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Set In Stone	By : ANONYMONSTER Category: HP Canon Characters paired with Original Characters > Het - Male/Female Views: 2876 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter series or its characters, and I do not make money off of these stories.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
A/N: This one gets REALLY bad. If you don’t like asphyxiation, violence, torture or rape, do not read it. Voldemort really took over here.

CHAPTER SIX

Completely His

Tom stood outside of platform nine and three-quarters with a beautiful eleven year-old girl. Her long, dark hair hung down to her waist, and her bright green eyes were full of excitement- and fear. She hugged a furry white and black cat- Moo- close to her chest and looked up at her parents. "I'm ready." She said after taking a deep breath. She handed the cat to Tom and took a hold of the trolley, running straight into the wall between platforms nine and ten. When the last of their daughter disappeared into the wall, Willow and Tom followed her, their son clinging shyly to Tom's robes. Stepping through to the other side, Tom smiled, remembering all too well his first time on the Hogwarts Express. He walked over to his daughter and embraced her, handing her little kitten back to her.

"I love you, Thalia." He said, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear and then scratching the cat gently between its ears.

The little boy came running over, hugging his older sister tightly. "Don't go, Thaya!"

"It's okay, T.J., she'll be back before you know it." Willow said, stepping over to kiss the top of her daughter's head and picking up Tom Junior.

"I'm scared, Mom..." Thalia said, looking around at the other children saying goodbye to their parents.

Willow smiled softly and hugged her daughter tightly with one arm, balancing her son in the other. "Your father and I will write you every week. It will be Christmas break in a flash." Willow looked up as the train's whistle blew. "Time to go..."

Thalia nodded and kissed her parents and little brother before she climbed onto the train with her belongings, waving goodbye as the train began to move away…

Tom's eyes shot open and he sat up in his bed. The dream had seemed so real, so possible. Tom had never had good dreams before- in fact, he rarely dreamt at all. He didn't understand why he was suddenly so sad, why he wanted so badly to go back to sleep when he felt wide awake. He shook his head and stepped out of his bed, quickly dressing himself. As hard as he tried that morning, he could not get the images from the dream out of his head. It was obviously him. Though, it was a different part of him. A happy part. And Willow had been in it. She looked radiant- happier than he had ever seen her before. And the two children. Tom didn't know why, but he felt sorry for them. Sorry that they did not exist, that they may never get the chance.

What neither Tom nor Willow knew, was that Kitranthia- scheming witch that she was, had put a drop of Willow’s tears into the sleeping-draught. As Abraxas hadn’t been involved in Willow’s desires, all he would feel is a need to be around her. Tom, being one of the main objects of Willow’s desires, would experience every coveting thought that she did. Feeling that Willow was to blame, which she technically was, Tom became angry.

"What has that witch put in my food now? Something to make me delusional?" Tom growled, gripping his wand. She was meddling in things she shouldn't, and he would make her pay. Only, when he found himself in front of the door to her cell, he faltered. She had been so lovely in his dream, and he was wary. Looking at her, how different she would be from the way he wanted to see her- he didn't know what to do. Slowly, he opened the door and peeked inside. Willow was fast asleep, huddled in the Tom's old robe, as well as the beautiful- now wrinkled- cloak she had gotten herself.

With a swift flick of his wand, a ball of Lumos appeared, hovering in the center of the room. Willow’s eyes slowly opened, the light just bright enough to rouse her. She yawned, bringing her hands up to rub at her eyes, unused to the light after being kept in the dark for so long. She grumbled as she tried to move. Her bones were stiff from lying on the hard ground. “I don’t suppose you’ll give me a bed?” She asked, after finally managing to pull herself upright. Willow was glad he was there. He hadn’t been down to see her in days. She was starving, weak, and in desperate need of a bath. She knew it was his anger at her that had kept him away from her for so long, and figured it was anger that brought him here now. It was all Tom knew.

“No. Not unless you share mine.” he said with a grin, trying hard to hide his emotions from her. He would not let her know how the state she was in made him feel. He would not let her think she had any power over his emotions.

“The floor it is, then.” She mumbled.

“Stand up.” Tom ordered, leaning against the stone wall of the room. He watched as she tried to stand, only to fall back into the pile of cloaks beneath her. “You are pathetic and weak,” he spat.

“Only because you make me so!” Willow retorted, this time using the wall to brace herself as she stood. “I have not eaten in days, and the little water that appears by the door each morning is hardly enough to sustain me! You force me to sleep in this cold, hard place, and it drains me more and more each day. It’s a wonder I can even speak. It is you who is weak, if you must chain an innocent woman in a dungeon to get what you desire.”

