The Defining Prophecy

 

Author’s Note: Hermione’s birthday has arrived! Once again, multiple warnings relevant in this one, weak stomachs beware! This is the longest chapter yet, so settle in somewhere comfy, get some tasty drink, and prepare yourself! 

 

 

 

 

   Hermione’s adrenaline spiked. Her wounds were forgotten and she swiftly yanked her wand out of her sock, ignoring the protest in her ribs, not noticing the wound in her chest reopening. Death Eaters were here, threatening her home, threatening her friends…threatening Harry. All because of her. 

 

 

  “Hermione can you stand on your own? I-I have to help, she’s here Hermione, I know it…” His voice fell off into silence, as if he were unable to finish the sentence. Hermione could see the yearning for revenge clearly in his eyes. Bellatrix.

  

 

  Hermione gulped down her own fears, knowing that she couldn’t stop him. Honestly doubting if she truly wanted him to stop. It would be swift revenge and justice if Harry killed Voldemort’s most valuable soldier. Grim happiness filled her as she felt Harry’s magic flow off him in waves, surrounding her. His anger destroying the careful restrain he had always placed around his power, “Go Harry, I’ll be fine, Luna needs help anyway…just please, hurry back.” 

 

 

  Harry stared at her for a long moment, as if weighing the consequences of leaving her alone, Hermione laughed nervously, “Go on Harry, brightest witch of our age remember? I’m no typical damsel in distress, now GO!” Harry grabbed her gently but his brief kiss was rough, almost domineering. She watched him run down the hallway, wand drawn, until she lost sight of him amongst the crowd of battling wizards. 

 

 

  She turned her attention to the unconscious girl lying on the floor. Her first thought was to drag the girl into the Gryffindor common room, but quickly realized her damaged body’s limitations. A feeble attempt to pick Luna up made her ribs scream in hurt protest. Hermione moaned in pain and fell to her knees. Damn. 

 

 

  Levitating the poor girl did no good either. Hermione had not lifted the girl five feet in the air before blood started pooling below her at a rate far to fast for Hermione’s comfort. Double damn. 

 

  

  Change of plans. Hermione surveyed the area around them; dust, debris, and the occasional pool of blood made the Hogwarts hallway the last place on the planet someone should heal a person, but apparently she had no choice. Her shields went up quickly, she felt curses hit her boundaries occasionally but quickly assessed that the evil spells were not nearly strong enough to break her barriers. Minute confidence boost. 

 

 

  Luna’s wounds were bad, far outside Hermione’s healing comfort zone. The girl’s entire face was bloodied, her normally moonlight blond hair was stained a dark red…there was a massive hole near her temple. Blood poured from the wound freely. Hermione stifled a desperate cry, Luna’s legs were painfully distorted, obviously broken. One of her arms seemed to be dangling freely, painfully dislocated from her shoulder. Hermione felt tears building up behind her eyes, “Oh Luna, oh Luna your head.” Her mourning gave way to hyperventilating, her coughing and moaning became constant, breath eluded her. She struggled for several long minutes before she gained back a semblance of control. 

 

 

  There was blood in her mucus, but Hermione refused to worry about herself. This whole invasion was her fault wasn’t it? She deserved much worse than blood in her lungs. 

 

 

  Luna began stirring quietly, trying to move, weakly regaining consciousness. Hermione held the weak body still easily, “No Luna, don’t move. I’m going to help you but you must lie still.” The weak girl’s eyes fluttered shut. “Don’t go to sleep Luna! You must stay awake, focus on my voice Luna!”

 

 

  Her mind went quickly to the hypnotic incantations the Dark Lord had recited, she saw the words written clearly in the library. Hermione began clumsily, unsure of herself, but slowly the words began to flow more easily, “Supprimere sanguine Sana vulnus creare novum salutem in loco olim dolor Reformandam ossa est aedificare novo…” Her hands glided over Luna’s body, the complex movements of the incantation drifted over the blond girl with incredible ease. 

 

 

  Slowly, much more slowly than Hermione liked, Luna’s wounds began to heal. The blood flow from the head wound slowed, and then stopped. Her arm painlessly slipped back into the socket. 

 

 

  But that’s where the healing stopped, her legs made no move to mend, the wound in her head did not heal shut. 

