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The Prisoner	By : Nerys Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 63579 -:- Recommendations : 6 -:- Currently Reading : 13
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 7
- 8
- 9
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

A/N: Sorry for the delay, real life turned incredibly "sucky" (that's the problem with having a chronic illness), but I am back and hope to finish this story soon. And yes, I will get back to "The Apprentice" after that. Anyway, I hope you'll all enjoy this new chapter.

I want to thank everyone who read, rated and reviewed: Aria, LDeetz, Gracie, Liz, Siobhan, Alassea Malfoy, Lady Miya, mrequecky, excessivelycomplex, Kohomologia, Relatela, Elisa, MarksPet, Anon, lauren, Mari, Charlotte, iheartskittles, Fleur K., Cristina, The-dragon-of-hell, nitesfool and SarahLuvsZombehs.

My responses can be found on the AFFnet forum: http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/19576-the-prisoner-by-nerys/

Special thanks to my betas Serpent In Red and Cosettex.

xxx

The Prisoner

Chapter 8: Something Seven

Harry was pacing through the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, searching for his friend. Finally, he opened the shower rooms that connected to the duelling arena. Rubbing his forehead in confusion, he saw two legs sticking out from what appeared to be a magically widened drain.

'What are you doing?'

'–ay! –an … fin … it,' Ron replied, his body blocking the sound.

Harry stopped next to him and looked down, seeing his friend struggle to get back out—his legs were waving in every direction like two errant flagpoles.

'–uck! –Ellup!'

Harry flicked his wand, and Ron sailed through the air, landing on his feet. Water and dirt dripped from his hair and clothes, and he looked positively upset.

'What's wrong? Why are you crawling in there?'

'I lost it,' Ron said, holding up his left hand and wiggling his ring finger. 'I lost my wedding ring. Hermione's going to kill me.'

'Did it fall down the drain?' Harry asked, leaning forward and pointing his wand. His Summoning Charm didn't produce the desired item.

'I tried that already,' Ron said, rolling his eyes. 'I am not even sure I lost it here. I must have. I already checked my booth and the corridors and the interrogation rooms I was in. It's nowhere to be found. And I always take off my ring before duelling practise.'

'Why?'

'Why,' Ron repeated incredulously. 'Have you forgotten Moody's story about that friend of his who had his ring on during duelling practise and whose arm had to be amputated because of that?'

'Oh, that one.' Harry muffled his upcoming laughter when he saw Ron's expression. 'Well, that was really a stretch, didn't you think? Seriously, Moody had a horror story for basically everything. If you start living your life in "constant vigilance", you'll turn just as barmy as him.'

'Barmy, me? Hexed any dustbins lately, Harry?' Ron questioned knowingly.

'Great, everyone knows. Owen is such a blabbermouth,' Harry muttered. 'I wasn't aiming at them, so you know.'

'Suuuure,' Ron replied mockingly. 'You weren't aiming at the innocent dustbins. That makes it so much better.'

'At least, on my tombstone it won't say: "died a horrible, slow death after losing his wedding ring".'

'Not funny,' Ron groaned. 'I have to find it before Hermione notices. She's been scolding me every time I made it spin on the coffee table. "It's not a toy, Ronald",' he mimicked perfectly. 'But I don't get it. If it's not here, where can it possibly be?'

'Did you check underneath your coffee table?' Harry jested.

'I wasn't spinning it this morning,' Ron snapped. 'And I had it on then, didn't I?' He frowned. 'Yeah, I had to.' He turned around and looked at the area again. 'I took it off when I came in here, or didn't I? Bloody hell, why can't I remember when I had it last! I should've heard it drop. Damn ring.'

He ruffled his hands through his wet hair and abruptly dropped down on his belly again, flashing his wand at the hole he'd made in the floor.

'Oi!' Harry shouted, jumping to the side to avoid the spray of water and debris. 'Ron?'

'Yeah?' Ron looked up, halting his spell.

'Didn't you have duelling practise early in the morning?'

'Yes, I was first in line,' Ron said, groaning.

'That means many Aurors have used these showers after you,' Harry said carefully.

'I know, but you never know. I have to find it. It's got to be here. Maybe the soap made it slip off? Do you think maintenance could check the pipes?'

Pleadingly, he looked at Harry.

'Do you have any idea how many pipes the Ministry has?' Harry asked.

Ron's shoulders dropped in defeat. 'I'm never going to get it back, am I?' He glared at the drain as if it were all its fault.

'If it went in there, it's bound to be in the Thames by now,' Harry said, squatting down and squeezing Ron's shoulder for support. 'You'll just have to fess up. There is no other choice—you can't fake having it. She'll notice. I am sure Hermione will understa—'

'I can transfigure something!' Ron jumped up. 'Brilliant, Harry.' He slapped his best friend on the back and walked to the door.

'No, I didn't mean— Keep me out of it!' Harry yelled through the closing door of the shower rooms. Sighing, he flicked his wand at the drain, repairing the damage. He really wanted to be far, far away when that bomb burst.

xxx

The exhilarating rush that ran through her body was far better than anything she ever felt before. Not even punching Draco in the face had given her this amount of satisfaction. To her utmost delight, Riddle was still staring at the box, unmoving. His facial expression didn't tell her a thing, but the amount of time it took him to process all the consequences was a far bigger indicator of his discomfort with her choice than his expressions could ever have been. Hermione barely restraint the snort that threatened to erupt from her throat as she wondered how long he'd keep staring at the contents of that box for answers. She could practically witness the wheels of his mind turning rapidly in order to find an out she knew wasn't there.

