Chapter Text
Chapter Two
Tom!” she called out, both relieved and angry at the same time.
Just when she thought she would never find him, she did. He was examining a tree, and his form stiffened and froze when she called out his name. However, Hermione noticed none of this as she quickly trekked over the grassy ground to reach where he was standing.
Almost too slowly, he swiveled around and was looking in her direction. When he saw her, his eyes widened for a split-second before he closed his eyes, frowning in the process, as if he were displeased to see her.
“What are you doing here?” he hissed when she stopped a few feet away from him and before she could open her mouth.
“I could ask you the same thing,” she spat out.
You killed Hepzibah Smith, didn’t you? was about to spill out of her mouth before she caught herself. She was uncertain in regards to why she stopped, but somehow, the words got caught in her throat. Looking at him, right now, at this moment, made her unwilling to face the conclusion she had reached days ago.
“How did you know I was here?” he asked, his voice losing some of the hostility it had a few seconds ago and acquiring a hint of curiosity.
“I—”
The words got stuck before they made it out of her lips again. It wasn’t all that hard for her to deduce that he was after things that were somehow connected to the Hogwarts Founders after he’d made off with the two that had been in Hepzibah’s possession and was now clearly looking for a third. However, that would mean she would have to confront him about the murder.
Though she’d witnessed how he was so nonchalant about using the Unforgivables, or at least, the Imperius Curse, she didn’t want to believe that he could so easily murder someone and frame someone else when there had to be so many other ways he could’ve gotten those items in his possession. It made no sense.
She was so immersed in her thoughts that she missed the glint of realization that passed through his eyes and the surprised approval that flitted across his face as he took in the expressions that appeared on hers. However, he quickly recomposed himself, and a mask of casual politeness slid over his features when she glanced at him again.
“Shouldn’t you be back at Borgin and Burkes now? I assumed that they would’ve given you the position after I’d resigned,” he said before he quirked an eyebrow at her and allowed a mocking glint to enter his eyes. “Or are you so lost without me giving you directions in regards to how to properly do your job that they fired you?”
She rolled her eyes and let out a huff of indignation. “Nobody fired me. I resigned. Apparently, it’s the modern thing to do.”
“Are you copying me in everything I do?” he asked, sniggering.
“No, not everything,” she replied sharply.
That took the humour out of his eyes, turning his facial expression blank in an instant. Quietly, he appraised her, his eyes slowly going over her body. Unnerved by that intense gaze, Hermione shifted on her feet. She suddenly was scared and aroused at the same time. What was wrong with her? Why did he have this effect on her? What had she been thinking, confronting a possible murderer all alone in these deserted woods?
“Why are you here … Hermione?” he asked, making her name sound oh so sinful.
“I—I—”
“Don’t lie,” he warned softly. “Why are you really here?”
“Did you kill Hepzibah Smith?” she blurted out, her fists clenching.
He didn’t react to the accusation, his face remaining as emotionless as it had been before she asked that loaded question. Slowly, he took a step in her direction, and another, and another, until he stopped right in front of her. It took everything of her to resist the urge to retreat, her nails pressing into the palms of her hands. When he raised his hand, her hand disappeared into her pocket, clenching around her wand. He raised an incredulous eyebrow at her, almost daring her to draw it. When she refrained, he merely cupped her cheek.
“I'll repeat my question, Hermione. ‘Why are you really here?’” he asked quietly.
“I’ve implied why. I’ve asked you a question,” she said, angrily slapping his hand away.
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’ve asked a question you already know the answer to, my little one. You’ve asked me that while—” His hand pointed out the scenery around them. “—we’re here.” He closed the distance between them, one hand casually resting on her side while his fingers curled around the back of her neck in an intimate yet cautioning manner.
She froze, her breath caught in her throat.
He leaned in to her ear and practically breathed, “You’ve confronted me with that all alone, knowing from experience I’m the far better dueller of the two of us. So, that begs the question, why are you here?”
Hermione trembled; tears began to well up in her eyes. “I—I don’t know,” she said, dropping her forehead against his shoulder in defeat.
His arm snaked around her waist, pulling her tightly to him. The fingers that were holding her neck firmly now softly stroked the skin there, slowly moving to the front and lifting her chin.
“Look at me,” he ordered sternly.
There was no way she could not obey. His presence was sheerly overwhelming. He engulfed her fully, causing her to feel things she hadn’t deemed possible when she’d started searching for him or even mere seconds ago. Her whole being stood at attention for him, and she couldn’t understand why that was, nor did she care. She just wanted him.
“Keep looking straight into my eyes.”
When she complied, his hand slid from her chin into her hair.
“Good girl,” he purred, gazing directly into her eyes. “Legilimens!”
Memories, too many of them, flitted by before her mind’s eye. She couldn’t keep up. It hurt. It hurt so much.
“St-stop,” she stuttered. “Ple-please stop.”
But he mercilessly continued, watching her many memories like a film, as if they were there solely for his entertainment. The world lost its focus; she could only see that redness in his dark eyes. When she finally crashed into his arms, exhausted, she just heard him mutter “clever, foolish, little girl” before she lost consciousness.
xxx
When she woke, she was alone, cold and naked, tied in a spread eagle position on some kind of stone elevation. Trying to free herself, Hermione pulled on her restraints. The second she did, she regretted it because those invisible ropes burned red-hot into her wrists. Quickly she stilled, and the heat stopped, leaving her wrists blistered and hurt. Her head swivelled around, trying to take in her surroundings.
Candles were barely lighting the tiny, circular, cave-like place she was in. Underneath her, drawn on the floor, she noticed several points that indicated she had to be lying above a large hexagram; a symbol used to bind and control supernatural beings like witches, as she knew from her textbooks. There were all sorts of symbols drawn on the walls and the ceiling, too. Most she didn’t recognise, but a couple she did. The rune of power was situated on her left, while the mathematical symbol straight ahead indicated infinity. Right above her, however, was the biggest and most worrisome, yet slightly enticing, picture of all—the one clearly depicting a Master and slave.
