Intoxication

"The lust for power, for dominating others,

inflames the heart more than any other passion."

- Tacitus

Chapter 10: Showers

There were few things Hermione appreciated. Living in times of war and uncertainty, it was hard to find joy in the little things in life when the little things usually consisted of being lucky enough to find a can of expired food or managing to not die. If she really had to think about it, the only things that really gave her any joy before being captured was killing Death Eaters and her horcruxes. And since Death Eaters were the ones who took her and destroyed her horcruxes, it was hard to find joy in anything let alone the little things.

But as she sat at the window, she found joy in the clothes that Pansy had brought her. The Slytherin princess invaded her room this morning, waking Hermione from a deep sleep of haunting red eyes in shadows, by throwing clothes onto her. As much as Hermione had insisted, she didn't need Pansy's charity or pity, she was secretly happy. This was the most comfortable she had been in clothes in a very long time. And the girl had taste.

Although Pansy told her that the clothes she was donating were all clothes she herself would 'never be caught dead in', Hermione thought they were wonderful. Soft, cashmere sweaters, jeans that actually fit her, comfortable lounge pants that fit her waist with a drawstring, and actual clean undergarments. And the best part: toiletries.

Pansy had brought an array of shampoos, conditioners, and body oils and lotions that Hermione would never be able to afford even if there wasn't a war.

She was in heaven. After Pansy left her, she had taken a very deserved, luxurious bath and emerged fluffed and puffed, soft and luscious. As far as being a prisoner went, Hermione did have to admit this part wasn't all that bad. It was just the forceful slicing of her arms to steal her blood that left a bad taste in her mouth. That and Tom was the worst person to ever exist.

If the devil was real, she could be convinced that Tom was it. That he was slowly enacting the book of revelations and causing the end of days. Hermione wasn't surprised that even if it was the end of days, that she hadn't been raptured. Her sins were too heavy for even purgatory to accept her at this point. Was it wrong that she didn't fear for her soul the way she should?

Tom certainly fears for his soul…

So much so that he split into 7 parts to cheat death forever. Well, the seventh being an accident but still... If that wasn't true fear of death, she didn't know what was. Hermione found it actually quite funny that someone so fear mongering and terrifying had a fear so silly. Death was surely inevitable. He had already did twice. But he had returned so she supposed his plan did sort of work. But even now, she knew he was scared. So scared for his soul that he sent the world into chaos.

Hermione rested her back against the wall of her window seat, setting her chin in her hand, her elbow against her bent knees.

Why did I hear his voice again?

It made sense why she did before. The horcruxes she constantly wore were a practical fluid connection between her psyche and his soul, but now… Why did it happen? Why did it happen at the moment when Malfoy was getting in her face and hurting her, yelling at her. It didn't make sense to her. Was Tom aware of it? Was he doing it on purpose? Was it a new form of legilimens?

There were more questions than answers which left a bad taste in her mouth. Everything about Tom always left more questions than answers. So far the only answer she knew for sure was that for right now, she couldn't die as long as she had blood flowing through her body.

For something his side fought so harshly to eradicate, Hermione found it extremely ironic that he needed it to survive.

As she continued to gaze out the window, she felt the softest brush against her mind. After Tom's invasion of her mind, she fortified her occlumen walls against everyone and someone was brushing up against them. It almost felt like someone trailing a finger across her skin, softly, almost feeling like it was hovering.

The presence felt cold and threatening.

"Are you incapable of knocking or just an arse who doesn't respect privacy?" Hermione asked aloud, not bothering to look away from the window.

She heard Tom laugh lightly behind her," So few times in my life has someone dared question me the way you do. So boldly, so carelessly."

Hermione glared at Tom over her shoulder. He wore his typical black cloak that hung long on his tall body, button high at the neck with black sleeves buttoned down to his wrist. His hair perfectly in place, his complexion still flawless. It was sickening.

However, he did look slightly paler than he had recently, and a lump formed in the pit of her stomach knowing what the purpose of his visit was. He needed more blood which meant she was going to be in pain soon. Very soon.

