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Lazily, Voldemort observed the girl sneaking through his chamber. It was unusual for Bella to wake before him, and even more unusual for her to leave without saying so much as a word to him. She obviously thought him still asleep and did not want to wake him. She seemed to not even want to look at him.

Curious.

He watched her as she collected her clothes from the ground, eyeing them with apparent hesitation. He could almost feel the irritation radiating off her, before she slipped into her nightgown and tiptoed over to the door. For a brief moment she hesitated and actually looked back to him, but still, she did not wake him. Instead, she noiselessly opened the door and slipped out.

Voldemort sat up in his bed and stared to the door. What would make Bellatrix of all people escape in such a manner? She was always so enthusiastic about sharing the bed with him, even when she so obviously did not enjoy the act itself. For all the pain she loved to inflict on others, she very much hated feeling any herself.

Still, she never denied him, always pretending like she enjoyed his rough treatment. Even tonight, when he bound her arms and pushed her face first onto the hard and cold stone floor, she never protested. On the contrary, she told him to use her, to take her, even when her body flinched with every bit of pain, even when the cries that fell from her lips spoke of nothing but hurt and panic.

It didn’t matter how harshly he treated her, she would always come back to him, a seductive smile on her lips. She was just 21 years old, just a girl, but she always sought him out.

Why, then, would she flee now? It didn’t make sense. Voldemort knew all too well that this ambitious young witch wanted nothing more than to be a partner at his side. She was destined to marry into the Lestrange family, even though both sons were too stupid to be of any value. He knew she hoped that he would save her from that fate, that he would marry her instead.

A ridiculous notion.

He couldn’t deny that he enjoyed her submission though. To see such a proud, cruel woman go down on her knees for him was a rush he never failed to relish in ever since she first presented herself to him two years ago. He pushed her further and further, expecting her to stop him, to deny him, to fight against him. Yet she never did. He could do anything to her and she would still proclaim her undying love and loyalty.

It was amusing, though he had started to get bored of it recently. Maybe she had noticed that and decided to switch up her game. Whatever it was, he would not make it easier for her. She would still go on to marry Rodolphus in a couple of months, and he would continue to fuck her even after that.

He half expected her to ignore him this evening, but when the usual knock didn’t come, he was still surprised. Ever since he took up residence at Grimmauld Place with the Black family, Bellatrix would try her luck every night without fail.

Something was definitely up.

It should be beneath him to seek out his personal whore, but he had to admit, he was amused by this new game. Ever since he declared himself the Dark Lord about a year ago and started the war to conquer all of England, things had gone too smoothly, too much like he predicted. This little wrinkle was the first thing in months that was out of the ordinary.

Clad in nothing but his black silken robe, he exited his room and made his way down the corridor. The house was silent, as most residents were already asleep. He stopped in front of Bella’s door and listened.

He could hear footsteps from within, as though someone was pacing up and down the carpet. Every now and then he thought he could hear frustrated groans, but he was not sure. Curious. Bellatrix was either quiet as a viper, or loud as a cat in heat. This restrained noise was not like her.

Grinning to himself, he imitated her signature knock: one long, two short, followed by another long one.

“What?” Her voice sounded equally annoyed and scared from within.

Without waiting further, he opened the door and stepped inside, quickly closing it again behind him. There was his Bellatrix, wrapped into the most sensible black robes he had ever seen her in, staring up at him as though she never expected her nighttime visitor to be the Dark Lord. Curious again.

She blinked, then blushed and averted her eyes. “My lord. What brings you to my room?”

He only raised an eyebrow. That was an outrageously stupid question for her to ask and she knew it.

“I’m sorry, my lord, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean–of course I know why you are here. I apologise for being so rude.”

She still didn’t look him in the eye. Chewing on her bottom lip, gaze glued to the floor, her hands clasped together in a tight grip – this was not the confidently seductive woman her knew. Voldemort stepped closer to her.

“I expected you tonight.”

For less than a heartbeat, her eyes flicked up to him, but then she looked away again. “I didn’t think … what I mean to say is, you usually don’t like me bothering you every night. So I thought I should stay away today.”

He scoffed. Of course, he’d send her away more often than not when she knocked, but that had never prevented her from trying every single night so far. “Presumptuous of you, my dear. I decide when I want you. It is not up to you to deny me. Is that clear?”

He could see that she was trembling now. He half expected her to throw herself at his feet, but still, she remained in the same position, eyes averted, not moving an inch. “I apologise again, my lord. I realise that I have upset you. If that means you are no longer interested, I would understand.”

His hand grabbed her by the throat before she could say another word. He pulled her closer, forcing her to finally look up to him. He could read the fear in her eyes. Fear and something else that he could not immediately place. Something he had never before seen in Bellatrix.

Shame. Guilt.

He could feel the smouldering embers of his ever-present rage burst into flames. She was keeping something from him, lying to him. And he would not stand for that. His other hand forcefully grabbed her wild hair and pulled hard.

This always made Bella wince and put her in a submissive mood. She would do anything to avoid more pain, even tell him secrets she would rather keep to herself. Anything to please him without experiencing what she so loved to inflict on others.

But nothing of the sort happened. Instead, her blush deepened and he could see her suddenly stare up at him defiantly. She still trembled under his fingers, but he was sure it was not from pain.