She couldn’t see an exit of any sort.
Not that she was in any position to be going anywhere. Clearly.
How long had she been here? Her body wasn’t hurting, despite lying on cold, hard rock, but that could simply be the result of some kind of charm, protecting her from harm.
Yeah, riiiight.
He was going to protect her, after she’d let him know everything she knew. When had he learned to perform Legilimency to begin with? It wasn’t part of the Hogwarts curriculum.
Oh, Merlin, she was so dead. He was going to kill her. She was going to die.
Anxiously, she glanced around. This sure was an elaborate way to kill her, if that were what he was truly planning to do. Doubt seeped in. She realised she really had no idea what would happen to her, but what she did know was that she seemed to be alone.
Where was Tom? What would he be doing? What could be so important that he wasn’t here right now? He wasn’t here, right?
She looked around the room again, careful not to move her restraints in order not to get burned again. It wasn’t very difficult, given how tiny the place was. However, as if on cue, he Apparated into the room.
His black cloak swirled around like an ominous cloud before settling around his body. It felt as if some kind of curtain had been lifted and, for the first time since she’d met him, she was seeing his true self. The darkness that he’d had kept at bay, that she had never ever known about, was finally out in the open. For a moment, she couldn’t look away from him. She hadn’t thought it possible that he could be even more appealing, but somehow, this foreboding, commanding air suited him.
His dark eyes flickered towards her, and a faint smile appeared on his face. That was when she remembered that she was naked, causing her to look away. So they’d had sex, but it still made her a bit self-conscious to run around nude in front of him. Okay, so she wasn’t running around, per se, but that was beside the point.
“You’re awake,” he spoke, his soft voice echoing in the small area and wrapping itself around her body.
“Obviously,” she muttered, resisting the urge to squirm under his scrutiny.
He quirked an eyebrow at her response, seemingly amused, before any and all emotions were hidden behind an emotionless mask.
“I see you’ve been foolish as expected,” he said, looking down at her condescendingly.
Hermione frowned. Foolish? What was he going on about?
His hand came to lightly rest on her bound wrist. It wasn’t just the pain of his hand touching her burn, it was also the abruptness and unexpected contact that made her move. For a second, she closed her eyes and pressed her teeth together, determined not to cry out from the searing pain that would follow. However, it didn’t. Instead, a cool sensation travelled through the bounds, healing the blisters and burns on her body. Shocked, she opened her eyes, staring at him in confusion.
“Don’t mistake my generosity for weakness, little one. It will not be repeated if you hurt yourself again.”
“I didn’t know,” she said, resentful of the condescending tone he was using with her.
“And now you do. I suppose foolish, little Gryffindors like yourself do require some wiggle room, especially given what’s next in store for you,” he said, his eyes glinting merrily.
Once more he touched the rope on her wrist and cast through it.
“There, you can move somewhat, but I recommend not trying to free yourself. As I explained before, my leniency has boundaries. And it’s only natural that you’ll give me your full cooperation now, isn’t that right, darling?”
The endearment left his mouth in a mixture of cruel mockery and desire. The way he was gazing down at her made her grow cold to the very marrow of her bones. As if she wasn’t cold enough already. But she didn’t dare mention it, she didn’t think he’d respond kindly to her requesting clothes and a blanket, or possibly a space heater. No, she doubted that would go over well, and she very much liked to remain in one piece. He seemed to have no qualms about casting an Unforgivable, and she really didn’t want to find out his skill with the other two. She could honestly say that she’d never been this scared in her life.
“What are you going to do to me?” she asked in a small voice.
The question “Are you going to kill me?” hung unspoken in the air.
His face betrayed no thoughts as he slowly walked around the edge of the stone elevation, his eyes never leaving her. Hermione had no idea if it were the trick of the light, but his eyes seemed darker than usual.
“The answer to that depends on your decision, Granger,” he said, his tone business-like.
Upon hearing his words, her eyes snapped towards his face, confused.
“You came to Albania with the knowledge of what I had done before, up until I resigned from Borgin and Burkes. Now, we both know that this is, unfortunately, information that I would prefer to remain a secret,” Tom said, stopping when he was situated to her left next to the stone elevation.
With a flick of his wrist, his wand appeared. Hermione sucked in a deep breath, wondering if he was going to kill her now. Was this set-up some kind of ritual that she didn’t know about that needed some kind of blood sacrifice? Was she going to be the blood sacrifice?
Her fear must’ve shown on her face, or perhaps he was just bloody perceptive, because he raised an eyebrow as those thoughts went through her mind. Nonetheless, his features slid back behind that impassive mask again seconds later.
“So, being the … merciful person that I am, I will give you two choices and two choices only,” he said, running the tip of his wand down the length of her arm.
Gooseflesh erupted in the wake of its trail, but she couldn’t look away from his face.
“What are my choices?” she asked.
A faint smirk appeared on his face. “If you choose the first option, we will be permanently bounded, with you as my slave and me as your Master. You will do my biddings when I tell you to do so, and thoughts of disloyalty can never be acted upon. Naturally, any secrets that I do not want to be disclosed will never leave your lips even if you wanted to talk about it.”
Well, that explained the picture on the ceiling.
For some inexplicable reason, the thought of being bounded to him didn’t repulse her as much as it should. She’d always known that some people found her too bossy. Most of the Gryffindors even outwardly complained about her pushy personality. Therefore, nobody was more surprised than her when she actually found the thought of submitting to him arousing. Without warning, the many times when he had overpowered her, subjugated her at Borgin and Burkes appeared in her mind’s eye, and she nearly moaned on the spot. Taking in a deep breath, she quickly shoved those thoughts to the back of her mind. Not exactly the most appropriate time for those thoughts.
She swallowed, attempting to relieve her parched throat before she spoke. “And my second option?”
