The Gold Puppet

Disclaimer: Well ... if we do own the HP series, we wouldn't be writing fanfics and we wouldn't be writing Tom/Hermione ... because Tom will be ... *look at each other and starts sniggering evilly*.

By: Serpent In Red and Nerys

A/N: Thanks to all of you for reading, rating, and most of all, reviewing: Lady Miya, Chays020, Elspethe, and Elisa.

Chays020: “O.K. I take it back -- cup torture is awesome.” – *snnnrrkks* Well, (checks shoulders to see if it is safe to continue) I really, really enjoyed having Hermione taunt Tom and tell him he is not doing things right in that chapter. It’s so much fun to do, especially since you know he won’t be used to something like that and Hermione … well, she can lecture all day long. XD Yes, you’re right; redhead git should be good for something, bringing Tom and Hermione closer is just the right part for Ron. *sniggers*

Elspethe: *gigglesnort* “total creeptastic, non-con, slightly alcohol induced way” – Well, that’s how we write it. XD And we’re glad you like it this much. Hope you’ll enjoy this chapter just as much.

Elisa: “ you two DARED to leave the story with such a cliffie” – Yes, we DARED. Eh, we ship LV-HG… so naturally we have to be evil. *insert maniacal cackle* A thing or two, right? OK, now you made me curious. LOL.
“I'd say there was too much sex for me to consume (yeah, that definitely sounds strange) in one chapter. It could have been a bit more subtle. Heck, a lot more. Too soon too much.” – It’s a curse, not real – it was meant as punishment for her biting him and well … making him feel things he doesn’t want to feel. ROFL. So, hence, it was not subtle at all for that reason. Although, Tom did error in a subliminal manner at the start of his punishment, because her clothes were more for a dominatrix then. But, of course, Mr. Control Freak can’t stand the idea that he enjoyed that, which led to overkill on his side on the slave part. But yes, this entire part was too much, but that was on purpose. You will see in this chapter that the “real” lemons are less over the top, because yes, that does need development.
“And Nerys, could you one day or another subtly remind Serpie that her 'Colours' remain terribly unfinished! Such shame.” – Serpie’s life at the moment is insanely hectic. I know she would rather like to write fanfics, but she just can’t find the time. Hopefully, some day in the future it will get better, but right now, you and I can remind her all we like – it’s not going to happen soon.
Interesting history book you have – I want to borrow it straight away. XD
Thank you for reviewing and hope this wasn’t too long a wait.

Apprentice: Just to let you all know, I haven't forgotten about my other story, but the muse on it is rather difficult at the moment and the next chapter's progress is going incredibly slow. Like wanting to pull my hair out, so slow. But don't worry, this happened to me with Bittersweet a lot, too. So, I know eventually the next chapter will get done - just not as fast as before.

Added warnings for this chapter: Voy, HJ.

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The Gold Puppet

Chapter Ten

The first thing Hermione noticed, when she entered the bar, was how warm it was inside; she assumed it was because of the crowdedness. It was relatively large, compared to how it looked from the outside. Tables were randomly placed throughout the rest of the area, and booths lined two of the walls, while the cabinets and shelves of different bottles of drinks stood against the wall directly across from the entrance, with a bar table in front of it. Most of the seats were already filled except for the booth in the far corner, which struck her as odd seeing it seemed to be the most private, comfortable, and cleanest space in the entire shady setting.

A cloud of smoke engulfed her, and she was thrown into a round of coughing fits. A hand was immediately placed over her nose and mouth, blocking the sensations.

"The smoke from Whomping Willow leaves aren't the best things for one's health," he explained quietly.

His magic swirled around her, making her sway slightly, but he steadied her with a carefully placed hand in her side and allowed her to lean her back against him. She didn't have time to contemplate on their intimate posture, for a cool sensation ran through her nose and straight to her lungs as his hand slid down from her face to her chin. Their contact made Hermione's cheeks turn a deep shade of red, especially when his fingers seemingly lingered on her lips. Thankfully, she could now breathe freely due to her handsome companion's spell, so she took a slow, deep breath in an attempt to slow down her heartbeat and the fluttering in her stomach.

She shot an irritated look at the table where the smoke came from, but the occupants there were, obviously, oblivious to it.

