Taken By A Subtle Grace

Title: Taken By a Subtle Grace
By: eli
Rating: NC-17 for adult naughty stuff
Character(s): Hermione Granger, Voldemort, Tom Riddle
Pairing: Hermione/Tom/Voldemort
Beta Babe: none this time, this was originally a rough draft for another fandom. That I wrote under my old and now deceased blog name the_lost_queen. I was never happy with it so when going over old stuff my muse tweaked an absolutely absurd idea. And thus I re-fiddled and this is what happened….Be afraid.
Total Length: 3,495
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I definitely do not make any profit in any form from this badly written bit of disaster.

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


I am the sun and the air,
Of a shining that is criminally vulgar
I am the son and heir,
Of nothing in particular,
You shout mouth how can you say,
I go about things the wrong way,
I am human and I need to be loved,
Just like everybody else does….

~from~ Love Spit Love, How Soon Is Now (Lyrics)



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


Part 1/2:


Hermione swallowed hard at witnessing first hand the banked rage simmering in his gaze. At least it was better than pain. She hated seeing him in pain and that fact more than anything decided her. For why would she possibly give a damn if he suffered, he deserved to suffer. Annoyed and a little aroused she circled him like a tiny stalking cat. Moving closer subtly by degrees and inches, towards his lounging body, noticing that even disheveled and tied up, he still smelled unnervingly good to her. His scent was unusual the closest description that came to mind was the faintest hint of wood pine smoke and death.

”Why so silent, Miss Granger? As Potter so eloquently put it, apparently you all have me at your mercy.”

Her eyes glittered sharply at his words and she felt a bitter harshness in her chest. As she witnessed the tiredness drawing the skin tight around his bruised eyes Hermione wondered at the strange reactions he brought out in her. His coloring was the palest of alabaster under the light of the Order’s new interrogation room. After Lord Voldemort had demolished Grimmauld Place most spectacularly as was his style she thought bitterly. The Order had been forced to move headquarters and it had been Hermione who had volunteered to set up the interrogation room.

The Dark Lord should of course have been thoroughly dead, so she figured tiredness showing through his usually impeccable control was to be expected. Hermione’s hands fell to her sides and clenched as she re-thought her ill-thought out purpose in coming to this cramped room. The revenge plan that had brought her here, but he was more intimidating than she had expected despite being restrained with Muggle technology. For some reason he still managed to somehow give the impression of a subtle menace, and it was making her increasingly edgy.

Hermione glanced briefly at the touch pad buttons in front of his long skeletal deathly pale hands. She and Harry were the only ones who knew the correct sequence of numbers that would release his restraints. Hermione ignored the brief flash of unsettled awareness under his silent scrutiny, as she scuttled a little closer to him but still keeping her distance. She chose to ignore the heat igniting in her body as she watched his muscles tense. While he shifted against the shackle like mechanisms around his wrists and ankles, his well practiced movements indicating it was by now an afterthought. A continual check for any sliver of weakness in the restraints making her incredibly glad she was incredibly smart.

Hermione felt again that lick of heat uncurl inside her like a rising serpent watching the play of light over his lean muscles. She observed dryly to herself how he somehow managed to make it appear as if he were aristocratically lounging upon the metal chair. As if he owned the situation and was going to quite possibly expire from boredom if she didn’t get on with it. Her gaze snagged almost helplessly, on the way the top three buttons of his black Oxford shirt were undone, staring at his dark blood red tie that was ever so slightly askew, finally he spoke to her.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of meeting the brains behind the trio of, how did Ronald the idiot put it? Ah yes, my final defeat and doom, such a melodramatic young man.”

Hermione looked into his gaze and so many emotions swirled inside her at the dark intensity belying his light hissing words. Hearing the way his thin almost non-existent lips emphasized the s’, as though English were his second language and Parseltongue his first. Which in a way she mused it very well might be now, walking over to the door, she once again looked down the hallway. It was completely deserted, no sound from anywhere as she had expected. It had taken a lot of convincing lies on her part, for Harry to allow her time alone with Lord Voldemort. But it had been she who had come up with the restraining Muggle technology advanced chair.

