Chapter Text
CHAPTER LIII:
Hermione's POV:
Staying with Tom and Harry at the house that was theirs was a dream. Hermione wasn't the sort of girl who went for fairytales, but she almost felt like she was living in one.
The house itself was lovely; it was large inside, hushed and cool with ceilings curved high overhead in the same arches as the doorways and the windows, with their stained-glass medallions set within mullioned panes. It was decorated simply, the furniture mostly antique and carved from beautifully treated wood, with a number of paintings hanging on the walls and a handful of vases and sculptures sprinkled around in a purposefully careless manner, as if due to the obvious wealth of their owners their worth meant nothing. Her favourite room in the house– her house– was unsurprisingly the private library, with its thousands of books, gold accentuated furniture, beautiful winged armchairs and walls decorated with heavy tapestries depicting different magical creatures, both those extinct now and those that were thriving.
The countryside surrounding the house was just as beautiful as the house itself, with rolling hills that were high and vibrantly green even when dusted with snow, scattered trees and wildlife and icy blue skies filled with trailing clouds like ribbons of white and various greys that sometimes wove together to create heavy blankets that hid the brightness of the sun and coveted the blue of the sky, hailing unforgivingly down over everyone and everything that turned its face up to its might.
Like he'd warned them he might have to, Tom would occasionally disappear for an hour or two, but there was more then enough available to keep them occupied so that his absence sped by while she and Harry explored or made use of the amenities of their new house.
Other then that, though, the three of them were rarely apart. They spent every moment together that they could and so far the only source of conflict and discord between them had been the dreaded swimming lesson.
Tom, it seemed, interpreted the saying "sink or swim" very literally. On a not-so entirely unrelated note, Hermione thought Harry might actually try and murder the older boy.
"It wasn't that bad," she'd tried to console him after the, er, 'lesson' and Harry had glared furiously at her.
"I just had to thaw out my eyebrows! There was ice in them!"
"...it could have been worse?"
"How?" Harry shouted, throwing his hands in the air. "How could it possibly have been worse? He vanished all my clothes except my boxers and pushed me in! He used my body to break the ice covering the top of the lake! He threatened to transfigure some rocks into sharks and get them to chase me if I didn't stop screaming and start swimming! He made me tread water without using my arms for nearly five minutes and kept adding time on every time my head went under! He then made me swim a lap just using my arms! And have I mentioned the fucking ice? Because I feel like that deserves a second, third and fourth mention!"
"Well," she pointed out, her voice and expression very reasonable with only her eyes giving away her true amusement. "He could have vanished your boxers too."
She was actually impressed with the shade of red Harry's face had turned in response to that. "You suck," he told her, glaring fiercely, "you suck so much!"
And despite the situation, that had been an opening she hadn't been able to resist taking. "You love it when I suck," she purred, licking her lips exaggeratedly slow so her meaning was explicitly clear. This had just made Harry glare harder, visibly seething.
"I'm going to go have another shower." He said through clenched teeth.
Having had her fill of teasing the poor thing, Hermione had pointed out there were so many ways to warm back up that were more fun then a shower. Harry hadn't been impressed.
"Gee, I'd love to, Hermione," he hissed, "except for the fact the lake was so fucking cold that my bollocks have gone into hiding and my knob has shrunk to about half it's size!" Hermione winced in response.
"Oh. Right. Well, I can see how that might be problematic." This earned her a particularly withering look.
"You think?" He asked sarcastically and she frowned at him, her mouth twisting down.
"I don't see why you're taking this out on me," she said, annoyed by the fact. "I wasn't the one who pushed you into a lake."
"You didn't try helping me either," Harry pointed out.
"Of course not," she said, "I didn't want to end up in there with you."
Harry had given her the filthy, withering look she admitted that that had probably deserved before storming back into the bathroom.
So yes, there had been that little incident and the several hours of upset that had followed it, plus after the first day Harry had yet to join them again in bed, seeming to prefer watching which Hermione didn't mind but was frustrating Tom, but it had been a dream-like holidays so far and it was the day after Harry's swimming lesson that the somewhat overdue conversation regarding their sex life ended up taking place.
It wasn't that they'd been avoiding it, exactly– no, it was more along the lines of it being a somewhat awkward topic to bring up; after all, 'so we've been having progressively kinkier sex and should probably discuss our limits and come up with a safe word' wasn't exactly a casual sort of conversation.
But they'd just had sex– not unusual– and Tom had restricted her breathing during it– something else that wasn't exactly unusual– and her curiosity had sparked the overdue discussion, interested as she was in knowing just what Tom got out of the whole erotic asphyxiation deal.
"Why is choking such a thing for you?" She inquired, gesturing to her neck where the faint marks from Tom's fingers were only half concealed by the band of lace.
"Why is biting such a thing for you, hmm?" Tom said pointedly. There was a slight mocking lilt to his voice and his amusement was clear to see on his handsome face. Hermione narrowed her eyes at him and he smirked before answering her. "Choking," he said when she opened her mouth to either repeat her question or to threaten him with violence if he didn't shut up– she hadn't quite made up her mind, "is highly intimate. I personally find thrill involved to be very... sexually gratifying."
"It's a thrill that has the potential to be very dangerous in the wrong hands," Hermione commented.
"Pun intended?" Harry asked cheekily and Hermione rolled her eyes, unable to help her smile as Tom laughed before elaborating further.
"When I choke someone, I can feel their pulse racing and it's exhilarating." He said, his tone dipping into something softer as a sudden cruel hunger gleamed in his eyes and he glanced down at his hands, flexing his slender fingers like he was imagining them around someone's neck. "They always struggle underneath me; the panic is such an innate, human response and it's like a fight or a dance, just me and them. It's beautiful and thrilling like nothing else."
Hermione could feel the flush rising up under her skin at the sound of the soft seduction present in his voice, curling around each syllable that left his mouth and turning the words into something dangerous and alluring, and she slowly released the breath she'd been holding in without even realizing. The skittering of her nerves was a buzz in her veins, the anticipation and anxiety sparking in turn, and she turned her focus to Tom who was watching her with a knowing look in his eyes and an all-too tempting smirk on his pretty mouth. Harry, frozen in place at her side, was wide-eyed and equally breathless and when Tom spoke again his voice was low and irresistible with a dangerous edge that sent heat straight through her body.
"Knowing that I am the one with full control over their bodies," he murmured, "knowing that I own them so completely with each breath I allow or forbid and just how easy it would be to put them to sleep forever, with my face being the last thing they'd ever see, is a high comparable to orgasm."
"You do have got a nice face," Harry joked weakly after a moment and Hermione realised she'd been given as good an opening as they were going to get.
"We need to talk about this sort of stuff," she said, a bit reluctant to ruin the growing mood, the nervous tension only adding to the heated thrill in the room, but knowing it needed to be done anyway. "Obviously, you're interested in more... alternative kinks, Tom, and I don't know about you, Harry, but I'm not exactly averse to the idea of them. If we're going to explore them, though, we need to do it properly, we need to be honest and thorough. I'm not going to go about this half-arsed; our relationship is fucked up enough without adding some sort of god-awful, mind-fucking train-wreck of a sex trip to it."
"And I have no objections with that," Tom said smoothly.
"I don't know how I'm going to react to stuff, I don't know how either of you could react, and I want to be smart about it. I don't want to fuck this up." She added. "Later, when we know how we both react to it all, we might be able to stop being so... formal about it, but not now."
"I told you, Hermione," Tom repeated, allowing a hint of exasperation to show on his face, "I have no objections to that."
