Jagged

I Got Soul

Less than a week later, the rest of the school returns from holiday. The dorm feels brighter with Lorraine and Myla back— both speaking to each other as if the fall out between them had never occurred.
Lorraine talks emphatically about the muggle boy that took her to the cinema, whispering about it as if it's some sort of scandal. Of course, Hemrione has to remind herself, in this time, it is. Lorraine actually took a huge risk by going out at night to sneak into muggle London. Hermione wants to scold her— to explain the dangers of the war, the raids and absolute horrific atrocities being committed— but she has no right to lecture anyone. Even if she did, she wouldn't be able to explain how she has so much knowledge about the muggle war.
So while Lorraine sits on her bed and excitedly explains kissing this mysterious boy in a shadowy alley, Myla and Hermione listen on with strained smiles.
"It's like she never learns."
Myla's voice is dark and irritated. Lorraine had gone off to bed a half hour prior, but Myla lingered, making small talk about her mom and their cozy Christmas. Eventually, as it always does with Myla, the conversation circles back to Lorraine.
"She just trusts more than we do." Hermione hops off her bed to grab her pyjamas and change right there.
Myla stiffens a bit, and Hermione pulls her shirt back into place.
"I'm sorry, I must have gotten used to being by myself," she says quickly.
"No, it's fine." Myla waves her off, but her tone is strained.
Hermione hurries off to the bathroom before anything else can be said, feeling embarrassed.
She'd let her guard down and slipped up. Forgotten that not everyone is as close as she is to Cho and Lavender.
It feels like she has been doing that a lot lately.
When she gets back, Lorraine is breathing deeply behind her closed curtains and Myla is still on her bed.
"How was your break, Hermione?"
"It was fine." She throws her dirty clothes into a basket and sits opposite Myla with her legs crossed. "A bit boring, if I'm being honest."
"Did you see much of Tom and Abraxas?" Try as she might, Hermione doesn't miss the overly light and airy way she says it. The way she purposefully relaxes her shoulders and drops her eyes.
"I saw them a bit."
Of course, she hasn't seen Abraxas since that day on the trail, and Tom and her have spent nothing more than a few polite hours studying in the library since his birthday.
Things are—
Hermione is—
Something isn't right within her. There seems to be no logical explanation, but as each day passes she feels as if she loses more clarity when it comes to Tom. Eventually she got herself into such a tizzy thinking about it that she decided her best move is to just distance herself from it altogether. To give a few days to not think about it.
Even if that feels impossible sometimes. 
No matter how hard she tries, she cannot seem to separate herself anymore. It's as if the web of Tom Riddle spun around her without any permission.
"But I enjoyed some alone time as well," Hermione says.
"Not too alone, I hope." Myla smiles up at her, and it's so warm, so genuine that it burns. When was the last time Hermione didn't feel like she's playing a game where she isn't constantly monitoring or checking herself?
"Maybe," she admits. "I'm glad you and Lorraine are back." Her throat is tight and her eyes sting, but she speaks through it. "I missed you both."
---
They are three days into the new semester when the last tendrils of her sanity unravel.
She's in the library, studying by herself as she has the past few nights. It's quiet and nicely lit, and there aren't many others around since school just started back up.
A deep, horrible sense of foreboding washes over her very suddenly. So intense she drops her quill and jumps to her feet.
Dark magic is being used. Close by.
Tom.
She packs up her things quickly and drops her bag in a hidden alcove before sprinting off to the forest.
It's pitch black out— no light shining. She assumes it must be a new moon.
Her heart thuds in her chest as she sprints down the icy stone steps and into the woods, letting the earth magic lead her to the source.
And there, not far from where Tom and her had completed their own ritual, she sees it.
Nott on the ground, convulsing, and Tom standing over him.
Drenched in blood.
She stops for only a moment before rushing over.
"What did you do?"
She falls to her knees next to Nott and places a hand to his forehead. It's icy cold, but he doesn't respond to the touch.
"I didn't do anything," Tom says petulantly.
Hermione brings her wand to Nott's head and lets the healing magic flow through her. Even with all her concentration, it's not enough to make the convulsions stop completely, but they slow, turning to tremors.
"I'm not a healer. There's only so much I can help him."
"That's never seemed to be an issue with me." His eyes are cold for a moment before he stores the jealousy away.
"Tell me what happened."
"How'd you get out here?" he counters.
She snaps her head up, ready to scream, but he's completely calm— almost giddy.
Hermione hates it. The look of superiority. She wants nothing more than to wipe it off his face.
