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Two Steps From Hell	By : Ssserpensssotia Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 30375 -:- 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
- 19
- 20
- 21
a/n
Hi!
A lot of questions are answered in this chapter, as I decided that Voldemort and Lucius could explain it better than I could in any a/n. And they're better storytellers :)
This is the last chapter for the second part. While I have not planned on having any sort of lemon in the 2nd part, it ran away from me, and therefore, there is a lemon in this chapter. I didn't go in details, as the adult part comes only in the 3rd installment.
I have changed the summary, as I find it more fitting now, when I have reached the 3rd part of the story. I added a/n to the first chapter, so if you're interested, you can read it. I also named all the chapters as there are many now, and it's easier that way.
Thank you for your great feedback! We have already established that I'm a sucker for reviews, so I won't go in details :)
Your reviews are greatly appreciated.
Beta: Serpent In Red
xxx
Two Steps From Hell
xxx
Chapter Twenty
His lips were so tender that as she kissed him, she couldn't help but bite the lower lip and lick the wound with her tongue.
Her high-heel clad foot slowly crawled up the hard ass as she lay on the bed under Marvolo, and Hermione wanted to roar from pleasure. The mental walls were down; his emotions was mixed with hers, arousal and desire were multiplied, and pleasure was shared.
They were one person now, and the main dish had not even been touched yet.
She felt complete.
She felt him press hard against her, and Hermione felt all her nerve ends electrify.
He drove her crazy; he was like a drug.
And she was already addicted.
When she thought about who she was now undressing, whose silky shirt she was now ripping apart, when she thought about the power she had over him now, Hermione couldn't breathe from her arousal.
He was hers.
She was an eighteen-year-old Muggle-born who had a kind of power, no matter which type, over the most powerful wizard in centuries.
She was in bed with the Dark Lord.
And it turned her on.
The lips were now moving down, and Hermione bit her lip not to moan when she felt hot breath on her nipple. Only the thin dress was now separating the lips and her breast.
Just how turned on could she get?
"No rules."
Hermione's loud moan echoed in her bedroom, as the dress was vanished and the lips closed over her erect nipple.
Her hands suddenly felt naked back, as the clothing was now fully gone, and as she looked into pale blue eyes with large pupils, Hermione could only lean up, claiming those sensual lips for herself.
-
Skin on skin contact was making it hard to breathe, and she felt Marvolo’s lips descend lower, leaving wet kisses all over her stomach and then thighs, and when the talented tongue finally touched her erect bud of nerves, she screamed.
-
She was biting his shoulder, leaving blood trails on the smooth skin as he took her slowly but steadily. Her legs were around his waist, and she was looking into pale-blue eyes.
-
She was on all fours, moaning in pleasure as he took her from behind, with one hand on her waist and the other gripping her hair before pulling her body up so that she was standing on her knees with her back to Marvolo, as he continued the fast pace. Her dry lips found his mouth, and she devoured the tender lips as a wave of pleasure washed over her body and mind.
-
Everything went black for a second, and Hermione would have thought that this was it, that she had died from pleasure, could she think. She could only feel.
She was riding her fourth orgasm as Marvolo suddenly turned them over and she was now sitting on him.
Her throat was sore from the moans, but she wanted more.
She sounded like one of those whores from porn movies, but she did not care now.
Hermione couldn’t hold the pace anymore as it was simply maddening, and she was thankful for the hands that held her tight, as now Marvolo was pushing up while she was pushing down, and Hermione grabbed the silky black hair with both hands, sitting in his lap, sucking his bottom lip between her—their—moans.
-
The lips were now slow and sensual, and Hermione's hand was combing through the black silky hair.
She was half-sitting, half-lying on Marvolo, and her shaking body was held by two elegant hands that slowly drew lines on her naked behind.
She couldn't think about anything and anyone but her lover. She was still high from all the pleasure, and her body was so tired that if it hadn't been for the body beneath her, she would have fallen asleep.
The gentle lips were now on her neck, and Hermione wiggled in pleasure.
She wanted more.
A throaty chuckle left those perfect lips that had given her such pleasure today, and the next second, Hermione was turned to the side with Marvolo behind her.
She wanted this night to never end.
xxx
Hermione opened her eyes and blinked the sleep away. What a dream!
With a sting to her stomach, Hermione understood it hadn't been a dream when she felt the soreness as she stretched in her bed, and when she tried to sit up, Hermione found out she could barely sit straight.
Dear God!
Hermione quickly turned to the side to see if Marvolo was still here but found herself alone in the bedroom.
What had she expected?
Hermione could barely comprehend what had happened in the night—and before, during her mental breakdown—but she didn't regret anything.
She had been afraid in the beginning that Voldemort would be very rough and show his sadistic side, but she found out that he could be very gentle, and the introduction to carnal pleasures was the same as to the Dark Arts when he had taught her. Hermione understood that tonight had been an exception, and later—at that thought her already sore parts clenched in anticipation—he would show her everything.
Hermione had been a virgin, but she had watched TV and she read a lot. But she had never known that men could last that long.
Marvolo had to special in this area as well.
"Occlumency."
Hermione's eyes darted to the door where Marvolo was standing, leaning a bit on the doorframe, and her heart missed a beat as she looked at him.
She had slept with him.
She tasted him and his lips had been there.
She knew every birthmark he had as her lips had marked every piece of his skin. He knew her every curve as he wasn't greedy in bed and gladly pleasured her body.
He was too good to be true.
Marvolo had the deep purple trousers on, and the white shirt was in one piece now, but the vest and the tie were missing.
His hair was styled again—she really made a mess with it—and Hermione blushed as she looked him in the eye.
She needed to buy a new concealer—for the theatre—because her standard color would not remove the blush that would now always stay on her face when she looked at Marvolo.
To say the night had been interesting would be an insult.
It was magical.
And he was still here.
"Occlumency?" Hermione asked, licking her lips, as Marvolo stepped into the room and sat on the bed near her.
"Mhm. You can control all your physical reactions with Occlumency. The stronger the Occlumens, the longer the finale can be postponed."
Hermione couldn't hide the smile that spread over her lips at his playful tone.
She so wanted to touch his face that she couldn't stop her hand when it reached out, and her fingertips slowly traced the elegant lips.
