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The Prisoner	By : Nerys Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 63579 -:- Recommendations : 6 -:- Currently Reading : 13
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
- 4
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author’s Note:I want to thank everyone who read, rated and reviewed: QueenRuby, Aviendha, Relatela, MrE-Quecky, MarksPet, Kohomologia, and Krista.

Review replies can be found at:http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/19576-the-prisoner-by-nerys/

xxx

Special thanks to Serpent In Red and Cosettex for being such amazing, almighty betas.

xxx

The Prisoner

Chapter 3: Secrets

Quietly, Hermione stood in front of her bathroom mirror that morning. Her wand in her hand pointed to the multi-coloured bruise on her neck. All it would take was a simple “Episkey” and it would be gone. Nobody would be the wiser. She’d arrived home abundantly late last night and she was up at the crack of dawn. Ron hadn’t even woken once as she entered and exited the bed. She knew she had to heal herself. If someone saw, there would be questions.

Uncomfortable questions.

Yet, she stood there motionless, her eyes mesmerised on the darkest spot a little above her right shoulder where his thumb had dug into her skin. So ridiculous. Why did she want to keep this reminder of his violent action towards her? Her other hand rose and she carefully stroked the bluish spots on her skin. Memories of his hand there resurfaced. She could almost feel him pressing her up against the wall again.

Helpless, conquered, desired.

He’d wanted her, a Mudblood. Why? It didn’t make sense.

Yet, it was a heady feeling she couldn’t shake. He’d almost killed her, squeezed the life out of her so easily like it didn’t matter – like it was nothing. All in a day’s work. So powerful, so strong. It was easy to surrender to him, as if she were meant to. As everyone was supposed to.

A weird emotion rose inside of her: jealousy. She’d never liked sharing. But he’d picked her, and he didn’t like sharing either. Satisfaction ran through her as she recalled his orders. The information was for her eyes only – besides the little snippet for McGregor of course. And even that was only so she could keep coming, had an excuse for the outside world to visit the darkest wizard of all.

Lord Voldemort wanted her.

She stared into her eyes in the mirror; her expression conflicted with the mixed emotions she had about that. She’d tried to kill him more than once. He was a vile creature who’d threatened everyone dear to her, who’d tortured and murdered people either by his hand or by his orders. She wanted him dead for everything he’d put her through, for ruining her teenage years with his constant presence and the danger that presence entailed.

And yet, these last couple of years had been empty, meaningless, and utterly boring.

For a second, she closed her own fingers around her throat and squeezed ever so lightly. It wasn’t the same. There was no threat. She knew she’d stop. She was in control. She was always in control. Her hand dropped. Disappointment filled her. Ron would never do this to her. He was a kind and gentle lover. A perfectly sane and logical choice. He loved her, and she did love him, a lot. Yet, she’d never really let herself go with him, hadn’t let him be the one in charge even once.

Perhaps …?

Hermione threw her head back and closed her eyes, heaving a sigh. The thought was too ridiculous to be viable. She just couldn’t feel that way about Ron. Him on top instead of her was – was … inconceivable. She wouldn’t let him. Besides, Ron wanted a dominant wife, probably due to the influence of his parents’ relationship. And Hermione could be dominant; she’d no problem bossing the world around. She liked it. She’d always thought that was her way, and she could definitely live like that. No problem. It was what was expected of her, and she enjoyed living up to or surpassing people’s expectations. She’d always done what was expected of her.

It’s just …

It didn’t make her heart pump any faster. She’d never dropped a sweat whilst being in charge. It had never aroused her so abruptly and immediately that the core of her sex ached and her knees literally turned weak. She’d always thought that was just romance novel nonsense. Now she knew otherwise, and it was haunting her because it was so, so wrong. He was so wrong. Still, when she’d been out of control, when she was on the brink of dying, she’d felt more alive than she’d ever had.

Someone slammed into the bathroom door. Ron’s groan shook her out of her thoughts. Panic briefly overwhelmed her at the chance of him noticing. She’d no idea how to explain those bruises, and unlike other times, this wouldn’t be swept away by referring to her Unspeakable Vows. He’d be too horrified to let it go. He’d probably tell Harry, and then, all hell would break loose.

‘Hermione,’ Ron’s sleepy voice slurred, ‘why’s the door locked?’

Her wand conjured a matching scarf to her trouser suit and it whirled around her neck decoratively. There, she was all covered up. Nobody would notice.

‘Sorry,’ she said, sounding overly cheerful as she opened the door. ‘I thought I was at work already. I wasn’t quite awake coming in here. It’s early.’

‘Too early,’ Ron muttered, yawning and passing her in a daze. ‘I didn’t hear you come in last night. Did your experiment on the veil go well?’

Hermione paused, considering what to say to that, as she put on her coat. She didn’t like lying to Ron.

‘No, Katie interrupted me for something else. I have to start anew some other time.’

