Chapter 32
February 12th, 1944
Hope
“No wonder you and Abraxas get along so well,” Tom chuckles from the desk he’s sitting in. “You both have viking blood coursing through your veins, you might as well be cousins.”
That makes me snort and roll my eyes, “If that’s the lesson you learned from nearly 1,500 years of history, then I’m afraid I didn’t explain very well.”
“Oh, I have been diligently taking notes. You were correct, your family and origin are rather confusing. However, I still believe that is a fair take away,” Tom lilts with a silly grin while shuffling parchment around.
“Whatever,” I laugh, stepping closer to him from where I stand in front of the classroom with far too much room for presenting. “Do you have any questions? I have been talking at you for half the day.”
Wiping my chalk covered hands over my dress, I glance over my shoulder to see the filled boards. Asking the Room of Requirement to conjure a classroom setting with triple the chalkboards— but only four desks— made Tom laugh heartily unpon entry. He surprised me by pulling true school supplies from his bag. Having seen him in class, I can confidently say that he has paid more attention to me today than any professor.
Even in Potions, Tom never takes such detailed notes, usually having memorized the lesson well before it’s taught. That wasn’t possible today— even in my world, my family history is mostly rumors with patches of truth sprinkled in. Without a link to Mikaelson blood, the chances of learning anything real about the Original Family are dismal at best.
“Many,” Riddle says, pulling me back to the present. “Most are about details of your stories and can wait, however I am curious to hear more about your paternal grandmother. Did she pass down the spell used to create vampires?”
Bobbing my head from side to side, I respond, “Yes and no. As I said, the intention was to make her children unkillable. Her grimoire included her notes when crafting, but she ended up getting help from another powerful witch. That information wasn’t included, but in theory I could figure it out.”
“Would it be possible to change the spell? Do something to lessen some of those pesky downfalls?” he asks studiously, clearly thinking clinically instead of simply trying to fix a potential problem.
“Not likely,” I tell him with a shrug. “I was born with vampire blood, the spell might as well be a part of my DNA. You could potentially modify my Aunts and Uncles in my world, that might work with only a few side effects, but it wouldn’t be wise to attempt the same thing with me or anyone I might change.”
Even then, I wouldn’t recommend anyone trying to change the original spell. While for my family, it might be written on the paper of their deaths— being born a vampire may as well have laminated the magic to my being. Who knows what might happen to me if someone tries to unravel the spellwork that resulted in my existence.
My guess would be nothing good. Once again, I glance behind myself to scan the chalk boards filled with my markings. While Tom may have been here for half the day, I’ve been here since the crack of dawn. Deek and Dopney were kind enough to bring meals for me and later Tom— the cheeseburgers I made them earlier this week did help sweeten the pot, though.
Everyone important to me in my world is more than aware of my family history, but this is the first time I’ve ever had to explain everything from start to finish— even Landon got plenty of information from the Saltzmans or the few books we kept that included our family name.
That isn’t a possibility here, so I spent a few hours drawing my family tree and sketching various beings like Malivore, The Hollow’s symbol, or the Necromancer, that frequented my life at various points. Then writing out the important parts I wanted to hit for each part of my life, slowly layering in the relevant information so I didn’t get lost in tangents.
Which is why my arms and clothes are covered in powdered white, having made my own powerpoint presentation without any of the technology. Today has been the big lesson; one we had to specifically set aside time for, prepare for, but over the last three weeks Tom and I have met multiple times to discuss the various abilities each third of me has.
I’m trying to make him understand just how overwhelming it would be if he goes through with this bond. That I’ll have expectations for him, just as I have for myself. Turning into an actual monster is not on my agenda, and we would need to keep each other in check if we take the route I agreed to think about.
“Understood,” Tom sighs, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “So, you are a direct descendant of both vikings and powerful, Norse pagan witches on your Father’s side. You said that your paternal family has been alive for over a thousand years?”
Walking to the desk next to his, I sit on top so I can see him and the boards, “Yes to both. No one is completely sure how old they are, so give or take some decades. Maybe a century-ish.”
“Is that why swordsmanship a family tradition? The Malfoy’s have kept some rituals from their ancestory, but more have been lost to time. I suppose that isn’t a problem on that side of the family,” he asks with his head tilted curiously.
His curls fall to one side, and my lips twitch as I feel an urge to run my fingers through his soft hair, “Yep. Despite my Father’s poor relationship with his step-dad, learning to sword fight with my Uncle Elijah was some of his happiest memories before they changed. Being taught by them was a gift, and I’ll cherish that time for the rest of my days.”
Tom takes my hand, whispering a word that pulls the desk I’m sitting on closer to his. Now, the table tops are touching, and I swing my legs to rest saddleside, “Would it be safe to assume that your family is responsible for your fighting prowess? Even without your magic, you had no issue kicking Dolohov’s arse.”
“Not entirely,” I tell him while laughing. At the time, I was beyond pissed at being attacked like that, but now it’s a rather funny memory. “When I was born, people important to my family started a boarding school. The one I’ve told you a bit about, the one I protected.
“Once I was old enough, I was sent there, where the headmaster was a retired vampire hunter. He is the one that taught me most of the hand to hand combat, Dr. Saltzman. After my Father died, leaving me an orphan, he took up the mantel the best he could given his own daughters.”
My heart aches while I remember the people I’ve lost and those I had to leave behind. The ones I still need to save come summer time. Tom’s thumb rubs against the back of my hand, pulling me from the sad spiral I was heading down. True sympathy is in his eyes, if anyone would understand the pain of feeling alone, it would be him.
Knowing his own history, I’m fully aware that Tom had it worse than me in a lot of ways. Growing up in an orphanage during both World Wars could not have been easy, and that’s not even taking into account his magical abilities that muggles simply could not help him with. My life has never been easy, so it’s nice having someone who understands what it’s like, even if our problems were unique.
“No wonder you are so formidable. Being the direct descendant of so many powerful people, having faced more danger as an infant than nearly anyone in this castle has seen in their entire lives. I knew you to be awe-inspiring while I only knew bits and pieces of your story, now I feel confident that you are someone meant to be worshiped,” he says with an air of reverence.
My expression turns dubious, and I roll my eyes before yanking my hand from his grip. Standing, I can’t help but shake my head while errant chuckles escape me, unable to look at him as I snicker, “Oh, come on. So I’ve lived a hard life and have family members important to another world. That makes me an oddity, nothing more.”
“That may be how you see yourself,” Tom sighs, standing from his desk. In an instant he’s standing in front of me, his hands gently cradling my face while forcing me to maintain eye contact. “However, no one in this world could ever mistake you for anything other than amazing. Least of all me, the other brilliant heir to powerful ancestors. I don’t understand how you cannot see the parallels between our lives.”
Confusion fills me, and I try not to scoff, “We’ve both had difficult lives where we struggled to deal with powers we did not fully understand and could not initially control. That’s not exactly common, but it also isn’t unheard of.”
“There’s so much more than that, my Darling. You’ve asked for an unobstructed view into my mind, let me show you now. See yourself from my point of view, I already know you won’t believe my words. So, let me prove it,” Tom tells me, begging me with speech and his gaze.
A touch of fear enters my system, whether due to his previous words or the idea of looking into the mind that could have tormented Harry Potter and his friends. But, I asked for this— a necessary sacrifice to be sure that I’m not being led into a very elaborate ploy.
So far, Tom has explained his shifting ideologies and priorities, how he means to test his followers to officially prune his Knights down before building the numbers back up. He’s already expressed interest in Eithne’s strategic mind and her budding skills, making it clear in words and actions that blood supremacy is no longer a priority.
Not to mention our long conversations about the perks of being a vampire— and how important avoiding the humanity switch is at all costs. Beyond the concept fascinating him, insisting I describe everything I knew on the topic, Tom agreed to amend the vows in Eterna’s Promise, aka the Soul Bonding Ceremony that I believe will work with my magical needs.
Well, he agreed to not flip the switch unless completely necessary, which I allowed because absolutes and technicalities do tend to come back to bite me in the ass. Either way, now would be the time to truly see how different the Tom Riddle before me is from the monster I’ve read so much about, once and for all.
After all the morality debating and unadulterated looks at the possible routes our lives could go, we’ve come to as much of an understanding as you can when discussing spending your life with someone. Beyond actually planning the wedding, we even discussed the unlikelihood of us having children, and both of our relief at the lack of possibility.
The fact that this rushed event wouldn’t even seem odd to the public is what completely baffles me, but witches and wizards in ‘high ranking society’ can be married off from the moment they reach legal age. Often times, marriages can happen at sixteen, depending on the parentage and connections. Which I’ll probably need to call in a favor with good old Dumbledore to do this, wonder how he’d take the news of the details.
“Are you sure I’m ready?” I ask, stalling slightly in my indecision and errant thoughts.
“We’ve been practicing, Hope, and I won’t fight you,” he tells me firmly, a smile sprouting on his beautiful face. “You have nothing to fear, I will be with you the entire time, keeping pace with what you witness.”
“I just—” I start, only pausing to take a deep, fortifying breath. Afraid to admit this fear to the very person it is about, “If this is the moment I find out this has all been a lie…I’m not ready for this to be over.”
Sadness enters his gaze before he slowly leans down to press his lips against mine. The kiss is rather chaste compared to our usual passions, but no less meaningful. Between the delicate hold of my face, how softly his mouth moves against mine, and the deep breathes that brush against my face; it’s like he’s memorizing me through every sense he can.
Resting his forehead against mine, Tom’s hands drop to hold my waist, “That will not be our last kiss. Once you come back to yourself, once you’ve seen inside my head and know for sure, either kiss or slap me. But know that I have nothing to hide from you; the witch who knows more of my past, present, and future than anyone in this world.”
Leading me back to the desks, we end up sitting facing each other while his hand firmly grasps one of mine. He nods to me, confirming that he’s ready, and I whisper, “Legilimens.”
Immediately, my consciousness is sucked from my body, and I’m catapulted through memories that aren’t mine. Years filled with loneliness and hunger fly by, more faces than I could ever dream to count filtering through my awareness. A cold orphanage, the cruel mistress that was nothing like a motherly figure, and the children who only saw Tom’s differences as fodder for their canons. Magical outbursts that confused and scared him, the situation so different from my life, yet the feelings as familiar as my Salvatore school uniform.
I watch countless bruises forming on a boy far too young, apathetic adults spread as thin as the dwindling resources, and so many hopeless nights that even I almost believed they would last forever. Then there are snakes, the discovery that he can communicate with them, thus seeing true kindness for the first time. Cold blooded reptiles that would keep him company, slipping into his bed at night to act like sentient stuffed animals, and being the only flickering lights in an otherwise dark abyss.
Self-taught lessons begin, trying to control a power that he knows nothing about, guessing to further his own abilities. His reptile friends hating the way the others treated Tom, asking if they could punish those who dared to harm their master. Finally knowing how to fight back; I watch his retaliations, the pain he caused, and relished. The outline being the story I know, but the details are all filled in along with the emotions of a lost and love starved little boy.
A box of stolen goods, the only objects he truly felt that he owned, and the resulting way he was ostracized by those who already seemed to hate him. The darkness of a cave and the feeling of triumph over the worst of his bullies. Mentally, I pause and have to reconcile the story from my world with the realities of his situation.
Harry Potter books always made Voldemort’s early life seem like a precursor to his evil actions. Similar to the way serial killers from all the true crime dramas and podcasts I saw in my old world. How they tend to harm animals— showing various signs of cruelty— as children before growing up to mutilate people. Only, this feels more like the book Nineteen Minutes by Jodi Picoult— a story that details how a high school student went from horrifyingly bullied to incarcerated school shooter.
At no point did the book make you feel like killing children was the right decision, a good decision, or even one to be considered at all. It simply expressed that people who are put through the worst society has to offer won’t necessarily grow up the correct way. Offering a semblance of sympathy for someone who was not born a villain, but became one after incredibly difficult circumstances.
Diving back in; Dumbledore suddenly appears, offering a place of understanding, a place where Tom will belong. A sorting ceremony that results in Slytherin, the immediate return to being at the bottom of the food chain. Now, injuries are caused mostly by magic, only the seventh or sixth years deigning to bloody their knuckles on the poor, orphan boy surrounded by entitled, rich kids. Continued bullying, only made worse when he excelled far above his classmates in every way.
Then a search for his lineage, a firm belief that his Father’s family is where his magic came from, a hope that they simply never knew he existed, and that is why he’s had this horrible upbringing. Searing frustration when he learns of his true parentage, which transformed into greed the moment his housemates started treating him with an air of respect— no matter how small in the beginning.
Having Gaunt relations slowly helped his reputation, his life becoming even easier as others started to notice his budding handsomeness. Long months of learning to charm others, proving how much better than his classmates he is, amassing followers eager to attach themselves to a student possessing more power than Hogwarts had seen in generations.
All punctuated by summers spent back in a place he considers his personal hell, where he could not even defend himself with the magic he so diligently learned and practiced most of the year. Growing confidence, the discovery of the Chamber of Secrets, and professors who cannot stop singing his praises.
More followers, more respect, and more witches throwing themselves at him than he knew what to do with. Somehow, Tom has turned into an arrogant frat boy, soaking up all the praise and satisfaction within his reach. Then Myrtle dies.
I can’t help but spend some time in the panic, the regret he felt for ending his first life. Being a child who spent years listening to his housemates hate and vitriol, the thought of Mudbloods dying felt more fantasy than anything else. Reality was not what he expected; no matter how annoying Myrtle was, she didn’t deserve to die simply for being born.
For the first time in his life, Riddle was truly worried about facing consequences for terrible deeds. Hagrid being framed, Dumbledore’s suspicion, and the easily persuaded Dippet who could never think a bad thought about his favorite student.
Visiting the last of his maternal family, the disappointment in their squalor, then the visit to Riddle Manor. Hoping they would be pleased to learn of his existence, a son that Tom Sr. could be proud of, being the best wizard of his age, and the gut wrenching feeling at the rage his father exhibited upon seeing him.
Devil spawn, waste of breath, an orphan that should have died in the dank hole he knew that my Tom grew up in— all words that left his mouth in almost slow motion while hopes and dreams shatter all around me. Grandparents who refused to contradict their son, surrounded by riches they purposefully did not share with the young boy who spent most of his childhood starving in every sense of the word.
After seeing those memories…I can’t lie and say that I felt complete horror watching Tom kill those who would treat him in such a way. Maybe that makes me terrible, maybe I am my Father’s daughter, but regardless of the immorality of those actions, I cannot find it within myself to fault him.
Then, I see myself for the first time, his growing curiosity and attraction to a witch he doesn’t recognize with an odd accent. Learning that I’m not from here, enjoying the way I declined his advances, the subsequent plan to learn more about me. The train station where I blew him off, telling his followers to get close to me, enlisting a search through ancient archives for a ritual to drain my magic, the varying attempts to talk to me.
His suspicions, his threats, me asking him to end my life, and his strangely conflicting feelings at the concept. These memories move faster since I know what happens, mostly paying attention to his thoughts and emotions that stand out around the edges. Along with the present Tom’s discomfort at the place I’m at. I can practically taste his current shame over those thoughts, the plans he had before understanding who I am.
Each secret he learned deepened his attraction to me, my magic that astounds him so, and the slow transition from wanting to steal from me to wanting me. Growing jealousy as his followers take portions of my time, horror during my first transition that shook him to his core, and the rage that I would choose to go to the Ball with someone other than him. My surprise lasts for a short moment, and relief floods me before I allow more to pass.
Dumbledore’s taunting expression as he talks to me, our dance, and the passionate moments we began to share. Dolohov attacking me, the swift punishments for attempting to harm me, and then winter break. Staying at Malfoy Manor, his utter fascination with me, his birthday, and thoughts of me being an angel sent here just for him.
His reactions to finding out about his future, the confusion, pain, and lack of direction that followed. The confidence in me and my place in his life, the surety that I am his salvation, all sprawled out on countless journal pages.
The endless conversations with Abraxas, the discussions on how to conduct themselves in order to change the future from what I showed, appreciating Malfoy’s reaction to learning some of what might have happened. Reaching into the furthest depths of his mind, touching every nook, cranny, and corner, I don’t find anything I’m looking for.
Proof of him wanting to take my magic stopped before the Halloween Ball, leaving the build up to an all consuming need to be my equal, to protect me, to be with me. If anything, I should be more worried that his feelings for me might border on obsessive. Seeing the need to have and maintain our relationship, finding that to be his absolute top priority without any plans on changing that title. Each secret he unearthed only proved to him our perfection; being my partner would mean asking someone for everything he has always wanted.
But, I saw deeper than that too, how storybook he finds our relationship. Visions and dreams of me, of us, and our possible future ruling the world. So many glances, views from every possible angle— him watching me in the Great Hall or during classes— and times he reached out to almost touch my robes in the halls. It’s like he’s cataloged each of my expressions, no matter how intimate the look, and I barrel through those sequences while noting his heavy attraction— to every part of me, starting, apparently, with my mind.
My assumptions that I would find a power hungry, evil villain hiding under my nose vanish faster than a niffler can find gold. Sure, there’s pain and mayhem that he orchestrated or occasionally carried out, but I already knew there would be. Those are more or less skipped over, the way I expected him to not judge me for some of the life shattering mistakes I’ve made and detailed just moments ago.
Being faced with his true emotions, the overwhelming evidence, I start questioning how I could ever continue believing in the version of him from the books. Voldemort would never, could never feel this deeply for someone. Even in the absolute deepest part of his consciousness, the only feelings I can find involving cheating or betraying me in anyway come back with disgusted results. Devotion and something so much deeper saturate his recent memories, and I feel visceral pain while watching myself race towards the cloaked figures in the snow alone.
Coming back to myself, I gasp for air as if I’ve been underwater for far too long. The shadows in the room have changed, making me wonder just how long I was in Tom’s head. Blinking furiously, I find a nervous expression on his face, a vulnerability I would not have trusted before diving into his memories. But now?
Now, I slowly extricate my hand from his grasp, ignoring the alarmed and hurt look on his face that vanishes the moment I sit in his lap. Grasping both of cheeks, searching his hesitant yet hopeful gaze, and I kiss him with everything I have within me. All the understanding, tenderness, and fervor I can pack into one action. Somehow, in the span of one trip through his mind, my heart broke for the pain he’s suffered, and was repaired stitch by stitch by watching our story through his eyes.
Everything I’ve ever hoped for, every wish I made on a star as a child, has accidentally come true in the form of Tom Riddle. My worries for the past months seem almost foolish to me now, as my lips, teeth, and tongue dance with the person who truly sees me as his soulmate. As the answer to all his prayers— the person he wants to cherish for all eternity, seeing it as a genuine privilege instead of the burden I sometimes feel like.
Breaking away from our intense kiss, I lean my forehead against his while trying to catch my breath, “Ask me.”
“Pardon?” Tom questions, backing away enough for him to look into my eyes in uncertainty.
“Ask me,” I tell him again, feeling more sure than I have since arriving in this world.
I thought there was no way that I would ever find happiness with someone. My luck hasn’t been great, death and mayhem have been my rewards for caring about people. In my mind, there was no way that Tom Riddle could ever grow to truly care for me because it simply would not compute in my brain. The logic I have accumulated in my life says that if it seems too good to be true, then it’s a trap.
Not only did I grow up hearing fan theories that the Dark Lord in question was unable to feel love at all due to the potion his father was bewitched with at the time of his conception, but how could I ever change someone like that? Klaus Mikaelson caring for me as fiercely as he did was the most I ever dared to truly hope for.
After what I just saw and felt from his memories, my new confidence in his declarations, I can finally see what he’s been trying to show me. If Tom can let me into his mind, then I can let him into my heart. Fear be damned, this is one decision I won’t allow myself to regret.
Understanding dawns on his face, and then I’m lifted from his lap. Setting me on my feet, Tom pulls me away from the desks, looking at me like I’m the best present this life could ever offer him. Completely ignoring the white chalk covering my skin and clothes, the classroom setting where we just shared our truths with each other, and the complete lack of anything traditionally romantic.
