Lunalelle (lunalelle) wrote in lv_hg_betrayal,

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A Glass of Red Wine (1/1)

Title: A Glass of Red Wine
Pairing: Hermione/Lord Voldemort
Rating: NC-17
Warning: kind of bestiality *****
Word count: 2,740 words
Summary: The Dark Lord has looked through her mind... and what dreams he has seen...
Disclaimer: JKR would drop dead if she ever read this, but it's not mine.

Author's Note: This is in response to the fic exchange between myself and sionnain (her fic you can find at her lj as "Reflections"). Requirements: Hermione holding a snake, a bottle of wine, conversation with much witty repartee (not sure how much of that I have ^___^), and a black and white photograph. Now, this was something completely new for me, but sionnain seemed to like it (I'm guessing from the way she keeps dying). Anyway, the rating of NC-17, dark erotica, is terribly new to me, so tell me what you think.

The room was dimly lit, a candelabra behind a curtain. Hermione’s eyes adjusted slowly to the light, but drank in what little was there until she could see the way the gentle flickering waved surreally on the wall. The room was almost bare – two plain chairs, a table set with two plain wine glasses, and the bed that hid the light with its dark, heavy drapes.

She shivered, her breath swirling from between her lips and freezing in the air. She was completely unclothed, bound to the chair underneath her, and her flesh crawled with gooseflesh, turning her nipples painfully hard and causing her stomach to tighten and her fingers to clutch the back of the chair.

She did not hear it approach, but her hypersensitive skin felt the smooth, dry scales rustle brush her foot, climb up her leg, sliding in the opening between her legs because her ankles were bound to the foot of the chair. She gasped when she looked down to see the gigantic serpent slithering up her abdomen, between her breasts, around her neck. The tail was still wrapped tightly around her calf, but the rest of the snake draped about her like a living boa. But this was no boa. She could practically feel the venom oozing lazily through her veins.

The serpent’s tongue flicked against a nipple, and she jumped.

A fearful, metallic hissing startled her from behind, and the serpent pulled back. “Now, now, Nagini,” said a cold voice for her benefit. “It is not time to play yet.”

The serpent adjusted herself around Hermione’s body before resting her head casually against Hermione’s stomach.

“Do not worry about Nagini,” the voice continued. Hermione felt icy fingers undo the cords binding her to the chair. When her last ankle was free, Hermione made to run, but Nagini jerked up, fangs bared inches from Hermione’s face. “She will not bite unless you try to escape. Sit down, Hermione.”

Hermione, eyes fixed on the fierce serpent before her, obeyed. She turned around to see her captor, but he moved to quickly from her vision. She whipped back to see an ivory body slide into the chair across from hers. He set a bottle of wine on the table.

“Wha-? Who are…?” She was silenced when luminous crimson eyes opened and gazed upon her. She saw his lipless mouth and the slits for nostrils, the thinness of his frame, the flickering light of the candles lapping at his pure white skin. His mouth curved in amusement.

“The legendary Hermione Granger struck silent. Severus tells me that this is such a rare occasion.” The man leaned back, at ease with himself unarmed in Hermione’s presence. Hermione could not help but stare at him.

Lord Voldemort, the man about whom Harry had suffered nightmares and loss and pain, was naked before her.

She could not see anything below his ribs. But he sat, comfortable, relaxed, and amused, his long fingers closing around the bottle of wine and pouring the dark red liquid into the wine glasses. In the dim light, in looked almost like blood.

“Have a drink.”

Hermione looked at the wine, then looked at him.

“It isn’t poisoned,” Voldemort said, taking a drink out of his own glass.

“Tolerances can be developed,” Hermione managed to reply.

Voldemort hissed sharply, and Nagini shifted. Hermione lifted the glass to her trembling lips. If it was poisoned, it did not smell like it, or taste like it. The quality of the wine slid over her tongue, subtle, fine, strong, all-consuming. Hermione closed her eyes at the headiness that seemed to cloak her head, her senses, her mind.

“No poison,” Voldemort murmured, leaning back in his chair, looking like a moving marble statue, some snake god. His eyes were half-lidded as he watched her sway, eyes still closed. Nagini shifted in time with her movements, rubbing against her breasts, down her stomach, snout nudging gently against her sensitive skin near the top of her leg. As the diluted potion in the wine took hold of her, her legs parted at the urging.

“What… what is this?” she whispered, throwing her head back.

“A mild aphrodisiac, nothing more,” Voldemort said.

“You’re drinking it, too,” Hermione said. She let out a breath as Nagini slid down into her folds, her tongue flitting out to touch her clit.

“I am,” Voldemort replied.

“Gods, stop that,” Hermione said, face flushing in spite of the ice of the air. Her entire body felt like it was heating like a kindled furnace.

“A mild aphrodisiac, Hermione,” Voldemort repeated. “It doesn’t do much more than relax you, warm you… what is happening to you is simply you.”

