It was raining.
Leaning against the window frame, her fingertips lightly traced the glass as lightning lit the sky and the deep rumble of thunder caused the window to shake. Her full lips curved into a wry smile as she watched the storm rage outside. It seemed fitting, somehow, that this day would be celebrated by the darker forces of Mother Nature. Had it been sunny and clear, as it had been every day during the previous week, she would have felt restless. The unexpected arrival of a tropical storm was rather poetic.
Today marked the fifth anniversary of the day she had given her soul to the devil, since she had chosen to accept her Lord‘s offer and had become his. Surely such a momentous occasion logically went hand in hand with strong winds, lightning, and one of the worst storms the small island had seen in years. The storm had arrived suddenly in the wee hours of the morning, waking her from her sleep with a roar of thunder. She had been standing at the window ever since, watching the ocean swell and the rain fall. She did not fear the weather outside at all. Instead, she found it fascinating in its ferocity, its destruction. Dangerous yet seductive, she could not look away from the crashing waves and torn trees.
“It is beautiful, is it not?”
The low hiss came from behind her, cool hands moving over her bare shoulders as she watched the storm. She turned her head, brown eyes meeting crimson. “Very lovely.”
“There is such beauty in that that cannot be tamed,” he murmured as his eyes languidly swept over her nude form before looking out the window.
“Will we be leaving the island, my Lord?” she asked as she leaned back against him, his touch cooling her as he stroked her arms.
“Not yet, my dear. I have sent Bella and Rodolphus back to the estate, but Lucius remains here with us until we leave,” he spoke quietly, his words carrying a slight hiss as always but she could detect a tremor beneath them. Anticipation, desire, cunning. He was planning something. She knew this instantly, had actually suspected it from the moment he had informed her they were taking a holiday.
A holiday of all things. That, in itself, was enough to make her suspicious. The Dark Lord did not waste time on such frivolous matters. In fact, it was the first time she had been allowed to leave the estate and grounds since her capture in Dublin. He’d not let her leave the house for three years, allowing her to roam the estate but never go outside. When he had relented and given her permission to explore the grounds, the condition was that she was not go unless accompanied by him.
She knew that he did not expect her to try to escape as there was no escape from him, something she had known before willingly making her decision. He was simply cautious and preferred being with her when she was reading in the garden or walking in the small forest on his property. She had grown accustomed to his preference as there was really no need to leave the estate at all. She had everything she needed within easy access and what she did not have was always quickly obtained.
When he had mentioned a holiday to the island she had often visited with her parents when she was a child, she had been surprised. Since they had arrived, she had realized that he had done it for her. Love was not a word familiar to the man who had taken her as his bride two months before. She doubted that he had ever loved or truly been loved. It was a concept he found disdainful and ridiculous. He believed in desire, power, control, need, but affection and caring were things he did not know nor have any interest in experiencing. He wanted to be feared, admired, respected, to have those around him devoted to the point they would die for him, but he did not want or need their love.
Except her. He had never admitted such a weakness and she knew he never would, but she sometimes saw it in his eyes. Brief flash of curiosity and confusion before they were again the deepest red she had ever seen. No, he would never confess to wanting or needing her love. She was as expendable as the others. Merely a warm body with a pretty face and stubborn spirit that was able to converse with him intelligently, easily replaced. He had told her many times in the beginning that she was fortunate to have his attention, a Mudblood was nothing in the world he ruled but she commanded respect and devotion from his family because he allowed her to have power, to use her mind, to earn their admiration.
He had never commanded them to obey her, instead forcing her to work for their loyalty after he had freed her to research potions and do something more than restlessly pace the room that had been her prison since her capture. He did not coddle, indulge, or give freely. Everything she had now, she had earned through hard work, stubborn refusal to allow their snide taunts to hurt, and using the knowledge she possessed to prove she was just as good, if not better, than them. She was his whore, his concubine, the whispers always following her wherever she went in the compound, but she did not pay them any attention. Know-it-all. Teacher’s pet. Mudblood. Taunts meant nothing to her. She had hardened herself to survive, becoming cold and ruthless, learning from her teachers as Bella taught her torture, Rodolphus taught her pain, and her Lord taught her pleasure.