"Alright then." She said, giving Tom a challenging look. "Prove it. Both of you give me a hard limit. Something non-negotiable. Like for me, no blindfolds." Hermione hated being trapped in darkness and had ever since the punishments at the orphanage. Being locked in that godforsaken room, hungry and thirsty, alone and blind; there were very few occasions in her life when she'd been more afraid. It had been years before being enclosed in a dark room stopped making her chest tighten as her pulse sped and her breathing hitched, icy fingers of fear dragging their way down her spine– years and the necessity of repeated exposure. The thought of willingly allowing herself to be trapped in darkness, however, went against part of what made up her very being and had every instinct, every fear, scream at her 'NO' and Hermione knew better then to ignore her instincts– blindfolds would only lead to disaster. "Nothing where my vision is obscured." She added, wanting to be very clear in drawing that line in the sand.
"For me, a hard limit would be being the submissive partner in the equation." Tom offered.
"I think she meant other then the obvious." Harry said dryly and Tom flashed a smirk at him.
"I thought we were being thorough. Something about not knowing how we'll react?"
"Oh shove off," Hermione rolled her eyes at him, relaxing slightly as Tom used humour to ease the growing tension in the room.
"I know what I like and don't like," Tom said. "It would be a better use of our time to go through what we do want first. But if you insist, then a 'hard limit' would be anything that belongs in the loo should stay in the loo."
Hermione winced and Harry's eyes widened comically. "People do that?" He asked with a look of horrified fascination on his face at the same time as Hermione firmly stated,
"That's definitely not my kink either."
"Fetish would be the more accurate description," Tom corrected and she rolled her eyes again but refrained from childishly retorting with 'whatever'.
"Well I'm not interested in calling either of you 'sir' or 'madam' or 'master' or 'mistress'," Harry offered up. "It's not a– a hard limit? It's not one of those but I don't want to do it. There's nothing sexy about it for me."
"Nor me." Hermione admitted and Tom shrugged elegantly.
"I'm not interested in that sort of dominance and submission play," he agreed easily, "my interests are focused in sadomasochism– as I suspect yours are too, Hermione."
"There's a possibility I could be a bit of a sadomasochist," she admitted. The confession escaped her with a surprising ease and Tom laughed softly.
"Only 'a bit'?" He teased her playfully, before his voice smoothed out into something serious again. "I don't want you calling me any sort of title because I won't need the validation," he said, arrogant confidence sliding easily onto his handsome features. "Seeing you under me and knowing you'll have chosen to give me your body and let me do what I want to it will speak far louder to me then any words either of you could possibly say."
Hermione could feel the flush under her skin heating further and she shifted slightly in place, her tongue darting out to wet her suddenly dry lips as Harry sucked in a shaky breath beside her. "And what do you want to do to us?" She asked in a breathier voice then she'd expected. Tom noticed her heightened interest, because of course he did; Tom was capable of reading people as easily as he breathed, figuring out what they wanted without them needing to voice their needs, their hopes and desires, and then using it to manipulate them so that eventually they would drown in him.
Hermione didn't think she'd mind drowning in Tom, drowning in his Darkness and his magic and his incomparable mind, and there was a look in his eyes that she didn't quite recognise as he looked back at her. It was a predatory combination of hunger and cruelty and triumph, even. She supposed it was a win, of sorts, them discussing this. Her discussing what she would let him do to her, to her body.
Morbidly, almost, she wondered just how far she would let him go– and just how much she might enjoy doing so.
"I want to make you helpless; bound and unable to fight me," Tom spoke softly, his voice silk over sharpened steel, and she couldn't help the way his words caused a shudder to roll down her spine. "I want your complete and utter surrender to me and then I want to hurt you."
Hermione swallowed. It was nothing she hadn't expected from him, but hearing Tom say it out loud was unexpectedly thrilling. Harry reached for her hand, gripping onto her tight, and she wasn't sure who the touch was really for. "Hurt me?" She whispered and Tom flashed his teeth in a sharp, hungry smile, a sudden, cruel glint in his eyes.
"I want to hurt you so the build-up of pain will push you to the point where you leave your body." He said, and the low grit of lust in his voice turned the words filthy. "I want you drugged out on endorphins under my hands with every part of body screaming at you."
Hermione licked her lips again, tempted to move her free hand to grind the heel of her palm against her clit.
"I'm not– pain isn't... I'm not wired like that," Harry said quietly, his cheeks flushed pink as he looked down at their joined hands, avoiding making eye-contact with either her or Tom. "I don't want to be hit and stuff."
"And I don't want to be humiliated or belittled," Hermione said firmly. "You can h-hurt me," she tripped over the word slightly, cheeks going red, "and you can order me to do something and I'll listen, but the moment you start calling me a whore or a slut or anything like that then the scene is over."
"Despite the popular belief regarding BDSM," Tom said, his mouth quirking up in amusement, "I can see where the power really lies in this arrangement." Harry made a small sound of amusement but Hermione met Tom's eyes with a sober, solemn look in her own.
"If– when– we do this, I'll be trusting myself to you," she told him, quietly. "And the moment I do, you will have all the power in the world to abuse it."
"Hermione," Tom leaned forwards, still looking her straight in the eye. "I may want to hurt you and take pleasure in your suffering at my hands, but that that sort of betrayal is one particular brand of pain I would get no joy out of ever inflicting upon you. I know very little about love outside how to manipulate it in others, but I do know just how severely I would punish anyone who dared lay a hand on you or Harry in a way you did not consent to– myself being no exception."
Hermione could feel the anxiety flow away from her at Tom's violent promise, and beside her Harry had similarly settled. "Your suggestion before, about starting with saying what we'd actually want rather then going over what we don't, is a good idea," she said. "Why don't you go first, Tom?"
"Alright." The older boy agreed and Hermione entwined her fingers with a quiet Harry's as they settled back to listen.
-
Tom pressing her back against the mattress alone already had Hermione's heart stuttering in her chest, her pulse skittering and her breath escaping in short, hard bursts. Nervous anticipation coiled through her, winding around her in loops not unlike the length of rope that Tom was wrapping around her wrists.
He took his time with the knots and Hermione took her time with concentrating on not freaking out over being made helpless as Tom's quick, clever hands did so in easy, practiced movements. He started by binding her wrists to her ankles then wove the ropes up her calves and forearms, holding them tight together, and finally tying it off at her knees. The helplessness of the position made unbidden panic rise up inside her as a reflexive pull at the ropes yielded no slack and her subsequent attempt to yank at her arms and twist her body proved just as useless. She was trapped and immobile, and embarrassment tangled with her fear at the vulnerability of her position. She could easily picture what she looked like, stripped bare and spread wide, unable to close her legs, and her cheeks stained red.
"Breathe darling," Tom coaxed as her heart started to choke her in her throat, the panic spreading like ice through her veins. His hands moved to her hips, gripping them securely to hold her in place as she started to struggle, and the touch was surprisingly gentle and grounding. The steady weight of his hands on her managed to calm Hermione back down enough from the reflexive panic that when Tom arched an eyebrow, wordlessly questioning if she wished to continue, she nodded. And as he leaned forwards to kiss her, she could feel how hard he was, could feel just how much tying her up alone had turned him on, and she closed her eyes and purposefully let herself relax into the ropes, allowing them to support her. Tom made a greedy, bitten-off sound against her mouth at her surrender.
"Oh my clever girl," he breathed against her lips, "I am going to break you."
Hermione's breath caught again, her eyes flying open once more as genuine fear made her body tense up all over again. Tom broke the kiss, moving his hands up her body so he was cradling her face, his thumbs sweeping across the arcs of her cheekbones. She looked at him, wild-eyed and ready to call the whole thing off, and he made a soothing noise. "Don't be afraid, darling girl." He said softly, "I promise I'll pick up all your pieces and put you back together when I'm done. Tell me your safe words."
"Green is 'yes', Yellow is 'please slow down' or 'I need to check in with you' or 'can we take a pause and switch to something else but please don't stop touching me entirely' and red is 'stop immediately'." Hermione recited, feeling something relax inside her again, and Tom smiled, dropping his hands from her face. Her skin felt colder without them.