Grabbing my left hand while running his thumb across the back of my palm, Tom gets down on one knee, summoning a ring box from thin air. Flipping the black, velvet lid, inside lays a gold signet ring with masculine carvings surrounding a large obsidian stone, looking suspiciously like one of the Horcruxes I know he still has.
“Hope Andrea Mikaelson,” he starts, gazing up at me with more adoration than I could ever deserve, and a genuine smile. His voice is strong but quiet, as if he’s afraid that speaking too loudly will destroy this mirage, “I have never needed anyone, never wanted anyone by my side— until you. You are the fire and calm to my ice and chaos, an angel sent to this world to be my salvation. Mine, just as I was born to be yours.
“The world will be ripe for the taking soon; we could shape it, rule it, or burn it to ash if it dares to stand in our way. However, I don’t want any of that without you. I promise to spend each day for the rest of our very long lives proving to you that this is our destiny, and protect you from anyone that would dare do you harm. Marry me— Soul Bond with me, Hope. Be my Queen, stand beside me, and together we will carve our names into eternity itself. Say yes, say you’re mine as I am yours. Always.”
My breath catches at the fierceness of his resolve, the absolute confidence that we are meant to be together. For the first time, I allow myself to believe him— fully, completely, and without prejudice. Now, I can find the earnest set of his features, the vulnerability I’m sure few, if any, have seen. Tom Riddle looks like a fallen angel, far too beautiful like this to be considered man. Tears prick at my eyes at the same time my lips curl into a big, involuntary smile accompanied by my flushed cheeks.
“Yes, Tom Marvolo Riddle. Gladly,” I respond, knowing full well what I’m signing up for.
A push and pull for eternity, a partnership that will never be boring. Once the gates inside me open, I can feel everything I’ve held back in name of suspicion or protecting myself.
While Landon was my first love, I have to admit that I want Tom to be my last. Relief floods me with the internal admission; maybe I’m the last to know my feelings, but can you blame a girl who’s so familiar with grief? This time will be different, it must be.
Slipping the Gaunt Signet ring on my finger, Tom then pulls me into his arms, picking me up and spinning twice. Before my feet hit the floor, his lips crash into mine for a quick and passionate kiss, and my fingers thread into his soft curls.
As we break apart again, he explains huskily, “When I absorb the piece of my soul, I will need this back. Your other ring is currently away at a jewelry enchanter, however I like the idea of you wearing this for the time being.”
“That works with me,” I say, matching his silly grin. “I want you to wear it after your Horcruxes are gone. At all times would be nice, until we’re married.”
Quirking an eyebrow in confused amusement, his tone comes out playful, “Is that so?”
“Do you really not know?” I ask curiously, my smile turning slightly devious. “I always did wonder if you figured it out, just how poetic it was to make this ring a Horcrux.”
Already, I can tell that there’s powerful, dark magic surrounding this piece of jewelry. Except, it doesn’t feel threatening as his power grazes my hand, reaching all the way up my wrist. Instead of sending insecure thoughts tumbling through my mind like the movies and books detailed, Tom’s soul seems to warm my skin while devoted and possessive musings seem to be whispered in my ear. ‘Mine, my beautiful Darling,’ ‘Hope, my Hope,’ and ‘I will give you the world, all I need is you,’ almost tickle as I hear a voice so much like the man before me.
“I am lost, my Darling. The only thing I know is that technically I’m the heir to it, and what I did to it of course. However, the Gaunt family history was not something my Uncle saw fit to explain to his Halfblood nephew,” he says matter-of-factly with a shrug.
My features soften and I tell him proudly, “The black stone is the Resurrection Stone— one of the Deathly Hallows. You put your soul into one of the Deathly Hallows to conquer Death. Your lineage is more than the Gaunts and Salazar, Tom.”
Utter shock enters his face, and then he snatches my hand, bringing the ring in front of his face. Now studying it in a new light, understanding that the Peverell coat of arms carved into the stone has far more meaning than pride. Then he starts laughing— hard.
Like he’s releasing the stress he’s carried over his own mortality, seeing the lengths he’s gone to in attempts to live forever, only to inherit (steal) a family ring that kinda has the power to bring back the dead. His humor is far too contagious and I’m laughing with him, and a bit at his extreme reaction as he doubles over while gripping his stomach with one arm.
Taking a few minutes to calm down— once he does— Tom pulls me closer to him via the hand he’s still holding, “Truly, you are the answer to my prayers. Let me show you just how happy I can make you in our impending nuptials.”
Physically lifting me to his mouth, I squeak, but wrap my legs around his waist regardless. Our lips smash together, and he uses the slight opening of my mouth to taste every bit he can get. I gain my senses after a moment, returning the intensity and then some, my hands griping his shoulder and hair. My heart pounds in my chest and my left ring finger feels heavy, feels more significant than usual.
Feels like…like I belong to someone. Feminist comments run through my mind, sense and logic filling all of them. But, they don’t stop my blood from heating, nor my core from clenching around nothing, and I feel arousal gathering between my legs. A recent full moon only brings out my base instincts, like a completely irrational desire to be someone else’s. No matter what I want to believe, my entire being lights up at the thought— at least in this manner.
