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The Gold Puppet	By : Nerys Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 22752 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and I don't make any money from these writings

Chapter List
- 7
- 8
- 9
Disclaimer: Yes! Finally, we gained ownership of everything Harry Potter related. *does a little dance in fantasyland, while high-fiving her fellow partner-in-crime.* We are going to be so rich now. YAY!

If you believed the above, go find a psychologist Healer - just not Lewis. He's too busy with us. XD

By: Serpent In Red and Nerys

A/N: We'd like to thank those who read and the one person who reviewed: chays020

chays020:LOL. Yes, poor Weasleys, and we do think Ron got off WAY too easily for leaving them in the thick of things in DH. So, Tom (sniggers) had to explain it to him for us. Oh-oh, you don't like the cup torture (glances at chapter below). Well, it would be strange for Tom Riddle to just let things go, so he had/has to act, but... his "caring" for Hermione might turn problematic for him in the future. (insert evil cackling authors) Glad you liked the update, and we hope you will enjoy the LV-HG lemon in this one.

Warnings: D/s, humil, HET, F/M, N/C, MC, mild BDSM, Racist, BP, Tort, Violence, Death, B-mod.

xxx

The Gold Puppet

Chapter Eight

After hearing the outcome of the trial, namely the acquittal of all things blond, blonder and blondest, Hermione was in no mood to speak to anyone, especially not Harry. And Ron—well, despite that he had agreed with her on Lucius's fate, their relationship (if you could still call it one) had deteriorated so much lately, she didn't know what to think of it anymore.

So, she went upstairs and buried herself in her only safe harbour—books. Strolling along the many shelves on the walls of the Black library, her eyes perused the titles for something interesting to read. History of Wizarding Genealogy, Muggles and Monsters, Compendium of Jinxes, Potions for thy Enemies... none of them sounded appealing.

Her hand hovered questioningly over the back of Reality or Illusion; but her eyes fell on Arithmancy for Professionals, and she grabbed that volume instead, excited she found a book on her favourite subject that she had not read before.

Quickly, she installed herself in the comfy armchair, took a sip of the hot cocoa she had brought with her from the kitchen, and opened the book. When she finally slammed it shut at page 105 to go have dinner, she was in for quite a shock. For she no longer was where she recalled being.

Startled, Hermione looked around her new environment. It appeared to be a bedroom annex study she had never seen before. Well, the chair she sat in and the side table were the same as before, and so was the other chair belonging to the Black library seating arrangement, but they stood around a prominent hearth, which had a nice cosy fire burning in it.

Her eyes drew to the huge canopy bed, which made quite a statement with its black silk sheets with a silver lining. Next to it stood two nightstands, both home to a burning candle on its socket and a diversity of books scattered around on their surfaces. A large wardrobe and an equally huge bookcase were stationed on the left wall, while the right wall held a painting, a mirror, and two doors. Hermione noticed there were no windows.

Where the hell was she?

She looked back at the Arithmancy book in her hands. It was still the same. Had it been responsible for bringing her here? She hadn't really checked the books anymore, because Sirius had gone through his house like a rampaging wildebeest and had tossed out any and all things even remotely dangerous. Her hand went to her pocket to draw her wand when she realised it wasn't there.

Her pants' pocket wasn't there. Well, to be precise, her pants weren't there.

Distraught, Hermione jumped up and nearly twisted both her ankles, for she wore a pair of heels that could have reached the top of the Big Ben in her humble opinion. She looked down in confusion at the long, smooth, green satin fabric that cascaded down her legs all the way to her feet. She tossed the book in the chair behind her and patted both of her sides for any sign of her wand being somewhere around in this wide skirt and the tight-fitting black leather bodice on top of it.

She found no trace of her wand.

And why was she wearing long green satin gloves? These were definitely not clothes she would have picked out herself. Carefully, she walked to the mirror, occasionally wobbling on her feet, as she felt the soft fabric twirl around her legs. Appalled, she stared at her reflection.

Okay, this was someone's idea of a sick joke.

The bodice was so tight-fitting she could barely breathe, but what was worse was that it practically served up her breasts on a silver platter. Hermione had never worn anything this revealing before and her cheeks flushed. The long gloves were fine. And the skirt she could have lived with had it not been for the two huge splits, which reached up far above mid thigh. If she walked too fast, she was likely to flash people her underwear.

Come to think of it...

She tried to bend over, but noticed the bodice didn't allow for that much movement and she gasped for air, straightening out immediately. Looking in the mirror, she opened the split with her hands, lifted it slightly, and then, dropped said skirt immediately.

No underwear.

What on earth was going on? Where was she? Why was she wearing make-up? And what the hell had happened to her hair?

Her hand lifted one of the few loose curls that graced the side of her face, not being a part of the elaborate contraption the rest of her hair was in at the back of her head. It was still her colour, but the structure was different. It was shiny and curled in a nicely contained manner, instead of her normal wild, bushy, frizzy curls.

Hermione growled. She happened to like her hair.

Well, not when it rained or was damp outside, of course, because then she would look like an exploded poodle. But normally, when it was dry weather, which happened to be...

Oh, screw it, she lived in England; who was she kidding?

But it was her hair, not this ... well, whatever this was... Her hands went up to undo it, but no matter how hard she tried to loosen the hairpins, they wouldn't budge. Sighing, she finally gave up, realising she had better things to do than worry about her hair and what she looked like. She needed to find out where she was.

She stumbled a couple of times, after which she tried in vain to shake off the high-heeled shoes. However, since she was no Cinderella, they remained firmly attached to her feet. So, she had no choice but to walk cautiously. She didn't fancy falling on her face.

The door on her right was locked. Against her better judgement, she decided to try out the other door, too. Something had to go right for her eventually, right?

Wrong!

She'd almost reached the other door when the one, she'd just checked, swung open. Curious, Hermione turned around to see who was there. Clad in all black robes, there stood Lord Voldemort. Darkness swirled around his tall, skeletal-thin frame like a shadow or an aura. He pulled down his hood in a casual yet sensual move, revealing his bald head. Red slit-pupil eyes in a ghostlike white face gazed at her intensely. His slits-for-nostrils flared, as he breathed in the air around him.

"Hello, Hermione," he spoke ever so casually in that high-pitched voice of his. "How was your day?"

It broke her out of her stupor.

Frightened, she took a step back and ... planted her heel right in the skirt's fabric. Panicking, her arms windmilled around as she tried to remain her balance and failed miserably. Looking like a complete idiot, she fell flat on her behind; her legs spread wide-eagle, though she did manage to break most of her fall with her hands. Completely red in her face and leaning on one elbow, Hermione adjusted the skirt, so she'd stop flashing him before she dared to glance in his direction.

He'd crossed his arms over his chest, and his facial expression was blank, except for the slight upward curl of his mouth.

Terrific, she was a freaking sideshow.

"Are you alright..." He tilted his head as he paused there and continued in a most intimate voice, "Honey?"

Honey?

Hermione firmly pinched herself in her arm. She had to be dreaming.

His cold laugh told her otherwise. "Oh, you are very much awake, darling."

Now, there was an audible mocking undertone in his voice when he said the endearment. She almost felt relieved to hear it. At least it was slightly less surreal. Not much, but still, right now, she took what she could get.