With all her might, Hermione tried to contain her glee from showing on her face for that moment when he would look up, yet her facial muscles were frozen in a continuous upward stance of mirth. She was just having too much fun at Riddle's expense for it not to show, and she had no idea how to tone her emotions down a notch. They were running wildly on their own accord, dancing around happily, unable to contain. So, she gave up on trying to hide it from him.

'Nothing to say?' she asked tauntingly. 'A first.'

Apart from the minor rise in tension of his stance, he didn't react.

This was priceless, just priceless. Rendering the Dark Lord speechless, she was certain she deserved some Special Services Award for that.

Slowly, Tom closed the lid of the box and lifted his head, and Hermione had to press her lips firmly together to withstand the bubble of laughter that was rising to the surface from within. Her eyes, however, were twinkling in merriment. She knew she was gloating at him, which probably was extremely inadvisable and something she'd scold anyone else for doing, but she just couldn't get that damn expression off her face. Oh, the joyful satisfaction of spoiling his plans. Again. It made her want to do a little dance of joy.

'Enjoying ourselves, are we?' Tom asked lightly, sending her a harmless, questioning expression.

'Very much so,' Hermione replied cheerfully.

'Hmm…' His eyebrows rose in a distinct show of surprise as he smoothly gave her something to think about. 'I wonder why.'

Hermione crossed her arms and tilted her head, egging him on nonverbally.

'Since this,' he held up the box, 'wasn't on my list.'

She smirked. 'And there you've answered your own question.'

'I see,' he said slowly, taking a step towards her. 'So, when you say "Whatever you need", you only mean it for as long as it serves your purposes.'

'Hah!' Hermione called out. 'That's not really something you have a right to be complaining about in others, is it?'

'I'm not complaining; I'm merely taking stock for future situations. Most Gryffindors take pride in being valiant and honourable. I ta—'

'Oh please, spare me the ridiculous stereotypes. I'm not in Hogwarts anymore where it's okay to define a person by one attribute alone, as if it's impossible to be brave, cunning, smart and loyal all at once. Pffttt … the stupid division of students in Houses lies at the heart of all the trouble.'

'I knew you'd agree with me on that.'

'Huh?'

'Well, I did try to burn the Sorting Hat.'

'Yeah, to "help" the students … out of the "goodness" of your heart,' Hermione sneered, recalling perfectly well that Neville had been underneath it when he'd set it on fire.

He smirked. 'If you're so aware of the "goodness" of my heart, then I am surprised you're so foolish as to disobey me.'

'And I am surprised you thought for even a second that I would go along with those things you picked out.'

His eyebrows rose. 'So, instead you picked seven, one of the oldest and darkest bonds available. My, my, what would people say if they found out?'

Hermione took a step forward and smirked. 'Irrelevant, since they're not going to find out. And don't dodge my comment about those disgusting, sexist, archaic bonds you picked that would've enslaved me fully.'

'Seven isn't all that different from the choice at the top of my list. You can't tell me you had a problem with the number three bond and then picked seven when there were two far less constraining choices available to you.'

Hermione took another step towards him. 'Don't give me that phoney innocent expression, we both know why you put those two "modern" bonds on the list and it was never for my benefit.'

'I put those two on the list because I've got enough puppets and figured you'd want to be your own person,' Riddle replied smoothly.

'You put those two on the list because they needed my permission to be created,' Hermione said, pricking him in the chest with her index finger. 'If I'd picked one of them, the entire world would be aware our marriage was voluntary on my end. You put those on there so you could gloat at Harry how he lost me, how I chose you over him, not so I could be my own person. So, cut the crap; I am not buying.'

'I see,' Riddle said slowly. 'Planning to play the victim when this comes out, wife?'

'Do you really take me for such a simpleton that you're actually going to try to make me believe I could've left Madame Moirae's clutches freely, without a bond to you having been formed?'

Subconsciously, her hands balled into fists, and she was this close to taking a swing at him. Just one more lie, one more piece of bullshit, and he'd learn all about her excellent punching skills.

Yet, he stayed silent, staring at her quietly.

It was answer enough, and she huffed. 'Knew it,' she muttered, looking away in annoyance.

Calmly, Tom closed the distance between them. His fingers lifted her chin, forcing her to look up and meet his eyes, before they disappeared into her hair, playing with her curls. Suddenly confronted with a lump in her throat, Hermione swallowed.

'I didn't force you to go to her,' he said gently. 'You went on your own accord.'

She felt a stab in her chest, knowing he was right about that.

'I made a promise, and I take my promises seriously. Besides, I didn't know where I was going and whom I was meeting,' she objected, not wanting to acknowledge that he did have a point there.

She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, even more so when his thumb started caressing her cheek. He wasn't supposed to be touching her. They had a deal. Sure, they had to consummate their marriage, but still … he was breaking their deal now. She should say something about that. She really should. And why was her heart pounding so painfully in her chest? Merlin, she just wished he would react, say something. This silence was horrible. She didn't want to think, didn't want to contemplate on her emotions. He always talked. Why wasn't he talking now? This tension was killing her. She had to say something. He couldn't just touch her, even if it felt nice, which it didn't. No, definitely not.

Hermione opened her mouth.

'I suppose …' he paused, looking up contemplatively, while Hermione's lips snapped shut, 'if you …' He shook his head, apparently deciding against something before meeting her eyes again. 'You're right.'

A shock travelled through her when she heard him admit it.

'She wouldn't have let you leave. I wanted you at my side as my wife, and I always get what I want, Hermione, one way or another.'

