Voldemort had kissed her.
Regardless of how attractive his current exterior was, nothing could change the fact that she had not stopped a murderous psychopath from kissing her.
The ice-cold sickness that she had felt was still there. Trying to find comfort, Hermione hugged her pillow, nestled down deeper into her bed and tried not to empty her stomach onto the green carpet. She already showered, for more than an hour, in a desperate attempt to get rid of the nauseating feeling Riddle’s body had left on her. It was pointless. She felt sick, dirty, and, even though she knew it was an irrational thought, she felt guilty.
She knew Riddle had not kissed her because he found her attractive. This was all about power. In some way, she felt better knowing that he was not actually attracted to her. Even the thought of Voldemort being interested in her was way worse than this already horrible reality.
At the same time, she was all too aware that her current situation was very dangerous. He had no sympathy for her. He only wanted to prove to her that he could control her body as he pleased. Thus, there was no reason why he would not make up for what he missed today at some point in the future. She would not be able to stop him.
She had graduated here together with Tom Riddle, which meant neither him nor herself had been expelled. She would not be able to report Tom for his actions. She would not be able to see him punished. She was not allowed to change the timeline.
Hermione wondered whether she already had messed up. Whether, in the few weeks she now lived here, she had made a wrong decision, and because of that already did not do what she originally had done in this time. Would she have sent herself back in time despite knowing that Voldemort would rape her?
Would she do that to herself?
A headache started to creep up from her neck. Every time she thought about time travel, she found herself at a dead end and got a terrible headache.
With a sigh, she sat up again and let got of her pillow. It could not be helped. She had to get through this by any means possible. She had to follow through with her plan to win Riddle over at least a bit so that he would share his plans with her. Perhaps if she did not give him any more reason to be upset with her, he would not touch her?
A low knocking at her door interrupted her thoughts. Why would come to her this late on a Sunday night? None of the girls ever showed any interest in spending private time with her.
Slowly, she left her bed and went to the door to open it.
She instantly froze.
Tom Riddle.
“Good evening, Hermione,” he whispered and smiled at her.
Panicked, she wanted to close the door again, but he was quicker. He pushed the door open and entered without waiting for her permission. With a knowing smile, he looked down on her. “You fear me. Good.”
Hermione swallowed. Her throat felt too tight to speak or even breathe. Blinking, she forced herself to stick to her plan. She needed to prevent him from getting angry again. Whatever he wanted from her, she could not risk him getting unpredictable mood-swings again.
“Good evening, Tom,” she replied, her eyes fixed on the floor. “What do you … how can I help you?”
He laughed, sounding actually amused. “So you finally understood, Hermione. I almost gave up on you.”
Nervously, she looked up at him. There was no hint of the dangerous aura he had shown her just a few hours ago. If she did not know who he was, he would almost appear like any normal young man. Her headache got worse. What was wrong with Tom that his mood could change so quickly?
“To be honest,” he continued while sitting down uninvited on one of the chairs at her small desk, “I’m here to help you.”
Before Hermione had a chance to ask what exactly he meant by that, Tom took out a book from his school bag and put it on the desk. Magick Moste Evile. One of the two books about the Dark Arts that were available at Hogwarts during her own time. The less dangerous of the two.
With weak knees, Hermione sat down on the other chair. “You want to talk about Dark Arts? Now?”
“Yes,” Tom replied with a bright smile that made Hermione’s blood run cold. “Now. Since we talked about it in the library, nothing happened. It would really be tragic to waste any more time, don’t you think? We only have this one year and even a brilliant mind like yours can only learn so much in so short a time.”
It made no sense. Riddle’s actions simply did not make any sense. How was she supposed to react if she had no idea what his motives were? Furthermore, while the nausea slowly subsided, the headache was still there in full force.
She exhaled slowly. “Good. Fine. Whatever. Start talking, I’m all ears.”
The smile was still obnoxiously plastered on his face when he reached back into his bag and took out a small wooden boy. “Marvellous. I hoped you’d say that. I already prepared something for our first lesson. Look. I took a Puffskein from one of the younger students. These things are rather trusting and won’t run from you even when you hurt them. Ideal for testing curses on them, don’t you agree?”
Shocked, Hermione stared at the fluffy little beat who stared back at her with its small black eyes. She knew these beasts, as they were one of the favourite pets among witches, because they were known for never refusing cuddling and petting. No other being was as harmless and innocent as a Puffskein.
Through gritted teeth she asked: “You want … you want me to … torture this beast?”
“It’s just a Puffskein, Hermione,” Tom retorted impassively. His smile changed into a hard, unrelenting look in his eyes. “It will not fight against any harm you do to it. How do you want to study black magic if you can’t even curse a good-for-nothing beast?”
Hermione’s heart started to race. It was a test. She instinctively knew that Riddle wanted to test her with this task. If she earnestly was interested in the Dark Arts, she would have no qualms to experiment on a Puffskein.
The nausea returned. Did she even have a choice? Under no circumstances could she risk giving Riddle another reason to distrust her. He had not questioned her story about Aberforth Dumbledore. He had not even commented on her not being a pureblood. Whatever had caused him to overlook all her flaws, she could not throw that away just because she was too kind-hearted to torture a Puffskein.
She did this for a good cause. Sometimes, one had to make sacrifices. Nobody would hold it against her.
She closed her eyes, fought down the nausea, and then finally nodded. Looking Tom directly into the eyes, she stated, “You’re right, that was stupid of me. So. What shall I do?”
Hermione tried to ignore the triumphant expression on Tom’s face while she listened to his explanations. “I thought it would be appropriate to start with the Stinging Hex. You told me you knew it. Furthermore, I think it’s easier to start with a hex you experienced yourself. What do you think? Shall I show you what to do?”
