trickling from his chest wound and towards the floor, his lips curling into that familiar demented smile.
Hermione couldn't help but shiver when she saw that look appearing on his face.
Behind the Professor, Tomas Reed appeared to be astonished as she was, still kneeling down and defenceless.
She could never imagine the Dark Lord looking as defenceless as Tomas Reed at the moment. Tomas was like a sitting duck right there, silently observing how the one-sided fight had played out between the newcomer and the Professor.
Professor Tomson gradually stood up, swaying slightly. Hermione noted that the movement took a lot of effort from him, and she instantly felt concerned.
He was losing a lot of blood and she knew that Professor Tomson would bleed to death if she didn't heal him fast.
Lucky for him that she had always carried her charmed handbag wherever she went - even after the war.
The Professor definitely needed an Essence of Dittany to close that injury.
So, Hermione took a step towards him.
At the same time, the warrior advanced on Tomson as well, saying something in that alien language of his.
"Drakashnath Fragum Valin!" the warrior growled, his eyes gleaming dangerously. "Hakohrin!"
And with one final snarl, the third Riddle brought his sword down, still hell-bent to finish the job by cleaving his other self in half.
"STOP!" Hermione screamed, her hand raised up as if to physically stop him from what he intended to do, yet there was still three meters that separated them.
Fortunately, the warrior froze. The sword emitted a ringing noise when it abruptly halted mid-air.
Professor Tomson looked mildly relieved at her intervention, and he sluggishly moved out from the sword's striking range.
However, not without retaliating back of course.
"You will pay for that, you piece of scum!" He said darkly, and before Hermione could open her mouth and protest, the Professor was already on the attack.
Swift as a cobra and fluid as water, Tomsom drew his hand back and punched the third Riddle in the face. The sound of flesh hitting flesh was almost deafening in the library.
It was a dirty moved. With the warrior completely immobilized from her last order, he was helpless against the attack.
Surprisingly though, Professor Tomson's punch hadn't even marred the skin on the warrior's face, nor even budged the man's head to the side from the force of it.
In the end, Professor Tomson was reduced to glaring ferociously at the newcomer, who was now emanating such killing intent that nearly left Hermione gasping for air.
The warrior stared murderously at the wounded man, but Hermione could see that the Professor's action had nearly drained him.
It must have required him a great degree of endurance and an admirable pain threshold to deliver that punch without him collapsing instantaneously.
Nonetheless, it was without consequence, for Hermione could see the rapid rise and fall of the Professor's chest, and his body slumping forward while his blood oozed freely from his wound.
Yet she could not go to him, not when the third Riddle wanted to kill Tomson in that instant - and her for controlling him. She saw the promise of death in his eyes that made Hermione tremble slightly, though she straightened her spine and steeled herself for the inevitable.
Professor Tomson needed her help, but she must handle this newcomer first before tending to the Professor's wounds.
So, without further ado, she fired a set of commands at the warrior and put a lot of emphasis on her words. It might even sound like she was shouting at him; perhaps she was, her fear of him made her voice sound more like a squeak.
"DO NOT MOVE! DO NOT HURT ANYONE IN THIS ROOM! ESPECIALLY ME! REMOVE ALL YOUR WEAPONS AND THROW THEM IN FRONT OF YOU! DO IT NOW!"
And for ten horrible seconds, Hermione saw the warrior struggle to fight her commands.
She could see the all-out-war raging inside him.
The set of his wide shoulders were tensed, his lips pursed into a tight line, while his jawline was clenched in both concentration and determination.
He was so strong that Hermione was afraid that he would break the compulsion and kill her at once.
After a few heart-thumping seconds later, the warrior finally gave in and started doing as commanded. He began removing the leather buckle that held his swords. It creaked as he slid them out from his trousers, and threw them on the ground in his fury. The clangour of metal against the marbled floor was sharp and distinct, echoing around the vast library.
The third Tom Riddle was under her control now.
Hermione felt a sense of overwhelming relief that she sighed out loud, drawing the three men's attention towards her; and all of which were not friendly looks.
At the intensity of their stares, she suddenly felt suffocated somehow. Hermione was afraid that if she wasn't careful with her next move, they were going to devour her alive.
Certain that the warrior was not going to break through her compulsion, Hermione hurried to the Professor's side, summoning her charmed purse towards her, which she had left on the table.
