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Rite of Passage	By : Nerys Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 7409 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations from Harry Potter created and owned by JK Rowling. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
Warning: Currently not yet beta'd. Serpent in Red won't be available until she's finished writing for her mini bang, and I didn't want to keep you all waiting until end October/begin November. So if you don't want to read an unbeta'd chapter, come back around that time and see if this warning has been removed.
A/N: I want to thank everyone for reading.
Saxman66: Yeah, I'm sure it was a real blow to her pride to not having been able to go around for even a second without being seen for who she really was. As for surprises and how it ends, you'll see. This is the last chapter. Thank you for reviewing, xoxox Nerys
Oceangirl86: I'm glad you're enjoying the story. This is the conclusion, so you won't have to wait for what comes next anymore. Thanks for reviewing, xoxox Nerys

Rite of Passage
"Whether it's there or not, I'll find out anyway. Tonight."
Chapter 4: Taken
His hand came to rest under her neck again, and her body jolted once more. Her strength returned to her arms and legs. Every bodily sensation felt normal again. How could that even be after such an ordeal? How could all the evidence remaining be her tearstained face, and the memory of it all?
And how could she stop her body from shaking so relentlessly?
"Different range of motion than before," Julian added, looking up and down her body.
Anger bloomed in her chest at that blatant show of disregard. And anger felt so much better than angst. So, so, so much better. It even stopped her body from trembling.
"I'm not some fucking frog for you to dissect," she hissed angrily.
"No, usually the frogs are dead," he replied dryly.
"I sincerely doubt that in your case," she snapped back, causing him to toss his head back and laugh.
"Less loud then," he conceded, winking at her. "I think you burst my eardrums."
"Enough of this," Voldemort interrupted when Hermione opened her mouth to tell him what else she would love to burst.
He vanquished the blanket that had twisted around her legs with a simple gesture of his hand. After he'd had his hand inside her chest, she couldn't really care that the exterior of her body was fully on display. It wasn't like she had any power to stop him even if she would've.
"So, you've been attending my revels for quite some time now, Miss Granger," Voldemort said softly again.
"Yeah?" she replied suspiciously, wondering about the change in subjects and having no idea where this was going.
"What were your conclusions?"
Her conclusions? What was he getting at?
"Surely, a witch like yourself analysed these functions. I'd like to hear your findings."
"Why would you even ask me that? It's not like you care about my Mudblood opinions."
His lipless mouth curled in a most condescending manner. He sat back down on the stone next to her waist and rested his hand on her belly. She tensed briefly, and then relaxed when nothing else happened.
"Perhaps you're right; perhaps your opinions are meaningless..." he paused before adding mockingly, "Mudblood."
As if that term had nothing to do with him. As if it hadn't been invented by his ancestor. As if he hadn't revived it and thrived on that stupid ideology. As if the word held no logic or meaning to him at all.
"Oh, it doesn't. It's of interest to others who were once quite useful to obtain my goals," he added lightly.
"Suuure, it's of no interest to you at all," she said sarcastically. "That's why you keep oppressing my kind. That's why you keep murdering Muggles. That's why you killed your fami—"
His finger pressed on her lips before she could finish. "They were no family of mine," he said coolly.
The silence spread around them as thick as ice.
"I suppose," she finally conceded, looking down.
Family was more than blood. She knew that. Her family was long gone; her blood, however, lived safely in Australia without any knowledge of her existence.
"Monica and Wendell Wilkins," Voldemort said slowly, causing her to look up at him with wide eyes.
"No," she said, her lip trembling.
"They're fine," he said, shrugging, ignoring her sigh of relief. "I have no interest in the business and goings on of Muggle filth."
She bit her lip, wanting to tell him off for calling her parents filth, but also not wanting to steer him into hurting them.
"You care about them, why?"
She shrugged, having no idea how to explain love to a psychopath like him.
"They cared for me," she merely said, realising how lame that sounded as the words left her mouth.
"They forgot you in a second."
Hermione bit her lip and said, "I did that to them. It was not their doing or desire."
"Against their wishes, I presume."
"Yes," she reluctantly acknowledged.
"So how does that make you better than me?"
"What?!"
He leaned in, his face so close she could see the veins underneath his starkwhite skin, and unlike hers, his veins were red.
"How. Are. You. Any. Different. Than. Me?" he enunciated.
"I'm—I'm…"
She had no words. Did he really dare compare her self sacrificing actions to protect her parents from his own selfish actions?
"Yes, I dare," he hissed, "Cause you see, Hermione Granger, we're not that different."
He ignored her splutters of protest and continued, "We do what we deem is necessary to achieve our goals. We decide what's best for others. They get no choice, especially not those far beneath us. They get to live how we decide they should. And if we think it's best they don't live or perhaps," he tilted his head here and smirked, "we'd like to disfigure their face permanently, or set them on fire, or get them raped by centaurs, or lock them in jars, well, that's our choice, isn't it? If they couldn't stop it, clearly that's their weakness and they should submit to the power greater than their own."
His eyes glinted with merriment at her, and his fingertips trailed her side with slow strokes of possessiveness—the glorious sensations that simple movement sent through her body made her ache for more.
"You—You can't just twist my actions like that," she said, not liking how feeble her argument was. She knew she'd done those things. She also knew she'd liked doing them. She'd also wished she'd done worse to some.
"Dolores Jane Umbridge," he whispered against her lips, "I could bring her to her knees before you. You could finish what you started," he added, his words dangerously ensnaring. "No one would dare stop you if you were by my side, Hermione."
She exhaled, closing her eyes. She needed to snap out of it. She couldn't let him manipulate her like that.
"I'm not manipulating you into something you're not, Hermione."
She didn't like how sensuous her name sounded coming from him, how it made her insides curl and twist in a wish for more.
"I'm merely showing you who you truly are. Who you were always meant to become."
His mouth sucked on her throat as he slowly inspected every inch of it, eliciting a moan from her lips. Both his hands now slid down over her body, her back arched, and she widened her legs subconsciously, needing him there.
"Mine," he breathed against her ear.
Despite her body's traitorous reactions, she didn't let that slide. "I belong to myself."
"Not tonight, my precious, little, dark witch, not tonight."
She couldn't disagree with that. Alas. No matter how much she wanted to.