"I'd be willing to bet you don't need other's blood the way you need mine, Tom", Hermione turned her glare to the window," So I'll talk to you however I please."

There was a pause before he spoke.

"I suppose that's fair."

And in the most shocking turn of events, she saw his dark figure move in her peripheral to sit on the other side of the bench window, leaning his back against the glass, eyeing her from the side of his eyes.

"You're very good at occlumency", he told her. Hermione rolled her eyes like she didn't know that.

"I'm very good at a lot of things."

He looked away from her, facing forward. "I've noticed. It's surprised me, actually."

She eyed him suspiciously. It was out of character for him to admit something so openly, especially when it came to her. But also, why should he be so surprised? Why shouldn't she be amazing?

"Why? Because I'm a member of the Order and a Gryffindor?" Hermione asked. "Because I'm a woman?"

Tom had the audacity to actually look shocked at her. Like she had insulted him.

"Do you think I am so archaic that I would think a witch isn't capable of anything a wizard is?"

"Being archaic is just one of the many horrendous things you are, Tom." Hermione replied. He wasn't actually offended was he? What principles could someone like him even have?

Tom wordlessly got up from the seat they shared, tense air circulating around him. Hermione shook her head at the silliness of it all, turning her head away from him to look out the window. What did it matter that she turned her back to him? He would do what he wanted to her regardless. But as she pondered what the outside air felt like, she felt cold surrounding her. Like Jack Frost blew directly at her back. A pale hand shot past her, landing on the glass pane next to her face.

Hermione gasped as Tom's arm caged her in, his body looming over her as he bent down to look at her at eye level. Hermione pressed herself as far as she would go into the wall to create space between them that didn't exist. Being this close, she could smell the spearmint and ice coming off his breath as he exhaled softly onto her face, tickling the hair around her face and his eyes weren't actually just black. There were small flecks of brown copper throughout them if you looked close enough.

Not that she had ever wanted to be this close to confirm that…

"I am many things Miss Granger", his voice came out deep and authoritative. "And I am almost all the things that people say, but I have not ever thought a witch to be inferior in magic to a wizard."

"I am surprised because you are a mudblood."

Hermione glared at him as he said the word with such conviction. Like she should have just known that's what he meant.

"I am surprised because you don't have your wand", He continued. "And you have been starved, and carved into, and beaten, and punished and yet you keep challenging me and pushing against me. It's fucking annoying and-"

He leaned in closer, the tip of their noses practically touching, his icy breath ghosting over her lips.

"It makes me want to bleed you dry."

Hermione's chest started rising and falling deeply, panic rising in her. Although she knew he couldn't kill her, that didn't mean he couldn't do more harm to her and right now, sitting on her little window bench, she didn't have a weapon on hand besides herself and that wouldn't be enough against him.

"It makes me want to beat you down until you beg for mercy, but I don't think you would even then. I think you will always keep fighting me. Am I wrong?"

He leered down at her through his dark eyelashes looking beautifully tragic. The thought made her ill.

"Answer me." He commanded.

"No", Hermione exhaled in his face. She saw his jaw tense. "You're not wrong."

Using his hand on the window, he pushed himself back from her. "I didn't think so."

He turned and walked away from her and for a brief moment, she let herself hope he was leaving. But she knew he wasn't because not a moment later he stopped a few feet away from her, turning to look at her, his hands on his hips.

"So, what do I do with you then?" He asked incredulously, a sick smile playing on his face. "I can't just leave you up here to rot, can I?"

Hermione quirked an eyebrow, pushing herself to sit on the ledge of the bench. "No, I suppose you can't."

Daring herself to walk up to him, she stopped just short and did her best 'I'm innocent' façade as she gazed up at him.

Fight fire with fire.

"So, what are you going to do to me then, Tom?" She said his name in a breathy exhale and his haw tensed again.

