Intoxication

"The only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it."

- Oscar Wilde

Chapter 9: Soft Peaks

Hermione hissed in pain as she stitched her still oozing side back together with a sterilized needle and thread. She had just barely made it out of a spar in one piece when she had let her guard down too quickly. The man she had been sparring against was a little too agile with a blade than she was used to and sent it flying towards her. It was one of the greatest lessons she taught herself early but sometimes forgot: Don't ever feel like the fight is over even when it seems to be.

She had been training herself in close combat with a local London gang for several weeks now and she could feel herself getting stronger by the day. A wand wasn't enough for her anymore. There had been too many close calls where a wand wasn't directly in her possession, and she was left without a line of defense. The psycho bitch Bellatrix being the first example. Hermione was naïve back then. Relying solely on magic to do her fighting for her. But that wasn't the world they lived in anymore. If Death Eaters and trappers were fighting with magic, she had to take it a step farther. Most of the Order members balked at her, telling her she was pushing herself too hard and maiming herself. But what good would any of this training be if she pussyfooted around it all. She had to get in where the action was and sometimes that meant getting your side sliced apart. She didn't want to heal herself with magic either. Through all of the moving and hunting they had done, she had found libraries in their journeys where she found muggle books on healing, suturing, CPR… Real life rescuing that could be done by your hands, not by a wand and it had come in handy more than once. Moody thought she had gone insane when he came upon her in a mission giving chest compressions to a dying teenager, having gotten separated from the group and her hands were too wet with blood to get a proper grip on her wand.

The kid lived. And her proof was right there. It wasn't useless and she hated that the Order made her feel like it was.

"We have magic."

"Those methods are outdated and for muggles."

More fool on them, Hermione thought to herself. She couldn't help but imagine Harry or Ron being in a dire situation without their wands, pissing their pants and crying that they didn't want to die and didn't know how to defend themselves. Then she would get the last laugh, she snorted in the air to herself.

You're doing the right thing. Training and pushing yourself like this…

"I know", Hermione replied to her thought companion. She was getting more used to the soothing male voice that was becoming clearer and more prominent as the days went on. He was encouraging. Nice, even. It made her feel less alone and less like an outsider for doing what she truly believed needed to be done. Sometimes it felt like he was the only one who really understood her.

Too bad he isn't real, Hermione sulked to herself.

Hermione winced as she wrapped her midsection in gauze and tossed the needle and thread to the ground. Like her, it was contaminated now and couldn't be reused again.

"Blimey, Mione!" Ron yelled at her as she tried to quietly come through the front door of their current hideaway, wincing at both his loudness and that she turned too quickly.

"Where have you been? It's 3 in the morning."

"Out." Was all Hermione said as she made to walk past him until he grabbed her arm to pull her back.

"Ow, fuck Ron!" She scolded through clenched teeth, holding her side. "It took me forever to stitch that together."

Ron's face shadowed over as he frowned at her. "You've been out fighting again, haven't you?"

"So, what if I was?" She moved his hand off of her.

He sighed loudly, his brows now coming together that caused her to sigh. A scolding was coming, and she really wasn't in the mood for one.

"I've told you how dangerous that is!" He began. "How can you even trust those – those – gang muggles?"

Hermione snorted, smiling in disbelief. "Trust them? Who said anything about trusting them?"

"Then why do you insist on doing this? What can they offer you in protection that magic, and your friends can't?"

A knot was forming in her shoulders and the pain of it was traveling to her temples. It wasn't from the fighting. It was from Ron's sheer idiocy.

"Well?" Ron insisted.

Hermione dragged her hand down her face, gritting her teeth together because she was longing,  aching , to get back to her room for her secret pleasure that took her pain and ebbed it with its own. That made her feel more alive than any knife fight or duel ever could. To feel his magic wrap around her and pulsate within her. She needed a release, and she certainly wasn't going to find it here.

Finish this.

"Do you have your wand on you, Ron?" Hermione asked.

Ron nodded. "Always."

He took out his wand to show her but before he could even finish his movement, the back of Hermione's forearm hit his wand arm so hard that his wand went clattering to the floor.

"What-!"

