FIC: Deception and Diversion (NC17)
Title: Deception and Diversion
Author:
roadkill2580
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Tom Riddle/Hermione Granger
Warnings: racism, bigotry
Summary: The locket Horcrux affected Hermione in more ways than one.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
A/N: Written for sarhea for the 2011 round of hermione_smut.
Clearly, something had gone wrong.
Hermione worried her lip as she stared down at the arithmantic equations on the paper in front of her. The numbers weren't working out. No matter what theorem she used, or how she arranged the equations, they all turned out the same. Harry Potter was going to die. And if Harry died, then it meant that Voldemort would win. A flick of her wand set the parchment on fire.
Hermione felt tears come to her eyes while frustration welled in her chest. Yet, Dumbledore had seemed to think that they had a fighting chance. After all, he had left each of the three of them an object of some kind. Surely he wouldn't do that if he didn't believe they could defeat the Dark Lord. Hermione's gaze drifted to the useless children's book she had translated into English. Then again, perhaps giving them next to useless items was simply his way of telling them to give up and run away.
Regardless, there was no way Hermione was going to admit to Harry that as time went on, it became more and more likely he was going to die in the upcoming battle against Voldemort. Things were already too tense. She could see the growing despair in Ron's eyes and the desperation in Harry's. None of them had a clue what to do. Their immediate plans seemed only to include "evade capture at all costs". They shouldn't have to worry about things like this. They were children. The only things that should've been on their minds were exams, relationships, those sort of petty things. They shouldn't be concerned with a bloody war.
She took a shuddering breath. No. If she let her thoughts continue down that road, she would only spiral into a depressing state of helplessness. Hermione leaned back in her chair. As she did so, she felt the heavy pull of the locket around her neck. She glanced down at it, gaze becoming thoughtful. She brought the Horcrux up to eye level in order to narrow her eyes at it. Hermione was more than certain that the mood would be lighter around the camp if only the they didn't have the dark object with them. It would be a good day when the locket was destroyed, once they figured out how to do so.
Hermione stood with a sigh and prepared for sleep. It was late, she was tired, and she just wanted a few hours to escape reality. Unfortunately, that's not what she received.
OooooO
"So this is what the mind of a Mudblood looks like."
Hermione whirled around from her inspection of her mindscape to see a handsome young man with a startling resemblance to Harry. But those eyes...Hermione felt her heart pound when she saw the reddish gleam tainting them. This had to be none other than Tom Riddle. And judging by the color of his eyes, it was possible he had already cast off that persona and had become Voldemort.
Her hand fumbled about her robes trying to grasp her wand, but she paused as he unexpectedly began to chuckle. He leaned back against a wall that materialized from nowhere and folded his arms, seemingly content with observing her. Feeling foolish, Hermione slowly withdrew her hand from her robes.
"What's so funny?"
"We're in your mind. You don't fight with your wand here," he said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Thinking for a moment, Hermione grudgingly believed him. Magical arts like Legilimency and Occlumency wouldn't exist if you simply expelled mind intruders by dueling with them. Unfortunately, it was Harry who had experience with those arts, not her. She was left only her wits with which to combat the Dark Lord.
Still eyeing the wizard warily, Hermione willed for a chair to appear. If this was going to be a battle of their minds, she wanted to be as comfortable as possible. She sat herself down in a well cushioned, high backed chair and bravely met Voldemort's eyes. He was the one in her mind. The Quaffle was in his end of the pitch.
It ended up turning into some kind of bizarre waiting game. The entire time Hermione was asleep, the witch and wizard merely watched each other and waited for the other to say something first. Hermione didn't know why Voldemort didn't say anything, whether it was because he was trying to unnerve her or something else, but Hermione was as stubborn as they came, and she refused to slip up.
OooooO
The next time she fell asleep, he seemed a bit more chatty.
"Your mind is very interesting. It's very neatly compartmentalized. It makes it difficult to invade it," he said conversationally. Hermione paused in the consumption of the crème brûlée she had imagined into existence. He had tried to slip into her mind? Her eyes narrowed as she considered his words. He had never said that he had failed, only that it was difficult.