He took a step in her direction. In response, Hermione scooted back on her behind, or rather, tried to scoot back on her behind, because the long skirt was definitely a scooter-pooper.

He froze, frowning. "You're going to need help to get up."

"I am good," she replied rapidly. She didn't need or want his help. He was far too close as it was.

He smirked. "Oh, if you prefer to stay on the ground..." he trailed off suggestively, tossing his outer robe off his shoulders, revealing the black button-down shirt underneath, which showed quite a considerable amount of his smooth, snow-white chest.

Hermione, suddenly, felt the need to get up as soon as possible. So no longer worrying about propriety, decency, or the ability to breathe, she rolled on her belly, somehow got on her knees, and scrambled to her feet in a hurry. Her hands clutched to the blasted corset, which had painfully dug itself into her ribcage during her movements, and she gasped for air when she stood up straight.

The only problem with all her moves was that she'd had to turn her back on him.

"Eek!"

Startled, she jumped when she turned around and found him right in front of her. His arms grabbed her sides tightly, so she wouldn't fall again from her unexpected movement. Hermione placed her hands on his chest and pushed as hard as she could. But he simply grabbed a hold of her gloved left arm. A sharp sting travelled from it to her mind as he dug his fingers in, eyeing her quietly.

She yelped from the ache and grabbed a hold of his wrist, trying to dislodge his grip.

"Do you really think you can out wrestle me, little one?" he asked, amused, tightening his hold.

The ache worsened, and while she attempted to remove his hand from her arm, she also tried to kick him but got tangled up in both his robes and her skirt, which lessened the impact on his shin severely.

"Very well," he said tiresomely.

He moved so fast she didn't have a chance to react. Well, she screamed, but that didn't help. Both her arms were now held firmly behind her back and he pulled her body up against his. Her toes barely touched the ground.

He looked down at her coldly, as tears sprung in her eyes when the lower part of her left arm felt like it was on fire. She tried to wriggle free and bit her lip when that only made him increase the pressure on her bones.

"Are you going to be sensible now?" he enquired condescendingly. "As much as I normally enjoy these little games, I am not in the mood for it today, Hermione."

"Let go of me!" she yelled. "This is not happening. I am not here. You are not here. You are dead, dead!" she repeated desperately, as if saying it loud enough would make it so.

"Not again," he growled.

Lord Voldemort swirled her around in his arms, pressing her back against his front. Briefly, she felt some relief in her left arm; but he caught it again in his hand. She let out a howl in pain; because the moment he touched her there again, it felt like it had been dipped into a hot frying pan.

"Hold still, Granger, and the pain will subside," he said coolly.

Trembling, she complied, and sure enough, he hadn't lied. Immediately, it turned to a throbbing ache, not pleasant but bearable.

"Now there, that wasn't too hard, was it?" he whispered in her ear patronisingly.

"Wha-What do you wa-want?" she stuttered, not understanding a thing anymore. "Ho-how..."

He placed one of his long spidery fingers against her mouth. "Hush."

Hermione swallowed. She'd never been so afraid in her life, and she'd been through the worst things imaginable.

"Qimmiq!" he called out.

A sad-looking house-elf in a Union Jack towel Apparated in. "How can Qimmiq assist Master?" he said, bowing down humbly.

"One of you assisted her in altering her memory again," Voldemort stated softly.

Hermione frowned. Her memory was fine. But Qimmiq's ears and shoulders dropped. His arm went up to his head in an attempt to slap it, and she wanted to step forward to stop it from doing so, when Voldemort spoke, "Stop."

Qimmig's hand halted halfway to his head.

"I don't have time for house-elf's theatrics. Bring me the one who did it."

With a pop, Qimmiq was gone again. Silence filled the room. Hermione wondered why he didn't say anything, what he was going to do next, and what was going on? How could he possibly be alive? She'd seen his dead body. She'd seen it.

Three house-elves Apparated back into the room. Hermione recognised Qimmiq standing on the left. Together with another house-elf, he held on tight to the one struggling in the middle.

"Mairas," Voldemort hissed, looking at the tiny creature standing in the middle coldly. "So, it was you."

Mairas raised her head and glanced from Voldemort to Hermione. Her green bulging eyes stayed trained on the Gryffindor and she smiled. "Mistress needed this. Mistress is kind to Mairas, so Mairas helped Mistress—"

"You have only one Master, elf," Voldemort interrupted quietly, his voice dropping to dangerously low levels.

"Mairas has one Mistress," the tiny creature stated daringly, lifting her chin.

A dash of green struck the elf straight in her chest, and it died with a happy smile on her face.

"NOOOO!" yelled Hermione, horrified.

"Yes," Voldemort snapped.

He ripped the satin glove of her left arm, raising her arm in front of her face to reveal the blackened dark mark in all its glory. Her skin around it was flaming red from the long activation the tattoo had sustained recently.

"This is who you are. This is what you are. This is where you will be, forever," he snarled, practically pushing her nose against her tattoo. "No house-elf with silly aspirations of grandeur and heroics will be able to help you. No memory modifications will change the fact that ... You. Are. Mine," he spoke the last three words carefully controlled. "It will only confirm it, Hermione. Your side lost, and I got the sweetest little prize, you. It is time you begin to accept that."

Abruptly, he swirled her around again, pressing their fronts together. Her heart pounded so hard she could feel it beat against her ribcage. She could feel it beat against his ribcage. They were too close, far too close.

"Leave us," he ordered with an offhanded wave to the house-elves. "And dispose of that."

Before the pops sounded, his wand was back in his hand, tracing the lines of her face. "Time to make you remember, Hermione," he breathed against her cheek.

The red flash blinded her eyes. Everything turned dark, until a spot of light illuminated it. The room swirled. He swirled. Everything was blurry but slowly became clear again. The confusion she had felt before dissipated into cold reality. He'd been right. She was his.

The realisation that struck her face caused an animalistic, victorious growl to leave his mouth. He grabbed her by the back of her head abruptly and kissed her.

And it felt so ... right; so, she kissed him back.

He deepened the kiss when he felt her surrender. The feel of his mouth on hers; the sensation of his tongue inside of her, pressing against hers; the way his arm around her waist held her close, so close; the soft caress of his fingers as he traced her body in a meticulous manner from her head to the inside of her thigh via the split in her skirt; the way her body caught fire from his ministrations there, she knew it was meant to be.

He lifted her ever so slightly and moved to the bed, not breaking the kiss or his gentle touch between her legs. It made her shudder in his arms and he smirked against her lips.

"Time for my prize," he breathed, placing her on the bed.

"Yes, my Lord."

Shyly, she reciprocated his kiss, lifting her head ever so slightly to kiss him back. Instead of complying with her wishes, he pulled back. A teasing glint passed through his eyes, and he bent down again, kissing her gently on her forehead, nose, lips, chin, and finally putting his concentration on her neck. Moaning softly, she attempted to shift her lower body, in order to bring him closer, but he wouldn't allow that. His legs pressed down harder, preventing hers from moving at all. So, she tried to snake her arms around his neck. He lifted his head and sent her a warning glare. It clearly was meant to halt her initiative, but really... she wanted, no, needed to hold him now. She could feel it in every cell of her being. So, she ignored the threat and continued to wrap her arms around him.