“Stop, please,” Hermione gasped. Nagini was still moving back and forth against her clit, over her breasts and stomach, and now her mouth nudged against Hermione’s slick entrance.

“I can smell you, Hermione,” Voldemort hissed. “You don’t really want Nagini to stop, do you? You want my familiar to make you writhe before me. You want her to continue, don’t you? You don’t want her to stop. You want to open your legs wider for me, let me watch, watch me watch you as she brings you to your climax, beg me to fuck you when she pulls away, leaving you unsated. ”

Nagini’s mouth had moved away, and her head slid back up Hermione’s body so that the tail could creep between her legs, replace her mouth, slipping into her, little by little.

“Have another drink, Hermione,” Voldemort said.

“No,” Hermione said, reaching down and tearing Nagini away, face red. She took a deep breath, body frustrated, mind shocked. “I don’t want… don’t… stop.” Nagini wriggled in her hands until Hermione dropped her, and both her mouth and her tail slithered between her legs.

Nagini,” Voldemort said in Parseltongue. “You’ve done well, but we will finish this later. She is not ready for you yet.

Nagini withdrew, eyes a little sullen, impatient.

“Hand her to me, Hermione,” Voldemort said quietly, holding out his own hand, his fingers curving gracefully outward to her.

Hermione looked at the snake around her body, shielding her breasts from his gaze, then back at him.

“Take another drink if you need it,” he said. “The potion has already affected you – it cannot affect you any more than it already does.

Hermione looked at the blood-red wine, took a small sip before wrapping her hands around the large coils and pulling the serpent’s body away. Nagini allowed herself to be moved and extended herself to the hand reaching for her. Voldemort coaxed her nearer with a series of softer hisses that caressed Hermione’s ears. She shivered.

What is happening to you is simply you.

It can’t be me. Not… with him… no.

The serpent wrapped circles around her master’s arm, around his body like she had with Hermione. The slide of her scales whispered against his skin, and Hermione could not help watching the Nagini’s lower half wrap down his torso, below the table. Despite the cold, her body was warm, beginning to glitter in the dim light with a fine sheen of sweat. Voldemort looked at her through lazily narrowed eyes, and it was a moment before she could feel the heat of his gaze.

“I… I thought you didn’t believe in love,” Hermione said breathlessly.

“Is this love, Hermione? Do you think me capable of love? This is not love, and I do not mind indulging in it.”

“Why me?” she whispered as he stood. The wine seemed to fill her vision, swirling in glimmering scarlet. “Why did you take me? Why are you doing this… this… whatever you’re doing?”

His body, stronger than at his rebirth, smoother, well-shaped, as graceful as the sinuous movements of Nagini’s swaying head, stepped around the table.

“Take a few guesses. From what I hear about you, from what I see through Harry’s eyes, you will probably be right.”

Her gaze drifted downward, where Nagini’s tail was wrapped around his stirring cock, undulating from the tip to the base.

“Hurt Harry,” she said. Her mouth was dry.

“Always,” he replied. He lifted Hermione’s glass, dipped his finger into the wine and brought it out. Gently, he touched the finger to Hermione’s lips, tracing her lower lip with the wine. She knew he wanted her to lick it away, and she wanted to reflexively, but she couldn’t. She wouldn’t.

“Hurt Dumbledore,” she continued.

His head dipped down, his tongue catching the wine as it dripped down her chin, and she shuddered, reached up to push him away… or bring him closer.

“Always,” he murmured, so near her mouth.

“Because you can,” she whispered, the movement of her lips causing them to brush against his.

He hissed gently, taking Hermione’s hand in his. She licked her lips clean of the wine as he lifted her to her feet and wrapped an arm around her waist. Slowly, he began to dance with her.

“Always,” he whispered back, breath warm in her ear.

She could feel him against her abdomen, could feel the rhythmic undulations of Nagini’s body.

“Can’t you hear the music, Hermione?” he said, and suddenly, she could, the quickening pace of a violin, perhaps a piece by Paginini. He held her still closer, twirling them about in the mad dance, the slide of Nagini’s body stroking her own body, twisting about her and him, encircling them both, drawing them together until they moved like one body, until they burned, until the frigid air meant nothing and they swam in a curtain of scarlet and a haze of wine.

“Why did you take me?” the last vestiges of her reason asked again, almost too softly to be heard.

“Because you wanted me,” he murmured. “Why do you think the wine worked? Why do you think that you are here in my arms, open and wet for me. I can taste your arousal, Hermione. You’ve had dreams, haven’t you? When you heard of my power from your precious Harry Potter, you were more intrigued than you admitted to yourself. When you caressed your breasts in the dark of your dormitory with the curtains drawn, when you twisted your nipples to the point of pain, when you fucked yourself with your fingers, in the back of your mind, you saw me behind your eyelids, even if you didn’t know it. You cannot hide yourself from me, Hermione – your mind is as open as a book that you devour so passionately.”