"What did you find?" her voice rose slightly with worry. Half thought out and discarded plans, possible locations and hide outs, barely formed theories on the creation of new spells; everything pertaining to the war and ways to defeat him were floating about her mind, there for anyone capable enough to pick through her thoughts.
In response to her question, he gave her a lazy smirk. Instead of commenting on anything about the war, or even the dark texts she was beginning to delve into, he made a very different observation. "You've read a book I haven't," he paused, "Quidditch Through The Ages."
Hermione felt her mouth hang open slightly for a moment. Of all the trivial things, he commented on a book she had read once during her first year? She bit her lip. Maybe he was subtly telling her that he now knew about her fear of flying? While it was terribly obvious to Harry and Ron, her best friends, it wasn't like she had ever actually admitted it. It was uncomforting to know that her enemy had confirmed something she wasn't able to tell her friends.
She shook her head. She was over thinking his statement. All he was pointing out was that she had read Quidditch Through The Ages, and he hadn't. That was all. He was just telling her that anything she did know, he knew too. Hermione narrowed her eyes when a thought occurred to her.
Did the real Voldemort know everything she knew as well?
OooooO
Hermione didn't really expect comfort when she was in the midst of crying in the privacy of her own mind. But comfort is what she got, in the form of a Dark wizard's arms around her shoulders. Her sobbing faltered and then renewed in greater intensity.
As she sat in the circle of Voldemort's arms, she found that all of the troubles and stresses of the past few weeks falling from her lips. When she reached the topic of Ron, her bottom lip trembled and she became incoherent. How could he leave them? How could he believe that there was some relationship between her and Harry? They needed Ron right now; she needed Ron. If only he hadn't been wearing the locket-
-Hermione looked up at the wizard holding her, horror starting to dawn on her. His charming face was deceptive looking and his expression revealed nothing but concern for her, concern Hermione was quite sure was faked.
"You..." her voice wavered. He considered her before he affected a look of hurt.
"You think I'm Lord Voldemort. Do I look like Voldemort to you? Would Voldemort hold you like this? I am merely Tom Riddle, trapped here by the machinations of that wretch of a wizard. Like you, I want nothing more than to see him eradicated," he clutched Hermione close to him. "Help me, Hermione. Help me help you defeat the Dark Lord."
Seeming of their own accord, Hermione's lips moved.
"Of course, Tom."
OooooO
"Sorry it has been so long since we last spoke," Hermione said as she laid back on the bed within her mind. Tom smiled but didn't say anything. He merely brushed a few tendrils of hair away from her face. "Harry thought that I had been carrying the locket for too long; he said I was much more upset than usual. So I let him take it for awhile."
"It's fine, Hermione. I'm just glad that we're back together again," he pulled her close and nuzzled his nose into her neck. Hermione smiled and cuddled him, sliding her hands across his broad back while kissing his jaw.
"There's no one like you Tom. You understand me more than anyone else. You're so smart and mature, unlike Ron. I don't care if they think you're evil; I know you're not. You're just Tom," Hermione whispered to him. Her heart pounded in her chest but he didn't seem to notice her nerves. With a bit of courage, Hermione placed a solid, passionate kiss on his mouth.
She rolled them over so she hovered over his body. Her lips continued to caress his as she slowly removed his clothes. She could've just willed them to disappear, but there was something to be said about taking off each article of clothing, one at time.
Her hands trailed across his chest and her nails scraped gently at his flat nipples. Tom clutched at her shoulders when she carefully bit his earlobe. Everything about her movements was slow and sensuous. She wanted them both to savor every moment of this delicious encounter.
It didn't seem Tom felt that way. His long fingers tightened around her arms and her clothes vanished, reminding Hermione of the power he seemed to gain each day. He laughed lowly at her surprised face. "I am not a patient man, my Hermione."
His full mouth captured one of her breasts, while a hand moved to her hip. Hermione moaned softly and rocked against him. His heavy cock rested along her inner thigh, tempting Hermione with how close he was to her core. When he made to push her on her back, she pressed down against him.