With a flick of his wrist, her hands landed on either side of her bed, and she felt as if there were invisible shackles holding them down.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. How long must I teach you, dearest?" he asked quietly, pushing a lock of her hair away from her face. "No touching until I allow you to, my little Mudblood."

A low growl escaped her throat before she could stop it. A frown creased her forehead; she knew she should be submissive; she should listen to what he told her. He was Lord Voldemort, her Master, she remembered that now. But somewhere in the back of her mind, she didn't want to surrender. She preferred to be on top.

A look of surprise and amusement flashed through his face.

"Still insolent, aren't we?" he chuckled. He eyed her silently, his red eyes unreadable. "Well, we'll just have to fix that little ... flaw of yours."

Placing his hand on her chest, he swooped down and claimed her lips. Her eyes widened when she felt a jolt of magic travel from his hand to her nether regions. A moan escaped her mouth, and she closed her eyes in shame as she felt herself getting wet.

"I ... I ... my Lord ..." she panted when he left her mouth.

Yet, he continued as if he hadn't heard her, placing kisses on her neck and slowly moving downwards. He removed his hand from her chest and placed it on the bed to support his weight. His other hand lingered teasingly at the slit of her skirt, stroking her skin that was exposed there, but never moving anywhere higher. When he got to the bodice, he ran his tongue over the naked skin above it, causing her to shiver. He paused for a second, stopping his motions at her legs, and then moved backwards, putting some distance between them. Before she could ask anything, he snapped his fingers, and the bodice slipped open.

Embarrassed about being naked in front of Lord Voldemort, she tried to cover her body with her arms, but she couldn't lift them from the position they were in. He smirked at her discomfort and ran his fingers along the waistline of her skirt. Abruptly, he clenched his hand around the fabric and ripped it away, leaving her completely exposed to his intense red gaze. Her cheeks burned and she squirmed, as his eyes moved deliberately slow over her body, taking in every inch of her meticulously.

"It's about time you learn, Hermione," he spoke, running a single finger from her thigh all the way up to underneath her breast. He lingered there, caressing her soft skin, and Hermione was sure he could feel how fast her heart was beating. "You belong to me." His finger moved upwards, and he circled it around her nipple, but never touching it. She dug her fingers into her palms and bit her lower lip, as if it could stop the desire rushing through her body or stop her nipples from hardening. "I am your master, and you shall follow my every command."

He curled his fingers around her breast, making her yelp in pain.

"Your body belongs to me," he whispered, leaning forward and capturing her other breast in his mouth. He drew circles with his tongue around her nipple before flicking over it. And then, he sucked hard on her nipple, causing an immediate jolt to connect with her sex, heightening her arousal while he twisted her other nipple, making her feel pain in combination with pleasure.

Her scream echoed through the room, while her body twisted in the limited movement he allowed her. He laughed against her skin when her mind couldn't decide if she liked or hated what he did to her.

"You are mine, my personal little Mudblood slave, and I will use you in every way imaginable." Merriment danced over his snakelike face, as he glanced up to her. "And I know a lot of very ... creative methods to make you feel as I desire you to feel."

He pressed his lips between her breasts and whispered smoothly in Parseltongue against her skin. Her heart began beating faster and faster at his words. So fast, she was afraid it would explode in her chest. Unimaginable heat spread through her. She gasped for air; she couldn't breathe. Yet, somehow the muscles around her core clenched agonisingly around the emptiness there. More than air itself, she wanted him inside of her. More than life itself, she wanted him to take her, to fill her so she could feel complete again.

Several tears leaked from her eye sockets over her cheeks when she realised how much control he had over her body. She'd rather die right now than not satisfy him.

"You see, my pet," he whispered, moving his body up so they were at eye level, "I can and I will twist your world upside down, and in the end, you will lose everything." His tongue licked over her face, tracking the trace her tears left behind. "Delicious," he breathed softly. "I've always loved the taste of my victim's agony." His eyes glinted devilishly, while he rubbed his still clothed body against her naked one. "Such nice, soft curves you have, my little one. Do you wish to please me now?"

He tilted his head, waiting for her reply. Seeing the confusion in her eyes, as she realised in horror the answer to that question was yes though she couldn't understand why, made him smile in delight.

"Now you understand, don't you, Hermione?" he asked rhetorically. He lifted his body slightly and placed his hand between her legs. It was smooth as silk there. "That's a good girl," he purred. "You've remembered to wax. It's always nice to have a pet you don't have to explain things twice to." His fingers stroked between her folds over that sensitive bud, and she moaned when a spark of magic struck it, making desire flood her like a tidal wave. He pushed one of his long spidery digits fully inside of her, stroking her walls that clenched around him immediately. "And so well trained. I did an exemplary job of teaching you how to please me sexually, didn't I, Hermione?"

She downcast her eyes in embarrassment at his words and at the pleasure she experienced as he moved his finger inside of her. He smiled at her silence and withdrew his finger, causing her to let out a disappointed groan before she was able to stop herself. He moved his wet finger to her mouth.

"Open wide," he said mockingly.

Disgusted, Hermione looked at him.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk... Hermione, Hermione, be a good girl now and spare yourself the pain," he reprimanded condescendingly. "You know you will do it in the end, because I want you to do it. Now suck it, Mudblood," he snarled harshly.

She swallowed and opened her mouth, trembling. Cautiously, she took his finger between her lips and began licking it clean. It didn't taste too disgusting to her relief. She sucked on his finger to the best of her abilities, while he stroked through her hair, eyeing her pleased.

Slowly, he withdrew his finger from her mouth and placed it on his ghost-white chest. Teasingly, he began lowering it towards the first clasped buttons. They magically undid themselves and the loose sides of his shirt tickled along her bare skin. Mesmerised, her eyes followed his movement as he reached his black pants and unzipped it, making his sizable erection spring free.

Apparently, she wasn't the only one not wearing any knickers.

Not taking the effort to fully undress himself, he moved himself horizontally above her, rubbing his cock against the inside of her thigh. She shivered in fear and wantonness. She didn't want to fuck Lord Voldemort, and yet, she did want to. It was all too confusing. She shook her head.

No, no, no, no, this was all wrong.

He shifted, positioning himself in front of her opening. She responded by tilting her pelvis and bending her knees to allow him better access.

Why did she do that? She didn't want this. She didn't.

Yet, she could feel herself getting wetter at the same time. Something needed to fill that aching void. Her body betrayed her mind.

"Pets don't get to decide," he commented casually, and then, thrust inside her roughly without a warning.

Her back arched. Her head tilted back, and she let out a loud yelp. That fucking hurt!

"Good," he remarked coldly, keeping his hips pressed against hers, while he was still buried deep inside of her.

Her muscles readjusted, and then, tightened around him like a fist, trying to draw him in as far as possible. Her mind tried to make sense of the overwhelming sensation of being filled to the hilt, but was unable to. It felt like an aching enjoyment. Part of her wanted him out now, and part of her wished he'd stay there forever. The latter part gained the upper hand when he rotated his hips, causing him to add more pressure to all the sensitive parts inside of her. Something sparked as he hit an even more vulnerable spot. Her legs shook and a tingle travelled all the way to her toes.

Filled with need, Hermione looked up, staring straight into that intense red gaze.

"I adore thatlook on your face when it's just for me, my sweetest little slave," he spoke to her lips.