His hand reached inside his robes and pulled out some curvy, shiny thing. When Hermione saw the sparkling, huge sapphire, she realised he’d found Rowena Ravenclaw’s missing diadem. That must’ve been what he was doing when he was away.
To her surprise, he silently placed the historical tiara on top of her head, her bushy hair curling around it. It felt strange, wearing something so old and priceless. This had to be the most expensive piece of jewelry she’d ever worn.
What was odd was that it seemed to hum, almost as if she could sense a second heartbeat coming from it. She’d read many texts about the properties of Ravenclaw’s diadem. They all spoke of intelligence enhancement, nothing of it being alive. And that was what it felt like, as if the diadem were a living entity. That couldn’t be, could it?
She stopped her deductions when she realised that he’d been speaking and she’d missed him giving her the answer. Oh god.
“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?” she requested, scrunching her face together in anticipation of whatever bad things were to follow.
“And they say Ravenclaw’s diadem improves intelligence,” he said sarcastically, his fingers stroking through her hair along the line of it. “Maybe your rat’s nest is blocking the reception. Now I know it’s hard for your tiny Gryffindor brain, but try paying attention.”
No matter how scared she was, the hair was a subject not to be messed with, and she glared at him.
His face hardened until only daunting callousness remained. “Your second option is: I’ll use your … unfortunate death in creating my Horcrux.” A wicked smile appeared on his face at the shock on hers. “You’ll always be a part of me then, a part of something of grand importance—you’ll insure my continued survival.”
She stared at him for a moment. He was going to create a Horcrux? Or perhaps he’d already made Horcruxes out of the other two Founder relics? Suddenly, the pieces clicked together. No wonder he’d killed Hepzibah—he was using her death to create a Horcrux. So that meant that he had more than one Horcrux. Her eyes widened at the revelation, since no one in history had ever attempted that before, until another thought crashed into her mind.
The second heartbeat … Horcrux …
Thoroughly irritated, her gaze on Tom became a glare again as she hissed, “Do you think I’m stupid, Tom Marvolo Riddle? What do you mean make a Horcrux with my ‘unfortunate death’? You’ve already made the diadem into one. Did you honestly think that I wouldn’t notice it? You’re downright delusional if you think that I’m that dumb.”
He appeared surprised about the fact that she knew that the diadem had already been turned into a Horcrux. However, he then rolled his eyes to the ceiling.
“There are always other objects, Granger, and as your clever little mind had already figured out, I do not plan to stop with just one Horcrux. Best be careful in how you address your superiors,” he warned.
Her mouth snapped shut when she realized that he probably wasn’t joking around. Her heart thudded painfully, and without noticing it, her breaths were becoming more and more erratic.
“You have your two options, Hermione Granger. Choose wisely,” he said quietly as he watched her face.
She gazed at him and tried her best to suppress a shiver when he ran a single fingertip up and down her arm.
“The … the first option,” she whispered.
His eyes lit up upon hearing her answer, and she suddenly realized that it hadn’t been necessary for her to listen to the second option in the first place. She never would’ve chosen differently.
“Give me the full answer, Granger. I want to hear it from your lips,” he said, his voice more sibilant than usual.
She blinked at him. “Erm … I don’t know what to say.”
WIth a sigh and another roll of his eye, he said, “‘Please bind me to you as your slave, Master’.”
Uncontrollably, a giggle bubbled from her mouth, and she chirped, “Okay!”
However, the look of annoyance he sent her reminded her of who and what she was facing, and it was enough to sober her up.
“Please bind me to you as your slave … Master,” she repeated, a bit uncertain if he would accept her answer after she’d pulled that one on him.
Thankfully, the irritation that had been on his face disappeared. He closed his eyes and threw his head back at the way she addressed him, pleasure rolling off him in waves before he looked at her again. Desire and possessiveness swirled in his eyes, and he swooped down to capture her lips with his. She moaned in protest when he broke off the kiss, straightening his body again.
With a swirl of his wand, he conjured a tiny bottle with a strange, dark-brown, bubbling liquid. Hermione realised it had to have been stored in a what was known as a pocket dimension for him to obtain it so fast and with the potion in working order. She marvelled at his magical prowess. He really was somethi—
“EEEK!” she yelled in pain when he cut her arm with his wand. “Oww …” she added resentfully, having the impulse to rub her arm but being unable to do so due to her bounds. “A little warning would’ve been appreciated.”
He ignored her, cutting his own arm, too. Then, he held his arm against hers, his wand making intricate, circular motions above it. Blood streamed upwards from their wounds, spiraling around each other before entering the potion. He kept going until the bottle was completely full. Then he sealed the wounds with a tiny flick of his wrist.
“What’s that for?” Hermione asked curiously.
“That’s so little girls don’t speak out of turn,” he replied, staring down at her while shaking the bottle firmly.
“Har-har.” Now that she wasn’t going to die or be harmed, her normal demeanour had returned, and she felt confident enough to ask questions and talk back to him. “What does it really do? I mean you used both our blood which is only common in ancient rites of passage, but that’s not what this is about, right? So, I don’t understand how it’s supposed to benefit you.”
The potion turned a deep, dark black. As Tom poured a bit out onto his hand, Hermione lifted her head to see better. It resembled tar to her utter disgust.
“Eww … yuck. If that’s supposed to be ingested, find another guinea pig, or better yet, drink it yourself. You seem to be all for crazy experimental magic, multiple Horcrux-mammraaombbllmm,” she sputtered, coughing against his “tar”-filled hand.
“Don’t test my patience, Granger,” he hissed. “Now be quiet or I will remove your vocal cords. Permanently.”
