Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

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
- 3
- 4
- 5
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 for reading, rating and reviewing: Tori, scarletwitchextreme, MarksPet, Fleur K., iheartskittles, mrequecky, poisonous_passion, Cennaka, darkwitchwithfangs.

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

xxx

With special thanks to Serpent In Red and Cosettex for betaing this story.

xxx

The Prisoner

Chapter 4: Toying with the Devil

Hermione was nervous. Extremely nervous. Not certain what to do. She’d hesitated coming to Azkaban all morning. She’d been stalling on the staircase, halting many times and taking a couple of steps back up before deciding to move down again. Right now, she stood in front of that rough wood door, frozen to the ground – one step away from entering that sickening, circular corridor where she couldn’t afford to hesitate and a couple of more steps away from his cell.

Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to open the door. His parting words kept running through her mind, tempting, exhilarating, and frightening her at the same time. The worst part of it was that she didn’t think those feelings were mutually exclusive. They enhanced each other.

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

His words kept repeating themselves in her mind. Over and over and over again. As they had done ever since he’d said them yesterday. She’d hardly slept because her mind had got rather creative on “appropriate” things, and she somehow couldn’t shut it down to get some much needed sleep. It didn’t help that by the time it was three a.m. she’d basically envisioned shagging Riddle in every position and on every surface of that cell imaginable.

Merlin, this was so bloody embarrassing. It was a good thing he couldn’t do Legilimency or she would never ever go back in there.

Appropriate punishment, arse.

Who the hell did he think he was suggesting something like that to her? And her behaviour was insolent – hers?

Hermione huffed.

He should take a good look in the mirror. Talk about insolent behaviour that needed punishing, well, she was sure he was taking the lead on that one. Oh goodie, he’d probably be pleased to be number one in that, too. The horror of Lord Voldemort coming in second, he’d stay in it. Forever. A nervous chuckle left her lips, sounding unlike herself and making her aware that her aggravation and brief anger hadn’t taken away her inner turmoil. No, they were maximising it. How on earth was she going to face him?

Not like this, that was for sure. Too telling. Far, far too telling. She couldn’t let him notice how much he’d got to her. Not that he had because he hadn’t. She wasn’t contemplating to do anything after all. Nothing at all. He was just a manipulative piece of shit who had far more actively working brain cells than any human being should be allowed to have.

A frustrated groan left her lips.

Why, why, why did he have to be so obnoxiously clever? The way he could do the most complicated Arithmancy equations by heart, or when he was writing down some theory in that elegant handwriting of his, and she’d ask a question which he would answer to the point while continuing to write on his other project – my, that made her knees weak. Closing her eyes, she rested her forehead against the door.

Merlin’s pants! Why couldn’t he be some dim-witted, evil moron? At least then, she wouldn’t feel so God damn attracted to him.

Voldemort. Voldemort. Voldemort.

She tried to slam the wretched name into her silly mind to stop this unwise attraction she felt. But it didn’t work. Not that she’d forgotten who he was and what he was capable of doing. No, not at all. She’d just got to see a side of him she’d not been aware existed. Well, she knew he was supposed to be intelligent. She’d heard from Harry how Dumbledore had called him the smartest student that Hogwarts had ever seen. It was just that hearing about it was something altogether different from being around it and to be around someone that intelligent, that stimulating … well, it made her question every choice she’d made in her life.

So, here she was, standing there with a doorknob in her hand, unmoving. His sentence continued pushing her forward and stopping her from going all at the same time. Hence, on top of everything else, she was remarkably late. Something he would most definitely notice. Not that they had a preset arrangement concerning what time she was supposed to be there, but she’d always been there around nine in the morning and it was well past eleven now. It was an extremely telling and conspicuous lateness, one which she had to explain away, of course. Some excuse. Work-related. Blame her boss or whatever.

Yeah, her mind replied sarcastically, that’ll work. I’m positive Lord Voldemort will buy that nonsense.

You’re late. You’re late. What to say?

Nothing!

Of course, she didn’t have to find excuses or whatever. Let him notice. She didn’t owe him an explanation. She wasn’t the bleeding prisoner here. He was. What was she doing anyway, feeling nervous? He should be nervous. Yep. Not her. She had nothing to be nervous about. No magic and he couldn’t touch her anyway. They had a deal. And ... and … if he broke it, she could too. Yep, she could and she would. Definitely.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and made her way through the sickening corridor past the other door into his cell. He was reading, thoroughly engulfed in one of the books she’d brought with her three days ago. Hermione had a feeling she could fire a cannon next to his ear, and he wouldn’t take notice. That was how concentrated he seemed. His brow was slightly furrowed and he seemed to nibble on his full lower lip every other second.