The maroon purse sailed towards her. Though it had come from the floor, and not from the table where she had placed it; apparently the table had been tipped over, and two of its knobbly legs were missing.
Hermione knelt down beside the injured Professor, and reached out for his shoulder, getting worried when she saw the bleeding; albeit the gash was not deep as she had feared, but it was enough to warrant for medical attention.
"Here, let me look-"
"Don't touch me!" a strong hand, clamped down on her wrist painfully and instantly pushed her away. "I don't need your help!"
Hermione recoiled back in surprise, rubbing a hand on her wrist; the same wrist where the Professor had twisted earlier.
Now, it was smarting again.
Then, she frowned when she noticed that the Professor's face had grown white as paper.
"Do you want to die?!" she asked in both concern and irritation, scooting closer and ignoring the glower directed at her while she opened her purse to get the Essence of Ditanny. "You are losing a lot of blood! At the very least, let me heal that wound before you bleed to death."
"Then, you better give me all my possessions back! I'm a Doctor. I have something there that would help with my condition!"
"No," was her simple reply, already loosening the cork from the vial and gazing at him with conviction. "I don't want you anywhere near your things."
The Professor gave her a dark look in return.
"Anyway, you won't need anything from your stash, not when I have this around," Hermione showed him the vial. "This is called Essence of Ditanny. It contains regenerative properties that can heal any flesh wound. So, why don't you lie back down and -"
"No! I don't want you using that on me! So, don't you dare think of doing it! I will not tolerate you using that – that hocus-pocus on me again!"
"It's called magic! Gah! Stop being so unreasonable!" Hermione snapped in frustration, putting both her hands on his shoulder.
The infuriating man tried to shrug them off while he snarled at her.
"I said don't touch me!"
"Lay the hell back down! And stop talking!" she ordered instead, pushing on his shoulder and ignoring how he felt warm beneath her touch. "You're losing more and more blood if you continue to sit up."
There was a muscle leaping on the Professor's jaw as he was forced to do what Hermione commanded him to. Once the Professor was lying flat on his back, Hermione used the dropper to directly pour the Essence of Dittany on the open wound. Smoke immediately rising up from where the drops had landed and soon the open wound began to knit together, followed by a layer of new skin appearing over the gash.
In only took five seconds for the wound to heal with the potion, whereas it would have taken more than a month if it was left to heal normally.
She put the Ditanny back into her purse.
"Your welcome," was her sarcastic remark to the Professor, who was gazing at the newly healed wound in complete fascination.
The Professor snapped back to face her, glaring yet again and still unable to speak.
"Since you are no longer about to die from blood loss, I want you to sit beside Tomas Reed, and let me handle the third one," Hermione told him distractedly.
From the corners of her eyes, she saw the third Riddle slowly removing the dragonhide tunic he was wearing. Clearly with a darker skin tone than the other two, and rippling with muscles, along with a few fading scars criss-crossing some parts of his body, Hermione couldn't help but ran an appreciative eyes over him: from the broad expanse of his back, the corded muscles on his arms and the shape of his backside, which was moulded snugly by that leather-like trousers that hang low on his trim waist. It also showed a tantalizing sight of the small indentions on his lower back peeking an inch above his trousers.
She had a pair of those too - the Dimple of Venus, it was called. But on Riddle, it looked more sinful than anything else, and coupled with the distinct furrows on his hips - the Apollo's belt - he might as well have transcended to Godhood.
The man was as fit as the Olympian God, and with the looks of it as well. He must have broken a lot of hearts from where he had come from. For no woman in their right mind would be able to resist the sight of him.
Not even her. Though she would have to contend with secretly staring at him, and perhaps simply ignore his perfect visage the rest of the time.
The man must have felt her stare because his head abruptly jerked to look at her.
With face flooding with colour, Hermione hastily turned her head away, meeting the stares from the other two half-naked Riddles, who had an identical look of disapproval on their faces.
They must have seen her leering over their other counterpart.
"What?!"
The two gave her venomous stares, to which Hermione glared right back. Shrugging her shoulders, she turned her eyes back to the third Riddle.
The warrior was hissing something beneath his breath, his attention back to what he had been doing previously. Both Tomson and Tomas seemed to understand the sibilant hissing as they suddenly started scrutinizing the warrior with renewed interest.
Hermione could guess that the warrior was speaking in parseltongue.
Is it what? An inter-dimensional language for the Slytherin heirs? She inwardly snorted at the thought.