She felt the fire burn again as her fingertips were sucked into the hot mouth, and Hermione kicked the blanket away, crawling over to the sitting figure before putting her hands around his neck while sitting into his lap, not ashamed of her nudity. He had already told her to never be ashamed in bed and not to be afraid to do anything she wanted.
He allowed her everything.
"Eager, aren't we?"
Hermione smiled as she sucked his earlobe.
She wasn't the only one eager here judging by the hardness she could feel through the silk trousers.
"Very." Hermione bit the earlobe and was rewarded when she felt those brilliant hands lift her a bit higher in his lap.
What did she say?
xxx
The coffee she was drinking was hot but not scalding hot, just like her husband liked.
Narcissa tried not to think where her husband was, but she had an idea—she wasn't an idiot—and while she didn't have to like it, she had to allow it.
Lucius could be gentle and even soft with her, but he was a sadist and he enjoyed pain, and Narcissa wasn't a masochist so she had to let her husband do what he wanted to do with other women.
He had always been careful, and she never knew the exact moments when he was unfaithful, and his outlets had never opened their mouths and blabbered. She didn't know what Lucius did to them to keep quiet—she didn't want to know—but she was grateful for it.
She had fallen in love with him in Hogwarts and not for his gorgeous looks or his name. She was extremely lucky with her parent's choice. It was a marriage between a Black and a Malfoy, but also of wife and man. She fell for Lucius, knowing what he was, and while Narcissa did not approve his more darker nature, she loved him.
He made her happy, he did everything she wanted, and he had given her a son. He had given her everything she had dreamed of—Blacks were pure-bloods, but nowhere near equivalent to the Malfoys when it came to money—and together with how well he could satisfy all her needs, Narcissa couldn't really complain. The nightmarish year was over, and now she was the First Lady of magical Great Britain.
She was afraid, however, that Lucius might snap from all the pressure the Dark Lord was putting on him, and therefore, she closed her eyes to the fact that it had been a ninth night in a half a year that Lucius had not spent the night home. Before the Dark Lord returned, her husband had spent only three nights in seventeen years away.
Narcissa understood why her beloved husband started to frequent with nightly absence.
His inner monster was waking up.
She didn't like the changes in her husband, and she knew whom was to blame.
The Dark Lord had a far bigger influence on Lucius now, and there was nothing she could do.
Knowing that tonight had been the Sand fest—a horrible and perverted event—Narcissa did not even doubt that Lucius had spent the whole night in the Sahara. And with the way the Dark Lord looked now, she was sure Lucius was not alone.
It would not surprise her as Lucius had met Lord Voldemort at such a Sand fest all those years ago. He knew Lord Voldemort whom his father served, but he did not know the man behind the persona.
They enjoyed the same things.
It was eight in the morning, and her husband was nowhere to be seen.
She needed to check the new updated catalogues from Dior and Cartier.
A new necklace was a minimum Lucius would gladly buy for her understanding attitude.
As Narcissa was about to order a house-elf to bring the catalogue from the library, she saw Lucius Apparate into the lobby.
Judging by his not-so-stable stand and the hand over his eyes, Lucius was drunk and not from pleasure only.
Wonderful.
She was going to order a whole catalogue.
xxx
Draco was buying the new books—he really liked Transfiguration—when he saw black messy hair and round spectacles outside the bookstore. While Draco was allowed to leave Hogwarts from time to time, it wasn't often he went to Diagon Alley or Knockturn Alley.
And he saw Potter!
Draco wanted to run out, but he had to walk slowly and with grace—like a true Malfoy—and as he finally entered the Knockturn Alley, he saw Potter disappear into one of the buildings.
Draco squinted his eyes as he looked around before entering after Potter. He hadn't seen the scar-face since May, and now he wanted to see the Gryffindor and laugh into his face.
As Draco slowly walked into a bar—a bar!—his searching grey eyes met green, clouded gaze with enlarged pupils.
Draco almost gasped, but he managed to control himself.
Potter was high.
Well, well, well …
xxx
The wards around her apartment had been raised by Marvolo as soon as he had Apparated here last night, and no one would be able to enter—or to hear anything. Therefore, Hermione did not need to worry about Ron showing up and seeing Voldemort—Marvolo—sitting in her bright red chair with her on his lap, the coffee and breakfast getting cold on the table as her moans once again filled the apartment.
She was even more sick than she had previously thought.
xxx
"Your assignment for the Mind Arts test is in the Pensieve. You should have no problems adding the layers now."
He was sitting in the red chair—he liked it—and now he was fully dressed, but somehow he knew he would not leave without one more round.
He had never spent so much time with one woman, but then again, he had never met anyone who could compare to his Mudblood.
If he had thought she had been eager with her studies, then "nymphomaniac" was the only word to describe her in bed. He had been gentle at first, and he had been rough later on, but he hadn't shown Hermione the darker aspects of pleasure.
Yet.
He couldn't be more pleased with the way his Mudblood was turning out.
He really should punish Hermione now, but he knew the reason why she had reacted the way she had. She was starting to learn the Mind Arts and her mind was open to any strong emotional influences. She would not have reacted like an insane jealous wife had he levelled the emotions for her—she couldn't do it yet because her professor was an idiot—but he didn't want to. Hermione was now studying the Dark Arts and the Mind Arts alongside with Transfiguration, Charms, and Arithmancy, and her mental stability had started to crack. A bit, but the process began. He was the only one who could stop it, but he didn't want to. He wanted to see it all.
He really needed to sleep now—even Masters of Death needed rest after such a marathon—and he was a man. Their first intercourse lasted over three hours, and while he did fall asleep for an hour—for the first time in his life he slept near another person—it wasn't enough, as he then had had to hold his Occlumency shields in a death grip for another three times.
She was insatiable, but he didn't complain.
Hermione was wearing only the red silky bathrobe, and he could clearly see her toned body.
After the stunt with the bell—ingenious—and the dagger—he had lost control and finally took his Mudblood—Voldemort thought she could not surprise him more.
And he was mistaken.
He hadn't planned on taking her so early, but she managed to push his hand when no one else could.
She was like a Pandora's box, and he opened it.
"How could I thank you?"
He really enjoyed her newfound side.