She tried to lift her head to kiss him, but he withdrew, chuckling. Leaning on her hips and one hand, he placed his wandhand on her right breast and began kneading it. First just manually, but quickly he added magic to it, causing her to let out a passionate moan.

"So needy, so wanting, so eager, so very responsive to her master." He released her breast, making her whimper in disappointment. But he placed his hand next to her head. "Look at me, Hermione Granger," he ordered, and when she caught his gaze, he slowly began pumping inside of her. It was painful yet fulfilling. She wanted it to stop and continue. She wanted him to go harder and slower.

He was Lord Voldemort!

Every time he entered her fully, it hurt her, but then he'd hit a spot that made her clench and wetter, while her whole body shuddered. And when he withdrew, she wanted him to hit that spot again. She needed him to make her feel that way again. But she didn't want to know who made her feel that way. She didn't want him to make her feel that way. She closed her eyes, wanting to pretend to be with someone else.

Suddenly, white hot knives seemed to enter every inch of her body. She yelled, thrashed and writhed in her bounds, while he held the Cruciatus Curse upon her.

"Oooh," he moaned in delight through her shrieks, "you do feel delicious." He released her of the curse, grabbed her chin, and gazed into her eyes. "Please look away again," he said with a vile smile, "the way you massage my cock during it ..." he sighed, "it is utter bliss. I wouldn't mind keeping you like that for hours."

She swallowed the lump that formed in her throat, but didn't dare break her eye contact with him again.

"Mmm..." He tilted his head. "Too bad." His hand moved just above where they were joined. "It made you dry," he commented like he was grading a badly written paper. "Soon," he promised, "you'll want me to Crucio you during intercourse. The curse alone will make you so wet, so horny; you will fuck whoever I put in front of you just to get a release. I will have you on your hands and knees, taking you like the dog you are. You will whore yourself out in every position available. And I will not grant you that release, Mudblood, until you have fully and utterly submitted yourself to me." He rubbed his finger over her clit and she cried out. "Look at that," he mocked at the moisture that dripped out of her. "One little touch of her master and the little Mudblood slut is ready to go again."

Violently, he withdrew until he had almost fully exited her, and then, he slammed back in. He rotated his hips as he moved harder and harder, making her cry out every time he hit that spot deep inside of her. The dreadful pain she felt from his now harsh movements was overshadowed by the ecstasy that run through her fully in those brief moments he targeted her most sensitive area.

"Such a perfect fit I created in you," he told her, the intimacy of the moment enhanced by their constant eye contact. "Remember how I made you mine the first time? How I broke your barrier next to Potter's dead body? How you climaxed while your ... "boyfriend" watched? How I magically made sure you would always be pure and innocent with me, like it was your first time?"

He laughed joyfully as the memories suddenly became visible before her mind's eye.

"You were so afraid then, it was intoxicating." He kissed her lips chastely. "And yet, you still moved with me, moved for me, wrapped your arms and legs around me, freely of your own volition. You knew, didn't you Hermione? You knew you were meant to serve me. You loved that I took you there. You loved that I made your pathetic boyfriend watch. You loved that Lord Voldemort chose you."

The truth of his words sank in, and she blushed, wanting to look away but afraid to do so. Her arousal grew with every stroke he made and every word he spoke. It was like his voice wrapped around her, caressing her skin with a darkness she could not withstand.

"Can't you feel how well adjusted you are to me?" he smirked. "This, my pet, is why you were born."

She shuddered as his magic ran through her, causing her blood to pulse harder to her core. She was so hot, so hot. Sweat dripped over her skin, trying to cool her down in vain.

"Every insolent little Mudblood needs a master to show her what to do," he explained softly. "Isn't that right, Hermione?" He watched her expectantly. "Tell me, my pet."

Quietly, she nodded.

"Mmm... still not convinced, are we?" He grinned. "I do love that stubborn trait of yours. It gives me so many wonderful opportunities to prove my ... point." He slammed inside her and simultaneously cast another spell at her clit, making her yell at the top of her voice while she shook in delight. He waved his wand and the feelings ceased instantly. Wantonness rose, so high it made her squirm.

"Look at yourself, Hermione. See how you act like every Mudblood would. You don't see me getting all hot and bothered, do you?"

His chuckle danced over her skin, making her shudder again, and he laughed harder and harder, causing her muscles' trembles to increase further and further. She screamed in frustration when her yearning for him increased tenfold, while he withdrew out of her completely.

He sat up, staring at her flushed and perspiring body satisfied. "What will you do now, my pet? I can achieve everything I set my mind to, but you—with your blood's disadvantage—need help with even the littlest of tasks."

A flick of his wrist and the Elder Wand appeared in his hand. Teasingly, he allowed the power of it to trace the inside of her thigh. Her legs thrashed in response.

"So little self-control," he mocked. "Typical of your kind." He clicked with his tongue and shook his head. "But I suppose a Mudblood can't be held responsible for her parents' genetic disposition." He paused viciously. "You need assistance from your master, don't you?"

The Elder Wand flashed and her legs were suddenly immobilised by invisible chains. Starting at her ankle, his wand moved upward on her leg. Little trembles were all that showed on her leg how much he was affecting her, but her head was tossed back and her voice became hoarse from her yells. Excited, she felt how he got closer and closer to where she really wanted that power to enter her, but he moved the Elder Wand to the top of her leg over her hipbone and to her waist. Lazily circling a couple of times around her bellybutton, titillating her skin there, he observed her mounting dissatisfaction. Her mind swarmed with lascivious thoughts, needs, desires, as her body went into overdrive.

"If you need assistance from your superior, Hermione, all you have to do is acknowledge it," he advised her in the lowest of whispers.

"Oooooh," she moaned when he swerved his wand over her and that terrible loss of not having him inside of her went through the roof. "Please, my Lord!" she yelled.

He sighed tiresomely before bending forward, placing both hands beside her head and halting his face inches from hers. "Tell me what you are, Hermione, and you may get what you need," he said; his voice slithered around her, coating her with lust and perverseness.

"I am yours," she responded, defeated.

"And ...?"

"I-I live to serve you." Hermione noticed how he quietly kept waiting; so she continued, stuttering, "my-my body is yours to do with as you please."

"Obviously," he replied evenly, shifting his weight to his left hand to be able to lift his wandhand. A quick snap of his fingers and both her breasts grew a cup-size, while her already hardened nipples enlarged and darkened. "There, much better." He spread his fingers and placed his palm on her nipple, massaging it before he captured her firm breast in his hand. "But you already acknowledge your body was mine the first time you gave yourself to me, so answer the real question, Mudblood. What are you?"

For a brief moment, she clenched her jaw, but his breath blew over her neck and she couldn't take it anymore.

"I am inferior to you," she whispered barely audible.

"Yessss," he hissed, pleased. "Which is why you need guidance with your basic Mudblood instincts, is it not?"

"Ye-yes."

"Yes who?"

"Yes, Master," she responded, humiliated.

He kissed her cheek.