And she had assured him in her usual bossy manner that no way could he get out of it, unless she told him the combination. At Harry’s slightly confused twitch of hair and eyebrows she had informed him to trust her judgment with a finality that brooked no rebuttal. Walking back over to him and his now suddenly tense body, Hermione allowed a small solemn smile to escape. She was pleased to note he swallowed ever so slightly at what she knew was a smug gaze on her part.

Moving closer, allowing her fingers to brush over his thin surprisingly broad shoulders given his lean frame, his body tensed even more and Hermione hid her triumphant smile. By now, she’d come full circle around his body and was standing directly in front of him. His legs were spread, each one tied to a leg of the chair giving her the perfect idea. It was unusual to see Voldemort in anything but the black swirling darkness that made up his usual dramatic robes. Hermione had been the one to transfigure him his current attire; after all she had been the one to find him after his fall at Harry’s hand. Upon Harry’s defeat of the Dark Lord, Hermione and he had discovered that unfortunately Voldemort had quite disturbingly, come back from the dead days after being defeated.

Hermione had woken to find Voldemort’s body lain out like a sacrificial offering, unmoving at the foot of her bed in her flat in Diagon Alley. After rushing to the bathroom to vomit from a combination of fear and shock, she had eventually come out to find that no it was not a nightmare; she had poked at his completely and utterly still body. Until finally she had contacted Harry and Ginny not knowing what else to do, informing them of Voldemort residence in her bedroom. Poor Harry hadn’t taken the news well. While waiting for them to arrive she had sat cross legged next to the prone body of the most evil wizard in their world. He had appeared as though merely sleeping, as if he could wake up and lazily Avada Kevada her at any moment. When Harry, Ginny and Ron had been arguing over her head as she sat numbly next to the body, it had been she who had realized what the faintest fluttering at the corners of Voldemort’s closed eyelids had indicated.

She had tried to reason and then unapologetic she bullied and intimidated the two young men and Ginny, into enclosing the unresponsive body of the Dark Lord into the chair. Ron had looked at her like she had informed him Christmas had been canceled indefinitely, when she voiced her suspicions that the Dark Lord was slowly resurfacing into consciousness.

And now finally Hermione had him right where she wanted him. After so many years of intense one might even say obsessive study, she had come to know the Dark Lord in a way she was sure very few could claim to. Hermoine knew things about Tom Marvolo Riddle, after going through Dumbledore’s pensive until his perfectly composed profile was etched into her brain in sepia tones. Hermione had despite her best efforts become fascinated to the point of a strange twisted admiration for such a mind. Over the two days that Voldemort’s body had sat like an Egyptian mummified god king in the restraining chair, she had come up with such a twisted idea of retribution that briefly Hermione had even scared herself a little. At what had floated to the surface as the most delicious sort of revenge on the Dark Lord.

Her gaze focused once more upon Voldemort as he eyed her up and down in a rather hungry manner that she found a little disturbing. Hermione’s dark brown eyes gave the briefest of flashes so quick he almost missed it; she lithely straddled him in the chair. His slitted eyes widened faintly in surprise and his body jerked against the restraints. She noted smugly his breathing was slightly shallower than it had been a moment earlier. No, as she suspected, Voldemort did not care to have his personal space invaded.

“What’s the matter, Voldemort? Feeling a little out of control?”

She bit back an evil smirk as his eyes narrowed until belatedly a twinge of fear slithered through her bitter amusement. But she had a plan and Hermione always stuck to her plans come hell or high water, or Dark Lords, wiggling in his lap, she settled herself more comfortably on his thighs. Ignoring for the moment, the desire she felt creep through her on stealthy feet, at feeling his lean wiry thighs under her bum. Not to mention the faint hardening of his erection that was now clearly evident through the thin material separating them. His voice surprised her into looking up and she was caught in his stained red gaze.

“Hermione,”

The word was tense and strangely familiar coming from his lips, giving her pause for a moment. Suddenly she could see numerous indecipherable thoughts raging behind those cold calculating eyes. Strangely her name on his lips sounded like both a warning and an enticement, whispering to something deep inside her. Leaning forward, she brought her hands to his cold narrow cheekbones. The intensity in his dark red gaze sent shivers down her spine. But she found herself enjoying this position of power too much, to heed the warning lacing that one word and those shivers on her spine.