"And after tonight, I'll promise to—"
Julian coughed.
Voldemort looked up with an annoyed glare at the interruption.
"Let's not promise her things she can hold against us, shall we?" Julian snarked.
"I'm not going to survive tonight," Hermione reminded him coolly.
She'd resigned to dying the moment she found herself on that sacrificial stone and knew what would happen to those on it. She'd hoped to avoid giving him what he needed, but all that hope had flown out the window after he'd demonstrated the power he had over her.
"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Voldemort and Julian said simultaneously.
Baffled, Hermione looked at the both of them. Had she been to the same revels these two morons had been to?
When both their mouths curled in a similar fashion, she really started hating not having twisted Professor Snape's arm into teaching her Occlumency, too.
"Ah, my revels, yes," Voldemort said, his eyes shining, "I'm still waiting on your undoubtedly entertaining insight."
"Why, on earth, why does it matter?" she asked, rolling her eyes.
"I'm interested to see how far off base you are."
"Oh, so this is some stupid test. Fine. Have it your way. Clearly, it's about power. All these introductions, the food, the sex all the guests are having, it's all irrelevant. I doubt you even need all these people there, but enjoy showing off the force you produce after you fucked some silly witch or wizard to death."
"Actually the food, the sexual atmosphere, the entire ambiance is part of what makes the ritual stick. Without it, there would be no result."
He gestured to the air around them, already thick with primordial magic due to what was happening outside the tent.
"Then why do you gain so little from it?"
"Excuse me?"
"As your copy over there already pointed out, apparently I was mesmerised by your performance. You didn't come out satisfied once."
"Well, those people weren't particularly good fucks, but the most important thing, the powerboost, that I gained."
"No." Hermione shook her head. "No, don't do that. Don't lie to me like I'm some stupid fool, hanging on your every word for gospel. You wanted something from them that they couldn't give, and now you think—undoubtedly for some delusional reason—that I can. Do you even know what it is you're looking for? Because to me, those previous choices seemed awfully random."
"There is an energy that is required, a certain amount of magical power and will, a quality." He shook his bald head. "You never truly participated. You wouldn't understand."
"Try me."
"Oh, believe me, Hermione Jean Granger," he quietly spoke, his robes disappearing as smoke before her eyes, "I'm about to."
Her throat bopped. His body was even more intimidating up close and personal. Her eyes followed the movements of his ribs in his chest. She'd assumed his skin had been transparent from a distance, but now she saw there was no skin at all. It was all muscle, veins and bones.
"How does that not get infected?" she asked barely above a whisper.
"Personal warding."
"Doesn't that drain an awful lot of energy?"
"I got plenty to spare."
"Why is it just your chest and not your arms?"
His mouth quirked, "Why do you think?"
"I—I,"
She stared at his arms, fighting the urge to reach out and touch, to investigate what it felt like, but recalling very clearly his response to others clawing at him.
"I don't understand why your skin ..." she paused, thinking.
Her eyes darted from his starkwhite, still human-like skin to the snakelike patterns on his upper arms with its patches of loose skin to the dark iridescent, crocodile-like, tough-looking scales on his belly back to the complete loss of skin on his chest. She realised the snakelike patterns and the shedding of skin on his arms were closer to his chest than the skin that looked slightly human. But his hands were the exception. Why would his hands—?
"Do share your theories, little one."
"You tried to stop the decay," she blatantly said.
His face was utterly blank, not a single movement gave away whether or not she'd been close, but it was the only theory she could think of.
"You transplanted different patches of skins to see which had the best outcome. That's why your underarms are still relatively human."
She stared at his hands. They kind of ruined her theory, seeing that they were farther away from his infected chest, but he'd still transplanted other skin on them.
"Did you touch your chest with your hands?" she asked tentatively.
"Give the Mudblood an Order of Merlin," Julian said.
Hermione's eyes darted between him and Voldemort whose face was still not giving anything away.
"Am I right?" she asked, still waiting for confirmation from Him, but he was utterly disquietly silent.
Her eyes darted back to Julian. Realisation struck her like a bolt of lightning, and she turned to Voldemort.
"He's your backup plan, in case you…" she trailed off, staring into that red, piercing gaze, not daring to finish that sentence given it was his absolute worst fear.
"In case he dies," Julian said with a barely veiled, vicious delight. "You can say it, pet. He's done one foolish power experiment too many, and—"
Suddenly, Julian's mouth was still moving but no sound came forward. His handsome face morphed into an ugly snarl. His hatred and anger showed quite prominently, distorting his features and already showing signs of the snakefaced wizard he'd become later in life. His wandhand twitched in an obvious desire to curse Lord Voldemort.
"He talks too much," Voldemort said softly.
"I'm not wrong, am I?" Hermione said, her tone of voice soft and gentle, like she'd use on a skittish animal or a scared child.
"I don't need your pity."
"You shan't ever have it."
He stared at her, weighing the truth of her words.
"Good," he added.
"Is it just your skin?" Hermione asked, jolting when the quietness of the tent got disturbed by Julian slouching into the couch, his arms folded over each other like a petulant child.
Voldemort ignored him and focused solely on her. A devious curl formed on his mouth as he teased, "Which other parts could you possibly be referring to?"
Heat rose to her face. Well, a girl would wonder, right?
"Most of my alterations are deliberate as you will find out why soon enough," he said, his eyes twinkling at her gulp. "That face," he pointed to the disgruntled copy on the couch, "is an abomination."
Hermione raised her eyebrows.
"Oh, it's handy for deceiving fools who can't look beyond what's right in front of them; I can't deny that. But it's utterly, disgustingly human," he spat in Julian's direction.
And the spitting image of your father, but she banished that thought quickly from her mind before he had the chance to pick up on it.
"Why not make a copy of the person you were before the decay if you hate looking like your younger self so much? I assume he feels the same, since he's you?"
"I couldn't have people noticing there were two of me. It would've raised unwanted questions about my reasons, shift loyalties. I already had to kill two of my most valued Death Eaters who realised through their damn father's painting who he was and rather served him."
"The Lestrange brothers," Hermione said, recalling the freak potions accident three years ago that had been on the Daily Prophets front page extensively.