Wouldn’t mind doing that, her mind considered – precisely at the moment when he looked up from behind the page!

Hermione felt her face burn and her embarrassment heightened even further by knowing he’d seen her blush. To her surprise, however, there came no teasing, smug remark.

Instead, he asked her: ‘Did you read this?’ and held up the book in example.

‘Of course,’ Hermione said, letting out a relieved breath when she recognised the telltale signs in his expression which indicated he was too busy considering theoretical merits to be concerned with their previous discussion. She was safe. For now.

So, why was she feeling a pang of disappointment all of the sudden?

Quietly, she turned around, removed today’s paper from her pocket and hung her jacket in its usual spot.

‘What did you think of their theory on ritual usage in magic?’ he asked.

‘I felt it was interesting,’ she said in as casual a voice she could muster as she approached the bed and tentatively sat down next to him. Somehow she hadn’t completely shaken that previous uneasy feeling. He was a viper, known to lull his enemies to sleep before striking all the more viciously. She hadn’t forgotten.

‘Interesting?’ He quirked an eyebrow at her uninformative answer.

Oh clever, trying to get me engaged into a debate, so I won’t expect a thing. And does he really think that innocent expression is believable? On Him? Pooh!

This – him reading, him engaging in a theoretical discussion with her – this had to be an elaborate trap. Buying his time and attacking her when she no longer expected it to happen. Yes, that must be his game play. But she would be ready. He wasn’t fooling her. Two could play this game. She had to keep her eye on the real ball instead of the fake one he was serving now.

‘Yes, the knowledge that the rituals are basically unnecessary for the actual casting yet are done for the purpose of unifying society – a tool to create “collective effervescence” – I found that interesting. It’s why I brought you the book,’ she replied, wriggling her fingers subconsciously.

‘I find it nonsensical rubbish,’ he replied curtly.

‘Oh,’ was all that left Hermione’s lips. She turned sideways and stared at him in bafflement, her eyes as wide as saucers. She’d never deemed him to be strict to the rules of the olde. For as far as she remembered, rules weren’t exactly a part of Voldemort’s dictionary.

‘Why?’ she asked, now genuinely interested.

Tom moved slightly, facing her as he spoke with his usual fervour when magic was concerned.

‘A ritual serves a purpose for the actual performance of the casting since it focuses the attention of the caster on the important steps to be taking before the actual goal of the casting is achieved. It makes the caster focus on all the gestures in performing the ritual just right which, in effect, causes the caster to cast to the best of his abilities. So, even if a ritual takes attention away from the goal as the author states, it serves the purpose of achieving it, depending on whether or not the moron doing the casting is capable of anything in the first place.’

For a long time, they were engaged in a vigorous debate about the book’s premises and its conclusions. It was so stimulating that Hermione had completely forgotten her previous unease and “game plan”. She was far too busy laying out why she felt he was taking his “usual shortcuts” (as she unflatteringly called them) when he tossed everything in the bin the author had stated.

‘My usual what?’ Tom asked, snorting.

‘Shortcuts,’ Hermione said sternly. ‘You always do that. It’s driving me crazy. You can’t toss the child away with the bathwater simply because you don’t like one thing of the theory.’

‘Would be a shame for the water,’ Tom muttered under his breath.

‘What? Oh, you,’ she chided. ‘Crikey, that reminds me, I am almost too late. It needs to be taken at noon precisely.’

Hermione ruffled in her trousers’ pocket and pulled out a tiny vial with an oddly coloured potion. Tom frowned, but before he could act, she’d already uncorked the vial and downed the liquid. However, he was able to snatch the empty vial away and smell it. His face darkened immediately and he waggled the vial in front of her face.

‘Why are you still taking this unhealthy rubbish? You said he was sterile. Do you honestly think drinking this potion will do any good to his sperm? It’s not going inside him.’

Hermione snatched the empty vial back. ‘I don’t expect you to understand it,’ she hissed, pocketing it.

‘By all means, try and explain it, Granger. No sane person would understand.’

‘It’s only for a couple of months. By then I can gently break the news that we’ve tried everything, but I just can’t conceive.’

‘You?’ Tom snorted. ‘Are you seriously risking your health to protect his feeble emotions?’

‘It’s what you do when you love someone. You protect them.’

‘By getting a heart attack, a brain haemorrhage, loss of mobility, renal failure – do I need to cite them all to you, Granger?’

‘I’m aware of the possible risks.’

‘You could’ve fooled me. Seriously, if you want to “protect” Weasley, take a fake potion instead.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Really? Why not?’ Tom looked around the empty cell mockingly. ‘Because he will notice? I don’t think he was around when you downed that vial just yet and even if he were around–’ a condescending snort finished that sentence, stating more clearly than words how he valued Ron’s skills of observation.