Guilt was something she only felt when she was alone, when not even he was around to see her weakness. She had survived, she was alive, and, to be honest, she was relatively happy. Her life was nothing like she had planned, but she found enjoyment in her research and felt gratitude and more confusing emotions for her Lord for allowing her a chance to prove her worth. She allowed the guilt to overwhelm her at times, seeking penance for the sin of living when all those she loved had died, for not being able to save them as she had saved herself, and he allowed her to seek punishment for her sins even as he loathed her in those hours for needing such reparation.
When he brought her here, to this island that was full of happy memories from her past, she was uncertain what he intended. She had nothing left but memories and had feared he was going to purge them from her, considering them unnecessary, jealous of the moments she would become lost in thoughts that he could not always see. Instead, he had demanded that she talk, that she show him the cave where she had spent so many carefree days swimming with her father, that she take him to the small café where she and her mum had spent lazy afternoons before magic had changed their lives. For the first time since her capture, she had truly relaxed, uniting her past and present without the voices of her friends accusing and damning her.
She knew it was not coincidence that his decision to take a holiday happened to coincide with the fifth anniversary of her choice to survive by joining him. He had been watching her for weeks, crimson eyes unreadable as he studied her, seemingly waiting to see if she would again begin to unravel even in the most subtle way. Each year on this day, even more than others, she felt the true weight of her decision. She had given him her soul and he had given her life. A part of her still retained her soul, her humanity, but she rarely acknowledged it because he saw it as a sign of weakness.
By bringing her to this island, forcing her to face a part of her past, it was his way of trying to help her. The very idea that he had made such a gesture had kept her awake at night, trying to logically decide why he had done such a thing. Looking at him now, she was no closer to having an answer that satisfied her. She could not believe that it was because he loved her, though perhaps this was the closest to love that he could feel. Regardless of the reason why, she was grateful to him even as she felt the nagging of guilt in her mind as she faced this day.
The voices were beginning to whisper as the storm continued, covering the rising sun with dark clouds. Whore. You betrayed us. Didn’t save us, only saved yourself. Selfish whore. She looked out the window, biting her bottom lip as she tried to ignore the voices, to ignore the need to be punished for living when those she loved had died. It would consume her soon, the guilt and despair, the loss, the doubts, and there was no way for her to deal with the ghosts in her mind today. He had sent Bella and Rodolphus back home, knowing how desperately she needed them to make her stop feeling at these times.
“You tremble, child.” His voice was a soft hiss in her ear, his hands tightening their grip on her arms. “Today you will not bow before memories of that fool boy and the weakness of guilt. I will not allow it any longer.”
“I am sorry, my Lord,” she whispered softly. “I do not wish to receive your disgust or anger.”
“You stink of humanity,” he sneered. “I have indulged you in your need to suffer and seek penance because it fascinated me. A strong, capable young woman becoming such a weak, pathetic creature was intriguing. Now I simply find it repulsive that you allow this to happen.”
“I will be strong, my Lord.”
“Come along, child. I have a gift for you,” he said abruptly, taking her hand and leading her away from the window.
Hermione refused to break down, thinking of her research waiting for her at home when the voices became louder. She followed him, unaffected by her nudity as they walked through the lavish home he had acquired for their holiday. When they reached a door she had not seen during her prior inspection of the home, she was not surprised to see Lucius casually leaning against it.
“All is arranged, my Lord,” he informed Voldemort, gray eyes flickering over her bare form before again looking at her husband.
“Good. Well done, Lucius,” Voldemort complimented before dismissing the blond wizard. After Lucius was gone, he brought Hermione to the door and uttered a spell that turned the wood to glass. She stiffened when she saw what was in the room, careful not to react beyond her initial inhalation of breath.
“Why have you brought me here, my Lord?”
“I believe you need a pet,” he said with some trace of amusement. His fingers moved along her cheek as they both looked into the room. “I have grown weary of this guilt and remorse you feel. Perhaps a pet shall occupy your mind on these occasions.”
“What is it you wish of me, my Lord?” Hermione stared at the man standing in the middle of the room, her eyes narrowing as she looked him over. A part of her, the new part who learned from the Lestranges, wanted to make him scream and beg, to see his eyes as he pleaded for mercy, to hear his voice catch as she created pleasure from pain, for she would certainly obtain pleasure from him. The lingering part of her soul, the old Hermione who had died five years ago, wanted to rush into the room and simply hold him, to be consumed with memories of a time when laughter was a normal part of her day, when she found enjoyment in small things, when she did not have to constantly guard her emotions for fear of them being used against her.