"What is he saying?" Hermione asked Tomas Reed, who glanced at her with a cold expression on his face, before reluctantly answering.
"He's saying that once he finds a way to remove your control over him. He's going to skin you alive, chop you to pieces and feed you to the-"
"Stop! Nevermind!" Hermione interrupted, after gruesome images of those words had evoked fleeted through her mind.
"You both do not speak until spoken to," She ordered once more.
They gave her a nasty look while Hermione shifted her eyes back to the warrior.
The newcomer was currently removing his gardbrace while the pile of deadly weapons on his feet had grown without her realizing it.
Hermione carefully began walking towards him.
The warrior noticed her approaching, and he watched her almost as warily as she did him.
He continued to remove the rest of his clothing without breaking their eye contact.
Hermione had to force herself not to get flustered at the intensity of his gaze, especially when the man himself was almost like giving her a strip tease, or something.
She nearly want to hit herself at the horrifying thought. She just couldn't connect the very image of Lord Voldemort giving her a strip tease with the one - who was currently doing a good job of it - in front of her.
Hermione raised her wand.
The warrior's body tensed and coiled in alertness, ready to spring into action when she levelled her wand at him.
His cobalt-blue eyes narrowed.
Lingua Transferendum. She thought, casting the translation spell, and hoping that it would work on someone from another dimension.
A pink light burst out from her wand and zipped straight to the warrior.
Hermione saw him blinked as the spell hit him squarely in the chest.
"Tell me who you are and where do you come from?" was her immediate question as soon as her spell started working – hopefully it did.
The warrior-Tom-Riddle arched a brow at her, along with that prominent glare on his face.
"My name is Sir Thomas Ob-"
Well, at least the spell is working. She thought as Hermione interrupted him hastily before he could finish.
"No, tell me what name you were given at birth," she commanded.
This time, the man gave her a deadly glower that made Hermione gripped her wand tightly, but she held herself together. She convinced herself that the man was still under her compulsion, even when he had almost broken it earlier.
"I was named Tom Marvolo Riddle by the woman who gave birth to me," came his tight response, and like the other two, Hermione saw the familiar ticked on his chiselled jawline that showed his wrath.
It seemed that no matter what world they were born in. They would still obtained similar facial expressions. Fortunately, and hopefully, they hadn't dabbled in the Dark Arts in their world that would have turned them into that snake-like horror that had struck fear in most wizards and witches in Hermione's world.
"And what world do you come from?"
At her question, the warrior carefully assessed her entire form, from her chestnut curls, to her large sweater, to her knee-length plaid skirt, and then to her sneakers. Though the colours were indistinguishable - not when the entire place was still washed off of any colour - but his close examination must have told him more than he needed, for he had this haughty look plastered on his face that left Hermione inwardly bristling.
"I come from Perigola," was his clipped and belated answer, apparently the compulsion was not working on him the same way as the others.
However, his latest answer temporarily distracted her after she heard it.
Perigola? Where in Merlin's Beard is that? She wondered in silence.
She opened her mouth to ask him another question, ready to drill him what kind of world he was from that he needed to wear medieval-like clothing.
But once again, the mechanical voice that came from Tomson's data analyser spoke.
"Energy Disturbance detected. Wormhole Opening."
Without warning, they could feel the changed in the atmosphere, the static of electricity in the air that emitted a high crackling sound as a huge black portal appeared.
As it appeared, the temperature in the room plummeted to nearly freezing centigrade as a blast of wind rushed out from the black hole.
Frost crept from the dark abyss, spreading to the ground, the ceiling and the bookshelves near the portal, and Hermione shivered uncontrollably as the tendril of the coldness reached her, touched her and frosted her exposed limbs.
The two men, who was only wearing their boxers, was not spared, and Hermione saw the shiver that wracked their tall frames.
Feeling the prickle of conscience, and warning bells ringing at the back of her head, Hermione waved her wand and returned all their belongings back to them; from their clothes and to the stash of weapons that they had discarded.
Of course, she had to include Sir Thomas' things as well, or the warrior-Tom-Riddle might chopped off her head for excluding him.
That's when everything went downhill from there.
"Warning: Massive amounts of dark matter approaching at approximately thirty seconds," the data analyser informed all of them, before it added urgently, "Professor! You must leave this place immediately! Something dangerous is coming from that portal!"