Voldemort smiled when the bathrobe was now on the floor, and Hermione stood before him in all her naked glory.
What did he say?
xxx
Lucius was sitting behind his desk when Andrea knocked, and after he allowed her to enter, she brought him the new stack of documents.
He had not slept, and while he was sober now—Narcissa made him drink the Sobering Potion before pushing him towards the shower and shoving a new catalogue into his hands—he was still tired.
Yes, yes. He knew he had to make it up to her for his behaviour, but even the whole catalogue of jewellery could not make him regret the night. He would go the next time for the whole three days that the Sand fest lasted.
He had let go, and after seventeen years, he felt like a newborn.
He wanted to sleep, but he had so much work, that after showering and changing clothes—he was a Malfoy and the Minister—Lucius returned to the Ministry.
Sleepless nights as a Death Eater was something he was used to.
One did not make money or rule a country without spending a lot of time up.
The only person who slept less than him was his Lord.
As his secretary left the room, Lucius leaned back into the chair, one hand holding a cup with hot coffee and the other one with the papers from the stack.
The quality of the paper was worse than the toilet paper in Hog's Head.
The Ministry had the best, the softest toilet paper—he demanded best quality everywhere. However, there was no signet on the toilet paper as one did not wipe their asses with his Ministry. Or Merlin forbid with a Dark Mark …
Lucius would have wiped his hands—or put on his leather gloves—had his hands been free.
Who dared to write to him on such a piece of trash?
Lucius's quick, smart eyes took in the contents of the letter, and the next second, an honest laughter filled the Minister's oval office.
xxx
Harry was drinking his fifth glass of sparkling water, and he had to admit it tasted good.
Malfoy was sitting opposite of him, with a hanging jaw and round eyes.
While Harry wasn't happy that Malfoy found out his secret, he wasn't very worried. Who cared if it became a known fact that he was a drug addict now? Everyone that cared for him was dead—or in Voldemort's grasp—and Harry just didn't give a fuck anymore.
He gave his life—and not only once—to help everyone, and what did he get in return?
Fucktards.
There was no resistance when Voldemort took over, and now, everyone on the streets looked happier than before.
Stupid sheep.
Dumbledore had been wrong.
And Voldemort had been right all along.
There was no good or evil; there was only power.
He would say he hated Dumbledore more than he hated Voldemort. At least Voldemort wasn't a hypocrite and a liar, and he did what he needed to do himself, unlike one lying, too-good-to-kill-myself-so-you'll-do-it old coot.
If only Dumbledore got down from his high horse and actually fought Voldemort himself, Harry was sure the world would look different.
However, what was done, was done, and Harry wasn't so sure anymore what was good and what was evil.
The borders were becoming more transparent with each passing day.
He had gotten a reality check when Harry had met Voldemort after the Duel and they talked. Just talked.
He talked to Voldemort, and he didn't regret it. The conversation opened his eyes and cleared his ears.
The point of no return had been when Voldemort told him that Albus Dumbledore had been a water elemental in addition to having the same power level as Voldemort and having a fully functioning Elder Wand.
And Dumbledore put all the shit on Harry's shoulders with veiled hints and double-meaning phrases as his only guidance.
It was like telling a five-year-old child to cook a soup for a five-star restaurant and then be all sorry and sad when the soup ended up on the floor and the child burned from the boiling water. It was the chef's job from the very beginning, and toddlers had nothing to do in kitchen with boiling pots around.
"Want one, Malfoy?" Harry asked, holding small pills in his palm.
The wizarding equivalent of Muggle Ecstasy was much better and had a longer-lasting effect.
He saw Draco bit his lip, and as Harry was about to take away his hand and swallow the pills himself—he wasn't a fucking charity to share with everyone—he saw Malfoy tentatively reach for it.
Well, well, well …
Lucius was going to flip out.
And Harry didn't give a fuck.
He knew he had snapped, and while at first it horrified him, now it didn't matter.
Nothing mattered anymore.
Normal was overrated anyway.
Fuck them all.
As Harry took the rest of the drugs, he thought he needed to order more.
He was a Potter, and he had money.
Harry didn't care about anything now but the drugs, as they allowed him not to think about what he was turning into. It was a devil's circle that he couldn't break anymore.
"Say, Malfoy. Want to play Quidditch?"
Harry saw Draco's eyes widen in surprise before he laughed.
"Bring it on, Potter."
xxx
Ron was sitting in the Three Broomsticks as he awaited for the owner of the team to show up—he was already two hours late, and Ron did not even know his name—and as he drank his cold water—he couldn't afford to order anything else—he saw a figure with pale-blond hair and holding a familiar, silver snake-headed cane stop before his table.
Ron would have opened his mouth to tell Malfoy Senior that the table was taken, when he understood everything.
He wasn't a dimwit.
Malfoy was the owner of the team now, and Ron would have to ask Malfoy—Lucius for Hermione—for the job.
Why did the Fates hate him so much?
xxx
Lucius could barely contain his amusement as he took in the pathetic form of the Weasley.
As he saw the glass with water and the second-hand clothes—even his house-elves had better clothing—he barely stopped a laugh from escaping his lips.
His hard work to destroy the Weasleys was paying off, and with the help of Lord Voldemort—did he mention that his Lord was a genius?—he would finish that pathetic family even before the year would be over.
If anyone hired a Weasley, the Ministry would close the business—it wasn't hard to find or fabricate tax evasion—and now, no one wanted to play Russian Roulette with him in charge of the Ministry.
Lord Voldemort, Lucius, and the Lestranges were the only people who did not pay taxes. He didn't pay them because he did not have to—his Lord's direct words—and Lord Voldemort did not pay taxes because he was the Dark Lord.
And Dark Lords did not pay taxes.
This Weasley would have to pay the taxes though, and seeing that he fell into the fifth tax category—pure-blood traitor who took an active part in the rebellion, just like the Longbottoms and the Lovegoods—he would have to give away seventy-five percent of his income.
And with the new property taxes he had invented—he was a bastard, but he enjoyed it—the Weasleys would have to pay around five hundred Galleons at the end of the year if they wanted to keep their barn.
If they didn't, they could move to France, if they found the money. But then he'd press charges for tax evasion and put them all to Azkaban.