Similar to Blissflower Extract, Whomping Willow leaves also caused hallucinations. However, Whomping Willow leaves allowed the smoker to see hallucinations that he or she desired. Therefore, the price tag on the leaves was much higher than that on the extract. Nevertheless, the Ministry strongly prohibited the Whomping Willow leaves from being privately sold.

Trying to distract herself, she glanced back at the young man. "Aren't you afraid of the smoke?"

"I've got used to it," he replied, shrugging his shoulders slightly.

A frown appeared on her forehead at the notion that he did smoke, and something that was very illegal. He must have noticed the look on her face despite the minimal lighting in the bar, because he chuckled.

"I don't smoke it," he clarified, "but I do come here often, ever since my second year at Hogwarts, so the immunity does build up over time."

"Oh," she replied, a sense of relief washing over her.

What was wrong with her? Why should she care about whether he smoked or not? It really was none of her business. So, she bit her lower lip to stop herself from further enquiring about more personal details about him.

To hide her discomfort, she lowered her head and walked forward, failing to see the satisfied look on his face as he followed behind her with his hand now on the small of her back. When she tried to stop and sit down at the first available empty table, his hand slid from her back to her side again and his other hand came to rest on her shoulder, preventing her from sitting down. She looked back over her shoulder at him, raising her eyebrows questioningly.

He nodded to the empty booth in response.

"It's reserved for someone," Hermione replied, pointing with her finger to the folded card on the table. She'd just spotted it as they'd got closer.

The right corner of his mouth curved up. "I did tell you I know the owner of this place," he reminded her courteously before he made her walk on with just a little pressure of his hand on her body.

He'd be an excellent partner to dance with, she considered when she realised how easily she'd taken his lead. "So, you were on your way here when I bumped into you?"

"Yes," he lied smoothly, despite the scraping sound of his voice, but she didn't need to know that table had been and always would be reserved for Lord Voldemort. "Though, I didn't count on having such a lovely companion."

He sent her a charming smile, as she turned to him when they reached the booth. Shyly, Hermione looked down. Gee, what was the matter with her? Some handsome bloke gave her a compliment, and suddenly, she didn't know what to say anymore?

"Ladies first," he said, gesturing at the booth's seat.

"Thank you," she replied politely and sat down, expecting him to take the opposite bench, but he didn't; he moved right next to her.

"I prefer facing a crowd as this," he explained casually. "Sometimes it can get violent in here."

Hermione nodded. It was why she had chosen the bench against the wall as well. She had already seen some of the stares in her direction, and being Hermione "Potter's Mudblood" Granger, she sure as hell wasn't moving to the other side in a place filled with possible people who might have a problem with her existence—no matter if she was stuck in the corner now. She glanced at the alluring man next to her. There was just something about him that attracted attention, something that she couldn't place her finger on, and it wasn't just his looks.

"I don't even know your name," she blurted out as the realisation struck her.

That enchanting smile reappeared on his face again as he held out his hand.

"Seth," he said.

"Hermione," she replied, taking his outstretched hand and feeling his long slender fingers curl around hers. "Do you play piano?" she asked, and then, wanted to sink into the soft leather bench for blurting that out since it clearly showed that she was noticing the tiniest of details about him.

An amused glint flashed through his eyes and he shook his head.

"Unfortunately, I've never got enough time to learn," he answered. "I've been too busy sticking my nose into books."

Hermione's eyes visibly brightened at the mention of her favourite objects.

"You like to read, too?"

"Of course," he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Most of the males I know only care about Quidditch," she countered.

"Mmm," he merely replied with a small upward curve of his mouth. "They can't be too bright then."

She giggled and was about to say something when a rather short, light-grey haired man with a dirty apron rushed over to them, his eyes solely on the man she was with. He opened his mouth, "Mi—"

Tom held up his hand and leaned forward, sending the proprietor a cold, warning glare that would have frozen freshly erupted lava. "How many times do I need to remind you not to call me Mister MacDougal, Marty? It's Seth."

"So—sorry, Seth," Marty quickly responded; his many wrinkles set apologetically. "I—I—"

"No need to tell me the specials, Marty. I'll have a steak, medium rare, with a bottle of your finest wine."

"And what can I get—?" The man turned his head to Hermione and his eyes widened.

"I trust you recognise Miss Hermione Granger, one of the people who contributed the most towards the downfall of,"—a mocking smile, that went unnoticed by Hermione but not by their elderly waiter, appeared on his face—, "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

"Oh ... Miss Granger ... uh ..." His eyes flashed between He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and her, while his mouth was slightly ajar.