The owner of the company that had supplied the ingredients had been thrown in Azkaban. It had always made her wonder why neither of the brothers had noticed the ingredients weren't up to par. Sure, they weren't in Snape's league of potions making, not even close, but any fool would notice when a frozen Ashwinder egg had gone bad before being frozen. It had a distinctly disgusting scent when it was. It was also highly unstable after it had gone bad, so unstable that even frozen only a minor procedure would have it ignite so violently there would've been no escape. That accident had her wondering who was still fighting the Dark Lord, only to find out it was his doing.
"They lost their sense of smell," she suddenly realised, knowing that loses of senses had occurred to more former Azkaban prisoners, some kind of side-effect of the Dementors if they hadn't been allowed to drain a human dry. It wasn't public information that the brothers had lost their sense of smell, but Voldemort would've known, and it was the only explanation. "That's how you knew you'd get away switching the good egg for a bad one."
"You are extremely observant," Voldemort praised, causing her to blush once more.
She really wished she wasn't so easy to read. She really wished she'd got over her need for validation, but it was really nice to be praised by a wizard with his extraordinary capabilities.
"Are you going to kill him if you somehow get this decay to stop?"
Julian sat up straight at that.
Voldemort shrugged. "I haven't decided yet."
"Of course he is," Julian said—the way Lord Voldemort whipped his head around made it clear to Hermione the Silencing Charm hadn't been lifted, Julian had broken through it. "I would. Two of us is one too many."
The tension in the tent was palpable. Magic darker than the night whirled through the air. She cringed, wondering where to duck for cover if this turned into a duel.
Voldemort rose to his feet, facing Julian who still lounged on the couch like he had not a single care in the world.
"You can't kill me until you're sure her dark powers are compatible with ours, until you're sure she can heal you," after a brief pause, he looked past Voldemort to Hermione, "if she so chooses."
The threat to Voldemort was as clear as was the offer to Hermione.
"I may not be able to kill you, but I could put you back," Voldemort said sweetly, draining all colour from Julian's already pale face. "It would leave you at her mercy as well."
"That would be another huge mistake, and you know it," Julian said coolly. "You've seen her darkness. She will not revive us even if she survives what's to come."
"You, you mean, she will not revive you. Though she probably won't kill you either. She does take a delightful pleasure in keeping people hostage in objects, and somehow, I'm finding it harder and harder to care what happens to you if I don't survive this."
"You can't do this," Julian hissed, rising to his feet.
A dark part of Hermione rose to the surface, considering what she would do if she were to survive and had a trapped Dark Lord at her mercy. She'd no idea how painful said imprisonment would be physically, but she could find out and make it worse. She could break him physically and mentally, torment him into insanity. It was a heady feeling—a power rush—even if it hadn't occurred yet. It whirled around her.
"Now!" Julian shouted.
Voldemort swirled around, grabbed her legs and dragged her to him. Hermione shrieked in surprise.
"I'd spellbind you if I didn't think it would interfere with your abilities," he said quietly.
"I don't want to be spellbound." There'd be no escape then.
"Perfect."
He leaned over her, her breasts touching his ribs and muscles. She shivered at the feel of bone and soft muscle tissue moving against her. His blood started to drip on her breasts from that tiniest of friction.
Then she recalled he'd said he'd warded it, so why was she feeling this, why was he bleeding?
"A ward might hold back your ability to heal me."
"I don't know how to heal you," she said, slightly panicking. He was asking the impossible. It couldn't be done. She could not do it. She would not do it.
"You'll need this union to heal, too, Hermione. The black magic inside you has evolved beyond the point of no return. It will steer you to where it needs to be."
'Which is where?"
"When it's done consuming you, there'll be nothing left but a shrieking Banshee."
She gulped. She'd been taught Banshees came to fruition after the death of a family member or loved one. This was news to her. However, she'd always wondered why there were so few Banshees in the world with all the losses people had everywhere.
"Creation of a Banshee requires a magical centre with strong allegiances to dark powers and insufficient control of said powers, which is why not teaching students the Dark Arts is such a folly. Actually, death and loss rarely produce a Banshee. The reason that myth became seen as the truth is due to Irish Minister Monghnd Mhic Caoinnigh who turned into one very publicly simultaneously with her son dying. However, it's my belief that even if her son had lived, she'd still be turned. I've seen it happen before."
"You mean you made it happen by experimenting on a witch," Hermione corrected, the upward curl of his mouth telling her she'd been spot on. "You did this to me."
"I couldn't have done it if there'd been nothing to connect with."
She tossed her head back and laughed. "You did this, and now you want to heal me and have me heal you when I haven't got a clue or will even."
"I'll guide you, Hermione," he said, his voice sibilantly.
She didn't need his guidance. She didn't want his guidance. She wanted him dead. She wanted his copy dead. She wanted them all dead, just like she'd killed and helped kill his Horcruxes. Her darkness swam through her mind with a force so overwhelming she couldn't keep it at bay anymore. It shifted and twisted, leaked through every crack in her armour and burst free with a power unlike anything she'd ever been able to produce. She tossed her head back, closed her eyes, and moaned in delight.
So, so, so much power.
She was on a high, not wanting to come down ever again. This was what it meant to be alive. This was what magic truly was. She needed this. She needed this. She needed this.
Her arms flailed around. Two hands grabbed her wrists and pushed them down above her head. She opened her eyes and saw Julian's hands holding her captive and Julian's dark gaze staring at her intently.
Traitorous piece of shit! She'd allowed him to fool her. Again.
A high-pitched laugh focused her attention back to Lord Voldemort. Their magic whirled in the air around him, mingling like a deadly catch. She felt his power slowly and surely surround hers like a predator snaring its prey. She thrashed, trying to break free, but his force merely grew stronger with every additional power burst she threw at him.
For this night, I shall be yours alone to do with as you see fit.
Her eyes met his. She couldn't win this. The deck was stacked against her before they'd even started. Her power let out a desperate, furious howl. His lipless mouth immediately was on hers, capturing her magical force as he breathed in her air and explored her mouth with his tongue, forcing her to breathe the air of his lungs. Her power sensed the decay entering her, roared up and ripped through it like a knife through butter, not wanting it anywhere inside of her. Voldemort tensed above her, threw his head back, and groaned.