He caressed the side of her face with the back of his hand before walking away and placing the box on the shelf above the sink. She sharply inhaled, not moving as she tried to process his words quickly.

'Even though you … complicated my plans, I still have you.'

She turned around, facing him again.

'It won't do you any good,' she said hoarsely. 'You won't be able to use me against Harry. You won't be able to torture or kill anyone. Seven prevents you from hurting me, and it would hurt me to see that happen. You'll never be in a position of power ever again. No matter if you escape this cell. I won't allow it.'

He smiled lightly. It wasn't the reaction she'd been expecting and it was unnerving to say the least.

'I think you will,' he said, sounding even more certain than normally. 'I think you underestimate your willingness to harm others.' Ignoring her sputters of protest, he talked on, walking towards her again. 'I believe you to be far more vicious than you like to admit to yourself. I saw it in your eyes when you attempted to kill me. I heard it shine through in the stories of others about you, even though they missed it themselves. And it shows the most in the bond you picked.' He placed his hands on her shoulders. 'You're no saint, Hermione Jean … Riddle-Granger.'

She blinked.

'It's why you're so attracted to me.'

God, he was arrogant. An indignant, incomprehensible noise exited her mouth.

'If you think I would let you hurt Harry,' she snarled, 'you're even more delusional than I already thought.'

A flash of annoyance flew over Tom's face, but she spotted it nevertheless, and a sense of triumph ran through her.

'Potter's luck is cruising on being borderline absurd,' he hissed, while his fingers dug deep into her shoulders, expressing his discontent even more than his words, 'but I wasn't considering his faith just yet. I was talking about yours, wife. What were you truly thinking when you picked the number seven marriage?'

Hermione gaped at him.

'Don't act like you're ignorant,' he coldly said, shaking her. 'Answer me.'

'I—I—'

'And don't lie. You're so transparent when you do, it's insulting.'

'I was so sick of Quidditch,' she whispered, feeling her face burn red.

Merlin, what a stupid reason if ever she heard one to get married to him. What had she been thinking? She could've just divorced Ron and be done with it.

His snort interrupted her self-scolding, and she looked up, annoyed.

'What are you snorting about? You're married to a Mudblood, Voldemort. Didn't it sink in how much you sullied yourself already?'

His snort turned to outright laughter, outright boisterous laughter. What on earth was so funny? Did he not hear her correctly? Did he have memory issues? Oh, she really wanted to wipe that joyous expression of his face forever.

'Never thought you'd enjoy becoming a Mudblood's perfect spouse,' she scathingly said.

His furious snarl reached her ears immediately, and Hermione screamed in fear when he violently pulled her against him and yanked her head back by her hair.

'Don't think for a second that part of the seven bond will work in your favour, Mudblood. I'll have you grovelling on your knees, doing my bidding, before you could even dream of influencing Lord Voldemort. The only one doing any adjusting in this marriage will be you, and by the time I am done with you, you'll be precisely what I need you to be because it's exactly what you truly desire me to do to you.'

Her face paled. He was wrong. He had to be wrong. She wasn't a pushover. She'd never been.

'Let me go!' she yelled, struggling to get out of his grip. She got a few punches in but nothing that did any significant damage. And her desperate scream filled the cell when he forced her arms to her back and tightened his hold on her.

'You don't want me to.'

'You always underestimate people,' she whispered, horrified at the notion that he might be right.

His anger slowly ebbed away, yet she was unable to stop trembling in his arms.

'I'd be a fool to underestimate you, Hermione, and I am anything but,' he replied, calm and in control again. 'You're trembling.'

'I am scared.'

'That's not why you're trembling.'

'Don't—' She sniffed up her nose before resting her forehead against his chest. 'Stop analysing me. Please.'

He regarded her for a moment and then changed the subject. 'How did you get Madame Moirae to create a marriage bond that wasn't on my list? Surely, that took some serious cajoling?'

She sent him a weak smile, thankful he'd indeed stopped nagging about her feelings.

'Just money,' she said barely above a whisper, feeling herself slowly relax in his arms.

'Money?' He raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow in incredulity.

'She must have been in desperate need for some more ceramic puppets,' Hermione snarked humorously.

He snorted. 'She still has those?'

'The hall was covered in them, and the bedroom, the dining room, and everywhere else I looked,' Hermione rattled on fast, rolling her eyes. 'They cluttered up the place. And those out-of-proportion, ceramic heads, they were freaking me out. Ugly buggers.'

'I contemplated setting them on fire,' Tom responded conspiratorially.

'I wish you had.'

'I can make that happen when I get to her later.'

Hermione shifted uncomfortably in his arms. 'Er … you can't,' she whispered.

'Oh, I sure as hell can. She owed me a favour and disobeyed me. I will—'

She interrupted him quickly. 'It wasn't just money that persuaded her to let me choose.'

'Oh?'

'I—I sort of … well, I promised her you wouldn't come after her, and since that promise gets embedded into the bond, you can't.' Hermione bit her lip, waiting for the inevitable reaction to that.

Tom frowned. 'You said it exactly like that?'

'Yes.'

He smirked. 'Clever. I'm surprised Moirae didn't see the loophole you gave yourself there.'

'Well, she was focusing on the sachet filled with money at the time, so you could say she wasn't entirely there,' Hermione replied, relieved her solution was satisfactory to him.

'How did you get enough money to bribe Moirae anyway? You couldn't have done it on a government salary.'

'Trust fund. The money came free when I turned twenty-one. My parents started it when I was born, you know, for college and stuff. Obviously didn't need that now. But they still wanted me to have the money. My dad's financial advisor was good at picking the right stock, and none of this matters. You don't care about Muggle business.' She looked up. 'I've got enough money to last me a lifetime.'