That threat caused her lips to snap shut at once, making Riddle smirk. He lifted his wand and moved it over his potion-filled hand. The colour of whatever spell—or most likely curse, Hermione corrected mentally only—he was using shifted from dark green to turquoise to blue. Appearing satisfied with that result, Riddle put away his wand and poured the potion into a bowl. Why he hadn’t done that straight away, but put it on his hand first was beyond Hermione. She felt she was about to explode from curiosity; she was practically dying to know what all these steps were for. When Riddle dipped his finger into the potion and began drawing on the inside of her arm, she had to bite her tongue, hard, to not speak up.
Soon, not speaking up wasn’t the only problem she was having. The liquid burned into her skin, making it hard not to cry out in pain. And he kept on drawing.
But she couldn’t make a noise; she’d been ordered to be quiet and she didn’t want to fail at that. Not just because of the threat but also to show him she could.
When he was done with her arm, he moved to the other, repeating the process. Occasionally, he glanced at her, making her even more determined to hold herself under control. Seeing that caused his breathing to quicken and his pupils to widen as he continued drawing on her skin.
Beads of sweat dripped from her forehead, and she pressed her eyelids closed and clenched her teeth together. She was going to be still, even if it were the last thing she ever did. When he was finally done with her other arm, she just caught herself before letting out a sigh of relief. It was for the better because he wasn’t done as she’d expected.
When she felt his finger on her chest, she couldn’t control it anymore and whimpered.
His eyes met hers. She did whatever she could to signal to him that she was sorry, that she’d not meant to make a noise, without actually saying it. Quietly, he appraised her. His assessment of her made her heart race, and she became all the more aware of how exposed she truly was as his eyes slowly slid over her naked form. His gaze was so intense, so tangible, that she could feel his touch where he looked.
But that should be impossible, shouldn’t it? You couldn’t touch someone merely by looking.
His eyes lingered on the curls between her legs. Hermione squirmed, wanting to rub her legs together to relieve the itch that built up there and being unable to do so due to the restraints. She no longer felt the burning sensation on her arms nor the cold; her body became flushed, perspiring from the heat it was rapidly producing. His eyes moved over her belly to her breast, and she arched her back in response. When their eyes met, he pulled a cloth out of thin air and dabbed her forehead with it briefly, his tall form leaning over her.
“Good girl,” he said barely above a whisper.
A glance at the bottle of potion told her that it probably wasn’t over, but somehow, his praise made her elated. It refueled her determination to remain as quiet as he’d demanded. A faint smile appeared on her face, and sucking in a deep breath, she prepared herself for the pain that was going to come.
He dipped his finger into the potion again and started drawing on her chest. Hermione tensed, expecting it to be even worse, but strangely enough it wasn’t. The pain got mixed with the pleasure she’d felt. Every stroke of his finger sent such different signals to her brain that she couldn’t keep up. Was this pain or pleasure? Her mind blanked; her body arched, having already decided it liked the sensations. She liked the sensations. Very much so.
By the time he reached her inner thigh, Hermione couldn’t hold still anymore. The pain enhanced the pleasure now, and it was too much. Far, far too much. She thrashed in her bounds, biting down on her lower lip to prevent herself from making a sound. She could feel her wetness dripping downwards onto the stone platform, but she no longer cared enough to feel embarrassed; she wanted—no, needed her release.
Riddle chuckled, completely immobilising her lower body so he could finish.
That she couldn’t move at all anymore made it even worse. It was like she had to experience the full blast of it now, like moving had taken the edge of it, and her brain went into overload. She screamed, unable to stay silent as she reached her climax unlike she’d ever before.
“There we are,” he said, watching her body, covered in symbols, satisfied.
Hermione panted, trying to catch her composure, as her world slowly settled down. It took her quite some time before her breathing was back to normal, and she felt slightly like herself again. Well … herself … something felt different, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was.
Must be the symbols, she decided.
She took another deep breath and looked at Tom. His robes and shirt were gone, and he was drawing something on his naked chest with the same potion. Hermione was amazed at how composed he was when doing so. Especially in the beginning, that potion had been horrific.
Maybe it’s different for him?
She so wanted to ask, but she was supposed to be quiet and she’d already breached her resolve by screaming before (a thought that frustrated her to no ends). She hoped he wouldn’t hold that against her. So, instead of asking, she ogled the semi-nude man in front of her. Now she could see why he was so strong. Despite his lean build, she could definitely see the contours of his muscles.
She supposed she shouldn’t be astonished that he took care of his body. Since the days while they were back at Hogwarts, it was clear that he knew he had the advantage of being exceptionally handsome and used it to his advantage at every turn. She had witnessed it, first-handedly, how he managed to make the strictest of professors into putty into his hands with just a gaze or a smile, the only noticeable exception being Professor Dumbledore. However, it was a strange contrast to how he ripped his soul to shreds.
As if he knew she was looking at him, his motions seemed to be deliberately slow. Without being completely cognizant about it, her eyes followed his pale, long forefinger as it drew each symbol, and she could feel her need build up again. She remembered the time when he had touched her oh so wonderfully in the storage room, and her temperature rose a couple of degrees higher as she secretly hoped that he would touch her like that soon again.
When he was done, he looked at her, a vicious glint in his eyes as the corner of his mouth curved slightly upward.
“You may speak now when spoken to or when permission is given,” he spoke strictly, showing her this wasn’t open to debate. “You will, from hereon, address me properly, either with Master or my Lord, and you’ll show me respect at all times.”
For a moment, he took her in. She kept her eyes on him, waiting for him to continue.
When he was satisfied she was taking him seriously and not planning any smart alec remarks, he continued, “You will keep all my secrets. You won’t be able to divulge anything about me unless you have my explicit permission. From hereon, you have no more autonomy over yourself. Your mere existence is for my pleasure. You—your body, your mind, your soul, your magic—are mine to do with as I please. You belong to me and only me for all of eternity. You will obey all of my commands immediately and without question. You will do all this, no matter where we are, what we are doing, or who is with us. If you fail in any of this, you will present yourself to be punished, and I won’t go easy on you. A good Master doesn’t spare the rod. Is all of that clear?”