She breathed heavily. Her whole body felt on fire from that kiss. Then she felt his magic soar inside of her. When did that happen? She'd only noticed the decay, not the rest.
FUCK!
Her pupils dilated. She arched her back; an unearthly screech left her mouth. His darkness didn't come gently; it crashed through her barriers like a charging Erumpent, overwhelming every nerve cell, every blood vessel, every single part of her being. She tossed and turned underneath him, feeling Julian's grip tighten like a vice on her wrists.
Oh God, oh God, oh God!
Too, too much.
Julian leaned towards her face and whispered against her skin, "Now spread your legs for your Master like a proper Mudblood slut."
Hermione whimpered. Her core clenched at his demeaning words. Yet, she was sure she couldn't take anymore, this power of his inside of her was already too much. It was burning her up, consuming her whole, leaving only ashes in its wake—she was certain of that.
Julian's hands burned with his magic. He looked right into her eyes and whispered ever so softly, ever so gently, one of the foulest of words, "Crucio!"
It ripped through her arms, flew through her torso and legs, and entered her mind, turning her screams even louder, but now no longer just with pleasure but mixed with the pain of that Unforgivable. Her darkness met it, whirled around it, enjoyed it, didn't do anything to combat it, while her whole body thrashed until he let go.
"You should do that again, while her cunt is wrapped around me," Voldemort hissed.
Did he seem more vital already or was that her imagination?
"Maybe I will," Julian said, a dark promise aimed at her. "Now, I suppose I could pop your hip joints out of their socket, fixate your legs in that widespread position permanently, and hand you over to a whorehouse after we're done here, so they'd have a cunt ready twenty-four hours a day to receive any cock that needs relieving."
Her arousal rose at his threats.
"But perhaps you can use that pathetically slow moving, single minded brain cell of yours to avoid said fate and spread your legs voluntarily for your superiors as you were born to do, Mudblood."
Her core contracted, making her more and more aware of that emptiness inside of her. Her whole body stood at attention, aching for him, wanting him, needing him, despite that tiny part of her that hollered in rage at how he'd dared speak to her.
Resigning, she moved her legs open. She knew Julian would have no reservations to make good on his threat to break her hips. Lord Voldemort watched her as she spread herself wide before him. A blush coloured her cheeks. She had only fucked in the dark before; never had anyone feasted his eyes upon her private parts so thoroughly. She was really glad there wasn't an audience this time around even though she realised that wasn't done for her benefit. He had to be unsure of what this would do to him to not allow others to watch him rip her apart.
A wave of his hand and a rumbling noise she identified as coming from the sacrificial stone erupted. Confused, she looked around. When he moved between her legs, she realised he'd somehow taken a bite so to speak out of the stone. How did he do that? That stone was ancient, unchanged besides the darkening of its patina.
"Dark power has his benefits, especially when mixed with another's," he said, smirking down at her. "And yours, my little Mudblood, tastes so sweet. I can't wait to feel you all around me, but let's properly inspect you first, shall we?" His head dipped between her legs, and his hands spread her folds apart. "Hmm...interesting," he muttered, trailing his tongue through her folds and dipping into her cunt.
Her walls clenched at his tongue and he quickly moved out, making her groan in frustration.
"Such a tight little cunt you have there, Mudblood. How long has it been since you'd last had a proper fucking?"
When she didn't immediately have a reply, he merely smirked. "That long, eh? Don't worry, I'll stretch you so wide, you won't be able to sit for weeks."
She clenched so hard that the muscles of her belly contracted with it.
"Don't think you'll achieve something new there," Hermione snarked. "I already can't sit for weeks, thanks to that asshole holding my wrists.
"Oh, is the brat's arse still smarting?" Julian taunted, before looking up at Voldemort and, with an exaggerated eye roll, adding, "Couldn't even walk properly."
"Of course not," Voldemort said, slipping his hands under her buttocks and lifting her up, ignoring her grimace. "Mudbloods always need to be taught the most basic of things. Hmmm... it's not even bleeding. Perhaps we should consider a different approach? Fill up every hole of the little Mudslut in a much more prudent and ... effectively deeper manner."
Julian's eyes lit up, and before she knew what was happening, she was flung around, thrust on all fours. Shackles chained to her ankles, knees, and wrists, pulling her palms flat against the surface, which left her no other choice than to bend down before Julian.
"I warn you. Suddenly my jaw is having unpredictable cramps," she hissed threateningly.
He stroked through her hair in response and smilingly said, "That's not a problem. I know just the thing."
He yanked her head back, roughly, and her surprised "Oh" caught something metallic growing between her teeth, until her jaw was spread so wide, it could go no further.
"She looks positively scrumptious like this, wouldn't you say?" Julian said over her body to Voldemort who moved around and made a deliberate show of inspecting her mouth by pushing his fingers down her throat.
"Suck, Mudblood cunt," Julian hissed into her ear, making her body tremble in desire. "Show your Master you're worthy of his cock."
She gagged several times as she did her best to keep up with Voldemort's rhythmic pumping of his fingers down her throat. Tears dripped down her face.
"Aww… is the little bitch crying," Julian taunted, knowing full well it was merely a bodily reaction not sadness or fear. "Wait till you feel my rock hard cock there."
Voldemort pulled his fingers out. The back of his hand had lost its scalelike pattern, and he stared at it while her drool dripped down his hand. His other hand cupped her cheek.
"You may survive this after all, Miss Granger," he said, sounding almost in awe.
Then he moved back behind her. The shackles on her knees and ankles pulled her legs sideways, stretching her hip joints uncomfortably and putting their previous threat of breaking them suddenly at the forefront of her mind again.
"Look at that disgusting mess you're making on this priceless ancient stone artifact," Voldemort mocked, slapping her behind with an audible snap.
Her body yerked in reaction, and she let out a scream.
"Your revolting, filthy cunt is still dripping on this stone. Have you no self control, witch, that you can't stop behaving like a wild animal in heat?"
He slapped her again, this time on the other buttock. Hermione dropped her head between her arms, and groaned, trying to muffle her scream was hard when her mouth was held open wide by whatever the hell that was he'd put in her mouth.
"Oh, no, you don't," Julian said, grabbing her curls and yanking her head up. "You'll look at me, Mudslut."
Voldemort slapped her behind again, and she couldn't hold back the scream.
