Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Weave a Circle Round Him Thrice	By : SRaven_Underhill Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 14494 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
AN: Thank you to Talented_Mrs_Lupin and Mark’s Pet for reviewing! I’m glad you’re enjoying the story and I’m glad the last chapter was a surprise ;) I hope this update was fast enough! Lemons coming soon. Mwahahaha.

Chapter VII – Meetings and Plans

The window of Harry and Ron’s room at Shell Cottage was still dark when Bill barged in, causing Harry to sit bolt upright.

            “We’ve received news,” he said in one quick exhale of breath. Ron moaned groggily.

            “Hermione?” Harry asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Bill’s words ignited him. After so many weeks of feeling stagnant, any news felt like progress.

            “Yes,” he replied. “There’s going to be an Order meeting here in an hour. Someone received an anonymous tip, it seems.” And with that he left, the door still ajar, to prepare for the meeting to come.

            Harry stared after him for a moment, wanting to ask more questions but knowing that Bill wouldn’t be able to provide any more answers. He jumped out of bed to get ready even though the better part of an hour still stretched before the meeting. With an inexplicable sense of urgency, he threw a pillow at Ron.

            “Get up, you git,” Harry said. “The rest of the Order will be here in an hour.”

            Sunlight struck her eyelids with an almost physical force. She opened her eyes only slightly and winced, turning over onto her side. The room was quiet and still besides the soft rustle of bed sheets. What sort of nightmare had she fallen into? The ceremony, the vile potion, the Dark Lord’s lips. Hermione blushed. He had touched her intimately, tasted her tongue, and she had practically begged him for it. The words had tumbled from her lips with surprising ease, but she guessed that had been a side effect of the potion, numbing her logical brain and inflaming her erogenous zones. She remembered him telling her that the potion’s effects would be more pronounced within the first twenty-four hours. Now that those hours were beginning to wane, she felt more in control, though she felt tired and slightly disoriented. Perhaps this was similar to recovering from a hangover, she mused. Not that she would know.

            As her faculties slowly returned she sat up and glanced out the window. She still didn’t know what he had given her. Precautions, he had said. All she could determine was that the potion had given him certain powers over her. She couldn’t harm him. But what potion was it? An original potion of the Dark Lord’s design?

            It was then that a house elf arrived, carrying a silver tray with a pot of tea and several breakfast items: scones, fresh fruit, thin slices of ham, and hard-boiled eggs. Hermione’s eyebrows rose.

            “Breakfast for you, miss. The Master will be out today, but miss can summon me if miss needs anything,” the house elf said, setting the tray on a small wooden table near the fireplace.

            Well, this was certainly…different. The notable difference in treatment made her suspicious, but the aroma of warm, fresh food forced her suspicions to the back of her mind for the present. She poured herself a cup of earl grey and bit into a hard-boiled egg with seeming reverence. A hum of delight reverberated in her throat as she finished the egg. On this morning, with warm food, a soft bed, and the absence of the Dark Lord, she considered herself rather lucky indeed.

If only she had a book.

            Tonks, Remus, Kingsley, Arthur, Fred, George, Bill, Fleur, Ron, and Harry all crowded around the kitchen table at Shell Cottage. The energy in the room was tense yet everyone was quite happy to see each other again. It had seemed like ages since Harry had last seen those closest to him. After the many hugs and greetings were exchanged, Kingsley Shacklebolt cleared his throat.

            “A rumor has been circulating within a small group of people,” Kingsley began, somber. Everyone in the room seemed to hang on his every word, Harry especially. “They say Hermione Granger has been bound to the Dark Lord.”

            All was silent for several moments. “What does that mean? Bound how?” Harry asked, leaning forward and placing his palms against the table.

            “We can’t be sure,” Kingsley continued. “It was also said that she was….willing.” The last word was forced from his lips and he glanced out the window, avoiding eye contact with Harry. Everyone else exchanged glances.

            “There’s no way she would…” Harry started, but Ron cut him off.

            “She switched sides?! Blimey, I never would’ve expected…”

            “Hermione DIDN’T switch sides, Ron!” Harry yelled. Everyone looked at him, tense.

            “Yeah, you silly git! Why would good ol’ Hermione want to be ‘bound’ to snake face?” Fred said, looking at Ron as if he were an idiot.

