You Know I Love You
"So," Voldemort said, letting his tuxedo robe fall to the ground and swiftly undoing the knot of his bow tie, "Let's go get warmed up."
Hermione was shuffling out of Sylvie Malfoy's emerald green gown, revealing her black silk bra and matching knickers. She stepped out of the gown and smirked at Voldemort.
"Warmed up?" she repeated. "Whatever do you mean?"
"It's chilly in here," he complained. "I'd like to get warmed up. I think a shower is in order."
He unfastened the little black pearl buttons running down the front of his white dress shirt and then yanked it out of trousers. He unhooked his trousers and shoved them down, kicking off his dress shoes and wrenching down his underwear and peeling off his socks. Hermione stood ogling his naked form, standing there in her bra and knickers, and she whispered,
"A shower sounds nice."
"Your moans will echo off the tiles." He narrowed his eyes at her, and she giggled a little. But he glared, and her face went serious. She murmured quietly,
"What are you going to do to me, Tom?"
"You won't stay quiet," he promised. "Off with the bra and knickers, then."
He walked past her, into the bathroom and to the large standing shower. It was unusual to have such a large shower in even the most modern wizarding bathrooms, but Malfoy Manor was the pinnacle of luxury. He opened the door and stepped into the slick black and white tiled stall, turning on the taps until the water ran hot and steamed. Hermione moved into the shower a moment later, and he curled up his lips at her as he instructed her,
"Take the pins out of your hair and let it down."
She visibly shivered, as though he'd Confounded her, though he knew she was just aroused. She nodded and stood partially under the stream of water, reaching for the swirls and twists of hair that Sylvie had done up. She began to pull at the hairpins, yanking them out one by one and placing them on the little inlaid shelf in the tiled wall. Plink, plink, plink. The pins landed with soft little sounds that made Voldemort shudder. Eventually, her bun came loose, and Hermione shook her hair out. He laced his fingers through the twisted waves and drew her near, bending down and crushing her mouth with a kiss.
He was gentle at first, letting his cock fold up against her belly as his fingers caressed her scalp. He pressed his lips to hers and then finally lathed his tongue around her bottom lip to ask her to open for him. She did, and then he dragged his tongue over the roof of her mouth and pulled at her tongue with his. She let out a soft little noise, and he nibbled her lip. She grunted a bit, so he sucked at the lip and then pushed in his tongue again. Her hands coursed up and down his slick arms, and he finally broke away.
He reached for her bottle of conditioning shampoo and uncorked it, and he drizzled some of the lavender goop into his palm as Hermione wet her hair beneath the stream of water. She pulled back from the stream, and he rubbed his hands together before putting them to Hermione's hair. He began to massage the shampoo into her locks, working from the ends up towards her scalp. He worked his fingertips in circles on her scalp, and suddenly her mouth fell open. She tipped her head back a little, and he smiled a bit to himself. She liked this. She liked when he touched her like this, when he rubbed at her head like this and made her body feel good.
Eventually she rinsed the conditioning shampoo out of her hair, letting the water cascade over her body along with suds. Voldemort let her step away, and he took her place beneath the stream. He uncorked the bottle of shampoo and quickly sudsed up his own hair, then rinsed out the wash. He reached for the bar of sage-scented soap, and he rubbed it over his body to get suds and bubbles all over himself. Hermione began to stroke at him, her hands running all over his arms and chest. She brushed her fingertips along his biceps, and she whispered,
"All better."
He sighed and looked down at his own body. She was right. All of his visible scars were gone. All the rivulets of white tissue had completely faded. His muscles seemed sharper, more chiseled. His hair was less grey. His face was smooth and pink. His eyes were both wide open and glinting. His lips were unmarred and full. His wrinkles and fine lines had greatly abated. He looked ten years younger than he'd looked before, if not more. He looked healthy, where he'd looked profoundly unwell before.
"You have healed me," he informed Hermione. She shook her head and took the soap.
"I can't take credit."
"Hmm." He let her suds up her body, and then he started to massage her. He pulled her close and rubbed the soap into her back, soothing her skin with rubs of his palm and fingers along her shoulder blades and down her spine. Hermione sighed onto his chest, her breath hot. He moved them under the water, and she burrowed her face against his pectoral muscle. His cock throbbed against her belly, and he deepened the massage on her back. Hermione's voice growled against his chest, and her hands clutched at his shoulders.
He turned her around and folded his cock up against her lower back, and he snared his hands around the front of her body. His left hand cupped her breast, and his thumb dragged over her peaked nipple. She turned her head a bit, and Voldemort kissed her intensely. Their tongues tangled for a long moment, and his right hand trailed down between her legs. His forefinger and middle finger pressed at her clit, and he squeezed her breast with his other hand. Hermione moaned, and he released her mouth, letting her groan into the open space of the shower. Her voice echoed off the tiles, just like he said it would do.
He rubbed her clit with circular, wet motions, very gradually speeding up and then slowing down again when her breath became too urgent and shallow. All the while, he compressed and massaged her breasts, then ran his palm down her slick, flat stomach. He pulled her back against his aching cock, and he whispered,
"You know I love you."