'Half of it will be your ex's now.'

'Nope, prenup,' she said curtly.

'Perfect, half of it is mine then. No prenups in Madame Moirae's marriages.'

His broad smile pissed her off good. 'Good luck spending it in here,' she snidely said.

'I figured I'd have you spend it,' he said, touching the hem of her dress seductively. His fingers trailed along the fabric, tickling her skin, while his eyes slowly roamed over her body. 'Much more satisfying for me.'

Hermione hopped backwards when his fingertips darted to the inside of her thigh. 'You're not supposed to be touching me.'

'Really?' he asked, taking a step towards her. 'And, pray tell, smartest witch of your age, how are we supposed to—' He chuckled when she ducked away from his hand and bumped into the sink with her back. '—consummate our marriage without touching?'

He quickly placed his hands on either side of her body on the sink, boxing her in without touching her. Hermione's eyes flickered left and right, realising that if she wanted to get away, she had to be the one doing the touching now.

'We haven't exchanged any rings and that needs to be done before consummation. Hence, you should keep your hands to yourself till then. And just to make things clear for the future: I don't care that we're married; we have an agreement.'

'I see.'

Why did he always have to wear that expression as if he were mocking her at times like these?

'What's so bloody funny?' Hermione retaliated, irritated.

He chuckled. 'You are.' He raised his hand to prevent the inevitable rant from occurring. 'But okay, our deal stands. I'd love to see you try restrain yourself in the future.'

She huffed. 'I am not the one who can't keep their hands to themselves and who keeps undressing the other with their eyes.'

'Well, that petite dress is asking for it,' Tom replied mischievously as he stretched his arm over her shoulder and pulled the box off the shelf. She could feel the heat of his body as he nearly pressed up against her.

'So,' he said, looking her suggestively in the eye at that incredibly close distance, making her cheeks burn a flaming red, 'I suppose we should get on with it, wouldn't want to keep you in suspense about being touched.'

He moved back, box in hand, and opened the toggle of it. Hermione was still trying to regain her composure when she realised he'd slipped on his ring and was now holding out his hand for hers.

She snorted. 'Afraid of the symbolism if I'd put it on you?' she mocked, sniggering.

'That mouth of yours requires training in more appropriate uses,' he stated, shaking his head tiresomely. 'Now, give me your hand.'

More appropriate uses? Hmmm… she had a few, excellent ideas on where he could put his. She was certain it wouldn't get tired. It obviously got a lot of workouts during the day anyway.

'Hermione.'

'Huh?'

'Your hand,' he commanded.

She stared at his outstretched hand that was waiting for hers. This was ridiculous. Why was she hesitating? It wasn't like this wasn't a done deal already. Yet, this act made it seem so final. She took a deep breath and then extended her hand, placing it carefully in his. She was being stupid. It was just a ring for crying out loud. Nothing more than a symbol. It wasn't that big a deal. Only when Tom slipped it on her left hand's ring finger, she felt her stomach do a little flip-flop.

'Here,' he said, opening the lock on the collar and offering it to her.

She stared at it, confused, until she felt him gently move up her hair. His gaze was intense, dark, ordering her to do his bidding. Her mouth was suddenly dry, and she couldn't look away. He wanted her to do the deed, to acknowledge that she was his by locking his collar around her neck herself. The tension between them had turned so high, it was hard to breathe as she slowly moved the collar up and around her throat, fumbling with the locking mechanism at the back of her neck until she became hot from the exertion. It finally clicked shut, and she was about to drop her hands when his folded around hers, their eye contact intensifying as he guided their joined fingers around her collar.

'It's a bit loose,' Tom whispered hoarsely.

'So are our rings,' Hermione replied, finding it equally difficult to speak.

'I noticed that; mine is not as bad as yours though,' he said, holding up their hands and kissing her ring. 'I think I may know a solution to this.'

Abruptly, he dragged her with him to the door. His other hand flew to the doorknob and yanked open the door to his cell.

Hermione froze on the spot, wanting to dig her heels in, as if that would stop him, as if she could anchor him to the floor. NO, NO, NO! This couldn't be possible. The wards … he wasn't supposed to …

'Go to the other corridor and stay out there for a minute,' he briskly ordered, turning around and leaning against the door. Finally, he spotted her utterly white complexion and smirked. 'Ladies first,' he teased, gesturing with his hand for her to get a move on.

Hesitantly, Hermione moved, halting briefly next to him. 'You're not—'

'—supposed to be able to open the door,' he finished tauntingly. 'Careless of them, wouldn't you say, Mrs Riddle?' He slapped her behind.

'Eh!' she yelped, jumping in the air. Her eyes threw daggers at him, while she rubbed her now aching bum. That was really unnecessary.

'Told you that dress makes it positively too tempting,' he teased, smirking. 'Now, go, unless …' He flexed his hand threateningly.

She flitted away from his reach, hearing him chuckle in amusement at her sudden rush.

Arse, she thought, aggravated.

Still slightly unnerved about his ability to open the door and miffed about him just ordering her out without any good reason or explanation, Hermione stomped through the circular corridor. She passed the clenching door into the next corridor and swirled around, tossing her hands in the air as if to say 'I'm here. Now what?'. She just caught the obnoxious smirk on his smug face before the heavy door shut. Glaring at the rough wood as if the object of her annoyance behind it could feel the impact of her gaze, Hermione waited, placing her hands at her sides with an exasperated huff.