“You know Voldemort, I’ve been studying you for a very, very long time. And I’ve noticed what you might call a tendency of yours. Control. You need it. Always you have to be in control, don’t you? Tom. Marvolo. Riddle.”

She was pleased to feel his chest expand as he exhaled a long hissing breath. But the deadly flat glint that bloomed in his gaze caused real terror to skate over her nerve endings. And yet the feel of his slight erection under her bum made her knowingly push against him. Hermione licked at the shell of his ear catching him by surprise as she whispered.

“You’re always in control I’ve studied you Thomas, I know all kinds of things about you. Dumbeldore kept quiet the extensive pensive on you, Riddle. I know you hated Arithmancy, I know you never had a girlfriend. Bit shy with the girls were we, Thomas…?”

She drew her tongue over his thin jaw, feeling his breath brush against her forehead in small pants. As he reacted to the sound of the name she was well-aware made him literally see red. Hermione felt his gathering rage and unwilling rising fascination as she felt that mind of his focusing on her fully for the first time since she entered the tiny smelly room. Until the sensation of being the focus of his attention was eating at her. As if the very air around him were electrified with his darkness, wrapping her up in a cocoon of twisted desire.

“It’s sexy in a twisted kind of way isn’t it? To think of stripping you of everything, of taking something from you without your consent and by a Muggle born, no less.”

Hermione paused drawing out her hissing words giving back to him that psychological venom he so dearly enjoyed inflicting upon his victims. Hearing her words whisper around the small cramped room, as his breath shuddered in his throat. Without warning she ground down onto his growing erection viciously. Hermione didn’t know if she wanted to torture and him or kiss him until she drew blood, or both.

This desire growing in her was unsettling, she felt weak and strong at the same time in a weird twisted state. And that was definitely not part of her plan. Hermione wanted to humiliate him not kiss him senseless she assured herself. Only it didn’t sound very convincing, even to her. But now she found herself caught up in the tendrils of her own game, as she continued to whisper to him in this new soft deadly voice that she never knew was resting inside her.

“All that control…taken from you.”

“How would you react? What would you do? What would I do?”

She paused waiting to see if he would return the verbal taunts, and she was not disappointed.

“What would you do, Mudblood?”

Hermione tilted her head slightly to the side at his hard biting words, hearing the suppressed desire behind them. His eyes were hooded and such a dark red reminiscent of the stain of dried blood. His gaze burned with a dark need and desire Hermione didn’t think she was imagining. She was delighted that he was playing into her game. But she hadn’t really intended to take it this far initially, when it had come to her what kind of revenge she might enact. But his reaction and the subsequent sensations stirring and unfurling as if from a tight bud deep down within her, moving through her body made the decision for her. Hermione hadn’t known she could elicit such a reaction from Voldemort no less, and the thought was heady indeed.

Feeling slightly unstable and increasingly aroused thinking that the feeling was akin to running with open scissors knowingly, she shifted against him, delighting in his low barely audible hiss, as his hips unconsciously moved against hers in the barest of shallow movements. She estimated that for him that was the equivalent of a normal man’s buck and thrust. After all he wouldn’t allow himself to show how much she might be affecting him. Indeed, that would be giving away some of his precious control she thought nastily.

“You sure you can handle it? Thomas…”

She nipped at the corner of his unnaturally thin lips, feeling darkly triumphant as he barely restrained a shudder under her. But then he went strangely still making her sway a little in regaining her balance both mentally and physically on his thighs. He was looking down at her and his poker face was most definitely making an appearance much to her disgust.

“But can you handle the consequences, Miss Granger.”

His voice was strangely neutral for him and that gave her pause as they regarded each other. He had addressed her politely and that made her desire recede slightly, as she belatedly remembered what or rather who she was sitting on. Hermione had studied in detail all his various closed expressions. First through Harry’s connection with him and then Dumbledore’s legacy to her, his Beedle the Barb book everyone was aware of, but not even Harry knew of the pensive focusing on Tom Marvolo Riddle that Dumbledore had bequeathed to her. Hermione was intimately aware of the majority of his facial poker masks. Enough to know this one hid a wealth of reactions to her surprising attack on his person.