Fiercely determined, Hermione grabbed her wand and trained it on the little creature. Those dark eyes looked at her trustingly, but she ordered herself not to hesitate. Magic only worked if one was absolutely sure and determined. This was true especially for darker hexes and curses.
Silently, she said the words in her head, performed the wand motion precisely as she remembered it – and then she observed with growing nausea as the light fur of the Puffskein started to turn dark. Little blisters appeared and the beast cried miserably with its high-pitched voice. To her, it felt that it did not scream so much because of the pain, but because it did not understand why she did this to it, why she betrayed it like this. She pressed her jaw together, struggling to retain a neutral expression.
“Remarkable,” Tom said slowly, his gaze firmly on her face. “You indeed didn’t lie when you told me you’re interested in the Dark Arts. I didn’t think you’d be actually able to cast this hex, much less non-verbally.”
“Hermione stopped the hex and returned her attention to him. “As I already told you: Don’t underestimate me.”
For one breathless moment, Hermione feared that her irreverent statement would again awaken his anger. When Riddle finally answered, though, he did not sound angry at all. “I never planned on underestimating you again. It’s more like … you’re one big contradiction. It’s hard to predict your actions.”
The intense expression in Riddle’s eyes turned Hermione’s nausea into nervous trembling. If this expression had come from any other boy, she would have felt great, would have bathed in the feeling of being mysterious and desirable because of it. But from Tom Riddle? What were his intentions that he would deliberately give her the impression he was actually interested in her? Did he still think he could charm her into submission? It was impossible to think him so naïve!
Nervously, she licked her lips and forced herself to withstand his gaze. “You’re not easy to predict yourself.”
A smug grin appeared on his lips, but his eyes retained the same greedy expression. Aghast, Hermione noticed that he got closer to her, so close indeed that their thighs touched. Again, she could not help but think that with any other man, this situation would sizzling with erotic energy. In the presence of Voldemort though, she only felt all-encompassing danger.
Suddenly, she understood what Tom was planning.
Slowly, as if to try and not scare her off, Tom put one of his hands on her cheek. “We’re not that different from one another, if you actually look at it, don’t you agree, Hermione?”
Tom Riddle, the future Lord Voldemort, was trying to seduce her. Her heart beating ferociously, Hermione looked back at him. She forced herself to not look away while she desperately tried to think of what to do. She simply could not risk to resist him. She had to rescue the sinking ship that was her mission at all costs. Bring it back on course. She did not yet know why, but Riddle was giving her an opportunity to do exactly that right now. She only had to give in. Pretend that his advances were welcome, so she could catch a break momentarily.
She swallowed, licked her lips again, and tried to steady her voice. Trying to sound as heated as he, she lowered her voice. “Yes, indeed we’re not.”
She could hear the tremble in her voice, her words nothing more than a breath. She hated her own insecurity, but perhaps it was for the best. Perhaps this was how a lovestruck girl sounded when she talked to her flame. Still bound by his gaze, Hermione waited for his reply.
Once again, a triumphant expression appeared on Tom’s face, accompanied by a knowing smile. This was the look of a predator who was confident to win. With one swift movement that did not allow resistance, he pulled her face to him. Then, he closed the remaining distance between their lips.
He kissed her. Again. This time, though, she could not resist. On the contrary. She was forced to submit, to appear as if she wanted this. Trembling, cold sweat on her forehead, Hermione answered the demanding caresses of his lips. Her ice-cold hands grabbed his shirt, searching for support to not faint on the spot. Or throw up on his feet.
For several minutes they remained in this position. Only their lips were moving as Tom forced her to open her mouth for his searching tongue. Disgusted, she let him do as he pleased. Eyes shut close, she tried to forget who she was kissing so willingly.
Finally, he let go of her. Leaned back, tracing his lips with his thumb, while a self-assured grin played around the corners of his mouth. “I think, we better stop our lesson here. I am a gentleman, but who knows how you’d seduce me further, dearest Hermione.”
She could not prevent the relief from showing on her face, but it did not seem to bother him. With one elegant motion, he stood up, grabbed the book, put the fainted Puffskein back into the box and stowed everything into his bag. Just when he was about to leave, he turned to Hermione once more. “I hope you have a wonderful night. We’ll continue tomorrow from where we left off.”
Before Hermione could ask whether he meant the dark Arts or the kiss, he stepped out of her room and closed the door behind him.
Exhausted, Hermione fell back into her chair. Whatever had caused this mood-swing in Riddle, it served her well. She was not sure whether she believed his sudden interest to be authentic, but at least for the moment, he seemed to no longer want to kill her. She only had to act submissive and he would not hurt her.
A sob escaped her throat and suddenly, all the tears she had held back before break lose. How had she ended up in a situation where her only chance of surviving was to submit to Voldemort?
oOoOoOo
Satisfied, Tom looked at the mirror in his room. The evening had gone well, very well actually. Hermione had let him kiss her again, even returned it. Best of all, he felt all too well that she trembled in fear, that her body was stiff and full of rejection. She had not kissed him because she wanted to, but because she needed to. She understood that her only chance now was to give up any rights on her own body.
He chuckled. Why should one try to win the love of a woman, if one could simply force her into bed through her fear. Why were all men always concerned with winning the ladies’ love and romantic emotions? It was so much more rewarding if a woman noticed her own weakness and submitted to him, especially with a strong-willed woman like Hermione. He could take whatever he wanted. She would hate him and curse and cry – but in the end, she would still willingly give it to him.
The whole world should work like that. He would make sure that the whole world would work like that. Soon.