Taken By A Subtle Grace

Title: Taken By a Subtle Grace
By: eli
Rating: M for crude language, smut and adult content
Character(s): Hermione Granger, Voldemort, Tom Riddle
Pairing: Hermione/Tom/LV
Beta Babe: none this time...Be afraid!
Total Length: 4,574
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter; I definitely do not make any profit in any form from this badly written bit of disaster. I bow down in respect to the genius of J.K. Rowling and her uniquely beautiful world that is the Potterverse.


Author’s warning: No run-on sentence over looked, no cliché missed and definitely no stereotype gone un-noticed (I think). Both Voldemort/Tom & Hermione are slightly OOC in this story.


You dug a hole for me,
That I’ll bury you in,
And if you raise the dead now,
I might lead you back….
Nobody wanted this,
Nobody noticed you…
I’ll be watching,
‘Cause I’m hunting you…
'Cause somebody’s noticed you
And now I’m onto you.

~from~ Sarah Blasko, The Garden’s End (Various Lyrics)

Summary: Voldemort loses his virginity under Hermione’s botched ill-thought-out revenge plan of doom


Part 2/2 :


“I’d toy with you, Tom.”

She felt his annoyance quiver through his body, at her use of name choice and it only made her even more aroused knowing he hated the use of that Muggle name.

“I’d run my hand over you, over the fabric of your robes feeling how hard you are. And knowing how very much you want me, a Muggle with you at my mercy, completely.”

Hermione bit her lip hard enough to draw blood at what her words were doing to her libido. She moved her fingers and her hand unconsciously mimicked her low husky words. Running her fingertips and the hint of her nails over his length, she felt his erection jerk against her through the layer of black fabric. His hips arched ever so slightly into her hand, and she squeezed without mercy. And nearly fell off the chair when he bucked up sharply under her unexpectedly, hissing curses under his breath as his muscles strained in protest.

“Easy, Tom, don’t want to strain something.” She smirked under his icy frigid stare.

“Hermione.”

Her name was expelled in a gritty voice, unlike Voldemort’s usual high hissing tones. Catching Hermione unaware and making her go still with a sudden wariness. She felt the stirrings unbelievably lapping at her shocked awareness; she felt the stirrings of a dark magic. Thrumming on her nerve endings, and she became even more wary and just a little scared. Hermione realized then that maybe not bringing her wand might have been a slight miscalculation on her part.

Because even without his wand somehow he was doing magic, Hermione could feel it lapping at her body as it surrounded her. And she was frozen unable to do anything but stare at him, as his facial features seemed to shimmer, as if she were looking at him under water. And then as if the very bones under his pale deathly skin were reconstructing they moved and started to shift. Using what she could only estimate was the strongest Transfiguration spell that Hermione had ever witnessed Voldemort literally transformed his body before her eyes.

Hermione felt the shift in muscle, sinew and bone under her body, as he hissed in what she thought must be excruciating pain. Voldemort writhed under her in intense silent agony making her want to whimper in the face of such raw power. And then he went utterly still without warning. She hovered on his lap caught up in the bizarre moment not knowing what the hell she should do as she stared at a face Hermione never thought she would see outside Dumbledore’s pensive. And at that moment as she perched undecided with her brain screaming at her muscles and Voldemort chose that moment to open his eyes.

Hermione now found herself staring into the dark pained, but still somehow smirking, gaze of her secret obsession. Finding herself perched on the lap of an older Tom Marvolo Riddle. And finally, belatedly Hermione started to feel real fear tiptoe along her awareness. As her mind registered the amount of power and knowledge of what spells could produce such a transformation.
Unwilling liquid heat pooled in her center at the thought of what he must know inside that mind of his in order to be capable of what he had just done. Because it was not glamour she was well versed in being able to see through those types of charms and spells.

This was quite literally an older Tom, and as her calculating gaze raked over his dark hair now flecked with silver Hermione found she was shaking ever so slightly in what she refused to label admiration. The only indication of his recent brief and intense agonised concentration was the thin bead of sweat crawling down the side of his pale forehead.