"Is," slap, "she," slap, "hiding," slap, "her," slap, "desires," slap, "from," slap, "her," slap, "Masters?"
Hermione shook her head, for as far as Julian allowed it.
"She claims she's not. I'm not sure I believe it."
Hermione whimpered, her whole body tensing. Yet when nothing happened, she relaxed.
Slash!
She cried out when a sharp pain lacerated her skin.
The sharpness edged on, until replaced by a constant throb. Something stroked over her back. She couldn't tell what it was—it felt rather flexible—but she was pretty sure that it had just inflicted that wound on her, so she remained absolutely still.
"We may tame you yet, won't we, Hermione?" Voldemort said, then waited silently.
Hermione nodded fearfully. She didn't want another strike with whatever that was.
Voldemort softly stroked her back, while Julian petted her head like she were some kind of animal, like she truly was their pet. It felt unbelievably humiliating, even more so because of her inability to stop herself from leaning into their touch.
"I shall put this away and get a riding crop for our pet," Voldemort said casually, "Our little pet may be tame now, but even tame pets need proper steering from time to time."
He walked away briefly, but Julian leaned in and added, "Especially stubborn, foolishly misbehaving, brats of pets."
She tensed when she heard Voldemort's footsteps approach her again and stop right behind her.
"Let's examine our pet, shall we?" he said conversationally. He showed her the riding crop before trailing it down her backside.
She winced when he traced over her throbbing wound. "A bit damaged goods, I daresay. I don't know how we'll be able to get good value for our pet now."
"I suppose that means we gotta keep it; lock it tightly in a cage, so it won't bleed all over everything," Julian added.
She wished she could say their words didn't turn her on, that she wasn't that depraved and sick in the head, but she couldn't help herself. She wanted them to own her. She needed it.
"Please," she tried to say with her mouth wide open, but an odd noise came forth.
Julian snorted. "It thinks it can speak."
The riding crop now traced her breasts, making her nipples stand at attention, before moving over belly, lower and lower and lower, until it dipped between her folds and she trembled, feeling it move past her clit but not doing enough to stop that ache that burned through her, while leaving a cold, empty feeling behind, making her wish for more and more and more.
"Now she got my new priceless crop all wet from her dripping cunt," Voldemort said, "Clean up your mess, pet, or I'll dry it on your skin."
She stuck out her tongue and tasted herself on the leather as she licked it clean.
"That's a good girl," Voldemort said, patting her head demeaningly. He looked at Julian and said, "I believe it's time."
Julian divested his robes. Hermione's eyes fell on his already fully risen manhood and gulped. He was going to put that in her mouth? She'd given a blowjob before but usually she stuck to the head of the cock and worked the rest with her hands. Since her hands were unavailable and probably also not an option given the way Julian was moving towards her, she wasn't sure she'd be able to take him fully.
Voldemort slapped her breast with the riding crop. She cried out, wincing.
What was that for?
"Questioning your Masters," vibrated in her mind.
Voldemort's fingers slid between her folds, and his thumb drew circles on her clit faster and faster while his fingers pumped inside her cunt.
"Lick like a good pet would," Julian said, offering her his cock.
She stuck out her tongue and barely reached the tip of his cock, knowing he did it deliberately, the slap of the riding crop landing on her other breast didn't even come as a surprise. Yet it still smarted just the same, while other more pleasurable signals took over as his fingers worked her, hard. She could feel it coming. So close, so—so close. Her toes curled and her body arched when her orgasm ran through her. The darkness inside cheered and bathed in joy.
Smack!
She cried out when the riding crop landed hard on her shoulder blade as her orgasm still burned in her brain and had her trembling. Her mind didn't know what to do with the information and merely added more pleasure to it, making her come a second time already.
"Such an unruly beast, focused on her pleasure and her pleasure only," Voldemort said calmly, slapping her buttock with the crop again, and again, and again. "You will learn your Masters' pleasures come before you, pet."
She nodded her head in Julian's tight grip, trying to lick his cock to show them she meant what she said, but she could not reach him.
Julian sniggered, moving on top of the stone and sitting on his knees with her arms between his legs. She licked his cock, but he yanked her head back and clicked his tongue at her.
"I believe our pet needs proper guidance, don't you, pet?"
She nodded again. She definitely needed help. Somehow her release had given her no lasting satisfaction—the darkness inside her had taken it all. She felt so, so empty. She needed them to fill that void.
She stilled when she felt Voldemort's hands on her hips, spreading her buttocks apart. Her memory jolted back to the three cocks. Was he? She felt something large press against her arsehole.
No, that would never fit, not even with that clear Lubrication Charm he'd cast.
"Relax, pet," Voldemort said, his words slithering around her skin like a caress.
It made her sway on her hands and knees, and she knew he'd attached magic to it. She whimpered when he pressed on. Slowly but surely. Farther and farther.
"Breathe," he ordered.
She complied, taking a deep breath and feeling him push a thick bulge past her puckered entrance on her exhale.
"By Salazar, you clench so wonderfully," he said, sounding breathlessly.
It felt strange but not bad to have something up there. She kept inhaling and exhaling with the intent to overcome that reflex to push it out. She wasn't quite successful at that, but it didn't matter, it seemed like it was stuck inside of her and wouldn't go anywhere. It made her quite worried about what was slithering against her, sending delightful sensations through her body. Against the inside of her thighs, she could feel another cock's ridges as it seemingly moved on its own. If he were going to thrust in and out of her, wouldn't that rip her arse wide open?
Her whole body shivered when something licked over her clit. A hiss followed, and another lick, Voldemort's fingers dug into her hips and something thick and wide pressed against her cunt. Hermione stilled, focusing on the sensation of him pushing his head in slowly. A fluid coated her inner walls with a vicious sting that made her cry out.
No, no, no, get it out!
Julian savoured the look of agony on her face, she could tell. He leaned in and breathed against her mouth, "It will burn a path through you, allowing him to touch you where your power centre lies. Normally, people are spellbound, so you may not enjoy this at all. It may hurt beyond anything you've ever felt before, and I will saviour that expression on your face and fuck your insolent mouth so hard you'll wish I'd make you choke for real, but I will leave just enough air left for my pet to survive and be able to service her Masters over, and over, and over again."
