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AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm really sorry guys for the long update! It's taking me a long time to write my stories now. I'm such an OC person that I usually end up more than a week or even a month in trying to convey my ideas into words, plus I had this habit in adding more and more details. I don't know what fuck happened to this chapter, but I have already written it and so I'm going to post it no matter how bad this chapter turned out.

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WARNINGS: GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE, BLOOD, GORE, AND RAPE. DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO THIS.

Hermione woke up to the feeling of pain blossoming on her left hand. Gingerly, she peeled her eyes opened and found out - to her complete dismay - that she was in the same room. She had desperately hoped that she was in some kind of nightmare, a nightmare that her disturbed mind had conjured up.

But it was not to be.

Hermione was really there, held captive by the very much alive and young Voldemort.

How was it possible? How was I able to travel back in time? The only thing Hermione recalled was being engulfed by a white light after she had taken the rock from Luna's hands.

And where was the rock now? What happened to it?

These questions ran through her mind while she slowly sat up from her curled position on the floor. The chains on her wrists and ankles clinking noisily as she directed her attention to the fresh wound that appeared on her left knuckle.

Hermione closely examined the injury. The back of her left hand was badly scraped and bruised. Blood trickling out from the open wound. Biting her lower lip, she felt the sting when her fingertips grazed against the abrasions.

A moment later, she flinched when her fingers encountered the thin bits of skin clinging like a flap on the red scrapes on her knuckle. One skin around her knuckle had been peeled clean off, revealing only redness and blood. Apart from the abrasions, the surrounding area was red and swelling. It would become purplish, or yellowish-green bruise when it was not tended to at once.

It hurt, but it was nothing compared to the excruciating pain she had suffered at the hands of her captor. Likely, judging from the depth of the wound, Tom Riddle must have punched a wall repeatedly to cause such extensive damage on the epidermis and the underlying dermis beneath.

Hermione wondered what made him do such a thing…

oooOOOooo

Hours later….

The wound on her left hand was gone. It was only there for no more than thirty minutes when it suddenly vanished; a clear indication that the bastard had healed it. Though it was still unclear what had caused the obvious self-inflicted injury, for it was certainly not a result from an accident.

Later, with nothing to do in her improvised cell, Hermione had then spent her time surveying the room, examining the chains on her wrists and ankles, as well as the iron rings melded to the dark oak floorboards, trying to search for a way to exploit a weakness that she could use to free herself.

But Hermione found nothing.

After nearly an hour of inspecting the chains with meticulous care, she discovered that Tom Riddle had made it specifically for her.

It was unbreakable, warded and could only be removed by the man himself.

Meanwhile, the iron ring and the rest of the room were intricately interwoven with layers upon layers of magical wards. It was so strong that Hermione felt the prickle of it against her skin every time she fidgeted. Her movements were carefully monitored.

No doubt that she would have a hard time escaping from there.

The room was thoroughly secured.

Regardless, Hermione was not giving up just yet. Even when the odds were stacked against her, she was going to use whatever it takes to get out from there. Hence, she bidded her time, silently waiting for her captor to enter her cell so that she could enact her plans.

Yet he never did…

Hermione didn't know how many hours had passed by. She didn't know whether it was morning, afternoon or evening when there was no window in her cell to see a hint of sunlight creeping across the walls to determine the time.

Her stomach grumbled; it had been grumbling for a while now. She was getting hungry and her lips were parched from the thirst.

Instinctively, Hermione knew that Tom Riddle was not planning to provide her with food or water at all.

Is he planning to starve me to death? She wondered, but after a period of contemplation. She deduced that it was probably not his main intention.

He must be doing this for a different reason altogether, other than physically weakening her.

Seeing that they had this odd connection between them, surely he wouldn't want to subject himself to suffer the same effects as her?

If I am to go on days without food or water, it will affect him as well right? A frown marred Hermione's brows as she pondered it over, sifting through her memories and taking out the profile that she had compiled regarding the man who held her captive.

Based from the information that she had recently gathered and remembered from what Harry and Ginny had told her, as well as her observations when Voldemort had been alive and in power, Hermione knew for a fact that Voldemort didn't do things without a good reason.

He is doing this on purpose to test how far this connection goes between us. Perhaps to find a way out from this unknown curse when the truth is no longer forthcoming. She critically perceived. Obviously, he will never believe me, especially now that he knows I'm a muggleborn.

If that's the case, she might as well focus on surviving.