“I wish for you to acknowledge who you are, child. You preserve a memory of who you once were and bring it out on these days when you feel a pathetic need to wallow in guilt and pity. I was Tom Riddle,” he reminded huskily. “Yet I do not bring forth memories of who I was and deny what I have become. You are my bride, Lady Voldemort, and I wish for you to cease this sporadic need for penance from those who were not brave and strong enough to survive as you have.”
“I am Hermione Granger,” she said softly.
“Yes,” he hissed, “but you are now so much more. Embrace what you have become, my dear. Accept that you crave the power and control, that you enjoy the pleasure that comes from pain, that you are alive.”
“What will you have me do, my Lord?”
“Break him, Hermione,” he purred as his hand enveloped her breast. “If you break him, I will allow you to keep him.”
She turned at that, her eyes catching his. Studying him silently, she realized he was sincere. He would allow her to keep her pet if she did this, if she faced her guilt and moved forward. The storm continued to rage outside, the wind strong, rain pelting the windows of the house, sky gray and cloudy, mirroring the turmoil she was feeling at the moment.
“If you fail or choose not to accept my gift, I will kill him but not before giving him to Bella and Rodolphus,” he rasped in her ear. “His life is in your hands. What is your choice?”
Join me, child, or I shall kill you myself. Do you wish to live or do you want to die? Your life is in your hands. What is your choice?
I choose to live.
“I will break him, my Lord,” Hermione slowly smiled, the two parts of her joining together as she opened the door to the room, leaving it open so her husband could enter behind her. He was not even struggling against the magic binding him in place. Simply standing there, his head falling forward, his shoulders slumped in defeat. He looked ragged, the last few years obviously taking their toll on him. She had believed him dead, assumed he had perished in the final battle along with Harry and the few other friends she had left at that time. Even in this manner, tied up and fragile, there was such strength in him that she had always admired. Like her, he was a survivor.
His body was thin, his hair brushing against the nape of his neck, his clothes worn but clean. Moving closer, she watched him raise his head, a blindfold covering eyes she knew were a pale hazel with flecks of blue and green. He tensed suddenly, sniffing the air subtly, his fingernails digging into his palm.
“Hermione.”
One word, rasped out in a voice she was certain had not been used for far too long, his tone resigned. Cocking her head to the side, she said, “Remus.”
His thin lips twisted into a wry smile. “Forgive me for not greeting you more appropriately, but I am a bit tied up at the moment.”
“Where have you been hiding yourself, Professor?” She was curious as she moved around behind him, her hands slowly drifting over his body, feeling him tense even more. If she leaned close enough, she was certain she would hear the racing of his heart as he desperately tried to figure out what she had planned for him.
“Here and there,” was his only reply.
“I thought you were dead,” she said softly before licking his neck, testing him, analyzing his weaknesses in the way Bella had taught her so well. This was not simply a kill, however. This was personal. By breaking him, she would save his life. The chance to actually save someone she loved was too tempting. If she had been selfless, she would have simply killed him and suffered a punishment from her Lord. But she was too selfish to let him go. He would be her pet, an idea that caused arousal to spread over her. She would share with her husband, of course, that knowledge unspoken, but Remus would be hers. “I’m glad you’re not.”
“There are many times I wish I was.”
“You are a survivor, Remus,” she declared as she ran her fingernails down his cheek, deep enough to cause a trickle of blood that she eagerly licked away.
“As are you,” he whispered knowingly.
She pulled away, going to the table that Lucius had prepared for her. “Do you not wish to call me a whore, Remus? Accuse me of selling my soul by betraying everything I once stood for?”
“We all have difficult decisions to make, Hermione. You made yours just as I have made mine so who am I to judge you?”
“I am going to break you, Remus,” she said nonchalantly, watching him closely. “Did you expect me to kill you? Is that why you are being civil and polite? Believing that I plan to curse you and then dispose of you, finally giving you the sweet release of death that you have been searching for these past few years?”