Tom walks a short distance, pulling away briefly enough to gain a smug smirk, and then his mouth melds back over mine. Hands unbuttoning the front of my dress distract my train of thought, but extracting me from it leaves me breathless. Not due to my near nakedness, but because we aren’t in the classroom anymore.
Things now surround us, piles of random objects cluttered in heaps reaching nearly two stories tall. Couches, books, boxes, chests, furniture, just everything and anything you could think of creating a maze. Somehow, the Room has expanded to what feels like a stadium or warehouse, only filled with random crap. Standing before him in only my underwear, I cock my head in confusion while he just looks at me with hungry amusement.
“I am going to devour you, Hope,” he says in a tone that sends shivers down my spine. His hands grip my hips roughly, ensuring to plaster our bodies together while dropping his voice a couple octaves, “Your body will bear my marks, even if only for a moment, just as you wear my ring. Tonight, I want you to lose count of how my times I get you off. Thank Nature for your quick healing, Darling— I have no intention of stopping until at least dawn. Our plans tomorrow be damned.”
His ravenous gaze over my body is practically tangible, and my hands reach for his clothes. I want to see him, to make him feel wanted under my gaze— regardless of the weird location he summoned. Only, he takes my hands in his, “Remind me of your safe words.”
“Peanut butter to stop,” I recite, not knowing where this going. “Basilisk to pause.”
“Good girl,” he purrs. “Now, run.”
My eyes widen as Tom releases me, taking a step back with a wolfish smile. My heart pounds, but my smile is taunting before I turn on my heel. If he thinks catching a werewolf will be easy, then he has no idea what’s coming. Sprinting down the makeshift hallway, I start taking turns left and right, aiming for random to make this a bit more like a goose chase. Where this particular interest comes from, I’m not sure.
Did it come from my supernatural genes or from events in my life? Either way, I’ve never truly indulged in the urge to fight before finally submitting. Blood pumps through my veins, roaring in my ears, heightening my senses— and arousal. I haven’t admitted this yet, but I’m a little excited to do the whole soul thing just because it would be really nice to have someone who is strong enough to have rough sex with.
No one in this world would likely make it through both my strength and my bite once everything is said and done. Meaning that I would have to be careful and restrained in the moments I least want to feel that way. Although, some restraints are fun.
After a couple minutes, a small thud sounds far closer to me than I like, just a few hallways behind me. The first sign of life I’ve heard. He must have silenced his steps, and I change direction immediately while cursing whatever he may have done to prep for this. What am I thinking, of course he planned this out.
Slowly, a dance forms; a small, purposeful sound followed by my change in direction. Not long later, another clunk would cause the same. A strange giddiness comes over me, after thinking about this for so long, it’s even sweeter in real life. My ragged breath mimics another activity, and I can’t wait to feel an entirely different kind of burn.
Looking over my shoulder, I can’t see anyone chasing me, but I feel his presence all the same. Later, I’ll wonder how he managed such a thing, but right now I turn another corner. There’s a bend to it, and only after a hundred yards do I realize it’s a dead end. Specifically, there’s a very large bed resting against the wall of stacked chairs, textbooks, ornate boxes, and more enclosing the corridor.
My retreat ends after five paces, finding a Riddle smiling smugly at me with a touch of red in his eyes. The ring on my finger feels heavy, reminding me of the Horcrux I’m still wearing and now fiddling with. A touch of regret goes through me, barely perceptible to my senses, but it must show on my face for a moment because I see his eyes flash angerly.
His wand is out before I can utter a word, and a small shout comes out of my already opened mouth as he flings me backward. Soaring through the air, I fly for a while until I’m dropped onto the plush mattress. With truly impressive speed, Tom reaches the bed and pins me down— about half as fast as a vampire from my world could. In moments, he’s both between my legs and holding each wrist in a hand far above my head.
The hesitation of my movements from surprise only aids him as he snarls menacingly, “Tell me what that look meant.”
“I—it’s nothing, really,” I stammer out, blushing fiercely as I try to search for an alternative to the truth. We’re already doing something I want, asking for more feels like being greedy, and I can’t tempt the universe. “Just a silly, little fantasy…”
His eyes turn more red the longer I don’t continue, prompting me further, “I just thought that I wish you were wearing the ring tonight, before it’s not a Horcrux anymore.”
Anger stalls out into confusion, and his gaze bobs between my left hand and my face, “Why?”
This one may have come out like a question, but there was no less demand behind the singular word. Shaking my head no, I close my eyes tight while trying to ignore the heat rising from the top of my forehead all the way down to my naval. Embarrassment fills me, I’ve never shared a want like this to anyone, hadn’t exactly planned on it today either.
“Tell me, Darling,” he lilts ominously, a charming smile taking over his expression, but it only makes my alarm grow. “What? Did you want me to do something with it, or would wearing it somehow be enough?”
Sucking on my lips, I don’t bother fighting when Riddle takes both my wrists within one hold. But, my eyes only open when a firm hand wraps around my throat, “If you tell me, I promise to do it my Queen.”