Hermione exchanged looks with the other three men. She felt a trickle of darkness and the tendril of power spreading around the library, even the very air seemed to vibrate with it.
God's above! Is the fourth Riddle this powerful?! She thought in growing apprehension, looking from Tomas Reed, to Professor Tomson, and then to Sir Thomas.
Biting her lower lip, Hermione decided to trust the mechanical voice.
Thus, with a quick flick of her wand, she finally removed the invisible bindings of the two men kneeling on the floor.
"Don't you dare try to kill me!" She instantly barked at them, giving them a look of warning, when both Professor Tomson and Tomas Reed swiftly stood up and started striding towards her purposely.
Their eyes glittering with deadly intent, their jaw working tightly while the lines of their broad shoulders were squared and tensed, as if they were close to unleashing whatever diabolical things they had in mind for her.
Needless to day, they still couldn't speak after she had ordered them to remain silent, and only to verbally respond when spoken to.
"And I want no blood shed between you three. So don't even attempt to murder each other, do you hear me?!" She commanded one final time, just as the library started to dim and felt her exposed flesh grew numb from the cold.
Not thinking twice, she flicked her wand and cast a non-verbal spell to change her clothing.
She noticed that both Tomas' and the Professor's eyes had widened slightly as her previous clothes were transformed into something more suitable for the current climate inside the library.
At the same time, she cast a warming charm at the men's clothes without being too obvious about it. She included the warrior, who was eyeing her through hooded eyes.
However, by the look of the frowns on their faces, they must have noticed the warmth that suddenly engulfed them.
Ungrateful oafs! Hermione mentally grumbled, when none of them even acknowledged that bit of kindness that she showed them.
Finally, Tomas Reed and Professor Tomson came to a complete halt just ten feet away, and were glowering furiously at her from their towering heights.
A part of Hermione wanted to cower from the combined weight of their contemptuous stares, but the dominant part of her made steel out of her spine.
So, she stood up straight and gave them a smile pure of loathing, showing them that she wasn't cowed so easily.
The third Riddle came to join in as well, standing far closer than the others. She could feel the heat radiating from him on her back, which was a stark contrast to the blast of icy wind howling from the open portal.
Hermione turned her head in his direction, meeting his burning cobalt-blue eyes, and forced herself not to flinch underneath his steady gaze.
Amongst the three, he was the one that frightened Hermione the most. Apart from his expertise with the sword, and the possibility that he might break through her compulsion anytime he wanted, the majority of his skill-set remained unknown to Hermione, which would be something worth knowing if she was going to babysit them in the future. Of course, they weren't babies, but you get the drift.
When those icy-blue eyes shifted away from hers, Hermione was able to breathe normally.
She followed his stare, towards the other two men who stood silent and watching in front of her.
Silent but ready; ready for the next fight that might erupt between them.
The three of them carefully scrutinized one another, sizing each other up, and perhaps even analysing who's the most dangerous.
However, judging from Hermione's brief assessment of the three, she could tell the third Riddle was the most dangerous of them all; notwithstanding that there was another Riddle coming this way.
Before she could break the palpable tension around them, the three men stepped closer to her.
Merlin! I'm surrounded by a bunch of giants. Hermione thought instantly after she had to tip her head up to meet the furious gazes of the three men who were standing in a tight circle around her.
Hermione knew that the men must be more than six feet in height to dwarf her petite frame, with her head just barely brushing the top of their shoulders or the point of their strong jaws.
And like a pack of wolves ready to devour their prey, they started to pace and circle around her short form, eyeing her from head to toe and pulling back their teeth into a sneer of disgust, a snarl of fury, or just give her a simple demented smile that promise a slow, painful death. Though they kept their eyes on their other counterpart as well, and sending the same silent and threatening messages towards them too.
They bumped against her deliberately, where she was pushed from side to the side by the three of them.
Since they could not talk to her, or attack her outright, so they resorted to bullying her silently, while they unwillingly had to wait for her next commands.
It went on for about five seconds of being caged and jostled by one Tom Riddle to another before Hermione finally had enough of it.
"Damn it! Stop pushing me around!" Hermione snapped.
The three instantly froze.
Nevertheless, they kept the full blast of their hateful glares directed at her.
They did not moved away from her even when they all stood just three feet from her short form. They were so close that she could feel the overwhelming heat emanating from them, and smell the different masculine scents that was uniquely theirs.
She felt almost claustrophobic by being surrounded by their oppressive presence.