Interesting…

At first he said nothing, but his body said everything. Hermione felt like she was playing a game that she didn't remember starting. The air between them felt different in her approaching him and it seemed neither knew what move to make next in a game that neither knew the rules of. Tom's nostrils were flared, his chest was rising and falling like someone preparing to dive into deep water. His eyes, dark with something that she didn't want to yet identify.

She had to cut the silence. "Do you need more of my blood?"

He swallowed once. "Yes."

"How soon?"

"Soon."

Dread filled her thin body.

Dread that her blood would keep empowering him to kill more people like her. Was he going to take everything of her until she was reduced to nothing?

"You still haven't said what else you are going to do to me..."

"I'm still trying to figure out what it is I want to do", he admitted, his face completely stoic.

What the fuck does that mean?

"But for now, I need what runs in your veins", he advanced swiftly on her.

He brandished his wand.

"Tom- wait!" Hermione held her arms up.

"Stupefy."

Theo gripped Pansy's hips hard as he continued lifting her up to pull her back down onto him, impaling her with each thrust.

"Yes, Theo", Pansy threw her head back and moaned, her hands spread across his chest." Like that. Keep going…"

Theo grunted as he felt his insides tighten. He opened his eyes and took in the beautiful sight that was Pansy Parkinson in her most carefree, natural way. It was his favorite version of her. When her natural hair had kinks in it, her face was makeup free, and she wasn't putting on her debutante bravado.

She was truly beautiful.

Pansy cried out in blissful moans as he felt her nails clutch into his chest, her nails digging in. His for sure sign that she had peaked and now he was free to unleash himself. Theo bent his knees slightly and drove her into hard, her hands grasping harder onto him to steady herself.

"Yes!" She yelled out, her eyes still closed in pleasure," Keep going, Theo!"

Reaching up, he grabbed her shoulders to pull her down, plunging his tongue in her mouth as he drove her further down onto him. In the next second, his hips hilted, and he felt himself come undone, both moaning into each other's mouths.

Slowly the stars dissipated, and their bodies relaxed against each other. Pansy delicately moved to the side, so he slipped out of her as she took the spot next to him in his bed, his arm moving around her to keep her close.

"That was exactly what I needed", Pansy moaned happily, snugging herself further into him.

Theo smiled as he bent his other arm behind his head, propping it up. "You and I both. After yesterday I wasn't sure I would ever get the chance to be with you again."

"Are you disappointed in yourself for losing the duel?"

"No", Theo immediately answered. "Not at all. I knew she'd win."

"Really? How?"

Theo looked up at the ceiling seeming to get his words together.

"I am a great dueler. I am great at scheming and deceiving. I am great at being a Death Eater. I am great at being a Slytherin."

"But?" Pansy asked when Theo went silent.

Theo sighed. "Pansy, there are people who think before they kill. And I'm not talking about people who think about what moves to make or what spells to use. I mean the part of us that makes us human. The voice in the back of your head that always reminds you that you are taking lives whether they be evil, good, innocent, or bad."

"And I'm not claiming to be a saint. We all know I've had taken my fair share of lives, but- "

Theo looked down to Pansy who was listening to him with eyes filled with understanding and he felt that someone was actually listening to him talk. That he could share things with her that he wouldn't share with anyone else. Not even Blaise or Draco.

"It haunts me." He admitted, exhaling deeply. "And I know it does for most of us who have to take lives of innocent people. Whether it be from having a conscious, feelings, or even some other sick twisted meaning. But I know I'm not the only one who feels this way. And how can you not? We're people hurting others."

Pansy nodded, agreeing with him. "Makes sense. I know it would bother me. I imagine it bothers almost everybody. Well, except…"

She didn't have to finish her sentence. Because everyone knew it didn't bother Lord Voldemort. But Theo knew it wasn't just him. Not anymore. He turned back to the ceiling, memories of the fighting Gryffindor flashing across his frontal lobe.

"It isn't just him, Pansy", Theo shook his head lightly, his voice coming out like a whisper.

"What do you mean?

"I knew I was going to lose to her because she… She has the same look in her eyes that he does."