An audible gulp escapes me, and I’m too mesmerized by the deep yet bright scarlet of his gaze to look away again. When I feel him prodding at my mind, I realize I’d rather tell him than allow anyone to watch memories of me doing things to thoughts of this, “I wish you’d wear it whi—while fingering me!”
My shout comes out slightly panicked and Tom is taken aback, blinking at me a couple times while he processes. Then, a possessive and somewhat manic smile overtakes his face, and a humorless laugh makes my skin pebble. Shame and arousal swirl within me, creating a haze that blurs the edges of my vision, creating almost a spotlight effect on him.
“For someone who has fought so valiantly to be completely independent, your desire to be utterly embodied by me is surprising,” his gravelly voice sounding far too arrogant. Silk ropes suddenly entwine my arms, acting as hand cuffs, allowing him the freedom to sit up and pluck the ring from my finger, “Far be it from me to deny you such a privilege, my Darling.”
The next thing I know, my underwear completely vanishes and a cool breeze hits my wet center, making me shiver. Red in his gaze begins to turn back to black, but the heat never leaves his expression. Placing the huge ring back on his finger, Tom plays with it in front of me until he begins slowly rolling the sleeves of his shirt up. Veins bulge from within his alabaster skin, and I bite my lip as my thighs instinctually try to close.
I need him to actually touch me, my skin feels like it’s both on fire and screaming for more. But, Riddle is never one to give in so quickly. Kisses begin on my left hand, now bare, and each finger receives praise before he moves onto my palm. Every inch of me is given attention from his lips or tongue, down one arm and up the other. Then my collarbone, taking far too long before finally reaching my breasts.
Tom spends a torturous amount of time appreciating my body, lovingly laving at my skin like I’m made of chocolate. After what feels like an eternity, he reaches my nipples, only visiting each rosy bud before continuing lower. My groan sounds foreign to my ears, coming off far needier than I wish.
Never have I thought of my stomach or abdomen to be sexy, sure there are curves, but the man above me acts like this area is everything to him. Now, his teeth are added to the game, and I squeal as he nips at my soft stomach. Thankfully, once he reaches my naval, my legs get thrown over his shoulders. Lightly biting my hip bone, I breathlessly giggle, earning an adoring smirk on his otherwise domineering countenance.
“Please, Tom,” I whimper as he slowly outlines my pelvis with open mouthed kisses. “Stop messing around, I need you.”
Halting his movements, he makes eye contact as he responds, “I want to hear another name tonight, my Darling.”
“Mr. Mikaelson,” I say breathlessly with a snarky smile. He bites my thigh harder than ever in retaliation, making me giggle harder. Exhaling a huff directly onto my very wet and wanting flesh, my laughter dies in favor of a shaky exhale.
“While your humor is one of your best qualities, hearing it now only stirs a desire to listen to you pleading desperately for my touch,” Tom tells me matter-of-factually as he sits back up. My legs fall off him, landing around his kneeling, disappointed figure.
Raising and crossing my ankles behind his back, I don’t allow any distance between us as panic shoots through me, “No, I’m sorry Voldemort! Please!”
More red comes out in his eyes, making his smile look all the more devilish, “There’s my girl.”
Pushing my legs back open, my bottom flops onto the mattress just long enough for him to reposition himself. Laying on his tummy, Tom rests his weight on his elbows as he grips the space where my thighs meet my ass, lifting me straight to his waiting mouth. Our moans harmonize in a symphony of pleasure, bucking my hips to feel more of him.
Audible slurps can be heard over my ragged breathing as I watch him devour every drop from my center. The velvet texture of his tongue using just the right amount of pressure, sends me into a tailspin, loving how firmly he grips my skin. While Tom never tries to hurt me, he also doesn’t treat me like a porcelain doll. Even if marks on me might not last, receiving any at all is a good thing as far as I’m concerned.
A finger breaches my slippery entrance, making me gasp in both pleasure and anticipation. My hands fist the restraints, then the bedding as I try to stay situated how he wants. The way he watches me with eyes swirling between red and black, the dark depravity of feeling what most would consider to be an evil artifact tantalizing my most sensitive flesh, and the restraints all create a sensual experience I never thought I’d have outside of my head.
“That’s right, my Darling,” he growls into my cunt, momentarily stopping his maddening ministrations. “You’re preparing my ring nicely, getting it plenty slick before opening up to take it inside your sweetness. Having a piece of my soul tethered to it, I can feel my magic begging to feel more of you.”
Beyond words, all I can do is moan in response while lifting my hips. Screw his magic, I want more. Just feeling the warm metal teasing my entrance isn’t enough, and I can hear my animalistic whines and whimpers as I try to force him further inside me. My hips jerk this way and that, but Tom’s grip on my pelvis keeps me from making any progress. After an evil chuckle, he lightly bites my clit, making me scream and shake.
“Please, please, please,” My pleading escapes my perception for far too long, my focus stuck between my legs. With ragged breathes, I try to rub enough brain cells together to come up with a bribe, “Voldemort, take me. I—I need more, right now!”