He couldn't even finish his sentence. Hermione grabbed the front of Ron's shirt and while twisting her back to him, she pulled it hard over her shoulder, careening his body over her back as he landed with a hard thud on the floor, knocking the wind out of him as he wheezed. Her side burned in pain as she knew she pulled her sutures and could feel the warm blood starting to flow out again but it was worth it to see Ron's shocked face as he struggled to breathe in.

Kneeling over so her face hovered over his, Hermione lifted her top lip in a sneered as she hissed," That is what they offer me."

Stepping over his limp body, she headed towards her room. Towards her passion, towards her secret pleasure, towards her horcruxes.

Hermione eyed Nott sharply as she tried not to show the smile that was threatening to appear. Was it wrong to feel excited? Was it wrong to feel the thrill that was coursing through her right now? Her body felt so tightly wound at the prospect of finally dueling someone worth dueling that she was aching to unleash it.

Revenge was at the tip of her wand.

And as she eyed the Slytherin, who was staring hard back at her, the excitement fizzled out and was replaced with a cold fury.

Fury at Theodore fucking Nott.

He was the reason why she was here. He was the reason she got captured. He was the reason for what Voldemort was doing to her.

And he was responsible for her ultimate loss.

Not the loss of her freedom or her freewill.

No –

Something far, far more valuable.

Her horcruxes.

He stole them from her and helped in their ultimate destruction.

And that was simply unforgivable.

Raising her wand into first position, she heard Nott call out," Try not to break my nose this time, Granger."

Blood will pour from you like a fountain of sacrifice to my lost horcruxes and freedom…

"What's dueling without a little blood, Nott?" She flashed her canines at him. Their master and the two other mindless lemmings stood to the side, but Hermione could hardly care. Nott was her target. Nott was in her vision. And all she could see was ripping him in half to paint the room in crimson.

Nott made the first move.

He slashed through the air, his thin wand sending a whip of green towards her.

Child's play.

Hermione waved her hand at it like she was shooing a fly away, sending it straight into the mirrors beside her.

This wasn't like her duel with Tom. She was exhausted then. Drained, and emotionally charged from being captured and the shock of her killing that haggard nun. Now she had had rest. She had been bathed, slept, refreshed; and it didn't hurt that Nott was nowhere near as much of a threat as his master.

Nott continued casting spells and hexes at her, but she found it useless. The playing field was in front of her. There were no trees to hide behind and she wasn't running from her capture. She was running towards it to decimate it. For every five moves Nott made, she made sure to move one.

The boy had been pampered. He had said it himself. Him and his Slytherin pals don't go out into the field. And it showed. He was careless with his movements. Quick to act instead of assessing. He couldn't see past his desire to cast spells and take her out to see how little she was moving, reserving her magic to strike when the time was right. His magic was draining with each hex, and he was approaching too quickly.

How disappointing…

"Are you going to make a move or just stand there blocking?" Malfoy's snooty voice called out. Still blocking Nott's spells with her hand, Hermione glared at the platinum blonde out of the corner of her eye.

"Ow, fuck!" He jumped suddenly, pulling his hand to his mouth.

"What is it, mate" Zabini asked while Tom slid his black eyes to the still wincing Malfoy who glared at Hermione, earning a smirk from her before she turned her attention back to her duel.

"Nothing", he growled. "Just bit my tongue."

They wanna see a show? I'll give them a show.

It was as if a dark cloud covered the room, every light source seemed to dim just slightly as Hermione breathed deeply feeling her magic course through her, coating her in fizzles and sparks until she felt it at her fingertips. Her magic had stayed dormant for the past few days, and it was calling to be let out.

Wordlessly and effortlessly, she moved across the stage like a whisper. Softer than the beat of a butterfly's wing and as smooth as water flowing through ice. Her wand sliced through the air sending bright cracks and flashes that lit the whole room in a blindingly bright ray of technicolor. Every move she made, like a rehearsed choreography that she had spent years of studying. One spell and one hex after another was cast, each slice of her wand causing Nott to be blinded as he tried hard to deflect but could barely keep up with the onslaught that was the storm of her.

"Fuck, Granger!" Nott cursed as he shot a red spell at her colliding with her purple 'Sectumsempra'. Let Malfoy relieve the fun that was that curse.