Hermione yanked up her trousers and slammed her swollen ankle on the table. ‘Because the damn potion has side-effects, okay,’ she hissed.

And this wasn’t even the worst one, but she so wasn’t sharing how her sex drive had risen. It had been pretty convenient in faking it around Ron. She hadn’t felt attracted to him for some time now, and she was sure that without the potions’ stimulation on her nether regions, he would’ve noticed this too.

Tom looked unimpressed at her ankle. ‘A Glamour Charm could easily disguise your ankle to appear like that. I doubt the dolt would notice. You wouldn’t perhaps be …’ he leaned in toward her, ‘enjoying the side-effects?’

Hermione squirmed and pressed her thighs together in response to the sudden need that pooled in her belly.

‘As I thought,’ he said, his face grave, ‘you’ve become addicted.’

‘Am not.’

‘You wouldn’t be the first. Though that incompetent Healer should’ve picked up on it by now.’

Hermione noticed he clenched his fists and a slight tremble travelled through his body as he angled away from her. Suddenly, she felt afraid. Extremely afraid. He was clearly trying to contain himself from doing something violent. Since she was the only one in the room, she’d be the only available target and Hermione had absolutely no desire to become the target of Lord Voldemort’s violence. This was definitely not the type of punishment that had gone through her mind all night long. She had to do something, had to get him to relax somehow. He didn’t seem to succeed on his own. She could tell by the increasing tension in his muscles. However, she was also worried that if she opened her mouth now, it would be the trigger that put him into action. She had to be careful.

‘I am not addicted,’ she repeated softly but surely. ‘You can only become addicted if you take all three primary ingredients together in the draught. I’ve distilled the Red Clover out of this one. It also greatly diminishes the other health risks you mentioned.’

Concerned, she watched him, ready to make a run for it, although she sincerely doubted she’d get to the door first. His legs were a lot longer than hers after all.

However, he took a deep breath, relaxed his muscles and unclenched his fists before turning his attention back to her.

‘Diminishing is not the same as completely excluding the risks,’ he countered, staring at her seriously.

‘I know,’ she said, her voice sounding defeated as she dropped her head in her hands. ‘I – I … just … I can’t … Ron would be … It’ll destroy him and I …’

It turned silent in the cell. Nobody moved or said anything for what seemed like an eternity.

‘Clever solution though,’ Tom said quietly.

Hermione looked up at hearing his voice. It sounded so kind and even somewhat impressed, completely opposed to what she’d been expecting. Her breath hitched for a second upon noticing how genteel the expression was with which he considered her before continuing his sentence in that same soft speech.

‘Distilling the Red Clover out of the Fertility Draught, it’s positively brilliant and not easy to achieve as well. It tends to bind with the Agnus Cactus berries and changes the molecular structure of both compounds. As far as I know, nobody has managed to split both ingredients after their binding and get them back intact. How did you do it?’

‘I distilled out the combined ingredient and then added new crushed berries to the potion from my supply,’ Hermione said. She didn’t think it was that big a deal. ‘I never split the ingredients, so I didn’t manage that.’

‘Ah,’ Tom said, smiling brightly, ‘that means you had to overcome the problem of the boiling points of the other ingredients being the same as the compound’s. It’s not textbook material either.’

‘Not my idea,’ Hermione said quickly. ‘I’ve seen Professor …’ –crap, mentioning Snape’s name probably wasn’t a good idea– ‘my potions teacher do something similar to Veritaserum once.’ When he was supplying Umbridge with the faulty draught to keep Harry safe, she finished mentally, also deeming that bit better left unsaid.

Tom smirked at her obvious avoidance. ‘Definitely not Slughorn,’ he said, sniggering condescendingly.

‘Professor Slughorn is a fine teacher and potions brewer,’ Hermione said defensively, crossing her arms.

‘Suuuure,’ Tom snorted, ‘as long as he doesn’t have to do something at a pinch or has to be creative. Slughorn has always been a stickler to recipes. Must be why you love him so much, Granger. He, too, is a letter of the text follower.’

Hermione scowled. ‘If he is soooo stupid, why did he have to supply you with the answer to your immortality–’

Shocked, she slapped her lips together, not daring to finish that sentence since Tom’s face had gone to that blank mask in a flash.

Me and my big mouth, I’d been better off mentioning Snape than this.

To her horror, he moved forward. Her eyes wide, Hermione leaned back to somewhat keep her distance, merely achieving that he now towered over her half-lying form on the bed – his hands positioned on either side of her. She swallowed. Merlin, he was close. She could feel the heat radiating off his body. Her heart started pounding in her chest and her mouth went dry. Subconsciously, she licked her lips as his eyes flickered over her face. His previous threat of punishment was suddenly at the forefront of her mind, and she wished he would close the distance between them.