She places her wand on Nott's neck. "Rennervate."
Nott nearly jumps out of his skin, taking in great, deep wracking breaths as he sits up and looks around wildly. Tremors run through him wildly and he looks a bit green. If she'd been in her right mind, she would have known better than to pull him to consciousness.
"What's going on?" His voice is gravely, as if he'd been screaming.
"What were you doing out here?" Hermione prods. "What hurt you?"
When his eyes fall on Hermione, they're wide and panicked, but narrow quickly, as if she's greatly inconvenienced him.
"How'd you get here? Did Riddle invite you?" Nott asks. His arms shake as he braces them behind him. His eyes are cloudy, looking as if he might pass back out any moment.
She turns back to Tom. "He needs to go to the hospital wing."
"It was a ritual," Nott says after a moment. "Tom needed another and I— he picked me."
Hermione highly doubts that.
Tom comes and stands over her as she pulls out her wand to work on calming Nott's muscle tremors a bit more.
"You should have come to me if you were going to experiment," she scolds him. "You could have killed him."
"Well, he's not dead, so you can stop doting over him like he's one of your pet projects."
She snaps her eyes to him. "Pet projects?"
"Like Abraxas." His tone is venomous.
She barks out a laugh. "I think you're the closest one to a pet out of any of us."
A hand clasps over her wrist and pulls her to her feet, right against his chest.
"Watch your tone, Hermione. Unless you'd like to experience what I just found out I'm capable of."
"Nearly killing a man?" She yanks herself away. "I already knew that, thanks though."
When she reaches down to bring Nott— she still doesn't know his first name— to his feet, a strange look crosses his face and he recoils, sliding backwards desperately until his back hits a tree.
Hermione opens her mouth to ask him what's wrong when he points a shaking finger at Tom.
"Werewolf!" he screams, voice cracking and eyes wide with fear. "He's a werewolf!"
Hermione doesn't move. For a moment, she simply stares at Nott, all the frustration evident in her expression. Her hand itches for her wand and she wants nothing more than to hex a nasty spell at— someone. Maybe Tom, but Nott would do just fine.
She turns slowly to look at Tom with a raised eyebrow.
"How does he know that?"
He shrugs. Casual. Nonchalant. As if his darkest secret wasn't just revealed.
"The ritual went wrong, obviously."
She places her hands on her hips. "Well what do you plan on doing about it?"
"Torture, obviously." Tom pulls his wand out. "That will guarantee his silence."
He goes to push past Hermione, towards Nott, who has been on the ground babbling out half baked slurs and threats this entire time.
"I'll tell everyone. No one will ever take you seriously after this. A half blood and a half breed? You'll lose it all."
Hermione holds up a hand. "Stop."
His shoulders stiffen, but he listens. The snow crunches under Hermione's shoes as she slowly approaches Nott with her hands lifted in surrender, wand palmed loosely.
"Listen," she says sternly. "Let me help you."
Nott shakes his head. "Not while he's here."
She smiles softly at him. "Well, someone has to turn him in, right?"
He shifts uncomfortably, eyes flashing between hers. "And you're going to do that?"
"Of course." Her voice is quiet. Smooth. As soothing as ever. "Right after I get you to the hospital wing. But I need to heal you, just a bit. So you can stand. I can't carry you there."
A tense moment passes, but eventually Nott nods. "All right, fine. But you have to restrain him first."
"Don't worry." Hermione sinks down to her knees next to him. "He won't do anything he's not supposed to."
And just when Nott opens his mouth, she does it.
"Obliviate."
There's a flash of realization in his eyes— too late, of course— that should make Hermione feel something. But as it fades, his entire demeanor changes as the events of the night are erased from his mind completely. And she feels nothing at all.
She hasn't taken anyone's memories since that awful morning with her parents. Swore she would never be the one to alter a person's mind that ever again.
Yet, here she is. Doing it once more.
For Tom Riddle.
She lowers her wand as Nott looks around in confusion, before keeling over to the side, unconscious.
Hermione sighs. "That must have done him in." She pushes to her feet. "We need to get him to the hospital wing."
He stands silently, staring for a moment. Hermione juts her chin at Nott. "Well go on, then. I surely can't lift him myself."
Without breaking eye contact, Tom snaps his fingers and Nott is floating as if on a stretcher, making his way back to the castle unattended.
"Nott won't remember any of tonight?" he asks.
"No."
The way he stares at her feels like too much— amazed and shocked and ecstatic, as if he has just uncovered something unexpected about her.