Hermione mentally calculated her chances of survival, recalling from her readings that humans were said to survive 3-4 weeks without food and 3-5 days without water.

However, without both, they could die within three days or even less. The same thing could happen to Hermione if she wasn't going to do anything about it.

Did Tom Riddle think that I was going to sit here idly and wait for him to give me crumbs from his table, like an obedient little dog? If he is, then he had another thing coming.

Probably she was going to allow the despicable man to play the jailer for a few more hours, but no more than that. The lack of food and water would certainly sapped what remained of her energy, which would be a hindrance when Hermione would try to escape from there.

She needed her full strength when it was time to launch an attack, and her only chance of freedom was through that door.

Nonetheless, the only way it would open was if Hermione could somehow lure Tom Riddle into the room with her, and the key to accomplishing this task was using the element of surprise.

A plan bloomed inside her mind. All Hermione needed to do was execute it in perfect timing and exact precision.

She must anticipate for any possible scenarios.

Hermione must be ready.

Her legs had gotten numb from the lack of mobility, so Hermione stretched her legs in front of her and started extending and flexing them, the chains jangling and sliding across the floor in tandem with her feet. She felt the pins and needles sensation as the blood rushed down and began circulating in her legs.

Once she had regained the normal blood circulation in her lower limbs, Hermione sat down in sitting position that she could easily launched herself to her feet, and started examining the iron chains that connected her cuffs wrapped securely around her wrists.

It was roughly a meter in length, a good size for what she had in mind. Nonetheless, if it had been too loose, then it still wouldn't matter to her. Hermione had to merely wrap the extra chain links around her wrists to shorten it, and it would serve its purpose.

Soon after, she tested the chains. It clang loudly when she pulled it tautly between her hands, familiarizing the cool and smooth metal and searching for the best area to clasp on.

Fortunately, dehydration didn't make her palms sweaty, which allowed Hermione to have a firm grip on her improvised weapon.

She licked her parched lips. Swallowing hard, she ignored the persistent growling of her hungry stomach.

Now, it was the time to enact her plans.

Hermione slowly pushed out her tongue in between her teeth, feeling the flat edges of her upper and lower teeth scraping against it, and thinking all the while:

Do not hesitate. Never hesitate. You must do whatever it takes to escape from here. If you stay here for long, he will know your secret... Do not let him have it, or you will have no future to get back to.

Breathing sharply through her nose, and silently praying to Merlin that her plan would work, Hermione opened her mouth wide, and snapped her teeth shut, biting her tongue Hard.

Instant agony exploded from where Hermione had bitten. The soft flesh of her tongue giving way as her central and lateral incisors pierced through it, although not enough to completely snip the tip of her tongue, but it was certainly enough to draw Riddle's attention.

Blood flooded Hermione's mouth, which she belatedly thought, quenched her thirst. She swallowed a bit of it down her parched throat.

Nonetheless, since the tongue contained a number of blood vessels and nerve endings, the person could potentially die from blood loss when it was severed completely.

However, if Hermione wasn't careful, the dangerous amount of blood rushing down her throat would probably do a good job of clogging her lungs and choking her to death.

Hermione didn't plan to die that way.

Hence, she leaned forward, her mouth opening wide and allowing the blood to come pouring down her chin and towards the dark oak wooden floor. The tip of her tongue, one and half inch of it, was hanging limply from her mouth. The deep cut throbbed painfully and persistently, but Hermione ignored the pain in favour of the burgeoning need to get away from there.

Warm liquid continued to fill her mouth - thick and heavy. She sensed it trickling down her jaw and towards the growing pool of blood in front of her.

Drip - Drip – Drip

Watching the red drops fall, Hermione waited for her captor to come and investigate.

For certain, Tom Riddle must be experiencing the same thing as her.

No sooner than she thought of it, the door to her prison cell opened with a loud BANG!. The wall and the doorframe shook from the force of it, and in walked her nightmare.

Evidently, the bastard had staunch most of the bleeding with a cloth pressed between his lips. The cloth was sodden and tinted red. Blood speckled his chin, down his neck and stained the front of his navy blue, buttoned up long-sleeved shirt.

He looked murderous with rage when he strode towards her, his wand already out and pointing. But he couldn't speak, not with the tip of his tongue nearly cut in half, and especially not with that piece of fabric stuffed inside his mouth.

Inwardly, Hermione felt a tickle of gratification at his forced silence.