He could just put them there—he was the Minister, and his word was the law—but Lord Voldemort demanded to proceed differently.
He wasn't sure how it was possible to live such a life in such conditions. Filthy, pathetic Muggle lovers who did not know any Contraceptive Charms did not deserve to live normally in their world.
The prices were set specifically for the Weasleys—a wand cost seven Galleons, and now they couldn't even afford one—and for other participants of the rebellion. The society was on Lord Voldemort's side now.
And not one ex-enemy would leave the country before his Lord was finished with them.
And Lucius couldn't wait to see Arthur and his womb of a wife crash down and burn.
He hated the Weasleys.
The enemies didn't have to be destroyed with magic, when they could be destroyed financially and morally.
The destruction had not even started yet, but they all thought that that was it, that it couldn't get worse.
It could and it would.
His Lord was such a genius that Lucius felt dumb sometimes.
And if Lucius felt dumb, then he didn't know what other people felt in Lord Voldemort's presence.
He would surprise Arthur a bit later, when he—or Rabastan—would boot his only daughter from Hogwarts just before the exams for yet undecided reason—money, behaviour, or stupidity, or altogether. That would be fun.
He would hit only then, when the damage caused would be the highest.
He did not want to spoil the surprise.
"You asked to talk to me, Weasley?"
Lucius asked after ordering the most expensive wine this trash hole had.
He could see the angry blush spread over the pale face, and Lucius knew that he'd enjoy this conversation.
It was good to be him.
xxx
Hermione turned off the light in her bedroom, as it was time to sleep. She had read a book, but it was late, and she wanted to have a good night rest. The pillow smelled like Marvolo, and Hermione closed her eyes with a stupid smile on her face.
She knew sex was something to enjoy, but what she had felt with Voldemort was incredible. He had left after helping with the Pensieve, and Hermione had to admit his way of building the landscape was much more logical and more efficient than the crap Chantel had blabbered.
He was the same Hood he had been before their intercourse, and while she blushed from time to time when he would smirk or lick his lips, she could get her mind out of the gutter when needed.
While Hermione was really ashamed for her behaviour—and was extremely thankful that Voldemort closed his eyes this one time on her irrational behavior—and Voldemort wasn't her boyfriend or anything like that, she wanted his attention. And she was grateful he didn't stab her back, as he could have done instead of simply removing the dagger from his shoulder.
She dared to hurt Lord Voldemort and lived to tell the tale. Hermione understood that the only reason he had not killed her with the same dagger was because she hadn't aimed to kill—it would have been fruitless anyway—and stabbed him to cause pain only. And it looked like it really impressed him.
He was so brilliant, so charming, and he was like this with only her. Hermione felt special even though she understood that Voldemort definitely had something planned for her, and while she could only guess, she couldn't change anything.
Hermione would see him almost daily, and she would rely on his knowledge and support, no matter what he wanted from her, because she had no one else to turn to. He was her guardian, and she could not escape him.
She had chosen "sex only" not because she didn't want Voldemort, but because her conscious wouldn't allow to choose the other option. If she became an item with Lord Voldemort, she would have to accept all his sides, and his dark side horrified her.
She was a good person, she was Light, and she couldn't imagine herself standing near Voldemort when he would burn people or torture his own followers. Hermione could not stop her own body, but she could control her mind.
Even if she wanted to be with him, she wouldn't. She couldn't.
He was just too evil, and Hermione could not imagine spending her life with someone like that.
Now, when they had had sex, she knew that he would start dragging her deeper and deeper into the webs he was building—she wasn't blind, nor was she stupid—but Hermione wasn't so sure anymore she would mind.
She just hoped he had nothing bad planned for her.
xxx
If Lucius continued performing like he did …
It was a blessing to have one person who could juggle finances and politics in both countries while also being a pure-blood dark wizard that had many good qualities. He was the epitome of what Voldemort saw as a perfect Death Eater. While Lucius was slippery and he wasn't the bravest of his Death Eaters, he was perfect for the new world Voldemort was building.
Lucius tried to fight his darkness for seventeen years, and now, he unleashed it, and there was no way out for Lucius. Not anymore.
He would have to get rid of Narcissa and Malfoy junior if they tried to interfere, but Lucius would be his.
He was not going to do all the insane paperwork by himself, and judging by the state of disturbance in Italy, it looked like he would get even more work.
While Rabastan was also very good, he wasn't a financial guru, and if Lord Voldemort hated any branch of magic, it were the finances and the diplomatic idiocy, alongside with the paperwork and bureaucracy.
It wasn't his fault that there were so little competent wizards and witches around, and they were all mortal.
He was the Master of Death, and all of him was immortal.
At first, he wasn't sure, but he tested on Nagini, and now he knew for sure.
Voldemort smiled as he thought about Hermione's reaction if she found out that she couldn't die unless he would kill her himself or removed the Horcrux.
As he was immortal, then his Horcruxes were also immortal, and that was why he had decided to remove the Horcrux from Nagini and put it into Lucius.
He didn't care about his soul and it was sort of remote control, and while he could make more Horcruxes—he would—he didn't see the need to do it soon when he already had two parts of his soul walking—and slithering—around.
Nagini was his familiar, but Lucius was way more productive—Voldemort did not need to interfere, not even once, with any financial or political decision Lucius had made—so Nagini would have to be separated from the Horcrux and die.
It was a pity, but it wasn't a tragedy.
And Hermione …
She was so interesting that she had his full attention now.
She had the head role in his little spectacle, and he hoped she would perform exactly as he had planned.
If she didn't, then his plans for Lucius would crash and he couldn't allow it.
He needed someone smart enough to stay in control of his empire, and he wasn't going to teach a new wizard every ten years.
He wanted to have the freedom to do anything he wished while not having to worry about details.
And that meant that Lucius's financial and political brilliance would be his biggest achievement and biggest curse at the same time.
The Horcrux in Hermione showed him how well the remote control worked, so why not control Lucius fully and—if he so wished—forever.
The Horcrux could be put to a much better use than just sleeping in Nagini.
Lucius was going to be the Minister of Magic for as long as Lucius lived. And with the immortal Horcrux inside, Lucius Malfoy would live for as long as Lord Voldemort wished.