"Tom," Hermione whimpered, and she arched her back a bit. He slid two fingers into her body, feeling that she was absolutely drenched, and his thumb toyed with her clit some more. He pressed and dragged at her folds and nub, and he hooked his fingers inside of her. He glided his palm back up her stomach and rubbed her breast again and pinched nipple hard, and Hermione squirmed. She whirled around and seized his face in her hands, yanking him down.
"Tom!"
"Hermione," he groaned, pushing her toward the wall of the shower. She was going to slip and fall, he thought. He waved his fingers behind him and shut off the taps with wandless, nonverbal magic, and he cast simple Hot Air Charms upon them. He pushed her hard onto the wall, and she keened madly. He shoved his hand between her legs again, dragging his fingers along her folds and clit, and she whispered frantically,
"I'm going to come."
"Let them hear you," he snarled. Hermione slammed her palms hard against the shower tiles, her damp hair sticking to the wall as she ground her head back onto the tile. He rubbed and massaged her entrance and hissed at her, "Come for me, Hermione."
"Yes! Tom! Agh!" She shrieked then, stamping her foot as her walls clenched and clamped around his fingers. Her face flushed very dark red, and then the flush webbed down onto her chest. She panted and groaned, quite loudly. Voldemort couldn't take it anymore. He lifted one of Hermione's legs up and eased her back against the wall, and he bent down to arrange himself. He realised something then. He had the strength to do this properly. He could lift her.
She moved with him then to make it all work. She stood a bit away from the tile wall and leaned back against it. He hoisted her up by her hips, and she straddled him. He bent his knees slightly, and she slid her back toward the tile as she sank onto him. She was wet, hot, and snug. It felt good, so very good, and Voldemort grunted. She moaned again, tossing her head back as she wrapped her arms tightly around Voldemort's shoulders. She pressed her back against the wall as he lined everything up and began to thrust.
In and out. In and out. In and out. He began to move like a machine, thrusting and driving into her as he gripped her as tightly as he could. He held fast to keep from dropping her, to ensure she stayed secure. He buried his face into the crook of her neck, his breath huffing against her skin as he whispered frantically,
"You know I love you."
"Tom," she moaned helplessly. Her voice ricocheted off the tiles. He lost himself before he knew what was happening. He was spilling himself, draining his force into her as he realised just how much pleasure it gave him to mesh his body with hers. The detonation was all-consuming and powerful. He stayed linked with her for a long moment as his cock started to soften, as come leaked between them.
They rinsed off in silence, and then Voldemort left the shower and warmed a towel for Hermione. She gratefully stepped into it, and he led her to the bed, deciding they'd eschew pyjamas tonight. He peeled off her towel at the bedside and shucked his own, drawing her naked beneath the blankets. He pulled her until she was facing him, and he thought of the way her mind had shown him trickery and deception, followed by her genuinely falling in love and going far Darker than she'd ever meant to do.
"Hermione." He reached for her left hand and dragged his thumb over her left hand. "You said that you belong to the Dark Lord. Is it true?"
"It is true," Hermione said. Her face was a little sad as her own eyes settled on the ruby ring. She blinked slowly and whispered, "My husband is gone, and Albus Dumbledore is the enemy. I never thought that I would be in love with Lord Voldemort. But all of that is true."
He felt her Occlumency shields slip down then, and inside her mind, he perceived utter openness. She was letting him search for anything he wanted. He flicked through a few choice memories.
Ron Weasley was nearly passed out drunk, having attended a Chudley Cannons match and vomited on the sitting room carpet upon coming home. He'd Splinched a bit Apparating to the flat, and Hermione had fixed him up, remembering another time she'd fixed his Splinching. This time had felt different; he'd Splinched because he'd been so drunk. She was now sitting on a divan with her arms crossed, staring at Ron where he lay moaning about his spinning head. She wondered just what he'd let himself become. Hadn't he been a war hero?
Voldemort shoved that memory aside, huffing a breath and thinking to himself that he was sick and tired of seeing Hermione's thoughts of Ron Weasley. If he never, ever saw another memory of Ron Weasley again, he'd be happy.
'Mum. Did you forget that you were baking scones?' Hermione was rushing into her parents' parlour. The smell of burning food filled the air. Hermione's mother looked up absentmindedly from the newspaper. She shrugged.
'I don't think I was baking anything. What's that odour?'
Hermione's mouth fell open as she realised just how badly she'd mucked up her mother's memory.
Voldemort pinched his lips and pushed that thought away, too. He didn't want to see Hermione's pain. She didn't want to relive it, either, he knew.
Hermione was sitting in her room in the Leaky Cauldron, preparing for the Masquerade Ball. She was contemplating the best way to fool Lord Voldemort. If she told him that he was her master, that she was his servant, perhaps he might trust her. Perhaps he might believe that she'd come back to help him.
Voldemort let out a long sigh, and Hermione visibly winced where she lay. Voldemort reached for her hand again and squeezed, and then he pulled out a more recent memory.
