Hidden Monsters
"You take her on the grand tour, and I'll inform Dobby of our guest." Riddle strode off before either could disagree with the plan. But Potter didn't seem worried.
"He likes things a certain way. You get used to it." He said as he gave Hermione a shy smile. "I'm Harry, by the way. Is your name really Petal?"
She rolled her eyes at him as she looked around the well-appointed entry hall. The two were obviously comfortable, but it didn't show the sort of money that Riddle had agreed to pay her for her time.
"No. Petal is what Rookwood used to call me. I go by Bloom at the house."
"But what's your name?" Harry asked as he motioned for her to follow.
"Hermione." She said after a pause. "A girl needs some separation from the character she plays for clients."
"You don't have a play a part here, Hermione. I know he's paying you, but you're not his w-whore." He tripped over the last word as if it didn't quite fit in his mouth.
"Right." She wrapped her arms around herself so she wasn't tempted to touch anything as they walked. There were books in every room, as well as strange-looking objects. Some walls were plastered were diagrams and maps she couldn't follow from the glance she got of them.
"Tom's projects take up most of the house. Technically we've been through a sitting and dinner room, but most of it has just been converted into space for him to think."
"Do you have a place to think?"
"I have an office and exam room in the back over here. I'm a physician and still see a few private clients when I have the time."
"You don't seem like any doctor I've met."
He smiled at her and looked curious. "Why not?"
"I don't know." She shrugged her shoulders as she poked her head into his office. It looked more traditionally organized than the rest of the house. "You seem more like a warrior than any kind of healer."
"Ex-army." he chuckled, not seeming offended in the least. "It's hard to drop certain habits, and they've served me well, even in this life. Upstares are mostly bedrooms, and downstairs is Tom's private lab. Not even I'm allowed. Stay clear of it."
"I'm not about to go snooping. That's his job."
"Let me show you to the room you'll be staying in." He directed her towards a set of back stairs. When they got to the second floor, they ran into a slight figure with large eyes. "Dobby, which room has Tom put our guest?"
The smile that had appeared when Dobby noticed them quickly disappeared. "Master had Dobby to put the girl in with him."
As Harry turned a bit red, Hermione couldn't help but snort in amusement. No matter what, the young doctor thought she knew she was here for more than one reason.
"Can you show me the way, Dobby? I think Dr. Potter needs some air."
It took Hermione a moment to decide that Dobby was a boy. He had the slight look of a child who had had to survive on the scraps of the street. She couldn't decide if his disfigurements were the cause or the result of him being left to fend for himself from a young age. He hardly looked human if she was honest, and she couldn't pinpoint his age.
"Where is he, Dobby? I'll fix this." He assured her before he went off to find his business partner. Hermione wondered if he ever won any of their arguments. She had a feeling Riddle was used to getting his way.
Dobby looked up at her with shy unease.
"Show me the way?"
He nodded twice and led her down a short hall opening the door at the end. There weren't many rooms on the second floor, and she probably could have found her way. But she didn't want anyone to think she was casing the place, and the boy seemed more comfortable to have a task.
He opened the door but didn't step inside or look at her. "Dobby gets the girl anything she needs, Master's orders." He gave her one last nod before heading off.
Unlike the open areas of the house, Riddle's room was meticulously clean and clear of most personal items. A large bed sat in the center of the room with a wardrobe off to one side. Her trunk was shoved against a wall.
The book Riddle had taken from her earlier was placed deliberately in the middle of the bed. She wasn't sure what the message was, but she was sure Riddle didn't do anything without reason.
She walked over and looked down at the immaculate bed. She would have to put her knee on the covers to reach the book, and she wasn't sure she could fix it back so perfectly. What would Riddle do if she touched his bed without invitation? Hermione wasn't foolish enough to think that her staying with him meant she had any sort of permission to handle what was his.
"Potter feels you should have your own room while you are staying with us."
She didn't react outwardly to being startled. She hadn't heard him approach, and that was unusual for her.
"Does Harry know what you are?" She turned slowly. She was nervous again, her blood telling her to run from the beast in front of her.
His expression was a perfect mask of curious confusion, but the mask was too perfect. It looked practiced. Riddle didn't say a word as he closed the door. Hermione's toes curled in her boots, her body pushing her to run, but her mind wanted to know what kind of monster he was.
"What am I?"
"If you want a real answer, ask a real question." She wasn't about to show him fear; it would only make her more expendable in his eyes.
"I demand honesty from those who belong to me."
"I'm not lying, and this is just a longer-term rental." She pointed as he as ever so slowly made his way towards her.