Eternal Minister.
And he would not have to worry about anything—no inside politics, no financials, and no need for direct management. He could spend his time reading, researching, or torturing someone. There was a reason he didn't get into politics after Hogwarts, like everyone had expected.
Those themes combined pissed him off too much that had he taken the post of the Minister for himself, he would kill everyone even before the first meeting was over.
He could not tolerate idiots, and there were too many around.
He could see all their thoughts, no secrets hidden from his view.
While he could take the post of the Minister for himself, he didn't want that. He'd have one person to deal with it all.
And he would have the time for someone else.
Hermione would show him the brightest—the strongest—positive colors of the emotional spectrum before he would drag her down. He would catch her before she would hit the bottom, and he would allow her to fly up in the skies before pulling the leash down. And then up.
Down and up. Up and down.
Before she was ready.
And then, he could do what he had planned.
Lord Voldemort smiled as he watched Potter buy the new dose of the drugs from the dealer who worked for Lucius. Who did not work for Lucius?
His Harry had snapped—he made sure—and now, Potter was like a stone, rolling down the hill.
And he, Lord Voldemort, was controlling the angle of the rolling stones.
It could be vertical.
If Harry didn't go totally crazy or die from the overdose, he'd come to him soon.
Potter had a sweet tooth now, and Voldemort had all the cookies.
He did not forget about anyone on the Light side.
He would destroy them all, one by one, while also keeping his promise to Hermione to not target them physically or magically.
Hermione had not thought about finances and things like public image when she made the oath.
A Gryffindor.
He would not target them magically, but he would destroy them mentally and sit back to watch the show.
Like a Slytherin.
No one crossed him and got away with it.
Hermione included.
xxx
March
Hermione stretched, and with still closed eyes, she let her hand wander to her right, where a warm body had been only a few hours ago.
As her hand touched the empty space, Hermione opened her eyes, and with a disappointed sigh, she got out of her bed.
Marvolo had left early, just like he had said, but she still hoped to feel him near when she woke up.
She was an idiot, and she knew it.
As she sat in the bright red chair, Hermione looked over her notes for today's practical test in the Mind Arts, not wanting to miss anything as the bitch—Chantel—would try her damnedest to lower Hermione's mark. And Hermione had no intentions to get anything else but Outstanding.
It had been Voldemort who had taught her the basic Mind Arts, as it just wasn't working with the Mind Arts professor, and while she did not trust Lord Voldemort, she trusted the Hood.
Carefully picking the Pensieve—it was hers now—Hermione checked the created layers.
It was perfect.
xxx
"Chudley Cannons take over the leadership in the World Cup series!"
Lucius looked at the headline as he drank his third cup of coffee, and a pleased smile appeared on his face.
One month and the team was bringing in money instead of losing it.
The merchandise and ticket sales skyrocketed when he took over—Ministry's officially supported team—and the amount of new fans was astonishing.
He kicked all the idiots from the team and bought all the best ones from other teams—who could say "no" to him?—and now, the team was on the way to become the World Champion.
If only he could get his Lord to somehow show support for the team …
Lucius might not be the most powerful with magic, but there was no one who could overpower him on the business market.
He felt his Mark burn, and while Lucius did not break in cold sweat anymore when he had to meet the Dark Lord, he still wasn't sure if he would leave unscattered.
When Lucius Apparated to his Lord, his heart stopped.
On the floor, kneeling before the Dark Lord was a pale-faced Draco.
What had his son done?
xxx
"Did you understand everything, Draco?"
Lucius could breathe now, but he wouldn't be able to relax before his son left the presence of the Dark Lord.
"I did, my Lord."
Draco's voice was raspy, and Lucius knew just how nervous his son was now.
The task that Draco had been given was logical and expected, but Lucius did not expect his Lord to choose Draco for this task.
If he failed …
There would be nothing that Lucius could do.
While Lucius promised himself to keep a close eye on his son, he had no time for anything.
He had the British Ministry to run, he had the French Ministry to control through the idiot that was parading as the French Minister of Magic, he had all the finances of both countries on his shoulders, he had to control all the Law Enforcements—it was Dolohov's job, but he was an idiot and did not know what "management meant"—and now he had to find the time to supervise his only son's mission.
And with the coming takeover of Italy, it looked like Lucius would need to buy all the Pepper-Up Potions around the world.
He knew that Rabastan was also running like a squirrel in a wheel, trying to balance Hogwarts and the tasks his Lord had given him, he knew that Bellatrix and Rodolphus were busy teaching the new wave of Aurors—he could imagine what they taught them—and the rest of the Inner Circle had their own tasks, but the amount of work Lucius got was sometimes too much even for him.
And now he had to worry about his son as well.
Shit.
"Lucius."
Thank Merlin the attention was on him now and not on his son—he would take any curse for Draco—and Lucius swallowed hard before lifting his gaze to look into pale eyes.
"Yes, my Lord."
Where did he fail?
"How's Weasley?"
Lucius couldn't hold back a smile when he thought about the youngest son of Arthur Weasley.
"He's put to good use, My Lord. He cleans the changing rooms and takes care of the training pit when he isn't busy scrubbing the bathrooms."
Lucius saw a small smile on his Lord's young face, and he knew that he had done everything right.
"Are you finished with the Quidditch team?"
He would have gaped had he not been a Malfoy.
The Cannons? Since when did his Lord care about who played on the team?
"Yes, my Lord. I have the best players on their positions already."
Lucius saw his Lord nod slowly before he got up and walked towards his desk.
"I want the Seeker's position to be free."
But he had just bought Viktor Krum!
Who could be better than Krum?
"As you wish, my Lord. May I ask who should take his place?"
If his Lord wanted Hagrid to play, then Lucius would have no choice but to take Hagrid and still make the team win. Even if his Lord wanted to put Nagini on the broom, Lucius would have to accept it.
"You'll take Potter."
"Potter?!"
Lucius heard Draco exclaim, and he closed his eyes.
Shut up!
"Crucio!"
If Draco did not suffer any lasting damage, Lucius was going to Cruciate him himself when they got home.
How did he raise such an idiot?
Who opened their mouths and questioned their Lord?