She felt as if a slow burning fire was consuming her from the inside out, and shifted unthinkingly against him. Only to freeze when his eyes darkened like he was contemplating eating her alive, Hermione stilled like an animal sensing the only predator in the immediate vicinity, she racked her not insignificant intellect for something witty to say in response to his stare.

“Ugh?”

“Do you really think that people would follow this face with the same amount of fear that my other face instills, Hermione? I mean really don’t be naive dear.”

Hermione stared into his pale face noticing the faint lines on his features denoting the passage of time, and felt herself starting to unravel at finally being up close and personal with the wizard that she had been studying for so long in her pensive. Hermione could finally see what had made him so unnerving to the inhabitants of Hogwarts.

It wasn’t his pale ash and dark sable coloring, reminiscent of a fallen angel. And it wasn’t the leashed alarming intensity that shone out of his dark eyes. It was the absolute control with which he held himself; it was the cold absolute calculation of his intelligence that infused the lines of his body. His intelligence brought to mind the sharp unsheathed edge of a knife blade, not to mention the fact that he didn’t seem to blink. Hermione felt her earlier resolve quake as she waited for him to blink. His eyes burned into hers and she felt his force of will slowing building, suffocating her.

“Untie me and I’ll show you what it means to lose control, Hermione.”

Not responding she looked into eyes so dark they seemed to reflect no light at all, and she didn’t move so much as a muscle staring into that feral gaze. No way in hell was she releasing those restraints. His smirk was a faint slash across his mouth as the thought rose unbidden in response to his quietly spoken imperious demand.

“What? Lost for words Hermione? And you were doing so well, I confess I wasn’t sure you had it in you.”

The last part of his taunting delivery of words was said with another smirk and a lift of that dark eyebrow, as Tom or rather Voldemort continued to look at her like Hermione was a snack. And she involuntarily glanced down at his lying mouth absently noting that she was right. In the flesh, as she suspected his lower lip was that little bit fuller than the top one. Hermione felt like someone had walked in on her naked and masturbating. So vulnerable did she feel in that moment seeing him right in front of her instead of a memory captured forever in the past.

Hermione had to fight the insane urge to giggle as she realized she was perched on Tom Riddle’s lap. He had just demonstrated his capability of wand less magic, and she was mentally making a note of his facial features. Hermione wondered how it was that while she was the one sitting on his lap, and he was the one in restraints. And yet he was the one suddenly in control of the situation. It made her feel too exposed and that hadn’t been the plan at all. Without a word Hermione reviewed her reactions and decided a tactical retreat was in order, Hermione started to move off his thighs even before she registered what she was doing, and in response his voice was a whip-crack of sound halting her movements.

“What, admitting defeat? Come now Hermione that is very unlike you.”

The words froze her completely in shock. And she caught herself from falling off his lap like an idiot onto the cold floor with grasping fingers catching onto the restraints across his upper chest. Hermione sat and stared at his face not saying anything, not knowing what the hell to say in response to that. He spoke again this time in a softer cajoling tone that freaked her out more than the harsh tone of a moment ago.

“What? A sociopath virgin has needs to you know don’t you want to take care of me? Show me how to love?”

He began his enticement with a sad little boy forlorn expression that slowly morphed into a sneering curl of his lips. And Hermione wished she wasn’t as acutely aware that he could feel her wetness on his leg through her knickers. She sat there caught between desire and fear completely unsure of which way to fall.

Voldemort didn’t help her one iota as he looked into her eyes with a subtly taunting expression. She knew he was playing her, Hermione knew this was beyond daft to contemplate. But he was sitting there with that smirk and damn if she didn’t want to nibble on those lying lips. Hermione felt daring and bold, as though his arrogance was a disease that she could catch off the air around him, infusing her with a rush of blood to the head. Her anger spiked with her rising urge to rub herself all over him.

“There’s nothing I see here that I want, Thomas, all I see is a man too frightened to face his demons.”

Her voice hissed at him like a spitting snake and then realizing what she had done she drew back uncertainly, and sure enough his response was low and cruel in its accuracy.

“I know what you really want, Hermione. I know what you hide behind that bookish cover of yours. I know how much you despise yourself, I see you Hermione. I see the person you try so very hard to pretend that you are. I know how much you detest that you have to be among idiots with the intellect of dung beetles. The way they all assume you will do the work for them, all those idiots who sit there and wait for you to save Harry, yet again."