Her mind reeled. This was no small task, and she could feel the symbols pulsing with every word he spoke. Once she’d agreed, there would be no turning back. She’d be his. Forever. In every way possible. And he had Horcruxes, plural, which meant that unless someone had the ability to destroy all of them, he would be essentially immortal, walk the earth until the end of time. And she would belong to him. Always.
Doubtful, she shifted on the rock surface. Though the thoughts of belonging to him had aroused her, the concept of being like that frightened her. What if she had a change of heart somewhere down the line? What if she wanted out, a hundred years down the road? What if he told her to kill someone she loved? What if he made her torture them? What if he asked for her to do something against her morals? Would she be able to do it? And if she resisted …?
Could she even resist under these terms?
The symbols pulsed harder and harder. She looked at Tom, searching his face for some compassion, some opening so she wouldn’t have to go this far, or at least some kind of reassurance. His stare was harsh, demanding. His arms crossed, waiting knowingly.
Hermione bit her lip. She couldn’t do this. What had she been thinking? Death had to be—
She moaned, the symbols seemed to be burning, spreading, taking over all her senses. Her skin felt like it got touched everywhere. Blinking rapidly, she tried to understand what was happening. Her chest constricted.
“Hermione, look at me.”
Her mind cleared. He was leaning over her, one arm beside her head while the other was holding his body up next to her side. She wanted him to touch her, so badly, but he was just out of reach.
“Answer my question, Hermione,” he ordered coolly.
“I—I—I can’t,” she said, feeling hopeless.
“Yes, you can. It’s what you want. I’ve seen it in your mind, my pet. You want to submit to someone powerful enough to keep you under control. You want this. You need this. I won’t allow you to throw your life away, simply because you’re getting cold feet now. You’re an intelligent witch, and under my tutelage, you will become brilliant. You will do this, Hermione. Right now.”
She wanted to. The confidence with which he spoke and his obvious knowledge of her desires had the most profound impact on her. Nobody had ever given her this much attention, had ever known her this well.
But not well enough.
It was too much. She wanted to submit, but not if it meant losing herself completely, losing her autonomy like that was terrifying and dangerous. She would be nothing more than a puppet in his hands.
“No, I’m sorry,” she said slowly but decisively. “I know I said I would before.” She swallowed the big lump in her throat. “I can’t. I want to, but I can’t. I’d be nothing more than a mere puppet. If I’m not mistaken, you’ve got plenty of puppets in those who think themselves your friend. I don’t think you’d even like me that way. I’ve seen your eyes when we argued; it stimulates you just as much as it does me. You’d be giving all that up. I’d be giving all that up. And I can’t. Just kill me.”
She couldn’t tell a thing from the blank expression he gave her, but she didn’t think he’d take rejection very well. There was a turmoil in his eyes she’d never seen before. His wrist flicked, causing his wand to miraculously appear in his hand. How did he do that? Her studious side wanted to learn, realised that there was much he could teach her, but now was not the time to ask questions like these (and if he were going to kill her, learning something like that right now, if he were willing to teach her, wouldn’t save her life anyway). Hermione’s eyes flickered between the piece of yew wood and his face, searching for an answer to his intentions. She didn’t want to die, but somehow she was at peace with it. When he pressed the tip of his wand into her cheek, she closed her eyes. This was it. He was going to kill her now.
She waited.
And waited some more.
Suddenly, Riddle growled and pushed away from her. “You’re infuriating,” he hissed.
Relieved, Hermione opened her eyes. However, the visible tension in his body squelched that feeling fully. Apprehensively, she noted how his knuckles were white from clutching to his wand so hard. She was amazed it hadn’t broken with the force he was clearly putting on it. She could see the storm raging in his dark eyes. He wasn’t looking at her, and that didn’t bode well for her, Hermione decided. She needed to do something.
“My—” What was it again? “—my Lord?” she called out tentatively.
Her use of his preferred title seemed to shake him out of it. Tom inhaled deeply, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. His exhale was equally deep and slow; tension seeped from his muscles, and abruptly, he swirled towards her. Hermione’s eyes widened; she tensed on the spot. He placed both hands on either side of her head and leaned in, until their noses were almost touching.
“The secrecy part stays as it was, or we can stop this discussion right now,” he said, staring at her.
“Yes, my Lord. Thank you, my Lord,” Hermione replied, nodding, relieved and slightly amazed that he was actually going to alter the terms instead of killing her.
He sighed, tracing the contour of her face with his finger. “You’re already addressing me respectfully, my little one, it so pleases me—” Hermione’s heart leaped at the sight of approval on his face. “—and I’ll assume it means you have no problem keeping that in as well.”
“No, Master,” Hermione said, shaking her head in good measure.
“As for your incessant talking …” he trailed off, practically daring her to make a remark about pots calling kettles black.
Hermione bit her lip, finding it hard to hold her tongue, especially when noticing that humorous glint darting through his eyes. However, her mind was vocalising plenty, making him click with his tongue disapprovingly.
“I wasn’t saying anything!” Hermione objected.
“You were thinking it, pet. I see I will need to be a firm Master and teach you self-control in all aspects of life, too.”
Now she was seeing all kinds of delicious activities in front of her mind’s eye, and a moan escaped her lips. Tom chuckled.
“Such a naughty little slave, you are. We will get to that later, my dear, but first the ground rules. When we’re in private, you’re allowed to voice any and all objections. When in public, I will expect you to hold your tongue and not embarrass me.”
“I’ll be allowed to say so afterwards?”
“Once we’re in private, yes.”
“Okay.”
“I won’t ask anything of you that you’re unwilling to do freely nor will I cause you permanent harm in any way, but your body will belong to me to do with as I please. You will belong to me and only me.”
