Good To You
Lord Voldemort blinked his eyes open and stared at the ceiling. Then he remembered that he wasn't alone, and he turned his head a little to see that Hermione Granger was curled up alongside him. Her straightened hair had fallen in front of her eyes as she slept, and Voldemort brushed her locks away so that he could see her face. Her eyes were peacefully shut, her lips parted just a little, and she was lost to sleep.
He'd taken her body twice the night before. One time, he'd been behind her, thrusting quickly and clutching her hips. Then they'd taken a break and talked about dinner, about her Patronus Charm, about Abraxas Malfoy. Thinking about all of that had made Voldemort feel possessively hungry, and so he'd put Hermione on her back and moved atop her, swaying slowly as he pushed into her over and over again. Eventually, she'd come again, a gentle little detonation, and that had triggered Voldemort's own spilling pleasure. He'd kissed her until their lips were bruised and they were out of breath, until their sweat-slicked bodies tangled like vines and their breath mingled and he started to feel sleepy. Then she'd whispered a word rather desperately, a word that had made his stomach coil.
Stay.
He'd tried to convince both of them that he should leave, that he should make his way back to his own suite. But instead he'd kissed her some more, rubbing at her back and then knitting his fingers through hers. He'd shut his eyes and felt sleep taking him over quickly, even as Hermione's fingers gently stroked his scalp and she whispered that he was going to be the most powerful wizard to ever live. He already was, she told him. Nobody would ever be more powerful than Lord Voldemort, Hermione had purred into the darkness. Voldemort had fallen asleep like that, with her soft words accentuated by the pattering of gentle rain outside the windows, with her touch on his greying hair easing him into oblivion.
Now he woke, and she was the one asleep. He sighed heavily, taken aback by just how beautiful she was. He gazed at her left hand, to the place where she'd removed her wedding rings, and he thought that he should give her something to put there. Not an engagement ring, but something to mark her as his. A ruby ring, he thought. That would be nice. He'd just received a five thousand Galleon donation. He had fresh money; he could go to the jeweller today and get her something nice. It wouldn't be an engagement ring; it would be a ring to denote that she belonged to Lord Voldemort.
A ring of possession.
Legilimens, Voldemort wandlessly incanted, deciding that he wanted to know once and for all what really lay inside Hermione Granger's mind. He pushed into her sleeping head and felt no resistance whatsoever. Her Occlumency was nonexistent whilst she slept. He flicked around, searching for her true intentions. What, he wanted to know, was her true purpose in being here? Why had she come? Had she been happy in the life she'd left behind? What did she really think of Lord Voldemort?
Hermione was reading the letter from O.S. and friends, her thumb dragging over the Time-Turner. The letter was explaining that Hermione was the only one who could go back in time to change the course of what had happened, to mitigate the suffering that had occurred. The letter was explaining that Hermione needed to find Lord Voldemort at the Masquerade Ball and become his friend, to enact change from within.
Voldemort narrowed his eyes, pushing past the memory and yanking forth something else. He wanted to know what she'd really thought of Albus Dumbledore, what she'd thought of Ron Weasley. Had she been madly in love with the ginger-haired boy she'd married?
Hermione soaped herself off in the shower, shuddering a little. Sex with Ron was not what she had hoped it would be. She'd always dreamed of sex as a steamy, intimate encounter filled with kisses and moans and pleasure. But with Ron it felt stilted and awkward. With Ron, it felt… wrong.
Voldemort shoved that memory away, thinking that it wasn't for him to witness such a thing. He searched for Dumbledore in Hermione's mind, and he realised witnessing a memory of a memory… or, at least, Hermione was being told about a memory.
Harry Potter was explaining that Albus Dumbledore had told Severus Snape that Harry Potter had to die, and that Dumbledore had known all along. Snape had been disgusted. Hermione was disgusted. She, not for the first time, doubted just how altruistic Albus Dumbledore really was. Was Dumbledore the hero he'd always been made out to be, or was he just a master manipulator who happened to be on the light side of things?
Voldemort raised his eyebrows, intrigued. He settled on another memory, of Hermione in her office long after the war. She was thinking, as she so often did.
Hermione was wondering what Tom Marvolo Riddle could have become if he hadn't made all the mistakes he'd made. If he hadn't forged a path built on the eradication of Muggle-borns, if he hadn't filled the ranks of his Death Eaters with lunatics like Bellatrix Lestrange, if he hadn't been so set on dominating anyone who didn't fit his neat definition of perfection, he could have accomplished something of note, Hermione thought. After all, Tom Riddle had been the most intelligent pupil Hogwarts had ever seen. He had been the most capable adversary Dumbledore had ever faced. He could have been spectacular, Hermione was thinking, if he had just made some different choices.