‘Oh?’

She walked back into the bathroom and bent over to kiss him. He met her lips eagerly and they explored each other’s mouth as always. When she broke off the kiss, he gasped and his blue eyes looked at her expectantly.

‘You have morning breath.’

‘Sorry,’ he muttered, disappointed it wasn’t going to go any further. ‘What did Katie want? You’ve been working on that experiment for months now. It must have been important if she felt the need to interrupt you.’

‘Yes, it was, but you know the drill: I can’t–’

‘–speak of it,’ Ron finished.

She smiled apologetically and moved on.

‘Bloody mysterious Unspeakable!’ he yelled humorously after her retreating back.

Hermione laughed. ‘Overly nosy Auror!’ she exclaimed, smiling. ‘See you tonight.’

‘Aren’t you going to eat breakfast?’

‘No, I’ll get something on the go. I’m late already.’

‘Mum would kill you.’ Ron waddled his index finger and put on his best “Molly face”. ‘Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, young lady,’ he imitated perfectly, ‘especially when you’re trying to conceive. You have to take the welfare of your unborn child–’

The front door slammed shut, causing him to halt his mocking performance in disappointment. She used to always laugh at his jokes. Nowadays they barely had time together. He hoped that would change once they were with child. Maybe tonight she’d be home early and they could work on that?

With a smile on his face, he got off the toilet and began to get himself ready for another day at the job.

xxx

‘Did McGregor appreciate the little Shield Charm Enhancer you provided her with?’ Riddle asked with an upward curve of his lip.

Hermione, who’d been on her way out, stopped and frowned. There had been something off with his tone of voice. Her suspicion rose when she turned and took in his amused demeanour.

‘It does work?’ she questioned, placing her hands on her sides, determined to get to the truth.

‘My, Ms Granger, didn’t you investigate further?’ he teased, leaning back on the bed, looking positively scrumptious.

Well, no, she hadn’t. She’d been more interested in his Ancient Runes theory instead of some silly enhancement she had no use for personally. So, she’d let that one up to the department to check. An oversight in retrospect? Narrowing her eyes in distrust, her mind ran over what she remembered of it. It seemed fine at first glance, which of course it would, wouldn’t it? Lord Voldemort wouldn’t be that obvious if he handed them a pig in a poke.

‘Our deal is void if you’re handing me rubbish,’ she said coolly.

‘It’s not rubbish,’ he countered, stretching himself out lazily. ‘It works just fine. All those morons unable to cast a Shield Charm by themselves will be able to now.’

‘And the catch is …?’ she trailed off.

He smirked. ‘Are you always this suspicious?’

‘Only when you are concerned,’ she bit back.

His low chuckle danced through the cell. ‘I feel honoured,’ he said, rising to his feet in a sensual, lithe move.

Slowly, he approached her, and Hermione felt her heartbeat speed up. Frozen on the spot, she just stood there until he stopped inches away from her and she had to look up to meet his dark eyes. Her pupils dilated, her mouth turned dry, and she swallowed for no reason other than to try to tame her anxiety. She wasn’t going to let him intimidate her by his invasion of her personal space. No, she wasn’t.

Oh, who the hell was she kidding?

He already was bloody intimidating when he wasn’t breathing down her neck – let alone now that he was so close and gazing down on her with such intensity that it took her breath away.

‘Take off the scarf,’ he ordered barely above a whisper.

Her heart skipped a beat. He’d noticed. Oh crap, that was so embarrassing. Her face turned red as she nervously undid the knot and pulled the soft silk away, the fabric a gentle caress against her bruised skin. She followed her scarf in her hands; her head lowered in shame. She wasn’t normal. She should’ve healed herself. All it would’ve taken was a simple swoosh of her wand and she wouldn’t be standing here making a fool of herself in front of him. This was supposed to be for her eyes only: her secret.

‘Tilt your head back and remove that disastrous bush from my vision.’

Angrily, her eyes flashed to meet his. The hair was a sore topic not to be touched by anyone.

‘There is nothing wrong with my hair,’ she hissed.

His eyes twinkled, entertained. Mockingly, he stared at several tufts that had risen sky-high due to the static electricity of the passing scarf, and then, his gaze caught her eyes again. Intense and sensual. He was waiting, commanding her to do his bidding without a word or a touch.

Her anger was swept away only to be replaced by an uncertain need because his strong presence was so close she felt like she was about to be swallowed up. Shyly, her arms rose, pulling her hair away from her neck as she tilted her head back fully – her eyes cast sideways.

From her peripheral vision, she noticed how his gaze lowered to her neck and the very visible marks he’d left there. Her breath caught in her throat when his eyes darkened. Pleasure radiated off him in waves, and his hand rose to touch her.