 

 

  Hermione allowed a few tears to escape, feeling inadequate, despite the fact that Luna was staring at her with obvious admiration. “I’m so sorry Luna, I can’t heal you completely. I-I don’t know the spell well enough, but I’ll find someone who can help, just stay still.” Luna did not speak, but the look of admiration remained.

 

 

  Then Hermione felt her defenses shatter. 

 

 

  Harry and Bellatrix had appeared in the hallway and were battling viciously. Their deflected spells had hit Hermione’s shields and shattered them instantly. Hermione moved to guard Luna more completely, coughing up more blood in the effort, her body shaking sporadically. 

 

 

  Harry moved like a tiger stalking its prey. He was cold, calculated, and deadly; his spells were cast with unwavering precision. Hermione stared, in awe of him. When had he learned these spells? When had he become so powerful? She wondered briefly just how powerful he would be after her birthday, she shivered in revengeful pleasure. 

 

 

  Bellatrix was losing. 

 

 

  Everyone around her had stopped battling to watch the two wizards duel. Hermione noticed Ron standing, mouth agape, only a few feet from Fenrir Greyback, without even a hint of worry on his face. No Death Eater made a move to help the struggling witch. 

 

 

  Bellatrix moved sporadically, with no apparent thought pattern. Her counter-moves were almost to slow and her offensive curses were deflected easily. Harry was close to victory. 

 

 

  Hermione felt someone grab her from behind. 

 

 

  Luna screamed, “HERMIONE! No! Let her go!!” The cry of desperation broke Harry’s focus on the struggling Dark witch, his Stupefy sent her flying across the corridor, landing against the wall in a heap. Harry’s spells were now directed at the backs of the retreating Death Eaters. 

 

 

 

 

 

  They reached the Great Hall almost to quickly. Hermione squinted her eyes against the bright sun as the troop of villains sprinted out onto the grounds. Her struggles were wild, “Harry! Harry! Help me!!” She saw him running, not far behind her, a streak of hope filled her. 

 

 

  His curses were wild, full of manic power. By this time Bellatrix had somehow caught up with her deviant group and was cackling wildly, taunting Harry. “Sectumsempra!!!” Harry’s spell connected with the witches chest, she crumpled instantly. However another Death Eater simply picked up the bleeding body and continued to run. 

 

 

  Hermione saw the group nearing the edge of the grounds. Shit! The end of the grounds meant Apparition, which meant they’d get away with her. She looked around desperately. Dumbledore was running from a distance, Rodolphus Lestrange lay dead behind the older wizard. A group of students, including Ron, and professors ran towards her from the castle entrance. She saw Harry, now barely an arms length away from her, reaching for her body. Her struggles were manic, she put every ounce of her strength behind her thrashings, screaming Harry’s name repeatedly. 

 

 

  The boundary line was only a few steps away, her struggles continued, and for the first time she looked up into the face of the madman carrying her. Draco Malfoy. Her scream was unintelligible. He looked down at her and squeezed roughly, sending sharp needles of pain through her body. 

 

 

  She knew she was fainting, but before the blackness surrounded her she felt the tug of Apparition. 

 

 

 

 

 

  

  Hermione heard mumblings and strained desperately to hear them, “My Lord, Bellatrix Lestrange is hurt badly, she needs blood replenishment potions my Lord. We cannot stop the bleeding for any long amount of time, but Snape has yet to arrive from the castle.” Who the hell cares about Bellatrix Lestrange? She twisted slightly, feeling the soft mattress of the bed beneath her. 

 

 

  A cold voice answered from above her, “I have no time to waste on that pathetic excuse of a witch, she lost a duel to a child, she deserves to die.” Surprisingly, the second man in the room did not relent, “My Lord, it is odd that Severus has yet to return here, over a day since the battle, should you not call him to your side my Lord?” Hermione felt his anger flow through her, “Are you suggesting that Severus is purposefully letting her die? That he, a servant much more important than you, would ignore my orders HAD I requested him come here and aid her?”

 

 

  The man stuttered his apologies and, luckily for him, escaped the room unscathed. Hermione felt his eyes on her, “I know you’re awake child, open your eyes.” 

 

  

  Hermione saw no point in ignoring his order, she couldn’t lie around with her eyes closed forever anyway. “How long have I been unconscious?” Trying to hide her fear and anger she looked at him imploringly. “It’s September 18th, while your injuries were healed fairly quickly I imagine that you had some sort of mental breakdown which resulted in your prolonged unconsciousness. However, you chose a lovely time to come back to me my dear, we only have a few hours until midnight.” He sneered. 

