Midnight visitor

I feel my hand move in the darkness, to grip my wand. This is how it always starts, this feeling of dread as my world crumbles around me. In the half-light in my private head girl room, I am afraid and filled with despair. Will he hurt me this time? Will he leave bruises? Will he touch me... there, will he penetrate everything? What kind of sick, depraved acts will I have to perform with him tonight?

The familiar weight is on the bed, and I am powerless to stop it. It's Harry, he's sleepwalking, twitching from the dreams he shares with Voldemort. Voldemort is in his head, controlling him like he's been able to do since Harry's failed attempts at learning occlumency. Ever since that first time, I have never told him. I love him too much, and hopefully, when Voldemort is vanquished, Harry will sleep through the night. And leave me in peace. Harry's half-closed eyes are even glowing red. His face is blank, but his beloved features prevent me from hurting him.

It's not his fault, what he does to me. I can endure this, I can love him despite my instinctive reaction to shrink away from his touch, while at the same time my body knows it, and is shamefully aroused. A quick hug in the hallway is all it takes for my torment to start. Only in the light of day can I be sure that it means little, nothing, even, that he is merely my friend. Not the monster who shares my bed.

That very first time, he was sweet, playing upon the friendship and love I have for him. I didn't know what he was then. He said he had a nightmare, that he needed me. LOVED me. So, I let him slide between my sheets and place his head on my shoulder. I remember it as the last time I had felt safe, happy, content with the way things were.

Now, I know only sorrow, shame, and pain. Helplessness, it's in there too. "I had another nightmare, 'Mione." Voldemort lets Harry's voice drip with irony and sarcasm. We both know what this is. We both know what is coming. He does this every time, pretends he is only Harry, just to mock me. I grit my teeth, hit with another wave of helplessness and nausea. His hands slip up my inner thighs, bunching the sheet between them. He brushes everything aside. I am exposed, my night dress twisted around my upper body so that only a small part of the fabric covers me to the sheerest edge of my hips, no lower.

The dark hair frames his red eyes. I have always found Harry handsome, but the sheer malice of his eyes turns that beloved face into a devilment, a mockery. It is my shame to let his gorgeous seeker's body rest between my legs. His pajama bottoms are the only thing between his stiff cock and me, and my traitorous body loves his touch and has no connection to the revulsion I feel at who's pulling the strings. He presses that stiff cock to me, to my entrance, with the fabric of his pants still in the way. I moan in shame, it feels wonderful and it hurts. My juices and his pre-cum mingle in the fabric. His hands hold my wrists to the bed, my nipples peak.

"Perhaps, I should leave him here in your bed tonight," Voldemort threatens, as he always does since I fought him that second time, since I realized who was in control. He did everything he could to make it misery, left bruises and bite marks on me that didn't fade for a week. "Then you can explain why he's here. I assume you still haven't told any one about our little visits," his tone becomes thick as he pushes himself against me, the roughness of the fabric and the friction burning my pussy lips. He takes care to put pressure on my clit with each stroke, so that I can feel all the devastation of our encounter equally.

I am aroused. I hate him. He gives me pleasure and he hurts me. He uses my feelings for Harry to make this worse, so much worse than if he'd fucked me himself. He makes me want it, deep inside. He makes me dread sleeping. He made it impossible to tell just when he'd make his way into my bed, sometimes every night, sometimes not for a week. Sometimes he'd leave me shattered and covered in sweat and cum, just to return an hour later to break me down all over again. Once or twice he'd brought toys along. He made me do unspeakable things, and I desperately wanted more. I am sick. I hate myself. I am his dirty little slut, his Whore.

He pulls off my nightgown. I flop back to the bed as the fabric releases me. His eyes devour my exposed breasts and his hands reclaim my wrists. He holds them together above my head in one hand and grabs my left breast in the other. He squeezes and pulls, until my nipple stands up straight again. He leans down and captures the nub in his mouth, cold from his harsh breathing. It warms quickly, shooting pleasure straight down to my core as his tongue flicks over my sensitive nipple. Another wave of juice gushes onto his pants. The puddle grows.

"Beg me for it, Hermione. Beg me for my cock."

"N-no, I won't. I don't want this, please don't make me do this. Just take what you want and go..."