Stay out there for a minute.

So, what was the stupid point of this ridiculous undertaki—

A shocked gasp escaped her lips and her hands flew to her throat when she felt the collar tighten. Afraid to get suffocated, she tried to get her fingers underneath the hard platinum and use wandless magic to get it off. Both efforts failed dramatically. It wouldn't budge an inch. Freaking out, her fingernails scratched at her skin as she clawed at the collar futilely. Dark spots sprung in her vision, and she crashed to her knees, catching herself on her hands, gasping for air.

The moment she'd stopped her attempts to take it off, the collar loosened and she could breathe again. Gradually regaining enough oxygen in her system, Hermione sat there on her hands and knees, unmoving. Her panic slowly subsided when she realised the thing wasn't trying to kill her.

Duh-uh, she should've realised that.

Riddle had nothing to gain from her death. Besides, if he wanted to kill her, she was pretty sure he'd like to witness it, feel her life force slip away and force her to look him in the eye as he laid the ultimate judgement on her.

Annoyed with her overreaction but still cautious, she sat back on her heels and raised her left hand to the collar.

As she touched it, nothing happened.

Testing the waters, she tried once again to take it off and felt it digging into the skin around her neck again. Immediately, she let go and it responded in kind.

Curious, she touched the collar again. Caressing the carvings and edge of the collar with her fingertips, she realised all it had done was become a perfect fit. Her eyes darted to her ring finger, and indeed, the same had happened to the ring. It, too, had become a perfect fit to her body. She dropped her hand and let out a relieved sigh. For a moment, she fingered the ring, wondering what would happen if she tried to take that one off and deciding she wasn't desperate enough to find out.

As she scattered to her feet, she brushed her hands through her hair and over her dress, making herself presentable again and trying to look composed. No need for him to notice she'd made an absolute fool of herself. He was smug enough as it was already.

Steeling herself, she grabbed the doorknob and walked back to his cell. He'd closed his door, too, so she swung that one open and stepped inside.

'EEP!'

Her heart flew up her throat when she got grabbed from behind and her dress got hauled up to her waist. So fast that she didn't have time to register what was happening, long fingers clasped around her arm and yanked her unceremoniously around. She tripped due to her high heels and lost her balance when her back clashed hard against the metal wall.

'Oww!'

Tears sprung in her now closed eyes when her head banged against the wall next. Her free hand wanted to fly to her painful skull, but he'd caught it effortlessly. He kicked one of her feet aside, quickly moving between her legs. Having lost her footing, she began to slide down along the wall when he hurled her up by her arm and one thigh, moving his hips forward simultaneously. Unexpectedly, she felt him enter her, filling her up fast and hard until their hips collided with a smack. He pressed himself firmly against her, pinning her effectively against the wall and quickly gathering her wrists tightly above her head. Her face scrunched together in pain, and a garbled grunt came from her lips as she dropped her head, resting her forehead in the crook of his neck. She hadn't been ready for him at all, hadn't expected him to take her so suddenly, hadn't expected him to capture her, hold her, trap her oh so easily.

He wasn't moving and neither was she. It already hurt to feel his cock pulsating inside her; she needed time to adjust to his girth. There had been no foreplay whatsoever. Well, they'd argued … and he'd been dominating … and he had her at his mercy now … completely.

Her heart started pounding. She liked this feeling. Liked it a lot. She liked how she was just dangling there, how she couldn't even reach the floor with her toes, how he'd blocked her arms from moving with his underarms, and how his hands had such a death grip on her wrists that they'd be bruised tomorrow. She was helpless, dominated wholly. He owned her now and he wanted her to acknowledge it.

Her belly pooled in need, and her inner muscles clenched around him in reflex. A groan of discomfort came from her, yet she felt herself getting wetter and wetter just by the knowledge that he was too strong for her to physically fight and that he held her oh so tightly against his nude body.

He had to have undressed when she was outside, she realised. He'd planned this the entire time. This was payback for picking a bond he'd not selected, for spoiling his plans, for protecting Harry. This was his vengeance; he was going to show her whom she belonged to, whom she was supposed to serve and obey, who was her lord and master. She whimpered when he moved, angling only his upper body somewhat away from her. The movement caused their hips to connect harder, moving his cock even farther inside, and in response, she angled her hips, wrapping both her legs around him, opening herself at his convenience. Showing him, she wasn't fighting. She was his to do with as he pleased.

'That's it, dear,' he whispered contently into her hair. 'Surrender.'

Hermione's head rose, leaning back against the cold metal as she met his dark gaze that intensified when he saw the supplication and desire in hers.

'You think you can handle all of me … "Master"?' she asked, an edge of daring in her voice.

Hermione tilted her head and raised her eyebrows questioningly when she noticed the interruption her taunt had caused in his breathing.

Touché, she grinned.

A grin she quickly removed off her face when he leaned forward and brought his face so close to hers that she knew she was going to drown in those dark eyes of his. She couldn't look away. His gaze demanded her full attention, made her swallow the lump that had formed in her throat due to the darkness it beheld. The wicked acts they'd seen, had commanded. Their noses were nearly touching; his lips brushed hers lightly as he whispered oh so gently:

'Do you think it's wise to challenge me in your current position, Mrs Riddle?'

Her new surname slithered from his lips, wrapping around her body with the unspoken promise of debauchery, pain and ecstasy to come. It brought about a shiver from head to toe, and she could feel him smile, pleased at her reaction.

'Well, I think you kind of placed yourself in an impossible situation, Mr Riddle,' she whispered back, copying his tone of voice as she deliberately blew her breath against his lips.