"Don't be embarrassed," he breathed. "You're an intelligent woman. You know the truth as to why Mudbloods can't handle magic and should never have been allowed to touch a wand in the first place. It was not your fault the Dumbledore's of the world acted irresponsible in the past and caused you to slip out of control." He pressed his body into hers. "You should feel honoured to need Lord Voldemort's guidance. Every Mudblood has the basic drives to turn magic to sex and violence, but with you those drives are so all-consuming that you needed a truly powerful master to help you control them, to help steer,"—he smirked—, "those forces in the right direction. You need me, the most powerful wizard on the planet. Tell me, Hermione," he forced his magic to her nether regions, making her arch against him, while it simultaneously overran her mind with sexual stimuli, "will you submit to me completely, so we can turn your unfortunate past to good use and make those animalistic drives serve your master at their fullest capacity?"

"If it is my master's wish, it needs to be done," she answered demure and dazed.

"Good answer," he praised, sitting up, placing his hand on her forehead.

Suddenly, she could move again and she wanted nothing more but to wrap her arms and legs around him and pull him into her, but she stayed still. He hadn't given her permission after all, and he was right—she needed his help to control herself. She wanted to show him her drives could be used to serve whatever he desired.

Lord Voldemort stroked her forehead and nodded quietly before he whirled his wandhand through the air. In it appeared a solid silver collar, which was about one inch in width. It was unclasped and had two snakes slithering in opposite directions engraved in it. Hermione noticed they actually moved. There was a sturdy ring bungling at the front held between the teeth of a skull. The ring, she knew, could be used to hold any kind of chain, but right now it was empty.

He held it out to her. "You've earned it," he complimented her.

Trembling, she accepted it with both hands. She'd seen collars before. Most Mudbloods with masters wore one, and it was usually all they had on; but none were this thick or felt even remotely of magic. This one did. She could feel the power of it already seeping into her hands. His wandhand stroked her hair up and away from her neck, while he helped support her head. Having his support gave her the security she needed, and Hermione looked directly into his eyes as she placed the collar around her neck and clasped it shut. Immediately, the lock fused together, and the collar shrunk to surround her neck like a second skin.

"My little slave," he purred. "You will do nicely."

Forcefully, he pulled her body against his seated frame and explored her mouth with an intensity as if he had never done it before, while roaming his hands over her back and bottom. Her body reacted as if on fire, and her collar tickled her neck, sending shivers down her spine continuously, but she kept her hands to herself as he had ordered her to do from the start.

He pulled away from her mouth with a wild happiness written all over his snakelike features. "So obedient now," he whispered gleefully. "You are allowed to put your arms around me for support. You will not use them to caress or touch me in any other matter. Furthermore, you will wrap your legs around my back. I want the best access to my Mudblood's sex as possible, and you will do what you can to draw me in as far as you can. Is that clear, slave?"

"Yes, Master," she replied humbly, happy he allowed her such liberties.

She really wanted him inside her as far as possible. She was so wet, so horny, so very ready for him, it was maddening. Her Mudblood sex drive was too overwhelming; she needed him to cure it quickly. She needed to be fucked hard to be cleansed. Carefully, she placed her arms around his neck, and he lowered her to her back, while she wrapped her legs around him.

But to her frustration, he did not enter her straight away. Instead, he placed his finger on her clit. Hissing in Parseltongue, she felt the collar's magic stream down to his finger. She couldn't help herself. Her body liked the experience so much, especially when he ran circles over her clit, causing the magic to follow his lead. She squirmed and moaned and didn't know up from down, left from right, or black from white anymore. All sensible thoughts had vacated her mind and didn't feel like returning. And when he removed his finger, the collar's magic continued to stimulate her sensitive bud, making her one throbbing, aching, sex-driven, alive toy for him to play with.

"Beg," he ordered, pressing his tip against her narrow passage.

She complied desperately, and with a triumphant growl, he reclaimed her body. They moved in sync. Every time he thrust down hard, she pulled her lower body up by her legs, meeting him halfway, while tilting her pelvis. The extra leverage he gained caused him to bump her womb, and it sent signals of pain to her completely lust-filled brain. She began to like that feel. Her mind mixed the pain with pleasure, telling her body to move faster, harder, to give it more of what it craved for.

"Fuck me, Master, please, fuck me," she begged.

Lord Voldemort was more than happy to comply. The room was filled with the sounds of her moans and the harsh smacks of flesh on flesh. She could sense it coming, that overwhelming undeniable moment of her orgasm, when he hissed, "You will go when I give you permission and not one second sooner, slave."

Hermione groaned in sheer desperation. How on earth could she stop it? He was too bloody diligent in his moves and she was so close, so close.

"Discipline, my Mudblood, discipline. Show me you're worthy of my cock."

He kept hitting her sensitive areas, rotating his hips to vary the angles at which he entered, making it impossible for her to predict the oncoming tactile experience. Oh Merlin, she was going to come. She had to do something to stop it. She dug her nails into her arms and dragged them through her flesh; long red lines became visible on her arms and blood trickled from the wounds.

It helped ... briefly.

"Please, please let me come, Master. I can't hold it any longer, please."

Coldly, he looked down, though his face was perspiring and his body had gained an unusual blue-ish flush.

"You are here for my pleasure and my pleasure alone. I will not be pleased if you fail me, Mudblood," he snarled while deliberately upping his technique even further.

Desperate, Hermione bit on her tongue, hard. Blood poured from the muscle and some of it trickled down the corner of her mouth.

Lord Voldemort let out a deep guttural sound when he saw it leak down her jaw into her neck. He grabbed the back of her neck and just before his mouth crashed on hers, he grunted, "Go!"

His permission made her shake and fall into that bottomless pit of ecstasy instantly. Her orgasm gave her the drive to fuck him even harder to hold onto that feverish, intoxicating madness for as long as she could. He'd pulled her in a seated position, bringing her down on him with his hands on her hips, while he moved up. Her legs still wrapped around his back, she dragged him inside hard, while she tensed her muscles around him in a frenzy, trying to hold him inside while he was in the process of moving out again.

He explored her bleeding mouth with a ravishment unlike before and she pressed her tongue between his teeth. His body shuddered at her offering, and he bit down, making her blood flow harder and harder. His movements became disjointed, unstable and ragged. But she didn't want it to end; she didn't want it to stop. It felt too good to end. She wanted to feel like this forever.

The collar around her neck tightened, cutting off her air-supply slightly. It enhanced her passion, prolonged her orgasm, while the world swirled in her mind. She moved over his hard erection exuberantly. His hot semen struck into her womb abruptly, causing her eyes to roll to the back of her head, as his arms slid from her hips to her back, pressing her so hard against him that it felt like he was trying to merge their bodies into one.

He could just catch himself with one arm, as they fell back on the mattress, exhausted. The collar loosened enough to allow her normal breaths to enter her lungs again. And he moved his wandhand to where they were still joined together. Slowly, he removed his softening cock out and positioned his body on his side against hers, wrapping his left arm around her shoulders, while his wandhand stayed over her opening.

Hermione felt so tired she wanted to sleep, but it was so nice to be held by him, to lie against his body, and to feel his hand there where he just pleasured her so expertly. Her eyelids fluttered, trying to remain open. In the back of her mind, she heard him cast—verbally, so he must be tired, too. Some cold and hard metal entered her core, it expended rapidly, sealing her of completely, and tiny strands swirled from it, wrapping around her legs and waist before digging into her flesh, making her body jerk.

She looked down at the magical equivalent of a chastity belt and wondered what the point was. Nobody ever entered his personal quarters. Nobody would have the nerve to go near what was deemed to be his. Curiously, she quirked an eyebrow.