Hermione makes her way out of the woods, scared that if she sits too still and thinks about it for too long, she might figure out what he's seen.
Might even realize he's right.
When they are up the stone steps and the light of the castle illuminates them, Hermione gets a real look at Tom.
Blood soaks through his shirt on his chest and shirt sleeves. His fingers are still wet with it.
She disillusions them before stepping foot back into the castle.
"Is all that yours?"
"Yes. Nott couldn't even get past the first step."
"Which is why you shouldn't have chosen him."
"Did you expect me to come and ask you?"
There's a playful lilt to his voice that brings on a spike of irritation.
"I assumed you were smart enough to realize I was the best choice."
The world swoops sideways as he pulls her into a different room, slamming the door shut and pushing her up against it.
Their noses touch, his eyes dark as they bore into hers.
"It was a risky endeavor."
Her breath hitches. "Less of a risk if you'd have used me."
"Perhaps." He moves down and skirts his lips over the curve of her jaw. "But not one I was willing to take."
His hands curl in the back of her robes as he pulls her hips into his. The blood from his shirt soaks through to her skin, cold enough to send a shiver down her spine.
"You cannot be so careless with your magic." He trails a line of kisses down her neck and her voice shakes. "You could have killed Nott."
His tongue licks at her pulse as his hands come up to open her top buttons. She leans into the touch, feeling light headed and very suddenly desperate.
"Nott is of no concern to me."
"But perhaps he should be."
He picks her up and carries her, and it's only then that she realizes they are in a bathroom.
He drops her down in front of the sink, his chest pressed against her back as his hands drift past her hips and below her skirt.
It's not bright in the bathroom, but there are a few lanterns lit and she can see their reflections clearly in the mirror. The blood stained finger prints at the collar of her shirt. The smears of it at her neck and collarbones.
The look in her eyes that proves how much she does not hate it. No matter how much she tries to convince herself otherwise.
"Enough about him," Tom says. "I can think of several other things I'd prefer you to put your energy towards."
His hand slips underneath the band of her underwear and she leans her head back on his shoulder, eyes falling shut for a moment.
But then Tom takes her chin between his fingers and forces her head up.
"Eyes open," he demands. "I want you to watch."
He sinks a finger inside of her and she gasps, hands bracing themselves on the sink as he pumps slowly in and out of her. She clenches desperately, but there's not enough.
"Tom," she gasps.
He pushes his hips into her ass and she feels the outline of his cock.
His hand releases her chin and travels slowly down, settling at the base of her throat and grabbing hold loosely. She lets out a whine, and Tom lifts an eyebrow.
"Naughty girl, Hermione."
Her hips move restlessly as his finger sets out at that same agonizingly slow pace he started with.
There's a different air about Tom tonight. Something that makes her feel heedy and drunk and just absolutely willing.
And Tom, perceptive as ever, has no problem filling the role she has stepped out of.
"That first time in the potion's classroom, you said you thought I'd like to punish you." He removes his hand completely and she whines, pushing back against him, searching for friction. His fingers grip tightly on her hips to still her. "Is this my chance?"
Hermione gasps as he drops to his knees behind her, flipping her skirt up into the waistband. His hands cup her ass lightly, thumbs playing with the lace of her underwear.
"Incredible," he murmurs. He pushes against Hermione's spine and bends her over the sink, so that she's eye to eye with her reflection.
Cheeks flushed. Eyes glazed over. Tom's bloody fingerprints pressed into her skin. She looks completely mindless.
The lace tears as he rips it off her, tossing it to the side and pressing his nose against her cunt.
He inhales deeply, reaching around to grab the front of her thighs and pull them harder against his face.
He sits like that for a moment, panting. Gathering himself. Hermione fights the urge to beg. The words are on the tip of her tongue. But she has not yet sunk so low, and is not ready to give him the satisfaction. So she swallows heavily and waits.
The first dip of his tongue is feather light. Not like it had been last time— there is no hesitation in the way he lays the tip against her clit.
No, he is much more sure of himself now. This time, it's all calculation. He knows exactly what he wants.
Her legs quiver, and she moves to brace more of her weight on her arms. She bites back a moan.
But Tom is full of surprises, and it feels like she can no longer predict his actions. He licks a long, firm line from her center to her clit. It's hot and wet, and her toes curl as he pulls away.
"Do you like that, Hermione?"
"Yes."
She hates how the words spill from her mouth without checking in with her brain first. How all sense seems to drain out of her and she does not care that she's losing control and giving him exactly what he wants— because for once, their goals are lined up perfectly.
