The Beast In Me

Title: Seduction Is a Dangerous Beast
By: eli
Rating: NC-17 for very mature adult stuff
Character(s): Hermione Granger, Tom Riddle
Pairing: Hermione-Tom/LV
Beta Babes: alibi_boo
Total Length: 3,944
Warnings: Coarse language, smut & dubious consent
Spoilers: Everything really...
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the rights to these characters. All belong to J. K. Rowling and other production houses. I make no profit of any sort from writing this. I’m merely playing in the cosy messed up little world of Riddione. It’s nice in here; there are cute little mini Dark Lord cupcakes too.

Big Fat Author’s Note: This is where the smexiness starts. WARNING – there is dubious consent involved, if this offends please for the love of all that is holy. Don’t read any further! Cautiously pets slightly unstable Villain!Tom

*drops fic into entry post and hides under computer desk*



Part 3/10:

Summary: …It was not sweet. It was definitely not romantic. And yet, she still responded to him

I picked you out of a crowd,
Said I’d like to talk to you,
Said I liked your shoes,
You said thanks can I follow you?
So it’s up the stairs,
I asked your name,
You asked the time.

Your hands on me,
Your tongue in my mouth,
Trying to keep the words from coming out.

I want a lover I don’t have to love,
I want a girl who’s too sad to give a fuck…
Then my mind went dark,
And the phones ringing,
And the bands leaving,
Lets just keep touching…

I’ve got a hunger,
And I just can’t seem to get my fill,
But you have such pretty words,
But life’s no storybook,
Love’s an excuse to get hurt,
And to hurt.
Do you like to hurt?
I do, I do,
Then hurt me,
Hurt me…

Then hurt me…


~from~ Lover, I Don’t Have To Love – Bright Eyes (Lyrics)



~ Tom’s P.O.V ~



Hermione stared at him as though he was one of those axe-murdering maniacs that Mrs. Cole used to watch in her Muggle movies. Watching them late at night, when she thought everyone in the orphanage was asleep. Tom contemplated Hermione’s almost see-through worn pale nightgown lazily. She was in a panic, a tear-streaked, genuine panic.

This situation was akin to a hall of mirrors it was hard to see where the original began or ended, and what was merely a reflection of the real thing. Time was running out, and there was only one way that he suspected he could get to the truth of the matter. Tom had come to realise she wouldn’t react like everyone else under his usual mode of verbal seduction or terror tactics. Hurting her would get him nowhere. Although maybe a little bit of pain he reconsidered, looking at her and the strength of spirit evident even through her sadness. He kicked the door shut behind him with abrupt finality. Watching the alarm in her somber brown eyes grow.

He knew where all her wards were placed; he’d scoped them out while she was sleeping earlier that week when he had come directly from one of his more intricate experiments within the Chamber of Secrets. Tom had decided to set in place traps that only he would be able to move through. If someone other than he was stupid enough to steal into her room an excruciatingly painful and of course very unfortunate accident would occur. The wards covered almost the entire room including the bathroom. Hermione was standing in the middle of the room, unmoving. But when he came towards her she began to back up nervously. Hermione thought she knew who he was, what he was capable of, she didn’t know the half of it.

“What are you doing?”

She demanded in a low hoarse voice that did little to hide her obvious emotional state. He came to a stop between her and the doorway, saying nothing as he stripped his long black outer robes off. He efficiently tossed them onto the small old chair at the foot of her perfectly made bed. When he flung the fabric towards the chair her faint uncontrolled jump caused him to regard her silently. Contemplating his options as well as that bird’s nest of hair, her hair looked like she had been pulled through a bush backwards.

The surprising thought made him almost genuinely smile. That small quirk of the lips, on any other person would have been labeled fondness. At the sight of his slight smile Hermione’s hands clenched at her sides until the knuckles went white. And her gaze swiveled automatically to where her wand was sitting. The length of Elderberry wood was helpfully completely out of her reach, perched on the sturdy chest of drawers on the far side of the room. Her gaze returned to clash with his level regard.

“Come here,”

He said quietly purposefully not using the Imperious method; he wanted to see if his hunch was right when it came to her reactions to him. His eyes burned when she started to hesitantly take one step towards him. Hermione wouldn’t have started to move if she didn’t on some level want to. He had it appeared laid the groundwork well, she was mesmerized despite herself by him. It was a good thing he hadn’t finished what he had started in the secluded old hall, giving him a major advantage.