"Really, Marty, you're being rude. You're acting like you've never seen a famous person before. She'll have the same as me," Tom ordered shortly. "Thank you, Marty."

Before Hermione could object, Marty had already walked away.

"I am not hungry," Hermione said, looking at Seth somewhat annoyed. As if she couldn't choose what she wanted herself, and she'd been the one who'd offered him a drink, not an entire bleeding bottle plus meal.

"Well, you may be feeling that way now, but I'd feel better if you put some food inside of you. You obviously had a bit of a shock earlier, and trust me, once you've eaten something, it will help."

Hermione didn't answer, but it was obvious from the stubborn look on her face and the way she stared straight forward, that she wasn't convinced.

"Should I apologise for ordering for you?" Tom said with a teasing undertone. "I just thought you'd be happier if I got rid of Mr. Subtle quickly. I imagine all the silly stares you get from people, just because you're Harry Potter's best friend, can get rather tiresome."

She sighed. "Yeah, they can be."

She quieted, still not looking in his direction. She had been upset about him ordering for her first, but now another scary thought had risen. He'd known who she was all along. What if he told some reporter about how he had found her in Knockturn Alley? What if everything about her relationship with Ron would become front page news? How he had preferred to fuck some hooker over her? Skeeter would pay good money for this information just to spite her. Nervously, her fingers fiddled with her skirt, trying to iron out some of the crinkles. Would he be the type to tell or could she trust him to keep it a secret? She really didn't know the first thing about this man, and most of the blokes she had known in her life ... well, they weren't exactly the most discreet people out there—Harry being the only positive exception to that rule.

Her eyes darted sideways, only to be caught by his presentation of himself. He'd taken off his outer robe, which lay neatly folded on the other bench, and he'd shifted his posture, angled it sideways toward her, giving her a good view of his impeccably ironed, short-sleeved, white shirt and a teasing glimpse of his sinewy chest since the top three buttons were left undone. He had nice looking arms, she noted, not overly muscular but also not too skinny. He'd crossed his long legs, making the fabric of his black pants almost brush her legs. His elbow leaned on the backrest, giving support to the palm of his hand, which cupped his head. His fingers were embedded in his short black locks, undoing the overly neat hairdo, while his other hand rested casually on his knee. When her eyes moved back up, she found his dark brown gaze upon her, and for some reason, she just couldn't look away.

"What's bothering you?" his low rasped voice asked oh so gently, breaking the trance she was in.

"You've known who I was all along?" she enquired, her voice barely higher than a whisper.

Nodding slightly, he said, "Your face was on the front page of the Daily Prophet a couple of times. It was hard to miss." He withdrew his hand from his hair and placed it on the backrest behind her, leaning in further. "I thought you'd be aware of your fame by now. It's why I thought you didn't want people to see you in that situation with your boyfriend, so it wouldn't make headlines tomorrow. I am truly sorry if that's made you uncomfortable around me. I didn't mean to keep it a secret that I knew your identity. I thought it was obvious I would know who you are." He withdrew away from her completely, uncrossed his legs, and faced forward. His previous intimate, considerate tone turned formal. "I'll call Marty and tell him to scratch the order. You don't need to stay here with me."

"No," she said hastily, placing her hand on his upper arm.

Tom looked back at her questioningly.

"No," she repeated certainly, "it's alright. It's not your fault. I just overreacted. I was worried ..."

She felt her eyes beginning to tear up again, and she couldn't finish her sentence out of fear of falling apart. It had been so humiliating to find Ron like that. They'd never even got to do it together and he preferred that foul, old, filthy-looking prostitute over her? She dropped her head, hiding her face behind her bushy hair. Apparently, she wasn't fooling anyone, because a handkerchief was held out towards her silently. She accepted it gratefully and dried up her tears before blowing her nose.

"Thanks," she whispered, staring at the handkerchief in her clasped hands, not wanting to hand him a snotty cloth back. She reached for her wand.

"Keep it," he said gently. "Ah food!" he called out loud in a diversion tactic when he saw the proprietor approaching. "It's about time, Marty. I wondered if you still had to catch the cow."

Marty let out a nervous chuckle and placed the plates on the table before them, while Hermione avoided looking at the man.

"My finest Bordeaux," he added, showing the bottle to Lord Voldemort.