"But I want you to beg." His hand reaches down to my sopping pussy, the flesh of his fingertips cooler than my flesh. It soothes me for a moment, the pain is nearly gone as he wiggles a finger into the dripping core of my being, the hole needing to be filled. His fingers are too smooth, too devilishly smooth and he sends wave after wave of pleasure through me as he strokes my inner fire. His hand retreats before I can so much as start to clench. It lowers. He spreads my juices over my anus. I bite back a plea of denial. He wants that. Wants to know I skate the line between need and revulsion. This isn't even rape any more. He hasn't had to force me in months. This is something else. His finger pushes inside, I feel the hot sensation of my muscles trying to repel him, the fluttery-sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I'm burning, sweat gathering at my brow. He slips another finger in, pumps them in and out. I'm crying, hot tears as my world is being shattered. My pussy ACHES for something to fill the void.

"Please," I croak.

"What's that? Didn't catch that."

"Please, your cock... in my pussy... please god, just- unh- shove it in my pussy, I'm begging..."

He smiles. It is the evilest thing I've ever seen, the smile of Voldemort on Harry's face. His fingers slip out of me, and his bottoms go down, kicked to the floor by my bed. His hard, jutting cock, so smooth and big bumps me as he returns. The velvet head zeroes in on my opening and slides home, to the hilt and bangs my cervix on the way in. My vision goes black as I recover from the sensation of being punched in the gut while having my G-spot pounded simultaneously. He wastes no time in pulling back to thrust into me. I come as if on demand, the remaining sensation of his fingers in my ass, his cock hitting my spot, and his fingers at my clit send me over the edge. I cry out in shock. He grins. It's terrible.

He lifts my leg up in the air, rolls it to the side, flips me over with it. I'm on my side and he's pounding harder. He pulls back as far as he can go and still be in me, rolls me the rest of the way over until I'l on my stomach. The new position gives him better access and depth of thrust. He pounds my spot relentlessly, I'm screaming pleasure into the pillow. My collarbone feels stretched as I try to gain purchase to thrust deeper, back at him. His hand is on the back of my neck, shoves me into the pillow, his weight is transfered to that hand and I can barely breathe. His fingers find my ass again. I'm cuming just on principle. He checks me for moisture and apparently finds me lacking, because he spits on his hand and smears it into my ass. Two fingers immediately slide in. I scream, an orgasm hitting me so hard I nearly buck him off of me. He pulls out, and I think that I've thrown him, but his hand remains on my neck and I feel my entire body flush as I feel his cock at the entrance to my ass.

"Deep breath, pet," he warns. We've never done this. I breathe in as his weight comes off my neck and settles to the hand by my shoulder. I feel him, taut, poised above me, ready to push inside. "Let it out slowly."

As I do, I feel his tip enter, the burning sensation multiplied a thousand-fold. He keeps coming, that small ache turns into a searing, piercing pain. I wasn't built for this! I feel the need to crawl away, to get away from the pain in my ass, and still he keeps pushing, entering, tearing. Dear gods, he'd tear me in two. There comes a point of such intense and blinding, destructive anguish I don't think I want to be alive any more. He stops. Holds it there. It's almost worse than the pushing. I'm crying, brokenly. I give up. I'm ready to die, I let go. All of a sudden it doesn't hurt so much any more. Then he starts to move.

In, out, shallow tiny thrusts, my body feels every miniscule twitch from him, the aching siren song in my snatch returns. I feel more alive than anything I have ever felt. Burning, breaking, grinding- my soul turns to ash. There comes a point where all of the sensory overload gets out of hand- I don't come, not in any way I've come to recognize an orgasm, but I spill over, the culmination of pain, sickness and unholy pleasure sweeps me. He chuckles and through gritted teeth says, "Damn, Granger. You soaked the mattress."

His cock is out of my ass with the shredding feeling of taking the largest, fastest shit of my life. He shoves it back into my pussy and if my eyes weren't already closed my vision would have gone black with the mind-numbing orgasm that breaks through the thin veneer that's left of my sanity. His thrusts are fast, deep. He's coming, soon. His body gives a huge jerk. He pulls out again, shoves his tip into my ass and lets his seed fill me.

I'm lost, and I know it. When his weight collapses above me, I welcome it. I will never be the same, I am ruined for any kind act of lovemaking that I may one day be part of. He kisses my shoulder, nips it, hard. I know it will leave a mark, but I don't care.

He gets up from my bed and I hear him return his pajama pants. Little do I know that this will be the last time Harry Potter will return to my bed under the will of Voldemort, to trouble me and make me his, any more.

No, He is too cruel for that. He has created something and some one that does not exist. I will never have Harry that way, his beautiful body will forever be my torment. If I were to seek him out, to want sex from him, it would be the gentle loving I could expect from my best friend. As I said before, I am ruined.

If I wanted what I'd had before, I would have to go directly to the source. I would have to defect to Voldemort.

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A/N So what do you think? Sequel-worthy? Let me know! Please!
I live for reviews, and I was trying something different.