Her heart fluttered wildly; she was waiting for that contact to happen again, standing still and silently. Waiting for his long fingers to curl around her throat and hold her life in the palm of his hand. He halted only inches away from her skin. She could practically feel the warmth of his skin. Then, abruptly, he dropped his hand.

‘Put the scarf back on,’ Riddle ordered coolly.

Disappointed, Hermione swallowed, not quite understanding what she’d done wrong. Why hadn’t he touched her? He’d seemed pleased she’d not healed those bruises. She was certain of that; so, why? Her hands trembled slightly as she tied the scarf around her neck clumsily, her mind wandering in confusion. And then, she recalled her demand and wanted to slap herself on her forehead. But this wasn’t what she’d meant. She’d–

Riddle’s quiet, controlled voice broke her line of thinking and she looked at him.

‘A Patirum Charm needs to be cast on the Shield Charm Enhancer for it to maintain its function through time. Without it, the enhancer will stop working after seven castings,’ he said, his impassive mask firmly in place.

But she knew to value this additional information for the reward it was. He probably would not have told her this had she used a Healing Charm on his marks. Still, there was a teensy weensy problem with his suggestion.

‘Patirum Charms are illegal due to their permanent nature.’

‘And you think I care about such matters because …?’ he trailed off, eyeing her mockingly.

Aghast, she tossed her arms in the air, watching him swirl away from her. Really, how was she supposed to tell her boss that the devices needed an illegal charm to work properly? She knew they’d been planning to develop them as additional security for the Auror Department. Well, that plan had just sunk with this new information. And what else was there?

‘Anything else I need to know about those Shield Charm Enhancers?’

Riddle halted right in front of the bed. His back was still turned to her, so she never saw the satisfactory malicious expression that covered his face as he calmly said, ‘No, that’s all.’

Doubtful, Hermione stared at his back. She had a nagging feeling she was missing something. Yet, their deal had entailed that he’d tell her everything he could. She opened her mouth to question him, just in case, when he suddenly turned around (his facial features well under control again) and bid her goodbye with a small gesture of his hand. Annoyance rushed through Hermione at his blatant dismissal of her presence, and with a huff, she stomped out the cell.

‘Till tomorrow, Ms Granger,’ he said to the closed door, smiling lightly as he sat down. ‘And there really is nothing youneed to know about those silly enhancers since you don’t require their usage.’

His soft chuckle filled the cell for a long time.

xxx

Several weeks had passed. As she calmly bid Johnny the guard goodbye and was back on her way home, Hermione realised just how normal these visits to Riddle had become to her. At first, she’d been apprehensive every time she approached the island, a part of her wanting to go and another much larger part wanting to run in the opposite direction as fast as she could. She’d oppressed that voice of reason and thought of the greater good, not to mention that she’d probably be out of a job if she quit now. Katie had never been happier with her than lately.

Well, even Hermione had to admit, Riddle had surely come through with his promise.

Nowadays, she mainly felt excited about going, looking forward to discussing magical subjects with someone who she’d come to acknowledge had a far superior mind to hers. It irked her at times when he would yet again shower her with arguments and she’d be reaching for straws to counter him. Or even worse, she’d have some statement or some question, and he would utilise the Socratic method on her until her jaws opened and shut without any sound being produced.

And then, he would smirk.

Her eyes darkened at the memory. She really wanted to throttle him in those moments. Slowly and deliberately. Just to feel the last breath slip out of that obnoxious, irritating, almighty, egotistical, self-centred, overbearing, knowledgeable, smart, powerful, domineering, hot …

Oh Merlin, this was completely inappropriate of her. She was a happily married woman. She wasn’t supposed to be drooling over other men, especially not over Tom Riddle.

Still, it was nice to have a subject other than Quidditch to talk about. And the idea of him on top of her, holding her down, as he would take …

A frustrated groan left her lips, and she sunk a bit farther into the seat of the ministerial car.

No, no, no, she loved Ron.

Besides, Riddle hadn’t touched her since that day. He’d surely kept up his end of the bargain, which was fortunate.

Really.

Because she and Ron were trying to get pregnant and it wouldn’t be good for the baby if she got choked on a regular basis.

Hermione sighed and stared out the car’s window, while her hand was absentmindedly stroking her neck.

They’d been trying for a long time now and still nothing. It was frustrating her. She’d been to the Healer yesterday and got a dozen prescriptions of different fertility potions to take. She’d no time to buy them and had asked Ron if he could stop by the Potions store on his way home. He’d said yes, of course, and had taken the prescriptions with him.

Fertility potions … well, her mother had reminded her how hard it had been for her and her dad, so Hermione wasn’t too surprised of it not happening fast, and the Healer had suggested those potions after she’d told them about her parents having problems, but still … fertility potions, well, they weren’t exactly healthy. She wasn’t looking forward to taking them. On the other hand, she really wanted a child, so … she supposed she had to pick the lesser of two evils.

The car stopped at the back entrance of the ministry, pulling Hermione out of her thoughts.