The curse was lifted quickly, and Lucius had never been so grateful. He couldn't listen to his son scream like that. It was one thing when Lucius punished him, but when it was the Dark Lord …
He was a sadist but not in regards to his family.
"Young Malfoy, the only reason I will allow you to leave this room on your own is because of your father's hard work."
Had Lucius been gay, he would have kissed his Lord.
"I cannot thank you enough for your generosity, Master."
He saw his Lord shake his head at his son, and just when Lucius thought that the worst was behind, a rolled parchment appeared before his Lord.
The seal on the roll was from Illuminus—he spent four years studying there, so he could recognize the seal even from where he was standing, and, not lying, thank Merlin—and Lucius wondered as to what the Mudblood—Hermione—had done.
It looked like he wasn't the only one who did not understand what was going on, as he saw his Lord frown before touching the roll with his wand and reading the contents.
Lucius almost dropped to the floor when a searing pain burned in his Mark, and Lucius understood that this was the first time in long months when his Lord was truly enraged.
The Dark Lord was simply furious, and Lucius felt a bit sorry for the Mudblood.
Thank Merlin Draco—and him—had been called before the roll appeared, and not after …
"Dismissed, both of you. Out!"
Lucius bowed quickly before grabbing his still-shivering son, and Apparated away.
Thank you, Hermione!
xxx
Hermione was sitting in the spacious room, waiting with other students to hear her results.
Professor Chantel had a thing for dramatics, and she would tell the results in front of other students, together with the results from the Dark Arts professor .
Hermione couldn't wait to hear the bitch say "Outstanding" with a pained grimace on her stupid face.
While Professor could not stand Hermione from the very beginning, Hermione had started to feel the same only recently.
She hated the bitch.
"How do you think you did?"
Hermione turned a bit to face the girl who'd asked her.
Daphne Greengrass was the only person she knew here, and while Daphne did not take all of the Mind Arts classes, she was still present to witness the warm relationship between her and Chantel.
While at Hogwarts, Hermione had never spoken to Daphne; however, she did talk to her from time to time at Illuminus. The Greengrass family was related to the Malfoys and the Blacks, and they were now Dark fanatics to the core, but Daphne had been very polite with Hermione and Hermione did not mind their interactions.
Daphne wasn't that bad, and she was studying to become a Mediwitch, so they had shared interests.
And Daphne was the only one here who knew her guardian's identity.
"Seeing that the base had been created by … You-Know-Who—" Hermione smirked at the name and she saw Daphne smile in understanding. "—and that the directions were marked, I think I did well."
She doubted Voldemort would make a mistake with something so simple as a base level and directions.
"I still cannot imagine what it would be like to have Him as the guardian," Daphne whispered with a curious glint in her green eyes.
Hermione wanted to say it wasn't that bad, when she saw Chantel enter the room with Professor Caelius, and Hermione smiled.
She couldn't wait for her result.
xxx
"Greengrass."
Hermione knew that her name was before Daphne's, but Chantel decided to make her wait some more, and she smiled in encouragement at Daphne .
"Exceeds Expectations."
Hermione saw Daphne smile a bit.
Apparently, only Voldemort demanded Outstandings.
And her.
"The notification letter with full analysis had been already sent to your guardian."
Even when talking to a pure-blood, Professor's voice sounded nasty and almighty.
"Thank you, Professor Chantel,"Daphne thanked before sitting back and releasing a relieved breath.
"Mother will be happy."
It was Daphne's mother who demanded better results that her father.
Hermione had only one person and this person demanded perfection in everything.
As she saw Chantel smile nastily at her, Hermione's breath hitched.
She could not get Exceeds Expectations! Voldemort would kill her!
"Granger."
Hermione saw Professor Caelius's distant gaze sharpen as her name was called, and as the old Professor smiled a bit, Hermione smiled back.
She had already gotten her Outstanding for the Dark Arts test, and now both Professor Caelius and Hermione were expecting to hear one more Outstanding.
Lord Voldemort was the most powerful Legilimens and Occlumens in the world, and since the old professor knew who had helped with the test—but apparently did not share that bit with his colleague—he wasn't expecting anything else than a perfect score.
"Troll."
What did she say?
Did she hear right?
Hermione heard a sharp intake of air from Daphne and she saw huge, disbelieving eyes of the normally airy professor Caelius, before looking at the smirking face of the Mind Arts Professor.
"I have already sent out the analysis and my personal recommendations to your guardian. No wonder you cannot build anything properly, seeing that the person responsible for you has no clue what he or she is doing. The base is built not like I taught you and I have no idea who told you—or your guardian—that there was another way of building Occlumency bases. You share your mark with your guardian. Troll for the base and Troll for the added layers, as the base is all wrong."
Hermione would have mimicked Professor Caelius, who now had a hand over his mouth, and his eyes looked horrified, but she couldn't even move.
She got a Troll.
Voldemort got a Troll.
Chantel went on, not paying attention to the green face of Daphne or the quiet Professor Caelius, enjoying the moment of Hermione's humiliation.
"I have advised your guardian to attend some of my lectures and to read a few useful books before he or she starts applying their insufficient knowledge to your already unstable work. I have also expressed my concerns about your future education at Illuminus. It would do you and your guardian well to spend the money on his or her education first."
Hermione could barely hold back a laugh that wanted to escape her lips as she saw Professor Caelius gape at the bitch.
Judging by the hot pain she felt in her mind, Voldemort had already gotten the letter.
And he wasn't amused.
"Sit, Granger. I will discuss your future education later."
No problem, Hermione thought while sitting down.
If the bitch lived that long, she'd listen to her genius thoughts.
The door of the auditorium opened, and a white-faced Headmaster Darmus hobbled in on unsteady legs.
Hermione didn't even have to guess as to why the Headmaster wasn't feeling well.
Crucio and health did not mix well together.
The door closed behind a second person, and Hermione smiled.
He looked so good in silver and blue colors.
xxx
When he had gotten the letter, he had almost killed Malfoy Junior.
He, Lord Voldemort, got a Troll for a Mind Arts test for the beginners and the rest of the comments …
To say he was pissed was the same as to say he disliked Albus Dumbledore.
He had allowed this circus with the Mind Arts to last so long as he did not want to spoon-feed Hermione everything, but now, the idiot for a Professor crossed the line.