"This is not a chastity belt, my dear," he sniggered. "What you feel inside of you is a duplicate of my cock. From hereon you will ... wear me twenty-four seven, and it will activate when it pleases me and for how long it pleases me. This is the best method to train a Mudblood slave obedience and stamina. It will teach you to go only when ordered."

He stroked his wandhand over her body, resting it on one of her breasts. He massaged it, played with her nipple, and enjoyed his creation before giving her a devilish wink and snapping his fingers. The metal cords around her waist circled up, like a tight fishnet corset. It was silver, she noted, looking down, and it felt even more constricting than the leather bodice had done. He waved his hand over her breasts and the cords became underwires which were normally hidden in bras. Strands moved straight up to her nipples, encircling them, squeezing them, so they pressed forward. The strands fastened themselves around her areola with tiny hooks that dug into her skin. After that, the silver strands moved up to the collar and fused with its metal, lifting her breasts properly.

Hermione blinked, but he wasn't finished yet.

His hand waved down to her arms and around her biceps and wrist thick bracelets appeared with similar rings as on the collar. Her legs received the same treatment. Strands circled down her legs, until they reached her feet and shifted the impossible high-heeled pumps unto silver boots with an even higher stiletto. The boots had belts around them which could obviously be tied to something. Above and just under her knees, the strands thickened and gained a ring.

When he was finally done with his silver bondage outfit, his red eyes shifted over his creation with pleasure. "Lovely," he said, gazing at her.

He suddenly swirled to his feet and held out his hand. A thick chain landed in it, and he yanked on it. Hermione yelped, because the chain had clasped to her collar and she was forced from the bed abruptly by her neck. Her hands grabbed onto the chain to stop the choking effect he caused, while she tried to gain her footing as he dragged her along.

"Get up," he ordered harshly, giving the chain another tug.

She scrambled to her feet, wobbling on the stilettos, and feeling uncomfortable due to the restraining effects of the corset and the hard thickness she felt between her legs. He placed his pale hands on her sides and turned her to the mirror.

"This is what you will wear from now on." His fingers moved to her front, titillating the bare skin between the metal strands. "It's practical in all its minimalist ingenuity." He trailed to her breasts, massaging them before fondling her nipples. "I can reach what needs to be reached immediately, and...," he said, his voice darkening, while his arms wrapped around her waist, "I can punish at a moment's notice."

His sentence wasn't even finished when she felt every piece of metal shrink slowly, except for the piece inside of her. That one grew, like all the silver travelled there to stretch her core. She had to spread her legs slightly to keep some tiny level of comfort. Her skin bulged out at several places, while she began having trouble breathing due to the collar and the corset tightening.

He pulled her against him. "You won't cause me any more trouble now, will you?" he said smirking.

Shaking her head, she pleaded at him with her eyes.

"Because you've been such a good girl today," he purred in her ear and stopped the demonstration of the punishment.

He licked her just beneath her ear, having noticed how sensitive she was there. His hands slid down to her hips. "Want to feel what it's like when I activate this?" he breathed against that same spot in her neck, making her shiver.

"Slaves don't get to decide, my Lord."

"Very true," he purred, and he activated the device inside of her with a mere thought.

It began pumping hard and fast, and Hermione's legs buckled.

Laughing, he caught her before she would have crashed to the floor. "You like that, don't you, you little Mudblood slut?" he hissed in her ear venomously. "And the best part of it, I can have it fuck you all day long while I am away, come home to have you wet, soar, and raw before me, and with a snap of my fingers, it will be gone and I can take its place instantaneously." He lowered her to the floor with her side against his chest, roaming his hands freely over her skin. "Or I can make it fuck you, while you pleasure me orally." He captured her mouth and French-kissed her thoroughly. His words, his kisses, his touches, and his device—that moved expertly inside of her—made her oh so horny again. "And there are so many more possibilities, too many to mention, to train your capabilities in the art of servicing your superiors with this fitting outfit. You will become the best Mudblood whore of the world, and you will be all mine, forever."

"Oh yesss," she moaned, liking the idea very, verymuch.

With a start, Hermione's world swirled and she blinked. Confusion crossed her features when she was no longer on the floor, but sat in a chair. Her eyes darted around. Where was she?

She took in the books, the shelves, and she remembered. She was in the Black library. She was at Twelve Grimmauld Place and no longer in Lord Voldemort's arms, at his mercy.

To her horror, a feeling of extreme loss swept through her, knowing that he was gone, and she was certain that —if only for a moment— she heard him chuckle.

Tom sighed, unable to stop the rant that came out of the Horcrux's mouth. Apparently, the little bint was upset over the punishment he had inflicted upon her real persona for biting him—distorting people's realities was sooooomuch fun, but this had proven to be incredibly entertaining. His old snake-faced exterior was quite a sight to behold, and this time around, he'd had two victims to the dark Reality Distortion Curse—one who had no knowledge of its existence and one who witnessed the entire thing knowing full well what was going on.

It had literally been a dream come true, for him that is.

Both Grangers hadn't enjoyed it that much, or rather, they hadn't enjoyed how much they'd enjoyed it. A brief snigger left his lips. He'd used Legilimency the entire time and witnessed her horrified reaction when "wakening", and well, the Horcrux had been vocal to him during. It still was.

Annoyed, Tom glared at the cup. Surely, the silly soul would realise by now he was not to be trifled with. He'd been sure that after her "pleasurable" experience in the boiling kettle, she'd think twice before acting out toward him, before trying his patience, before...

Did she just call him a magical misfit, him, Lord Voldemort?

Placing his long legs from the tabletop to the floor, he rose from his chair and paced to the cup. His hand swept out, grabbed it by one of the two handles, and he strode with it to his unused kitchen. To his annoyance, she continued to tell him exactly what she thought of him, and the words that came out of her mouth weren't pretty.

He shook the cup violently when he came to a halt in front of the dishwasher. "I thought you were supposed to be the smartest student of your class, Granger," he hissed. "But it seems another "lesson" is in order before it will sink down into your thick skull your life is mine to do with as I please."

With a flick of his wand, the dishwasher opened and the top rack jumped out. It was a filthy Muggle device, so it would suit her muddy soul just fine. He placed the cup in the rack and flashed his wand around. The machine trembled on its feet for a moment as he warded it against any magical interference. He smashed the rack back in place, making the cup roll on its side.

"I believe we need to wash that foul mouth of yours, Mudblood," he snarled.

His wand produced a stream of liquid soap, which he targeted deliberately at the cup's opening. It leaked out onto the floor of the dishwasher, but he could still hear her cough and spit.

"Enjoy," he mocked and slammed the dishwasher's door to.

His wand circled the buttons and picked the longest program with the highest temperature automatically. With a click, the machine turned on, and an irritating loud buzzing noise filled the room.

How did Muggles stand this?

The man who had rented him this flat had gone on and on and on about the wonders of the machine in question; though Tom was sure, this hadn't been on the moron's mind when he'd explained that it was the "newest-of-the-new", "state-of-the-art", most expensive dishwasher money could buy.

After that bit of totally unnecessary information, Tom had made sure he'd never have to pay rent. Actually, no one would ever have to pay rent to Mr. Appleberry again, but he hadn't felt the need to share that knowledge with the other tenants.