"Your heart is beating faster."

Theo looked down at her. "Because something isn't right with her, Pans."

"The war has done something to her. She isn't the same know-it-all she was in school. She isn't the same Golden Girl that fights for the good in this world and stands up for the little guy."

"When she went onto the stage and took her stance, it was like her soul left her body. She looked…"

Pansy propped herself up on her elbow to look down at him," She looked like what?"

His eyes met hers," She looked like him. She is the only other person I have ever seen that resembles the Dark Lord. It was like everything – warmth, love, her humanity – left her body and she turned into an assassin that needed to see me bleed and die to feel alive. Like it would pleasure her."

Pansy didn't answer him at first. She looked down and dragged her finger absently over his chest as he could see his words turning over in her head.

"She makes me feel less alone", Pansy confessed, her voice quiet. "She makes me feel like I have a girlfriend here, like I did in school. I know she's just a mudblood and all, but it's nice to not feel so isolated."

"What do you mean?" His eyebrows knit together. "You have me."

She rolled her eyes. "I know… But it's not the same as having a girl your same age here. She weirdly feels comfortable, like she could be a friend."

Theo shook his head quickly, his eyes wide with fear. "Pansy, I don't want you going near her. She's fun to fuck around with when the Dark Lord sends me for her, but you can't fight. You can't duel. If she attacks you, you'll be defenseless."

He assumed he must have said something wrong because her face immediately scrunched in displeasure.

"I am not helpless, Theodore Nott." She stated in an assertive tone.

"I'm not saying that! What I'm saying is that she beat the shit out of me and I'm not wanting to risk you after everything we both have lost."

Pansy rolled her eyes and flopped back onto the bed, putting a few inches of distance between them. Theo sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose. Why couldn't she understand how dangerous the girl was? Although he knew Pansy wasn't completely helpless, she certainly was no fighter or dueler. Her knowledge was school practice at best. But as he looked over at her from the corner of his eye, her eyes moving around the room signifying that she was deep in thought, her lips set in a slight frown, he knew she wouldn't listen.

Her feelings were just hurt with his words, but he knew they wouldn't deter her. Once Pansy had her mind set, that was that. And if he really had to think about it, Granger never seemed to want to hurt Pansy. Or even himself when they were in her room. It was only when she was cornered like an alley cat did she lash out. Still… That haunting look in her eyes when she was posed to kill would never leave his mind.

Rolling to his side, he reached out and pulled Pansy close to him, pressing his lips to her temple.

"I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings", he muttered against her skin. "I just worry about you."

His words undid any hurt he caused because she softened at his touch, melting against him.

"I know", she said quietly before continuing," I just- I need more than just your company here. Especially with…"

A dark silence filled the room as Theo's stomach formed a hard, painful knot. Pansy's face became ashen as she turned her head away from him.

"… With the work I am assigned to." She finished; her voice strained.

Theo could see the tears brimming her eyes while she refused to look at him.

"Hey, hey, hey…" He whispered softly as he turned her face to look at him.

"You know I love you no matter what. Right?"

Pansy nodded her head quickly, her eyes squeezed shut.

"This won't be forever", he hugged her closely. "I promise."

"I promise to get us out of here someday."

Voldemort glared harshly at the fire in front of him. A nightly habit that was becoming routine for him at this point. There were thousands of visions he saw in his head. Thousands of different ways he wanted to conquer the world but none of them seemed like a strong enough path to go down.

He felt isolated in his think tank. There was no one he trusted to talk ideas and strategies with. It wasn't that he felt like he needed someone to talk ideas with because he never had before, but that was the problem. He knew in his fractured soul that this was the last time he was going to be able to be resurrected. His horcruxes were too depleted at this point and the Potter boy wasn't a kid he could trap anymore.

He had to make this life cycle count.

And in order to do that, he needed to do things differently. It would be moronic to do the same tactics he had always done in the past because if they had worked, he wouldn't be in the position he was in now.