Voldemort was playing piano, and Hermione was staring at his face, thinking that he was the most magnificent wizard who had ever lived. She'd been a fool to ever doubt him. She'd been a fool to fight him. She wanted nothing more in all the world now than to see him be victorious, and she would do whatever she needed to do to make that happen. If enemies had to die to make way for Lord Voldemort's ascent, then people would have to move. Un-Births would have to happen. This past would be changed, yes, and it would be changed so that Voldemort would win. He had to win. He was the most powerful wizard in the entire world, and Hermione was madly in love with him.
"Yes, your descent into Darkness is all my fault," Voldemort nodded. He pulled her face closer and kissed her lips carefully. "I am not sorry."
He caressed her left hand and brushed his fingers over her ring. She shut her eyes and asked against his cheek,
"What does it mean?"
"What does what mean?" he murmured back. Hermione specified,
"What does it mean that I care so very much for you and so very little for what I left behind? Does it mean that I am wicked?"
"It means that you, like time, have changed," Voldemort offered. "For the better, I think."
She kissed him for a long moment, and then she asked softly, "What does the ring mean, Tom?"
"It means that you're mine," he told her. "It means that I love you."
She pulled back a little and nodded. "I will do it. He won't be expecting it."
Voldemort pulled a little face and shook his head in confusion. "Do what?"
Hermione licked her lips and let out a shaking breath. "Albus Dumbledore will see any meeting with you as a potential conflict. He will see any object you send him -"
"You are not a murderer," Voldemort said firmly, "and I won't have that stain on your soul. It… ruins you… it chips away at you. I won't have that happen. Not to you. I'll have Bella do it at Hogwarts; she'll be more than willing."
Hermione bristled visibly. "You don't need Bellatrix Lestrange to be your errand girl."
"Bellatrix Black," Voldemort corrected her. He pushed himself up onto an elbow. "What, you're going to throw a Killing Curse at Albus Dumbledore?"
"N-No." Hermione shut her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. She rolled onto her back and whispered, "There's got to be another way. It's just… you could get hurt, and I -"
"You could get killed," Voldemort snarled. "And, anyway, you are not a murderer."
Hermione chomped a lip and chewed for a long moment. "You're right. Probably best to have Bellatrix try it at Hogwarts. That's what you did with Draco; you had Draco do it from inside the school. But you should give her explicit instruction. In my lived experience, you left Draco to his own devices, and it was disastrous."
Voldemort cleared his throat and curled up his lips, pulling a little at the blanket. "Do you think Bellatrix Black would do absolutely anything for me if I promised her the right things?"
Hermione stared up at him and frowned. "Yes. Why?"
"What if I told her that she'd go to Azkaban for following my orders, but that I would eventually break her out of prison and give her… what she wanted?"
Hermione slowly sat up. Her thick brows furrowed. "She wants you, Tom."
"Precisely." He kept his voice tight as he said, "Bellatrix murders Albus Dumbledore with a Killing Curse immediately upon returning to school from the holidays. She is taken to Azkaban Prison. Someday I break her out, and when I do, she is given all the attention and adoration of the Dark Lord himself. That is what she'll be promised."
"Tom." Hermione shook her head. She looked ill. "Even for a girl like Bellatrix, that's just… that's ruthless."
"You'd rather kill him yourself?" Voldemort snapped. "Or I'll do it. I'm fine with most of these options."
Hermione wrenched her eyes shut and flopped down on the pillow. She cast a forearm over her eyes and whispered,
"Why does he have to be such a bloody meddling fool?"
"This would get both Dumbledore and Bellatrix out of the way," Voldemort noted, and Hermione breathed a long sigh as she seemed to consider that. Voldemort said quietly, "She wounded you deeply."
"So did you," Hermione said sharply. She pulled her arm away and glared up at him, and she flattened her lips into a line. "Fine. Tell Bellatrix to kill Dumbledore when she goes back for the school term. But you'll have to alter her memories first, because once they catch her, they'll give her Veritaserum and they'll interrogate her. You'll have to make her think it was her own wild idea. Some personal vendetta; she's just a mad witch. And then they'll throw her in prison and, what? You'll break your promise to her, right? You won't give her what she wants."
Voldemort shook his head. "She will serve me by killing Dumbledore and by going to Azkaban. That will be Bellatrix's service in this time. And you will serve me with your mind, and my loving me. Do you understand, Hermione?"
He reached for her left hand and brought her ruby ring to his lips, kissing the stone. He bent and planted a swift kiss on her forehead and whispered,
"You know I love you."
"Tom," she hummed, dragging her fingers up his chest, over his shoulders, and down his arms. "You said it was going to be a long night."
"Mmm." He kissed her on the mouth and then buzzed against her lips, "So it is."
Author's Note: Lemons and fluff and murder plots, oh my! So will Bellatrix actually kill Dumbledore? If she does, will she implicate Voldemort in any way? What will the rest of the wizarding world have to say about all of this?
As always, your readership and feedback are greatly appreciated. I have a very busy weekend coming up but will update whenever I can. Thanks for your patience.