'Is that so?' he replied, capturing her lower lip between his teeth and licking it as he pulled it to him, calmly examining every inch of it with his mouth.

She sharply exhaled, closing her eyes to feel the tingling sensations even more. Damn, he even knew how to tease with a kiss. She wanted more, so much more. Opening her now deviously twinkling eyes, Hermione breathed:

'Did you not consider that there is no way you can fuck me in the manner you're holding me now?'

She sniggered when he leaned back, taking in their current postures with that blank mask firmly plastered on his handsome face.

'If you try to move inside me, I'd most likely drop somewhat and …' Hermione snorted and then laughed at the visual in her mind's eye, 'you'd—hahaha—you'd probably bre—hahaha—break your—hahaha— equipment, husband.' She met his eyes, wanting to give him a smug, victorious expression and failing miserably when she couldn't keep her cool and continued laughing again. 'EEP!'

Panicky, she grabbed a hold of his shoulders when he'd suddenly let go of her wrists and she felt herself slip sideways. His long-fingered hands curled around her thighs, and his fingertips dug deep into her skin.

'You were saying, wife?' he replied triumphantly. Demonstratively, he moved out and thrust back in forcefully.

Her head lolled back and her mouth formed a tiny 'O'.

'No insolent comments now?' he added, while he picked up the pace and began pounding into her in earnest.

Tiny, little whimpered moans were her response to his actions, and her arms wrapped tighter around his shoulders, trying desperately to steady herself. Hermione tilted her hips, drawing him in farther with her legs, meeting his thrusts with equal vigour. Her breaths came out hampered; her face was flushed; perspiration formed on her forehead and above her lips; and her pupils had dilated.

'Harder,' she groaned.

'My pleasssure,' he hissed, pulling himself out farther before pushing back in at full force. He rolled his hips, stretching her inner walls as he caressed every inch of them. She twitched and shuddered in his arms, making the most beautiful noises of surrender he'd ever heard coming from her impudent mouth. She was his. And she would beg, beg for his mercy. Today.

However, he wasn't a lenient man by any standards, and he had no intention whatsoever to change that today. She'd feel his wrath, embrace it, take it, for as long as he wished. He planned to fuck her on every inch of surface this cell had to offer. She was Lord Voldemort's property now, and she'd better deliver or he'd be less than … 'pleased'. His hands slid up to her round arse, squeezing her cheeks harshly, as he fucked her up against the wall, not caring that her back was turning red from the friction. The only problem was that she didn't seem to care either. On the contrary.

'Is,' she breathed, 'this,' another couple of heavy breaths, 'all,' breath, 'ooooh,' breath, 'you,' breath, 'got?'

Somewhere in the back of his frazzled mind, the insult connected and he growled, capturing her mouth and ravishing it. Hermione met his tongue eagerly, battling with him; there was no other description—he knew he had to make her yield. This fiery witch was not going to submit without a fight. It certainly got his blood pumping. He'd not had a sufficient challenge in … well, ever.

Of course, if he'd been able to do magic, she wouldn't have stand a chance. She'd be writhing under his wand, unable to escape the overwhelming pleasure as he'd overload every single nerve cell in her body at once.

Alas, he had to take a slower route now. Still, his knowledge of pain and pleasure points in the human body was unmatched—something his clever, insolent, little wife was about to find out. She'd pay tenfold for every disobedient word that came out of her mouth tonight. She just didn't know that yet. And he was by no means inclined to warn her.

Finally, he could feel her give in; she began following his tongue's lead in their kiss, and he relished in his victory before he moved on, trailing her skin with his lips, sucking the curve of her neck (hearing her moan in reaction), licking her ear (which made her legs jerk). Then, his cock hit that sensitive spot inside of her when he rotated his hips again; he could tell by her body's reaction, the way her sex had abruptly contracted around him and the incomprehensible noises that escaped her. Smirking triumphantly, he targeted that area relentlessly, while his mouth found hers again. He wanted to devour this witch completely.

He chuckled inside her mouth when he felt her tense right before her first orgasm rushed through her body. Tom leaned back to watch her feelings flash over her face as he continued to stimulate her sensitive areas to keep her on the crest of that wave for as long as possible. When she ended with a tired sigh and that content, sated expression became prominent, he grinned wickedly. If she were tired now, she'd be beyond exhausted later.

He was nowhere near done with her yet.

xxx

As they were lying on the floor, their entangled bodies glistening in the bright light of the cell, Hermione didn't feel like moving at all. She just wanted to lie there on her side and sleep in his arms. No matter that the floor was hard and cold. No matter that she was naked and sticky and the inside of her thighs were covered in his cum. No matter that every inch of her body ached. She was going to sleep right here, right now. Demonstratively, she closed her eyes. However, Tom stirred behind her, pulling her body closer to his.

What was that against her back?

That better not be what she thought it was.

'Go away,' she mumbled barely audibly. 'Or I'll chop it off.'

Hermione groaned when her aching body shook because he was chuckling in reaction to her threat. She didn't understand what was so funny. She was dead serious and didn't care anymore whom she was threatening: Dracos, Mariettas, Rons, Lord Voldemorts, all tarred with the same brush as far as she was concerned. Hermione's mind had shut down a long time ago. She'd lost count how many times he'd made her come as he'd fucked her almost everywhere imaginable.