What did she have to do to get him to touch her already? He’d been in this cell, alone, for more than four years with no female companionship whatsoever, beside her. And the way he’d talked to her, had treated her, well, she’d thought he was interested. Had she been mistaken? Was she that undesirable to him? Was it her blood status that kept him at bay or something else?

Maybe he found her ugly? Stupid? A blabbermouth? Unworthy? A silly Gryffindor?

Or maybe he was gay? He did have a lot of male followers after all.

Her mind’s ideas depressed her. By Godric, she needed a good shag, and it was obviously not happening. Discouraged, she met his dark gaze again and held her breath at the feral lust that shone in them.

Then again, maybe it would?

Yet, he wasn’t moving. Perhaps she should take the initiative?

But she didn’t want to. She had already done that with Ron. She didn’t want to now. Not with Tom Marvolo Riddle. She shouldn’t have to with him. Not with Lord Voldemort. She wanted to be conquered, swept off her feet, taken by him at his convenience. Ravaged.

Blood pounded into her nether regions, and she felt herself getting wet from her thoughts and his gaze alone.

‘Please,’ she whispered barely audibly.

His breathing turned heavy and a peculiar glint flashed in his eyes. Pleasure radiated off him in waves. And for a brief second, when he leaned in, she thought it would happen. His lips were but a fraction away from her ear as he whispered, ever so quietly, ever so softly and oh so temptingly:

‘Horace, being ever vain, self-absorbed and overly worried about the sake of appearances, was the only professor who I was sure wouldn’t report me immediately to the authorities. I knew he’d be too concerned about it tarnishing his image – a top student coming to him for such horrific information, the world might be thinking he dabbled in the Arts all the time. He’d never survive the blemish on his oh so valued reputation. Can you imagine what he could’ve prevented if he’d just opened his mouth back then?’

And then, he moved back. Cold. Distant. Smug.

Hermione had to recover from the weird discrepancy between the vicious meaning of his words and the sensual tone of voice he’d spoken them in. It was like her brain couldn’t comprehend the duplicity and her emotions went all over the place.

‘Now, let us focus on expanding your magical knowledge of Arithmancy. There is so much you still need to learn,’ he said, utterly detached and seemingly unaffected by what had just happened.

Hermione felt an overwhelming need to smack him right there and then. Utterly frustrated, she sat back up and was hardly able to concentrate as Tom Riddle talked about her favourite subject back at Hogwarts. When he was finished, and she finally walked out, she was on the verge of exploding.

That – that – that … no, not foul enough. And that word wasn’t it either. Hermione sighed. She had to make up a new coarse word just to describe him. A really despicable one. Something unmatched by anything else.

Grumbling, she stomped up the stairs. She wanted revenge. She wanted to unsettle him. She wanted him to bloody shag her already. Her mood darkened and darkened as she got closer and closer to the top of the staircase and daylight greeted her. The idea struck her as she passed the guard, not noticing how uncomfortable she made him as her expression turned from fury to vengeful delight.

‘In return for this no touching rule, you will not share the information I give you with anyone.’

Tonight, Hermione was inviting her parents over for dinner.

xxx

It was a wonderful evening. Hermione had gone all out in her dinner preparations and made them six courses of delicious homemade food. Ron’s face hadn’t stopped smiling as he dug in and tuned out of the conversation once Hermione had started going on about Arithmancy – a subject he’d never taken and knew diddlysquat of.

Her parents, however, were incredibly interested in learning about this theory one of her “co-workers” had developed, especially her mother, who’d majored in Mathematics before becoming a dentist later in life. She had a thousand relevant comments and questions. To Hermione’s mother, Arithmancy reminded her of Pythagoras’s worldview: All relations can be expressed as number relations. She even made a valid comparison between Voldemort’s theory and book ten of Euclid’s Elements, concerning Eudoxus’s theory of irrational numbers. Hermione couldn’t resist smirking as she envisioned the Dark Lord’s face upon this news.

It became very late before her parents reluctantly left and kissed her and Ron goodbye, imploring them to come visit soon. Her mother even promised to bake her famous apple crumble pie then, which made Ron’s face light up. Hermione let out a satisfied sigh when the door closed. Finally, she’d get Riddle to act. She’d given him the perfect excuse to touch her. She’d broken his number one rule. She’d told. Cheerfully, she turned on her heels and went to bed, looking forward to the next day.

xxx

For the second time that morning Tom Riddle brushed his teeth with a disgusted scowl on his face. His breakfast had been a “delight” as always: a foul, chunk-filled, lukewarm porridge (that reminded him of the orphanage) and peanut butter-and-jelly sandwiches! Food for brats. The day he’d leave this stinking facility (one hundred and eighty-four days, fourteen hours, fifty-seven minutes and fifteen seconds counting) he would find the person responsible for his meals and show them Lord Voldemort’s gratitude. Up close and personal.