"Mmm," he groaned, frowning. "Well, I suppose I can't expect miracles here. It'll do."

Relieved, Marty waved his wand around. The bottle uncorked and poured wine in both glasses that appeared on the table instantaneously. Marty placed the bottle next to Lord Voldemort's plate. "Is there anything else I can get you, M—Seth?"

"Just some privacy, Marty, and put it all on my tab will you?"

Hermione's head swivelled up.

"Naturally," Marty replied, scurrying away in a hurry.

"I was supposed to buy you a drink," she said accusatory.

Tom smirked at her. "This,"—he waved over the table—, "is not a drink."

"That's not the point," she hissed.

"It's not a lady's job to buy men drinks," said Tom, deliberately condescending.

Hermione bristled, not noticing his amusement that was concealed fabulously.

"And what is that suppose to mean?" she asked angrily, turning to him.

Perhaps she could punch something out of alignment in that perfection he seemed to strive at.

"Let's eat before it gets cold, Hermione," he replied, satisfied his distraction had caused her to forget her sorrows. "We can argue about it later."

He began cutting his steak before she had a chance to reply. Her mouth half ajar, she snapped it shut and shook her head. Unbelievable. One minute he would do something really nice and the next he would act like a ... a ... a male chauvinistic pig. Yes, that was it. Men, blech.

She stabbed the cow on her plate with her knife and fork more violently than necessary to cut it, and beside her, someone's shoulders shook slightly with contained laughter. After a couple of pieces of surprisingly good meat and nicely seasoned potatoes, she had to admit she did feel a lot better. Of course, she wasn't going to share that with Mr. Sexist over here. No, no need to—

"I propose a toast," Tom said lightly, picking up his wineglass by the stem and successfully stopping her thoughts.

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. "On what?" she asked, picking up her glass anyway.

"On very ... entertaining company," he teased, winking at her.

She scowled. He clinked their glasses together before she could react and drank the wine, while his eyes danced with merriment at her expense.

Realization dawned on her face, though it didn't appease her annoyance at him. Not in the least.

"You ... you did that on purpose? Ooh, that's so—so ..."

"Evil?" he suggested, sniggering. "You do know it's custom to drink after a toast?"

She could barely hold in the growl. Really. He obviously was impossible to be around. She downed the entire glass at once, causing him to raise an eyebrow. He leaned towards her, while his wand waved around, refilling her glass.

"I know it's not exactly quality wine, but that's the first time I ever saw someone down wine all in one go."

"Then you've obviously not seen much of the world." Hermione sniffed humorously, and she downed the second glass right after it, causing her body to flush from the heat that spread quickly with the alcohol rushing through her system. "There, now you've seen it twice." She refilled her glass herself, while adding mockingly, "And who knows? I might make it a pattern."

The third glass went the same road of least resistance, and she giggled at his stunned expression. "Apparently, I am a free woman again," she exclaimed in a forced carefree style. "So, I can celebrate and do what I want. This is a surprisingly good steak ... wouldn't expect it in a dump like this," she murmured, before putting another piece in her mouth.

They both finished their plates, while Hermione refilled the now empty bottle with a flick of her wand and poured them both some more wine.

"I knew a Morag MacDougal," Hermione recalled. "She was in my Arithmancy class, Ravenclaw. Family of yours?"

"My little sister," Tom said, restrained.

"Oh, she was really nice. How is she?"

He stared at the table, his hand clenched into a fist, causing his knuckles to turn white.

"Dead, as well as the rest of my family."

Hermione froze in her movement. Horror filled her face, while she looked at the completely blank expression of the man sitting next to her. Slowly, she put the glass down.

Too much wine. I am making stupid remarks, she scolded herself. "I am sorry."

"You couldn't know," Tom said quietly. "So many have died..."

"How did—?"

"How did I survive?" he finished her question humourlessly. "Stupid luck. I wasn't home."

They stared at their empty plates in silence for awhile.

"You were there," Hermione remembered.

"Pardon?"

"At the final battle, you stood in the doorway."

He gazed at her, and after a while, he said, "Yes, that was all I did, watching." He sounded bitter.

"You disappeared suddenly," she added softly.

"Left through the front door when it was over. There was nothing I could do anyway."