Smirking faintly, she leaned over until her small breasts pressed into his thin chest and her lips hovered at the side of his jaw.

“If I were to take you, do you know what I’d do first? I’d bite every inch of you.”
“Making sure to take my time, licking and tasting your collarbone, your neck, your chest, leaving no part unmarked so everyone knew who had taken you. So they would know that a Muggle born had marked you as theirs.”

She suited action to words, drawing a harsh low hiss from deep in his throat. Pushing back the arousal flowing through her, Hermione tried to concentrate on her own words. She was strangely aroused by his barely checked responses at being helpless against her touch on his skin. Hermione felt a slightly warped buzz from the dark red rage growing and entwining with a strange possessiveness in his gaze as he waited to see what she did next.

“Of course, I wouldn’t allow you clothing so you would be completely revealed to me in every way, your muscles tensing at being restrained, unable to touch me absolutely no control over who took your virginity.”

When she implemented her well educated guess on his sexual state he became rock hard against her as they both stilled. And Hermione couldn’t help but arch against him, needing the friction craving it by this point. And she smirked at his reaction to her knowledge of his virgin state. He hissed a string of something in Parseltongue that bizarrely only made her wetter.
“Bitch”.

Hermione couldn’t help the spontaneous small grin that surfaced at the only word she understood at the end of his hissing litany, uttered in that strange language of his. On Harry that serpent tongue language was forced and unnatural making him twitch uncomfortably. And yet, on Voldemort it came across as his native tongue. Hermione continued not admitting to herself that it was mainly to see what he might do next under her onslaught of his person.

“I’d skim my tongue down your chest, over your stomach, leaving a trail of bites and marks in my wake, circling closer and closer to where you want my mouth.”

She’d managed to undo the buttons on his shirt, as she spoke and her hands trailed over the hard skin. Despite herself Hermione found she was fascinated by the pale smooth hardness covering hard elongated bones. She had not expected to find him genuinely attractive. And he wasn’t in; his appearance was scary and alienating in its in-humanness. And yet his skin had the alabaster marble quality of a statue come to life. It was intensely unnerving at how much she was becoming aroused by his skin.

Hermione could feel him hard and throbbing under her, his low panting breaths were heated against the delicate skin of her neck. This caused ricochets of prickly desire to tingle in other places further down inside her in direct response to his rapid breathing. His muscles strained against the metal fastenings. And for a moment as she saw the metal bend ever so faintly before her eyes Hermione paused. But then her eyes blinked she realized it must have been refracted light from the overhead light fixtures. And then his low frightening voice was whispering to her distracting her attention, pulling her awareness back to him as if her head were on a string.

“Those who play with scissors get hurt, little girl.”

The low murmured words made her pause as Hermione met his hooded gaze; surely he hadn’t read her mind earlier. There was no way she reasoned, it was obvious he had lost the majority of his powers. After a moment of taut silence when the atmosphere in the room subtly shifted Hermione felt a slight foreboding nibbling at her. But instead of doing the sensible Hermione thing she surprised herself by silently proceeding. Raking her nails across his chest she delighted in his surprised hiss. Her nails were long and she had scraped hard enough to leave deep welts in the wake of her fingers.

She was claiming him, and Hermione saw his silent recognition of her deliberate actions. Hermione registered his awareness of her psychological taunting. But at the back of his gaze she also registered some enigmatic flicker of emotion, which sent the hairs on the back of her neck standing to attention. But then it was gone and Hermione told herself to get on with it, before she succumbed to her growing arousal. Which was not the plan at all, she was taking him, not the other way round. Her voice was lower when next she spoke and she was unaware how intimate her tone became the more she taunted him.




End this Part

Yet another A/N: So originally this turned into a 7,000 words monster one-shot. So I split it in two so that nobody's eyes would dry up and fall out, in attempting to read it in one sitting. Part 3 of 'The Beast In Me' is coming back from my lovely beta any day now, so that should be up by the end of the week. Part 2 of this ridiculous two-shot will be up tomorrow night if your interested ;)


:hides from whacked out muse: