Voldemort's Trap is Laid

Voldemort led Hermione into his bedroom in the headmaster’s quarters. After the success of the show that night, he desired to show her ‘proper’ appreciation for her help, as well as secure a marriage with her. She knew that he intended to make her his bride, and he had been bringing her around to the idea for the past few weeks. She looked absolutely wonderful in her pink silk dress. However, there was something which must be remedied first.
“Take off that shawl,” he said. She obeyed, and his gaze slid down her chest. He smirked at the flesh displayed by the low neckline, and reached out a hand. However, he pulled it back. “The necklace, too.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but he silenced her with a frown. Her hands shook as she undid the clasp. She offered the jewellery to him, but he shook his head, refusing to take it. Well, the pendant was a golden lion, the symbol of Gryffindor. It was little wonder that he refused to touch it. Instead, she bent down, and placed it gently on top of the shawl. She began to tremble as she straightened.
“You’re going to… to take me, aren’t you?”
“Well done, Hermione. You really are a know-it-all.”
“I’m not, otherwise I would know more about… this.” She blushed. He raised his hand again, and tilted her face up.
“I have been told that I am a gifted instructor,” he said, stepping forward. She started to move back, but his other arm went around her back, keeping her still. “Allow me to teach you everything, my dear.” He leaned down and kissed her gently, pulling back after a few seconds. “But first, strip.”
She nodded, shaking again once he had let her go. While she stepped out of her shoes, he cast a non-verbal Silencing Charm over the whole room. It was arrogant, yes; but the pain alone might make her scream the very roof down if they let it.
“Um… could you?” she asked, turning slightly to indicate the back of her dress. He nodded, and began to move the zip down.
“How did you do it up earlier? Magic?”
“No. But my hands were steady when it put it on. Now…”
“I see. There you are.”
“Thank you.” What was she saying? Thanking the Dark Lord for helping her undress? She must have lost her mind. She had naively assumed that he would wait until they were married. She had no choice in the matter; could he really not wait that long?
“Are you going to finish?”
“What? Oh.” She pushed the dress down to her waist, and then let the material pool at her feet. She bent to pick it up, but he stopped her.
“Leave it. I grow impatient; though I must say that the absence of a brassiere is pleasing… to say the least. What were you expecting?”
“I had none that would go with outfit, sir,” she said, rolling down her tights. “They were all the wrong design; and I spent so much on the gown that I couldn’t really afford to buy something that I wasn’t expecting anyone to see.”
“You could have asked me for money.”
“I would have felt embarrassed asking you for money for… for that.” She stood up again, having finally removed her underwear, too. Voldemort’s appreciative look ran over her body, and she flushed.
“Never feel embarrassed to come to me for anything,” he said, stepping forward again. She moved back instinctively, and her hands flew to cover herself. “Don’t do that.”
“I… it’s strange, you being there, me being here, you being clothed, and me… well.”
“More than well, I assure you.” His smile grew, and she whimpered, turning away. “But I shall endeavour to correct the situation.”
Hermione shut her eyes in horror and disgust at herself, as she listened to the sound of rustling fabric. She kept them screwed tight as hands touched her shoulders.
“Please don’t hurt me,” she whispered.
“I will not if you place your arms at your side.” Shaking again, she obediently moved her hands away, and held herself rigid.
He tutted. “My dear, you must relax.” His voice was soft, his hands gentle as they ran down her arms, rubbing gently. “I know you feel as though there is no choice for you…”
“There isn’t.”
“But you can enjoy this, if you allow yourself to,” he continued. After stroking up and down a few times, he slid his hands down to hers, interlacing their fingers. Knowing how much she would appreciate it, he began to place small kisses on her bare skin, starting with the back of her neck, then moving downwards, from one side to the other, down to the base of her spine, before starting back up. Finally, he let go of her hands, and turned her around to face him. Her eyes were still closed, and he took advantage of that by taking her lips in a rough kiss. She gave him a startled look, but gave in. What else could she do?
He pulled back, and placed his hands on her waist. He began to stroke the skin there, but she was more preoccupied with what was poking into her belly.
“Oh gods,” she said, clearly frightened. “What am I doing? What are you doing?”
“Making sure that you will be happy with me,” he said. “I will not have a sullen wife, Hermione. You will learn to find some level of enjoyment in being married to me.”
“How?”
“Feel and learn.” He took her lips in another kiss, and this time began to massage her skin, moving his hands freely. He felt her shudder as they moved to her front, running his fingers up over her breasts, causing her breath to hitch, and down over her stomach. They moved back up, and began to trace circles around her nipples. She pulled back as she cried out, and he chuckled.
“Stop; oh, please stop,” she said. “I… I feel strange. It tickles, but not in a good way. Well, in a good way, but…”
“Mmm-hmm. Is that so?” He knelt down in front of her, and let his hands trail down her legs. His palms felt cold against her skin, which was getting hotter by the minute. “I believe that what you are feeling is called ‘arousal’.” He smirked again. “You really are an innocent, aren’t you?” She nodded. “How… wonderful. I do so like young girls who are untouched. So gratifying to be their first.” He studied her body again, and stood. With a sudden movement, he swept her into his arms, and walked over to his bed. She let out a sob. “Shh. It will be all right. Fear not.”
“Won’t it hurt?” she asked, trying to stop the tears, but failing. “M-mother told me that it h-hurts.”
“At first, perhaps, but that cannot be helped. I hear that childbirth is far more painful.”
“Well, duh,” she muttered. He chuckled at her words. Good. She had some spark of humour left. That would help.
He placed her on the bed, uncharacteristically tender in his movements. He made sure that she had a decent number of pillows propping her up, and then climbed in front of her.
“You should feel honoured,” he said, once again caressing her body. He started with her feet, and moved his way up. Hermione felt the tension leave her, forgetting that she was wearing nothing but air, and that she was about to lose her virginity to the most evil man alive. When he reached her knees, however, he pulled them apart, causing some of the nervousness to return. “I am being much kinder to you than I ever am to anyone else.”
“Then why are you doing this?”
“Well,” he said, crawling up further, “I could whisper sweet nothings, tell you that I love you, whereas… well, I don’t. But who knows what can happen with time? I would never let anything bad happen to you, I know that.” He nuzzled her cheek, and she closed her eyes, turning her head from him. “Hmm. Another thing to remedy. I thought you appreciated the looks returned to me by Severus’ potion? Or was I wrong?”
“N-no. I…” How could she explain just how scared she was? There was a man between her legs, a man she had read about from the time she was eleven, and had learned to fear since she was twelve. A man they had been fighting against since she was fifteen. A man who intended to marry her, and was now about to bed her. She could feel tears forming, and another sob made its way out from between her swollen lips. Her breathing quickened as his face came into view.
“Hermione? Look at me.”
“I… I am, sir.”
“Do not call me ‘sir’. Not here, not now.”
“Then what do I call you?”
“Call me… your lord.”
“No,” she said, eyes widening. “Never. You are not my ‘lord’.”
“You could call me ‘Tom’, but that would remind me of Dumbledore. Anything else will give you a nasty shock on that bracelet adorning your delightfully pale wrist.” He lowered his lips to said wrist, and nipped gently at the flesh. She whimpered again.
“Then take it off. Take off the bracelet.”
“No. If you must call me something, call me… ‘master’.”
She just nodded. What else could she do? That would at least put an end to the subject, and they could just… get this over with.
With an evil grin, Voldemort moved back down her body until his face was between her legs. She nearly leapt off the bed at the first touch. If his hands had not suddenly grasped her hips, she probably would have. Instead, all she could do was gasp, occasionally bite her lips or tongue, and hold onto the sheets desperately. Chuckles from the man who was being so very intimate with her sent vibrations right through her body, and she squeezed her eyes shut as she cried out. What was happening to her? How could this monster make her feel this way?
“Sweet Circe,” she murmured, and she groaned. He pulled away, and crawled back over her once again. He forced his lips back onto hers, and she grimaced at the unusual taste. Why did he look so happy?
“How delicious,” he said. “Fresh, clean, musky… Everything you should be, and more than I imagined.”