Hermione frowned. She recalled he'd disappeared in a blink of an eye, but then again, she hadn't been well that day, and you couldn't Disapparate at Hogwarts. Maybe she'd had a blackout then too, without noticing it? It wasn't a comforting thought.

"Yeah, I was a really big help," he snorted.

"I am sure you wanted to be," she replied, placing her hand on his arm comforting. "I am sure you could have done a lot if it had been necessary."

Tom sent her a weak smile, and she really wished she hadn't brought up the subject and made him so sad. It was bad enough she was miserable. She really hadn't wanted to spread it around to the one person who was kind to her. They needed a change of topic, but on what?

However, moments later, she remembered something that changed the expression on her face.

"You know how to do wandless magic?" she asked, fascinated.

He lowered his eyelids, humbleness radiating from him. "Only a few simple spells. It's really not that big of a deal—"

Despite his modesty, she could tell he was glad she changed the subject to something a bit lighter and decided to continue her enquiry. Well, this was something he could be proud of.

"I think it's fascinating," she praised him. "There are some people who have trouble with nonverbal spells, let alone wandless magic."

"Every child knows how to do it," he rebutted mildly.

"But that's not deliberate," she countered enthusiastically, "It's more a reflex, a natural instinct that just happens subconsciously when you don't think about it. It's very hard to do it on purpose, consciously."

She was really excited about this and waited for him to stop being so daftly unpretentious about it and elaborate on the subject. It really was a big deal to be able to do it. He glanced at her again with those bottomless eyes, and she gazed right back, till she noticed that she had been staring at him for far too long. Upon realising this, she felt her cheeks turning warm yet again—though not from the alcohol this time—so she looked away, placing her eyes on anything but the young man sitting right next to her.

So, she missed how outside, in the alley, a bleeding and bruised redhead leaned against the window, panting heavily, and how "Seth" whisked his wand around, casting several spells in a row fast. One of them caused the window to show Ron Weasley exactly what Lord Voldemort wanted him to see—Hermione with some unknown bloke. The other one would make sure the dunderhead would be unable to find the entrance to the establishment.

Said redhead suddenly squinted in their direction, noticing Hermione despite the bad lighting in the bar. Fury ran through Ron's features when he realised she was there with some blond bloke, who had his back turned to him. He pressed both his hands against the window in order to get a better visual.

And Tom Riddle knew he was going to relish and reap the rewards of what would happen next.

"You're still bleeding," he suddenly remarked, causing her to bring her attention back to him and then to her knee.

"Oh, I ... yeah ..." she murmured, her forehead wrinkling from the prickling pain that started again once she remembered she scraped her knee.

She was about to reach for her wand when he stopped her with his actions.

"Allow me," he said softly, and before she could answer, he lifted her legs gently onto his lap with one arm, knowing full well what it would look like to freckle-face outside.

He placed his hand on her knee and his free arm on the back of the bench behind her. Mentally, Hermione chided herself for skipping a heartbeat.

He gave her a charming smile. "You were interested in wandless magic, were you not?"

His eyes caught hers and she swallowed from the intensity that was suddenly overly present in his gaze. "Y-yes," she stuttered.

"Then, watch," he ordered.

She wanted to, but was somehow unable to break their eye contact. He stroked the inside of her leg gently, causing her to blink and move her attention to what he was doing to her knee. Seeing his pale hand there—just above the hem of her skirt—made her blush, but she wasn't doing anything wrong. He was just showing her something.

However, she was still fully aware of how intimate they seemed in this position. She didn't even know where to look any longer; she was afraid of the laughing glances she might get from the other people in the pub, and she was even more afraid of staring at Seth for longer than necessary. There was an inexplicable attraction that she felt towards the man, and it was rather ridiculous in Hermione's opinion. After all, she had only known him for less than an hour.

She felt the same swirl of magic dance around her body, and his fingers curled around her joint; heat travelled from his hand to her knee and forced its way up her body. Hermione swayed in the sensation, and she felt his arm wrap around her shoulders, keeping her upright.

"There," he finally announced, moving his hand upwards on her leg so that she could see her kneecap.

She smiled when she noticed that the injury was, in fact, completely healed.

"Thanks," she said, finally meeting his gaze. "That—that felt ... unusual, but not unpleasant."

"You're welcome," he answered, his breath brushing against her face.