‘Thanks, Monroe,’ she said to the driver.

‘Till morning.’

‘Morning,’ Hermione acknowledged, getting out and walking to her office in the Department of Mysteries.

xxx

Soon, Hermione’s visits became the one thing in his boring days that he really looked forward to. The girl ... woman – he corrected mentally – was exceptionally bright. He’d known that ever since he’d written down his Ancient Runes theory together with the Shield Charm Enhancer. Only someone with real insight would see exactly what the true value was of both, and she’d not been able to stop chattering about possible outcomes and practical applications on his method of logogram use. She’d hardly touched the other subject and when she did, it had been obvious it was at her boss’s request, which had been exactly what he’d predicted would happen. It had been a risk, be that a calculated one, to write down a theory so valuable, but he had to see if she was worthy of his time and he couldn’t do that with nonsense.

And oh boy, was she worthy.

He’d never had a student this quick on the uptake, which was all the more astonishing if he took under consideration he couldn’t show her a damn thing. She had to do with him telling her how. Then, she wouldn’t be able to try it until she was home, which meant that he couldn’t correct her if she did something wrong. Still, it was rare for her to come back disgruntled and embarrassed about having failed at something.

He smirked.

Too rare.

She was rather endearing and amusing when she was uncomfortable around him, which had got rarer, too. It worked to his benefit to have her somewhat at ease, but he didn’t want her to forget either. He wasn’t interested in someone who fell for his acts. She needed to accept who and what he was fully, and for that, she needed to accept who and what she was first. That would be considerably more difficult to achieve, since in this so-called modern day and age, it was simply not done for a woman to admit she wanted to be submissive to a man.

He’d seen it, that day when she tried to kill him. There had been a brief moment when her eyes had locked with his as in a dare, and he’d known then what she probably hadn’t even known herself. Somewhere in a dark corner of her mind, she was searching for someone to conquer her. He’d registered it, filed it away as entertaining yet useless information that Potter’s Mudblood was a sub – perhaps even a masochist since it took a bit more to dare Him of all people – until he’d got the silly Healer and his insipid students to hand him all the information on Potter’s victory.

Then, he’d realised exactly just how bloody damn important that girl had been for Potter. It had infuriated him beyond belief that he’d missed something this obvious. He’d known the boy was nothing special. He wasn’t particularly bright, had a big mouth, was too impulsive for his own good, and wore his heart on his sleeve. If she’d not been there to reason with him, to steer him in the right direction …

His hands balled into fists and his entire body shook with fury. He could’ve won. He would’ve won easily if he’d taken her out of the equation from the get go.

Still, there was no use in dwelling on past mistakes. He’d not spend the last couple of years focusing his considerable brainpower on getting past those wards to waste precious time now. That thought relaxed him thoroughly. The tension seeped from his muscles, and he rested his back against the pillow again, closing his eyes to drown out the brightness of the lamps. Hermione had convinced several of the guards to lower the intensity of the lightning in his cell to something more bearable. But today, the one who was on duty didn’t care and followed procedure. Still, the fact that she tried to make his stay more comfortable was telling on its own.

This time Lord Voldemort would prevail because he had something to offer Hermione Granger that her moronic husband and Potter would never be willing to give her: peace of mind by allowing her to tap into her deepest, darkest desires of surrender. He’d show her loss of control, obedience, pleasure and pain until she was on such a high she’d never want to come down. Once she submitted to him fully, which he estimated would take a little less than a year, he’d leave this ghastly place and she’d have one choice to make: death or him.

It made no difference to him. Either way, his victory was secured.

The door flung upon and a smile crossed his face when Hermione entered in a hurry – her face red from rushing down all those stairs. Immediately, she started babbling about magic even before taking her jacket off. Her level of enthusiasm was contagious, and he sat up straight, moving his legs off the bed to make room for her while letting the waterfall of words wash over him with pleasure. When she finally gasped for air, he intervened before she could rant on.

‘Sit down first, Hermione,’ he pleasantly ordered. ‘And try to breathe in between words, we do have all the time in the world.’

She calmed down slightly and smiled at him, making a face at his jest on her manner of speaking. But she still did as he ordered: she quieted down, hung her jacket on the hanger next to the door and approached the bed to sit down next to him. Suddenly, she stopped, slapping her hand in front of her mouth.

‘Oh,’ she exclaimed, ‘I almost forgot.’

Hermione paced back to her jacket and ruffled in its pocket, pulling out a Daily Prophet as always and something wrapped in tinfoil. His eyebrows rose as she held it out to him. The paper he’d got used to her bringing along ever since she realised he had nothing to read in this place. Apparently the idea of not being able to read had been absolutely horrifying to her, making her empathise with his suffering, and she’d convinced herself it wasn’t a problem if he read the news. He’d been suitably thankful – well, he truly was, not being able to read anything had been a bore – but he hoped he could convince her to bring something more worthwhile soon.