"I see the nights you lie awake and wonder why you hide yourself from those who supposedly love you. I know that hollow place inside that always needs to be filled by something. That empty hollow place behind your ribs that no matter what you do, nothing ever fills it completely. So you try and you try and you try to ignore it. To no avail, I see you, Miss Granger; I see what you hide from the world so very desperately.”

He hissed and spat at her in a low frightening drawl, with that frightening intensity she had seen so very many times in Dumbledore’s pensive. An intensity that could incite millions to follow him and kill at his whim, or bringing the fall of someone’s soul with just a breath of a whisper, Hermione knew him, knew what he was capable of. She saw him and for once Hermione did something that was, as Harry or Ron could attest to, completely uncharacteristic of her.

Hermione didn’t think instead she let her body dictate what her next course of action. Hermione leaned in towards the devil, who charmingly smirked into her face, as she got oh so close to those sharp teeth behind those utterly kissable lips. When she was so close her lips brushed his as she spoke and her voice was a whisper of sound that brought intensity to Voldemorts eyes, an intensity of darkness that would have sent any other witch or wizard crawling away. But not her that intensity only made her crawl closer to his chest.

“You want me?”

She whispered the words in a low husky voice, so unlike her usual academic one. Her voice became slightly shaky on the last note but still held, as he groaned against her lips. She continued in a wobbly voice deliberately giving voice to all that was inside her. Something inside her purred as the intensity deepened in those frighteningly dark eyes of his as he looked down into her face.

“You want to touch me? To feel me, closing around you, wrapping you in my heat?”

There staring contest continued in silence as her words faded slowly in the cramped little room, there breathing mingled as he finally spoke,

“And what do you want from me?”

Hermione faltered on the two words that leaped to the front of her mind as she looked into his gaze burning down into her strangely vulnerable gaze. She registered his rebuttal to her attempt at regaining her footing, in what was turning out to be the weirdest seduction attempt in the history of the wizarding world, she was sure of it. Hermione didn’t want to respond to his low seductive words, but their calculated simplicity were sending images rocketing through her brain making words leave her mouth as if drawn against her will. But not the two words she was holding back.

“I want…I, I want you to…I need you to…”

“Fuck you are the words you’re searching for Hermione. And yes I want to do a lot of things to that body of yours. But only if you’re a really good girl”.

Even though Hermione knew she shouldn’t react to his words, she still felt herself getting wetter making her nipples tighten unbearably under the material of her dress. His next words nearly made her die from a combination of embarrassment and unbidden bafflement.

“Well, look at that, I make you wet.”

His quite wonder that seemed to slip out without his intent made her pause in utter bemusement. He spoke as if getting her wet was some sort of prize that he had won. It brought her back to herself with a thump. He might very well be the most evil wizard in their history, and yet she realized with a bittersweet pang, this was his first time. She didn’t know why she had thought this could simply be about control and manipulation and her revenge. Nothing as Hermione had come to learn with Voldemort was ever simple.

“Now you’re getting distracted again Miss Granger. You do have a short attention span don’t you? Good thing I can be quite distracting.”

Hermione forgot herself and exactly whom she was sitting on long enough to glare at him angrily,

“Temper, temper dear so where were we? Oh yes you were about to take my virginity and control away and apparently show me the error of my ways. Well? Come on then?”

Hermione realized as she leaned in to kiss him that quite obviously she had gone mad, that was simply the only explanation as to why she was continuing. Hermione was surprised to find that his lips were soft and a little chapped. She decided she rather liked the low hissing purr he made when she flicked her tongue out to fleetingly touch his. Then, she was guiding his mouth against hers as she started to lose herself in the sensations of teeth and tongues, and then he bit her.

“Owww!’

“You bit me!”

Her head recoiled slightly and she nursed her bruised bleeding bottom lip with one hand. As she sat back on his lap, staring up at him while he smirked back like a naught little boy who just couldn’t resist the temptation. A little drop of blood, like a tiny ruby rested on his full bottom lip. His eyes, Hermione noticed flashed red as he watched her heaving breasts with dark fascination. And in response to her shock he simply lounged under her with a cocky taunt to his eyebrows. But it was the low steadily increasing heat in his dark eyes as he waited to see if she would run away like a little girl that made her quiver.