She suddenly realised how close they were to one another, so close that she could feel it every time he inhaled and exhaled, so close that she could feel the warmth emanating from his body. She lowered her gaze, only to find that his hand was still on her thigh underneath her slightly raised skirt, and a furious blush blossomed on her cheeks when she acknowledged the fact that she didn't really mind.

It felt ... exciting, forbidden that he did that while they sat here right in the open for everyone to see.

His fingertips caressed the inside of her thigh lightly, and she tried to suppress the shudder that ran through her but wasn't entirely successful. She felt his breath against her cheek and raised her face, slightly afraid of what she would see in his eyes. She held her breath when his eyes exhibited a need so dark, it was overwhelming. It overtook her senses and his mouth was on hers before she could think straight.

It was wrong. So, so wrong. She had only known this man for less than an hour. But she knew she couldn't—didn't want to resist him.

So, she tilted her head and opened her mouth, meeting his tongue halfway. Her muffled moan vibrated through them. It made his actions more aggressive and forceful, kissing her like he was trying to mark her with his lips, his tongue, his teeth, exploring every inch of her mouth with his, while she returned the favour. His hand on her thigh squeezed, and he pulled her farther onto his lap, making her skirt ride up. Though it still covered her private area, it didn't cover what he was doing to her leg now or how eagerly she responded by spreading her legs slightly to grant him better access.

Her hands were in his hair, ruffling through the softness of it, while his arm around her shoulder tightened. Their kiss intensified. Merlin, she needed something. She needed something so badly, but it was just out of reach. She tilted her head to the other side to kiss him from a different angle, hoping it would satisfy that sudden craving inside the core of her being.

His hand was in her hair, forcing her in position, while she released his hair, letting her hands slide over his cheeks, down his neck, until it was on his chest. She grabbed on to the opening of his shirt, and the logical side of her brain told her that it would be unwise to rip off his shirt right then and there. So, she gripped on to it. The want of tearing it apart to gain access to his bare skin still caused the tips of her fingers to tingle.

A low growl escaped his throat as he massaged the inside of her leg, slowly making his way upwards. The sound in itself made her stomach flip in joy, and her moans became more and more audible as his hand got closer and closer to the place where she needed him most.

She couldn't think anymore; every single thought in her mind was on the man in front of her, and she let out a frustrated groan when he was not giving her what she wanted. A chuckle from him heightened her irritation, and she tightened her hold on his shirt. He flexed a bit of his magic and the fabric slipped through her fingers as if she had oil on her hands. She would have fallen back had he not had such a strong hold on her head.

"Rip it and I will make you pay," he threatened darkly.

It made her want to shred it to pieces straight away as in a dare and she did try, but was unable to gain a hold of it again. Frustrated, she moved her hands back to his hair. It had such a nice smooth texture, unlike hers. She stroked through it, while massaging his skull.

His smug smirk (which had taunted her when she had ignored his threat and unsuccessfully had tried to destroy his clothes) disappeared and he closed his eyes, groaning lightly. She really enjoyed how he suddenly clutched to her thigh as if to steady himself, to keep control, but she still felt the slight tremble of his body against hers and she caught his mouth ferociously, wanting to tear that control away. It felt so right being with him, though they were in public, and somewhere in the back of her mind—as ridiculous as it sounded—she knew she belonged with this man.

She clutched to his hair, trying to get him to come closer, as if it was at all possible, as if there was even a hair width of space between them.

Suddenly, he pulled her head back roughly. She gasped; her hands froze in his hair, and she stared into those dark eyes. His pupils had dilated so far—there wasn't a trace of brownness visible, and she could feel herself falling into the dark abyss of his gaze. Their eye contact didn't break as his fingers traced all the way up her thigh, underneath that small cloth of her skirt that was still there, until he reached her underwear. Slowly and gently, he drew small circles on the inside of her thigh, deliberately staying away from her core. His actions made her breathing more and more ragged, while her blood rushed through her veins. She shivered gently in his embrace, hoping he would give her what she was waiting for, and still, she could not look away from him.

His lips curved and he placed his hand against her knickers, watching her silently, not doing anything. She squirmed in his lap, trying to get some friction, but he merely squeezed his fingers, digging them into her flesh to hold her firmly in place, not granting her what she so desperately wanted, needed. She wrapped her fingers firmer in his hair, trying to move his head back to hers, but every inch of space she gained he undid by pulling her head back farther. She wanted to scream out in frustration. She could feel her blood pulsing in her pubic bone against his hand, and by Merlin, she needed a release. This was driving her crazy.