For a moment he was tempted to slip into her mind. With both hands on her, eyes only inches away from each other, he might be able to do so. It was the one thing he admired most in Bellatrix Black: She was the only one capable of even remotely resisting his attempts at Legilimency. More often than not, he gave himself a headache breaking through her defences, so he usually just forced her to tell him whatever he wanted to know.

He brought his face even closer to hers, feeling her hot breath on his cheeks as it came in quick, short puffs. Her pupils were blown wide, her eyes almost black as she still wore a slight frown. Whatever this mixture of defiance and shame was, he would get it out of her, one way or another.

“Now, Bella, I know you’ve been naughty,” he whispered, watching with fascination as she swallowed hard. “Tell me what you’re hiding and maybe I will be gentle with you today.”

Her tongue darted out, wetting her lips in an anxious movement he had never seen from her before. “I’m not hiding anything from you, my lord. I would never hide anything from you. There is no need for any of this. I just wanted to be thoughtful.”

Voldemort let go of her hair and pushed her backwards, watching with amusement as she stumbled onto her own bed, coughing while rubbing her throat. And yet, her eyes never left him. As if she had suddenly decided that it was better to look at him instead of casting her gaze ever downwards.

Strange. Curious. Bellatrix was in a mood he had never experienced before.

He followed her onto the bed, pushing her further up until he could crawl over her, trapping her under his body. For a short moment it looked like she wanted to flee from him, but then that defiance returned to her eyes and she instead looked up at him as if challenging him.

“You know I don’t like it when you lie to me, darling.” His gaze travelled over her body, still covered in this heavy material that hid everything from him. “So let’s try this again, mh? You know I don’t want to hurt you.”

She swallowed again and Voldemort couldn’t help himself, his eyes followed the movement with an excitement he didn’t know he still possessed for this woman. Her throat positively screamed for the rough grip of his fingers.

“Okay, alright,” Bella suddenly cried out, “I’ll admit it. I’m still sore from last night and wanted to rest today.”

He froze. There was no chance that the Bellatrix Black he knew would ever say something like this. She might have been acting strange before, but this was so clearly against everything he knew her to be, that only one clear answer was left. This was not Bellatrix Black.

But whoever this was, they obviously did not want to get caught, while also trying to avoid him. He allowed a grin to fall across his lips. He had all night to find out who this was. If this wasn’t Bella, he could easily slip into their mind and just get the information he wanted. But there was no fun in that. He would save that for later.

Right now, he would show this person what a very bad idea it was to mess with the Dark Lord.

Hermione could see his mood shift. Where he seemed only intrigued before, he now appeared dangerous in a way she never expected Voldemort to be. What was she supposed to do? What would the true Bellatrix do? She was stuck in Lestrange’s body, unable to get back, with a wild mix of her own and this mad witch’s memories swirling around in her mind.

She should have never touched that damn ritual. Regardless of how desperate their Horcrux search was, it was utter madness to attempt a dark ritual. A blood ritual. But of course, against the combined might of Harry and Ron, she was powerless. She barely escaped the torture in Malfoy Manor alive, only to hear that the boys somehow managed to wound Lestrange and draw blood. Blood that they carefully kept on their clothes and the dagger that initially drew it.

And then they had insisted that there was something they should be able to do with it. Something more than a Polyjuice Potion. That was her suggestion: Brew a Polyjuice Potion to deceive the guards a Gringotts and break into her vault, potentially finding another Horcrux there. But no, that was too risky, they said. The Death Eaters would be on high alert after the three of them escaped with the rest of the prisoners, so there was no chance they would get away with it.

No, the more logical, saner option of course was to read up on what one could do with the blood of another witch or wizard.

It should have been no surprise that Bill Weasley would be able to provide her with all the books about the Dark Arts and blood magic that anyone could ever want. Just as it should have been no surprise that the boys found countless excuses why they couldn’t help her read through them all.

She found the Ritual of the Shared Eyes pretty quickly. From the moment she read the first paragraph, she knew that this one would be useful. A ritual that would allow the witch or wizard to experience the world through the eyes of another, without said other noticing. She would be able to see what Bellatrix Lestrange saw, and knowing how close she was to Voldemort, everyone agreed that this was it.

Only when she actually drew the ritual circle and sat down in it, closing her eyes after speaking the words, everything changed for her. What were only five minutes for her friends were hours for her. Whatever this ritual was doing, it did not give her a glimpse into the actual life of current Bellatrix Lestrange. Instead, she experienced moments from days ago, weeks ago. Maybe even years ago.

There was no mention of this in the book, but then again, these bloody rituals never actually described their effects in such a way that the reader clearly knew what would happen.

One day, when she was alone in the room with the ritual circle – Harry and Ron long decided that it was boring to watch her – she spent a whole day with Bellatrix. It was immediately clear to her that this was during the First Wizarding War, as Voldemort looked human. And while she knew from current Bellatrix that there once had been a sexual relationship, she was not prepared for what she witnessed.

Voldemort took whatever pleasure he wanted from the witch, while she obviously did not enjoy a single act. Hermione could not understand why Lestrange would so willingly give herself to him, again and again resuming the activity, seducing Voldemort whenever he was about to leave her bed. She could feel the excitement this witch experienced, a strange and heady cocktail of triumph, power, and devotion that left her breathless despite not being actually there.