"By Merlin, whatever you're whispering to her, keep going," Voldemort said hoarsely. "Her cunt is getting so wet, I'm already farther without force than normally."
Hermione felt what he meant. Her own fluids mixed with his, taking some of the edge of that previously biting sting. The ridges on his cock soothed her, massaging her insides, caressing her in such an unusual manner that she clenched rhythmically around him without a conscious thought. Her uterus filled up next and then he pushed through its wall—right when that third snakelike cock licked her clit just the way she liked it.
So much pain.
So much pleasure.
Pain and pleasure.
Pain and pleasure mixed so heavily her mind couldn't keep up with the conflicting signals. Strangely enough her mind could keep up where every cock of his was and what they were doing to her, especially that thick ridged one that continued to lengthen and curve inside of her as if it had a distinct destination and purpose.
She didn't know how it moved like that and how she knew so precisely what it was doing, but she felt it curling around her ovary and coating it with his strange cum as she had previously dubbed it, but now realised it was clearly something else altogether. The pain in her side felt like an ovulation sting, and then, it moved to the other, coating and coating until again, a sting erupted in her side. Right after that, somewhere deep inside of her, something dark and glorious began pulsing, making her sway and blackening her eyes fully.
Like it was a signal to it, the fanged cock hissed. Then sharp fangs penetrated her and that third snakelike cock latched onto her captured clit.
Things are proceeding differently.
But she couldn't consider it longer as its sucking sent delicious signals through her core up her spine to her brain, demanding all her attention. Her toes curled. Her darkness rose but not throughout all of her body like before. No, it rose solely from that special place she'd never felt activated before. It was like a dark sun that started to burn and spread.
"There you are," Voldemort said, satisfied, and his cock moved forward. "Damn, our little pet is tightening her walls so hard, I don't think I'll last long."
"Well, in that case," Julian said out loud, yanking harshly on her hair, "Let's fuck the little Mudblood's brains out, shall we?"
He slipped his cock in her mouth like it was easy. Well, she supposed it was for him. She had to move her tongue, swallow continuously as he pushed in and out of her mouth so far down, she gagged every single time he hit the back of her throat. He didn't care about her discomfort and used the tight grip he had on her curls to make her swallow his full length, rapidly picking up the pace. Her eyes teared at the harsh treatment, but the rest of her body rejoiced.
"Found you," Voldemort whispered in triumph when her magical centre reacted to his fluids.
Abruptly, his hips moved only his ridged cock back out of her, making her wonder precisely how his body down there even worked when her arse was still filled to the hilt and that thin snakelike one was obviously still latched on her clit. This was nothing like he'd fucked all those others on the stone. Her imagination went wild, when suddenly he slammed his cock back in harshly, shutting down her thoughts. Her eyes shot to the back of her brain as it felt like being impaled all the way up her chest. Her magical centre burned in reaction. With every thrust, it burned higher and higher, darker and darker. She didn't know what was up and down anymore.
As Julian and Voldemort found a rhythm between them, where he'd hit the back of her throat right when Voldemort would pull out, and vice versa, she had no relief anywhere. It made her feel used, not like a pet but a thing, a thing for them to gain what they needed, and it felt so good. She didn't have time to think. She just had to be. She just had to take their thrusts and feel. There was so much to feel. It clung to her body, coated her from within, it whirled and whirled and whirled, dizzying her brain with so much ecstasy she didn't know where she ended and they stopped. They were all around her, a part of her, she belonged to them. She needed to belong to them. With every thrust, so got closer and closer to that bliss she ached for, that bliss she desired more than life itself.
She sensed it was Voldemort's last thrust before he was buried deep inside of her. Fear accompanied her darkness swirling around him when his darkness spiked out, impaling her in every direction. She yelled against Julian's cock as that state of total abandonment and bliss took her over wholly and blinded her mind with such a bright darkness, all sensible thoughts left her.
Voldemort's hands slipped up around her waist as he held her tightly against his body that had sunk down on top of her. He was still hard inside her, his spikes pulsing, sending signals through her body, beckoning, demanding, ordering her powers to come to him. It reacted to him with a ferocity and eagerness that frightened her. It swarmed the tips of his spikes, which seemed to be everywhere, except inside her brain.
Perhaps that was why she could still think so clearly? What was happening? Was he draining her?
The thickest, largest spike, lodged firmly at the centre of her magical core, was unlike the others. It hurt with every pulse it released, forcing her powers to activate and leave her core. A part of her magic struggled, trying to make it stop, trying to force that spike out, but she'd made a vow to be his for the night. Every struggle merely ignited him, made him stronger and stronger, until he overwhelmed her in every possible way. She had no choice but to accept defeat and follow his lead even though it would kill her.
Her magic spread out through her body, whirling around. She whimpered when more and more sucked into the other spikes and entered Voldemort's body, connecting them in ways she'd not deemed possible, hurting her in ways she'd not deemed possible, pleasuring her in ways she'd not deemed possible. Death ensnared her.
How could imminent death be so alluring? How could she gravitate towards it by her own free will? How could she wish for it, not out of fear or pain but out of desire?
Her strength slowly melted away. She didn't know how she was able to not fall. Voldemort was a lot taller and heavier than her as his body leaned on top of hers. He engulfed her fully, inside and out, and her legs were shaking from the pleasure that ran through her like a loop on endless repeat.
Meanwhile, Julian held up her head and kept fucking her mouth, muttering something under his breath. She got the distinct impression he hadn't expected it to be over so soon.
"Mine, mine, mine," she heard Voldemort whisper continuously as he tightened his grip to the point of it turning painful against her breastbone where he'd placed his palm.
Julian's thrust became disjointed. He was almost there.
When he finally came into her mouth, she sucked him so hard, his eyes rolled to the back of his head. She did not waste a single drop until he pulled out of her, captured her head between his hands, and sealed her mouth with a possessive kiss like he was claiming her just as much as Voldemort was. It tore her apart inside, like they ripped her to shreds, and Julian moaned in her mouth, inhaling her dark essence while Voldemort made an unintelligible sound as another part entered him through the palm against her chest and his spikes that were everywhere. When she had no more to give, his spikes contracted, leaving behind a burn so painful in their wake, she screamed against Julian's lips. When Lord Voldemort's softening cock completely exited her body, blood rapidly flowed out of her cunt, until that horrible burn reached her there and pain shot through her clit.