He'd fucked her up against the wall and on top of the sink; the latter had been really uncomfortable and scary because she'd been worried it could cave any second. He'd laid her over the ridiculously low table, and she'd wondered if he had any feeling in his knees left after that—she hoped not. He'd taken her on the floor, at another spot on the floor, hanging over the iron bars of the bed and again on the floor in the 69 position. This had somehow turned into a match that she'd also lost as she'd climaxed with a violent ejaculation when he'd spread his fingers inside her like scissors while sucking on her clit expertly. He'd made her stand, lean forward to grab her ankles, and then he'd fucked her from behind until her legs had caved; she'd crumbled onto the floor, which had inspired him to fuck her there again and was how he'd ended up spooning her now.

And still, the bastard was becoming hard. Again.

Fucking hell, what did a girl have to do to get him sated?

Her insides were raw; every single one of her muscles ached; she couldn't move a single limb anymore; her throat was hoarse from screaming; and she was beyond exhausted.

I'm cooked; stick a fork in, honey, I'm done. Merlin, absolutely no more.

Now, he was stroking her arm and nibbling on her shoulder. Maybe if she just ignored he was there?

Yeah, that will help, her mind snarked.

Her body twitched when his fingertips danced lightly over her side. That felt really nice. She closed her eyes with a sigh, but they snapped open abruptly when she felt him move to lower grounds. Her hand flew and grabbed his wrist just as he was slipping his fingers between her folds. It was like a moment frozen in time—neither moved or spoke. Tension rose between them. She could sense he wasn't pleased at all with her action by the stiffness of his body behind her. Yet, she was certain she couldn't take any more of this. How was she going to make that acceptable to him?

'Please,' she whispered, 'I can't. Please … my Lord; I'll do anything … just not … not that again, please.'

He remained silent, unresponsive to her pleas.

Hermione turned her head, wanting to meet his eyes. 'Please,' she begged, searching his face for a reaction. He just stared coldly at her. 'Please, Master.'

'Anything?' he asked, propping his hand under his head.

There was something in his face and tone of voice that made her pause. The way he'd spoken the word sounded like he'd broadened the range far beyond what she'd originally intended. She'd already fallen for this once—she wasn't making any more limitless promises to him.

'Within reason,' she added cautiously.

'Within reason,' he slowly repeated as if he were trying out the words. 'Hmmm… do you think you're in any position to make demands, Hermione?'

Turning quite cold, she scrutinised him. There had to be something he wanted that she'd be willing to give.

'Maybe,' she replied, leaning in for a kiss.

Their lips met, and they softly explored each other. This was a gentle kiss unlike the frenzied ones they'd shared before. It was really nice, and she closed her eyes, giving into it fully. To her relief, she felt his hand move away from her core, stroking over her belly, her breasts all the way up to her throat where he trailed her skin along the edge of the collar.

'It fits perfectly now,' he spoke huskily against her lips.

'Mmm-mmm,' she agreed absentmindedly, continuing their kiss.

'It suits you.'

She glared at him for the interruption. 'Do you always need to talk?'

Amusement flickered through his dark eyes. 'Only when things are unclear to insolent, little witches.'

'I'm not the one always making the same mistake over and o—mblmmm'

As he silenced her with another kiss, he rolled her onto her back and placed his leg over hers, leaning against her body as he remained laying on his side. His fingers disappeared into her hair and he grabbed a fistful of curls before breaking off the kiss.

'That tongue of yours needs to be reined in, wife,' he snarled, while putting more pressure on the roots of her hair.

'Why don't you do something about it then, husband,' she taunted.

Roughly, he pulled her head back by her hair, causing a groan to erupt from her mouth as he simultaneously rolled on top of her. His tongue trailed her skin along the collar's edges back and forth, until his head rose and he met her eyes. She could tell by the flicker of entertainment that ran through them he was enjoying her play a lot. Normally, he had a far better control of his emotions than to show them that blatantly to her. The thrill that gave her was tremendous.

'I already have done something, my little Mudblood—that's what I was trying to explain to your impertinent mind before you dared interrupt Lord Voldemort.'

Hermione bit her lip, holding in the snort, before she eyed him daringly and sweetly said, 'And do you think Lord Voldemort would be able to explain it without using the entire contents of the Oxford Dictionary in his speech?'

'Well, I might if my audience were sufficiently intelligent enough to grasp the meaning of three simple words,' he replied, being condescending deliberately.

'Which would be?'

'You,' he nibbled the skin around her collarbone, 'are,' his mouth moved up her throat to her jawline, 'mine.' He captured her mouth forcefully, while his hands moved over her body.

Hermione arched against him; a long, elongated moan vibrated between them. They stared heatedly at each other when he moved back, breaking off the kiss. He took a hold of her hand and pulled it up, fingering her wedding ring.

'As is—'

'Oooh, for a second, I thought you would actually succeed,' Hermione mocked, sniggering.

He placed their joined fingers on her mouth warningly, and she silenced; her held-in laughter was still shaking through her body.

'Did you look at the rings and collar, Hermione?' Voldemort asked softly. 'Really look?'

Her brow furrowed, and she gave him a confused look before her eyes flickered to their joined hands. It hadn't escaped her notice that his was still somewhat loose while hers was a tight fit now. It had to be the magic-suppressing wards that inhibited Madame Moirae's bond to become fully operational for him— Oh fuck, she'd not been safe at all. Not one single moment. He could still hurt her. Seriously hurt her.

'I take it by the sudden paleness of your skin and your fearful expression you realised your tiny folly,' he teased in a gentle voice. 'However,' he stroked her hair, 'so far …' he paused for a moment, 'you have pleased Lord Voldemort, Hermione. I have no intention to harm you and I always take excellent care of my … property.' He stroked her throat with the back of his hand. 'Now,' he said, turning more business-like, 'I wasn't talking about this though, when I wondered if you examined Madame Moirae's jewellery.'