Waving her hand, she uttered a spell, his clothing vanished, leaving him nude and bound before her. He was painfully thin, his skin taut against his bones, his hips sticking out, scars covering his abdomen and chest. His cock was long and not very wide, lying flaccid amongst brown curls a couple of shades darker than the hair on his head. Gray hair was peppered throughout both patches of hair. His chest was smooth, light brown nipples hardening from the cool air, a light scattering of hair on his lower abdomen. Even gaunt and tired, she found him attractive, memories of her infatuation with the intelligent werewolf flashing through her mind.
Looking away from him, her eyes met her husband’s. He was seated in a large chair watching them, watching her. The hood of his robe had fallen, displaying the smooth deathly white skin she knew was cool to touch. He did not blink when their eyes met, coolly watching her, challenging her to break the man she had fancied in a past life.
He knew, of course, spending those early days raping her mind even as his men had raped her body. It was how he knew of her guilt, how he knew of this island, how he knew that she might possibly find salvation in the man he had given her. It was that moment, that single instant that their eyes met before he had a chance to hide from her, that she knew the unthinkable had happened. He loved her.
Oh, it wasn’t the love of storybooks, the calming love that Lucius and Narcissa shared, the passionate needy love that Bella and Rodolphus shared, or even anything really resembling her beliefs regarding the elusive emotion she had only felt in her past life. It was, however, something she had never imagined him feeling towards her, something she had not yet admitted she felt for him.
Instead of supporting her need for penance, he had provided her with the opportunity for salvation. A chance to save someone she cared about by accepting the person she was now instead of lingering on the ghost of who she had once been. She smiled at her husband before lazily licking the blade of the knife she had picked up from the table. Voldemort leaned back, his hands opening his robe, his eyes never leaving her.
Facing Remus, she tenderly brushed his hair from his forehead. Five years ago, she had chosen life. It was now time for him to make a decision. “Remus, it is your choice. I will break you and make you mine. You will live, loyal to me and my husband. Or I will kill you. I will accept your life but I will not take it from you. The choice is yours. Will you live or will you die?”
He lowered his head, his voice a soft sigh as he said, “I want to live.”
“Then you shall,” she declared before the blade slid across his chest. His body trembled but he did not cry out. She cut her palm, watching as the blood began to flow before placing it over the cut on his chest. Speaking softly, she recited the words to an ancient spell her Lord had recently taught her, binding Remus to her and, through her, to Voldemort. It was rarely used, dark magic that had to be willingly received, only performed when a claim was necessary.
He had not used the spell on her, had never used it as far as she was aware, but he had taught her and she knew, just knew, that this was the reason she had learned it. This spell would protect her pet as well as assure his loyalty even while in wolf-form. There was a pale glow following the end of the spell, a white hot fire spreading over her as she felt Remus in her for a moment before it was over. He was hers.
She tangled her fingers in his hair, her mouth claiming his, biting his lips before her tongue swept inside. He was rigid, not responding at all, though she felt his cock begin to stir as she pressed her bare breasts against him. Pulling back, she smiled as she licked her lips. Turning to face her husband, she tossed her long brown curls over her shoulder and purred, “I shall break him now, my Lord.”
Dropping the knife, she picked up her favorite whip from the table. She would have to thank Lucius for thinking ahead and bringing it along, reward him for paying attention to her favorite things. Moving behind Remus, she stroked his hair before releasing the blindfold. He would not be able to keep his eyes covered and pretend this was all a bad dream. A choice had been made, he had willingly submitted to her, decided to become hers, and he would see every moment of her physical claiming. “Do you like pain, Remus?”
“You’ve always been highly observant and quite intelligent, Hermione. What do you think?” he asked softly, still so strong even as his thin frame barely stood even with the aid of magic keeping him on his feet.
“I think that all of these scars,” her fingers traced the lines of his back, “are not solely due to lycanthropy.” Finding a deep wound that could only have been made with a blade, she laughed softly. “We are going to have such fun, my dear Professor.”
Stepping back, she swung her arm, listening as the leather of her whip hit his skin. She alternated the strength in her strokes, letting the strap his back, arse, and legs. Outside, the storm continued to rage, the sound of heavy rain and high wind joining the soft moans and whimpers Remus was making as she whipped him. Her husband’s eyes were on her the entire time, the soft rustling of his robes the only noise he made.