            “Right! Sounds quite gross to me, Fred,” George added, elbowing his brother conspiratorially. They grinned at each other.

            Harry looked down at the table as his fingers tensed and bent into the wood. “I have to find her,” he said without looking up, more to himself than anyone present.

            “Harry,” Remus began, who, despite the tense atmosphere of the kitchen, still managed to keep the tone of a mentor. “We don’t know where their headquarters are and even if we did…” he shook his head sadly, “we currently don’t have the power to march in on them.”

            Tonks touched his arm and gave him a sympathetic smile. Remus took her hand in his.

            Harry slammed his fist against the table, causing everyone to jump. “We cannot just stand by while HE tortures her,” he raked his fingers through his unkept hair.

            Arthur Weasley patted him on the shoulder. “None of us want to stand by, lad. But we need a plan.” Silent nods accompanied his statement.

            For one brief moment Harry considered telling them about the horcruxes, about that which Dumbledore had asked of him. But the words died on his lips. It was his burden and as much as he didn’t want it to be true, he was the Chosen One.

            “Ron and I…” he said, trying to choose his words carefully, “we have to leave. Before he died, Dumbledore gave me a mission and I promised him that I would do it. But we have to do it alone.”

            There were multiple offers of help, pleading with him to share his burden. Harry simply shook his head. “This is the way it has to be,” he said.

            The following hour proceeded with heated discussion and arguments; arguments about Hermione, about the state of the war, and about the secret assignment given to Harry. The Light side was unraveling.

            Remus, managing to quiet everyone, spoke. “Dumbledore told us something before he died. He told us to trust Harry. That he was our only hope.” He looked at everyone in turn, his voice a strange mingling of hope and regret. “I trust Harry.”

            Lord Voldemort sighed. He had spent the day hunting down Ollivander and questioning him about the existence of the Deathly Hallows. It hadn’t taken an extraordinary amount of effort for the old man to begin to crack, though the location of the wand remained a mystery. The Elder Wand was his main concern, though he wished to find the resurrection stone and the cloak of invisibility if possible. He smirked. The Master of Death, the lore said. Hadn’t he already earned that title?

            As he stared into the flames of the fireplace, he thought of his newest and most interesting acquisition and wondered how long it would take for her to put the pieces together. She was an exceedingly clever girl, especially for a mudblood. Though, truth be told, he had found quite a few clever mudbloods. But beginning a movement meant having something to rally behind and feelings of superiority and exclusiveness appealed to many. The Light Side had lost a precious mind indeed when he took Hermione Granger.

            He had given her the book on purpose, Magicae, as a kind of test. He had tested her that evening in the bath, giving her a potion once she had fallen under a magical sleep. Hermione Granger was Lord Voldemort’s magical companion. It made her the perfect subject for the potion he had been working on for so long; the potion that would make a human being a horcrux. He thought back to the ceremony and how her body had contorted so beautifully, making space for a precious piece of his soul. And what a lovely vessel she was, with soft supple curves and honey brown eyes.

            The twenty-four hours had elapsed. He wondered how his pet was faring.

            Hermione Granger was bored. Her aches were mostly gone, she was full for the first time in ages, but mental stimulation was lacking. She had puzzled over the potion the Dark Lord had given her, but she felt none the wiser. The library would have been a good place to begin research, but a library wasn’t currently available to her. The Dark Lord had loaned her that one book, but, come to think of it, she had no idea what had happened to it after she was relocated.

            Just as she was attempting to remember the contents of the peculiar black volume, Lord Voldemort entered, eerily silent.

            Hermione jumped. “Could you make a little more noise next time?” She said with a frown.

            He quirked a hairless brow, “I much prefer hearing your noises,” he said, drawing out the ‘s’ with a slight hiss.

            Hermione’s mouth formed a thin line, though a delightful shiver traveled down her spine. It didn’t go unnoticed. “I wasn’t expecting you. The house elf said you were busy.” She paused for a moment. “Were you….gathering information? Torturing prisoners? Killing muggles for sport?”

            Voldemort smirked. “Nothing that you should concern yourself with.” In an elegant swirl of black robes, he sat in the large leather chair by the fire. He gestured for her to sit at his feet.