Tom growled angrily, and the collar responded, shocking the fragile young woman and making her fall once again to the hard floor, cushioned only by the thin fabric of the cloaks. She gasped, her body jerking violently until Tom’s anger was sated, and the collar ceased its punishment. While he hated to see her in pain, there was a darker, more sadistic side of him that longed to watch her writhe in agony. In his anger, that side of him was stronger.

“When you can manage to get up and drag yourself up the stairs, it’s bath time,” the Dark Lord looked at her libidinously. Thus far, he had controlled his urges, but he wanted her. Owning her wasn’t enough. The Dark Lord’s lust for control spiraled his desire, he needed to take her, make her his own. Completely his own. And then he would mark her. Force upon her the mark of his followers. The part of him that loved her- that weak, revolting part that she had corrupted- wanted only for her to love him. Tom Riddle, you are no match for me, he thought as he left the room, chortling darkly as he heard Willow’s struggled attempts to follow him.

It took her a while, but Willow sighed in relief as she finally reached the top step. She could not bring herself to stand, and had therefore crawled the entire way. Her knees were bruised, her hands scraped and raw from crawling across the rough stone. Tom was waiting for her at the top of the step, a scowl darkening his face. “You know I am an impatient man, Willow.” he hissed, bending down to grip her chin. Willow winced as he dig his nails into her flesh, sure that he had drawn blood. She gasped in pain as the wizard moved his hand lower, clasping it around her neck. His grip tightened as he lifted her to her feet, her hands clawing weakly at his own. “I tire of waiting. Waiting for you to realize that your life could be easier if you just… participate. You vacuously believe that you will bring out a better man in me. There is no better man, Willow.”

Black dots formed in Willow’s vision, the lack of oxygen making her body shut down. Before the blackness consumed her, she felt his grip slacken, and a new pain begin. Her hair. He was pulling her hair. When she woke, it was to a sharp pain on her cheek, and a dull ache on her head. She could taste blood in her mouth, the salty, copper liquid making her nauseous. Her back was rested against a wall, and Tom stood before her, but they were no longer by the stairway. They were in a sterile, bright room. The bathroom. Willow raised a trembling had to her cheek. It was hot, and it stung horribly. He struck me, she thought, wincing as she stroked her tender cheek. He pulled me here by my hair, and he struck me. Willow recalled him grasping firmly as her locks before she had fainted, and the ache she felt on her scalp was surely because he had dragged her limp body there.

“You struck me-” Willow barely got the words out before his hand collided with her cheek once more, the sharp sound of flesh meeting flesh sounding through the bathroom, echoing off the tiled walls. She cried out as the sharp pain cut across her cheek, the already tender flesh burning, bringing tears to her eyes.

“If I recall correctly, I owe you one more,” the Dark Lord’s lips turned up in a spiteful grin. Willow remembered the day he’d taken her. She had slapped him, thrice, once across one cheek, and twice across the other. Willow hoped that if Tom struck her again, he would chose her other cheek. He did not, however, and the strength of his third and final strike had her sprawled on the floor, saliva, mixed with her own blood spilling from her mouth and across the crisp, white tile of the bathroom floor.

Tom moved around her and turned a knob on the wall. Instantly, cold water began to spray over Willow’s body. It wasn’t until the frigid water fell upon her that she realized she was naked. She was naked, and Tom was the cause. He had seen her body, and was undoubtedly still looking upon her. She doubted that she looked attractive, laying on the floor, trembling weakly as the water cascaded over her form. It wasn’t until the water had grown hot, searing to her skin after knowing nothing but cold since she’d been taken by Tom, that the man joined her under the spray. She could not see him through the constant flow of water, but she knew he would be nude, as she was.

Soon, her body became used to the searing heat of the water, and what had once seemed a nearly unbearable heat became a welcomed warmth that began to sooth her aching muscles. Slowly, Willow pushed herself up, careful not to let her hand slip on the wet tile, and sat up, once again resting her back against the wall.

“Wash,” Tom said, his voice slightly muffled by the rush of water, the sound of it splattering against the tiles. Willow felt something slippery drop into her lap. Soap. She longed to be clean, and only hoped she had the energy to do it. Tom would be mad if she couldn’t. He would not lower himself to help her, and Willow needed to feel clean again. She groaned, in both pain and pleasure, as she ran the bar over her skin, scrubbing as hard as she could to get rid of the filth that had built up over the days. After she was done soaping, she felt another object drop into her lap. She looked down at the bottle of shampoo and smiled, quickly applying it to her hair, working it through the tangled mass. Once she was certain her hair was detangled and clean, she attempted to stand, Tom’s strong arm snaking out to catch her around the waist as she slipped. “Clumsy girl,” he growled, shifting her further into the spray of water so that the shampoo would wash out of her locks.