She didn’t know who was more surprised her or him, when she grabbed his dark hair, with two small firm hands. Refusing to think farther than the next brush of skin, Hermione leaned in and kissed him with a bruising force, tasting her blood on his tongue. Feeling his throat move as he swallowed that little drop of her, she unconsciously ground herself into his strong lean thighs repeatedly, increasing the wet patch under her with every thrust of her hips.

Hermione kissed him with all the frustration and angst-ridden fascination she had been building inside her for what seemed like forever. She kissed him deeply, before retreating and lightly nipping sharply on his mouth, causing him to hiss something in Parseltongue low in his throat.

Hermione moved her mouth from his leaving a faint trail of blood in her wake. Moving slowly to travel down the side of his neck, biting and tasting his neck as she went, tasting his scent on her tongue, he tasted of dark forbidden things and a faint pale ash-like woody scent. That pale ash scent reminded her strongly of the Forbidden Forest. With a low groan Hermione pushed her aching breasts against his chest. The restraints catching on her nipples as she rubbed herself over him. She vaguely noticed she was making small little noises, falling somewhere between a low panting whimper and a whine of need.

His response to the noises she made and the nips she inflicted on the skin of his neck were uttered in low growls and hisses in Parseltongue. Making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as she realized no human was, or should ever be, capable of such predatory sounds. Her thighs clenched at the image of all that twisted perverse knowledge and strength against her naked skin.

“Now, don’t make me wait.”

The words were a command; no mistake about it, uttered in clipped harsh hiss but it was exactly what she’d needed to hear. Without a second thought, Hermione brought her lips crashing down against his. Their tongues reaching to straining for dominance, her thin small hands moved quickly, unzipping his pants and pulling out his straining cock. Hermione remembered vaguely that her embarrassment at clothing him had caused her to forget the small matter of underwear.

His low intense growl as her fingers surrounded him and her nails lightly scored his flesh smashing any thoughts not revolving around skin on skin. Making her nipples tingle and she tried to control her breathing to a moderate level and failed abysmally. As she stroked him, hard and fast, swirling the little drop of liquid she found around the tip. Making certain she had his gaze centered on her; Hermione brought her index finger up to her mouth. And slowly and methodically made sure she sucked all traces of him off her slightly callused finger.

As Hermione held his gaze something ancient and dark seemed to peak out at her from those black unblinking eyes. That look caused her to let out an involuntary whimper as he bucked against her. Right there in the exact spot she needed, hard against her clit, causing her to nearly fall off him. Hermione dimly registered his self-satisfied smirk, as he watched her slowly spiraling out of control over him.

“Hermione.”

The possessive undertone in his voice sent a melt down effect coursing through her veins and with a low moan; she leaned down to capture his mouth again. She knew he could taste himself on her tongue. The resulting noise he made nearly brought her to the edge of climax right then.

Struggling awkwardly to push her knickers aside, considering her plan she had decided on a dress that morning so other than her knickers she was ready for him. Hermione positioned herself over his length and opened her eyes to meet his intent gaze and paused. Voldemort looked back at her with a dark menacing need that should, if she were a normal young woman, have made her run for the hills. As if reading her thoughts he suddenly sneered at her all teeth and rabid sex in his eyes, this was it Hermione realized. She was really going to take Tom Marvolo Riddle aka Lord Voldemort aka a very, very bad man’s virginity. Hermione’s head spun and with a quick movement, she impaled herself on him. Hermione figured she mustn’t be the normal sort at all.

Hermione breathed out his name not even realizing she did so, as she felt him enter her. He hissed something unintelligible again in Parseltongue, she vaguely wondered what he was saying to her but then he thrust up inside her abruptly. She leaned forward and pressed her sweaty forehead against his silently closing her eyes without realising. After a moment Hermione started to move in time with his awkward but powerful thrusts, her downward thrusts meeting his making them groan in intense agony. Hermoine dictated the pace but even then she felt him reaching to follow her lead in this dance he was as yet unaccustomed to. What he lacked in experience he more than made up for in intensity and drive. Barely able to think straight through the blinding desire hitting her in all the right spots, Hermione moved on top of him, trying to take him deeper and harder with each thrust of her hips.