Bellatrix Lestrange did not enjoy the act, but she enjoyed the implication.

And Hermione, never having even thought about sex before, with everything going on in her life, was strangely drawn to it all. Lestrange’s pain, the cruel hands on her throat, the bindings holding her arms behind her back, it all made her body tingle in a way she did not understand.

Least of all did she understand why she felt this need to be touched by the wizard she saw through Bella’s eyes. She knew who he was and she despised everything he stood for. As his hands closed around her throat, around Bellatrix Lestrange’s throat, while he pounded mercilessly into her, all she could do was whimper. A rush of heat shot through her body and catapulted her out of the vision.

That night, when she lay on the floor between Harry and Ron in the safety of Fleur and Bill’s cottage, she struggled to keep her hands above the blanket. She hated Voldemort, yes, she despised him and everything his Death Eaters stood for. But the image of him, robbing Lestrange of any and all agency, her absolute submission; the way Hermione just knew that under his hands, she would never have to think for herself again. It all whispered sweet temptation.

And it made her hate him even more.

She didn’t want to do it again. She told Harry and Ron the next day. It was a bad idea. They didn’t get anywhere. She couldn’t control what she saw. When she was. But the boys insisted. Harry was especially convinced that if she just kept looking, she would find something. Anything.

So she sat down again after breakfast, trembling and fearing and looking forward to it all. Maybe that was why the ritual went wrong this time.

When she opened her eyes this time, she was in Lestrange’s body, as expected. Only, she was able to move. She was controlling Bellatrix Lestrange. Memories rushed into her mind, a wild mix of whatever the witch had experienced up to this point.

She escaped Voldemort’s bed as soon as she dared to move. Spent the day locked into her – Bella’s – room, trying to force herself awake. Spoke the words to end the ritual over and over. Paced up and down, tried to hurt herself, but nothing worked. She was trapped here, in the year 1972, with no way back.

And now she was trapped under his body, his dark glued to her face, a strangely predatory gleam in them. She wondered whether this was a game he was used to playing with Bellatrix. She would pretend to flee from him while he pursued her until she finally let herself get caught. Some sick perverted sex game that he needed to get it up. The look in his eyes made her shiver, whatever it was.

But it was not only fear she felt. Which made everything so much worse.

“There is no rest for you, Bella,” Voldemort purred.

He lowered his lips onto her exposed neck, planting a wet kiss there before lightly biting into her soft skin. Hermione’s eyes went wide and she had to supress a moan. Before she could stop herself, her hands shot up and pressed against his chest, trying to move him off her.

“My lord,” she pleaded desperately, “please, not tonight.”

He didn’t move an inch and simply chuckled. “I know you don’t mean that, dearest. I can feel your little shakes of excitement.”

With too much ease, he caught both her wrists in one hand and pulled them over her head, holding them in place in an unforgiving grip. She tried to struggle free, but quickly realised that it was a vain attempt. This was a younger Voldemort, still in possession of his own body and at the height of his power. Not only his magic, but his sheer physicality was leagues above any strength she had. Maybe if she had been in her own body, she might have been able to catch him off guard. But Bellatrix Lestrange was way too frail, despite all her madness.

Wide eyed, she watched as he pulled his wand with his free hand. Without a single word, without even any movement of the wand at all, he disappeared both their clothes before tossing his wand to the side. Heat crept into Hermione’s cheeks. While she knew that this was not her body, she still felt her nakedness. And his.

Afraid to look anywhere else, she fixed her gaze on his face. “I never say no, my lord,” she tried again, “I never do. Don’t you see I really mean it today?”

The grin that never left his lips darkened. “I know only too well that you never deny me, Bella. And I will not allow it today either. You are mine.”

He almost growled those last words. Then, before she could say anything back, his fingers closed around her throat and tilted her head back. His lips came crashing down on hers, devouring her, conquering her mouth without mercy. And when she felt his hand close harder around her throat, making it difficult to breathe, to think, she had now power left to supress another moan.

Heat shot through his body. Voldemort didn’t know what he had expected, but certainly not this. Whoever this was, she liked it how he treated her. He stopped the kiss for a heartbeat, trying to manage the wave of arousal that threatened to drown his rational mind. Despite Bella’s eagerness to submit to him, she never actually enjoyed it. He thought he liked that. He thought he revelled in her submission exactly because she didn’t enjoy it. That it was the height of power and lust that made her full surrender so sweet.

But the urge he felt now to explore every inch of the witch’s body, to bury himself deep inside her, to hurt her until she cried, was something else entirely. This witch didn’t want to submit. She craved it. She needed it. And whoever this was, she obviously hated him, the defiance in her eyes telling a story that didn’t need Legilimency to decipher.

Voldemort knew exactly what he wanted.

Using one of the spells he could do without his wand, he fixated her hands on the mattress above her head and then stepped back from the bed. Standing above her, he could only admire the beauty in this young witch. He no longer saw Bellatrix Black. The way this one looked up at him, the fire in her eyes, they way she gasped for air, it really was a completely different person.

Leaning against one of the beams of his four-poster bed, he crossed his arms before his chest and stared down at the witch. For a second her gaze flickered away from his face, lower, but immediately she stared back up at him. Her tongue darted out, wetting her lips in that anxious movement that he found almost endearing. The red in her cheeks was just as amusing.