Red and purple beams hissed against each other as their magic was competing both physically and mentally. Hermione held her wand with one hand and dug it relentlessly into the air as she overtook Nott's hex. He faltered and grabbed his wand with both hands as he tried to maintain it but even Hermione could see he was struggling.

"Give up?" Hermione yelled out over the spells reacting loudly to each other. Their magic was coming to a head, his spell groaning out louder than hers.

Sweat was falling on Nott's forehead. "I never admit defeat."

Hermione assessed the distance.

She was close enough…

Dropping her wand, the spell instantly vanished causing Nott to falter. All of the strength and weight he was putting into his spell suddenly disappeared and he stumbled on his feet.

"What-?"

But Hermione was already moving. As soon as she dropped the spell, she got down to her knees and spun, sliding towards him. Conjuring a blade in her hand, she reached up with her wand and flashed a bright orb in his face, momentarily stunning him as she used her hand with the blade to push herself behind him, making sure to stay on her knees and out of sight. With clenched teeth, she reached up high and slashed at his Achilles heals, making sure to go as deep as she could with one sweep of motion. Nott cried out in agony as he fell backwards.

"Incarcerous!"

Nott's arms tied behind him as he landed on the floor with a thud, his heels oozing deep red blood as he continued to cry out at the pain he was feeling. Hermione, still working on her knees, swiveled around and jumped onto his chest, making sure to dig her knee in hard into his sternum as she brought the knife point under his chin, digging just hard enough to draw a prick of blood.

"Admit defeat", Hermione hissed as she grabbed his hair in her other hand in a tight fist.

Nott groaned and tried to wiggle but it caused him more pain.

"Say it!" Hermione screamed in his face and dug the knife harder.

"For Merlin's sake Nott!" Malfoy yelled out. Nott frowned and clenched his eyes shut hard. He sighed deeply before opening them, pinning her with a glare.

"Fine." He bit out. "I admit defeat."

Sweet relief…

Hermione closed her eyes and relished in her victory. She was still the best and this just confirmed that.

Opening her eyes, she looked down at the Slytherin boy she used to feel so bad for in school and now felt nothing but resentment. Did he deserve to die? Should she just start killing them off one by one? Now would be the perfect chance…

Raising the knife high above her, she brought it down swiftly as Nott's eyes went wide as saucers and Zabini yelled out.

"Granger, no!"

Nott closed his eyes for impact and winced when he heard the loud thud of the knife biting into the stage below them.

He did deserve to die. But today was not that day.

Hermione smirked at him as he opened his eyes, shaking slightly as he looked at the knife not even an inch from his head.

"I'm not going to kill you…" Hermione got up and walked away from his bleeding body, but not before she looked back and said," Today."

Zabini and Malfoy ran past her to aid their friend who was moaning quite pitifully, in her opinion, on the stage where she left him. Standing before her, however, was her own personal horror. Tom stood like a statue. He seemed ill-content. He was stiff and tense in his shoulders. A sign that showed he didn't get his way.

"What's wrong, Tom?" Hermione walked up to stand in front of him. "Upset I didn't die?"

Silence was her answer as he didn't even look at her. It seemed he was looking behind her, at the stage where she could hear Zabini uttering incantations to heal his friend. In her next heartbeat, his eyes snapped to hers, flashing red before settling back to black causing her to jump slightly at the unnaturalness of it.

"Hardly." He stated firmly.

He didn't seem upset. He didn't seem angry, sarcastic, or even snarky. He seemed…

Hermione wasn't sure and it was making her entire body thick with unease. The more his eyes lingered on her, the more she felt the need to fidget but forbid her body to do so. He would surely see it as a sign of weakness. But what was he feeling at this moment? Since being able to be up close and personal with him since her capture, she had always been able to tell he was feeling something whether he tried to hide it or not. And she may not always know what he's feeling, but it was always black eyes were like a window to the storm of his fractured soul.

But now…

There was nothing. Well –

There for sure was something. She just didn't know what.

"Malfoy." Tom called out, making her jump slightly again. If he had noticed, he said and revealed nothing.