‘Take it,’ she said, nodding to him supportively, ‘before it gets cold.’

Cold? Had she …? No way.

Surprised, he accepted the package and opened it carefully. Hot vapours with a mouth-watering smell reached his nostrils and a soft, lust-filled moan left his lips before he could control himself. Something spicy instead of that utterly bland, disgusting shit they served here. A couple of days ago, they’d somehow got to the topic of food. He didn’t really recall how they happened to get that distracted, but he did recall mentioning some of his favourites and one of them – a curry pie with a beautiful, brown pastry crust – was resting in a plastic container on his lap.

‘Thank Godric, it hasn’t collapsed,’ Hermione commented, sitting down next to him. ‘I was a bit worried about having to carry it in my pocket like this, so I used a Patirum Charm to keep it intact; but I wasn’t sure if the Azkaban wards would pick up on it, so ...’

He blocked out her babbling and picked up the fork. Slowly, he broke the crust and made sure to have a bit of everything on his fork for that first bite. His anticipation rose as he waited a bit longer before tasting it. Another moan left his lips, and he dropped his head.

Just perfect.

He savoured every bite after that, taking great care in not rushing, even though he basically felt like pigging out now. He suddenly realised it had gone quite quiet in the cell, so he looked sideways. Hermione was watching him with a broad, fond smile on her face.

‘This has fresh ginger and garlic in it instead of some pre-made curry paste or powder,’ he commented.

Hermione nodded. ‘I prefer making everything from scratch. Those pastes are fine, but it’s not quite the same as when you use fresh ingredients.’

She made it? Okay, he was sold. She could stay.

‘Fresh garlic, and I am soooo not sharing,’ he teased in between bites.

‘I’ll live,’ Hermione said, amused.

Oh yessss, you will, dear.

‘I can always go sit over there,’ she said humorously, pointing to opposite wall, ‘if you stink too much.’

He snorted.

Just try and escape me, my dear. Just try. I’ve never minded a chase.

xxx

Her mind wasn’t on her job today. This morning she’d performed the charm to test for pregnancy twice, and still, nothing. She’d been swallowing those disgusting potions for months now, she and Ron had been doing it every night – going over the moves mechanically at some point, and still, nothing. It made her thoroughly depressed, and a part of her worried that something could be wrong with her and they’d never get pregnant – never get that family that everyone wanted for them.

Whenever she saw Ginny (who had a huge belly for the second time) or Molly (who wanted to be everyone’s grandmother), she felt like she’d let everyone down – like she was a failure at being a wife, even though nobody voiced such thoughts to her. They were all very understanding and kind to her and Ron, telling them it would happen eventually – that they just needed to be patient. Well, she was fed up with being patient. She just wanted this to happen, so she and Ron could finally be happy, too.

‘What’s the matter?’ asked Riddle in a soft voice.

Hermione looked sideways and noticed he’d stopped scribbling in her notebook on the explanatory diagram. Instead he was watching her sharply, his face set thoughtfully. Whenever he placed his full attention on her, she’d a hard time controlling her completely inappropriate physical reactions. She’d even stopped trying to hide them when she realised how utterly futile those attempts were. It was embarrassing how easily he could unravel her thoughts, especially since he was extremely hard to read to her. No matter how often she’d been here now, no matter how many times she’d seen him, he had such absolute control over his expressions that it made it impossible for her to deduce what he was truly thinking. It created an uneven balance in their relationship and caused him to have power over her that she couldn’t shake of, even if she would’ve tried.

Which she hadn’t.

When she stayed silent, his long, slender fingers placed down the pen. Slowly, he turned towards her, placing his ankle on his knee as his elbow leaned on his other knee, propping his head on his hand, while his other arm rested on his lap casually. His pale fingers stuck out even more in his black locks. Somehow she couldn’t quite get over how absolutely breathtaking he was. And it wasn’t so much his looks that drew her attention, even though she had to admit he was positively gorgeous: tall, dark and handsome. What more could a girl want?

But that was just on a superficial level, something she could easily prick through: a beautiful picture which held no real power over her.

However, Tom Marvolo Riddle’s power didn’t lie in his looks. He’d already proven that by attracting followers with his distorted snakelike features. When she’d been a teenager, she’d never quite understood as to why so many had decided to follow his lead. After all, she’d never truly met him. And to her, he’d been nothing more than a crazy bigot with immortality issues and delusions of grandeur. She’d always gathered that people followed him because of his magical prowess – they feared and admired his power.

Now she knew differently.

He had no magic to fling at her, no Cruciatus Curse to threaten her with, and she realised he never needed to. She’d completely underestimated him. There was something about him, something indefinable, that made you listen when he spoke. And it wasn’t due to his tremendous intelligence, even though that was quite an attractive quality to her.