Looking towards him, she saw that he was stroking himself lazily, eyes deep burgundy. Her nipples hardened even more as she saw his long fingers wrapped around his length, the knowledge that he was hard just from watching her exciting her just as much as having Remus naked and at her mercy. Focusing her attention back on Remus, she whipped him a while longer. Taking time to lick his back, scratching him until he was groaning, wanting him to find pleasure in her actions.
She finally put the whip down, speaking the word to release his wrists. He stumbled forward, unable to catch his balance when he was suddenly free. “Kneel,” she said sharply, watching him obey even as he seemed to be resisting the urge to turn and look at her. He had not seen her since she had left for the mission in Dublin. They’d shared tea in the early morning hours, neither usually able to sleep and often chatting in the morning while the house was quiet. “Place your forehead against the floor, let your arms rest at your sides.”
When he was leaning forward, his head against the cool stone, his knees on the floor, she took a moment to study him. Running her hand along the curve of his spine, he shook beneath her warm touch. Kneeling behind him, she spread his legs with her knee, her thumb brushing against his arse. He tensed and she could see his muscles clenching. Laughing softly, she ran her tongue along the cleft of his cheeks. “You like this, don’t you, Remus? Kneeling at my feet, eager to do whatever I ask, giving up control.” She squeezed his arse, nails digging into the firm flesh. “You have a lovely arse, Professor.” Her finger slid into him. “So tight. When is the last time you were buggered?”
He squeezed her finger, but did not answer. “You do not want me to ask twice, dear Remus.”
“Five years,” he whispered hoarsely.
“Who was it?” She moved her finger, fucking him slowly, her fingernail scraping against the sensitive flesh.
“Bill.”
“Tell me about it,” she demanded before leaning forward and running her tongue along his arse. She could not get into his mind like her husband could but she had learned ways to gain knowledge and weaken her victim. “Did he lick your pretty little arse?”
“Yes,” Remus moaned softly as her tongue slid inside him. She reached beneath his stomach, finding his weeping cock. Gripping it tightly, she continued to fuck him with her tongue. “He fucked me hard, left bruises on my hips for days. After he died in Dover, there hasn’t been anyone else.”
Hermione lapped at his arse, her tongue moving in and out of the tight muscle that was clenching around her every time she stroked his cock. She’d not known about him and Bill, though she had suspected something between him and Sirius. Removing her mouth from him, she plunged three fingers inside, rewarded with his sharp gasp of pain. “You are mine now, Remus. I will use you for my pleasure and, if you’re a good boy, I will reward you. If you are disobedient, I shall have to punish you.”
“I’ll be good,” he promised quietly, never raising his head from the floor.
“Did you know that I used to fancy you?” she asked. “When I was younger, I’d watch you and wish you’d look at me, notice me. At night, I’d lie beneath my covers and touch my pussy, imagining your cock inside me, filling me up and making me come. You knew I wanted you, didn’t you? You could smell it whenever I was around, I’m sure. I’d get so wet watching you write, those lovely fingers wrapped around your quill. Did you smell my arousal?”
“Yes.” The word was torn from him reluctantly, softly spoken but firm.
“Did you ever think about me?” She looked across the room, her eyes meeting her husband’s, a smile crossing her lips. “Did you think about fucking me, Remus? Did you close your eyes while you were stroking yourself and hear me scream your name as I convulsed around your cock, thinking about your hands moving all over my innocent young body? Or did you think about this? Kneeling before me while I fucked you, bruising your skin, biting and scratching until we were both coming so hard. Tell me what you did, pet.”
“I wanted to push you against the wall and take you right there without caring who was watching and give you everything your body wanted.” His words were husky, low, an admission he had not wanted to make.
Removing her fingers from his arse, she admired the trickle of blood dripping from the torn hole. Standing, she moved in front of him. “Raise your head, Remus. Look at me.”
He obeyed, hazel eyes moving over her bare body, lingering on the wet curls between her legs and again at her breasts before they looked into her eyes. “Good boy,” she cooed as she moved her dirty fingers over his lips. He opened his mouth, sucking them inside, his tongue curling around them as she licked her lips. Pulling them from his mouth with a soft ‘plop’, she stepped closer. “Lick my cunt, Professor.”
His tongue moved along her folds, his hands still on the floor since she had not yet given him permission to touch. Her eyes found the glowing crimson gaze of her Lord, watching him stroke himself as Remus lapped at her wet pussy. Squeezing her breasts, she bit her lip to keep from moaning when his tongue slid inside her, his nose brushing against her clit.