Voldemort slid out of Hermione's mind, and when he did, her eyes slowly opened. She stared at him, and half her mouth quirked up as she asked softly,
"How long have you been in my head, Master? I reckon that I wasn't dreaming about my office at the Ministry."
"I was snooping. I admit it," Voldemort said. He licked his lips and pushed himself up onto an elbow as he asked, "Why did you marry the Weasley boy?"
Hermione huffed a breath and burrowed her face into her arm. "You've asked me this before, My Lord."
"Mmm. I've yet to receive a satisfactory answer."
"He felt like the only one I was allowed to marry, after everything that happened," Hermione complained. "It didn't feel like I was able to be with anyone else. We started kissing right after the Battle of Hogwarts, and it all just sort of… well, I suppose it just never stopped. He was drunk on our wedding day."
Voldemort scowled. "That's disrespectful."
Hermione's eyes welled, and she shook her head a little. She buried her face against the pillow for a moment, and then she turned toward Voldemort with tears in her eyes.
"He had so much firewhisky I could smell him when I was halfway down the aisle. My father leaned over and whispered to me, Are you certain? Ron was swaying. He slurred his vows; he mixed up words. And then we got home and he couldn't do anything that first night. He was just so catastrophically drunk. I don't think he really wanted it, either. I've no idea why I'm telling you this."
Voldemort felt very uncomfortable all of a sudden. He lay on his back, and Hermione pulled herself up against him. She curled onto his shoulder and whispered,
"What else did you see in my head?"
"The letter from Odysseus Siegel," Voldemort said quietly, petting at her hair. "You thinking badly about your husband. In the shower. Sorry. Erm… your thoughts about Dumbledore after he explained that Harry Potter would have to die to defeat me. And then your thoughts in your office about what I could have done if I'd changed my course of action."
"I see." Hermione's voice was strange, distant. Her mind was closed off now, Voldemort could feel. She was utterly walled off to him. He kissed at her forehead and murmured,
"I've taught you Occlumency far too well, I think."
"Apparently not well enough to keep you out whilst I'm asleep," she whined, pushing herself up onto her hands. She smirked down at Voldemort, and he realised she was still naked from the night before. He let out a long breath as he eyed her small, round breasts, the way her nipples were peaked in the cool air of the bedroom. He felt her put one leg on the other side of his hips, and he tipped his head back, his hands going right to her hips. She started to grind against his cock, and he firmed up beneath her. She moved, swaying deeply against him, and blood rushed to his member. He grunted a little as she reached between them and adjusted things, lining him up and then sinking down. Voldemort immediately marveled that she didn't need a lubrication charm; she was aroused enough to do it on her own.
"Master," Hermione purred, and he forced his eyes to hers. She half-smiled at him and whispered, "Touch me. Please."
"Mmm." He slid his hands up and down her thighs, then around her hips and along her waist and ribcage. All the while, she rocked her hips on him. He was buried to the hilt inside of her, and she was snug and hot around him. Her body was a wet, warm embrace around the most sensitive part of him, and he grasped at her breast as he held her hip for purchase. Her own hands coursed around his chest, fingertips dancing over raised rivers of scars as she leaned forward. She kissed his forehead, and she mumbled against his skin,
"Look into my head now, Master."
"Legilimens," he hummed, and he felt that she'd let down her shields for him. Suddenly he was flooded with an image.
She was dancing with Lord Voldemort. His hand was pressed to her back, and his fingers were wrapped around hers. He was masked, but she could see that his chin was chipped and that his lips were deeply scarred. She marveled up at him as they swayed, absolutely amazed by the very presence of this man, by his power, by what she knew he could do. He astounded her. He made her feel weak. He made her feel… he made her feel everything at once. He was Lord Voldemort, and she was Hermione Granger, and they were dancing. They were dancing.
Voldemort slipped from Hermione's head and groaned as she ground harder against him. She moved her mouth to his neck and began to kiss him there as she pumped her hips against his. It was too much to bear. She was tight, and wet, and warm, and wonderful. She was brilliant. He'd looked into her mind at her most vulnerable moment, and he'd seen no treachery. She was his.