“Why did you want me? The wine…”

“Because I watched you through Harry’s mind. Not only will this destroy them, but I knew you wanted me, and that itself was powerful. When Harry was confounded by your passion, I exulted. You are wasted with Potter – he has no appreciation for your talents. He thinks you follow him like a bitch when there is this lovely woman I see before me, formidable, powerful, radiant with youth and life. A radiance hidden by the undeserved light of the Boy Who Lived.”

The music culminated to a shriek, and Voldemort held her close as he danced them to the bed, through the drapes, and they were a tangle of limbs on the sheets. Nagini slithered away without their notice as Voldemort lowered his head to her breast. Hermione arched into the swirl of tongue and gentle tug of teeth.

“Is this what you dream when you touch yourself?” he hissed as he nipped along her collarbone. Her nails dug into his back as his teeth drew blood. “Is this what you see when you scream your release, when you lick your own juices from your fingers because you are too ashamed?” His fingers pinched and stroked her clit, not like Nagini’s slow caresses, but fast and rough until her hips thrust up toward his and muffled whimpers escaped her lips.

She held his head between her hands and pulled him down until they were lost in a battle of tongue and teeth, both tasting blood and not caring from whom it came.

“Is this what you wanted?” he growled, violently plunging his fingers into her, catching her moans in his mouth.

“No,” she breathed as he kissed her neck, biting down swiftly, until she quivered around his fingers.

She wrapped her leg around his and flipped them over. She bent over and licked around one nipple until it tightened. She took it between her teeth, and he removed his fingers, clutching her hip tightly.

“Hermione,” he groaned, and she took his cock in her hand, rubbing the head with her thumb. He fell back against the pillows when she closed her mouth around him and sucked before running the tip of her tongue along the vein underneath down to his balls.

“This was what I wanted,” she said as she raised herself up and brought herself down onto him – she winced, but her pain was his pleasure. At the feel of her slick, soft, and clenching around him, Voldemort pushed her underneath him again.

“It was all for me, Hermione,” he hissed. “Always for me. You never saw anyone else. You always screamed for me.” He pushed into her without any regard for her virginity. But Hermione’s pain left swiftly the harder he thrust, because pain was the pleasure, because their bodies were stained with blood, because she remembered her solitary nights in the dormitory when she had seen that cloaked face as stars burst behind the darkness of her eyelids.

“For me, Hermione.” Her entire back arched up from the bed with every violent thrust. “I have always been your master. You betrayed him long before you knew you did. Always for me. Always. Always. Hermione.”

“My lord,” she cried, clenching around him.

He came before her, but her climax pulled at him, and he could watch her face, see the flash of light that she did not quite miss. Voldemort pulled back.

“Thank you, Nagini, for fetching Wormtail for me,” he said smugly. Hermione’s eyes opened wide, skin still flushed and smeared with sweat and blood, and she sat up to see Wormtail grinning at her and handing Voldemort a photograph.

“I shall treasure it always,” Voldemort mocked, showing the black and white picture to her. Hermione watched in horror as she saw herself come again and again, saw herself silently saying ‘my lord’ over and over again, an unmistakable piece of evidence of her… betrayal.

“Oh god,” she whispered.

“It only gets better,” he said, smiling his terrible smile, and he gestured to the other side of the bed, where the curtains had been drawn to reveal the candelabra and a mirror in which two boys were shouting silently – she could imagine every obscenity and insult.

“Harry, Ron,” she said, the words almost too quiet to hear.

“You could not see them or hear them, but they witnessed everything, every word you said, every confession of your secret infatuation,” Voldemort said before leaning down and murmuring in her ear, “You can never go back. You have always been mine.”

His eyes glowed in the back of her mind, and she could hear echoes of laughter.


“Yes, Hermione.” He licked gently at the blood dripping down her chin, just as he had with the wine. And just as with the wine, which had run its course, she shivered with warmth. Her body betrayed her, responding to his nearness and the purr of his voice. “Your curiosity has always been too great, and you would never have been able to stay trapped in the confines of their myopic vision. You’ve always been better than them, and you’ve always known who was going to win. And you will help me, Hermione.”

“No,” she whispered, even as her attention drifted from the mirror and her friends to the fingers trailing lazily against her breast.

“Wormtail, you are dismissed,” Voldemort said, eyes locking with hers. “Thank you for your assistance.” Voldemort put the photograph on the pillow.

“I love Harry, and I won’t…” Hermione began, even as her body began to move against his again.

“Yes, you will, little girl,” Voldemort said. He bit the bloody part of her neck, and she hissed. He knew it was not from pain as her hands slid against his chest. “Yes, you will.”

He kissed and licked his way down her body, and when she was crying his name, his head buried between her thighs, the mirror shattered.

Needless to say, this isn't going anywhere near the Anthology at either Fiction Alley or ff.n, although I might try the Restricted Section.



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