 

 

  Defeat filled her, she had done what Snape said, she had chosen a side, chosen which one she wanted, but apparently fate did not care about her wants. “Please, you don’t have to do this, I-I.” Hermione’s voice suddenly quit working. 

 

 

  Voldemort’s evil grin widened, “Presently I do not wish to hear your famous rantings girl. You will pay for our last visit, your terrible misjudgments must be corrected. Consequently, my prize, your first time will not the be the gentle pairing you were hoping for, it is your own fault and I will not tolerate any disloyal behavior tonight. You will comply to everything I command immediately.” He laughed lightly, pleased with himself. Hermione felt tears stream down her face, but of course no sound left her mouth. 

 

 

  He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her towards his chest. As he did she felt the bedding adjust, revealing her naked breasts. She hadn’t noticed she was naked under the bed covers and began struggling. The resulting slap on her arse burned painfully, had she been in control of her voice she would have cried out. “Do not cover yourself girl, I want to enjoy what’s rightfully mine.” He began playing with her breasts, taking one pink nipple between his fingers and twisting gently. This play continued for several minutes.     

 

Hermione’s mind was battling itself.

 

  “Do not enjoy this Hermione Granger, do not enjoy this-he’s vile and disgusting. You do not want his attentions.” Hermione began twisting herself against the man behind her, grinding herself against him. Despite her determined mind she felt her body reacting to his ministrations, “Think about Harry, think about what Voldemort’s Death Eaters did to Luna. Remember how happy you were when you picked Harry.”

 

 

  He saw her resolve fading and began meeting her thrusts against him, letting her feel his hardened length, “This is yours later little Mudblood, consider yourself lucky, the greatest wizard of all time is going to take your virginity.” Hermione released a silent moan mixed with her tears. 

 

 

  All at once Voldemort released the spell on Hermione’s vocal chords, pulled her nipples violently and bit down on her neck. Blood flowed from the mark and he licked it up slowly. Hermione screamed, the sound filling the room. The overload of stimulation nearly drove her insane in that instant. She had never felt such a powerful mix of pleasure and pain. 

 

  

  Her scream quieted down into panting. He stared at her, seemingly waiting for some kind of action. Hermione surveyed the room while simultaneously moving away from him. Surprisingly, he allowed her movements. “Are you done with me now?” Her voice mocking him. 

 

 

  “Not hardly, however, I have more pressing matters to attend, I’d suggest you enjoy your last few hours of privacy.” Voldemort moved towards the door. 

 

 

  Hermione spotted her goal, What imbecile left it lying out in the open? 

 

 

  All at once she sprinted past the Dark Lord, grabbed her wand, and spun to face him, blocking the door. Her movements were light, the entire action took less than five seconds. He appeared impressed. 

 

 

  Voldemort flicked his wand casually, but her shield was quick. He smirked, “Have you been practicing child?” She grinned wickedly, “No just more prepared, My Lord.” 

 

 

  They began circling each other. Voldemort‘s expression darkened, “I am not the person to practice dueling with girl, I warned you once.” Hermione aimed her spell at the table next to him, hoping to catch him off balance, “Confringo!” She moaned slightly when he simply sent the blasted bits towards her. 

 

 

  “Who am I to practice with then? If I’m to remain here then you will have to suffer me, oh great and powerful wizard. I’m sorry my educational needs annoy you, if they are that vexing simply release me.” Challenge flashed in her eyes. 

 

 

  Voldemort‘s calm infuriated her, “My dear the next time you try to be witty I’d suggest wearing clothes. You’re becoming ridiculous and I have no time for your games.” 

 

 

  His expression never changed, but his power shifted. Hermione barely heard the spell before she sensed it coming towards her, “Eldur Reipi” The unfamiliar spell blasted through her shield. Instantly she felt invisible ropes wrap around her body, holding her almost entirely still. Then, as she began struggling, the ropes started glowing a bright orange. She felt the ropes begin to burn, the heat against her bare skin becoming painful. “Struggling will not give you any relief, your best option is to stand still and suffer through the pain until I release you.”  

 

 

  Hermione groaned at him, her anger becoming palpable. Forcing herself to focus and channel her energy she attempted to cast without proper wand movements. “Aguamenti Maxima!” The power behind the spell released her from the fiery bonds and she quickly focused the fountain of water towards Voldemort, hoping to drown him…or at least get him uncomfortably wet. 