No, she had a feeling he could be talking gibberish and people would still be in awe.

His charismatic personality was his biggest asset. Something that didn’t die with the loss of his magic. Something that, even with her knowing exactly who and what he was, still was impossible to ignore. It not only made you listen, it made you want him to notice you. It made you do his bidding, freely and wantonly, aching for that tiny bit of approval, for acknowledgement and praise, for any small signal on his end that proved you existed in his eyes, that you mattered.

It was ridiculous, and Hermione knew it. She knew he didn’t care about anyone else but himself. She knew her existence or self-worth didn’t depend upon him. She knew it … when she was safely away from him.

Yet, when being in the same room, when he was only inches away, when that pervasive, strong, dominant personality of his engulfed her, all her rationality fled her mind, and she wanted nothing more than to please him. And when he would look at her, acknowledge her with those deep, dark eyes of his, her heart would skip a beat before fluttering like crazy.

Yes, their relationship most definitely was uneven, and she had no idea how to balance out the power he held over her or whether she even wanted to do that. There was a deeply erotic notion to being out of control, and it aroused her. It sent delightful anticipatory tingles through her body, even though she knew nothing would happen. Lord Voldemort wasn’t one to break his word without due cause, and that relative safety allowed her those little fantasies, let her enjoy the sensations it elicited inside of her and made her able to convince herself she wasn’t cheating on Ron – nothing really happened after all. She wasn’t doing anything wrong. It was just make-believe in her mind. Nothing happened. She was happily married … And she’d be happier if … if only she had children – could be a mother, a family with … Ron.

‘What’s wrong?’ Riddle enquired again, targeting her with that inherently dark gaze of his. ‘You’ve been distracted all morning.’

‘It’s nothing,’ she whispered uncomfortably.

No matter how personal and intimate some of their discussions had become, this really wasn’t a subject she wanted to discuss with him. It really wasn’t.

‘Nothing,’ he repeated slowly as if he were tasting the word and its meaning on his tongue, and by the looks of his disbelieving expression, he found it quite unsatisfactory.

‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

‘Ah,’ he said, enlightened, ‘so, it involves your husband. What did the twit do wrong this time?’

‘Don’t call him that.’

Riddle shrugged. A small, mischievous, unapologetic twinkle sparkled in his eyes. ‘What would you rather have me call him: Quidditch maniac, mummy’s boy, ghoul-brains, or … coward?’

The last word held an edge of viciousness that struck home hard. Hermione and Ron had never, not once, truly discussed what had happened during that year they went “camping”. There was always something else happening that took precedence whenever she wanted to talk it over with him, and after a while, she began to feel silly for still wanting to bring it up and so, she let it go, not wanting to be seen as a nagging, nitpicking female. But as such, his act and her resentment remained, unspoken of, lingering like a festering cancer in their relationship, since the betrayal she’d felt had never completely left her. It made Riddle’s words have much more impact than they should’ve had, and not wanting to deal with that pain, she lashed out.

‘Sore loser,’ she bit back.

The moment the two words left her mouth, she wished she could take them back for the air around her instantaneously chilled. His body tensed, poised as a jungle cat ready to strike. The sudden danger she found herself in was quite obvious from the way his expression turned ice-cold and venomous. If looks could kill, she’d be a corpse now. A brutally mutilated corpse. Instantly, his reaction to her verbal faux pas reminded her whom exactly she’d been baiting and how unfair it was to blame him for Ron’s shortcomings and her inability to express her feelings about them to her husband.

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, sitting stock-still, concerned that if she moved, the predator next to her would strike and eat her alive.

He breathed deeply, the movements of his chest upon each inhale and exhale the only motion visible on his body. She could tell he was restraining himself from lashing out and hurting her. She bit her lip. How had their conversation drifted into these treacherous, dark and muddy waters? And how the hell could she steer out of it without sinking in deeper and inevitably drowning in her words?

‘I–I …’ She took a breath, trying to gather the courage to admit to something that was oh so difficult for her. ‘I can’t talk to Ron about these things and it’s frustrating. I didn’t mean to snap at you. It was unfair of me. I am just on edge these days.’ She looked down and fiddled with her hands. ‘It’s not your fault. It’s just … I can’t seem to get pregnant,’ she muttered barely audibly.

Riddle quirked an eyebrow in surprise. His body language visibly relaxed, and he leaned forward, placing a hand on either side of her and lowering his head to capture her eyes.

‘Is there something medically wrong with you?’ he asked carefully.

She shook her head silently, not meeting his sudden comforting gaze but staring at the very interesting ceiling instead. Her chin trembled and she swallowed, pushing the tears that were forming deep inside of her away, as she always did lately.

‘M-my parents had a hard time, too. But the Healer said everything was fine with me. Still …’ she paused, sniffing up her nose, ‘those fertility potions should’ve done the trick by now. Their effectiveness is nearly hundred percent.’