She waited for him to come near her, still leaning downward and letting the blood out from her mouth along with a string of saliva. Hermione must be a grisly sight to behold, with the tip of her tongue hanging limply by a thin shred of flesh from the lacerated area, her mouth and chin covered in scarlet, while in front of her lay a small puddle of her own blood. She must looked like she came from a cheap horror movie.

The psychopath halted in front of her, ignoring the pool of scarlet as he stepped over it.

No words were spoken.

Although the tendril of his dark, malevolent magic was enough to tell her that Tom Riddle was close to killing her right there. Palpable and suffocating, his malignant magic nearly made Hermione wanted to balk from the weight of it.

With her still kneeling down, he yanked her hair hard and position her head in a certain angle that would allow him to heal her tongue.

Hermione's eyes watered at the painful grip on her hair and scalp, but like everything else, she paid it no mind.

She must escape from him.

Forcefully and without hesitation, she tagged her head from his hand, tagging hard until she felt a flare of pain erupting from her scalp when some of her hair was ripped from the roots. Yet she did not yield, despite him trying to pull her hair violently back, pressing the tip of his wand into her tongue.

It stung as the wood accidentally nudged against the cut. A moment after, she felt a warm tingling sensation there, and realized that Riddle had just use a non-verbal spell to heal the wound.

Nonetheless, she didn't wait for the gash to knit back together because she was already on the move.

This was what she had planned all along: to let him heal her first before attacking.

Fast as her body would allow, she launched herself at him, her teeth bared like a feral animal and bit on his hand, just below his thumb. She sank her teeth deeply until she felt his warm blood bursting into her mouth.

His wand clattered to the floor.

She heard him shout, but the piece of cloth inside his mouth, stifled most of it. A second later, Hermione ripped her teeth away from his hand while more blood oozed from her mouth and down her chin. Belatedly, she felt the same injury appearing on her left hand.

She spat out his blood into the floor just as Tom Riddle spat the handkerchief from his bloodied mouth.

He started shouting at her then, his words garbled and incoherent, most likely his tongue hadn't completely healed yet like hers as he made a grab for her.

"Yo mavad betch! Yo vel pie -"

That was what all Hermione needed, him leaning down towards her with his tall frame bending slightly. She needed him in the same eye-level as her.

Buoyed by the sense of sheer desperation, Hermione propelled herself to her feet, slamming the top of her head at the bottom of his jaw. She heard the unmistakable clack as his teeth and jaw snapped shut, then she saw him stagger back.

But Hermione was still moving.

With her chains clanking loudly, Hermione leapt towards the wand on the floor, hope kindling inside her when her fingertips brushed the bone white handle.

Freedom just within her grasp…

Then, Tom Riddle crushed that hope by slamming right into her, tackling her from behind.

They both fell down.

CRASH!

The wand slipped from her fingers and rolled away towards the far wall.

The unexpected move knocked the breath out from Hermione when she found herself flattened on the ground, her face pressing against the wooden floor boards.

Still dazed after her forehead had hit the floor, Hermione lost a few precious seconds in trying to orient herself, which gave her captor the time to immobilize her.

The bastard pushed her head further down. The weight of his hand crushing the side of her face flat against the rough wood. At the same time, Hermione felt his weight shifting on her back, using his bulk to incapacitate her and straddling her effectively to secure her in place.

From the corner of Hermione's eye, she watched him leaned down, his eyes burned ruby red while his visage had turned absolutely savage.

In a flash, she started bucking and wriggling against him, trying to dislodge him from her back, using her hands to claw and rake whatever part of him she could reach behind her. She twisted a bit, half-facing him to provide her a good visual of her human scratching post.

They struggled and grappled in silence. The sounds of their heavy breathing, gasping and grunting was the only noises they could emit when their tongue was still knitting slowly.

Hermione was able to grasp a handful of Riddle's hair for a fraction of a second. Even so, as slippery as a snake he hailed from, he easily slithered away from her grip. His dark wavy locks too silky and too short for her to grasp unto.

As he moved away, her other hand found the side of his neck. She tried to scratch him with her short nails. But like before, he eluded and instead her hand grasped the collar of his shirt.

She wrenched the cloth apart, hearing it tore wide open while a few buttons popped out from his shirt. A button dropped down the middle of her shoulder blades, some went flying and tumbling onto the floor with a distinctive clatter.