He came so hard he couldn't breathe for a moment. He saw spots, and his ears rang loudly. After a few seconds, the explosive pleasure gave way to a forceful wave of satisfaction, flowing through his veins and making him gasp for air. He planted his hands on Hermione's back and kissed at her cheek as he whispered,
"Beautiful, brilliant witch that you are…"
"Mmph!" She bucked her hips wildly on his softening cock, and he'd almost slid out of her when he felt her twitching and contracting with her own eventual climax. She squealed a little against his neck and then huffed a mighty breath, collapsing onto his chest and letting him wrap his arms around her.
Yes, he thought as she made her way to her bathroom for a desperately-needed shower. She needed a piece of jewellery to claim her as his. She needed something to mark her as his own. Because if Hermione Granger was anything, she was the weapon and the witch of the Dark Lord himself.
That much, he knew, was unequivocally true.
Voldemort strode into Agate and Sons Jewellery in Diagon Alley, his breath shaking just a little as he did. He had brought with him a certified cheque from Gringotts Bank, authorising the transfer of funds from Tom Marvolo Riddle's vault to that of Agate and Sons. Now he swept into the store, wearing elegant winter robes in deep midnight blue, and a little bell tinkled overhead.
"Ah! Mr Riddle," said a warm-voiced wizard from behind the counter. This store was far more brightly-lit than most on Diagon Alley, and more spacious, for the jewellers wanted good light to show off the sparkle of their diamonds and gems. Voldemort cleared his throat and said,
"Good day, Mr Agate. I've come looking for a ruby ring. I wonder if you've anything of interest."
"A ruby ring? I've got several," smiled Mr Agate, pushing his black-rimmed glasses up his nose. His frizzy grey hair stuck out in every direction, and he smiled broadly, almost like a madman. He gestured to one of his glass cases and said, "If you'll step this way. Now. Do you know the size of the finger of the witch or wizard who will be wearing the ring?"
"Witch," Voldemort said at once. "I'm not exactly certain, but I'm confident enough in my metalworking magic to resize a gold band if I need to."
"Ah. Of course. I've heard much about your skill." Mr Agate adjusted his glasses again, and Voldemort was tempted to rip them off the man's face and just fix the sizing of those. He flicked the corners of his lips up and asked,
"So you've a few ruby rings to show me?"
"Naturally! I assume the colour scheme you're searching for is ruby, gold, and diamond? How about this one?"
He pulled out a rather gaudy-looking ring with a large rectangular ruby surrounded by triangular diamonds, set in a thick gold band. Voldemort scowled and shook his head.
"No, that doesn't suit her at all," he said. "She is at once beautiful but fierce, like a rose crafted of iron."
"My goodness. Quite a witch," murmured Mr Agate. He rifled around in the glass display case and then pulled out another ring. He held it up for Voldemort's approval, and Voldemort felt his eyebrows flick up in interest. He took the ring from Mr Agate and studied it. The gold band on this one was simpler, more delicate. The centre stone was a round, very clear ruby surrounded by tiny round diamonds in a halo. The design of the ring was elegant, vintage, feminine, but not fussy. It seemed like something Hermione would like. Voldemort cleared his throat rather roughly and asked,
"Would this be an appropriate gift for a witch to whom one was not… what I mean to say is, would this make a good gift for… erm…"
"It would make an excellent gift for any witch, I think," Mr Agate said lightly. "Just remember that the fourth ring of the left hand is for engagement and wedding rings. A ring like this, if not intended for engagement, would do well on the fourth finger of the right hand, sir."
"Ah. Yes. I see." Voldemort pinched his lips. His cheeks went a bit hot, and he nodded. "I shall take it. Thank you."
The ring cost a small fortune - five hundred Galleons - and as Voldemort wrote out the cheque from Gringotts, his fingers shook a little around the quill. He'd never been rich. He'd never had real means. He must be a fool, he thought as Mr Agate packaged up Hermione's ring, to spend this sort of money on a trinket for a time traveller. He'd gone completely mad, and over a woman, no less.
But that didn't stop him from accepting the little bag with the boxed-up ring inside and walking out into Diagon Alley. It was chilly, and a strong wind was blowing. Voldemort was about to Disapparate back to Malfoy Manor when he froze. To his left, just five or six steps away, stood a very old wizard whose long, silky white hair blew in the wind. He wore silvery robes that fluttered in the cold air, and his face was wizened and crinkled with age. Voldemort knew this man well, or at least, he'd once known him well.
Odysseus Siegel.
Voldemort took a few steps toward Odysseus and nodded.