That was when she collapsed.
A hot sensation on her left cheek reminiscent of a deadly burn woke her. Her eyelids flickered, and she quickly pulled her head away in fright as if she'd been stung.
"Oww," she whispered as that abrupt move didn't agree with her at all.
It was just sunlight that shined through a crack in the heavy, velvet curtains. Only sunlight. Nothing harmful.
She winced when she tried to push herself up, immediately stopping when she found out not a single move was appreciated by her aching body. She laid back down, completely still, trying to catch her bearings.
The bed was soft, much softer than hers, and the sheets even more luxurious than she'd ever felt on the beds in the expensive hotels her parents had preferred to stay at. A nice, warm duvet covered her fully. It was comfortable. She felt at ease, despite the soreness. Slowly, she moved her aching arm over her naked body until she reached her folds. Tentatively she slid her fingers through them, surprised at it being business as usual down there and not a ragged mess. She recalled bleeding, bleeding so badly she should be dead. But clearly she wasn't.
Why not?
"Because I don't wish it," his high-pitched voice arrogantly spoke from a dark corner of the room.
She blinked, searching for him when he rose from the chair, just wearing a pair of black trousers and nothing more. Hermione gasped at the vigour he displayed, the sheer power he exuded. The sight of him had her hold her breath: bald, red eyes with catlike pupils, slits for nostrils, that extremely starkwhite skin with its red veins shining through, it was all there. His torso was where things changed. His skin was just as white as his face, but it was there and it was human. The patches of snakelike scales on his arms shone with refound health. She couldn't detect any shedding of skin anywhere. His dark belly seemed the same as before, rough, sharp and hard-scaled as she recalled when he'd lain on her back. He sat down beside her on the bed, his hand reaching out and cupping her cheek in an almost fond gesture.
"You restored me as I was, what I wanted to be like, not as you desired or saw fit to make me," he said barely above a whisper.
"It's not my place to decide who you should be as it is not your place to tell me how I desire you when that clearly is a false narrative in your mind," she said, noticing her voice was still hoarse, so she couldn't have been unconscious for that long.
"You yearned for him, too," he said accusingly.
"Where is Julian," she asked, her voice careful. She knew of Voldemort's temper. She didn't feel up to it right now.
"Library," Voldemort said, snorting, "Nerd."
Hermione raised her eyebrows. "You realise he's you, right?"
Voldemort harrumphed. "He wishes he could be."
Hermione smiled, shaking her head. "You're impossible."
"Nothing's impossible," Voldemort countered, leaning in and stealing her breath with a kiss.
She arched against him, his hand slid down her chest and rested on her breastbone, tendrils of his magic reaching out. Something inside her responded immediately, her legs yerked and a gasp erupted from her lips. His and hers, their magic flowed through her, pushing the soreness away.
"All mine," Voldemort said, his face hovering right above hers, clearly enjoying her confusement as his touch invigorated her.
She whimpered when he removed his hand and covered her back up with the duvet.
"It would be inadvisable to not let you recover first," he said softly.
Hermione raised her eyebrows, moving her hands in front of her eyes without feeling that terrible ache from before. Her veins were pitchblack, blacker even than before, which she'd not thought possible. She turned her hands around and noticed the same lines covering her palms all the way up to the tip of her fingers. There was an odd feeling all throughout her, pulsing slightly out of rhythm with her heart.
Voldemort conjured a full size mirror above her. Shock made her hands fly to her face, touching the extremely visible dark lines there. She'd never had them in her face before. It had always stopped around her neck. Her eyes were normal, which was a slight relief. He pulled down the duvet for her. She wasn't surprised anymore, but still stared at the darkening veins in the mirror that were clearly everywhere on her body. She traced them from her throat down to her breasts and belly, feeling how pleasurably it reacted to her touch. How the darkness swirled around her veins just where her fingertips had been. How nice it felt. When she lowered her hands, he vanquished the mirror and covered her back up with the duvet.
"What did you change me into?" she asked quietly.
"What makes you think I did that?"
"Call it a hunch."
"What do you think I did?"
"Did you claim me?"
"I wanted to, but no, this is the manifestation of you becoming more than a mere human being. This is the outward show of you controlling the dark forces within. That's why it's also reacting to your touch now, not just mine."
He stroked the side of her throat, right at her pulse point. Its similar titillating sensation as when she'd trailed the darkness told her enough. She wasn't the only one in control.
"You wanted to," she repeated slowly, not believing her ears.
She recalled the feeling of being torn apart by them. She'd read enough on the subject to know what it meant. They'd both tried to stake their claim on her body and magic. She wondered who'd won. The expression of the wizard in front of her was as blank as ever, telling her nothing.
"So you didn't?" she asked somewhat disbelievingly.
"You weren't of sound mind to consent to a full claiming. I did lay the groundwork, but it is as of yet unfinished."
So, he'd beaten Julian, not unexpected, but why did that thought sting like she'd lost something of value?
"What if I don't want to be claimed?"
He smiled at her ruefully like he knew something about her she didn't.
She felt there was a good chance he was right, because she felt very unlike herself and on the other hand more like herself than she ever had. She was at ease. She hadn't been at ease since … since …
She couldn't remember the last time she was at ease. Perhaps at kindergarten, but even then, she'd felt like an outsider, not belonging. She'd felt a sense of belonging at Hogwarts, but it had been overshined by the constant thread the wizard in front of her posed to her and her friends.
No, she couldn't recall ever having this feeling before. It was a nice feeling.
She didn't trust nice feelings.
Nice feelings came back to bite you in the arse.
Voldemort tossed his head back and laughed. It was a different laugh, deep and nice, not terrifying like his other one.
"Your mind is a delicious place. Never change, pet."
"What happened to your laugh?"
He frowned, then his mouth formed an "O".
"You mean why didn't it sound like," and he made that high-pitched, eerie laughing noise she'd come to expect.
"It's an act?" she questioned, dumbfounded.
"Works wonders in making idiots uncomfortable as hell," he sniggered like a schoolboy.
She didn't appreciate being boxed and labeled with the rest of the idiots in the world. He patted her head condescendingly.
"Don't worry, pet, you're my special kind of idiot."