She was afraid, and yet her body still betrayed the power of her growing arousal. And that arousal was almost stronger than her fear. Hermione stopped short of him by about a foot, tilting her head back forced by her height to look up at him, as he towered over her, her bare feet making her even shorter than normal.

“I didn’t say you could come in,”

Hermione spoke in what she no doubt wanted to be a cool voice, but it came out strained anyway.

“I didn’t ask. Are you of all people suddenly afraid of me, Hermione?”

“I’m most certainly not afraid of you!”

She automatically snapped her response, momentarily forgetting her fear, as he’d wanted her to. And as he’d hoped his slight smirk did the trick of sending her annoyance straight into frustrated anger. He was impressed by her bald faced lie too.

“I can take you any day of the week, Slyther-boy!”

“Then come over here.”

Hermoine hadn’t noticed that he’d been moving back and slightly sideways, or that she had been unconsciously following his lead. He had decided it prudent to draw her away from the door and a possible exit. She came right up to him shoulders squared making her breasts thrust against the fabric of her nightgown, her nipples poking against the material enticingly. Tom was pleased that the old school had seen fit to produce a separate room for her. When he had laid the simple tracking charm on her clothes, Tom had been intrigued when the old school produced for her a small room offset from all the other houses. Of course, it made everything so much more convenient.

Looking at her now, the sight of her clad only in the thin inadequate cover of fabric, did things to his insides he had never before experienced. Making him want to grab her and see if her skin felt the same way it looked. A strong part of him wanted to see if she tasted as good as the faint scent of soap and Hermione coming from her skin offered. The strange skittering sensations in his chest and growing erection made him feel slightly off balance, and it was starting to piss him off.

But then everything about her made him feel like someone had messed with the gravity around him when she was near. Making him almost despise her for unbalancing his normally controlled reactions, he had given serious thought to stealing her and stashing her away somewhere permanently. Locking her away until he got a better understanding of why exactly it was, that she threatened his usually perfectly controlled demeanor. Hermione looked up at him, as her chin thrust outward slightly like she was going into battle.

“I’m not afraid of you,”

She said in a low forceful tone.

“Of course you are, my pet,”

He replied, continuing with his carefully aimed taunts, he noticed her body started quivering ever so faintly at his words, so he added a little sting to the last of his barbed words.

“And that’s half the fun.”

He slid his hand behind her neck gliding up under that heavy fall of messed up hair. And drew her shocked face up to his. She was still looking up at him, her eyes wide and panicky. And he almost felt something, pity, reluctance, mercy? There was no room for any of those strange and foreign emotions, so he kissed her. He remembered the taste of her mouth, the soft slight sighing sound Hermione made when he touched her. Tom had chosen to initiate relatively few sexual encounters during his rise through Hogwarts. But what he had done to those few girls he had been with had set the groundwork for his reputation. The horde of girls, who secretly stared at him from the corner of their eyes, was yet another tool he used. In cementing his place in the psychological hierarchy of the stupid herd that made up his fellow pupils.

Tom had found that he didn’t like the way those girls he had strategically targeted, would suddenly pant and drool after him. As if he had unlocked something in them that they desperately needed another fix of. He soon learned that it was not worth the bloody time or trouble. But he had absorbed vast quantities of information from his books. And he had observed others, and with those few girls he brought to his bed, Tom had tried out more than a few of his more enterprising ideas. Focusing on the subject of pained pleasure, his experimental spells had made those young women scream until they were hoarse. Had made them ache for him for months after with the crippling addiction for more of what he could give, though he didn’t know it neither would he have cared. He was more than a genius at figuring out ways and means to make people respond to him on every level.

Right then, Tom was suddenly inexplicably very glad that he had taken the time to pursue a very thorough education in all aspects of the Dark Arts. He deepened the kiss to a bruising level, putting his arm around her waist and lifting her slightly. Forcing her to hover on the tips of her bare toes and cling to him. He swung her over closer to the massive old wooden dresser along the wall, pressing her up against the stone as he reached for her breasts. But then he paused and drew back for a moment, breathing heavily as he fingered the material of her nightie.

“Undo it.”

He said and she blinked once silently. And then surprising him she reached up and unfastened the tiny row of buttons at her throat.

“Now open it,”

He said thinking at first she was going to balk, but she didn’t. Instead, Hermione pulled the opening of her nightgown further apart wordlessly. He kissed her again, pulling her up tight against him. Her skin was hot against his and she kissed him back with surprising force, considering that she was shaking in his arms. Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck, holding on to him. He grazed her collarbone and her skin seemed under his slightly calloused hands to be exceptionally soft and delicate against his cold pale fingers.