"Good girl." He said, his tone one of approval. "And if you can't speak?"
"I click my fingers twice."
"Show me." He ordered and she did, clicking the fingers of her left hand. In response, Tom smiled and reached out to trail his fingers along her jawline then down the curve of her neck to briefly touch the lace choker before pulling back.
"Good girl." He praised and Hermione shivered, though from his touch or his words she wasn't sure. "I'm not going to be asking every five minutes, but remember you can use your words at any time. Now, are you ready, darling? Yes or no?"
"Yes." She whispered, nearly trembling from nerves and anticipation.
"Look at you..." Tom whispered back, his voice was thick with desire and something else, something much darker and much, much more dangerous. "So perfect. I'm going to make you cry, beautiful girl."
"Promises, promises," she was unable to stop herself from saying and Tom grinned down at her, a sharp grin that flashed his teeth as he wandlessly summoned the unlit candle that had been sitting on the bedside table. Hermione couldn't help the sound she made, anticipation drawing tight beneath her ribs at the sight of the wick over the tall, red cylinder of hard wax flaring to life.
The thrill of vulnerability turned her breath shallow and the curl of Tom's mouth was hungry and predatory as he looked down at her. As her eyes were drawn to the flame of the candle, almost involuntarily, her stomach drew in at the sight of the wax at the top start to melt. Tom's free hand lowered to idly trace a scar that curved across her waist and the nervous anticipation had her quipping, "ready when you are, hot stuff."
Tom's hand instantly tilted and Hermione let out a startled hiss as the hot, melted wax painted a burning line from the soft curve of her stomach to the sharp jut of her ribs. "Careful, darling," Tom warned, a glint in his eyes as he watched her clench her teeth and suck in several shaky breaths before forcing her tight-wound muscles to ease. "I'm sure you don't want me being too... distracted by that mouth of yours; I might just slip." A flick of the candle and the accompanying splatter of hot wax against her skin added emphasis to his casual threat and left her forcing herself to keep her back flat against the mattress.
Tom's free hand moving to her ribs and pressing down hard helped with her efforts, trapping her back down and holding her still as he tipped the candle again, spilling melted streaks of burning-hot wax along the slight dip of her stomach. Hermione squirmed at the deep heat of it; the sensation not unlike the sort of blow from sparring that sunk deep into muscle and lingered for several long seconds. With how she was bound on her back, though, she couldn't do much more than twitch in place, sweat beading on her shoulders and trickling down the curve of her spine leaving her wet in more places then just the obvious. She dug her nails into her ankles, the gritty sting of it grounding as she was left utterly unable to get away from the heat gathering on her navel.
When she eventually realised what Tom was doing with the wax, she gave a slightly shaky laugh that had him pausing, straightening the candle as he arched an eyebrow at her. Hermione let her muscles unwind at the pause in the assault and answered his unasked question.
"If you're planning on covering all my scars with wax then we're going to be here for a long time." She said, surprising herself with just how unsteady and breathless her voice was. The burning discomfort of the wax wasn't exactly noteworthy to her, not in comparison to suffering she had undergone in her past, but her willing submission to the pain was... twisting something inside her; the concept that she was allowing this to happen, that she'd allowed herself to be tied up and made vulnerable and hurt, that caused pleasure to spark along her nerves.
"I don't see a problem with that," Tom said smoothly, drawing her attention from where it had been focused on the growing pool of wax on top of the candle over to him. His eyes were dark and there was a razor smile on his handsome face as he looked down at her. "But perhaps this time we'll concentrate on just these first," he moved his free hand to trail his fingertips over the light scars of her lower torso, "and see afterwards how much more you can manage."
"I can manage more then this," Hermione scoffed dismissively, though she was already bracing herself for the response her words would receive and she bit back a yelp at the subsequent streak of wax that spilled over a few inches of her side, burning into her skin and down into the muscle beneath. She twisted in her bindings, arching her neck as she weathered the hot, sharp pain, the blood under her skin flushing up her neck and into her cheeks. Tom leaned forwards, pressing his mouth to the arch of her neck and scraping his teeth lightly against the heated skin. "Watch that mouth, darling," he warned again, his voice thick with heat, teeth sharp and breath hot as it fanned across her skin.
He pulled back then and the sudden drops of wax that splashed onto the thin, fragile skin of her throat surprised her. A strangled sound escaped from between her lips before she managed to silence herself, clenching her teeth together at the startling burn. It hadn't hurt any worse than the rest of the wax, not really, but the change in location had been startling; unexpected and shocking and jolting her from her careful control. The responding predatory look on Tom's face to the cut-off whimper, though, had a very different heat start building up inside her and as his breathing started to get heavier so did hers.
Tom's eyes didn't leave hers as he tilted the candle just enough to let it slowly drip down onto the skin between her breasts, trailing it down her body in a slow path to her belly button where he let the burning-hot wax pool while she shivered in nervous anticipation about the candle moving lower. The intense burning in her navel and the nervous, uncertain fear spiking sharply through her left her aching as she squirmed in the ropes.
Twisting her wrists in the ropes, she curled her fingers into fists and dug her nails into her palms as Tom moved the candle lower, swallowing and holding herself as still as she could manage, anticipating the sharp burn of the wax. She gasped as the next splatter fell between the juts of her hipbones, her abdomen sucking in briefly, but Tom didn't go any lower. Hermione wasn't sure if she was relieved or disappointed by that, but then he moved his focus to her breasts and she was too busy biting back gasps and curses as she flinched beneath the wax to care.
The sensations started bleeding together, the heat beneath her skin a mixture of the wax's effects and the arousal building inside her. She could feel a wetness in her eyes overflowing and trickling down her cheeks but the tears were more from the overwhelmed state she was in then from the pain of the candle wax. A thin whimper escaped her as Tom used his fingers to start to scrape off the wax, the already sharp sensation of his nails against her skin made sharper by how sensitive the burn of the wax had left her flesh. Her eyelids had mostly drifted shut, fluttering open in fits and starts as she drifted in the sensation until Tom had scraped the last of the wax from her breasts and slid his hand up to grip her chin, his tightening fingers commanding her attention. She pried her eyes open enough that she could meet his gaze and shivered at the sight of how blown his pupils were.
"Look at you, floating along," Tom said quietly, his mouth curling into a smile and his eyes alight with a hungry, cruel satisfaction. "You are so beautiful like this. What colour are you?" He had to repeat his question twice before her dazed brain really registered what he was asking.
"G–Green, so, so green," she gasped, leaning into his touch as he stroked her cheek. "C'mon, please, Tom."
"Please what?" He teased, his thumb catching at her mouth and pushing inside, dragging at her lower lip and the sharp edge of her teeth.
"Please," she repeated, voice dangerously close to a whine as she squirmed her hips, Tom's presence between her bound legs trapping them in their splayed open position and meaning that she couldn't move them to squeeze her thighs together for some relief. "Stop teasing and just touch me already!"
Tom laughed, the sound rough and low, and he moved his hands down to her thighs, digging his fingers into the flesh and holding her open as he dipped his head to suck on the still-sensitive skin of her stomach before sinking his mouth lower. It didn't take him long to get her to reach her climax with how on edge she already was, but he didn't stop there, instead moving his mouth to her clit and sucking hard on the over-sensitive bundle of nerves.
It was too much, too intense and far too soon, and Hermione jerked and writhed in her restraints, fresh tears gathering in her eyes as she desperately gasped for air that came back out as cries or high keening noises. Her back curved into a hard arch, black creeping over the edges of her vision as she came a second time in as many minutes, a sob ripped from her throat as the unrelenting pleasure overwhelmed her, devouring her from the inside out. She let out another sob, this time one of relief, as Tom finally, finally, removed his mouth from her. Her relief was short-lived, however, as he replaced his lips and tongue with his fingers and continued the torment.