His chuckling sends vibrations through my sex, but I finally feel the Horcrux sliding into my channel. With an arched back that could rival any rainbow, I exclaim expletives while throwing my head back against the bedding. Ramping up his efforts, Tom’s tongue flattens as he rubs circles into my clit, and his ring glides along as he fingers me with intense vigor.
Just like when I felt his magic wrapping around my hand and wrist when he placed the signet ring on my finger— my inner muscles clenching around the awkward shaped jewelry, now becoming overwhelmed when his magic sparks pleasure throughout me. In anatomy, I learned that the clit is far bigger than the exterior nub, but only now do I fully believe it.
Every inch, each cell explodes with sensations of him, and I’m thrown off the cliff into an intense climax. When my fists first grabbed his hair, I’m not sure. But, the next thing I know I’m shouting, thanking him, praising him, and holding him between my legs while my mind is soaring through the clouds.
Several minutes later, I collapse against the bedding, slightly dizzy as I float back to Earth. I open my eyes to find him grinning at me from where he stands with a shinning chin. His hands are playing with his Horcrux, but his eyes scour my naked body like I’m his favorite book. Once my breathing evens out, Tom starts unbuttoning his shirt.
Throwing that aside, his belt comes next, followed by his trousers. A flick of his wand releases my wrists from the silk wrapping, and Tom sets it down before gripping my ankle. Tugging me closer to him, I open my legs in invitation, reaching for him without sitting up. Taking my hand, he kisses my palm reverently before using my legs to flip me onto my stomach.
“Those who have not seen you like this, have never known just how beautiful you truly are,” Tom says while massaging my back muscles. “Your magic reaches for me as you climax, rippling across my skin in time with your inner muscles grasping me. As if it’s thanking me for the pleasure I bring you.”
I feel his kiss between my shoulder blades as I stammer, “I—I didn’t know.”
“Once our magic is shared, I wonder how that will affect this phenomenon,” he lilts while his hands roam over my back, squeezing my ass enough to lift my hips slightly. “Perhaps each time you find yourself wanting, it will pull me to you like a siren call, insisting I pleasure my Queen.”
Then his hard length enters me swiftly, feeling like I’m being impaled on him. A cry passes between my lips, and I try to use my knees to lift my hips even further. Which results in Tom smacking my ass hard, the sound echoing through the huge room. Falling back onto the mattress as the air exits my lungs in a gasp, my head turns to catch a glimpse of the man now gathering my wrists behind my back.
“You’re mine, Hope. I will fuck you how I please, arrange you like the erotic vision you are, and you’ll thank me for every moment of it. Won’t you?” he asks with a lust-filled, determined expression.
His words shouldn’t make me clench around his length as he slowly moves within me. They shouldn’t ignite another fire within me, and I shouldn’t crave more, more, more. More words, more kindling, more movement, more him. Holding my hands behind my back, he uses that as leverage to move my entire body around him, my head cushioned by the plush bedding. When I don’t answer for a brief pause, his other hand lands firmly on my other ass cheek, the sting far greater than the first. My cry sounds tortured, and any pain only fuels the burning in my veins, heightening what he’s doing between my legs.
“Yes, yes I will!” I all but sob out.
“Good girl,” he lilts, reaching beneath my body about where we meet.
My attention is too busy enjoying the way he glides in and out of me, so big that I have to stretch around his girth, allowing nearly every nerve within me to be stoked. I don’t hear the words he mutters, but I feel something hard pressing to my sensitive clit. Seconds later, that thing starts to vibrate faster than some power tools I’ve used, and this time my scream comes out hoarse.
My body starts thrashing, unable to comprehend the pleasure rocketing through my system. Now, Tom has no words for me, slowly moving me around him as my face rests against the bedding. Whether I want to get away or closer to him, I’m not sure, all I can do is lay here shouting incoherently as he fucks himself with my body. My next climax feels like he stole it from deep within me, as if this has all been one big heist as he forces me through blinding pleasure.
That’s when he picks up the pace, starting to pound into me, and intensifying the explosions happening beneath my skin and behind my eyes. The ring, because that must be what’s attached to me, never moves from where he placed it. Vibrations continue the whole while, officially locking my rational mind behind an electric fence. Sporadically spanking me, I’m lost in the thrill of every sensation, fully submitting to his ministrations, and I sink into the moment.
No thoughts race through my mind, only the fire within keeping my sentience alive as I give myself over to the ecstasy Tom insists on. I have no idea how many more times I finish, everything blurring together within me, but eventually he roars from above. His release fills me with even more warmth, adding to the sticky mess already present between my legs. Only after he’s spent does he remove the ring from my clit, and I let out a shaky sigh as I relax against the pure white bedding that feels like the cushions are wrapping me in a hug.
“Gorgeous,” Tom murmurs as he lays beside me, pulling my tingle-filled body against his. “What a lovely fiance I have, feeling more like my wildest dreams than anything I’ve encountered in this reality.”
My happy hum sounds more like purring, but I don’t care. Nothing can wipe the huge smile from my face, not even exhaustion, “You sure know how to keep a girl satisfied.”
Chuckling at the gruffness of my voice, he nuzzles my neck before whispering in my ear, “That was only the beginning.”