Hermione wrapped her arm’s tighter around his neck in response to his touch, holding on to him as if she thought she might blow away, and strangely he found he liked the way she clung to him. But then, being who he was, he went and ruined it by sneering down at her and demanded,

“Take off your knickers,”

Her eyes, which had been half closed in a dreamy state, popped open and glared at him in amazement.

“What?”

“What do you think we’re doing here, Hermione? Take off your knickers. You can leave the nightgown on if you insist.”

Hermione had frozen by slow degrees in his embrace, as she listened to him and the colour slowly drained from her face.

“Get off me,”

She spat, shoving him roughly with hands that betrayed a slight tremble. But it was too late it had been too late since he’d set foot in her room. Perhaps it had been too late from the moment he had seen her. He reached down between them and found her knickers himself; under his questing fingers he realized the fabric was well washed and old. That decided him and he caught the material in one hand, yanking hard and the material gave with a soft ripping noise.

“No,”

Tom said simply as he pulled her up against his body, he kissed her again, and while her hands tried to push him away her mouth called him closer. And as he felt her chest melt into him, it was definitely too late. He picked her up, moved her sideways over to the scratched old chest of drawers next to them. Tom set her down on top of the wooden surface gently, but then ruthlessly moved between her legs. He didn’t know if she realized he wasn’t going to stop, or if she was capable of rational thought. As the emotional distress had been tangible in the air when he entered.

She was wet, as he had suspected and it took him only a moment to unfasten his pants, then he was inside her, deep inside. Her small low gasp was intensely feminine to his ears as it whispered through the night air. He felt the shock of his invasion ripple through her muscles, and surprisingly a small shudder of an orgasm streaked through her before she was able to tense herself. She was going to cry and push him away from her just like all the rest did initially before they came crawling back to him. He briefly debated his next action but then his mind froze in shock when she wrapped her legs around his hips. He stilled as Hermione tilted her head back and looked up at him from under her lashes. Something dark and feral peaked out at him from the back of her gaze. Making him shudder helplessly for the first time he could remember when engaged in this form of manipulation.

Tom felt something move inside his chest in response to the tears drying on her face, and that darkness flashing at him from inside her. Without thinking he captured her mouth and began to move, not releasing her lips until he knew he had her with him. He could feel the shivers building inside her belly, knew that whatever Hermione’s brain was telling her; her body had over-ruled it briefly. And all she wanted in that moment was completion, satisfaction, him. And that was when he pulled out of her, almost completely relishing her anguished low cry.

“Who are you?”

He whispered in her ear so softly his words were almost lost under the harshness of her labored breathing.

“What are you doing here?”

Instead of verbally answering she clawed at his arms her fingernails leaving deep scratches under the fabric of his shirt. As she tried desperately to pull him back inside her, but he was much stronger than he looked. And he held her still easily, his pale scholars hands pinning her hips to the patterned wood of the dresser top.

“Who are you?”

He demanded in a low deadly voice again, his eyes going flat and cold as his body reacted despite his best efforts to her heat. Hermione’s brown eyes were dazed and her mouth was like a soft bruise as she responded huskily.

“Herm…Hermione…”

She stuttered in a small choked voice, in response he thrust into her harder than before, and then withdrew before her muscles could clench around him. She expelled a whoosh of air from between her lips and muttered he suspected she had just called him an asshole. He hissed at her.

“You know your way around these halls as if it were your home, you know spells you pretend not to. Your last name is not Smith. Who are you?”

He hissed the words with an intensity that matched the ruthlessness of his arousal, combining with his will as it surrounded her in the cold frosty night air.

“Please!”

She cried in a low voice, a sadness that spoke of loss and heartache shivered through the one word. And again he thrust; he could feel her hovering on the edge of her climax, ready to explode. Helpless as he knew he could make her, knew that he needed to make her to get his answers. But some part of him wanted to experience her convulsing around him without the aid of spells to bring her to his will. He wanted her to know that she had come for him and him alone, so he spoke again and the frightening seriousness that laced his tone seemed to reach her,

“What do you want, Hermione?”

He whispered to her in the night, knowing that he’d finally get the truth from her as she came perilously close to her climax. Her eyes were suddenly filling with silent tears, and she was shaking, as she answered in a low sad voice almost like the word were ripped out of her psyche against her will.

“You.”