"Please, please," she finally begged, barely audible.

Sheer delight crossed his handsome features at her surrender. Tom forced her mouth back on his, right when he flexed every ounce of magic he had available through his hand right into her core. He loved how she screamed into his mouth during her climax, how she shook on his lap, in his arms. But what he loved best was that he'd just shown Ron Weasley and everyone else in this pub that this woman was his. That he'd concurred who was popularly conceived as the best friend of Harry Potter.

He loved it so much it was almost impossible to keep his composure. It already had been hard to not lose his cool at her diligent touches, especially when she practically dared him to make good of his threat. She really was full of surprises—nobody dared Lord Voldemort. It had made him harden instantaneously. But right now, in his moment of victory, he really wanted to throw her on the couch and fuck her brains out. He was happy he'd had the good sense to use a Concealing Charm on himself to prevent his erection from showing beforehand, because he needed to keep the upper hand with this cheeky, insolent witch. Her Horcrux had already proven to him how much trouble she could truly be if given free rein.

He readjusted her skirt, while holding her tightly with his other arm against his chest as she slowly came down from her high. Her body still trembled with little aftershocks as a reaction to his magic vacating. He noticed she wasn't meeting his eyes now; they were downcast in shame at what she'd just done so publicly. He knew that if he didn't want to blow every bit of progress he had made with her, he had to be disgustingly understanding and ... sweet right now.

So, after checking to make sure Ron Weasley had indeed left in a hurry, he kissed her on top of her head and drew her to her feet in his arms.

"Let's go," he ordered.

She glanced upward, seeking reassurance. He gave her that with his expression and by a light squeeze on her arms. He'd always been the best actor when necessary and she did respond with a feeble smile before she rested her head on his chest. It was more than he expected. He knew how morally repressed she held herself, so this was bound to shake her belief in her identity, while this was, in fact, nothing. She hadn't committed a crime or anything. She wasn't even really involved in a relationship with another anymore. But it would still make her doubt herself, and the more insecure she was, the easier to manipulate. He just had to make certain that insecurity wouldn't backfire on his person.

Gently, he took her hand. With a flick of his wrist, his cloak flew around her, covering her from head to toe. And then, he turned his back to her just when she was about to look at him gratefully. A vile smile along with an evil glint in his eyes became his expression, while he dragged her along behind him, moving just a bit too fast for her. It was as much an act for her as for the regulars of the pub, who knew precisely whom that table was reserved for. And right now, they had to understand the Mudblood was nothing special to him—he was just using her to obtain his goals.

He felt her stumble along behind him; sure it would cause her discomfort to heighten. He could feel the evidence of that in the way she clung to his hand, tightening her grip as if she was afraid to be left on her own. And he was very pleased to see some expected leers in her direction, though, he made a firm mental note of who they were, so he could come back later and "explain" to them she was his property.

Nobody, nobody looked at Lord Voldemort's property that way. She wasn't some cheap whore. His fingers tightened around her hand. Those fools should be castrated. All their feeble minds put together would not be capable of coming up with an ounce of what his Hermione was able to achieve. They should be kissing the floor she walked on. His temper flew through the roof and he suddenly turned to her.

Her eyes widened in fear at seeing his furious face.

But he pulled her against him and wrapped his arm around her shoulders protectively. He was very, very pleased to see the unease his gesture put on the faces of those who'd just leered at her demeaningly. And he made sure to gaze at each and every single one of them over her head, while his eyes flashed red, making them squirm in their seats uncomfortably. Satisfied that they'd got the message, he turned to the proprietor.

"Marty," he nodded courteously.

"M—Seth," Marty responded from behind his bar in kind.

A flick of his wrist flung open the doors, and he exited the pub, holding Hermione close against him.

---

His blue eyes were still on the pair of them as Ron shook his head. Well ... yes, he did fuck the whore back in the alley, but that didn't give Hermione the right to snog another—she was the one who cheated on him first! And the nerve of that bitch to make out with yet another man at a bar in Knockturn Alley in public!

He balled his hands into fists, resisting the urge to break down the window and throw hexes at every person in sight. But the pub was rather crowded, and this was a dangerous place to start fights in, as he had recently discovered. He rubbed his bruised chin and felt blood dripping on his hand. His Healing Charm hadn't done the trick enough and his nose still bled, though not as vigorously as before. She'd probably have something to say about his casting if she knew.