 

 

  Voldemort stared at the witch with the perfect mixture of pride and irritation. He Vanished the stream of water easily but found her magic still quite impressive, especially for such a young age. When he saw her preparing to cast again his patience wore to thin, his casual Stunner sent her to the floor immediately.

 

 

  Hermione watched him stalk over to her. She writhed in pain for a few seconds as he cast a lazy Crucio at her, thankfully she was able to refrain from screaming aloud. He stared at her for a long moment, “I will see you in four hours my firey little whore.”

 

 

  She screamed incoherently as he walked out the door.

 

 

 

 

 

 

  A few moments after the Dark Lords departure a tiny elf popped into the room, “Poppy is here to serve Miss” Hermione stared at the elf, she was small even for her species and looked slightly like a deformed toddler. “Thank you Poppy, but I do not need you to serve me…unless you could help me escape from here.” She laughed darkly. 

 

 

  The elf did not laugh, the poor thing didn’t even crack a smile, “The Master wishes the Miss to bathe…If the Miss is not willing to bathe then Poppy must force her.” Hermione stared at the little elf in disbelief, anger pulsating through her. 

 

 

  Of course it wasn’t poor Poppy’s fault that her life had spun completely out of control. 

 

 

  Hermione stomped to the adjoining bathroom, noticing the odd combination of the large modern sink and the ornate antique bathtub. Poppy began fiddling with multiple faucets while she obediently settled comfortably into the tub. 

 

 

  She noticed her period was over, damn. Was there a spell that could stop her flow early? Probably, and that bastard probably used it on her when she was unconscious. Fucker. 

 

 

  For a while Hermione allowed herself to relax in the soft bubbles surrounding her. The water was borderline scorching and comforting. It felt cleansing, like a baptism of future sins. 

 

 

  She didn’t notice Poppy’s departure, and relaxed further into the hot water. Almost an hour later she jerked out of her nap and felt her pruned skin, feeling chilled in the now lukewarm water. 

 

 

  Luckily the room supplied towels and she wrapped one around her body as makeshift clothing before climbing into the large bed. The piece of furniture was the main accent of the room. Only a large ornate rug, two side tables (one now destroyed) flanking the door, a rather pretty wardrobe, and a fireplace accompanied the feature. It was as if Voldemort was adding salt to a wound, highlighting her new life role. 

 

 

  She wondered vaguely if the Dark Lord was capable of impregnating her. Imagining the offspring of Lord Voldemort was impossible, Hermione could not see him allowing such intimate ties to another human being. Probably he would kill the child. She shuddered violently. 

 

 

  Mutinous thoughts would not help her now, most likely they would only harm her tonight. Therefore, Hermione temporarily resigned herself to her fate. 

 

 

  It did not take long for boredom to surface, but mercifully, Hermione’s exhausted mind allowed her to fall asleep again. 

 

 

 

 

  She awoke to darkness, the torches in the room had gone out. She lay still for several long moments trying to sense his presence, however it became clear that Voldemort was not in the room. She wondered vaguely what time it was. 

 

 

 

 

  It began as soft as a whisper. Hermione became acutely aware of her own magic. She began to explore, her magic seemed to become a new extension of her body. She could flex it, wrap it around a specific body part, and even slightly project it from her body. Hermione watched in amazement as the curtains on the bed rustled as if shaken by a wind. 

 

 

  This was exactly what it felt like with Harry in the Hogwarts corridor, or with Lord Voldemort when he’s angry. Suddenly she had become a powerful being, someone who’s magic radiated off them like an aura, she became intimidating. 

 

 

  She looked for her wand but it had obviously been removed from the room. 

 

 

  Her magic swelled again and suddenly Hermione struggled to control it, her body shaking spasmodically. The palpable energy suddenly became a crushing force. Hermione couldn’t breathe correctly, her panic sending jets of magic around her, each spurt feeling like a stab to a vital organ. She began screaming wildly. 

 

 

  Poppy appeared in the room, looking panicked, she disappeared momentarily before reappearing seconds before the dark figure of Lord Voldemort swept into the room. 

 

 

  Hermione’s magic swirling throughout the room was crushing Poppy, the poor elf cried under the force, falling to the ground. Hermione screamed manically, “Help me! Oh Merlin help me!” She made eye contact with the Dark Lord, “What have you done?! I’m dying because of you!” Her anger caused her magic to surge even higher, she arched her back off the bed, thrashing madly in pain. 