"My Lord?" She heard Malfoy behind her answer.

"Please take our guest to the kitchens and make sure the house elves feed her."

Feed me?

Hermione's eyebrows knit together in confusion. Was this her reward for a job well done?

"Sir?" Malfoy walked up next to Hermione, but didn't look at her or address her. "The kitchens?"

What little peace Hermione could have felt when his eyes finally left her was quickly extinguished as they seeped to red when they landed on her blonde-haired classmate.

"Are you questioning me?" The word came out of him like a hiss.

Malfoy's skin got a shade paler. "Of course not, my Lord. My apologies."

He roughly gripped Hermione's upper arm and pushed them past the young Dark Lord.

"You can let go of me now!" Hemione wretched her arm out of his grip as they left the room, and the doors shut behind them.

"Gladly." Malfoy pushed her away from him.

Before any more insults could be exchanged, Malfoy was stalking down the hallway in long strides making Hermione shuffle quickly to keep up.

"Where's the fire?" Hermione asked behind him.

"The quicker I get you there and fed, the sooner I can get away from you." He snapped over his shoulder.

Hermione scoffed at him. "You're just mad I made your buddy look inept in front of your master."

Malfoy stopped in his tracks causing Hermione to ricochet into him before falling back. In the next second, he turned. Grabbing her shoulders in a death grip, he pushed her hard against the wall causing her head to smack.

"What the fuck!" Hermione winced in pain. Malfoy's face was tight with anger, his perfectly white teeth clenched, his silver eyes filled with fury, and Hermione realized this is probably the angriest she had ever seen him.

"You practically sent him to his fucking grave you mudblood bitch!" He growled in her face. Hermione's throat went dry as his tight gripped her shoulders even tighter, her bones feeling like they were on the cusp of breaking.

"You just had to show off", He continued. "You just had to show off what fucking know-it-all cunt you are! He was going to go easy, throwing curses that wouldn't have killed you and you all but fucking eviscerate him in front of the one person in this world who kills without a second thought. Who kills when there is any sign of weakness."

Being this close to him, Hermione eyes were open to things she didn't see before. Malfoy wasn't just the thin, pale schoolboy she had known in the past.

He was lean. And tall. Not quite as tall as Tom was when he had gotten this close to her, but still tall enough where it required her to lift her eyes to meet his own. His arms were defined through his shirt, and it was evident that he must have trained more physically than perhaps his friend did because it was evident in the way his muscles moved. Scrutinizing him further, his face was no longer pointed and pretentious looking. It had become more angler, like he grew into it.

Malfoy was no longer the snotty schoolboy that taunted her in the halls on her way to class. He was the Death Eater he had always wanted to become and now looked at her like he wanted to murder her right now.

But she couldn't back down. Especially not now.

"It was a duel", Hermione stated, trying to keep her face as passive as she could. "It isn't my fault your friend has been too sheltered to defend himself properly."

Malfoy lowered her, but only slightly, still frowning deeply. "Nott can't do combat like you, and you know it. He was an easy target for you, and you took advantage of that. If he dies, it's on you."

Enough. Separate yourself now.

Fear gripped her heart; glacier water replaced her blood as his voice seeped across her mind like poisoned honey. Why was she hearing him again? Had he invaded her mind?

Hermione was struck with the urgency of fight or flight and desperately needed to put distance between herself and Malfoy. The only cure for her right now was to isolate.

Raising her legs, she kicked Malfoy hard in the chest with both feet sending him flying into the wall behind them and her landing on the floor. Malfoy looked up at her in, surprise on his face at her sudden move.

"If he dies- "Hermione breathed harshly," It's because you didn't train him properly. And it would be doing him a kindness to kill him now than to send him into a war unskilled and unprepared. Don't blame me for killing soldiers in a war that you lot created."

Not waiting for some snarky, condescending reply from Malfoy, she took off down the hall. The aspect of escaping was nowhere near in her mind as she craved the solitude of the 4 walls of her room, locked away from black eyes and low voices that hummed in her head. The panic of hearing Tom's voice in her head set everything in her on edge.

"I have to make sure you eat!" Malfoy called after her.

"I've lost my appetite." Hermione answered. She only felt sick.