"You've come," he said, and Odysseus' lips curled up. His lavender eyes flicked to the bag from the jewellery shop in Voldemort's hand, and he said warmly,
"Plainly, so has she."
Voldemort felt his face go hot, and he coughed a little. "It's just a little present," he insisted.
"Has she done well for you so far?" Odysseus asked. Voldemort cocked up an eyebrow and announced,
"James Potter is dead."
"Yes. I saw the Daily Prophet," Odysseus said, nodding slowly. "And has she spoken to you about making a place for Muggle-borns, about including Beasts and Beings?"
Voldemort gulped. "Yes."
"You've seen what will happen if you do the things you had planned the way you'd planned them," Odysseus said. "You saw it all in her head."
"Why didn't you just come back and show me yourself?" Voldemort asked bluntly. "You were my friend. If you travelled to that time and saw the destruction of my body and soul, why didn't you just come back and show me your own memories to warn me?"
"Because," Odysseus said, tipping his head, "I've seen all of this, too. Believe me… you won't have wanted to miss what comes next. You'll be very thankful that it was her and not me who came for you."
"Come to Malfoy Manor," Voldemort insisted. "Come and stay with us. Have dinner. I want you to meet her."
"I must not." Odysseus shook his head. He spared a wistful look at the bag and smiled a little, and he chuckled. "Gryffindor colours. Ruby and gold. You've always had a mind for detail."
Voldemort swallowed hard and shrugged a little desperately. "But you can't just leave. You must give me answers."
"She has all the information you will need," Odysseus promised, "and, I believe, you searched her mind and found no malice. Am I correct?"
"How did you know that?" Voldemort felt cold then, and Odysseus narrowed his eyes.
"You are a very gifted wizard, Lord Voldemort, but you are not the only one with gifts. Never forget that. Not ever. Now. I must go, and so must you. Listen to Hermione. She will do well for you. And she is good for you. For you soul. She will heal you, if you will allow it. Hmm. It has been good to see you. We'll meet again. Goodbye."
He started to walk off, his steps slow but steady. Voldemort seethed through his nose and dashed after the old man.
"Odysseus!" he cried, but when he reached for the ancient wizard, his hand went straight through Odysseus' robes, as though he were touching a veil, an illusion. Odysseus suddenly disappeared, vanishing into the air as though he'd never been there. Voldemort stared at the spot where Odysseus had been, and then a witch hurried by and called behind her,
"Come on, Severus. Just a few more errands to run."
"Mum, I'm hungry. Can we get lunch at the Leaky Cauldron?" asked a little black-haired boy running behind the witch. Voldemort stared. Severus Snape. He recognised the boy's face from Hermione's memories of him as an older wizard. The witch scoffed and spat,
"You think we've got money for lunch at the damned Leaky Cauldron, Severus? You'll be having broth again today."
"Eileen Prince?" Voldemort called. The witch whirled and staggered backward a few steps. Her eyes went wide, and she seemed to process that the man speaking to her was Lord Voldemort.
"Tom Riddle," she said nervously. "Haven't seen you since our old school days."
"No, indeed not." Voldemort approached the witch and her son. Eileen Prince had been several years younger than Tom Riddle in school, and he'd not given her the time of day. But now he reached into his pocket and pulled out a few Galleons, and he passed them to the little boy.
"Severus, isn't it? This is for lunch. A gift from Lord Voldemort. Remember it well. I've heard you're a bright young lad. Be good to that Muggle girl you play with… Lily, is it? She should always be your very best friend, do you hear me, boy? She'll be very good to you."
"Yes, sir." Severus wrapped his fingers around the Galleons, seemingly in shock. Eileen looked like she didn't know what to say, and in her mind Voldemort sensed that she was going to take the money to Madam Malkin's to get herself new stockings. So Voldemort cleared his throat and said gruffly,
"That's for lunch, Eileen."
"Y-Yes, sir." Eileen glanced down to Severus and then back up to Voldemort. "Thank you, sir."
"Good to see the both of you." Voldemort stalked away from them and Disapparated mid-step, leaving Diagon Alley as a flourish of midnight blue.
Author's Note: Ahhh! He looked into Hermione's head while she was sleeping (and her thoughts didn't contain anything incriminating… what does that say about Hermione at this point?) He bought her a ring to claim her as his. We met Odysseus Siegel. And Voldemort told Severus Snape to be good to Lily Evans. Lots to unpack here! Whew!
Would love to know your thoughts on this chapter. Thanks for reading.