“Use your hands on her, boy.” Voldemort’s voice was raspy, thick with lust as he watched her ride Remus’ face.
Remus pulled back, looking at her as he arched a brow. “I am his. You will obey him without hesitation, your loyalty to me extends to him,” she told him, giving him permission to follow her husband’s decree.
He nodded once before his face was again between her legs, his hand drifting over her leg before joining his tongue. His finger slid inside her, stroking the walls of her cunt as he continued to lap at the juices that were flowing abundantly.
“Make her come, boy, and you will earn my favor,” her husband declared as his eyes never left hers. Remus lapped at her eagerly, his lips enveloping her clit and sucking hard as two fingers fucked her. Sweat dripped down her back as she gripped his hair tightly, her thumb and finger pinching her nipples as he fucked her with his face and hand. She felt his other hand on her arse, squeezing her cheeks before one elegant finger pushed inside her.
She came with a soft moan, thunder crashing outside, her Lord’s amused chuckle causing her eyes to narrow. Pushing Remus back against the floor roughly, she straddled him, impaling herself on his cock as her hand went around his throat. Squeezing tightly, she felt him buck beneath her, riding him as she scraped her fingernails down his chest. Welts appeared, her tongue laving them with saliva before licking his nipples. Releasing his neck, she bit him before whispering, “Crucio.”
He convulsed beneath her as the curse hit him, writhing in pain as she continued to fuck him hard, his actions sending him even deeper. On each stroke downward, she ground against him, using him for her pleasure, reminding him that he was hers. She looked into his face, watching his eyes roll back, his lips twisted into a satisfied smile as the dark magic spread over him. Finally she released the curse, feeling him arch up into her. “Come for me,” she whispered, his body writhing beneath hers as he came with a low growl, his seed spilling as he fell back against the cold stone floor gasping for breath, his body covered in sweat, saliva, and blood as she moved her cut palm over his chest.
Before she could come a second time, familiar hands were pulling her away from her pet. She found herself pressed against the wall, her Lord’s lips on hers as he entered her with one deep thrust. She clung to him as he fucked her, her legs wrapping around his waist, the material of his robe scraping against her skin. Hermione didn’t last long once he was inside her, his cool body pressed against her heated flesh. She came with a low cry, her body arching from the wall as rain beat steadily against the window.
He kept moving inside her, his hands caressing her body as he penetrated her deeply, grinding against her with each thrust forward. When he finally came, he hissed before pulling her against him sharply, his release joining hers and Remus’, the muscles of her cunt milking him until he was completely spent. He was rasping in her ear, speaking the language she did not understand but always aroused her, each word causing her body to pulse beneath him. She could feel their combined juices dripping down her leg when he pulled out of her, his fingers stroking her wetness before he licked them clean.
“See, child? You thrive on the power, the control. You are vibrant, alive,” he hissed as his tongue lapped at his fingers.
“Remus, come here,” she demanded sharply, her eyes watching him sit, his handsome face cringing with pain as he moved to his knees and crawled towards her. His back was a tapestry of scars, whip marks, scratches, and blood. Moving her hand in the way her husband had taught her, she said, “Scourgify.”
“Thank you, my Lady,” Remus said softly, an underlying affection in his voice that she had not heard in over five years. Her fingers brushed through his hair as he knelt at her feet, his head resting against her leg. There was silence save for their breathing and the falling rain outside.
You are forgiven.
She closed her eyes as the words whispered through her mind, leaning against the wall for support as silent tears fell down her cheeks. Cool fingers brushed away the tears, brown eyes opening to find her husband looking at her. She kissed the palm of his hand, her fingers wrapping around his wrist as she continued lazily stroking Remus’ hair.
“Are you happy now, my dear?”
Hermione looked out the window, noticing the bright rays of sun peaking through the clouds, the beat of the rain slow and comforting and the wind tapering off as the storm past their tiny island getaway. She felt Remus’ warm breath on her skin as he seemed to snuggle against her, seeking comfort and pleasure that only she could offer. Her Lord was moving his fingers along her cheek, his eyes intense as he waited for her answer. In them, she had finally found her salvation.
“Yes, my Lord. I am happy.”
The End