Whoever this was, it was obviously someone used to a small feminine body. Maybe a young witch, brewing Polyjuice Potion in her spare time, intent on getting close to him.

“My lord?” Her trembling voice broke the silence in the room.

Voldemort tapped one finger against his lips thoughtfully. No, this was no Polyjuice incident. The house very obviously recognised this witch as a true Black family member. Could it be young Narcissa, destined to marry the promising offspring of Abraxas, looking to lose her virginity to the one man her sister so adored?

No, that was unlikely as well. What her sister had in madness, Narcissa had in rational calculation. She wanted to marry the Malfoy boy and would do nothing that could affect her chances.

“Tell me a fantasy.” Voldemort did not know whether that idea came from, but it would be intriguing to hear what the mind of this mystery witch was like.

“Excuse me?”

He chuckled. So indignant. She was either very prude or very inexperienced. Possibly both. “I want to do something today that you like. Didn’t you say you were sore? I want to be mindful of that. So, tell me a fantasy.”

The look she gave him was murderous. Whoever this was, she really seemed to hate him. And she seemed to know him well enough to understand that we would never be mindful of anyone. Waiting, he held her gaze while she studied him with an intensity that could never be Bella.

“What if my fantasy was to do nothing?”

Without blinking, he replied, “I know that’s not what you truly want. Don’t force me to fetch the Veritaserum.”

Her eyes widened briefly, before she settled back into a defiant glare. Interesting. She did not want to be forced to tell the truth. Of course, she was currently pretending to be Bellatrix Black and it made sense that she would want anyone to find out. But he sensed there was more. She was not here to get close to him, that much was clear. She also had made no attempts to harm him, on the contrary, she seemed to want to avoid him.

She wetted her lips again, cheeks flaming red, her eyes determined. “Then just … stay where you are, have a wank, and be done with it.”

She was eager to be rid of him. Despite being so reactive, she obviously did not want him to touch her. And before he knocked, he heard her move around in her room, clearly frustrated with whatever was going on.

She was stuck.

This fiery little witch was stuck in the body of Bellatrix Black and did not know what to do about it. Maybe she even was someone from the opposition, someone from Dumbledore’s army, someone who tried an ill-conceived spell to spy on dear old Bella and now found herself stuck instead.

Voldemort had to supress another chuckle. He would have a lot of fun tonight, pushing the unsuspecting witch even further than he ever did with Bellatrix. And then in the morning, he would take along, painful tour through her memories, extracting every single piece of information he could gather. He couldn’t kill her, so to speak, as he did not want to kill Bella, but he would make sure this invader would leave with a mind broken and no information gained.

“You know, dearest Bella,” he purred while he circled to the other side of the bed, “for someone with such a filthy mouth you sure are holding back. You can do better. Tell me a fantasy.”

Hermione flinched. She had trouble getting a hold of Lestrange’s memories as they were tumbling through her mind, so she struggled to find whatever it was Voldemort would be looking for. What would the mad witch fantasise about? How could she ever imagine anything like what the disturbed mind of a loyal lapdog of the Dark Lord came up with?

But she also knew her time was up. Voldemort had studied her like a specimen under a microscope, his gaze following every little movement she made. And now he stood to the right of the bed, lazily stroking his cock as he watched her. Expectantly. Hungrily. She had to say something.

Maybe if she told him how she wanted him to hurt her, he wouldn’t do that? From everything she witnessed through Lestrange’s eyes, she hated the pain while Voldemort revelled in it. Maybe he would lose interest if she suddenly pretended to want it? It was her best bet at keeping him from touching her.

For a moment she closed her eyes. Recalled the vivid dreams she had had last night. Heat crept up her cheeks as embarrassment took hold of her whole body. She licked her lips. She was a Gryffindor, for crying out loud. Courage and determination were in her blood.

Then she met his gaze, stared right into his dark eyes that seemed to want to swallow her whole. “I want you to bind me until I can’t move a single muscle. I want you to spank me until I bleed.” She forced a breath out, shaking from the heady mixture of fear and arousal at the images her own words summoned in her mind. “I want to gag on your cock until I pass out.”

Her heart hammered in her chest. Voldemort seemed to be frozen where he stood. The silence rang loud in her ears while she waited for his reply. She prayed that her gamble paid off. There was no way someone like Voldemort would enjoy a willing victim. He would simply bark out insults and then leave her alone, thinking that his dismissal would be a punishment for Bellatrix.

“Is that really what you want?” His voice sounded thick and dark, like he had trouble even forming the words.

It sent shivers down her spine. That tone spoke of promises, of pain to come. His eyes seemed black as he devoured her with his gaze. Hermione could only nod.

It was a gamble to dissuade him from touching her.

It was the truth, buried deep in her subconscious.

She watched as Voldemort stretched out his hand almost in slow motion and without so much as a gesture or a spoken word, he summoned his wand into his hand. She hated how easy magic seemed to be for him. How much control he had over the fabric of the world. She wanted that. Magic was never easy for her, she had to study long and hard and relentlessly because it never came to her naturally. It was unfair that this monster had such a command on the craft. She resented him for it.