Her faced reddened as she realized that they were touching, her skin flush against his. She could feel his curls against her thigh, his flaccid member occasionally grazing against her as he shifted her in the water. Her breasts were pressed lightly against his chest, which had a thin layer of dark curls of its own. Her nipples, which had blossomed under the heat of the water, once again grew pert as they rubbed against his hardened chest. Willow felt a moisture grow between her legs that had absolutely nothing to do with the water, and all to do with the man who held her. She didn’t try to break free, even though her mind urged her too. I am far too weak, she reasoned, though she was sure that was only part of it.

Tom, noticing Willow’s reaction to him, turned her so that her back was against his chest. “Remember when I came to you in your mirror?” He murmured softly, making sure that his mouth was close to her ear so that she could hear him over the water. “I thought about that night every day during the months I waited for you to come to me. How your nipples hardened at the very thought of me touching you, like this,” Tom trailed his hand slowly up her stomach, inching toward her breasts. “I wished I had been there, so that I could feel them, feel how you yearned for me, as you do now,” he continued, his hand glazing over the supple curve of her left breast.

“I do not,” she protested, her voice weak as Tom circled his pale fingers around her areola, before gently pinching her taut nipple, drawing a low moan from her lips. Willow had never been touched so sensually by a man before. She had pleasured herself on many lonely nights at Hogwarts after Tom had visited her, the image of him touching in her mirror always quick to invade her thoughts when she was alone. She was still a virgin, and had never even gone so far as to slide her fingers past her entrance and tease her walls.

“Liar,” he hissed, running his free hand over her water-slicked skin, over her pubic mound and between her thighs. The delicious, wet heat of her virginal quim excited the wizard, and he rubbed himself steadily against her rear, his shaft hardening at the feel of the smooth flesh of her backside. Willow trembled beneath him, a deep fear growing with in her.

“S-stop…” She pleaded, trying to pull away from the Dark Lord. He held fast to her, his attentions becoming a bit more rough as she struggled against him. “Please, my Lord,” she whimpered, crossing her legs in an attempt to force his hand from her sex, but only managing to press it closer, her slick arousal seeming to draw Tom’s finger’s past Willow’s velvety folds. “No!” Willow, seeming to find some of her strength, struggled harder against him, her exertion only seeming to arouse the Dark Lord further. Turning her once more, Tom grasped her hips and lifted her up, shoving her roughly against the wall. He pressed his weight against her to hold her to the wall, her heat so close to his girth that he could feel the warmth radiating off of it. One hand ran hungrily over Willow’s bruised flesh, sliding over her breast and stroking her collar bone, dangerously close to Willow’s neck. She knew, in his own way, he was threatening her. He could quite easily move his hand to her throat and cut off her air supply. She was sure he would take her whether she was awake or not.

Tom’s other hand slid over Willow’s thigh, harshly squeezing her plush bottom. His eyes greedily took in the sight of her. Her dark auburn locks fell freely over her face, the ends, while wet, hanging past her breasts, seeming to cling to her body in their soaked state. Long, black lashes clumped together, the deep, crimson print of his hand a sharp contrast on her otherwise pale cheek. Her neck, bruised from the many times his hands had sought it out, the enchanted ribbon still perfectly in place. Below her neck were many more bruises, but not enough for the Dark Lord. Not nearly.

Tom pressed his lips against the fair, creamy skin of one of Willow’s breasts, sucking the tender flesh into his mouth and catching it between his teeth. Willow closed her eyes, the force of his bite making her cry out in pain, which spurred him to bite down harder, until he broke the skin. The faint taste of his slave’s blood caused Tom to shudder in delight, and he pulled back to view his artwork before moving back in and marking her again, drawing another delectably agonized cry from Willow. Over and over he left his mark upon her, until there was at least one mark for every square inch of her flesh, until the flow of Willow’s tears joined that of the shower. It was then that the Dark Lord once again gripped at Willow’s hips, lowering his masterpiece over his length until he came upon her maidenhead.

“Tom, please, don’t do this,” she begged, her eyes opening for the first time since he had laid his teeth upon her. Her green irises, bright with fear, gazed at him pleadingly.

“Tom’s not here anymore,” he growled, letting the hand he held at her collar bone slide up to her neck as he slammed the entirety of his length into her, tearing her hymen and taking her virginity, taking what was his. Voldemort groaned in pleasure as her tightness enveloped him, the sheer triumph of finally having her driving him mad with an angry passion. The pain of Tom roughly taking her incited a grotesque and torturous shriek from Willow, the pain only made worse as Tom began to thrust steadily into her. She groaned as he stretched her aching walls, his tip pounding roughly against her g-spot. She was surprised to feel the pleasure slowly building up, taking place of the pain. Needing something to grab into, Willow threw her arms over Tom’s shoulders, her fingers scraping over his smooth back as he pounded into her.