At least Muggle technology would be used for a "good" cause today.

"Silencio!" he cast nonverbally, not in the mood to listen to the continuous hum or Granger's screams, while he made his preparations for his shift in the hospital that evening.

Ron rubbed the bridge of his nose as he walked out of the Apparition Room and headed towards Ginny's room.

Everything just seemed to go ... wrong these days.

He scrubbed his face with his hands.

He really hadn't meant to be so nasty to Hermione, and he had tried to rein his temper in, but recently, for some reason, there seemed to be an invisible wall between the two of them. Every time he tried to speak to her, apologise to her (though in his opinion, she was at fault most of the time), she would either give him a cold look or start verbally attacking him. Of course, that would inevitably lead to his temper rising, and he would then start thrashing out at her, swiping her with the worst insults he could think of. He knew she probably didn't fancy half of those people he had mentioned, but ... but she should've understood his insecurities. It wasn't the first time he expressed them to her. Even Harry understood him. Why couldn't she?

He pressed his lips into a thin line when he recalled what she had said to him at the Ministry of Magic today.

She knew quite well that it was because of Riddle's locket. He wouldn't have ever gone back to the Burrow if he hadn't been wearing that stupid Horcrux. It was all Riddle's fault. He was ... he was distressed. As if she never had thoughts about leaving Harry alone to the mission—not that he actually knew if she wanted to leave or not, but still, she shouldn't have held that against him. It was wrong for her to even mention the whole incident in the first place.

To hold that against him and call him a coward. That was going way too far. Clenching his jaws together, he resolved to not speak to her again until she apologised.

Of course, what infuriated him even more was that Harry'd decided to speak on Hermione's behalf after they'd got back to Grimmauld's Place.

"Well, perhaps you're better suited for her then," he had given Harry a piece of his mind before stomping into his room.

Therefore, Ron had decided to visit Ginny right after dinner, so that he wouldn't have to face either Hermione or Harry that evening.

He shot the portraits annoyed glares as one of the occupants chased him through the frames, offering help for his "rare form of Devil's Snare poisoning". Great. Instead of someone offering advice to him on how to get rid of spattergroit, he now had someone telling him he'd got Devil's Snare poisoning. After he made a turn around the corner, before he could open his mouth to tell the portrait shut it, a familiar-looking head of bushy hair ahead caught his attention.

He frowned, quite sure that Hermione had not mentioned that she would visit Ginny that evening. Somewhere in the back of his head, he heard a voice telling him that something wasn't quite right. Nevertheless, he still walked over to Ginny's room, ignoring the calls from the portraits, since he kept an eye on where the young woman went. He felt as if someone used a club to hit him over the head when he saw her enter Healer Lewis's office.

No, no. It couldn't be Hermione ... or ... maybe it was?

She was just getting Healer Lewis for Ginny. That was all. He was overreacting, and Hermione hated it when he overreacted.

Taking a huge gulp of breath, he opened the door to Ginny's room, trying to think lighter of things.

His sister sat upright on her bed and flashed him a welcoming smile when she looked up from the book she'd been reading. He was relieved when he saw that. Last time he'd been here, she'd attacked him, accusing him to be Tom Riddle of all people. The nurses had to pull her off of him, for he hadn't wanted to hurt his only sister. The crazy glint in her eyes... He shivered upon remembering it, for he'd never seen an expression like that on Ginny before. It had frightened him, but she seemed in better health today.

He managed to plaster a warm smile on his face.

"How are you feeling?" he asked carefully, wondering why Hermione would feel the need to call the Healer when there was no emergency.

"Alright," Ginny answered as she observed his features. "Is something the matter?"

His frown deepened when he thought about seeing Hermione—or at least, someone very similar to Hermione—walking through the hallways.

"Ginny, was Hermione just here?"

Ginny's eyes immediately turned fierce, much like a lioness ready to attack.

"No," she answered in a clipped tone. "Why would she be here? As if Riddle would care about the state of my health."

Her answer caused an ice-cold feeling to erupt from the pit of stomach to his heart. That meant that Hermione wasn't here to visit Ginny. Was she here...?

The world swirled around him as the image of Hermione and Healer Lewis together formed inside his mind's eye. No, no, no, it had to be someone else ... It had to be someone else. Hermione would never do something like that...

But why did he have that gut feeling it wasn't somebody else?

"Are you even listening to me?" Ginny's irritated voice broke through his thoughts.

He looked up at her, with a look on his face much like a child caught lying.

Ginny huffed. "She's being possessed by Riddle, Ron. Why don't you lot ever believe me?"

He had to find out. He had to know whether that woman was Hermione or not.

"I believe you," Ron lied, knowing that Ginny had already accused a lot of other people of being Riddle as well, including the dead Slughorn, their father, and even Healer Lewis at some point. Hermione had just been the first in a seemingly endless list. The Healer had told them not to go along with her delusions, but Ron had never felt the strength to correct Ginny about it. So, he absentmindedly nodded his head. "Um ... I need to go get a drink of water. I'll be right back."

Without giving her a chance to answer him and knowing she could not follow him out, he opened the door and re-entered the hallway. Ginny didn't need to hear he suspected Hermione from having an affair with her Healer. No doubt, it would trigger one of her Riddle hallucinations again.

Heaving a sigh, Ron quickly and silently moved in the direction of Healer Lewis's office. As he got nearer and nearer to the room, he began to hear soft moans and a sinking feeling made it to his stomach.

When he finally got to the slightly ajar door, he stared at it, pondering if he should even push it open. He closed his eyes and took another deep breath.

"Coward..."

Her voice echoed in his head, and he opened his eyes. No, he was not a coward. Taking a step forward, he pushed the door gently with the palm of his hand.

And he froze.

There, half sitting on top of the table and snogging Healer Lewis, was Hermione.

Her arms were wrapped around Lewis's neck, which meant that she was obviously not being forced. Lewis's hand caressed her arms, to which she responded with gentle shivers. Their lips were attached and Ron could clearly see that she enjoyed their kiss. They were so immersed in their activities they didn't even notice Ron was there, watching them.

Ron rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, trying to tell himself it wasn't Hermione, but he knew it was. Anger, humiliation, and sadness washed through Ron, making him feel like roaring to expel the extra feelings. Instead, he turned around and ran down the hallway, away from the scene, away from the pain, and away from the woman he thought he loved.

Therefore, he wasn't there to see Healer Lewis break off the kiss, turn around, and smirk, staring at the spot where Ron had previously stood.

This had been far too easy. The girl had always been susceptible to the Imperius Curse, but this— this had been a piece of cake. Tom turned around and stared at the little Mudblood. She still looked at him with those disgusting lovey-dovey eyes. It made him want to place her under the Cruciatus Curse, had he not enjoyed their snogging session.

A smirk touched his face as he lifted a hand and cupped her cheek. Her eyes fluttered shut and she emitted a sigh. Her cheeks were flushed and her breaths were shallower than usual.

Amused, he wondered what her reactions would be when the curse was taken off her. She wouldn't be surprised to be in his office; they had an unofficial appointment after all, because she had kindly trusted him with her little problem of hearing voices and having lapses of memory at the end of their first meeting. He'd promised to help her without creating a file of her case. She'd been very grateful he'd been so considerate about how a record like it could affect any possible future career she might want to strive at.