He wraps his lips around her clit and sucks, and she whines, pushing her hips back. Just as she starts to think she's missing something, he sinks two fingers inside of her and crooks them just so. And it's marvelous, exactly what she wants and more, especially when he repeats it, when his other hand lets go of her hip and she's able to move freely against her face. All the while he's still toying with her clit, laying his tongue flat against it, running it over to match the speed he sets with his fingers.
When he releases, she lets out a cry, and there are actual tears in her eyes. She's so close and she feels herself fall, feels the euphoria being ripped away as his fingers pull out a bit and his pace slows.
"Do you want to come, Hermione?"
"Will you let me?" she bites back, irritation evident.
He removes his fingers completely and pushes to stand, arms wrapping around to unbutton the rest of her shirt, pulling her bra down so her breasts are exposed.
"While you look like this," he whispers, biting down on her earlobe, "anything is possible."
His hand travels down and moves in achingly slow circles against her clit. So much so that she can feel herself building and then dropping off halfway through.
Sweat beads on her forehead. She squints her eyes closed in concentration. Her throat burns from repressing moans and cries and she's so far past caring about who holds the power tonight.
"Please."
She feels his smile against her neck, but feels no shame. Just complete gratitude as he presses a bit firmer, the same way she'd told him the first time he'd ever touched her in the forest.
"I want a finger inside," she whines.
But Tom doesn't waver. "Tonight, you'll take exactly what I offer you."
And she does. Greedily. With exuberance. She comes hard enough for her legs to give out, for her world to turn upside down for a moment.
And just as she makes her way back down, she hears his belt clink open and has no time to process it before he sinks deep into her.
It's exactly what she'd been searching for before, and she doesn't care that it feels a bit like she's being used, that she's completely boneless and he could— is taking advantage of her.
He groans into her ear, hand coming up to wrap around her throat again, squeezing harder as he slowly pulls out of her.
She moans, pushing into his touch. Lets him completely take over. Never thinks for a second that he might turn and try to hurt her.
Her air is restricted, but it seems to hone in her focus— emphasises the way his hips snap against her. He's speaking, but she is only able to hear pieces.
"... made for me to do this."
"... completely mine."
"Yes," she says, because it feels like the right answer. She wants to be his. To feel like she belongs for the first time in years.
The hand around her throat releases and she gasps in a breath, falling against the sink just as Tom opens her mouth and sticks two fingers in.
"Suck," he demands, and she does. Tasting the copper of his blood, dried now but it doesn't matter. She wraps her tongue around them and he thrusts extra hard, losing control for a moment.
"Now you'll have me inside," his head lowers to the mark on her neck she is now coming to know as his. "And out."
He sinks his teeth in and she cries out, and for a moment it's all too much. Too much pleasure, too much good. It feels like the best thing in the world and that is wrong. Hermione cannot have good things.
He pulls away and pushes her flat against the sink so that her head is directly over the faucet. His words have turned into nonsense curses and perhaps, if she's hearing correctly, a bit of parseltongue as well. It's all gibberish and he pushes into her with enough force to slam her into the porcelain of the sink. Hard enough to bruise.
She can feel herself climbing, building once more and he must know it as well because he brings his fingers around and presses down on her clit, hard.
It's everything she needs, and her eyes fly open when she comes.
And as they do, she notices something awfully familiar about the sink. There's something poking out on the side of the faucet. She turns her head to get a better look.
She's moaning and her hand shakes as it reaches out to run a finger over the—
Snake.
An engraved snake.
She clenches down on him hard, and he grunts into her neck and bites down on her pulse, sucking it just as he pulls out and comes on her ass and cunt.
Her first thought is the Chamber of Secrets. She's being fucked at the sink that opens to the Chamber of Secrets.
But the thought and worry fly from her head the second he drops to his knees and licks at her, gathering up their combined release on his tongue and moaning at the taste.
Her legs feel like jelly and he reaches his hands up to support her.
Her head is heavy and eventually it falls down against her arms on the sink.
"We really shouldn't stay in here," he says, tone light.
"Nobody forced you in here."
"You did, actually." He stands and pulls her body back against his, handling her like she weighs nothing, letting her head fall back against his chest so he can bend down and soothe the angry teeth marks he had left. "With your bossy attitude. The way you manipulated Nott like it was nothing."
"It was nothing." Her voice is thick. She's never felt more spent.
"Why did you erase his memory?"
"For you," she says simply.
Tom pauses for a second before picking her up, letting her head rest against his shoulder as he carries her out.
The last thing she hears before she falls asleep is, "that's a good girl."