It was time to visit the University and deal with all the problems in one go.
Enough was enough.
xxx
Hermione saw Professor Caelius get up and Chantel turned around to see who had disturbed the lecture; she felt Daphne grip her hand.
"Is that Him?"
While Voldemort did not hide his looks from the public and most magazines had his picture, it was one thing to read about him and completely different to see him in reality.
One did not expect the Dark Lord of Britain and France—and Italy soon as people everywhere were stupid sheep—to come in just like that.
Only Professor Caelius recognized him. And the Headmaster, who was still twitching in aftershocks.
"Yes," Hermione whispered to Daphne quietly.
Today, he chose the silvery and blue colors, and Hermione could do nothing when her mind provided her with an image she had seen last night, when no clothes were on.
She should be thinking about what was going to happen now, and not about sex, but when she saw Voldemort—Marvolo—she could do nothing as her body craved his attention.
Just like last night.
"Professor Chantel."
Voldemort's voice was smooth and silky as he looked over the form of her Mind Arts professor, and Hermione understood that he was even more pissed than she had initially evaluated.
"Yes, I am Professor Chantel. What can I do for you?"
The bitch was now smiling, her hungry eyes taking in the silk silvery suit with the blue tie, and Hermione did not need to know Legilimency to know what the bitch was thinking about. Voldemort did look like a pure-blood and not only because of his sharp features or expensive wizarding clothing.
Dream on.
The Headmaster was now standing near Professor Caelius, and the students whispered to one another, trying to understand who it was and what was going on.
Voldemort held a scroll in his hand—with the Troll—as he slowly walked over to the still-smiling bitch before giving it to her manicured hands.
"Do you know who I am?"
Hermione could not hold back a smile at his antics. He was such a drama queen!
The pale eyes found hers, and Hermione mentally apologized—they weren't alone—before the piercing gaze landed on the redhead professor.
There were not many people in the room, but everyone watched with curiosity.
"I am afraid not. I would remember meeting someone like you."
Definitely.
She won't forget him.
Hermione could not understand when she had become so sarcastic or spiteful, but she really hated the bitch. She was worse than Umbridge, and that said a lot about Chantel.
Hermione saw Voldemort smirk—he was probably reading the thoughts of the Mind Arts professor—and as he tilted his head to the right, Hermione bit her lip.
"Open the scroll."
Hermione saw Professor Caelius smile—his idol was here and he'd get to see the show—and Hermione got up a bit from her chair to get a better view.
She wanted to see the painted face when the bitch realised whom she had given a Troll and had advised to get an education first.
Chantel winced a bit as she saw the contents of her own letter.
"You're Granger's guardian."
Hermione saw the other students look at her.
Yes, yes. Watch on.
"I am."
Voldemort was smiling slightly, and Hermione recognized the smile. It had a promise of pain written in bold letters on it.
Hermione covered her mouth with a hand so that she wouldn't laugh out loud as Chantel opened her big mouth and asked the only question that could make the situation even worse for her.
"Are you Mister Granger?"
The bark of laugh from Professor Caelius was heard in the whole auditorium, and Hermione saw Chantel turn to the old professor.
Before any question left her red lips, Voldemort finally delivered the blow.
"I am Lord Voldemort."
Surprise!
Hermione smiled as Chantel paled, and her hands started to shiver.
She wasn't that stupid when she didn't want to be. She understood everything.
Hermione held her head high as the shocked faces of the students turned to look at her.
It was good to be her.
xxx
"Everyone out."
He was not going to look into the stupid faces of imbecilic students as they gaped at him.
Voldemort saw Caelius almost cry as he started to move with rest of the fleeting body, and an idea came to him mind.
Since he came here anyway, he'd use it to the maximum.
"Caelius, you may stay."
He didn't know old people could move so quickly, Voldemort thought as Caelius ran back to his place.
The red-haired idiot—what did he say about red hair?—licked her bright-red lips—what a vulgar tone—before getting on her knees.
Even if she started to lick the floor, it would not save her.
He killed for even addressing him incorrectly, and that dimwit had managed to insult him twice.
It was time to push Hermione a bit.
xxx
Only her, Professor Caelius, Chantel, the Headmaster, and Voldemort were now in the auditorium, and Hermione watched as the bitch was now on her knees before Marvolo's tall figure.
"Hermione, come here."
It was an order, and Hermione quickly left her place and stood now near the Dark Lord.
He might be wearing light colors today, but he was anything but light.
"You understand your mistake now, don't you, professor?"
The way he had said "professor" sounded like "you piece of shit", but Voldemort was polite even when killing or torturing others.
Hermione watched with pleasure as the pale-faced Chantel looked at her with horror in her now-clear eyes.
Yes, yes. Look at me, Hermione thought, trying not to smile.
"My Lord, I beg you, forgive me. I did not know."
Hermione wondered how he'd punish the idiot. Would he just Cruciate her or kill her?
She hoped for the Crucio, but with the Dark Lord, you never knew for sure.
"Not only did you not teach my ward properly, you dared to write me this."
Voldemort had the scroll in his hand now, and as he smacked Chantel with the scroll on the face, Hermione tried not to smile.
She had dreamed about doing it herself.
"You have no clue what you're teaching, and the only reason you're still allowed to hold this position is because you provide your other services for the Headmaster."
Hermione quickly looked at the green face of Headmaster Darmus and then at the euphoric face of her Dark Arts Professor, who seemed to enjoy the show so much that Hermione started to worry for his old heart.
Well, well, well …
Now it was clear as to why the bitch was allowed to continue with her nasty attitude.
"I can see your pathetic mind even without using full-force Legilimency, and you dared to tell me that I was an uneducated, talentless amateur?"
Oi, oi. He was really pissed.
She'd have a new Mind Arts Professor soon.
"Ple-please forgive me, my Lord. Please!"
Wailing did not help when dealing with Lord Voldemort. It only pissed him off more.
"Crucio!"
What did she say?
Hermione looked at the ecstatic Dark Arts Professor and then at the pale-blue eyes that were watching her closely.
Voldemort lifted the curse as he turned to Professor Caelius.
"When do you start with the Unforgivables, Caelius?"