He didn’t care that he didn’t have to eat the shitty stuff most of the time anymore since Hermione often brought him the most delicious home-cooked meals, hidden in a container in that bottomless pocket of her jacket. No, her generosity surely didn’t spread to him. He’d get that no good excuse of a “cook” and toss said “chef” in the flaming pits of hell permanently. Perhaps he could make a porridge out of the moron? There were some really “wonderful” spells that could turn a person’s insides slowly into mush. Hmmm… he had to consider it, weigh his options and pick the most fitting punishment. He still had time.

Tom gargled extensively with the toothpaste filled water before spitting it out and drying his mouth with a sigh. Much better. At least he was rid of the taste now. Strolling back to his bed, he checked his watch: a minute past nine o’clock. Hermione was late. Very unlike her. She was incredibly punctual, a trait he valued in others.

The door swung open behind him, and he smirked at his previous thought. There she was. He knew she wouldn’t keep him waiting. His previous dark mood evaporated upon hearing her warm greeting, and he turned around to send her a congenial smile. Immediately, he noticed her behaviour was off. She was always excited and flushed when she entered, but now there was something else visible, too: A slight aura of triumph and deviousness hung around her.

Lord Voldemort had to admit the girl never ceased to amaze him. Her quick wit and fast thinking had put him on his toes several times, unlike any other ever had. And now this aura … it suited her, though. Still, he had the distinct feeling it was aimed at him and that he could not allow.

Besides, how was it possible? After yesterday? He’d been so delighted with the frustration she’d been unable to hide as she’d left. It showed exactly how much progress he’d already made with the little witch. But how had she turned that frustration to this wickedly victorious mood? What had he missed, or worse, miscalculated?

His schooled face was able to hide his feelings of puzzlement and concern while his mind quickly went over what could’ve possibly triggered this behaviour in her. Coming up with nothing, he waited. She was a Gryffindor after all, and even though she was incredibly secretive for that boisterous House, she was bound to blurt out what was on her mind soon. He could tell by the way she almost bounced on her feet. Someone clearly was happy and obviously at his expense if that smug expression was anything to go by.

Well, come on then, Hermione, don’t keep Lord Voldemort waiting.

‘My mum found your Arithmancy theory extremely interesting,’ Hermione said bluntly, placing her hands on her sides.

Her mum? She told her mum?He frowned. Why?

Oooh, their deal. He’d be able to touch her if she told someone against his wishes. Clever girl.

‘Ron, of course, was too busy stuffing his mouth full with food to understand the merits, but Dad appreciated it as well.’

She told more than one person? Pushing your luck, Hermione? Forgot that my terms entailed you’d reimburse me in whatever way I desire?

Still, two Muggles and a moron hardly constituted “informing” another of his theories. Perhaps Lord Voldemort could be the merciful man that he was and let it slide this time? He smirked, envisioning her frustration if he’d go for that solution. She’d likely explode.

‘Not as much as Mum though. She has a PhD in Mathematics, and she’s always been interested in my Arithmancy textbooks. She’s shown me many times the similarities and differences between the two subjects. It’s really interesting, don’t you think?’

She even tilted her head daringly at delivering that last taunt.

So, she told someone who understood the theory and was even able to hold a meaningful debate about it. Well, that meant his previous merciful solution was impossible. He couldn’t say that it didn’t matter because nobody had understood it now. And he sure as hell wasn’t planning to grant her wish and reward her insolent behaviour by fucking her. Oh no.

All in due time, Hermione dear, all in due time. My time. My rules. My terms. When you’re so far gone, you won’t even consider regretting it afterwards.

No, if she thought she’d won now, she’d be in for a huge surprise.

‘Well?’ Hermione asked, sounding a tad impatient.

‘Well what?’ he countered mildly. He could tell it annoyed her that he wasn’t giving more of a reaction. Good.

‘Shouldn’t you tell me now how you’d weigh my decision to share?’ she asked in an overly sweet tone.

His temper flared inside, only outwards he showed nothing but kindness. At the moment.

‘I’m waiting for the explanation,’ he replied, copying her overly sweet tone to the minute detail.

She shrugged, tossing her hands in the air casually. ‘Because I felt like it. Because I could.’

“Because you didn’t shag me yesterday” hung unspoken in the air around them.