Riddle reacted by pressing heavily down on her once more, his strong and merciless hands took hold of her wrists and snapped them close together. And with the use of one hand wrapped around her wrists, he slammed her arms on the floor just above her head, and restrained her right there.

Hermione hissed at the jarring sensation from her arms, though she hadn't stopped twisting and turning underneath him. She felt his legs clamping closely on her to stop her movements, where his knees accidentally brushed against the sides of her breasts.

At once, she froze, awareness flooding her senses at their compromising position.

There was a trickle of alarm shooting up her spine when she realized how defenceless she was in that moment.

Wearing only a rag, almost the same cloth Dobby had worn when he was still alive, Hermione suddenly felt vulnerable. The thin grey clothing didn't provide the necessary barrier that she really needed. With the lack of sleeves and its mid-thigh length, she was as good as naked. Even when she still wore her black underclothes beneath the drab grey cloth, but it was not enough to assure her.

If the thought ever cross his mind, Riddle could just as easily tear the cheap fabric from neck to hem, and be done with it and her. Nonetheless, once more, Hermione curbed her worries down, allowing her mind to work rapidly to divert her attention back to more pressing matters.

Fortunately, the man himself was too furious to notice anything, seemingly regaining the ability to talk.

He didn't waste his time using this new found ability to spit vitriol on her.

"You little bitch! You dare to touch my wand?!" He hissed, his voice had gone deep and low from both his unadulterated fury and the promise to exact retribution. "You?! A mudblood?!"

Hermione whimpered when he forcefully pulled her head back by the roots of her hair, his lips pressing at the shell of her ear and growling in rage.

"How dare you sully my wand with your filthy hands?! Someone like you have no right to touch it! No right to use magic! I will make you bleed for what you tried to do! You piece of filth!"

Pretend to comply with him. Make him let his guard down. Arrogant men like him, who only desires power, usually underestimates his enemies. A cold part of her said, abruptly pursing her lips tight to muffle her grunts of protest and pain when her hair was pulled cruelly back.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" Hermione cried out. She didn't struggle, but started sobbing instead...fake sobbing. "I'm really sorry! I only wanted to escape! You must understand! I don't want to stay -"

"Silence!"

Agony exploded on the left side of Hermione's face the instant Tom Riddle smashed her head down on the floor. Her cheekbone felt like it had fractured at the impact.

She gasped, and then groaned shortly, when pain arched up from her cheek after she had tried to grimace. A few real tears fell from her eyes this time due to the pain, and perhaps frustration for failing to throw off the man behind her.

In that instance, Hermione had never felt something as strong and seething as hatred for any other human being like she felt for Tom Riddle. It made her stomach curdle from the strength of it, making her insides writhe with the desire to hurt, and hurt, and see her tormentor suffer the same fate as her.

She wanted to see him spilling rivers of blood on the ground, to taste his delicious pain on her tongue, smell the scent of his terror on his skin, and to hear him beg for her forgiveness until his pleas would become nothing but music to her ears.

Hermione wanted every bit of him destroyed, and him completely under her mercy.

But as fast as it came to her, the dark thoughts disappeared just as quickly. She didn't know where it came from to begin with. Yet it left her a bit shaken when she had thought about purposely hurting someone, even when that person had tortured her and continued to do so until now.

She was brought back to the present when Riddle suddenly said.

"You're sorry?! Do you think I want to hear your weak apologies?!" He snarled at her, jerking her head sharply up. "Tell me, mudblood... How much pain can you endure in one day? Because evidently, I'm sorry is not enough to satisfy me after you just bit your bloody tongue, and as a result, injure me as well!"

He twisted her head so that he could look her in the eyes.

Hermione let him, still waiting for the best opportunity to attack, in the meantime she needed to catch her breath and recuperate.

With her eyes watering from the persistent throbbing pain of her scalp, she met her captor's eyes head-on, glaring into his pair of lapis lazuli orbs. The deepest blue eyes she had ever seen.

Once more, Riddle turned her head back and shoved the side of her face against the floor. Her left cheek smarting from the pressure as it was forced into.

"Nothing to say, mudblood? No other words to impart before we begin?"

Almost instantly, Hermione's throat tightened with dread, but at the same time, her eyes flashed with new found resolve.

The fight was not over yet. It had only just began.

Not every battle can be won through violence. Your body can be as good as any deadly weapon. Wield it as you might wield a sharp dagger. It is a hidden blade that no man can resist, utilize it to your advantage, strike with it when it is time to strike, and all your enemies shall drop dead like flies before they knew what struck them from behind.