"I like when a person knows their exact worth. Whores are quite agreeable in that way."
"Harry doesn't think you're interested in my services."
"Stop calling him that," Riddle spoke without emotion, but there was something in his eyes that told her he was furious.
"He told me I could."
"I'm telling you not to. My money, my rules."
"Whatever you say, baby."
He looked positively disgusted at the endearment, and she couldn't help the chuckle that escaped her. "Oh wait, you prefer, m'Lord."
"Only when we are alone. You may call me Mr. Riddle in front of others."
"Where am I sleeping, m'Lord?"
"Why wouldn't you assume in my bed?"
"Because that's not what you want from me."
"What do I want from you, Petal?"
She let out a little huff and shook her head. "Don't call me by a dead man's pet name!" She snapped. She didn't need a reminder of the monsters from her past. "My name is Hermione."
"Hermione Granger. I know."
"Of course you do." She continued to shake her head. "I don't know what you want from me, but you don't look like a man ready to press me against a wall or bend me over your bed."
"I'm much more likely to lock you in the wardrobe." He said deadpan. "You'll sleep in the bed. It is big enough, and it would bother Potter if he thinks I am taking advantage of you."
"You two are an unlikely pair."
"He's useful at times, entertaining at others, and never so tedious as most of humanity."
"I have a feeling that is high praise from you."
"Tell me how a dentist's daughter became a whore."
"No."
"Did you think you were allowed to say that word to me?"
"Just making sure not to be tedious. You don't care for any more of the story than you must already know. You only asked to make me uncomfortable and show me you've done your research."
He smiled again to show his pleasure at her answer. "What can you tell me about Rookwood?"
"We're doing this here, without your partner?"
"His morals would only get in my way. You will be punished if you lie to me."
She wrapped her arms protectively around herself; she believed she would not like whatever he planned to do if he didn't like her answers.
"He gave me the book the night he died."
"He gave that book to you?" He motioned to the object on the bed.
"To barrow, but I can't exactly take it back now, can I?" Her temper flared.
"What did you see, Hermione?"
"Not much. I was in the library when they came for him. At least four men."
"Would you recognize any of them?"
She shrugged her shoulders. She had gotten glimpses from her hiding place as they left. "Maybe."
"Could you point out which one actually killed Rookwood?"
"I don't know which one killed him." She took a deep breath as her hands balled into fists. "I heard the man who ordered his death, but I don't think he did it himself."
"Do you know why they killed him?"
"They wanted information on someone. A name, but he kept just saying something weird and laughing at them."
"What was he saying?" Riddle was leaning towards her, eager for answers, and it was all too much.
She shook her head and stepped back, her thighs bumping Riddle's bed. "I don't want to think about this anymore."
"Did you go into the room after they left? Did you see the mess they made of him?"
She looked away and nodded. The image was forever burned into her mind. But they hadn't known she was there; she couldn't figure out how Riddle had found her.
She held her breath as he stroked long fingers down the side of her neck.
"What was he saying?"
"He kept saying that the Death Eaters answer to Voldemort and serve no other God."
"Good girl." He wrapped his fingers partly around her neck and gently squeezed. "That helps me understand more of the picture. Would you recognize the voice again if you heard it again?"
"Maybe." She shook her head. There was too much to think about, and why was it the catalyst for him to touch her? "Do you know what Voldemort and the Death Eaters are?"
"They're a cult we've been following for some time. We suspected Rookwood might be a member, and now you've confirmed it. But it doesn't sound like they were the ones who killed him."
He leaned in and whispered in her ear. "I desire you, Hermione. Do not mistake my lack of action as a lack of interest. I'm going to taste every bit of you in time."
How did talk of a man's murder lead to the declaration? Hermione swallowed as his fingers tightened just a little more.
"What's stopping you?" She asked as she forced herself not to tremble. She realized suddenly, to her great embarrassment, she wanted to see what he would do to her. Her body wasn't telling her to run after all. The beast she hid carefully from the world wanted him to claim her.
"A few things. I refuse to put my mark upon you until those from other men are gone, and I am curious to see how prettily a whore can beg. When you can't stand it a moment longer, I want you on your knees at my feet."
"You demand honestly then say you want me to play a needy little girl for you?"
"Don't you dare beg until you mean it." He hissed before pulling away suddenly and leaving her on shaky legs. She knew she would be mad at herself as soon as she caught her breath. Hermione Granger did not go weak-kneed for some bloke. But another voice reminded her that he wasn't some bloke; she had a feeling he was the most dangerous predator in London.