But who? Who was worthy enough to indulge in his own thoughts and deepest desire to? Who among him deserves to be his second in-command.

Not a single one of them.

Stamping his cigarette harshly into his ash tray, his face in deep displeasure, he waved his hand and sent it flying into the wall. The sound of glass shattering echoing throughout the room.

He was stagnated. And he fucking hated it.

Knock, knock, knock.

"Come in."

He heard his door creak open and shut, not bothering to look what miniscule follower had come to disrupt his peace.

"My Lord."

Bellatrix's voice sounded like nails down a chalkboard as she walked into his peripheral vision.

"What?" He snapped, not talking his eyes off the dancing flames wishing she would willingly walk into them to leave him alone.

"I was just wondering if you were needing anything", she told him. Her voice was low and hushed. He assumed she was trying to sound sultry and desirable instead of raspy and hoarse, but she was failing.

Before his newest transformation, he would have been pleased at her coming into his quarters, offering herself up so readily. He had no standards for anything at his old, dying age. He was pleased at anyone just throwing themselves at his feet and doing his bidding, no matter how ridiculous or unhinged.

But now…

She repulsed him. Her rotten teeth filled the room with an odor of decay, her skin looked pasty, and her hair was bushy and wild but not in the way that enticed him.

Not in a brown, wild ringlet sort of way like the mudblood's.

Bellatrix had always been his most loyal of disciples. She always bent over backwards for him and anything he wanted done; she would go out of her way to achieve. She was ruthless and crazy; she was certifiably insane, that he was sure of. She should honestly be locked up in a psychiatric hospital.

But now, he found her past methods sloppy. Overly theatric and needless. Being shocking for shocking value was as hollow as his feelings for her now. He needed precision. He needed calculated.

He needed the mudblood.

As Bellatrix stood before him, he looked up at her in a blink.

"What could you possibly offer me?" His voice coming out like verbal poison.

Bellatrix slowly bent her legs and lowered herself until she was on her knees before him. Voldemort was sitting on his chair, his left arm bent at the elbow holding up his chin, his legs spread wide like a king before his subjects as he looked at the middle-aged woman with disgust.

Realizing how dense the woman was, she seemingly didn't notice his disdain for her.

"Whatever you want my Dark Lord", she said as she started to slowly crawl towards him.

Bile filled his stomach as he witnessed the pathetic display before him. Ever since he was a teenager and the dreams of ruling the world came before him in a dream, he had always wanted to be called the 'Dark Lord'. Not a Dark Lord but the Dark Lord. It was one of his deepest wants that he fulfilled.

But as the words came out of her mouth, Dark Lord, he felt repulsed by them, and it dawned on him. Like everything around him, it wasn't enough anymore. Being a Lord was child's play. He wanted to be a God.

Bellatrix reached his legs and placed her pale, bony fingers on his knees, spreading his legs even farther. His skin immediately felt tarnished by her touching him so freely.

"If I may, my Lord?" She looked up at him with tired, strained eyes. His nose lifted in offense at the image in front of him. He closed his eyes and for a moment, his imagination ran away with him.

He envisioned the cold hands on his knees were soft, small hands that were tanned from too much sun. Wild, curly brown hair that he would fist together, pulling her head back to look into deep honey colored eyes that would brim with tears before him. Heart shaped lips that could wrap around-

Voldemort's eyes flashed open as he banished the unpure thoughts from his mind, refusing to acknowledge them as desires. His angry eyes turned red as he glared at the trash before him working her hands up his thighs. With one swift movement, he raised his leg and kicked her harshly in the face, sending her careening backwards.

Bellatrix's loud cries sounded in the room as her shaking hands went to her face, trying to cup the blood flowing from her nose. Blood that was useless to him, blood that didn't tantalize him.

Voldemort stood, walking towards the cowering woman who was trying to scoot backwards away from him.

"How dare you come into my quarters", he hissed as he kicked her in the stomach, aiming her towards the door. She cried louder as she left a trail of blood behind her.