But her body reacted to this display of raw power in its own way. Heat bloomed between her legs, making her rub her thighs against each other in an effort to release some of the tension.

“I can give you everything you want, my sweet,” Voldemort growled, pointing his wand at her. “I like the fantasy you told me. So let’s make it all come true, mh? We have a whole night ahead of us.”

Before she could say another words, conjured ropes slid across her body. Like sensual conscious being, the ropes caressed her thighs and her breast, weaving around her ankles and wrists, forcing her arms to her back where they pulled tight. With each knot that formed, Hermione could feel the rough texture bite into her skin, leaving angry red marks behind even now. Every part of her body tingled in anticipation and burned from the pain.

When a last rope firmly attached her ankles to the knot around her wrists, she realised that her ill-conceived wish came true: She could not move a muscle without causing herself pain. A sob, half pain, half fear, escaped her throat.

“Perfect,” Voldemort purred, carelessly discarding his wand once more.

He stepped closer to the bed and reached for the bushy mess of her hair, pulling her up into a kneeling position at the edge of the mattress. Wide eye, she looked up at him. Her heart beat loud and hard in her chest, but despite her panic, she still felt the heat pulse between her thighs. This was all wrong, so very wrong.

“What do you want first?” Dark amusement laced his rough voice. “Gag on my cock until you lose consciousness? Or get spanked until you bleed?”

More than before Hermione wished she could end the stupid ritual and just return to the safety of the cottage. There was an eagerness in Voldemort’s eyes that made her skin crawl. She had completely misread him. Right in this moment, he wanted nothing more than to hurt her. Really hurt her.

“Please,” she desperately cried out, “I’m sorry, my lord. I didn’t mean to provoke you.”

He gently stroked her cheek with one of his long, cool fingers. “Now, now, sweet girl. I am just fulfilling your fantasy, remember?”

“No, I’m sorry, I lied. This isn’t what I want. Please. I don’t want this.” She could feel tears forming despite her struggle to remain in character for Bellatrix Lestrange. She did not want to blow her cover, but she really, really didn’t want him to touch her any longer.

“Oh, dearest, I don’t think that’s the truth.” He grabbed her throat and pressed his thumb under her chin, forcing her head even further back. “For the first time, I feel like you actually do want this. And I would be a very bad lover if I denied you now, wouldn’t I?”

His other hand closed around his cock again, bringing it close to her lips. Unsure of what to do, Hermione looked up. Those dark eyes watched her closely, studying her face. He could see the hunger in them, but it was controlled. Even now, his hard length in hand, he held back, following whatever plan he had in his mind. Every move was calculated. The few times she had watched him in bed with Bellatrix, this was the one thing she always noticed. He never truly let go.

He was surprisingly patient as well, Hermione realised. While she sat here, despairing about what to do, he simply waited. She took a slow, deep breath.

“You’re not going to kill me, right?”

There was the smallest twitch in the hand around her throat, but otherwise, he remained calm and kept his superior grin. She wished she could read him better, but the little she could glean from Lestrange’s memories, the woman never learned how to read him. He shook his head once. “You are about to marry Rodolphus Lestrange. You are too valuable to kill off, even if you displease me.”

Right. As long as he thought that she was Bellatrix, he would not actually harm her. She would survive this. She could get through this. Maybe he was somewhat human still. She just had to conceal that she was absolutely inexperienced in all of this.

“I can see every thought reflected in your eyes, darling,” Voldemort told her then. “It’s time to stop thinking. Open up.”

The last words came out as a rough growl. Instantly, another wave of heat shot through Hermione’s body. Without another thought, she opened her mouth wide, staring up into his eyes.

His cock touched her lips and she realised that she had to open even wider. Hot and heavy, he slid over her tongue. Still, one hand held her throat firmly in place, while the other now grabbed a handful of her wild locks, practically fixing her head in place.

He no longer smiled. His dark eyes burned with indescribable emotions that spoke of all the things he wanted to do to her. He pumped slowly into her mouth, shallow, languid movements, not even touching the back of her throat. His intense gaze never leaving her eyes, binding her to him.

Suddenly, there was the lightest touch all over her body, as though a satin blanket lighter than a feather slid over her skin. It felt cool and burning at the same time. His magic. He channelled his magic to probe hers, not even holding his wand to do so.

She moaned around his cock. The power she felt in his lightest touch of magic made her shiver. She always heard that the only one superior to Voldemort was Dumbledore, but she never realised what that truly meant. He lived and breathed magic. The power he commanded was like nothing she had ever witnessed before.

It was intoxicating.

His movements became deeper, pressing further into her mouth. His eyes remained dark flames intensely focused on her, no other emotion present in his face. He used both hands to angle her differently, then he pushed further. Trying hard to keep breathing and relax, Hermione held his gaze as if it were a lifeline.

The feel of his magic on her body grew stronger. With each thrust of his hip, she could feel his cool magic pulse around every inch of her skin. Still probing, testing, coaxing her own magic out. She didn’t know how to answer that and even if she did, she was to focused on his hot and hard length in her mouth.

In what felt like one single movement, Voldemort pulled harder on her hair and dug his fingers deeper into the soft skin of her neck while at the same time slipping deeper into her throat. Simultaneously, his magic suddenly seemed to ignite on her skin, burning with a cold heat that threatened to consume her.