These were some significant, fundamental changes. She really liked that she wouldn’t have to do anything against her will. It made her feel much more at ease, knowing he was willing to compromise like this. It didn’t escape Hermione that he’d left out her mind, magic, and soul this time. That had been a big hurdle for her. Even though she knew the four were inexplicitly mixed and not as separate as one would think, she needed the notion of having some autonomy in these aspects, especially considering he was creating Horcruxes (plural!). She really didn’t want him in charge of her soul.
“I can agree to that, my Lord,” she replied.
“I need you to word it precisely, Hermione,” he said, gazing at her suspiciously.
Hermione frowned, not knowing what she’d done wrong, until she realised the loophole in her words.
“I’m sorry, Master. I didn’t do that on purpose. I agree to those stipulations fully,” she replied quickly.
“Very well. As to obeying my commands, you will do so and promptly—no matter where we are, what we’re doing, and who is with us.”
Hermione sputtered.
“I wasn’t finished yet, impatient, little pet of mine. None of my commands will cause you irreparable damage, and none will be beyond the scope of what you can handle at that time. I’m not an unreasonable man, Hermione. I know you. I know what you want, need from me.”
She nodded. “Okay then. You already told me you wouldn’t ask anything of me that I wasn’t willing to give freely anyway.”
“Exactly,” Tom said, sending her a bright smile. “Now … should you fail at properly executing my commands, you will be punished in a … form of my choosing.” His eyes turned even darker than before, and Hermione felt her vagina clench at the clear insinuation. “However, I will give you the chance to show me your atonement, and if it pleases me enough, your punishment will be lightened or lifted, depending on the severity of the infraction and the sincerity of your expiation. Are all these terms satisfactory to you?”
They stared into one another’s eyes, his words still ringing in her ears, and then something seemed to settle inside her. Without another moment of hesitation, she answered.
“Yes, Master.”
All the symbols, the ones on the walls, ceiling, floor, her skin and Tom’s, lit up brightly. The cave suddenly seemed to bathe in daylight due to it. Hermione tossed her head back and moaned.
Oh, god, that felt nice.
She looked up, witnessing how the etchings on Tom’s skin settled down deeper inside of him, slowly disappearing from visibility. Her head swiveled sideways, checking her arm. The same thing was happening to her. She could still feel the symbols, a soft thrumming in the distance, but she could no longer see them. Questioningly, she looked back up at him. His satisfied expression was all the answer she required.
Nevertheless he said, rising to his feet, “It is done.”
That was it?
Her confusion and disappointment must have been written on her face, because he chuckled.
“Something the matter, little one?”
“Er … No, my Lord.”
“I’ll expect you to answer with a bit more promptness, pet, or there will be consequences that you will not enjoy.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
What on earth was he a lord of? He was an orphan.
He waved his hand at her bounds, untying them in a flash and gesturing at her to get up. She rubbed her sore wrists, slid to the side of the stone elevation, and carefully got to her feet, feeling her muscles protest against the sudden change in position.
Once she’d managed to stand upright, despite her wobbly legs, he motioned for her to move closer to him. Cautiously, she stepped forward and nearly lost her balance but caught herself at the last second. He offered her no help at all, and when she was finally standing in front of him, he allowed a look of approval to appear on his face. It was perplexing how a simple look from him could affect her so—she guessed that it was because of the ritual they’d gone through—but the validation he’d given her made her feel happy, causing a brilliant smile to appear on her face.
He appeared amused for a second before he commanded, “Kneel.”
She glanced at him questioningly, and he quirked an eyebrow at her.
“Are we really going to start with punishments so early on?” he asked, reminding her in a sickeningly sweet voice about the conditions of their bond.
Though she was still a bit suspicious, she got down on her knees, cringing when she realized that her muscles still weren’t fully cooperating with her. When she was kneeling in front of him, he patted her head condescendingly.
“There. That wasn’t too hard, was it?” he asked, smirking at her.
She held back the suggestion for him to try it himself and remained silent, watching his facial expressions and waiting for his next orders.
He raised an eyebrow at her. “No replies? How surprising.”
He laced his fingers through her curls, playing with her hair. The little tingles traveled from her scalp to her whole body, and she anticipated the moment when he would touch her more intimately.
His smile widened as if he’d just thought of something, and he tilted his head upwards a bit, though he still remained eye contact with her. “Let’s see how well my new little slave services her Master, shall we? You are in the … correct position right now anyway.”
She blushed profusely when he maneuvered her head so that she was staring directly at his crotch. She blinked a couple of times, quite uncertain in regards to what to do.
Again, he didn’t give her any instructions, so she decided to improvise. On his own … “head” it was if she did something wrong.
Lifting her hands, she unzipped his pants and took out his half-erected manhood. Her embarrassment was soon taken over by curiosity as she studied a part of the human anatomy that she didn’t have. She’d had sex before, prior to that one time in the storage room, too, but this was the first time she had the chance to really look at someone’s cock.
Her eyes widened in wonderment as she witnessed his length getting harder and longer while she stroked it, running her hands up and down it and gently caressing his balls. He must be enjoying it, judging from the guttural sounds he made, and for some reason, those soft groans made something warm stir in her womanhood.
She tilted her head and watched a clear, viscous fluid leak out from the tip of his cock. Precum, she silently acknowledged with a barely perceptible nod to herself, before she moved her hand over it and used it as a lubricant to aid her in stroking him.
“Use your mouth,” he said, his voice hoarser than usual.
With no small amount of uncertainty, she leaned forward and took him into her mouth. Tentatively, she moved forward, swirling her tongue around the head of his cock as she took him in.
“Suck harder,” he instructed in that soft voice of his.
When she did as she was told, a small gasp escaped his lips, and the hand he had on her hair tightened into a fist. The pressure on her scalp made her moan around his cock. That, in turn, made him buck his hips. Since his hand was still holding her head in place, she was forced to take all of him down her throat. Her eyes watered at the sudden deep-throating she was doing, and she had to put her hand on his thighs to support herself.