However, her being here wouldn't explain her now sitting on his table in the condition she was in, and he really wondered what she would do. He could always undo any damage later if necessary. To satisfy his curiosity, he closed the door behind him with a wave of his hand, warded it thoroughly, and with another wave, he released her from the Imperius. He raised an eyebrow when he realised that she had no intention of moving, even with the curse gone.

This was ... interesting, to say the least. He momentarily wondered if Granger really fancied Lewis and the Imperius simply allowed her to drop her shyness and morals.

That promptly made him narrow his eyes. And he was told that she cared about looks.

His eyes flickered back to her slightly parted and swollen lips. A sense of possessiveness washed over him. Of course, he was now playing the part of Healer Lewis, but if she knew who he was ...

A low growl nearly escaped his mouth before he remembered that she was no longer under the curse's influence.

Why should he care who she fancied anyway? Annoyed, he pushed that thought away and brought their lips together again, kissing her with more force than necessary, as if he was punishing her. His fingers wrapped themselves tightly in her wild hair, so he could use it as a nicely herbal scented leash and keep her in her rightful place, while his other arm held her firmly around her waist.

Yet ... she still moaned into his mouth and wrapped her arms around his neck again, thoroughly delighting him.

Perhaps there wereother usages for the Mudblood, other than killing off those annoying morons.

The next morning, Tom seemed calm, cool, and detached, while he stirred the potion. But inside his mind thoughts whirled like a thunderstorm. His eyes flicked to the blissfully silent cup, which stood on the same table he currently brewed the potion on. He was sincerely thankful she'd stopped badmouthing him, though, he did get unnerved and suspicious by her silence.

What was that little thing plotting now?

He didn't like how she continued to oppose him. He wanted her subdued and at his feet, following his every command just like everyone else.

But they are all so boring, his mind warned him.

He shook his head, trying to shake the images from yesterday evening, but he was unsuccessful and they whirled in front of his eyes like a movie set on fast-forward. He clutched to the ladle, stirring more forcefully in the potion without thinking about it.

He'd lost control. Sure, he'd been Healer Lewis, but he had lost control. It was unacceptable. Lord Voldemort never, ever surrendered his control. It was why he was brewing Amortentia—so he could be the one in charge again. Once, she loooved him, or rather, was obsessed about him, she'd do anything he asked of her. Which was precisely what he wanted, needed...

He gazed at the colour change the potion underwent. In three minutes, it would be the required mother-of-pearl sheen, and then, he'd be nearly done. She'd be like—like ... everyone else.

"Boring!" his mind shouted.

He ignored his mind and continued stirring, noticing the steam rise in spirals.

But his mind didn't like being ignored, seeing as it was His mind, so it sent him those images he tried to suppress.

He'd been kissing her with bruising force, angry at the thought she might be enjoying Lewis's company instead of his. When she moaned and snaked her arms around his neck, his first reaction had been feelings of pleasure; but then, he remembered what he looked like and his wand returned in his hand. He had to be sure if she kissed him, because she fancied the Healer. If that was the case, he'd—he'd...

His muscles tightened, grabbing her firmer against him. Merlin, that big belly was annoyingly in the way.

His wandhand moved through her hair, entangling his fingers and wand further in it. "Legilimens!"

He searched her mind non-verbally and was very pleased to find no trace of any affection directed towards Lewis. She responded to him. Their connection was the reason she kissed the Healer. Something in his chest lurched—it was an unusual feeling to him, but he liked it.

Suddenly, Hermione wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled herself up against him. He stumbled back, not having seen this coming, and he crashed into the cabinet behind him. Though, he did enjoy the initiative, for she kissed him more ferociously from her now higher perspective than his; so, he released his grip on her hair. He'd been surprised she had made the move, considering the pain it must have caused on her roots.

After that, her lips didn't stay attached to his mouth, but she began trailing kisses all over his face. And not just with her lips, but her teeth grazed his skin as well.

It made him harden, without him planning that to happen.

He'd been too surprised to respond with an appropriately aimed curse, for no one—no one ever dared to do something to Lord Voldemort without humbly asking for his consent first.

She didn't know who he was, he excused himself for not doing anything about it. She'd never dared to do this if he'd shown her his true identity.

But a part of him knew it was a cop-out, to his surprise, he actually enjoyed her domineering moves. He enjoyed standing there, while another pleasured him without explicit directives. He enjoyed the way her body felt against his chest as she lowered herself to nibble his neck. He enjoyed not knowing what she would do next. He enjoyed it far too much, because his release took him by surprise and he spilt it in his pants like a moronic schoolboy. And Tom Riddle had never been a moronic schoolboy, never.

No, this could never happen to Lord Voldemort ever again, he thought, growling in anger.

And it never will if you feed her this potion, his mind rebutted, taunting him.

He froze. For the first time in his entire multiple existence, Lord Voldemort did not know what to do. The potion was finished. He could put it in the cup and feed it to her. He'd used it before, very effectively if he said so himself; Bella had been his most loyal servant after all. But Bella had been an average, normal witch before it, boring just like everyone else.

Hermione is not boring.

He knew his thoughts were right about that. Filthy little Mudblood she may be, but boring... nope.

He glanced at the cup again. It was still silent. His wandhand itched to find out why, to use Legilimency on her and see what she was plotting. But there was a huge part of him worried that he might find his weakness in her mind, so he refrained.

His nose picked up the smell of the love potion; he smelled parchment, freshly mowed grass, and ... a familiar herbal scent!

With a frustrated cry, he blew the cauldron to oblivion and paced out the door. He needed some fresh air, desperately.

Helga Hufflepuff's cup turned on the table, watching him go thoughtfully. Hermione's Horcrux wondered about the strange turn of events. It had been why she'd been silent throughout his Amortentia brewing, despite recognising the despicable draught and fearing what he'd do with it.

She hadn't really had any other strategy before than trying to contact and warn her other self Lord Voldemort was still around. Though the stupid loyalty-valuing Helga Hufflepuff had made it impossible for her to say his name directly, she had tried to send signals. When she couldn't do it, because he was around, she had tried to get him so furious that he would kill her, which would free her real-life body from his influence. But despite that he'd lost his temper around her, he never, ever lost it enough for him to forget about the ramifications of such an action. It had only caused her a great amount of pain.

But now, she'd seen his reactions to her...

Weird.

Perhaps the cup's Hufflepuff qualities had affected him, too? He'd been in it longer than her, after all, and they did have a connection now that he used her to "escape" it. So, perhaps she wasn't the only one feeling an inappropriate sense of loyalty?

She sniggered softly at the thought of Lord Voldemort being forced to feel loyalty towards a Mudblood. That must really be infuriating to him.

Still, it made her think another approach was in order. She recalled how successful the locket had been in creating turmoil amongst the three of them. Perhaps she should try something a little more Slytherin-like? A snake's approach might be more effective in gaining her the upper hand in this sordid relationship, because she knew that was what it was—a very bad, totally inappropriate, but still platonic relationship between sworn enemies. For her real self had no idea whom she was snogging, so that didn't count.

Hermione's mind totally blocked out what she had smelled only minutes ago when the love potion was finished; freshly mowed grass, parchment, and something that was definitely not Ron's minty toothpaste.

xxx

A/N: review replies can be found here: http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/15639-review-replies/
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The Gold Puppet