"You have to eat."

Pansy Parkinson said as she barged into Hermione's room, tray in hand.

"I'm not hungry." Hermione replied, staring at the ceiling. From her peripheral, she saw Pansy lay the lid covered tray on her nightstand before turning to look at the Gryffindor that laid in bed before her, hands on her small hips.

"Are you going to get up or do I have to force feed you?" Pansy quirked her head to the side.

Hermione scoffed. "You can try but it probably would just get you dirty."

"Mmm", Pansy nodded, pretending to think it over. "Good point. But you still have to eat."

Rolling her eyes, Hermione turned her head to look over the girl. She deduced it was impossible for Pansy to ever have a bad hair day.

"Who says? You're almighty Dark Lord?"

"Besides your body needing nutrients to stay alive", Pansy popped herself to sit on the edge of the bed. "…Yes, he did."

Sighing deeply, Hermione turned her head to look back at the ceiling above her.

"I'll eat it. I'm just not hungry right now."

To her utter shock and dismay, Hermione felt the bed shift as Pansy moved to lay down on the other side of the bed. Not close to Hermione, but too far away either.

"What happened to the canopy?"

"I tore it down", Hermione smiled at the ceiling.

"Why?"

"I was feeling claustrophobic. And…"

"I like to pretend I'm looking at the sky."

Pansy didn't reply. Just continued to lay next each other. Not touching. Not talking.

It dawned on Hermione it was one of the first times in a long time she felt relaxed in the comfortable silence that was Pansy's, or really anyone's, presence.

There was something freeing and liberating in the way that she didn't have to put on airs for Pansy and pretend that she was something she wasn't. To Pansy, she was the annoying, mudblood, know-it-all Gryffindor and that was seemingly fine. She didn't have to pretend to be nicer than she was, to care about anything, or be fake. There was mutual peace in the moment that was just them being next to each other, not talking but not feeling alone either.

Although this was only her second time being in Pansy's company with it just being the two of them, she was loathed to admit it wasn't awful. In school, Hermione recalled how she would roll her eyes and think of the girl as just a pureblood cliché airhead that only liked attention. Pansy was constantly fawning over Draco Malfoy and tailing after his crew like a lovesick puppy dog. She never raised her hand in class because it always had a mirror in it as she was always checking over her appearance and for that, Hermione couldn't fault her even then. Pansy had always been beautiful and held herself with a type of regal elegance that came from generations of tradition. Something Hermione knew nothing about but always secretly wanted to be a part of.

And now, in a sick, cruel twisted turn of events, she was. But not as a guest. Not as company. But as a prisoner. A blood sacrifice for their sick Lord and master. But right now, laying next to Pansy on a plush bed, staring at a bare ceiling pretending they were sunbathing, she couldn't bring herself to hate her surroundings or even the company. She wondered if Pansy was still as close to the Slytherin boys as she was in school… She hadn't brought them up at any point but she couldn't imagine they still didn't hang around each other. Did Hermione have one of her friends killed? Would she hate Hermione if she found out she did? Suddenly the risk of her losing the only source of peace she had found here made her feel sick with anxiety.

"Is Nott alive?" Hermione braved to ask, still looking at the ceiling.

"Yes", Pansy replied.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, not sure if it was that Nott wasn't dead or for Pansy's sake, but relief, nonetheless.

"Blaise says you kicked his ass", Pansy laughed. "Serves him right."

"Malfoy made me feel like I sent him to his death sentence."

Pansy shrugged," You might as well have, but luckily the Dark Lord was feeling generous. He knows Theo has the ability to improve."

"And those who don't?" Hermione turned her head to look at Pansy, already knowing the answer.

Pansy turned to look at her," He kills them of course."

Voldemort blended into the dark crevices of the mudblood's room like a shadow, silent and invisible. The girl was curled under the covers of the bed that she was so adamantly against using just the day prior. Her wild, curly hair was splayed over the pillow, wrapping around her head like a halo as the blanket was tucked tightly under her chin, one of her fist's gently resting against her face.

She looked peaceful.

An empty tray was next to the bed, evidence that she had finally eaten the dinner he had prepared for her. Although he didn't fret if she ate or not, he needed her blood supply to stay supple and flowing for himself.