‘I see,’ Tom said slowly. ‘And you really are wondering if I’d be okay with those reasons, Ms Granger?’ he added darkly, taking a step towards her. ‘You really need me to tell you out loud what I think of that?’

He raised an eyebrow questioningly as he took another step towards her now still form. So deliciously receptive, she was. He marvelled at how he’d changed her demeanour almost instantly with his words, his tone of voice and behaviour.

‘Or would you happen to know exactly what my answer would be to that?’ He stopped right in front of her, forcing her to crane her neck to meet his eyes. ‘Answer me, Hermione.’

She swallowed lightly, but it didn’t go unnoticed by him.

Oh yes, my little Mudblood, it’s something to consider disobeying Lord Voldemort out of his reach, but another thing altogether to tell him to his face.

‘I figured you’d say no,’ she said with a nonchalant shrug, ‘but I did it anyway.’ Here, she smirked at him, and as such, punctured his self-important power balloon.

Bloody Gryffindors.

‘I just couldn’t care about the consequences,’ she added, tilting her head slightly as her smirk turned into a happy smile.

Now it was his turn to smirk. ‘You’re going to care, Hermione,’ he said barely above a whisper and he cupped her cheek.

He’d been wanting to touch her for ages ever since that first time when he’d had her trapped up against the wall. This small window of opportunity he wasn’t going to miss. Hermione closed her eyes and let out a deep sigh, obviously savouring the moment. She could have this brief illusion of victory. This was all she would get for now. He stroked her soft cheek with his thumb gently.

‘Frankly,’ he added, ‘I am surprised you’d make such a huge error. Just because your demand contained I couldn’t touch you, doesn’t mean I have to after you broke your word. Such an otherwise smart woman should realise that …’ he paused, changing his tone to cold and commanding, ‘there is no way I am going to reward such blatant disobedience by taking you.’

He stepped back abruptly. To his sincere satisfaction, her eyes snapped open, uneasy.

‘No,’ he continued with vicious glee, ‘I think this will be an extremely pleasurable hour for me.’ Calmly, he sat down on the table. ‘Strip.’

Hermione blinked, uncomfortable.

Perfect, he knew just how to make that worse.

‘Now,’ he demanded; his legs widespread, he leaned forward, propping his head on his hand while resting his elbow on his knee to show her she had his full attention. ‘And make it good. I like to sample the wares before buying.’

‘Sample your own wares,’ she bit back.

‘Going back on our deal?’ Tom asked, his face turning positively delighted in malicious joy. ‘You’re sure you dare?’ he added in a low, threatening voice.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, making him chuckle.

‘There is something to dare?’ she mocked, stopping his gleeful laughter at her expense abruptly.

He shrugged – his blank mask firmly back in place. ‘Oh, I don’t know …’ he replied seemingly innocently, ‘you still haven’t mastered all the intricate wand-moves out of Jonesy’s Grimoire. It would be a shame if you never get to hear the final part.’

He leaned back expectantly, feeling positively victorious already. She wasn’t going to deny him now. The horror of never getting the information would grate on her nerves forever.

Herface turned beet red in what he assumed was a mixture of anger and embarrassment. Nonetheless, she began unbuttoning her blouse, though her eyes were studiously avoiding him. That just wouldn’t do.

‘Look at me while you undress,’ he ordered.

Hermione bit her lip and moved her head up, her fingers fiddling with a stubborn button as she met his eyes.

‘Come on, Granger, don’t stand there like a pole. Surely, you’re aware strippers move to music?’

‘There is no music here,’ she countered, her blouse falling open after she undid the last button.

‘Pretend there is,’ he said, his eyes raking over what little he could see at the moment. ‘Nice bra,’ he complimented as she reluctantly swayed a bit while undoing the buttons on her sleeves’ cuffs. ‘Such a sweet, innocent colour lace. I’d be happy to see it go.’

‘It’s a white blouse. Wearing a bright colour bra underneath it is just tacky,’ Hermione objected, slowly lowering the blouse off her shoulders and finally holding it in her hand, not quite knowing what to do with it now. She didn’t want to just dump it on the floor. Like she’d said before, it was white and therefore tremendously susceptible to stains.

Tom held out his hand. ‘I’ll take that,’ he said, smirking anticipatorily.

Slowly, Hermione approached him and handed him her blouse. He draped it over his arm and then gestured for her to continue. Pretty soon, he had quite a stash of her clothes there, which was conveniently obscuring the bulge that had formed in his trousers. Well, he hadn’t seen a nude woman in years, and she was a pretty little thing. Besides, he liked his women petite. He looked up at her face. She’d stopped moving when she was done undressing and it was obvious to him she was incredibly self-conscious about standing there, naked, not knowing what to expect or what to do. He could tell by the slight twitch in her arms that she had to restrain herself from covering her body up. So incredibly vulnerable. That certainly got his blood pumping. Lovely.