When he pulled out slightly, she immediately inhaled much needed air through her nose. She was just taking her second breath when he rammed right back into her, deep down her throat. They repeated this a couple of times, and when Hermione started to get the hang of things, she began to appreciate the hisses he would emit when she did something that particularly excited him.
When he finally came, deep inside her throat, dark magic noticeably swirled around her, tickling her skin and curling her insides. She would’ve swayed to and fro had he not had such a firm grip on her hair. Her eyes glazed over, and for a brief moment, she was completely unaware of anything else but them.
Then he stepped away from her, letting go, while he waved his wand over his body, clothing himself. Without his support, Hermione fell forward on her hands, steadying herself. His smug chuckle danced over her skin, sending tingles down her spine.
“I see you can’t even keep your proper position without support from your Master,” Tom taunted.
His voice did unthinkable things to her. It felt like every syllable entered her body and teased every nerve ending. Hermione squirmed, enjoying the feeling but wanting so much more. Her brain tried to focus on what he was saying but it was hard.
Proper position?
She breathed in deeply, pushing those maddening feelings away.
Proper position … he’d told her to kneel!
Shaking her head to get rid of the buzz, she pushed herself up by her hands and rested her butt on her heels. She’d made it.
“Put your hands on your thighs,’ Tom ordered coolly.
God, his voice …
She squirmed, pressing her legs together to gain some friction.
“Oh no, I don’t think so,” he said, stepping towards her and kicking her legs apart. “Hands, now.”
Quickly, she placed her hands on her thighs, not wanting to anger him more.
“Good girl,” he purred.
She swore he did it deliberately. That purr resonated through every cell of her body, igniting a cascade of sensations she wasn’t sure she wanted to stop.
He yanked her up by her hair, straightening her back farther.
“You will keep this position until I return. There’ll be no sounds from your lips and no moving whatsoever. I will know if you haven’t obeyed me, so don’t attempt to deceive me. I believe this is the perfect opportunity for you to prove your worth to me, my little Mudblood. Frankly, I’ll be surprised if someone with blood as dirty as yours is able to successfully complete such a menial task.” And on that note, he Disapparated.
Hermione fumed. How dare he call her a Mudblood when everyone knew he was raised in a Muggle orphanage!
Hypocrite.
Stupid, stinking Slytherin.
Stupid, bla— Oh god, what was that?
Her fingers dug deep into her thighs when her whole body thrummed with need. Waves and waves of pleasure rolled through her, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.
Hermione closed her eyes, chanting mentally: Don’t move, don’t make a sound, don’t move, don’t make a sound, don’t move.
Her clit began pulsing by itself as if someone were stimulating it just the way she liked it.
Oh, god, don’t move, don’t …. move, don’t … make … a … sou—
“Ooooh.”
Dammit! She’d made a sound, but at least she hadn’t moved. Yet.
Somehow she got a feeling he’d stacked the deck against her. Blasted, sneaky Slytherin. Well, she’d show him. She wasn’t going to—
“—moooooove. Oh god.”
Her vagina had contracted. The emptiness inside was almost unbearable. Her face contorted. She needed to move now. She needed something inside her. She couldn’t move.
Another bout of pleasure rushed through her, her inner muscles clenching painfully. Her head swivelled around, searching for something to use as a substitute to a cock.
Soft clicking of a tongue reached her ears, and she dropped her head in defeat. He was here. Had he even left at all? She’d heard him Disapparate. Is it even possible for someone to Apparate and Disapparate without a sound? Or had he just faked the sound and been here all along, waiting for her to fail?
Well, now that she had failed …
Her hand moved to her clit, rubbing it hard, while quickly inserting her finger inside of her pussy.
To her utter distress, it did nothing for her. She couldn’t even feel it. With a growl, she inserted another finger inside herself, trying to relieve herself but to no avail.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk, such a wanton, little Mudblood,” Tom spoke silkily, his voice vibrating inside of her body, making her squirm and moan. “To think that you would be an anomaly, different from the average dirt who has similar bloodlines to yours, but apparently, I was mistaken.”
His insults hardly registered in her mind; she could only concentrate on his voice and his voice only. Each syllable that fell from his lips was like a small electrical current, flowing through her veins and amplifying her arousal.
“Please … please, my Lord,” she pleaded, still plunging her fingers into her cunt.
He chuckled, causing her to close her eyes and arch her back. “Do you actually expect to be rewarded when you’ve so blatantly went against what I’ve asked you to do, slave?”
She groaned, dropping her head again, and with some difficulty, she withdrew her hand and placed it back on her thigh. Nonetheless, her whole body continued to shake with pleasure.
Merlin, she just couldn’t take all the tension that was building inside her. She really, really needed someone to pound into her hard and fast, that “someone” preferably being that arrogant, too handsome for his own good, Slytherin who was standing behind her right now.
Suddenly, his hand landed on her shoulder, and her resolve to not move broke down again. With a moan, she leaned into his touch, but just as quickly, he moved his hand away, causing her to drop on her side onto the floor.
He let out an exaggerated sigh as he circled around her body that was now lying sideways on the floor.
“Such an disgusting, undisciplined Mudblood. I gave you the simple task to stay still and you can’t even manage to do that,” he said softly.
“My Lord … Master … please, I can’t take this anymore,” she whimpered as she pushed herself towards him.
Much to her dismay, however, he walked around her, not allowing her to touch him, when she’d finally reached where he was. Her head dropped to the floor, and she pressed her forehead against the cold stone floor, hoping that it would somehow drive away her desires or at least hold it back a bit, so that she could have a somewhat clear head to convince him to fuck her brains out.
“Back into the position,” he said coldly.
The hair at the back of her neck stood up. Never mind the bond they had. With that voice he was sporting now, Hermione was afraid that he would leave her stranded here, forever left in the torture of being aroused but never reaching her climax.
