The Forbidden Ship

Tag: MindControl, HET, Blood, NonCon/Rape.

xxx

SQ Discord Prompt: Unicorn Blood

Sectumsempra!

They say that those who slay a unicorn to save themselves are doomed to live a half life, a cursed one. But hadn't that always been her life? A cursed one? Ever since He entered it when she was still a naive teenager, excited to learn magic at Hogwarts?

A Mudblood.

Doomed.

Hunted.

Mortally wounded.

Yet, dying was a luxury Hermione couldn't afford. She was the last one who knew of his Horcruxes. She had his last one and thus was the only one who could end him. Her breathing was ragged; the cup of Hufflepuff thrummed in her coat's pocket, its heartbeat picking up speed as hers slowed.

"You won't win, Riddle," she hissed barely above a whisper.

She crawled to the slain creature, its fur still shimmering in the moonlight as a thick silvery substance pooled around it. Her hands, her clothes, her hair, everything got covered in the unicorn's blood as she brought her lips to the creature's neck where a gaping wound resided.

Before she drank, Hermione wondered if there would even be a change, if she would feel it. Perhaps it would be better to die as Harry and Ron had done, as everyone she ever knew had done. Was she a good person? She swallowed, feeling the thick viscous substance glide down her throat. A quietness settled around her; an uneasy warmth grew inside. A dark aura built up around her.

More, a sibilant voice echoed in her mind, almost feeling like a brush against her earlobe.

She obliged, feeling her breaths evening out; her strength —a strength— returned as she drank more and more. Everything calmed inside of her, such a stillness she couldn't begin to comprehend. The pain, her exhaustion, everything faded to be replaced by this inner calmness and detachment. She would live to see another day.

She would end him.

When she had her fill, she tried to disconnect her mouth, but something, someone, solidified on top of her back. His magic roamed over her skin and through her body, forcing her to keep drinking.

More and more.

She was remarkably uncharacteristically calm. Yet there was a need rising as she felt him, Tom Marvolo Riddle, Lord Voldemort materialise tightly against her body. One of his arms slithered around her waist, while the other found purchase in her hair, his fingers tightening around her curls, holding her lips securely to the wound as she continued to drink.

For him.

She craved nothing more than him.

She needed only him.

It was so overwhelming that it dizzied her mind and thrummed through her, growing more pervasive with every gulp she swallowed. With a whispered spell, her clothes vanished and her legs spread wide for him. Her cunt throbbed, and she bucked against him, needing to be filled, needing that ache to be stilled like everything else had been stilled.

"Well done, Mudblood," his cold voice breathed against her ear as he plunged inside of her slick cunt. "I think I'll keep you."