Wide eyed, she stared up at him. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t think. He stared back, mouth slightly open, his own breathing heavy and hungry. For a moment he remained still, his cock buried deep in her, as she fought desperately not to gag. Tears and drool ran freely down her cheeks and chin, but the only thing she felt, the only thing she knew was the feel of his magic against hers.

Then he pulled back again for just a moment before thrusting back into. It hurt and almost made her gag and still she could only moan. Still she could only stare into his eyes, where a slight crease was now visible between his eyebrows. The rest of his face remained calm, but she could feel in his magic that he was not so unaffected. The hunger in his eyes grew. With each thrust, he got more reckless. Not allowing her enough time to breathe, the grip around her throat becoming harder, using her mouth for his own pleasure without a care for her.

It was addicting. To be witness to such power, reckless and all-consuming and still so in control. Hermione didn’t care that her vision began to blur. She didn’t even notice when her eyes fell close on their own. She wanted more of his magic. More of him.

Then everything went black.

He felt her go limp beneath him. He had to struggle to let go of her. When he did, she sell backwards onto the bed, still bound by his ropes.

Blinking, Voldemort struggled to catch his breath. This witch was full of surprises. He liked to probe the magical aura of wizards and witches around him, as it often told a story of power – or the lack thereof – that his followers didn’t want him to know. He especially liked it since nobody ever noticed it. He could dissect their magic and evaluate their level without being detected.

But this witch, whoever she was, she had noticed right from the first careful touch. Even Bellatrix, so accomplished in Occlumency, never knew that he regularly tested her. One had to have enormous magical potential to even be aware of one’s own magical aura.

He wanted nothing more than to slip into her mind and find out everything right now. At the same time, he wanted to continue with her fantasy. Her hatred of him was delicious, he could almost taste it in her aura. And yet, she moaned around his cock so beautifully. Taking him so well, never protesting, giving herself to him fully.

This was what true submission looked like. Not the unwilling fake kind that Bella showed him. The thought of having this witch in his bed at all times instead of Bellatrix was tempting. Maybe he could go out and find her once she left Bella’s mind.

Wouldn’t that be glorious? Have someone from Dumbledore’s very own people for himself, turning her into a perfect little doll and using her vast potential for his personal goals.

Voldemort shook his head and instead climbed onto the bed with her. He was getting ahead of himself. First things first.

She witch was still unconscious. He rolled her onto her back and spread her legs. Instantly, he could smell her arousal, wet and sticky between her legs. He couldn’t help but grin. Yes, this was a witch that wanted to be used.

He leaned farther over her and lower his face until he could suck one of her nipples between his lips. At the same time, he sank two fingers into her hot wetness.

With a cry, the witch under him shook awake. Drawing a shuddering breath, unconsciously moving her hip against his hand, he looked up, lips still closed around her stiffening nipple, as she eyed him with obvious reproach.

“What are you doing?” She probably intended for that to sound angry, but all Voldemort could hear was the breathy moan underneath the accusatory words.

He chuckled and finally let go of her nipple. “Did you not say you wanted to pass out from gagging on my cock?”

Her hips bucked against his fingers, eliciting a groan from her, but her glare stayed angry. “You can’t just touch me like that.”

“Can’t I?” he challenged, adding a third finger to the rest, meeting the rhythm of her hips. “It seems like this is exactly what you want.”

“No!” She shook her head in desperation, trying to still her hips. “I don’t … Don’t ever delude yourself into thinking I want this. I don’t. I …”

She trailed off, cheeks flaming red, her breast heaving. Smiling, he pressed a quick kiss onto her collarbone without breaking the rhythm of his hand. “Not to worry, my sweet. Your words will not deter me. Though we need to skip the spanking until bloody part, I fear. I need you to be able to sit tomorrow, as we will have another long meeting day, and we wouldn’t want you to be in discomfort, would we?”

It was almost ridiculous how little this woman was able to hide her emotions. Pure disbelief shone from her eyes. His words were only half true. In reality, he simply didn’t want to face Bella’s questions when she found her body in a state of too much abuse. He never cared to learn healing spells, so he couldn’t cover it up either. It would be better if Bella simply thought she had a long, uneventful sleep.

“Now, my sweet, relax and don’t fight it. You did so good today, it’s time for a little reward.”

“Fuck you!” This hiss carried so much venom in it and yet Voldemort could only laugh.

“Oh, I intend to, darling.” After passing out, the witch seemed to have forgotten all about pretending to be Bellatrix. He true character shone through and it was a sight to behold. He could almost feel her magic angrily lashing out.

He pulled his fingers out and noted with a smirk that her hips tried to follow him. Who knew how attractive a woman could be when her instincts overcame her? He brought his hand up to her mouth and pressed his fingers against her lips.

“Open,” he commanded her. “Taste.”

She hesitated only briefly, before slipping her tongue out and around his fingers. A moan shook her body, eliciting a groan from him in response. Yes, this was what he truly wanted. Trembling, not from fear, but from lust. Moans, not from pain, but from need.

Maybe a bit of fear and pain.

He grabbed her hips and rolled her again, shoving her face first into the mattress. “Don’t forget, my sweet, you can’t move, so don’t even try.”

“I hate you!”

“I know.”