 

 

  Voldemort strolled across the room, seemingly unaffected by the force of her magic. He gathered the shaking body in his arms gently, even in Hermione’s craze she noticed his affectionate actions. He nuzzled his face into her hair and inhaled deeply.

 

 

  Immediately she felt the terrible magic begin to flow out of her towards his core. The relief was astounding, the flowing magic felt as natural as breathing, but immensely more satisfying. She clung to him, burying her way between his robe, feeling his chest against her side. This was safe, this was calming.

 

 

  She felt his own aura strengthen, but unlike her he was able to control the influx of magic. He seemed to reign the new magic in, letting it flow behind him like a cape, protecting her from its force. 

 

 

  Eventually Hermione felt her magic return to a manageable level. She felt stronger, but in a controllable way. Voldemort however was glowing in power, Hermione stared at him in wonder, her thoughts became spoken words of shock, “He cannot beat you, not like this..” Voldemort smiled, “I know, and now you understand where you belong.” Hermione did not retort, but the staring continued. 

 

 

  She became aware of something else. Testing her mental awareness she found that she could sense his mind. Not necessarily his thoughts, but she could hear his emotions. His triumph filled her almost completely. She tasted his desire for her and his unquenchable thirst for power. 

 

 

  A smaller part of her recognized something else, a tremor of anger and deep sadness, somewhere someone’s heart was breaking. 

 

 

  Harry. 

 

 

  Hermione’s grief did not reach her face, but it lodged itself within her soul. This kind of pain could not be understood by the outside world. This was her struggle. And Harry’s.

 

 

  She felt a much smaller portion of her magic flow the distance between them and knew that he could feel it, and knew that it didn’t comfort him. 

 

 

  Voldemort either did not care about her inner pain, or simply could not read her emotions like Hermione could now read his, “I do not think it will always be so painful. Your body and mind should adjust to the varying levels of magic within you. Of course, when I am present the experience will be pleasurable for you. When I am away I imagine it will be quite uncomfortable for us both. I will try not to prolong my absences…” He hesitated “…for both of our sakes.”

 

 

  Hermione nearly choked in shock, the Dark Lord had just considered her feelings, her head reeled, “Thank you.” She couldn’t deny the comfort of his presence, her body still clung to his and she knew instinctively that if he left the room the pain would return. What a horrible situation, what a terrible person to be dependent on. She wanted to cry but her contentment over being in his arms overrode her sadness. She needed him, she yearned for him. And she hated it. 

 

 

  A moment passed until he spoke again, “It is time, my earlier threat remains. You will feel pleasure, but there must be punishment. You will learn to obey me.” 

 

 

  Hermione weighed her options, considered fighting back, wanted to make her alliance with Harry clear. Then she focused on his arms around her, she knew how unstable she would be without him, knew how much pain that would mean for her. That pain in her soul deepened. Now she understood what Harry had said days ago, for the rest of her life she would be dependent on Voldemort. He controlled her comfort and pain, in essence he controlled her life. 

 

 

  She waited for his movement, expecting him to initiate the process. Suddenly she became nervous, her face burned brightly. Thankfully the room was so dark that Voldemort did not see her nerves, “Move to the center of the bed, place your hands above your head.”

 

 

  Hermione did as commanded, slightly comforted by his domineering attitude, being told what to do was easier that being forced to take the initiative. When she moved her hands a chain appeared out from the center of the headboard, wrapping itself around her wrists tightly. She did not struggle, instead she focused on keeping her breath calm. The towel had slipped off her body during her thrashings and now she was bared before him. 

 

 

  He stared at her for a long time. His eyes were possessive. She met his gaze, her eyes were filled with resigned submission. Voldemort cast a quick spell over her, which she assumed was a contraception charm. 

 

 

  He walked to the wardrobe and withdrew a short but imposing looking leather whip. Hermione moaned. The Dark Lord appeared above her, his voice was hoarse, “Count them.” When he brought the whip down on her breasts Hermione bucked against the chain. Her legs flailed against the bed, “One.” 

 

 

  “Stay still Mudblood, I will not risk being kicked by a whore. Start again.” He lashed at her chest with the whip again. Hermione groaned but she stayed still, “One.” 

 

 

 The whip cracked, “Two.” 