His eyes raked over her body. Nice breasts and all. Not too skinny either. Though, he had to cure her of leaving all that pubic hair unshaven. He preferred to have unrestricted view on his properties and he sure as hell wasn’t going down on a field like that. Hermione shuffled nervously on her feet. She clearly was on the verge of grabbing her clothes and running out. Briefly, he wondered if she was equally uncomfortable showing her body to the idiot she’d married. Anger rushed through him at the idea of someone beside him touching her. Visions of Ron Weasley thrashing and writhing under his wand danced merrily through his mind’s eye when he got distracted by the sudden movement of Hermione taking a step back and reaching for the nearest towel.

‘Stop,’ he barked, freezing her in position.

Cautiously, she lowered her arm. Her brown eyes stared at him fearfully, and he frowned, confused for a second as to why she suddenly seemed scared. He’d not threatened her.

Blast. He must’ve expressed his feelings about that insipid redhead to her subconsciously. What was the matter with him? He could keep his temper under control better than this, and he certainly could obscure his expression from showing his emotions.

‘I didn’t tell you to go cover yourself up,’ he said, gazing at her with his blank façade firmly back in place, ‘and we’re only ten minutes into the hour where you will do whatever I desire, Hermione.’

‘I know,’ she said in a small voice.

Great, now he had completely spoiled the mood.

‘My anger just now wasn’t aimed at you,’ he added, as comfortingly as he could manage.

She still seemed doubtful to him. Well, she was the only one here, and she knew he was an expert liar. It made sense to doubt. However, her buttons were easy to push, so he knew just what to do. His eyes gained a mischievous glint and he smirked ever so slightly as he drew a hand through his black locks, satisfied at noticing how her eyes followed his gesture longingly. Women. So predictable when it came down to his looks, especially his hair. The broads he’d dated during his Hogwarts years were never able to keep their hands out of it either. It had taken him quite some effort and hard spellwork to make sure they didn’t get to keep a single strand afterwards. Eh, he knew above anyone else the undesirable things one could do with only a little bit of someone’s body, and he’d never desired to follow one of those dim-witted witches around like a lovesick puppy. Fortunately, the witch standing before him right now was anything but dim-witted.

‘I am never angry at such a …’ he paused, his eyes raking over her body once more, ‘delectable display of … items.’

The suggestive look he sent her with his words seemed to trigger her. Instead of fear, her previous embarrassment reared its ugly head again. He reckoned she’d not often heard praises about her looks. He almost shook his head at the ignorance of the blokes around her. Just because she was smart didn’t mean she wasn’t a girl and didn’t want to be acknowledged as such. Every woman liked to be told they were beautiful. And he didn’t see any reason for the delicious one standing before him to feel any shame about her body.

However, her insecurity and discomfort did suit him at the moment. He enjoyed her reactions when she was unsettled and unsure like that around him. She had a tendency to surprise him. Besides, she flushed so easily, and apparently, he noted now, it wasn’t restricted to her face.

‘Turn around. Slowly,’ he ordered coolly, wondering if she could get any redder. ‘Let’s see if your bum is of equal quality.’

The answer was “yes” to both questions.

‘Nice backside, Granger,’ he complimented teasingly. ‘Ho, ho, wait,’ he ordered when she was about to move on. ‘Lift your hair; I can’t see half of your back, doll.’

She complied, and noticing how tense she held her muscles, he just couldn’t resist. ‘Hmmm… definitely an “Exceeds Expectations”.’

Her shoulders dropped in annoyance as she exhaled deeply. Perhaps he should’ve kept a more appropriately secured distance between them? You never knew with her – she did have a tendency to get physically violent, and he did value his private parts. Abruptly, she dropped her hair and turned around, glaring at him.

‘Are you done making fun of me?’

Like he’d thought, when she’d received compliments in the past, they’d most likely been backhanded insults – comments along the line of “Wow, you look good in makeup” stating how badly you looked normally, or the kicker “You look great today. Did you lose weight?”

He shook his head, smiling benevolently at her as he sensed the coast was clear to proceed. After all, if she’d wanted to kick him in the nuts, she would’ve done it already.

‘This is just the beginning, Hermione,’ he said sibilantly, rising to his feet. He kept her clothes neatly folded over his arm in order to maintain his privacy as he stalked around her. ‘And I never make fun of,’ he paused beside her, breathing the next words against her cheek, ‘someone with such suitably desirable attributes. I am dead serious, dear. You might have got an “Outstanding” if that forest was suitably trimmed.’