That had what she had read about the history of Amazonian witches when it came to using their bodies as a weapon. Apart from being trained for combat, they were also honed in the bedroom arts that they utilized for spying and seduction mission. Perhaps Hermione could use this on Tom Riddle. She recalled how he had reacted to her, when she had accidentally pressed her body against his the first time he had tortured her.

He had been furious, yes, but that event had been enough to remind Hermione that beneath Tom Riddle's cold exterior, he was still a virile man, capable of lust and susceptible to succumb in the baser needs of men.

Hermione could use it to her advantage. With this unusual connection between them, and plus that uncontrollable attraction that sometimes rise up at an inconvenient time, she knew that Riddle wouldn't be able to stop himself from responding to her. It would be enough to distract and destabilize him.

Still, Hermione could only hope that it wouldn't undermine her judgement as well.

Even when the thought disturbed her, Hermione began bucking and writhing against him, purposely pushing her butt close to her nemesis groin.

"No, please don't! I will do anything you ask!" she cried out, finally setting her plans in motion.

Almost at once, Tom Riddle stiffened behind her.

She felt his thighs flexed involuntarily on either side of her and knew instantly that her plan must be working. Nonetheless, Hermione felt a bit disquiet at her observation.

To make it more convincing, Hermione start making sobbing noises and forcing tears into her eyes in spite of being mildly dehydrated. She felt the prickling of moisture in her eyes, but no more than that.

"If you want, I promise I will be good! I swear I will! Tell me what you want, and I will do it! Anything! Just please, please don't torture me!"

For nearly ten seconds, Riddle remained deathly silent and frozen at her back, his hands were tensed but remained implacable as he gripped her wrists and clumps of her hair.

Shortly…

"Anything?" he asked at last in an odd and quite whisper. A tone that was dangerous in itself.

Very dangerous.

"You will do anything for me, if I ask you to?"

Hermione shivered. The inflection in Riddle's voice spoke volumes of what truly awaited her if she agreed.

Since she knew that catching him unawares was her one-way ticket to freedom, she had to agree.

"Yes, anything you want."

Lies.

Suddenly, Tom Riddle laughed; a dark, derisive laughter that tickled Hermione's senses, making her pause temporarily as she listened to it.

That must be our odd connection talking. She thought to herself, trying not to react when his laughter turned into low masculine chuckles.

Hearing the future Dark Lord laugh was like hearing the low rumbling thunderclouds in the skies. It was ominous and pernicious, yet... captivating at the same time. It had a pleasant quality to it, and Hermione knew she would have stopped and listened to it at one point... If only it didn't belonged to the monster, who loved to hurt her so much…

"And what made you think that I couldn't just use an Imperius Curse on you to get what I want?" Riddle smoothly inquired, his voice dark as velvet; unfeeling and acerbic. "To compel you to do something without your permission? To control your mind as well as your body? After all, you are nothing but a weak, pathetic, little mudblood girl, with no one else to save you."

Hermione nearly panicked, when Riddle suddenly moved his hips down and pressed something hard against her.

Oh no, oh no, came Hermione's frantic thoughts, her heart thudding erratically in her chest.

There was in no doubt now that her action earlier had completely aroused him. If the bulge straining inside his trousers was any indication, then Hermione was stupid to think that she wouldn't get intimidated by something equally mortifying and horrifying like a man's erection.

She could sense him right through the thin fabric of her rags and the knickers she was wearing, and the feeling of his manhood right there made Hermione's stomach coil with dread, and something else that she couldn't identify.

Calm down, calm down, this is just the part of the plan. You need him distracted from strapping you up like a piece of lamb and start torturing you. You need all your wits intact, and your limbs unrestrained. You won't have another opportunity like this to take him unawares unless you attack him without weighing the risk.

She didn't need to pretend to be shaken, when she was already unnerved as it is.

Nevertheless, she purposely made her voice sound weak when she said: "Ye - yes, you could always try to do that, but are you sure it's going to work?" Hermione's voice shook slightly as she decided to go along with the distasteful deed in using her nonexistent feminine wiles.

Gulping down the lump on her throat, she deliberately and slowly pushed herself against that hardness pressing against her.

She was rewarded by Riddle freezing above her once more.

Hermione hid the furious blush dusting her cheeks by placing her forehead on the floor. And with a boldness that even surprised her, she didn't stop wriggling against his length until she could hear Riddle's ragged breathing. "The Imperious Curse mi - might not even work like the other curses that - that you have tried on me…." she stammered, licking her dry lips and tasting blood there.