And he finally believed her; he stopped thinking then, something he had never done with the few other girls he had been with. He pulled her hips completely off the chest of drawers, and moved them roughly sideways. Faintly he registered her wand pinging as it and other things crashed off the dresser. Wrapping her legs more firmly around his hips, he buried himself deep inside her. And that was when Hermione’s climax ripped through her and she cried out, louder than he had expected, a strangled cry of helpless pleasure. He wasn’t ready, and he was surprisingly tired suddenly of playing games. He thrust inside her, harsh awkward thrusts, leaning her up against the old stonewall.

All his innate finesse had seemingly vanished, holding her trembling hips he fucked her until he went over. For the first time completely loosing himself in the sensations of his climax. Drowning in her scent and the feel of hot sweaty skin wrapped around him tightly, akin to a snake he thought ironically. So tightly was she wrapped around him as if her subconscious was loath to letting him go.

Tom waited until he caught his breath, waited for the strange tremors to finish washing over his body. Then, finally he withdrew from her, supporting Hermione’s limp body against the stonewall; until her legs could support her own weight. He held her up for a moment longer than necessary, not really knowing why. He could see his reflection in the small mirror on her wall, he looked dark and ruthless, and yet there was a hint of vulnerability in his pale face, and it unnerved him causing his mouth to tighten faintly. His eyes narrowing he moved with the coiled swiftness denoting his house. And picked her up abruptly dropping her on top of her cold bed in a messy pile of limbs, half open nightie and wild hair.

He silently stepped back from her, retrieving his wand and adjusting his clothing accordingly. Until he once more felt in control of himself when everything was as it should be about his appearance. He looked down at her as she stared up at him silently, Hermione looked at him as if he were a ghost come to haunt her. The weirdest sensation of wanting to offer her comfort washed over him and he froze in response. Tom closed his eyes and leaned down noticing she did not flinch from his touch. Surprising him she remained still as he straitened her nightgown around her shoulders. Then, he rested his forehead against hers for a moment, smirking faintly at her brief start of surprise at the intimacy.

Tom straightened without warning and stared down at her contemplating his next move. He caught her chin in his right hand, his narrow fingers curling around her stubborn chin. His mind took her completely by surprise as he had counted on. She trembled in his hands as he steadied her under the onslaught of his use of Legilemancy as he sifted and smoothly moved back and forth. Taking mental notes before finally going deeper, and what he found in her inner depths shocked him to the core. He flinched back involuntarily and stared down at her intensely unnerved by what he had found. He blinked down at her, faintly noticing his right hand supporting her neck, his thumb absently stroking the skin behind her ear.

He re-focused abruptly and wondered that he wasn’t loosing his mind, surely…but then he had always sensed she was different. Hermione was staring up at him, lost for a moment as she felt his abrupt withdrawal from her mind, her indrawn breath sounded like the hiss of a snake in anger. And then she reached out and slapped him, using all the considerable force in her upper body behind the swing, and it jarred his head back and made him briefly see spots in front of his eyes. Completely ruining his perfectly done hair and leaving a small cut at the corner of his mouth. The tiny drop of blood appeared almost erotic against the paleness of his skin and dark hair.

Instead of doing what he would have done to any other, namely make them scream and howl for mercy, before making them crawl. Knowing now why he felt this bizarre pull towards her, Tom gave her a genuine crooked tiny smile, silently picked up his long black robes and calmly walked out. Being sure to close the door quietly behind him, mentally checking that all his wards were in place around her room.


888


Many hours later Hermione laid face down fast asleep, her head squished at an odd angle on the pillow. Her face partially hidden under her curling mass of brown hair. The bed covers had been half kicked off long ago, half trailing over the side of the thin single bed onto the dusty stone floor. The young woman lay under the dim glow of the moon, as it hung like a pale deathly sickle in the starless sky. The faint sheen of moonlight coming through the thin narrow tall window in the wall illuminated the angles and shadows of the small room.

Underneath the narrow bed lay a book, as if forgotten or temporarily discarded. The old worn leather bound tome rested amid dust piles undisturbed for years. In the center of the book there was a shallow hole with what might have been flaked old bloodstains. As if at one point in the books history, an unseen hand with a destructive angry force had stabbed something into the center of it.

Faintly a pale sickly green pulsing glow emanated from the abandoned book. Almost, appearing to pulse in time with the steady heartbeat of the sleeping girl, who slept collapsed across the bed, blissfully unaware of the hidden item, the monster under her bed.




End this Part.


A/N: next part is plot/dialogue and then more smexiness in part 5 with a very pissed off Hermione sorting one Mr Riddle out in the library = smutnbooks ahoy!