“Nnngh!” Willow moaned as the delicious tension built up inside of her, and though she hated what Tom was doing to her, she longed for release. With each thrust of his thick cock, Tom brought Willow closer to her climax. Her breath quickened, her nails dug into the flesh of Tom’s back, and Willow arched her back against the wall as she came, the burning pleasure coursing through her, dragged out by the constant thrusts of her master. It was much stronger than anything she had ever been able to do for herself, and it left her practically gasping for air. She shuddered as Tom continued to thrust into her sensitive core, her climax having almost brought him to his own. He clenched his jaw and willed himself to last longer. He wanted to bring Willow to a second climax, wanted her to know what he could do for her.

The pleasure was so intense that it was almost painful. Willow felt the sensation building up again, and her walls tensed as she prepared for her second climax. It was them that Tom pulled out of her and reached behind himself, grasping both of her wrists with one of his hands, the other still firmly grasping her rear, keeping her up. Holding her wrists above her head, Tom pulled away from her just enough so that he could see her.

“Why did you-” Willow asked, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath, the burning need for release making her ache.

“I want you to beg for me,” Tom said gruffly, his voice hoarse with pleasure. He pressed his forehead to hers, his dark orbs locking with her vibrant greens. “Beg for me to take you, to finish inside of you.”

Willow clenched her eyes shut, the stubborn side of her wanting nothing more than to lash out at the man for suggesting that she lower herself to begging. Begging for the sake of her virginity was one thing, begging for climax was another. The other, aroused part of her believed that her pride didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was her release.

“Please,” Willow began, opening her eyes and staring into his once more, “Don’t be a fool,” she finished, the look of pleasure on her face quickly changing to that of anger.

Tom growled in frustration. “You are the fool!” He spat, the ribbon tightening around Willow’s throat. “You will beg, Willow, or I will finish while using the Cruciatus on you. Your choice,” he hissed, hoping she would chose to beg. He longed to hear her beg for him, and fucking her while she was writhing and contorting in agony would not be as fun. He rather enjoyed the pleasured sounds she made. He enjoyed the pained ones as well, but the thought of her thrashing about while he fucked her was not overly pleasing. Also, the ‘Tom’ in him, the little piece of him that Willow had defiled, did not want to see her like that again. “Even if I can’t break that spirit of yours today, I will break it.”

“You are a sick, sadistic, pathetic excuse for a man,” Willow retorted, her voice trembling with anger. “And you may break me, but not today,” Willow said through clenched teeth. She closed her eyes again and Tom summoned his wand, releasing his hold on her wrists so that he could catch it. “Not today,” She repeated as he pressed the tip of his wand to her chest, and the fire began.

It was a struggle, but the Dark Lord managed to hold Willow’s writhing body against the wall, focusing mostly on keeping her hips steady so that they did not thrash painfully against him while he was inside of her. He pounded into her as quickly as he could, Willow’s agonized shrieks seeming to pleasure him all the more. With one, final thrust, Tom buried himself as deep as he could into her twitching quim and spilled his hot seed into his slave, a loud groan of pleasure sounding throughout the bathroom. He released the curse as he pulled out of her, letting her drop to the floor with a loud, wet smack. Tom bent down over her and grabbed her left arm, pressing the sharpened nail of his thumb into her flesh. After breaking the skin, Tom lifted his wand to Willow's arm and forced the tip roughly into her fresh wound, drawing out a pained whimper from the nearly unconscious witch. The Dark Lord muttered a long incantation. The blood that pooled around his wand began to move in thin, precise lines over Willow's arm. Once Willow's own blood had traced a crimson Dark Mark upon her arm, it began to sizzle and melt into her skin with a loud hiss. Tom pulled his wand out of her wound, and a thick, black smoke spiraled from its tip, snaking around Willow's arm before slithering into her wound. The smoke filled the lines of the mark, turning the angry crimson into a smoky black. Her skin seemed to ripple as the last of the smoke disappeared into her arm, the Dark Mark seeming to come alive.

Before he moved away from her, Tom ran his tongue over the length of her wound, the taste of her now tainted blood enveloping his mouth. Tom stood then and turned off the water, which had started to tun cold, and left willow, unconscious, on the floor, blood and a mix of their fluids seeping past her lips and dripping onto the floor, only to be drained away with the rest of the water.

A/N: Thanks as always for reading. I know this one was pretty horrible, but... That's Voldemort for you. It'll get worse before it gets better, trust me. I know. I'm the one writing it. ;) Anyways, I should have an update up soon, so keep an eye out!
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Set In Stone