Tom Riddle frowned. ‘How long have you been taking them?’

‘Almost three months now.’

‘Three months,’ he hissed furiously. ‘Do you have any idea how …?’

Hermione closed her eyes and hung her head in dejection. Yes, she very well knew how unhealthy those potions were and what the risks of extended use entailed. She didn’t need the lecture. Suddenly, she realised he’d stopped in his angry reprimand before finishing. It was so uncharacteristic of him to stop talking that she looked up and watched him questioningly. His expression was kind and understanding. It made her feel not so alone in her worries, and for a split-second, she wished he was Ron.

‘Three months and still nothing?’ he asked gently.

She nodded, watching him look down thoughtfully. His black locks fell into his face, and he absentmindedly stroked them to the side. Hermione frowned. She was about to ask what he was thinking when he lifted his head and the words stayed frozen in her throat with their intimate closeness and the undeniable attraction she felt towards him.

‘I’m …’ he sighed. ‘I don’t want to suggest something redundant …’ he paused, watching her expectantly.

‘No, it’s all right,’ she replied immediately, wondering if he possibly could have a solution for her. He’d healed the Longbottoms after all. Something nobody else had been able to do.

‘Well … I was wondering if they’d checked out your husband,’ he said cautiously.

Hermione blinked and stared at him dumbfounded. She’d not considered that. Well, Ron’s parents had seven children and none of them had any issues with conceiving whatsoever. Ginny, George, Percy, and Bill: They had children. So, she’d automatically assumed it’d been her with her parents’ genetic background. She’d never thought Ron could be the reason. Oh Merlin, if he were, he’d never be able to handle it. His inferiority complex had lessened somewhat after the war but not enough for it to disappear fully.

‘Sterility is a known cause of long term inbreeding,’ Riddle added seriously.

Then, she knew her ears were deceiving her. She did NOT just hear Lord Voldemort make a comment about inbreeding.

‘Excuse me?’ she asked, a clearly warning undertone slipping into her voice.

It was the undertone that made him take full notice of her. A taunting smirk crossed his face, targeted directly at her. And to make matters worse, it was a knowing smirk. He was perfectly aware what had got her riled up, that–that unbelievable blood-purity bigot!

‘What did you just say?’ she hissed angrily.

He removed his hands from beside her in the mattress and folded them over each other as he leaned back and cheerfully continued informing her of things that were in complete contradiction to his old doctrine of pure-blood superiority.

‘Well, all that marrying within the family is bound to have adverse effects on the gene pool. It was very clear with the Malfoys and the Lestranges. Believe me, they tried, many times. Both Bella and Rodolphus were deemed practically sterile by the Healers, and Narcissa didn’t have much to work with either. Not to mention that I doubt Lucius’s ability to actually get it up for anything but his own reflection would be helpful, even if his semen count would’ve been normal. These are very common issues in many pure-blood families. It’s either that or odd, debilitating illnesses. Did you think the incredibly short lifespan of the average Black was an accident? I say it’s surprising the Weasleys lucked out for so long. I am betting serious money on there being some outside not so pure-blooded influence in their family tree somewhere.’

Despite that the pun about Lucius briefly made her lip curl, her anger rose to astronomical heights with every additional word that came out of his mouth. This was the man responsible for the Muggle-born Registration Commission, for the prosecution of everyone like her during his days in power, and here he sat, right in front of her, having the nerve to tell her this?! It was obscene. Outrageous.

‘So, it wouldn’t surprise me one bit–oww!’ Tom called out as he landed not so softly on his arse between the bed and the table when she’d shoved him away roughly.

Hermione flew to her feet thoroughly aggravated, revelling in how the back of his head hit the table with a distinct thud and how he clutched to it in pain. Good, she hoped that hurt lots. He could use a good smack on the head. Maybe then some sense would stick. Why had she ever let Katie talk her into coming here? So–so mind-bogglingly insane of her. She paced away quickly, snatched her jacket from the hanger and stomped to the door, not looking back.

‘Say, Mudblood,’ he sneered harshly.

Abruptly, she halted, balling her hands into fists. Perhaps she should make his nose resemble the way it used to look?

‘Are you such a scatterbrain that you would leave behind the information you were sent here to get or are you suddenly capable of memorising the Astronomy charts by heart?’ he taunted.

Her notebook. Dammit. It was still on the table.

For a moment, she considered leaving without it. Then, responsibility sank in. Hermione turned around on her heels and froze. Tom Riddle was still sitting on the floor, his arms leaning casually on the table, while he used her notebook as a fan. The cool breeze it produced made his black hair dance around his face, causing it to flicker blue on instances when the light fell precisely at the right angle. Yet, the most striking feature was his teasing, humorous expression. He was actually enjoying himself tremendously as a result of her actions. That, more than anything else, made her pause.

He’d done it deliberately.