Her arm moved fast, but halted inches away from his skin upon her realisation. She'd wanted to slap him like she would have any other she felt familiar with, but others didn't react to people touching them the same way he did. She dropped her hand. He carefully scrutinized her face and took a hold of both her wrists a second later, placing her hands on his chest.
"Go ahead," he said, "I suppose if anyone has earned the right, it's you."
"Are you sure?" she asked, not moving an inch.
He nodded. Tentatively, she trailed her fingers over his new skin, moving upwards to his shoulders. She paused, looking at his face. When he nodded again, she proceeded to slide over the outside of his arms, feeling the difference between the smooth snakelike skin and slightly rougher but not by much human skin. Voldemort's pupils turned to ovals. His expression had a vulnerability she'd not expected to ever see as she moved back up on the inside of his arms and then down his side. Her eyes constantly beseeching him to make sure she wasn't overstepping any boundaries. He closed his eyes and dropped his head back when her fingers examined the crocodile-like scales. It was as sharp, hard and rough as she remembered. She looked at his utterly relaxed face while she was certain he never ever had allowed anyone this kind of liberty upon his person. She pulled her hands back, wanting to make sure not to overdo it and ruin whatever progress between them she'd gained.
He opened his eyes. The awe with which he regarded her took her breath away. He cradled her head, hands sliding down while they kept that same intense eye contact as before. His fingers curled around her neck and she could see in his eyes his search for her consent. She lifted herself on her elbows and tilted her head back as far as she could, baring her throat to him in surrender. His fingers slid all around her throat, she could feel the burn of his magic just barely within reach of her skin, but he held his hands still, waiting for any reaction. When she remained utterly still, he squeezed, not much, not enough to kill but just to demonstrate his hold. Her heart hammered in her chest. This felt more intimate than anything they'd done before. This was more intimate than anything they'd done before.
"Are you mine, Hermione?"
Her whole body went slack in response, leaving her hanging in his hands. Dark tendrils flung from her centre, answering his question where she could not. He did not change the grip on her throat that she kept baring towards him.
"I said, Are you mine, Hermione?" he repeated, his voice low and dark.
She whimpered. She wanted to say yes. Her whole body was singing yes, yes, yes. Her magic was swirling through her, replying, yes, yes, yes.
Her mind wasn't there yet.
His fingers loosened. Her head sank into the pillow, and he cupped her cheeks, with a satisfied expression like the cat that had eaten the canary.
"I'll collar you soon enough, my little wild cat," he said smugly. "I'm betting everything I owe to you regretting not having said yes as soon as I leave your presence."
He was just a tad too smug to her liking. She yawned exaggeratedly and rolled on her side, away from him.
"Actually, I was just thinking I could use a nap. Could you close that curtain on your way out?"
With a snap of his fingers, they were shut fully, and the room was beyond pitch dark. She blinked, trying to adjust her vision.
The bed dipped behind her.
She froze.
Well, that wasn't her intention. What about it being inadvisable for her recovery?
"I've come to the conclusion I no longer care about that anymore."
Of course he didn't. He pulled her back against his front into a tight embrace. Her eyes widened, and her body stiffened at feeling his cocks come to live underneath his trousers.
'Don't worry,' he breathed against her hair with a chuckle, 'I can find a release in my little Mudblood's cunt without the usage of my venom and spikes.'
She relaxed.
'If I so desire,' he added threateningly, clearly enjoying keeping her on edge.
"Don't you have somewhere to be?" she snarled.
"Julian can take the meeting," he said dismissively.
"Julian will do no such thing."
His low timbre came from the doorway, blasting light into the room as he sauntered in, darkening the bedroom again when he closed that light source with a flick of his wrist.
"He sent Lucius to deal with the morons that can't file paperwork properly. Lucius looooves playing boss."
She barely saw his shadow, but felt the bed dip down on the other side. When her eyes had adjusted to the darkness again, she saw his handsome face resting on the pillow next to hers. His fingers trailed over her throat.
"You got close," he spoke, clearly to Voldemort, not her.
"Yes," his sibilant voice answered, wrapping around her. "She's just not there yet."
"Oh, she is," Julian said certain, sliding his fingers over her body without asking before slipping them between her folds, "She's soaking for us already. She's just being an obnoxious brat."
"I am right here," Hermione said, annoyed they were talking about her like she wasn't even in the room.
"Oh yes, we know," Voldemort purred against her ear, his hand sliding over her throat, causing her to shiver. His trousers vanished into thin air and his cocks immediately sprung forward against her behind. "It seems I have an unruly kitten to tame."
"We certainly do. You may not like that she solidified my essence beyond your control, but she chose both of us," Julian said, capturing her mouth in a searing kiss, his body pressing up against her front, making her feel how he, too, was hard as a rock for her.
Wait, she did what?
Voldemort's arm around her waist tightened painfully. "Yes," he hissed into her ear as Julian explored her mouth, both demanding her full attention. "I will have to punish you for such an egregious transgression. Make sure you'll think twice before going against my wishes again."'
"We shall have to take turns in demonstrating to this extremely naughty kitty that her decisions have consequences," Julian added after breaking free from their kiss and allowing her to take in a deep breath of air. "See how long she lasts serving two Masters without getting a break between us."
"Wanna bet who is the first to make her beg for mercy?" Voldemort breathed against her skin.
"Hmm… I'd take that bet," Julian said, taking her nipple into his mouth and drawing his tongue around it before taking it threateningly between his teeth.
"Still right here," Hermione commented, but her breathless voice betrayed how they were affecting her.
"What do I get if I win?" Julian breathed against her hardening nipple.
"The same thing I do."
"Deal."
"Mind telling me what that is?" Hermione tried to snap but failed rather spectacularly,
"Oh, she's not going to last long," Julian said, "I'm going first."
"Too late," Hermione said, winking down at him with a smug smile as Voldemort was already sheathed fully inside of her.
"Brat," he said, biting down on her nipple and enjoying her cries as she already thrashed in their arms from their excellent attention.
Deep inside her, her darkness rejoiced, and the part of her that ached to be tamed, to be claimed, to be His—to be Theirs—had already surrendered.
Whether the rest of her would follow, well, in both Voldemorts' minds that would only be a matter of time.

The End
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Rite of Passage