"I want to be on top," she smiled in a way she hoped was seductive. A smirk pulled on his mouth and he relaxed on his back. Feeling the pressure climbing, though from the nerves her ploy might not work much longer, or the fact she was having sex for the first time, she wasn't sure, Hermione sank down onto the man underneath her.
She cried out as untried muscles stretched. She hadn't been nearly prepared enough to take him inside her, but the fullness still felt amazing, no matter how it hurt. Hermione paused in her movements, trying to both acclimatize herself to him and catch her breath.
"It's okay love," Tom told her with a pinched face. He shivered with the effort not to thrust into her. Hermione rolled her hips and twin groans erupted from them at the sensation. His rather feminine, tapered fingers spidered along her thigh to her core in order to tweak her clit. Muscles in her legs jumped at the feeling of stimulated nerves. Hermione continued to move more out of the need for completion than the urgency of her plight.
Minutes later, though it was minutes too long, Hermione came with a shout, Tom not far behind her. She resisted the urge to lay as if she were boneless beside him, but instead rose to her feet. He propped up on his elbows, eyes observing her body with appreciation.
"Unfortunately, Harry was right. You've been stealing my life force, Tom," Hermione's eyes hardened with fury, "And I just took it back."
OooooO
Hermione had doubts for a long while about whether or not she had been able to take every last bit of her power back from Riddle. She was positive the sex ritual had worked to some degree; she felt refreshed and energized, and Harry reassured her that much of her color had returned. But the fear remained.
For days, the locket seemed to emanate a murderous rage. Hermione barely dared to touch it. Instead of wearing it about her neck, she kept it tied the belt loops of her pants. When she had discovered it had fallen on the ground, which she was sure was no coincidence, Harry offered to keep it with him. It was his mind that was protected against Voldemort, not hers.
One morning, Harry and Ron both returned to camp, cold but triumphant, sword of Gryffindor in hand. Hermione refused to acknowledge the part of her that mourned the loss of Riddle, and ran out to greet them instead. Ron was far more important than a lying Dark Lord. Besides, there were other, more important things to think about than her feelings. The three of them had a war to win.
Author:
roadkill2580
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Tom Riddle/Hermione Granger
Warnings: racism, bigotry
Summary: The locket Horcrux affected Hermione in more ways than one.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
A/N: Written for sarhea for the 2011 round of hermione_smut.
Clearly, something had gone wrong.
Hermione worried her lip as she stared down at the arithmantic equations on the paper in front of her. The numbers weren't working out. No matter what theorem she used, or how she arranged the equations, they all turned out the same. Harry Potter was going to die. And if Harry died, then it meant that Voldemort would win. A flick of her wand set the parchment on fire.
Hermione felt tears come to her eyes while frustration welled in her chest. Yet, Dumbledore had seemed to think that they had a fighting chance. After all, he had left each of the three of them an object of some kind. Surely he wouldn't do that if he didn't believe they could defeat the Dark Lord. Hermione's gaze drifted to the useless children's book she had translated into English. Then again, perhaps giving them next to useless items was simply his way of telling them to give up and run away.
Regardless, there was no way Hermione was going to admit to Harry that as time went on, it became more and more likely he was going to die in the upcoming battle against Voldemort. Things were already too tense. She could see the growing despair in Ron's eyes and the desperation in Harry's. None of them had a clue what to do. Their immediate plans seemed only to include "evade capture at all costs". They shouldn't have to worry about things like this. They were children. The only things that should've been on their minds were exams, relationships, those sort of petty things. They shouldn't be concerned with a bloody war.
She took a shuddering breath. No. If she let her thoughts continue down that road, she would only spiral into a depressing state of helplessness. Hermione leaned back in her chair. As she did so, she felt the heavy pull of the locket around her neck. She glanced down at it, gaze becoming thoughtful. She brought the Horcrux up to eye level in order to narrow her eyes at it. Hermione was more than certain that the mood would be lighter around the camp if only the they didn't have the dark object with them. It would be a good day when the locket was destroyed, once they figured out how to do so.
Hermione stood with a sigh and prepared for sleep. It was late, she was tired, and she just wanted a few hours to escape reality. Unfortunately, that's not what she received.