“Look at me, Hermione.”

She opened her eyes without thinking at his low hiss only to be caught in his dark unreadable gaze millimeters from her lust fogged one. One powerful upward thrust from his leg nearly caused her to bite through her bottom lip, as she closed her eyes and leaned into him further not realizing that she had placed her neck directly against his lower jaw.

Not until he bit into the fragile skin of her lower neck, just over her pulse point, did Hermione realized belatedly where she had just positioned her neck. Abruptly she froze in mid motion with him still buried deep inside her. She teetered there on the edge of extreme fear and the painful need for sexual release. Hermione mentally cursed herself for forgetting just exactly who or what she had been playing with.

Hermione waited for those teeth to close sharply through the tendons of her neck, and then when nothing immediately occurred she waited some more. She was quivering atop him and still he didn’t move, simply held her flesh in his mouth while Hermione waited for him to decide what he was going to do next. Hermione was so still and focused with desire and fear that she didn’t register at first that he had moved his mouth slightly and was whispering in Parseltongue. And then as if translating he repeated in English, oh so softly inside her mind, his cock still pulsing deep inside her.

You taste like books and sex, Hermione. You smell like knowledge and darkness. Do you want to come? I could make you stay like this for a very long time, couldn’t I?

Hermione’s only response was a pathetically drawn out whimper of sexual frustration, as she felt his sharp teeth scrape up and down over the same spot once, twice, three times as he hissed again briefly in Parseltongue, etching the sounds into her skin as if branding her.

Then he moved his hips abruptly pulling his cock almost all the way out of her and then before she could react to the loss with anything other than a gasp, he thrust up into her so hard Hermione felt like she could feel him all the way up to her throat. As if she was inhaling him from every possible angle. Seconds after he thrust into her he clamped down with his teeth over her pulse point again. Again, just short of biting through the skin his teeth clamped onto her neck. Hermione realised that if she moved she would tear a jagged cut in her own throat.

All she could do was take his thrusts, as he moved inside her until she was tightening around him involuntarily. Tensing and then exploding as he hit a pained pleasure spot deep inside her that up to that point she had been unaware existed. Without meaning to do his name burst from her on a low scream, the single word reverberated against the old walls of the room. In response he silently shuddered against her his heavy breathing vibrating through her throat where his lips instead of his teeth now rested against vulnerable skin, and with one more thrust, he poured into her.

Her body shook with little aftershocks physically, psychically and emotionally. Gasping for air feeling as if she were drowning in his pulsing aura that was Hermione registered growing stronger with each of his exhalations. She barely found the strength to rest her head against his neck feeling bizarrely utterly sated and content the silence was comfortable.

Hermione couldn’t remember the last time if ever she had been so at peace physically. In the isolated bare room the smell of sex and dark magic was a heavy promise on the stale air. She could vaguely hear him hissing something over her head, as his arms moved almost like he was tapping something with the fingers of one hand. The last of her awareness rippled a warning but then was lost under the oily darkness that seemed to be swamping her in exhaustion. Then, his chest was moving upwards but sleep had already claimed Hermione so she didn’t feel the lean arms catching her upper body as she slumped over.


***


The silence was absolute in the small bare interrogation room; nothing moved or breathed as the front door to the sandstone tall narrow safe house crashed open. The noise of Ron Weasley’s argumentative whine and Harry Potter’s low intense mutter could be heard just barely through the thick walls, and footsteps pounded on a staircase somewhere in the building.

But all was silent and still in the small bare room, the faintest hint of sex and sweat hung on the still musty air. In the center of the room was the only inhabitant, a large imposing rather crude metal chair. With empty restraints hanging limply over the sides of the broad arm rests and scattered on the floor like forgotten rubbish.

In the center of the chairs padded seat perched a small pale piece of parchment with dark red inked words inscribed. The lines and angles of the words were calculated and precise, deep gashes on the strokes, the lines of text were short and to the point.


So sorry I couldn’t stay and chat Potter,

Things to do, people to kill, a world to dominate, idiots to annihilate.
You know the usual.

P.S.

I’m keeping Hermione.

Regards,

LV



Fin.