He carefully arranged her bound thighs so her ass was up in the air, while her face and shoulders remained pressed into the bed. Then he positioned himself behind her, slowly running his hands over her back and hips. For the first time, he actually felt a deep rooted need to be inside her, to feel her around his cock. He always took pleasure from fucking, but this was new. This raw desire that almost made him lose control.

Almost.

Slowly, he sank into her. He could see her mouth fall open, eyes closed, a frown between her eyebrows. With every inch, she seemed to grow more anxious, more rigid. For a second Voldemort wondered whether this witch inhabiting Bella’s body had never had sex before. If so, he had to find her as soon as possible. He couldn’t wait to take her actual body and make it his.

With one last hard push, he thrust fully into her. Her thighs trembled and he could hear her laboured breathing. She felt pain. Good. A little bit of pain would make her pleasure all the more intense.

He pulled back and thrust back in, harder this time. A little sob escaped her lips, but he could feel the wetness pool between her legs. He repeated the motion, setting a slow but hard rhythm. She felt divine, better than Bella ever did before. But that was only secondary.

He was almost spellbound by the changing expressions on her face. When the pain subsided, her frown deepened. Her teeth sank into her bottom lip as she tried to hold back a moan. She shook her head almost imperceptibly as she tried to fight against her own arousal.

Then a groan broke free and with it, all her resolved seemed to vanish. Burying her face in the soft mattress, she started to meet his hips. He had won.

He leaned down, placing his elbows left and right from her head, and murmured, “I knew you’d come around.”

He sped up then, pulling back her hair to get a better look at her face. Her face spoke of pure bliss, but he could see tears streaming down her face. Every thrust drew out another soft moan or low cry. She would shake her head every now and then, but she never stopped meeting his tempo.

Smiling, he placed a kiss on her neck. He could see goosebumps break out where he kissed her, and so, he repeated it on the other side of her neck, on her back, on her shoulders. It was intoxicating, the way she reacted to every little thing she did.

Her arms still tied behind her back, she could not move from her position, could only move her hips to match his, but never change the rhythm or the angle. But she tried. As he kept a steady pace, he saw her grow frustrated. Her little moans turned into desperate sobs.

“Please,” she whimpered suddenly.

He knew exactly what she wanted, but he would not make it so easy. “What can I do for you, my sweet?”

“More,” she mewled.

“More what?”

Another sob broke from her lips. “Just … more. Please, my lord, I beg you. Please. Please. Please.”

He snaked one hand under her body, grabbing her by the throat again. “More of this?”

He could feel the moan vibrate against his fingers as it fought its way out of her, but she shook her head. “No. Yes. I … I don’t know. I need … I need more. Please? Please, sir!”

Bellatrix never begged. Sure, she would seduce him with a pretend neediness, but once she was in his bed, she never begged for anything. She only ever told him to do what he wanted. Take what he wanted.

He doubted that he would ever grow tired of hearing this woman beg.

Maybe she deserved a little mercy, after all, she turned out to be much more interesting than anything he had encountered these past couple of years. Maybe he could just give her what she needed.

He let go of her throat and instead let his hand slip between her legs. As he sped up, he began to lightly circle her most sensitive nub. A surprised cry that instantly turned into an animalistic groan was his reward.

“Yes,” his witch rasped, “yes, oh god, yes. Please, don’t stop!”

He almost lost control there. His little witch sang so prettily for him, begging him without holding back. Yes, she was his. He would make sure that she would forever be his. Wouldn’t that be an even more complete, perfect vision for the future? A throne for him, everyone else bowing down to him, while she sat on his lap, ready and available at all times.

Yes, that was it.

A tremble gripped her body then. He could feel the flutter of her inner walls, hear her high-pitched cries as she chased her salvation. Following an instinct he never had before, he pulled her up to his chest, grabbing her chin to twist her head back and pressed his lips on hers.

He swallowed her moan as she answered his kiss with the eagerness of someone drowning. It was all tongues and teeth and sloppy wetness. He never stopped pounding into her, never stopped kissing her, even when she cried her orgasm into the world. She sobbed and trembled and could barely keep upright, but he got her, holding her, kissing her, touching her all the while, until she finally calmed down.

As she sank back onto the bed, he grabbed her hips and started a punishing tempo that he knew would bring him over the edge shortly after.

He gently removed the ropes and rolled her onto her back, stroking away a couple of locks that stuck to her sweaty face. The witch was fast asleep, losing consciousness almost as soon as he came deep inside her. He smiled triumphantly as he watched her. Her mind was now all his to explore. It would not be easy to navigate a sleeping brain, but he knew he could manage.

Fetching his wand from the floor, he got comfortable sitting down next to her, touching her temple with two fingers. With a deep breath, he dove right in.

Memories of Bellatrix Black assaulted his mind, almost catapulting him out the instant he got in. For a moment, he started to question his earlier conclusion, fearing that this was just Bella after all. But when he struggled through the storm of her memories, he found more underneath. Images and emotions and thoughts that belonged to someone else entirely. A young witch of just 18 or 19 years.

A young witch that was not yet born.

Fascinated, he explored every single memory he could find. He learned about his downfall and about Harry Potter. He discovered that his Horcruxes, so far only a theoretical safety net, actually worked and protected him when he was faced with his own Avada Kedavra curse. He strange mix of pride at this accomplishment with the Horcruxes and annoyance that he almost died to a baby momentarily distracted him, but he continued on his path.