 

 

“Three”

 

 

“Four”

 

 

“Five” 

 

 

  Hermione was moaning uncontrollably. Voldemort’s brow was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, his desire evident. He dropped the whip beside her and brought his hand down to her sex, cupping her mound, “You are wet my dear, this process is meant to be a punishment, if you insist on being a deviant little whore then I must punish you harder.” 

 

 

 Hermione began thrashing, ignoring his previous order not to move. Her breasts were swollen, angry red marks covered her chest, her nipples hard due to the over stimulation. She couldn’t handle the whipping anymore, her mind felt unhinged. 

 

 

  Voldemort ignored her kicking legs. Straddling her chest he let his member fall across her face, “Suck it Mudblood, if you bite or use teeth I’ll give you to Greyback as a gift.” Hermione took him into her mouth instantly, straining her neck to please him properly. 

 

 

  He fucked her mouth violently for a few minutes. Hermione gagged repeatedly, but didn’t struggle against him. He felt her breaking, “Open your legs.” She complied immediately. 

 

 

  He waited for the Mudblood to completely focus on his cock, allowing her to suck him at her own pace for a while. Then he slowly picked up the whip and twisted his torso slightly. Hermione didn’t notice his actions until she felt the whip crack against her exposed cunt. She screamed against the cock in her mouth while his empty hand forced her head against his crotch, “Keep your legs open!” 

 

 

  The whipping continued for five more lashes, each scream sending amazing vibrations through the Dark Lord’s member. When he looked down at her he saw eyes staring up at him imploringly, filled to the brim with tears. He released her mouth and threw the whip across the room. 

 

 

  Hermione gasped for air trying desperately to catch her breath before the next punishment began. Suddenly she felt Harry’s distant pain spike, so much that it gave her a slight headache…what was causing that? Was someone attacking Harry? She tested her new power slightly, focusing on his pain while trying to ignore the overwhelming presence of Voldemort’s pleasure. No, it wasn’t physical pain, at least it didn’t appear that way. Harry was in some kind of emotional pain, something greater than the pain from earlier. Hermione focused, confusion written clearly on her face. 

 

 

  The answer struck her like lightening, “Stop! Stop! Don’t show him this! You evil vile creature how could you! You’ve hurt him enough, he already knows you’ve won there’s nothing more you need to do!” She aimed a kick at his chest but he avoided it easily. 

 

 

  Voldemort laughed loudly before settling himself between her legs and leaning down so that his mouth was next to her ear, “Please little prize, tell me how you will stop me?”  

 

 

  She felt him align himself at her entrance. He moved his hardness against her clit eliciting a long moan from her. “You love this don’t you whore? You love being degraded, you love having your betters control you.” He rubbed himself against her harder and she moaned in agreement. 

 

 

  He plunged himself into her, breaking her barrier instantly. Hermione screamed in agonizing pain, he was stretching her to much, it hurt to much, “No! Stop my Lord pleaseee its too much, Lord please I can’t handle this!!” 

 

 

  He ignored her pleadings and continued pounding into her tight heat. This girl was his, this tightness, this heat, this perfect body was his property. He controlled her pain and her pleasure, he owned her entirely. 

 

 

  Shortly Hermione felt herself begin to react to him. He would touch a spot deep inside of her that made her hips buck against his in pleasure. Her cries turned to moans as she voluntarily began to move with him, “Who do you belong to Hermione?” Her response was immediate, “You my Lord.” He pounded her roughly, “What am I to you?” She cried out, “You are my Master!” 

 

 

  “Yes, never forget this slave. You are mine. I own you and you are nothing but my whore. A whore who’s soul purpose in life is to please me. Your holes exist to be filled by my cock” He was close to his orgasm and his fevered pounding sent Hermione over the edge, her walls clenched around him as he spilled his seed into her, “Yes oh God yes my Lord! I am yours, I live to serve you!” 

 

 

  Her orgasm was mind blowing, spots of darkness behind her pupils made her vision go blurry. Lord Voldemort claimed her mouth with his, he mumbled against her lips, “Yes Hermione, you’re mine, and I’ll never let you go.” 

 

 

  Hermione smiled against his thin lips. She felt Harry’s immense pain in the back of her mind, but her pleasure mixed with the overwhelming sense of her Master’s satisfaction allowed her to ignore the pain. 

 

 

  It only took a minute for her exhausted body to accept the darkness again.