"How dare you touch me with your filthy, fucking hands." Another kick to the jaw sending her head snapping back. She sputtered as a rotten tooth fell from her face; her whimpers sounded gargled as her mouth filled with blood.

"Do not ever think you have the entitlement or the right to disturb my silence and think you have the right to touch me so freely."

Leaning over, he gripped her dirty hair in a tight fist as he lifted her from the ground. Her body was too weak to even lift her hands. He lifted her so she was face level. Her eyes swollen shut and already turning black, blood flowing from every orifice on her face, her teeth fractured. She sputtered a wordless cry.

"I'm not your Dark Lord", he growled at her.

Standing tall, he dragged her by her hair towards his door. Opening it wide, he threw her limp body into the hallway and slammed the door shut, not even bothering to see if she could get up.

His need for violence was momentarily satiated but his desire for power wasn't. He scowled as he banished her blood smears from his floor before it made him sick. Her blood wasn't nearly as desirable as his mudblood's.

The mudblood…

He moved to his bathroom to cleanse his body from the touches of vermin. Blasting hot water in his shower, he let the room fill with steam before stripping himself bare, incinerating the clothes he discarded. That wretched woman had contaminated them.

That was a nice suit too.

He relished in the steam opening his pores. The heat reminded him how young and vibrant he was now. His skin taunt and new. Stepping into the shower, he sighed deeply, the hot water turning his pale skin red, his arm sporting a freshly pink scarred line.

He had visited the mudblood just that morning for a blood fusion. He had apparated into her room and caught her staring out her window so quietly, he almost didn't disturb her again. But he was too weak not to. Voldemort needed it after not having done it the night before.

Last night…

He had been extremely thrown off. He was unable to do what needed to be done. Because of her. Because of his own weakness. Because of… Her soft peaks. Voldemort was disgusted by his thoughts, but Tom wasn't. And right now, he was more Tom now than anything else.

~ Twitch ~

Closing his eyes shut tightly, he leaned his head forward, bracing himself against the wall of the shower with his left hand as his right hand found the source of his twitching.

Hot, steaming water pelted his back as he hissed through clenched teeth, his jaw so tight that he felt like his teeth were going to crack as he grasped himself in his right hand.

He was in his chair. Before the fire, just as he was a few moments ago. His legs spread wide. His chin in his hand, but instead of Bellatrix… It was her. His mudblood pet on all fours in front of him, looking up at him as she slowly crawled towards him. Her pink lips parted slightly as she reached his lap. His breathing loud and deep as she trails her tan hands up his thighs, her honey-brown eyes staring into his soul. He could hear his buttoned pants coming undone as she would slide them down his thighs, reaching in and pulling him out, never breaking eye contact with him. He could feel the softness of her hands grasping around him, his breath hitching as she bent over, her pink lips parting as she would take him in her sweet, foul mouth, her eyes fluttering close as she sunk lower onto him, tasting him completely.

He moaned deeply, his hand going faster.

Reaching up and grabbing a tight grip on her hair, pulling her up and down. The need to control her filling his body, keeping her head down, filling her mouth, not allowing her to even breathe. Seeing the tears fall from her eyes as she would look up at him in panic needing to fill her lungs with air but instead filling her with him. He would slash her arms wordlessly, watching crimson silk curl from her arms and fuse to him as she pleasured him, their bodies intertwining until they became one.

The image of her blood covering his lap as she took him fully her in soft mouth was his undoing. With a loud pained groan, he felt his release shoot across the shower and hit the wall in front of him, pumping himself as it continued to pour out of him.

"Fucking mudblood…" He hissed, his eyes red with desire and repulsion. Standing straight, his body still convulsing with his release, his heart pounding in his chest, he waved his hand disappearing his indiscretions from seeing eyes.

Sighing deeply, Voldemort knew what needed to be done. His release allowed for alarming clarity. He couldn't keep this to himself anymore. It was time to move, not for stagnation.

The Dark Lord, Voldemort, was behind him.

He was ascending into his final form.

A Dark God.