There was something else? Unbelievable. Damn.

Immediately, she concentrated back on what she could see, the rings. They were simple platinum bands. No stones adorned them, but there were decorative carvings on them. She'd not thought much of it since, well, it was a bit late to be concerned about the rings afterwards, but now she wondered if there were some hidden meaning to those carvings.

'There is,' Voldemort's soft voice whispered.

Shocked, she looked up. 'You can do Legilimency? Here?' She looked around the cell, frantically. This wasn't good at all. He'd opened the door, too, and now this?

'Relax, Hermione, I'm not using magic. Your face is an open book at times. I don't need Legilimency to deduce you were wondering about the decorations on the rings.'

Hermione stared at his face, willing to see the truth there. However, no matter how harmless his expression was, she wasn't buying. She would have to look into the 'door-opening-for-him' incident first thing she was back at her office. Right now, she'd focus on the issues at hand.

'I was …' She stared at the intricate carvings. 'It looks beautiful. I—I just thought it was decoration.' She shrugged. 'I didn't think it would mean anything.' She glanced at him questioningly.

He nodded seriously. 'It's a language,' he explained, watching her brow rise and her eyes flicker back to the rings with some concern.

'A language?' She frowned, now rolling her ring around her finger to investigate further. 'I've never seen such–such … erm … "letters" or "symbols".'

Those words felt completely inadequate to describe the fluent lines on her ring, but she had no other words for it; the best way to describe it would be shorthand, but that wasn't nearly as elegant as this.

'You wouldn't have. There are only a few ancient documents in Parseltongue, and they're all in the custody of the Egyptian Ministry of Magic.'

Parseltongue?

Puzzled, she looked at her ring again. This was in Parseltongue, why? Madame Moirae wasn't a Parselmouth. To say she wasn't thrilled about this development would be an understatement.

'What does it say?' she asked timidly.

Voldemort held up her hand and, as he rolled her ring around, words slithered out of his mouth in a fluent hiss, almost like they wrapped around her, coiling and uncoiling. She blinked, eyes turning unfocused. So, that was how it was supposed to be pronounced. It sounded so much more forced and hideous when Harry had spoken it. Not to mention that time she'd waited and waited and waited for Ron to get that one word right.

Yet, this—the way Voldemort pronounced the syllables—was something else: sensual and sexy. She wasn't ashamed to admit that it turned her on big time. Too bad he was finished so quickly. She wouldn't mind if he continued a bit longer. It had sounded so hot.

And there was no spitting either this time, she noted; she'd always found that rather disgusting.

He was now staring at her with a knowing smile, and she realised she'd just been unresponsive, breathless.

'Er … What di-did that mean?'

She could slap herself for her telling stuttering and turned even redder.

'It's merely our full names and the date and time of our marriage.'

Thankful that he wasn't teasing her, she went into her usual, inquisitive mode. 'That's my name in Parseltongue, where?' she asked curiously, scanning the ring.

'Here,' he answered with a smile, turning it a quart and pointing to the lines. 'This is your name.'

A shudder travelled through her body when he smoothly spoke it again in that slithering language.

'This tells us the date and time, and here is my name.' When he noticed she wasn't really able to distinguish between what seemed to be continuous marks to the untrained eye, he added, 'I'll write it out for you later.'

'Thanks. I'd like that,' she responded, smiling brightly.

'Would you like to hear what it says on your collar?' he asked lightly, suppressing a chuckle when she nodded eagerly.

His fingertips caressed the collar again as he obliged her—words coiling, hissing, tempting, whirling around the air in unadulterated lust. Hermione dropped her head back and moaned. She was really disappointed when he was done, despite not having understood a single syllable of it.

His lips moved to her ear, whispering, 'Enjoyed the sound of that, my …' and then more Parseltongue connected with her eardrums.

'Yeees,' she replied almost as in a moan, feeling her muscles go weak.

'Well, I am enjoying what it says here,' he replied smoothly, his fingers curling around her throat while he lifted his head and looked right into her eyes. 'What you created,' he added heatedly. 'Would you like me to translate?'

The triumphant edge in his voice made her nervous. However, if it were something disastrous, it was better to know than to be ignorant, so she nodded quietly.

He leaned forward, enhancing the intensity of their intimate eye contact. 'It says: "Property of Lord Voldemort",' he stated, smirking.

Hermione didn't react; she waited, not breaking eye contact.

'And you picked this marriage bond,' he added, his smile widening. 'You stipulated these conditions.'

'Property of Lord Voldemort?' she questioned slowly, tilting her head. 'Four words. You took quite a bit longer when you talked in Parseltongue.'

He grinned. 'Did I?'

'Yes,' she said suspiciously.

He shrugged. 'Maybe I summarised.'

'What does it say exactly?'

'And why should I enlighten you, my sweet, little, submissive wife? You should know what it says. You picked this bond. You know what you want, need from me. Not every number seven marriage comes with a collar, let alone one with Parseltongue engravings. Seven is flexible, designs itself around the couple's needs, their desires, their power. You're a true Gryffindor, Hermione, daring to pick this one. It could've easily killed you, but you survived. Holding my magic didn't destroy you.' His eyes flickered appreciatively over her face, and he stroked an errant curl behind her ear. 'I knew you were powerful when those wards reacted so fast on your presence, but this powerful …' He shook his head and laughed. 'When I am done moulding you into the extraordinary witch I need you to be, you will be … magnificent.'

xxx
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The Prisoner