OooooO
"So this is what the mind of a Mudblood looks like."
Hermione whirled around from her inspection of her mindscape to see a handsome young man with a startling resemblance to Harry. But those eyes...Hermione felt her heart pound when she saw the reddish gleam tainting them. This had to be none other than Tom Riddle. And judging by the color of his eyes, it was possible he had already cast off that persona and had become Voldemort.
Her hand fumbled about her robes trying to grasp her wand, but she paused as he unexpectedly began to chuckle. He leaned back against a wall that materialized from nowhere and folded his arms, seemingly content with observing her. Feeling foolish, Hermione slowly withdrew her hand from her robes.
"What's so funny?"
"We're in your mind. You don't fight with your wand here," he said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Thinking for a moment, Hermione grudgingly believed him. Magical arts like Legilimency and Occlumency wouldn't exist if you simply expelled mind intruders by dueling with them. Unfortunately, it was Harry who had experience with those arts, not her. She was left only her wits with which to combat the Dark Lord.
Still eyeing the wizard warily, Hermione willed for a chair to appear. If this was going to be a battle of their minds, she wanted to be as comfortable as possible. She sat herself down in a well cushioned, high backed chair and bravely met Voldemort's eyes. He was the one in her mind. The Quaffle was in his end of the pitch.
It ended up turning into some kind of bizarre waiting game. The entire time Hermione was asleep, the witch and wizard merely watched each other and waited for the other to say something first. Hermione didn't know why Voldemort didn't say anything, whether it was because he was trying to unnerve her or something else, but Hermione was as stubborn as they came, and she refused to slip up.
OooooO
The next time she fell asleep, he seemed a bit more chatty.
"Your mind is very interesting. It's very neatly compartmentalized. It makes it difficult to invade it," he said conversationally. Hermione paused in the consumption of the crème brûlée she had imagined into existence. He had tried to slip into her mind? Her eyes narrowed as she considered his words. He had never said that he had failed, only that it was difficult.
"What did you find?" her voice rose slightly with worry. Half thought out and discarded plans, possible locations and hide outs, barely formed theories on the creation of new spells; everything pertaining to the war and ways to defeat him were floating about her mind, there for anyone capable enough to pick through her thoughts.
In response to her question, he gave her a lazy smirk. Instead of commenting on anything about the war, or even the dark texts she was beginning to delve into, he made a very different observation. "You've read a book I haven't," he paused, "Quidditch Through The Ages."
Hermione felt her mouth hang open slightly for a moment. Of all the trivial things, he commented on a book she had read once during her first year? She bit her lip. Maybe he was subtly telling her that he now knew about her fear of flying? While it was terribly obvious to Harry and Ron, her best friends, it wasn't like she had ever actually admitted it. It was uncomforting to know that her enemy had confirmed something she wasn't able to tell her friends.
She shook her head. She was over thinking his statement. All he was pointing out was that she had read Quidditch Through The Ages, and he hadn't. That was all. He was just telling her that anything she did know, he knew too. Hermione narrowed her eyes when a thought occurred to her.
Did the real Voldemort know everything she knew as well?
OooooO
Hermione didn't really expect comfort when she was in the midst of crying in the privacy of her own mind. But comfort is what she got, in the form of a Dark wizard's arms around her shoulders. Her sobbing faltered and then renewed in greater intensity.
As she sat in the circle of Voldemort's arms, she found that all of the troubles and stresses of the past few weeks falling from her lips. When she reached the topic of Ron, her bottom lip trembled and she became incoherent. How could he leave them? How could he believe that there was some relationship between her and Harry? They needed Ron right now; she needed Ron. If only he hadn't been wearing the locket-
-Hermione looked up at the wizard holding her, horror starting to dawn on her. His charming face was deceptive looking and his expression revealed nothing but concern for her, concern Hermione was quite sure was faked.
"You..." her voice wavered. He considered her before he affected a look of hurt.