It's win-GAR-dee-um lev-ee-OH-sa, Ron, he mimicked Hermione, aggravated.

It was never good enough with her, never. Dammit, he'd show her and that Malfoy imitation she was with how smashing his fist looked on the bloke's face.

His eyes glanced around, attempting to find the entrance to the damned bar, but to no avail. So he continued glaring at Hermione snogging the unknown blond bloke, waiting for her to notice him—he couldn't wait to see the look of embarrassment that would appear on her face.

However, she never looked towards him. Ron watched as the man pulled her onto his lap, fondled her, and kissed her, while she returned his kisses and answered his ministrations.

What the hell was she doing!?

He knew she didn't care about other people seeing what she did when she'd snogged him during the battle, but really, that—that ... ferret impersonator had his hand up her skirt! He nearly blacked out from fury when he saw her climax under his touches, right in front of everyone in the bar.

In the past few weeks, it had become obvious to him that the witch had no scruples, but how could she do this to him? Had she never even considered his feelings?

He couldn't watch any longer. It was clear that she probably wouldn't even feel an inkling of guilt towards him, even if she knew that he had just seen her with another man. Perhaps she had even more of them out there? It disgusted him, and he needed to leave immediately. He needed space ... yes ... he needed space.

So, he ran in the opposite direction as fast as he could, determined to put as much distance between him and that man-eating bitch as he could. He finally stopped when he reached the front of what formerly was Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. He bent down and rested his hands on his knees, panting.

He was never going to forgive her. Remembering the fact that he used to fancy her thoroughly sickened him. After a few minutes, he finally straightened up.

So be it. She could snog as many men as she wanted; it was really none of his business anymore. He had been determined to break off the relationship ever since he'd seen her with Healer Lewis. This blond bloke only strengthened his determination. She could fancy all the blokes in the world, for all he cared. It was her loss their relationship was over, not his. No, he didn't care about her, at all. She wasn't the only girl in the world.

"Ron!" a female voice squeaked behind him, excited.

Before he had a chance to turn around completely, he was practically mowed down by a body jumping on top of him, causing several shopping bags to swing around and crash into his back, hard.

"Lav-Lavender," he replied, his voice muffled by her pashmina that got stuck partly in his mouth.

"It's so good to see you again. I never got to thank you after you saved my life by pulling me away from that curse of that horrific looking Death Eater. How's Harry? He must be really happy now, right?" One of her bags slipped, and she squealed as it hit the stone cobbles. "Oh no! Not my crystal ball for Parvati!" She unwrapped herself from Ron, squatted down, and opened the bag to check on the contents. "It's still intact. These are the best ones, says Sybill. Very expensive, though. But I'm getting everyone in our class gifts." She slammed her hand for her mouth. "I haven't got you anything, yet! Do you still play Quidditch?"

Ron opened his mouth, but she didn't wait for his reply and answered it herself. "Of course you do! You were brilliant at it. You have to come with me and help me pick a present for you. Do you know what Harry likes? I got Hermione a book on all the wizarding schools of the world. She'll love it. But I don't know what to give Harry," she ranted on, while stuffing her bags in his arms and dragging him along Diagon Alley. "Boys are always difficult to shop for. And we only have one hour before closing time!"

One hour.

Ron groaned. His mother was going to kill him. He was too late for their meeting.

"Something the matter?"

"I was supposed to meet my mother about ages ago, but now ..." He stared at Lavender as if she was a gift send by the angels. Hermione had been upset when he'd dated her, very upset. He still had the scars from those stupid birds. "Say, why don't you go with me? I am sure she would love to meet you."

"You want me to come with you to your family's house and meet your mother?" Lavender exclaimed enthusiastically, and she flung her arms around him. "You are always so kind. I'd love to."

"Well, we're staying over at Harry's at—"

He never got to finish his sentence, because Lavender jubilantly cheered when she heard that she was now invited at the Saviour of the World's house.

"Here we are," she declared when they reached the shop of Quality Quidditch Supplies. "Come on, Ron, hurry. We only have an hour, and now, I also have to get your mother something."

She flung open the door to Quality Quidditch Supplies and raced inside like a thundering Bludger, leaving Ron stumbling through the door with all her bags. But he didn't mind, he was suddenly looking forward to going home.

-