Mustering all the strength she had, she pushed herself up and back into the kneeling position. Taking in a deep breath, she clenched her hands into fists and placed them on her thigh as he’d told her to. Her clit continued to feel as if someone were stimulating it, and now even her nipples seemed to be under the attention of invisible fingers. Her lips quivered, and she did her best to not make a sound. However, little whimpers still managed to escape, so she bit down on her lips, nearly drawing blood.
Perhaps she should start reciting Hogwarts: A History to help take her mind off things?
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry—
It suddenly felt as if someone was pulling on her nipples, and if her eyes weren’t opened, she would’ve thought he was touching her.
—was built more than a thousand years ago by—
Merlin, this had to be because of the stupid bond she’d just made with him. It was impossible for this to happen—Ohhhhh, the pressure on her clit seemed to have been increased as well.
—Godric Gryffindor—
Or had he cast a sex spell on her? She wouldn’t put it past him. Why wasn’t he touching her anymore? It had to be have been thirty minutes since she’d stopped moving. Wasn’t he finished punishing her yet?
—Helga Hufflepuff—
Oh dear gods, why was he sitting there? And why did he just laugh? Didn’t he know that that would just increase her desire?
—Rowena Ravenclaw—
Never mind, he must had known that and did it purposely to torture her. This was just too much for not listening to one measly command.
—and Salazar Slytherin—
She dug her fingers into her thighs, determined not to move because who knew how long he was going to stall her climax if she didn’t finish her punishment?
And then she heard him walk towards her. Her breathing increased when he stopped right behind her, and she could hardly suppress herself from moving when his cloak brushed up against her body. Thankfully, she didn’t act on that urge.
“Finally learning a bit of control now, aren’t we?” he said quietly.
She closed her eyes and willed herself not to sway to his voice.
Grabbing her hair, he pulled her up and kissed her hard on the lips. She swallowed the moan that threatened to leave her lips the moment she was in contact with him. Obediently, she opened her mouth when his tongue pushed against her lips, demanding for access.
She couldn’t control her body from shivering with need when his arm snaked around her waist, pulling her flush against his body. Somehow, she managed not to touch him; that one small part of her mind that still wasn’t overwhelmed by desire remembered that he hadn’t granted her his permission yet. That must have pleased him immensely, since she felt him smile against her lips.
He pushed her backwards, and a yelp left her lips—she’d thought that she would’ve been landing on the stone floor, but instead, she landed on something soft. She looked around and realized that he’d conjured a bed without her noticing it.
“You may put your arms and legs around me,” he said, his eyes dark and unnaturally bright with lust.
Without a second word, he plunged into her, filling her to the hilt. She bit down hard on her lips to prevent herself from screaming in pleasure, this time drawing blood, as she arched her back off the bed.
His eyes lit up as he ran a finger over her lips, pulling them away from her teeth. The approval and satisfaction in his eyes made Hermione proud of herself, as if she’d accomplished something important.
“Scream for me, my little slave,” he said softly before he started thrusting into her body.
He didn’t need to tell her a second time. Each time he pushed his considerable length into her, she felt as if she’d died and gone to heaven. If this were because of the bond, she was more certain than ever that she’d made the correct choice.
Wrapping her legs around him, she matched every one of his thrusts with one of her own, causing an animalistic growl to fall from his oh so sinful lips.
She liked that. She really, really liked that. And so, she did her best to keep up with his pace. She was pretty certain that she would get bruises by the force and speed with which he was pounding into her, but she didn’t care. She really, really didn’t care because she knew, deep down inside of her, that this was what she needed; this was what she craved.
When she came, with him following not so far behind her, she was certain that the whole continent of Europe could hear her.
Still breathing erratically, she watched as he slowly pulled his softening cock out of her, eliciting a small moan from her. A faint smirk graced his features as he shifted his position so that he was lying down next to her.
“Sleep for now, my little one,” he said, caressing her cheek with one hand. “I will … reconsider how to punish you for disobeying my order when you wake.”
She gawked at him when she heard his words.
He raised an eyebrow at her. “Did you think that you can escape your disciplining after you’ve so blatantly defied my instructions?”
“Bu-but—” she stuttered.
“Hush,” he dictated, placing his forefinger on her lips, “unless you wish for me to enact your punishment right now.”
She wanted to argue, but after the whole … erm … exercise, she was too tired. Perhaps she could convince him after she’d had a good night’s sleep (or good day’s sleep, since she had no idea what time it was right now). She was allowed a chance to show him her atonement, wasn’t she? She would succeed there; she knew she would.
And that was the last thought in her mind before she drifted off into sleep.
xxx
His dark eyes slid over the tired yet sated look on the witch lying asleep in his arms. A victorious smirk appeared on his face as he ran his fingers through her hair, careful to not get caught in one of the knots as to not wake her up.
Then again, she didn’t seem to mind the pain all that much, he thought wryly to himself.
It had thoroughly surprised him when he found out what a closet masochist she was. After all, she had always been a controlling little thing when they were back at Hogwarts, and during their first couple of months at Hogwarts, she’d even tried to boss him around. Naturally, she’d seen the … errors of her ways after a couple of run-ins. In retrospect, there was almost a kind of twisted poetic justice in the way she was now bounded to him.
As those thoughts crossed his mind, he was almost overwhelmed by the urge to wake her up.
But no. She would need her rest. He still had many things to accomplish before he reached his goal. Everything had worked out exceptionally well, even better than he’d imagined before applying for a job at Borgin and Burkes. Now he not only owned four valuable Founders’ relics and was well on his way to obtain his preferred number of seven Horcruxes, but he’d gained an unexpected, unmatched follower in Hermione.
All it would take was time to erase any and all evidence of her dirty blood, similar to what he had done for himself, and then, he would purge her of those nonsensical morals that she held so close to her heart. It might be a while; he knew it would, but he was confident that he would accomplish it. One day, she would stand by his side, his dark, little, Mudblood slave, ready to help him pave the road to greatness and hex anyone who stood in his way. Nothing would stop him.
Not with her by his side.
The End