He saw his new self in photographs and descriptions from the girl’s friend. He instantly understood that he needed a restore his old body. Whatever this new form that Wormtail concocted for him was, it was not the body of a world leader. No, it would not do.

Intrigued, he delved even deeper. He could not understand the actions of his future self. Why was he so absent while the rest of his followers were the ones fighting in the war? What was he doing?

And then it hit him.

He was looking for someone with enough magical power to help him in the ritual that would restore his body. Of course, this future self did not yet know about the girl that quite literally fell into his lap – because that only happened in 1998 and while it did change him now in 1972, what he saw was the original was everything played out before this strange not-quite-time-travel happened.

Yes. He had everything he needed now. All that was left was to recreate the future he saw and find his witch in 1998. Where was she now? What ritual did she attempt that let her inhabit Bella’s body?

When he finally found the correct memory, he almost laughed. So she really was stuck. It would take only a soft push from his own magic to send her back. He would need to teach her how to control her raw magic without any wands or spells once he found her again.

With a sigh, he left her mind. She was still asleep, only a slight frown indicating that she even noticed anything. He stroked her cheek. He never believed in destiny or karma, always convinced that he was the one shaping his own future. But seeing her now, he understood one thing very clearly. He was indeed the saviour of all wizard kind. He would be their leader, even though his path might looked crooked and full of mistakes to outside people.

He would walk it again, exactly as he witnessed it.

And he would find his witch again. She would be the key to getting back his original body, and she would keep him entertained while he ruled over everyone. He knew that she would fight him and try to kill him at every opportunity. He almost looked forward to it. Once he dominated the whole world, she would realise that she was powerless. It would be fun to see her break.

He planted a soft kiss on her forehead. “It’s time to go now, my little witch. See you soon.”

Hermione awoke with a jolt. Breathing heavily, she looked around. She was still in the little room with the blood circle on the floor. She was in the cottage, but seeing as the sun was just going down, a couple of hours had to have passed.

Huffing in frustration, she got up. Had nobody checked up on her while she was stuck in the bloody ritual? If only they knew what she went through.

She blanched. Nobody could ever know what happened back there. It would probably be best to learn a memory charm that let her put a seal on her own memories. Nobody, absolutely nobody could see how she begged Voldemort for his cock and came while kissing him. She felt insane just thinking about it.

As she exited the small room, a shiver went down her spine. Something shifted. Alarmed, she looked for Harry and Ron.

“Hermione!” Fleur was the first to spot her as she came into the kitchen. “Finally, you are awake again. You were gone a long time this round.”

“Did you learn anything?” Harry immediately pressed.

She shook her head. “No. But more importantly, did you feel that just now?”

“No?” Ron looked around the homely kitchen. “What do you mean?”

Just in that second, Bill came rushing into the kitchen. “Wands out! We’re under attack!”

Hermione felt her heart almost stop. Ice cold dread seeped into her veins. With her wand drawn, she made her way out to the kitchen and to the door that led straight to the beach. She knew. She hoped against hope that it was not true, but she knew.

“Death Eaters,” Bill whispered as he followed her with the rest. “I have no idea how they found us. Someone must have betrayed us.”

Hermione swallowed. This cottage was protected, if you didn’t know it was here, you couldn’t find it. And yet, Death Eaters were here. It could only mean one thing.

Suddenly, she realised that she had a pounding headache. As if someone had been rummaging through her mind.

She reached out her hand to open the door. Ron instantly was next to her, pulling her arm back. “Hermione, stop. What do you think you’re doing?”

She only shook her head and freed her arm. Determined to see this through, she opened the door. She had brought this onto all of them. It was her responsibility to fix this.

“You should disapparated,” she told her friends.

Before anyone could reply, she stepped out. There, just outside the invisible wards, she could see him. Voldemort. And around the cottage, at least ten Death Eaters stood ready to fight. Not that it mattered. He alone was enough to doom them all.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as she watched him raise his wand. In a single motion, he shattered all the wards that Bill and Fleur had erected around the cottage. Her four friends behind her instantly raised their wands and shouted at her to come back, but she stared straight ahead. Straight at the monster that she had brought onto them all.

He came closer until he was only steps away. A small smile played around his lips, full of conviction and triumph. He knew. Just as she did. She would never be able to run from him. She didn’t dare to look back. As soon as she had sensed his magic on her skin, she should have known. There was no turning back.

She wanted to hate Ron and Harry for making her go through with the ritual, but in the end, she had no one to blame but herself. She could have stopped it days ago, but she didn’t.

Finally, she met his gaze. He looked so different and yet, his crimson eyes held the same dark flame that devastated her just a couple of hours ago. Over 20 years ago. Then she felt his magic wash over her skin again and her knees buckled. She had lost. Absolutely and irrevocably.

A grin spread across his lips. He took another step, bringing him close enough to touch her. A single finger stroked her cheek as her friends screamed in the background, hurling hexes at him that were blocked instantly by the prepared Death Eaters around the cottage.

Voldemort didn’t even spare them a glance. Not even Harry’s enraged screams could distract him. Trembling, she held her breath, bound by his sinister gaze.

Then his grin turned into a true smile.

“Hello, Hermione.”