Wait a minute …
"In one month, my Lord."
Did absolutely everyone call him "My Lord"? Was she really the only one who did not?
"You are." Voldemort was smiling slightly, and Hermione blushed a bit.
What did he mean with the question? Did he want her to cast the curse?
As Hermione saw Marvolo's smile broaden, her heart skipped a beat but not because of arousal.
He wanted her to cast the Cruciatus, and Hermione wasn't sure how she felt about it.
"You know the incantation, Hermione. Allow your anger to leave you, allow your hate to direct your magic, and you'll see the result. Cast it."
No, no, no.
She wasn't ready—she would never be ready—to torture a person, with the Cruciatus especially.
"I said cast it!"
Hermione wished to see Professor Caelius's or the Headmaster's faces, or Chantel's mad eyes, but she was looking directly into the pale-blue eyes, and she could not tear her gaze away.
"It will not work."
She wasn't a sadist, and the Cruciatus would fail. Better not to cast it at all.
"Don't test my patience, Hermione."
The lips that had pleasured her last night were not smirking anymore, and Hermione understood that this was it.
She had to cast the Cruciatus or she'd pay dearly.
Her wand trembled a bit as she raised it, and when she felt Marvolo stand directly behind her, Hermione had cast the curse. She could not watch Chantel's pleading eyes.
"Crucio!"
The power of the spell was not anywhere near Voldemort's—it was so weak that it was barely there—but as Chantel's screams filled the air, Hermione shivered.
Suddenly, she felt pleasure move up her arm as she still held the curse, and as she heard soft whispering into her ear, guiding her, the screams raised in volume. Voldemort was helping her, and he was standing so close that she felt his warmth, and the power of the curse increased.
The figure of the nasty Professor who did everything to humiliate Hermione was now thrashing on the floor, and Hermione did not have a mirror or else she'd see her reflection smile.
Hermione did not see Professor Caelius and Headmaster quietly and quickly leave the room at Voldemort's nod as she was busy with the curse, but as she felt familiar, elegant hands lift her dress and those genius lips on her neck, she moaned in pleasure.
Her mind was empty, and Hermione closed her eyes as she felt Marvolo enter her from behind, slowly taking her, all the while with her hand holding the wand. Voldemort's one hand was closed around her arm, and Hermione was in heaven.
Her moans were the only sound in the room as Chantel stopped screaming, but Hermione did not notice it as she was busy with more important things.
Only when Voldemort released her after they both came did Hermione remember where she was and what she was doing.
Oh my god!
Hermione's gasp of horror was followed by quiet laughing from behind her, and as she looked at the opened, unseeing eyes of Professor Chantel, Hermione dropped her wand.
"What can I say, Hermione. Outstanding."
She had tortured her Mind Arts professor to a brain-dead state with the Cruciatus while fucking with Lord Voldemort in the auditorium of Illuminus University of Magic.
What kind of monster was she?
"My favourite." Voldemort's laughing blue eyes were watching her with interest, and Hermione could not breathe from the horror.
What had she done?
"Don't mind her. It happens so often. One less, one more. I'll get you a new professor, a better one." Voldemort had his head tilted to the right, and his pale eyes were shining with mirth.
This was a person, not a bag, or pair of shoes! It wasn't even a chicken—it was a human! And she roasted its brains.
"Are you hungry? I know this wonderful place in Venice where they have the best pasta and the freshest vegetables in the whole world. And the view is simply mind-blowing."
Voldemort was standing near her, smiling at her shocked face, all the while joking using double-meaning phrases.
"How can I think about food when I just killed a person?!"
Hermione gaped at her lover as he clicked his tongue and widened his eyes in mock surprise.
"And? If everyone thought like that, then I would not have even one Death Eater. They would all starve."
Hermione could not believe it was happening. Could he shut up?
"Would you stop it?!"
Hermione cried in anger as Voldemort continued having his fun.
"Sometimes it just happens, Hermione. You cannot count all the sheep."
Marvolo's hand was combing through her hair and Hermione wanted to lean into—or away from—the tender touch. She had killed a person! It was accidental, but she was a murderer now, and Voldemort was joking here. He was a psychopath, but she wasn't!
"Come now, Hermione. Big deal, she was a waste of air anyway. And it's not like you liked her. But you'll like the pasta and the vegetables. I insist."
He was joking, but he was serious. She had to come with him, even if she wanted to drown herself in one of the water channels.
"Darmus!"
Voldemort's voice was cold as he had called for the Headmaster who was most probably behind the door, and with absolute horror, Hermione understood that no wards had been raised when she was torturing the poor woman.
And no wards had been raised when they fucked.
The Headmaster, who was outside the door, had heard her moans of pleasure, and Hermione wanted to die from shame and horror.
"Do you have any other professors that you dislike, my sweet?"
Voldemort was showing all his white teeth in a broad smile, and Hermione wished to break his jaw.
"Go to hell."
Maybe if he tortured her as well, she'd feel better.
"Hermione, Hermione. I am so lenient with you …"
Voldemort waved his hand, and Hermione could only watch as Chantel's body disappeared. She wanted to wake up and not remember this horror. Would she ever forget it?
"Of course you will, but first, we'll eat. You performed so well that I'll allow you to choose the dessert for today. Fried bananas?"
How she hated him.
But there was nothing she could do.
Headmaster Darmus came in and bowed before Voldemort.
As she watched Voldemort and the Headmaster interact before Darmus left, Hermione finally accepted the fact that she wasn't that much better.
They were all monsters, and the world had become their playground.
The pale-blue eyes were gentle as Voldemort took her hand and kissed her knuckles.
"I'll let you play with my toys."
This joking, smiling, handsome man was the biggest monster of them all.
And she could not escape him any longer.
The biggest problem was that Hermione wasn't so sure anymore that she wanted to escape.
She did not know what she wanted.
xxx
Voldemort smiled as the fresh pasta dish was served, and Hermione leaned away from the assortment of fresh vegetables with her talented lips pursed and smart eyes squinted.
His curious, naive little Horcrux …
His.
xxx
a/n That was fun! If you have any questions, let me know :)
Here ends the 2nd part, and I can move to the 3rd. It will be called "Horcrux Mine". Waves!
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Two Steps From Hell