She had no idea why or what he’d hoped for, but he’d held that speech deliberately to gauge her reaction. She became more and more certain of it with each passing second as that smirk of his broadened further and further. This was the worst of it: he seemed pleased for some unknown, insane reason. His eyes were glinting at her in delight as he planted her notebook against his chin in a phoney, thoughtful manner.

‘Well, Granger, do you want this or not?’

She inhaled sharply and counted to ten, too fast to really lower her temper. Then, she unclenched her fists and paced towards the table, holding out her hand. Yet, Riddle had equally quickly placed the notebook against his chest and folded his arms over it protectively. Hermione stood there silently, waiting, as he sat there silently, waiting.

‘I don’t have all day,’ she hissed.

‘I do.’

‘That’s not even remotely funny.’

‘I don’t think you’ll catch me laughing about it either,’ he replied coolly.

She pulled her hand back and mirrored his pose with her arms. ‘What do you want?’

‘What makes you think I want something?’

‘Well,’ she said, making a face, ‘there is the childish hostage holding of a notebook.’

He sniggered. ‘Perhaps I’m hoping you’ll try to wrestle it away from me?’ he suggested deviously. ‘You do get deliciously physical whenever your temper flares. Plus,’ he added, leaning forward suggestively, ‘you’re positively enticing when you give in to your darker tendencies, Hermione.’

Her face flushed red, and she didn’t know where to look or how to respond. From her peripheral vision, she witnessed him holding out the notebook to her rather suddenly. Hesitantly, her fingers gripped the other end, and sure enough, as expected, he didn’t let go immediately. Their eyes met.

‘Don’t ever forget who I am, Hermione,’ Riddle said darkly. ‘I get bored rapidly with people who do and those who bore me …’ he trailed off threateningly.

‘I’d not forgotten for a second who and what you are, Voldemort.’

‘So I’ve noticed,’ he replied, smirking satisfactorily. He let go of the notebook and placed his hands behind his head, his eyes flickering over her body appreciatively. ‘You’ve been a very good girl, Hermione Granger,’ he said seductively, raising her embarrassment up a nudge as her thighs squirmed together in an involuntary reaction.

Then, he ordered in a harsh tone of voice: ‘Now leave.’

He pulled the Daily Prophet from the table and started reading, actively dismissing her by ignoring her presence. Hermione let out a long breath before rolling her eyes. Shaking her head, she wondered how he and his inflated ego even fitted together in this cell without suffocating. Clamping the notebook under her armpit, she turned on her heels in irritation. As her hand turned the doorknob, Riddle spoke up casually.

‘Why don’t you think of an appropriate punishment for your insolent behaviour, and we’ll discuss it tomorrow.’

Her stomach flip-flopped. Something pooled deep within her belly at his words and her fingers tightened on the knob as she turned her head towards him. Yet, he no longer acknowledged her; he was impassively reading the paper, domineering the situation even further. It caused a slightly excited tremble to travel through her body from head to toe. Quickly, she opened the door and rushed out, wanting to put as much distance between herself and the reason she had a sudden itch that desperately needed scratching: Him.

xxx

That night she shagged Ron so hard and passionately that he had no idea which side was up or down and what was right from wrong anymore. The world stopped existing for him, and all he saw was her, screaming out her name during his climax at the top of his voice.

‘Bloody hell, Hermione,’ he muttered, perspiring effusively as he collapsed on their bed. ‘That was fucking amazing.’

As she rolled to her side of the bed next to him, she stared at the ceiling silently, still feeling that blasted itch that she’d not been able to shag away, no matter how hard she’d tried. When she finally heard Ron’s soft snores, Hermione pulled out her wand and deepened his sleep so he wouldn’t wake when she brewed the potion for her test.

Fifteen minutes later, she stared at the result in tears. Ron was sterile, and there was no way she could possibly tell him he’d be the reason they would never have a complete family together. He’d never recover. They’d never recover. She had to lie and pretend it was her. That way Ron wouldn’t have to feel inferior to his siblings, and their marriage still had some chance of surviving this ordeal. He could be supportive to her problem, be the hero in everyone’s eyes, as he would “help” her through her issue.

Yes, that was the best way to deal with this. He didn’t need to know. It would only cause him irreparable pain. Swiftly, Hermione disposed of the evidence and went back to bed. She stubbornly ignored the small voice in the back of her mind that reprimanded her about another much more dangerous threat to the survival of her marriage.

xxx

A/N: You say there’s an epilogue in HP7? Ron and Hermione have children? *checks own copy* Nope, not seeing it anywhere. Sure, there are some torn edges visible at the end of my book, but that’s not proof of anything, it’s just a faulty publication. No, you were mistaken: no epilogue exists (unless readers complain about a certain marriage, then, I will just point vigorously to Scotland). Yeah, I am just that consistent. ;-)
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The Prisoner