Hermione wanted out. NOW.
"This is not the time to be ganging up on me!" Hermione felt like stomping her feet, or kicking at their shins just to give herself some breathing space.
Instead, she raised her hands and tried to shove Tomas Reed out of her way.
Since he was taller and bulkier than her, so of course, he didn't budge beneath her hands.
"Get out of my way! Stop using your intimidation tactics on me, when there's a bigger threat coming this way!" She reminded them.
Right after that, the Professor's data analyser spoke to confirm the urgency of the situation.
"Professor! Please leave this place at once! The threat is fast approaching!"
TO BE CONTINUED
…..
"The Warrior"
Original name: Tom Marvolo Riddle Jr.
Known as: The Ghost, or to some, Sir Thomas Obrion
Age: 30
Height: 6'4
Weight: 70.5 kg
World: Advanced Fantasy Reality
From current time: year 1956 (If transmuted to earth-years), but it's Three Years after the Mage Wars in the world of Perigola.
Profession: A Mage Knight and once a member of the Assassin Guild. He is also the top Elemental Mage in the Ekros Axium.
Weapon of choice: Too many to count, but his favourite is his bastard sword, "Dondani Ayne," which translates to, "Death Cleaver," and another one of his favourite is his short elemental dagger forged from the black fire of Mt. Xevresh. It's name is "Goras Kolol," or in English translation, "Blade of Hellfire."
Skills: Trained in the arts of Subterfuge, Stealth and Murder. Expert in almost all weapons and different types of combat fighting. He can manipulate fire, and perhaps, a bit of water and earth.
Threat Level: 15/15
Brief History: He was taken from Wool's Orphanage to be trained as an assassin at the age of five. He became known as 'The Ghost' at the age of twelve for his silent and swift kills. He became a Mage Knight when he realized he had mage powers, and then rose to greater heights soon after. At the age of seventeen, he found out about his heritage and the whereabouts of his father. Later, he secretly massacred the entire House of Riddle and his half-siblings, and blaming the entire deed to a known Family nemesis. Once that is done, Sir Thomas Obrion aimed to dethrone the current Kings of Axrotia, "Alburos and Griswalden of the Greater Good," with the help from his many allies and devoted followers.
OUTTAKES
However, the third Riddle merely stepped to the side and let the pink jet of light sail past him, where it hit a nearby table instead.
It caused the mahogany table to skid across the marble floor with a loud scraping noise.
For a heartbeat, Hermione stared at it rather stupidly, shocked at the unexpected turn of events.
Then, slowly, very slowly, she raised her head and looked towards the man standing just five meters in front of her.
Their eyes met and locked, and she instantly knew that the warrior had somehow broken through her compulsion again.
Shite!
He must have realized this too because he soon dove towards the pile of weapons discarded on the floor, grabbed a short sword, and was on her in a flash. His movements were a blur that her eyes had trouble tracking him down.
Hermione only had the time to twist to the side before he grabbed her shoulder.
There was a ripping sound, she felt the neckline of her shirt tore when she was heaved up. Then, there was the rush of wind, the feel of heat against her, and the unmistakable masculine scent as the warrior dashed at break-neck speed to the nearest table, and slammed her right on top of it.
BAM! CRACK!
Hermione's back hit the surface of the table so hard that she could feel the wood splinter beneath her.
"GAH!" The sudden move had knocked the breath out of her, forcing her to expel most of the air in her lungs that she was left gasping and coughing afterwards.
She also felt rather than saw her wand being thrown to the side.
And without even pausing, the warrior covered her mouth with his hand, perhaps to prevent her from spouting out commands. His fingerpads and his short nails bit into the thin skin of her face, clamping and squeezing her cheeks so tight - and unforgivingly - that it brought tears of pain from her eyes.
She started struggling and bucking against him, discovering almost at once that Riddle was standing in between her legs, and her skirt had rolled up and pooled around her hips sometime when she had been shoved unto the table.
Yet she didn't stop her attempts to break free from him.
The table groaned and rattled beneath her, and threatening to collapse as she wriggled and trashed. Splinters of wood pricking and chafing against her back right through the cloth of her shirt, when she began to use her knee to hit Riddle's side.
THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! were the sounds when her knee hit that well-defined muscles of his torso.
Alternately, from her left to her right, she slammed her knee against his ribs.
THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!