"You think I'm Lord Voldemort. Do I look like Voldemort to you? Would Voldemort hold you like this? I am merely Tom Riddle, trapped here by the machinations of that wretch of a wizard. Like you, I want nothing more than to see him eradicated," he clutched Hermione close to him. "Help me, Hermione. Help me help you defeat the Dark Lord."
Seeming of their own accord, Hermione's lips moved.
"Of course, Tom."
OooooO
"Sorry it has been so long since we last spoke," Hermione said as she laid back on the bed within her mind. Tom smiled but didn't say anything. He merely brushed a few tendrils of hair away from her face. "Harry thought that I had been carrying the locket for too long; he said I was much more upset than usual. So I let him take it for awhile."
"It's fine, Hermione. I'm just glad that we're back together again," he pulled her close and nuzzled his nose into her neck. Hermione smiled and cuddled him, sliding her hands across his broad back while kissing his jaw.
"There's no one like you Tom. You understand me more than anyone else. You're so smart and mature, unlike Ron. I don't care if they think you're evil; I know you're not. You're just Tom," Hermione whispered to him. Her heart pounded in her chest but he didn't seem to notice her nerves. With a bit of courage, Hermione placed a solid, passionate kiss on his mouth.
She rolled them over so she hovered over his body. Her lips continued to caress his as she slowly removed his clothes. She could've just willed them to disappear, but there was something to be said about taking off each article of clothing, one at time.
Her hands trailed across his chest and her nails scraped gently at his flat nipples. Tom clutched at her shoulders when she carefully bit his earlobe. Everything about her movements was slow and sensuous. She wanted them both to savor every moment of this delicious encounter.
It didn't seem Tom felt that way. His long fingers tightened around her arms and her clothes vanished, reminding Hermione of the power he seemed to gain each day. He laughed lowly at her surprised face. "I am not a patient man, my Hermione."
His full mouth captured one of her breasts, while a hand moved to her hip. Hermione moaned softly and rocked against him. His heavy cock rested along her inner thigh, tempting Hermione with how close he was to her core. When he made to push her on her back, she pressed down against him.
"I want to be on top," she smiled in a way she hoped was seductive. A smirk pulled on his mouth and he relaxed on his back. Feeling the pressure climbing, though from the nerves her ploy might not work much longer, or the fact she was having sex for the first time, she wasn't sure, Hermione sank down onto the man underneath her.
She cried out as untried muscles stretched. She hadn't been nearly prepared enough to take him inside her, but the fullness still felt amazing, no matter how it hurt. Hermione paused in her movements, trying to both acclimatize herself to him and catch her breath.
"It's okay love," Tom told her with a pinched face. He shivered with the effort not to thrust into her. Hermione rolled her hips and twin groans erupted from them at the sensation. His rather feminine, tapered fingers spidered along her thigh to her core in order to tweak her clit. Muscles in her legs jumped at the feeling of stimulated nerves. Hermione continued to move more out of the need for completion than the urgency of her plight.
Minutes later, though it was minutes too long, Hermione came with a shout, Tom not far behind her. She resisted the urge to lay as if she were boneless beside him, but instead rose to her feet. He propped up on his elbows, eyes observing her body with appreciation.
"Unfortunately, Harry was right. You've been stealing my life force, Tom," Hermione's eyes hardened with fury, "And I just took it back."
OooooO
Hermione had doubts for a long while about whether or not she had been able to take every last bit of her power back from Riddle. She was positive the sex ritual had worked to some degree; she felt refreshed and energized, and Harry reassured her that much of her color had returned. But the fear remained.
For days, the locket seemed to emanate a murderous rage. Hermione barely dared to touch it. Instead of wearing it about her neck, she kept it tied the belt loops of her pants. When she had discovered it had fallen on the ground, which she was sure was no coincidence, Harry offered to keep it with him. It was his mind that was protected against Voldemort, not hers.
One morning, Harry and Ron both returned to camp, cold but triumphant, sword of Gryffindor in hand. Hermione refused to acknowledge the part of her that mourned the loss of Riddle, and ran out to greet them instead. Ron was far more important than a lying Dark Lord. Besides, there were other, more important things to think about than her feelings. The three of them had a war to win.