He was starting to feel tired and fatigued. He needed a blood transfer from the girl and that is precisely what he came to her room to do.

But looking at her, as she was now, resting so peacefully and quietly, it almost felt like a sin to disturb her.

Since when do you care about people resting?

He had a theory. A theory that he was starting to entertain because it was the only one that made sense. Him wanting to make sure she ate, making sure she bathed herself, giving her a room, not wanting to disturb her… He had never cared for those things before. But now? What had changed?

Her blood.

It was the only thing that made sense to him.

Her blood was making him more human. It was mixing with his dark magic and fusing itself to him. It was the only explanation why he should start caring about things that always meant nothing to him.

Even during her duel… For a brief moment, Theodore sent a slicing hex her way and although he didn't move an inch, he felt the muscles in him wanting to move forward towards the girl.

The duel.

The coldness that seeped into her eyes as she took the stage, the way she held herself like her whole body was poised to strike. It was something he rarely saw in anyone else other than himself…

She was a natural. She was gifted. She was a pure killer.

The way that she made sure to move only once for every Theodore Nott's five steps. There was a method to her dueling. Never had he seen a witch or wizard combine hand to hand combat with magic so effortlessly. She was able to wield a weapon up close but also keep her opponents in check with her magic.

As he watched her breathe deeply in her sleep, he recalled her final strike. Like she glided on ice, the way she spun around him and sliced at a weak spot bringing the boy to his knees, getting on his chest and pressing the tip of her knife to his chin drawing blood… The way her hair hung around her face and she panted with a fight well won…

~ Twitch ~

Voldemort growled deeply as he shifted from foot to foot, disgusted at the feeling he got from thinking of her in such a state.

It was carnal, barbaric, and beneath him.

It won't get out of my head.

Hearing her panting as she fought, like her life depended on it, like she needed to see the boy bleed for her to feel alive…

~ Twitch ~

"Fuck", he quietly hissed, but silenced himself quickly because right as he uttered the words, she stirred. He watched with silent focus as she moaned, so – so softly as she rolled over, her tangle of hair cushioning her face as it rested against her pillow, and the blanket… The blanket shifted just slightly enough to reveal her upper torso and the thin, sheer white top she wore to bed.

But it wasn't just the shirt that made his breath catch in his throat or make his eyes go wide in shock. It was the way the moonlight came in through the far window, bathing the sleeping girl in a ray of glowing softness that revealed the two, fleshy peaks that showed through her shirt.

Before he could stop himself and with footsteps as soft as falling snow, he moved through the room along the shadows that disguised him, daring himself to edge closer to her bed.

To what? Why are you moving closer?

To see. To see if he was correct, to see if his eyes were just deceiving him. To know if what he was seeing was awakening something that had been dormant in him for a long time.

But as he approached the side of her bed, not daring to step into the moonlight, but just behind it, still masking himself, he was right. Because as he looked down with cold, black eyes even he could feel them shift to red the longer he gazed at her. The sheerness of her shirt showed just how soft and pink they looked, like they were begging to be looked at. His eyes drifted up to see her still sleeping, none the wiser at him observing her in a very intimate way. As his blood red eyes drifted back to her chest, he felt it again.

~ Twitch ~

Closing his eyes and leaning into it, he didn't feel disgusted. He felt tight. Like he wanted a release. Like he needed a release. His breath quickened as he opened his eyes and let them trail down her sleeping body, towards the bent angle of her legs and couldn't help but wonder what she wore for bottoms.

This is unnatural… You need to control yourself…

Forcing himself to look away from her, there was no point in the possible blood transfer tonight. He was being wrung too tightly to be able to think straight and if she was awake, he felt the room would be unsafe for both of them.

Voldemort leaned his head back and inhaled deeply through his nose, trying to clear his thoughts. But it was too loud. In a second, he heard her gasp snapping his attention to her and in the next second, he apparated out of the room, as silent as when he entered, back to his own quarters to relinquish the demon that was now bound in him.

Hermione panted anxiously, clutching her hand to her chest as she swore she saw the nightmare of red eyes staring at her from the shadows of her room.