“You… imagined?”
“I needed something to keep me warm at night, and feeling less lonely. How I have waited for this, my dear.” He kissed her again. “One day, perhaps you will reciprocate?”
“Recipro… reciprocate? You mean, do… do that kind of thing to you?”
“Who else did you have in mind?” he asked, eyes flashing in annoyance.
“I didn’t mean that. Clearly I wouldn’t want anyone else. I mean, there wouldn’t be anyone… I mean…”
“Calm yourself. I have worked hard to get you relaxed. Very hard.” He glanced down meaningfully, and Hermione blushed. But she couldn’t tear her eyes away. Other parts of the male anatomy you could see on the television, in movies, and in magazines all the time. But this particular part was foreign to her. She almost reached out for it, but knew that she wasn’t ready for it. Not yet.
“I’m sorry. It’s just that the thought of… of touching that with my mouth is just… disturbing.”
“Hmm. I will train you to find it delightful. Oh yes, my dear Hermione. With my help, you will find your inner depraved, wanton self.” He reached a hand down between his legs, and she soon felt something at her entrance. Her eyes shut again, but they were forced open when he thrust forward a bit.
“Oh…”
“Yes, Hermione. But relax.” He bent his head, and began to run his tongue over her blazing skin. The blush had yet to fade, and she was hot to the touch. He blew gently over the paths his tongue had made. She shivered with the delicious coolness, and he pushed in further. More kissing, more caressing. He went further still, until he hit a barrier, and she winced.
“I know, I know. I should relax. Believe me, I’m trying.”
“I believe you, dear one.” He desperately wanted to hear her screams, but also wanted her to feel pleasure. Perhaps, just this once, he could settle for quiet. “Hermione, on the count of three, I’m going to push, all right?” She nodded. “One, two, three.” But he didn’t move. She had tensed, but looked confused when nothing happened. Slowly, the tension in her body abated. Once he saw that it was all gone, felt how limp she had gone in his arms, he thrust forward, breaking through, and pressing his lips to hers to muffle her cries. He held still, arms wound around her body tightly, as she shook with sobs.
“That hurt,” she said, her voice shaky and weak. It has felt so peculiar. But when she compared it to some of the spells she had endured, this really wasn’t so bad in comparison. She thought about the Cruciatus Curse. That had been used on her once, and she could still remember the pain tearing her to pieces, while doing no actual physical damage.
“Don’t cry,” he said, and he kissed her tears away. It just seemed like the right thing to do, and he wanted to taste as much of her as she could. The drops were salty and thin, quite different to what he had sampled earlier. He wondered what her virginal blood would taste like.
Hermione’s breathing slowed. She realised that Voldemort had remained still the entire time, and was watching her without anger or malice. Just… concern? No, that couldn’t be right, surely.
…Could it?
“You… you can move now,” she said, and he nodded in reply. He pushed all of the way in, and then pulled back. He created a gentle rocking rhythm, and she moved with him, her breaths erratic and strained. He still felt her blood trickling between their legs, but there was something other than blood there, and he smiled. Things were going well, and she felt incredible around him. His arms stayed where they were, but her hands had moved up and around, and now rested on his back. He lowered his mouth to hers once again, their lips meeting with far more tenderness and passion than ever before. Tongues caressed each other, until everything else, moving hips included, were forgotten. There was nothing else, not to them.
It was just a man and a girl… no, a young woman. When the time came, they found ecstasy together, happiness spreading through their limbs and back to their lips, ever-connected, ever-caressing. The sounds of moving skin and two people breathing through their noses were the only things that broke the silence of the bedroom.
Lord Voldemort took her twice more that night, just to make sure. Either way, by graduation Hermione found that she was pregnant. This led to a quick but extravagant wedding, one which had been planned months in advance. Nobody dared to do the math when Hermione gave birth less than eight months later.
This didn’t bother the Dark Lord. He had got the girl, and his first child. He had taken control of the wizarding world, and his empire was ever-expanding. What more could he want for now?
Well… one more thing, perhaps. But she was eagerly awaiting him in their bedroom. And how could he ever say no to his Hermione?
One word: never.