Words tumbled from her mouth, curses and pleading intermixed with moans, whimpers and cries, but she didn't ask him to stop, didn't speak the word that would have ended it all. At some point during the ordeal, it had become a matter of pride for Hermione to let Tom do this to her, to bring her past the point of incoherent, unrelenting overstimulation and hover somewhere near blackout levels of endless, all-consuming pleasure as he flat-out tortured her with his fingers and mouth.
In her brain, the lines of pleasure and pain felt as if they'd irreversibly blurred, the tiny, piercing shocks snapping across her skin as Tom bit his way up and down her inner thighs currently indistinguishable in sensation from the sparking jolts caused by the pad of his thumb rubbing circles into her clit. She was floating again by the time she heard herself saying over and over, "please, please, please, please–" though she wasn't even sure what she was begging for as Tom scraped his nails over her ribs and licked into her again.
Tom, however, seemed to have an idea of what she was asking for, or maybe he just couldn't hold himself back anymore, because he moved his head away and instead of replacing his mouth with his fingers again he lined himself up and thrust into her, a short, rough slide that was hot and aching and left her feeling so full. He smoothed a hand over her face and panted, "perfect, so fucking perfect," and Hermione preened under the praise before he dug his fingers into her hair and started moving.
His pace was ruthless and each viciously deliberate thrust sent hot pain sweeping through her, making her shake and throb and need. Hermione shuddered and keened, tears leaking down her cheeks as pain and pleasure twisting together inside of her; aching and rising, rising, rising.
She made a weak sound of protest when she felt the grip in her hair tighten as Tom picked up his pace, so unbearably good as he slammed into her, then sucked in a breath right as Tom suddenly wrenched her head back. The sudden, swift twinge of discomfort in her scalp was joined by a lance of pain down her shoulder, sharp and cutting, and Hermione's brain shorted out on her entirely as she reached a shattering final climax. She didn't feel Tom come; couldn't even feel her own hands, in fact, just the hard, grounding pressure of Tom's teeth in her skin as she shook apart then faded out, losing time as her brain ran on vapours, spinning aimlessly and floating off as sweet ache and bliss flooded her.
She became aware again through the uncomfortable sensation of pins and needles under her skin. Dry-mouthed and bleary-eyed, it took her a few minutes to understand that Tom had, apparently, released her from the ropes and was now stroking his hands on her skin while whispering soft, meaningless bits of praise into her sweat-soaked curls. Hermione found that both the touch and the words were surprisingly reassuring and reorienting as she floated back up into herself.
She wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, but eventually she felt together enough to lift one of her hands and slide it over Tom's. "I've got you, my darling girl," he murmured in response, kissing her shoulder gently and then again, this time accompanying the press of his lips with a quick lap of his tongue. Hermione made the supreme effort to lift her head and twist around to half-focus on Tom's face and her newly remastered ability to breath was stolen from her at the sight of him. Apparently he'd broken her skin when he'd bit her shoulder, and now his face was smeared with her blood from nose to chin.
A pathetic whimper escaped her and Tom raised an eyebrow, a smile curling his wet lips and exposing his red-stained teeth before he leaned in and dragged his tongue over the still-oozing bite mark on her shoulder then set his teeth onto the indents and bit down, hard. Hermione flinched and cried out at the pain; it hurt and she hadn't been expecting it at all, but it only took a few seconds to reach a steady burn. She closed her eyes as she shuddered and when she opened them again, Tom was looking down at her with his eyes unguarded in a way Hermione was pretty sure only she and Harry got to see. She smiled weakly at him and Tom echoed it with a small smile of his own.
"Back with me?" He queried, voice shockingly gentle, and Hermione nodded.
"I think so," she said.
"And how are you feeling?" He asked, stroking his fingers through her hair. Hermione shifted a bit, checking in and taking note of the aching stiffness in her limbs and the various pains, both stabbing and dull, throughout her body. The sharp throbbing of her shoulder from the bite was the worst of it and her entire body felt oversensitive, but not in a bad way. None of it actually felt bad, really– the opposite, in fact.
"I feel good," she answered Tom truthfully, bubbles of mirth rising inside her that she wasn't certain as to the cause of. "Sore but good. Really, really good." A small giggle escaped her and Tom made an amused sound in response.
"You're still flying high," he said, sounding equal parts entertained, fond and satisfied. "Rest, darling." He instructed her and Hermione did as told, closing her eyes and letting sleep tug her away.
When she woke up again, the world came back in the sort of slow, easy way that people like her, trained by the life they'd led to go from being asleep to aware in a matter of moments, hardly ever get to experience. It really went to show just how relaxed she was that her brain didn't activate its usual survival instinct.
There were limbs entwined with hers and Hermione opened her eyes lazily to take in the sight of Harry, who was watching her with a fond look on his face that softened further the moment he noticed she was awake.
"Are you okay with what happened?" he asked, quiet and solemn.
"I am," she said honestly and he relaxed, giving her a small smile.
"Alright," he said, and that was that.
-
-
Harry's POV:
Harry woke on the morning of December 31st the same way he'd woken the last five days; in bed with Tom and Hermione, the three of them curled up together, skin-to-skin, their legs and arms entwined and their breath mingling. His nose was pressed into the hollow of Hermione's neck and he could feel her fingers carding through his hair, the movements slow and languid.
"I kind of want to cancel going tonight," he muttered sleepily against the sweat-damp skin of her neck and she made a humming sound of agreement.
"So do it," Tom said lazily, his long, slender fingers tracing abstract patterns on the bare skin of Harry's back, nails lightly scraping against the pearl string of his spine and straying dangerously close to the dipping below the small of his back before moving up again. "What's stopping you?"
"Besides the huge amount of sulking we'd have to deal with from Draco if we missed it?" Harry asked, the stirring interest inside him prompting him to start following the bluish hue of veins beneath the thin skin of Hermione's throat with his mouth, kissing and nipping his way along the warm and sweet-tasting creamy flesh. "I'm actually fond of living– and having all my limbs intact while I do so. Personally, I'd like to keep this way."
"Ah, I forgot Voldemort requested your presence." Tom mused.
"Requested," Hermione huffed lightly, amusement coloring her voice. "That's certainly one way to put it."
Due to the Yule Ball that had been hosted this year as part of the Triwizard Tournament, the Malfoy family's annual Yule Gala had been rescheduled with Narcissa deciding to organise a New Years Gala instead– and Voldemort had passed on the message through Barty Crouch Junior that he expected to see Harry and Hermione there, and that they were to bring Fleur along with them.
Harry didn't actually mind the idea of going– it felt like forever since he'd seen Narcissa and it wasn't as if the galas she hosted were horrible or anything. But the past few days that he'd spent just with Tom and Hermione in the house Tom had called theirs in the middle of the English countryside with no neighbors for miles had been heavenly and the thought of returning to real life once more filled him with dismay.
But Voldemort had 'requested' their presence and Harry had no intention of refusing such a request, which was why when late afternoon approached he changed into his outfit for the evening without complaint.
Instead of dress-robes, Harry had chosen to wear a suit for the evening, picking from the wardrobe Voldemort had supplied him with during the summer holidays a slim, tasteful black wool-twill blazer that had been tailored for an elegant, androgynous feel with a narrow waist, ruffled trims along the shoulders and sleeves and pristine ivory silk piping. His shirt, a classic button-down designed for a slightly loose fit, was been cut from the same shade of ivory silk and had subtle lace trim on the collar and cuffs, and the black wool-twill pants with their turned-up hems and a flared silhouette matched the blazer.
As opposed to Harry's more modern look that was purposefully somewhat mischievous with its muggle hints, Tom looked very traditional, having donned a finely tailored dress-robe of blue silk so dark it almost looked black. The pendent Harry and Hermione had given him for Yule was hidden by the sharp neckline of the robes, the only 'jewellery' worn by the older boy being Apophis, the snake having shrunk himself down, turning small and slim and curling in rings up Tom's arm like an ornate arm cuff, his silver scales flashing in the light.
Despite the apparent youth of his appearance, there was something about Tom that commanded attention. Charisma, Harry guessed, or maybe it was just that that primitive little knot of brain cells at the base of his spine that realized this was something that could, and would, consume him; that saw past Tom's superficial charm to the way he walked with power and confidence in every step, to the coolness in his eyes that said he could and would cut down anyone who got in his path and the way he seemingly unconsciously surrounded himself with the air of the lethal Dark Lord he was.
Harry was personally quite fond of his primitive little lizard brain. It was a trustworthy collection of life-saving impulses that had proved to have very good instincts.
And yet, despite how devastatingly handsome Tom looked, the older boy breathtaking in the best– and worst– of ways, Hermione still managed to be the most stunning of them all. She was dressed for the gala in a lustrous, deep red silk-satin gown with a boned bodice that nipped in at her waist before falling to her ankles in layers of sheer tulle, the hem of the skirt just short enough to reveal the glossy golden high heels adorned with angel wings.
The ivory lace choker had been swapped for a gold-plated one strung by rows of delicate gold chains set with narrow columns of gleaming garnets, garnet-tipped gold pins and combs held her heavy chestnut curls off her face and neck and her lips had been painted with a bright red liquid gloss.
"Now I want to just stay too," Tom said, his eyes dark and his lips curled up in that all-too-tempting smirk. "You both look utterly delicious."
"Try sounding a bit less like a cannibal," Hermione advised him and Harry snorted.
"So I shouldn't mention wanting to devour you, to lay you both out and consume you entirely?" Tom asked, and though the older boy's voice was light and playful there was a dangerous heat in his eyes that made him shiver.
"I don't know whether to be turned on or horrified when you say shit like that," Hermione sighed and Tom smirked at them.
"Well, you know what they say– if humans weren't intended to be eaten, then why are they made of meat?"
"I have never heard anyone say that before. Ever." Hermione said flatly.
"And for the record," Harry added with a horrified shudder, "you know that conversation we had about hard limits? Consider cannibalism one of those." It was sad, he thought, that he actually felt the need to clarify that but he still did want it out there.
"Joking aside, I wouldn't ever resort to cannibalism," Tom assured him, much to Harry's relief. "I wouldn't want any part of those who I kill to become part of me." Tom added, and going by the disdainful curl of his lip, much to Harry's horror the older boy was being painfully sincere.
"Because that's the real issue with that." Hermione said and they traded disturbed looks before Hermione just shrugged in a 'what can you do' sort of way.
"Right then," Harry said weakly, very much wanting the conversation to be over, "well we should probably get going."
"Yes please." Hermione agreed immediately and Tom just rolled his eyes at them both before throwing a handful of floo powder into the fireplace, turning the flames emerald green as he said,
"Malfoy Manor!"
Draco had given them access to his house's floo room so that they wouldn't have to apparate to the gates of Malfoy Manor like the rest of the attendees and make the walk along the long, paved drive to the front doors where the Lady of the Manor would greet them. Fleur and her family would be arriving via port-key and Hermione had sent the blonde an owl arranging to meet her outside the floo room when they arrived, instructing her to request that Draco show her where to wait.
The beautiful part-Veela was waiting for them where planned, her slender body fitted in a flowing, antique rose-colored chiffon gown accessorized by an ornate body chain with two silver medusa medallions at the front. Glints of silver jewelry were visible at the French schoolgirl's wrists and ears, a slim, coiled snake choker with a sinuous mesh body, beautiful silver finish and jewelled eyes curled elegantly around her throat and her pale hair was intricately piled on top of her head in great, stiff curls.
"Both of you look de toute beauté," Fleur beamed when she saw them, pressing light kisses to both of his and Hermione's cheeks before she smiled coquettishly at Tom. Harry's eyes widened slightly as the urge to stand and soak in Fleur's beauty spiked; her features hadn't changed but suddenly the azure-blue of her eyes, the softness of her skin and the flawlessness of her features wove a captivating tapestry that had something in him wanting to irreversibly tangle himself in without thought. This, he realised with a jolt of shock, was Fleur actively using her veela allure and for a moment he was confused as to why before he realised she was testing Tom.
Unlike Harry who had spent several seconds being stunned, Tom hadn't even blinked in the face of the weight of Fleur's allure. Instead he smiled a glittery knife of a smile at Fleur, eyes dark and cruel charm on his face. "You must be the veela girl," he said softly and Harry wanted to both step back and step in front of Fleur– Tom would treat him and Hermione right, he knew, but there was no such promise in place for their friends who existed on the thin ice that everyone but the two of them stood on.
"Tom," Hermione said quietly, pressing her hand to the older boy's shoulder until Tom turned to meet her eyes with his. A silent conversation seemed to pass between the two of them then Tom dipped his chin slightly before turning back to Fleur.
"It is a pleasure to meet you," he said with a pleasant smile and Harry exhaled, feeling the odd tension pass. "I'm Thomas Dagworth."
"My name eez Fleur Delacour," Fleur said, her voice more subdued now and careful. "Eet eez a pleasure to meet you too, monsieur; please call me Fleur."
"It would be my honor. And please, feel free to call me Thomas." Tom said, pleasant smile still in place. "Though I'm afraid we'll have to wait until later to get to know each other– my relative is waiting." Instantly, Harry felt the tension inside him return.
Voldemort intimidated him, there was no question about it, and the Dark Lord demanding a meeting had definitely unnerved him. Still, Harry was confident Tom was too fond of him and Hermione to not pass on a warning if Voldemort was displeased with them in some way, so he just clung to Hermione's hand with an iron grip and followed Tom as the older boy made his way unerringly to where Voldemort as 'Thaddeus' was expecting them.
Hermione paused before they entered the ballroom, causing him to stop too. Fleur reacted by immediately ceasing her movements, drawn back to Hermione's side like a magnet.
"You know my relative appreciates promptness," Tom said sharply, a warning in his voice, and Hermione nodded.
"I know," she said quietly. "Fleur, could you look away for a moment?" Visibly confused but not questioning Hermione's request, Fleur turned her head from them, taking several steps over in order to grant them a thin piece of privacy. Hermione waited for a moment before lifting the hand Harry was holding, raising it up between them and then slipping off the ring Voldemort had given him for his birthday in a smooth movement that he barely felt, a left-over talent from her prestidigitation days.
"Hermione!" Harry whispered in alarm, his eyes darting from side to side, suddenly paranoid that Voldemort would appear and see his bare hand. "What the hell? I am not meeting him without that!" He didn't want to imagine Voldemort's anger if he thought Harry had spurned his gift.
"I know," Hermione said, voice low and her eyes narrowing in Tom's direction. "Turning up without the ring wouldn't be a good idea."
"So why the hell did you just take it off?" he demanded and Hermione's mouth twisted into a darkly amused smile.
"Because walking in with a fake ring would be even worse."
"What do you mean a fake ring?" He hissed in alarm and Hermione's hand disappeared into a slit in the side of her dress hidden by the layers of the skirts and reemerged holding a familiar ring, identical to the one she'd just taken off him. Harry's throat suddenly felt very dry. "Why did you make a fake version of the ring for me to wear?" He asked very quietly so that Fleur didn't overhear him. Hermione's eyes flicked over to Tom, her face uneasy, and Harry switched his focus to the other boy. "Why?" He repeated, his eyes narrowing dangerously at the older boy who remained stubbornly quiet, face expressionless to the point it may as well have been carved from marble.
It was Hermione who answered him in the end. "It's a long story." She said, "and this isn't the time or place to go into it. But wearing the ring for long periods of time wasn't... good for you. I didn't want to put you in an awkward position, so I made a fake. Tom figured it out."
"Wasn't good?" Harry repeated, feeling something cold and heavy settle in his stomach as he turned hurt eyes on Tom. "Did you know it would do whatever it was that wasn't good when he gave it to me?"
"It wouldn't have hurt you," Tom said stiffly, not quite meeting Harry's eyes. "And short bursts of exposure, like for this evening, will have little to no effect at all."
"Little effect? What sort of effects are we even talking about here?" Harry demanded, blinking back angry, hurt moisture from his eyes.
"We don't have time for this," Hermione cut in apologetically, "you can yell afterwards, right now he is waiting. Here," she was still holding his hand and she tightened her grip so he couldn't yank his hand away as she slid the ring on in a swift movement.
It felt... different to the one he'd been wearing before. Heavier, but not physically so. It was an oddly familiar whisper against his senses; the inexplicable but undeniable familiarity accompanied by a sensation not unlike that of a cloak of weighted shadows settling over him in some parody of an embrace. "What the fuck?" he couldn't help but ask, looking up at Tom and Hermione in alarm.
"I believe it... likes you." Tom answered, face suddenly tight as he glared down at the ring. Harry turned his gaze back to it too, oddly fascinated and drawn in a way he couldn't quite explain but remembered now from when Voldemort had first given the ring to him. He wondered at which point he'd stopped feeling that draw, but couldn't quite place a time.
"It likes me?" He repeated cautiously, "as in, it's sentient?"
"No," Tom instantly rejected, shaking his head. "It's not sentient, it's magic. Certain pieces of magic can attune themselves more strongly to a witch or wizard and the magic on the ring appears to have chosen you."
"Huh," Harry said, still staring at the ring. "What–"
"Later," Hermione interrupted him again, though her tone had softened somewhat. "You can ask your questions later– right now we have an... appointment that we need to keep."
Harry let Hermione tug him after her, Fleur following close beside them again, as Tom started to once more lead the way to his counter-part. His mind was spinning and he was moving in a haze, of sorts, one of confusion and betrayal and fascination, until the prickle of Voldemort's magic yanked him from his head and to the present.
Waiting in one of the anterooms that branched off from the main ballroom, the private chambers designed for the discretion of attendees to events should privacy be required in order to discuss some important matter or another, Voldemort cut a handsome, intimidating figure. Harry easily noticed the subtle way Fleur went very still at the sight of the Dark Lord in his 'Thaddeus' disguise, despite her speed at hiding her response– probably because he'd reacted in a nearly identical manner.
"Harry, Hermione, Tom," Voldemort greeted them smoothly.
"Uncle," Hermione returned the polite greeting while Tom dipped his head sharply in acknowledgement and Harry tried to smile.
"Did you have a good Yule?" He asked, injecting cheer into his voice. He could feel Hermione's hand tighten around his to the point of pain and was careful not to wince.
"I did indeed." Voldemort said, brief amusement visible on his handsome face. "Thank you for inquiring." The amusement disappeared from his face as swiftly and suddenly as it had appeared, leaving behind the bland mask of politeness he was accustomed to seeing. "Harry, Hermione," the Dark Lord said, addressing them both. "Tomorrow Tom will escort you to the location where you spent the summer holidays as there are several things we need to discuss but a meeting with my old friends is being arranged for tonight, so you will need to leave Malfoy Manor by no later then a quarter to twelve. Understood?"
Harry nodded wordlessly, Hermione speaking a quiet agreement beside him, and Voldemort nodded. "You may leave." He told them, and Harry was very confused for a moment about why the Dark Lord had ordered them to be here only to tell them they'd have to leave the Gala before midnight, but his confusion resolved itself when Voldemort's eyes turned to focus on Fleur. "Not you, Miss Delacour." He said, a far-too pleasant smile appearing on his face. "We have much to discuss, dear. In private." Voldemort's words had a clear meaning but Harry stayed frozen in place, reluctant and afraid to leave Fleur alone with the Dark Lord. Voldemort let out a put-upon sigh. "I'm not going to hurt her." He said, exasperated, "now get out before I make you."
There was no room for leniency in his words this time and, not seeing an option as he didn't want to make an issue of it, Harry gave Fleur a weak smile before allowing Hermione to lead the way in silent exit. Her face had smoothed over and turned blank, but Harry knew just how affected she really was by leaving Fleur too– she was still holding onto his hand, after all, and he could feel the bones in it grinding together as she kept tightening her grip in her anxiety.
Exiting the anteroom and stepping back into the main ballroom, Harry turned to Tom, opening his mouth to demand to know what Voldemort wanted with Fleur and then start demanding answers about the whole ring thing, when Draco's sudden appearance put halt to all of that.
"Oh thank Merlin you're here," the blond exclaimed, looking immensely relieved as he practically skidded to a halt in front of them. "I hope you've written a will because I think Snape might actually kill you." He added, after a handful of confused seconds where Harry and Hermione both stared at their uncharacteristically flustered-looking friend.
"Oh shit." Hermione said, her eyes widening.
"What did we do?" Harry immediately started panicking.
"Besides apparently tell him you were staying here?" Hissed Draco
"In our defence, we thought we were when he asked," pointed out Hermione and Draco glared at her.
"Feel free to tell him that!" He snapped. "He's been trying to get into contact with you both since the day we took the express home! Come on, if he realises you're here and I haven't taken you straight to him he'll kill me too!"
"Live hard, die young, leave a pretty corpse." Hermione sighed. "Fine. Lead the way Draco, let's go find out what we've done."
"What you've done this time." Draco corrected.
"Fine, what we've done this time."
"We're not that bad." Harry protested.
"Yes you are," Draco said darkly.
Tom flicked his fingers in a mocking wave, looking far too amused as Draco started to drag them off. Harry, after shooting a glare over his shoulder at the older boy, frantically ran through everything he and Hermione had been doing leading up to the end of term. He couldn't think of anything that had happened recently that could have caused Snape to want to see them so urgently, but there was a lot of other crap that their head of house could have uncovered that had gone down over their past three and a bit years at Hogwarts.
Really, when Harry thought about it the possibilities seemed endless– endless and terrifying.
It was almost a relief to arrive at Lucius's study– almost– but his stomach still crawled with anxiety as Draco knocked.
"Enter," Snape ordered in his deep baritone and Draco mouthed 'you're on your own' before turning and practically fleeing back to the ballroom. Harry didn't blame the blond as he stepped inside, Hermione next to him, and came face to face with his head of house and the dangerously smooth expression that the man was wearing.
"Mister Potter, Miss Granger," Snape said in a silky voice that was a warning sign in and of itself and had Harry swallowing nervously and trying not to fidget in place. "If either of you had anything to do with this," he slammed a copy of the Daily Prophet down on Lucius's desk, the headline on the front page screaming 'HOW SAFE IS HOGWARTS? STUDENT FOUND HALF-DEAD ON SCHOOL GROUNDS!', in an abrupt move that had Harry flinch and Hermione's hands twitch presumably for a weapon, "I will kill you." Snape finished with a pleasant smile.
"I am being one hundred percent honest when I say I genuinely have no idea what this is about," Hermione said, actually looking shocked that she didn't. Harry was too.
"As opposed to when you're being less then one hundred percent honest about where you're staying over the holidays?" Snape asked pointedly.
"Yes, as opposed to that." Hermione agreed readily.
"I really did think we would be staying with Draco, sir," Harry said miserably, already predicting a never-ending row of detentions in his future.
"Obviously," Snape said through gritted teeth, "you are not."
"Weasley?" Hermione asked suddenly and Harry realised she'd been reading the newspaper article on Lucius's desk. "Weasley's the one that was found half dead? How utterly frustrating. Did they get interrupted midway through?"
"Miss Granger, this is no joking matter!" Snape snapped.
"I know," Hermione replied calmly, "and that's precisely why it's so frustrating. If I'm going to have to suffer through all the fuss of being blamed for this, then the least the actual culprit could have done was finish the job. Weasley isn't even dead and now Dumbledore's going to be unbearable."
"So you really didn't attack him?" Snape asked, looking honestly relieved by that fact.
"I'd swear it under veriteserum if you had any," Hermione told him firmly. "I'm not lying, Professor, and I've got an alibi. Well, I've got an alibi of sorts, anyway– I'll be more then happy to give the investigators a copy of my memories during the time which Weasley was attacked. Though if the article is correct in that Moody is the one investigating then I'm afraid I'll have to insist that the Ministry has a female Auror view them."
"Dare I ask why?" Snape asked, already looking like he was dreading the answer.
"Because during that specific time period my boyfriend was performing oral sex on me, sir." Hermione said with a perfectly straight face. "We then went on to have some very satisfying sexual intercourse."
Harry made a sound like he was dying. "Oh god, you're talking about the night of the Yule Ball," he whimpered into his hands, not able to look Snape in the eye. "Oh god," he repeated, remembering just exactly what they'd gotten up to that night after Hermione had talked him down from his mortification at being caught by Snape practically with his pants down. It hadn't taken her that long to convince him when he'd seen the lingerie she was wearing under the dress and then they'd– "Oh god," he repeated a third time, looking up to give Hermione a horrified look, "that was the night you conjured the–"
"Yes, and then we tried that new thing I'd read about in–"
"Wait, does that mean they're going to see when I–"
"Oh believe me, Harry, my memory of that is very vivid, almost as vivid as after that when we–"
"Enough!" Snape interrupted them. Harry turned to see his Professor literally massaging his temples, a pained expression on his face. "Unless it involved Weasley then I don't want to know what you did that night. Emphatically so, in fact. Not letting Moody be the one to view the memories is a good play, even better considering the fact you have a plausible reason to refuse him that we will not ever be discussing. We need to get as many unbiased people involved in this investigation as possible. Hermione," Snape paused, looking at his best friend with grave eyes and Harry swallowed, sensing the seriousness of the moment as he addressed Hermione by her first name for the first time that evening. "Dumbledore and Moody will try to pin this on you. I need you to be completely honest with me about everything that happened that night if we want to keep you from being expelled at best and sent to Azkaban at worst."
"Professor, I swear I did not do this," Hermione said, looking him straight in the eye, "I'll swear it on my magic if I have to but I did not do this."
"I believe you," Snape said, his face suddenly looking very tired. "Now we just have to make sure everyone else does too."
-
"Come on, we need to find Neville," Hermione muttered as they left Lucius's study nearly an hour later.
"What? Why do we need to find Nev?" Harry asked bewildered, letting her drag him along. She gave him a frustrated look.
"Have you forgotten just who it was that broke his thumb on Weasley's face the night of the Yule Ball?" She snapped and Harry felt the blood drain from his face as realisation settled over him like ice.
"Oh god," he whispered and she nodded grimly.
"Exactly."
"Oh my god!" he repeated, panicked. "What do we do?"
"If we want to make sure Neville doesn't get expelled and sent to Azkaban? Two things," Hermione said grimly, eyes hard and expression stony. "We need to get Neville to keep his mouth shut and we need to make sure Ron Weasley never wakes up."
"Piece of cake then," he said, faintly.
"Nobody will be looking in Neville's direction, Harry, as long as he doesn't give them any reason to," Hermione said firmly, "and we need to make sure Weasley doesn't give them a reason to either by regaining consciousness."
"So while you were telling Snape that you didn't attack Weasley, you were planning how you're actually about to kill him?" Harry asked weakly.
"Well, I wasn't planning on doing it myself for obvious reasons, but yes." Hermione said, pausing slightly. "I suppose I can see the irony the situation."
"The situation being that we're planning how to murder one of our classmates!" Harry hissed.
"Well you can choose, then, Harry," Hermione snapped, "it's Neville or Weasley and I don't particularly care either way, but I rather thought you'd like to keep Neville around!"
"I– of course I'd pick Neville!" Harry protested.
"Then don't you judge me for coming to the logical conclusion of what will have to happen if we want to keep Neville from being charged with attempted murder!" Hermione hissed. "You don't get to be all self-righteous one moment and then expect me to solve all your problems the next!"
"I'm sorry," Harry said quietly, a sinking feeling in his stomach. Hermione's face was flushed with anger and she was glaring fiercely at him.
"You can be such a hypocrite sometimes, Harry," she said, her voice low and furious, "you judge Tom and I for what we do, but don't forget you're a murderer too. How many people have you killed? Do you even remember the number?"
Harry immediately wrenched his arm from hers, taking two big steps back and away from her. "Don't talk about that!" He snarled.
"Well I remember the number. Do you want to hear it?" She snarled right back, "I can give you dates too, starting with June 6th, 1994; the day that you murdered Black!"
"Shut up!" He shouted at her furiously. "Shut up!"
"What is going on out here?" Snape demanded, storming out of Lucius's study. Harry realised he was panting with rage as he glared at Hermione who was glaring right back at him.
"Nothing Professor," she spat, "We were just discussing morality and hypocrisy. I'm going to find Tom; you go do what you like, Harry, but don't come begging for me to fix everything– whatever happens, whatever you decide, it'll all be all on you this time. No more hiding behind Tom and I, thinking you're so much better then us because your hands are clean– you're just as filthy as the rest of us and it's time you realise that!" Hermione gave him one last furious, contemptuous look before storming away.
"What," Snape said, in a very low voice, "in Salazar's name happened in the five minutes between you both leaving the study and now?"
"We had a difference of opinion," Harry said, furiously. Snape pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Astonishingly enough, that much was very obvious." He said, voice strained. "Care to extrapolate?"
Harry shook his head. "I can't."
"Of course not." Snape muttered. "Tell me, is this your first significant argument since you became... romantically involved?"
"Um," Harry said, his anger receding slightly as he thought back. "Yeah, I think so."
"So now I'm reduced to marriage counsellor." Snape said sourly. "Wonderful. Let me pass on some advice, Mr. Potter." Harry winced at the reversal back to his surname. By now he knew that that was a sign of how deeply annoyed Snape was.
"Advice, sir?" He asked, tentatively.
"I have known Lucius and Narcissa for many years now," Snape said stiffly, "and if there is one thing I have learned from observing their relationship, it's that in an argument Narcissa is usually right. My advice to you is that you think very carefully about what Miss Granger said once you have a clear head. Odds are that you'll find yourself having to figure out a way to apologise. Lucius usually turns to jewellery, but I have a feeling Miss Granger would prefer something different."
"Like sex?" Harry asked without thinking then immediately went red. Snape sighed heavily.
"Books, Mr. Potter." He said, a long-suffering expression on his face, "I was talking about books."
"Right," Harry mumbled, wishing the earth would just open up and swallow him whole.
"Teenagers," muttered Snape, shaking his head. "Only one thing on their minds."
"We also think a lot about Quidditch, Sir." Harry said before he could stop himself and Snape gave him a truly withering look, not even deigning to respond before striding off in the direction of the ballroom.
Harry sighed, slumping back against one of the walls and letting himself slide down it so he was sitting on the gleaming marble floor. It was cold and hard and Harry tucked up his legs so he could fold his arms over his knees and rest his chin on them. Without the anger that had exploded so suddenly and surprisingly out of him, he was able to think more clearly about the argument he'd just had. Snape, he thought forlornly, was probably right.
He was a hypocrite, judging Tom and Hermione for their lack of a moral compass when the fact he had a moral compass but chose to ignore it made him worse then them in a way. Hermione was right– he had blood on his hands too. Those people he'd killed in Riddle Manor were already half dead and finishing them off had been a mercy that most of them had actually thanked him for– the ones still conscious or able to talk, that is. Sirius Black, though, he had no real excuse for; he'd killed Black because he'd valued what the man's death could bring him more then he'd valued Black's life.