His hand flashed and grabbed her between her legs harshly. As he roamed his fingers roughly through her pubic hair, he noted with pleasure how moist she was. Apparently, his comments had aroused her. Perhaps, he’d overestimated her embarrassment? She clearly was enjoying this on some level. Perfect. That would save him so much time and annoyance in training her.

Keeping his eyes locked with hers, he leaned towards her mouth and whispered darkly, ‘Next time I see you this’ –his fingers squeezed around her pubic bone– ‘better be as smooth as silk, dear. Or I’ll remove it for you, and as you can see,’ –there was flash of disappointed in her face as he removed his hand and gestured to the shelf– ‘my equipment is rather rudimentary. You’ll lose more than hair if I have to do it. I think it’s safe to say you will become a bloody mess then. Is that clear?’

She quietly nodded. Obedient. Just like he wanted her to be. There was nothing more thrilling than subduing someone as clever and feisty as her. Time to up the ante. She was ready for it. He could tell.

Slowly, he strolled around her, his fingers trailing over her bare flesh, titillating her skin, while his other arm placed her clothes on the sink behind her. When he was on his second turn, he held out her blouse for her. Confused, she looked at him at first, but he didn’t need to say it. She quickly caught on and placed her arm in the sleeve. When both her arms were in, he yanked her back against his front and started buttoning up her blouse silently. She twitched when his fingers came in contact with her breasts and her breathing had turned ragged. He could feel her press her body against his, which caused a vicious smirk to appear on his handsome face. Stroking the fabric straight, he finally cupped her breasts and massaged them through her blouse.

‘Much better,’ he breathed into her ear, while he worked her nipples into hard peaks, ‘you will not be wearing any brassieres from hereon. If you feel too exposed outside of my presence, you may wear something over your shirt like a jumper or whatever, but in here, you’ll make sure to display your goods to me.’ He squeezed her breasts before moving away. When he arrived back in front of her, he had her trousers in his hands.

‘Lift your leg,’ he ordered while getting on one knee in front of her.

‘What about my knickers?’ Hermione asked, looking down wide-eyed.

‘You won’t be needing them anymore. If I ever see you in knickers again, I’ll spank you so hard you won’t be able to sit for a week.’

‘What?’ she blurted out, shocked.

For a moment, he thought she was upset about his suggestion to spank her, but to his delight, her next words showed it hadn’t been the trigger to her shock.

‘I – I can’t walk around without my underwear on.’

‘Don’t test my patience, Granger, or I will confiscate your trousers, too, and you can go home in your blouse and shoes. I am sure the guards will enjoy the show.’

He just loved the glare she sent his way while she lifted her leg and grudgingly let him help her inside her trousers. He took expert care in caressing her skin as he moved the trousers up her leg, enjoying how she tried to not respond to his touch and failed miserably. He knew it would be uncomfortable to wear jeans without underwear, but he really didn’t care as he zipped her up.

‘No more trousers, too,’ he said, taking a hold of her hips. ‘I want this,’ he squeezed her buttocks, ‘in a skirt, be that wide or tight fitting. However,’ keeping a firm grip on the outside of her thighs, his hands slowly moved down to her knees, ‘your skirts won’t go below your knees. I like to see some leg.’ His fingers curled around her knees, moving to the inside of her thighs as he moved back up again. Hermione twisted when he grabbed a hold of her core and rubbed the hard fabric against her teasingly. ‘Do you like this, witch?’ he hissed.

A soft moan was her reply and he chuckled viciously. ‘Too bad you weren’t properly dressed then.’

He stepped away, ignoring her disappointed groan, and collected her socks and sensible flat shoes, holding them in front of her with a disgusted scowl.

‘This won’t do either, Granger. You’ve got pretty legs, so put them in some nice stockings and heels. I’ve seen you walk quite adequately in them before. There is no excuse for this horrific footwear dulling my presence.’

Then, he dumped them at her feet and turned away, ordering her to leave.

Not sure what to do, Hermione stared at his back, biting her lip. Was she supposed to put them on now or did he expect her to go barefoot? He obviously didn’t like it if she wore them around him, so she opted on putting them on outside of his cell. Picking up her socks and shoes, she darted to her jacket, glancing at her bra and underwear still lying on the sink. How was he going to explain them being here? Merlin, looking those guards in the eye would become a serious issue now. Nervously, she grabbed her jacket and turned around to say goodbye. Her whole body started glowing in warmth when she noticed how pleased he was watching her. He’d clearly liked her choice to go barefoot. A broad smile erupted on her face.

‘Till tomorrow,’ she said cheerfully.

‘I look forward to tomorrow, Ms Granger,’ he replied warmly.

I have after all not used my whole hour on you yet.

xxx
- 3
- 4
- 5
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

The Prisoner