Once, twice, three times, frantically trying to dislodge him from her, while the bastard began to raise his sword slowly upwards. His face remained expressionless even when she was still hitting him.
At the same time, she used her other hand to scratch the forearm and the hand that was covering her mouth, digging her nails into it and trying to bite his palm with her teeth.
But his skin didn't break; it looked like he was coated with a layer of magic that prevented her from inflicting physical injury on him.
"Gororkavoshka nakalem," the third Riddle snarled at her, blue eyes glittering brightly with a kind of power that completely frightened her.
Still, Hermione didn't give up.
Bending up her leg towards her chest - uncaring if Riddle saw her goddamn knickers and even perhaps bit of her flesh - Hermione tried to kick him in the face, but he hastily jerked his head to the side and out of the way, where Hermione's entire leg went pass his shoulder.
She tried to kick him again with her other leg.
However, once more, Riddle evaded her attack, but to Hermione's utter shock, he bit down on her shin as soon as her leg swept pass, like a friggin' animal, locking her leg over his shoulder in place.
She felt Riddle's teeth on her, sensed his hot mouth on her skin; replete with those silken lips, the moistness of his tongue and the rasp of his breath.
The hell?! What kind of barbaric world did this Riddle come from?! was her screeching thought as she felt him, alongside the flash of pain from the bite.
But he was not yet done. No, he wasn't. He followed his savage bite by slamming her unto the table. HARD.
THUMP! CRACK! the furniture splintered some more and shuddered beneath her. She gasped, her back arching, and let out a yelp in both pain and indignation when Riddle's perfectly-strong-teeth sunk into her deeply; drawing blood.
Her screech of outrage and agony was muffled by his hand.
Hermione wondered what the other two Riddles must be thinking at the moment as they watched them, with both of her legs flung over the third Riddle's shoulder, and him pressing her tightly against the table, they must have looked like they were doing something else, except for the sword that was poised over her head and ready to impale her on the table any second now.
And as the gleaming weapon began to descend on her fast - towards her heart - her senses went into hyper-overdrive, adrenaline rushed into her bloodstream, and hijacked her mind, instinct and sheer desperation spurred her to react fast.
REPULSO!
It had been a while since she was able to cast a wandless magic.
A red string of light instantaneously surged from the tip of her fingers, and with a sharp subsequent CRACK! CRACK ! CRACK, like the snap of a whip - it hit Riddle's hand, generating a flare of sparks as it continued to whirl and snap until Riddle was forced to release his grip from her mouth.
Red welt marks began appearing on the man's face, exposed chest and hands, while Hermione kept her hand pointed towards him.
But the sword was still descending on her, and when she felt the kiss of the cold blade sliced through cloth and skin – though not deep enough to shear muscles and bone - a hissed of pain escape from between her lips.
Her Repulso spell disintegrated, faded with one final snap and a CRACK! against Riddle's naked chest, which forced him to stop biting her.
She managed to avoid most of the sword's deadly descent, and it stabbed straight into the table, sinking through the wood, where the table finally broke down with a resounding CRASH!
However, she surged upwards towards Riddle and brought a hand to grab a hold of his shoulder and stop herself from falling unto the floor, while she used her other hand to touch the snake tattoo on his neck.
The only option she could think of regaining back control over him.
And at once, the warrior stiffened against her and Hermione felt the jolt of electrical current tingling from her fingers – from the point of contact - before it spread to the rest of her body.
There was rush of that unknown emotion flooding her senses once more, which left her breathless and dazed as she met Riddle's stare.
The warrior's blue eyes had turned tumultuous and dark.
"Don't kill me," she managed to gasp out, still touching the snake tattoo on his neck, which began to writhed and hissed.
Despite the language barrier, she hoped that her command would work.
"Don't kill me," she repeated, almost a whimper.
Then, Riddle's pupils slowly began to dilate, his breathing became rugged.
"Don't kill me, don't kill me, don't kill me." She continued to murmur, kneading the tattoo on his neck.
She felt him tremble against her, straining and fighting against her compulsion, before he ultimately gave in.
Soon, he was pressing against her tightly for a different reason, his face burying on the side of her neck. She could hear his slow, gasping breath while he gingerly remove her legs from his shoulders, and hitched them on either side of his lean hips, aligning her against something hard and hot.
Hermione's breathing stuttered, her fingers digging into his shoulder when he rolled his hip against her, sparking an alien and fiery heat straight to her core.
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The Wicked Four