"Fuck." Harry said miserably. He felt like the world's biggest arse and wanted nothing more then to go hug Hermione but Snape was right. He needed some sort of gesture, to show her he was really sorry.
How difficult would it be to get to St Mungo's from here?
-
Finding Hermione was easier then Harry thought it would be. All he'd had to do was give Voldemort a pleading look when he returned to the ballroom and the Dark Lord had gestured in the direction where Tom was– Voldemort and Tom were always aware of each other's presence.
Both Tom and Hermione were standing near the room where guests hung up their cloaks and Hermione still looked furious. Harry gave her a meek look when she fixed that furious look on him, knowing he probably deserved it. "You were right," he said miserably, "I'm an arse. And a hypocrite."
"Yes you fucking are," she snapped while Tom leaned against the wall, apparently content to just watch them argue because he was also an arse.
"I'm sorry," Harry said, earnestly. "Really, I am. I didn't mean to lose my temper, it was just... a hard truth to come to terms with."
"Get over here," Hermione ordered, seizing a handful of the front of his robes as soon as he was in arm's reach. She dragged him into the cloak room, Tom following behind, and shoved him down so he was on his knees then gave him a sharp push that knocked him onto his back. She dropped down so she was straddling him, Harry gasping as she didn't try to soften her landing and the air was knocked out of him. Her movements were hard and angry as she pulled his pants and boxers down over his hips and flipped up her skirts. Harry had a moment to think that he'd been right earlier with Snape after all, and then she was jerking him with fast, rough movements.
Tom crouched down beside them and Harry hissed in pain as the older boy used his hair to pull his head up high enough that he could lean over to kiss him, hot and demanding, but he still kissed him back, opening his mouth to the wet slide of tongue that was hard and dirty and greedy.
Hermione didn't seem inclined to be patient, to take her time, and sooner than Harry thought was sensible she was sinking down into him. At the same time she leaned forward to catch the stretch of his neck bared to her by Tom's grip on his hair in a sharp bite. When she pulled back, her mouth was red and wet and when she licked her teeth and lips, his blood stained almost the same shade as her lipstick.
"F–fuck," Harry gasped, partly at the sharp burst of pain and partly at the sensations that accompanied the tight heat of Hermione squeezing around him. Hermione didn't give either of them time to adjust before she was rising her hips up again and starting up a punishing pace.
It was good, really good, but it hurt slightly– too much friction. And despite the way he was buried inside Hermione, it felt more like he was the one being fucked. The bite to the neck was only the beginning too, with Hermione sliding her hands under the sleeves of his blazer and shirt to score lines of nail marks down his forearms and causing tiny, piercing shocks to snap across his skin as she bit her way along his collarbone, not drawing blood but leaving behind small red welts. She had trapped his hands against the ground and was gripping his wrists in a tight vice of fingers that caused a sharp grind of wrist bones when she moved up and down on him and it hurt, it hurt; it was fast and violent and far more painful then what he'd typically go for, but Hermione was so gloriously fierce and beautiful and all consuming that Harry didn't even care.
When Hermione leaned in close, her red shining lips at his ear, and ordered, "Bite my shoulder as hard as you can," Harry obeyed, setting his teeth to her trapezius and doing exactly as instructed and Hermione let out a harsh cry and came immediately, Harry following straight after.
They lay there panting for several moments before Hermione stood up and Harry managed to bully his limbs into doing the same, though his legs threatened to collapse out from under him as he did so. "Does this mean we're good?" He asked, his voice sounding punch-drunk. Hermione leaned forward and bit his neck in response, the same place as before, causing a sudden, startling lance of sharp, cutting pain. He hissed, wincing, but the pain only took a moment to turn to a steady burn. "Ow," he complained when she pulled back and smiled, her mouth wet and red.
"Now we're good," she said, kissing him again but gentle this time. Harry could taste the sweet-copper tang of his blood as she slid her tongue in his mouth but it wasn't a bad sort of flavour. Tom made a growling sound and Harry glanced over and realised just how aroused the older boy was, his pupils so dilated they looked almost black with only a thin ring of crimson visible. "I think you should do this one, Harry," Hermione said suddenly, her voice sweet and expression mischievous, and Harry looked at Tom nervously but stepped forwards into the older boy's space anyway.
"Fuck," muttered Tom, expression hungry and predatory as he curled his hand in Harry's hair and yanked him into a greedy kiss before pulling back. With his hand still in Harry's hair, Harry knew instinctively what Tom wanted him to do. He took a deep, shaky breath as he lowered himself to his knees and his hands were trembling slightly as he unlaced the front of Tom's dress-robes. He then froze for a moment, just staring at Tom's exposed hardness. He knew that if he said he wasn't ready neither Tom or Hermione would push, but Harry thought maybe, just maybe, he was ready. Steeling up his courage, Harry leaned forward took Tom into his mouth.
It was not neat. It was messy, with spit and slime dripping down his face as he tried to make up for his inexperience with enthusiasm. Tom felt impossibly huge in his mouth and tasted salty and bitter. When the hand in his hair suddenly forced him to take more down his throat then he was ready for, Harry gagged, taken by surprise by the action and stopped sucking, pulling away so he could glare up at Tom. "Do that again and you can get yourself off," he snapped before returning to the task at hand. Well, the task at mouth.
It felt awkward and strange and like he was trying to fit something where it just didn't fit, but he eventually got a sort of rhythm going. Remembering how good it felt when Hermione swallowed his whole length, once he was a bit more comfortable with the new activity Harry tried curiously to do the same. He managed to get part of Tom's erection down before his throat constricted and he gagged. He tried a few more times to relax and swallow but didn't manage to get very far and the excess gagging caused more saliva to soak his chin, dripping down in strands.
The constriction of his throat from his efforts seemed to be enough, however, and Tom's hand tightened in his hair, tugging sharply and causing sharp flicks of pain in his scalp. "I'm about to come," he warned and Harry considered pulling back but he wasn't quick enough to make a decision before Tom was spilling warm and salty in his mouth and down his throat. Harry immediately started choking and pulled off Tom so he could gag and cough for air.
"I did warn you," Tom said amused, tucking himself away before kneeling down to cup Harry's face in his hands as he wheezed for breath. "You've got come on your face," he said, sounding immensely satisfied by the fact. To Harry's surprise, the older boy then leaned forwards and licked it off before pressing their mouths together in a surprisingly slow, gentle kiss. Harry's mouth felt soft and swollen from his previous activities and Tom looked far too smug when he pulled back.
"You're such an arse." He muttered as the older boy helped him stagger back to his feet. He used the expensive sleeve of his blazer to wipe across his chin and prodded the silk collar of his shirt, pulling a face when he realised just how soaked in saliva it was. "Urgh," he groaned. "Great."
"Don't worry," Hermione said, voice laced with amusement as she fiddled with one of her hair combs, releasing a tumble of curls to cover up the hickey on her shoulder that would match Harry's teeth perfectly, "that was fairly impressive for your first try and you'll get better at it."
"Because I was worrying about that so much," Harry said sarcastically, though he actually did feel a bit relieved he hadn't just completely embarrassed himself.
"Here," Tom said, pulling out his wand and flicking it in Harry's direction. He felt his robes warm briefly and was relieved to feel the wet feeling around his neck disappear.
"Thanks." He said before turning to Hermione and meeting her eyes. "I choose Neville." He told her firmly and after a long moment she nodded.
"Alright," she said, "we'd better go find him. And then we have a murder to plan."
"Let's hope Fleur's having more luck then we are." Harry offered up weakly and Hermione grimaced.
"I'm still trying not to think about that."