            Hermione clenched her fists. It was such a peculiar feeling; the simultaneous desire to both please someone and punch them in the face. With stilted movements she moved to stand before him.

            “Sit, Ms. Granger,” he said, dangerously calm.

            She really didn’t care for one-word commands. They made her feel like some kind of animal. Then again, he did often refer to her as his pet. “I’m not a dog,” she replied, her frustration evident.

            He stared at her for a moment before replying. “What an astute observation. Your powers of deduction are truly remarkable. No, I do not teach dogs the complexities of the Dark Arts nor do I lie with them.” A blush crept up her cheeks at his last statement. “But I am your Lord and Master, Hermione Granger and you will obey me.”

            As the word ‘obey’ slipped from his lips, she sank to her knees. She couldn’t be sure if it was the way his eyes flashed or if it was simply a side effect of the potion, but her stubbornness probably wouldn’t get her very far at this point.

            He held out his right palm and a small stack of books suddenly materialized out of black smoke. “I want you to read these and take notes. They are primarily introductory texts, though one of them is a historical text that deals with Ancient Egypt.” He levitated the stack and placed them on the desk near the window.

            Hermione practically salivated at the sight of the books. It felt like ages since she had last studied and the thought of learning, regardless of the subject matter, made her smile. “I was wondering,” she began, tearing her eyes away from the books and looking up at him, “if I could read the book about magicae again.”

            He looked down at her, his expression unreadable. “Perhaps,” he said, seeming to contemplate her request, “If you finish the other books I have given you and prove to me that you have mastered the concepts within them.”

            She nodded, feeling confident. It was very rare indeed for Hermione to be stumped over coursework.

            He smirked down at her suddenly eager countenance. “Come here,” he commanded, his tone different, deeper and more intimate.

            She froze, her mouth going dry. She had purposefully avoided being too close, suspecting that his touch might cause her to become unraveled again. It had seemed like she would escape his clutches this evening and perhaps be able to spend it with her nose buried in a book instead of within the silken folds of his robes. Her brown eyes almost pleaded with his, but his remained cold and resolute. With a sigh she crept closer to his legs and paused, unsure.

            He pulled her closer so that her body was placed snugly between his legs, her chest temptingly close to his stomach and…she blushed. His fingers grasped her chin. It was happening again, that slow undulation of desire that consumed her; traveling from his fingertips, to her lips, and methodically enveloping the rest of her body. She closed her eyes briefly, trying to savor the moment without the guilt of who was causing said desire.

            “Open your eyes,” he said in almost a whisper. Even when whispering his tone seemed demanding.

            She obeyed and immediately frowned. “Why?” she breathed. “Why did the potion make me feel like this?”

            “Oh, your desire existed long before I poured that potion down your throat, my pet,” he said as he stroked her hair. “But it troubles you because you were taught to despise me. Why fight it now?” He leaned towards her, forcing her head back so that they maintained eye contact. “I am who you will spend your days with and who will care for you. I am your teacher, your Master, and who you will confide in.” He stared deeply into her eyes, willing her to believe his words.

            It was so difficult for her to resist when he was so close. It was so tempting to give in; so easy to just submit completely, and yet part of her rebelled. She would escape. Harry would come. She would change the tide of the war.

            Her lips inched closer to his. Oh, but the price of his lips was a high price indeed.

            “That’s it, my beauty,” he hissed against her petal pink lips.

            With a cry of frustration she pushed herself away and fell onto the floor. “No!” She scrambled backwards, her chest heaving with each stinging intake of breath.

            His eyes were steel. He stood and stepped over her as if she were nothing more than a pile of refuse. Hermione had a strong urge to grab his cloak and beg him to stay. With shaking fingertips, she reached out and was promptly ignored.

            “Finish the books, Ms. Granger,” he said, suddenly cool and detached. “I will be in to check on your progress soon.” And with that, he left.

            Hermione felt a cold sweat break out on her brow, as if rejecting him caused her to be physically ill. She curled up on the floor in front of the fire and closed her eyes, haunted by images of the Dark Lord whispering temptations into her ear.
- 6
- 7
- 8
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

Weave a Circle Round Him Thrice