She had nearly forgotten about the wound she had inflicted upon herself. Nonetheless, despite the gruesome reminder, the blood didn't disturb her as much as it did.

"Oh? What made you so sure about that? Is it because you were truly responsible for casting this unknown spell on me, that you still kept on denying about?" she heard him murmur right next to her ear, his breath blowing wisp of hair against the side of her face that made Hermione shiver for a different reason.

Then, without warning, Riddle pried her legs apart with his knee, and pushed his leg directly between her thighs, hiking the hem of her rags up as easily as he had conjured it from the air.

Hermione stilled at his move, her insides knotting tightly.

"Don't try to light up a fire that you can't extinguish… girl, or you will find yourself more than a burnt mark on your hand," he mocked in disdain, his knee slowly moving further up until he was rubbing against the very centre of her. "I am not easily seduced as you might think. So stop trying to fool me."

Hermione trembled, her body tensing. Fear and indecision warred within her mind, whether to go through with the plan or not.

"Now, have you finally regain your senses? Or do you still plan to play with fire, mudblood?" he taunted softly, threateningly, toying with her by pressing his thigh dangerously close to her. Even with the cloth that separated their skin, he still felt hot as a furnace.

"And if I do?" she countered, pressing right back at him daringly and getting an immense satisfaction, when she heard his sharp inhalation.

In the end, Hermione leaped into the flames, prepared to get burnt and consumed by it, so long as she managed to escape after.

"Like I said, I will do anything you ask, just please don't hurt me."

"Why would I accept your service? As if you have something remarkable to offer, " Riddle remarked sardonically. "I have no need of servants. I can just as easily hire house elves for that if I wanted to. You, on the other hand….apart from being a mudblood, and too short and skinny for my taste. You are not even fit to be in my presence, much less serve me in any way -"

"But I do have something to offer," Hermione interrupted, thinking fast. What the hell am I even saying? What can I really offer him?... Just bloody distract him!

Men are visual creatures. She vaguely recalled hearing Lavender Brown saying this to the girls during their sixth year. One carefully chosen word or more, can drive a man mad with lust. The more sordid the detail is, and you'll have them wrap around your finger.

"Really?" Hermione heard Tom Riddle sneered.

"Yes, I have," her response came out more of a squeak, feeling quite shocked when another leg began spreading her thighs wide open, while the other one was still purposely nudging her right there that sent some hot and fiery jolts straight into her core from the contact.

Hermione trembled, biting her lips. Don't be afraid. He's just toying with you... trying to intimidate and terrify you.

"What is it then?"

"I have a talented tongue!" she blurted out the first thing that came to her mind, which was what she remembered hearing some of the girls talking about in school.

Hermione knew the girls hadn't been talking about kissing, so this must be something that guys like most of all, something to do with the tongue, which she hadn't had the opportunity to explore with her boyfriend.

After she had said it, Tom Riddle seemed to have gone stiff as a board behind her.

Briefly, Hermione felt a surge of triumph at his reaction, feeling that she had accomplished the task to keep surprising him.

However, unexpectedly, a familiar rumbling laughter filled the small space between them once more, which had Hermione blinking stupidly in confusion.

Riddle let go of her hair. This would have been a good chance to try to escape from him but Hermione was completely flabbergasted.

The sound of laughter ceased, breaking Hermione from her state of absolute puzzlement.

"Yes, a talented tongue indeed, that you just nearly bit off," Tom Riddle said drolly, dark amusement lacing every syllable, followed by a scathing comment when he added,

"Merlin, mudblood! Stop embarrassing yourself! Your attempts to seduce me is beyond laughable."

Scarlet flooded Hermione's cheeks, which she tried to hide by covering them with the curtain of her hair. It seemed her inexperienced with men was not helping her with this situation.

She might as well forgo the thought of using her body to distract him completely, and use another tactic. Although some of the plan must be working because Riddle hadn't made a move yet to retrieve his wand, which was still lying on the floor near the wall.

In the past minutes, he had only been using his hands and strength to restrain her. Did Riddle get off at overpowering and dominating someone smaller than him? He probably did.

"How many men have you been with?" Tom Riddle asked her all of a sudden. "Five? Six?"

Hermione needn't ask to know that Riddle wasn't solely asking how many men she had dated.

"What is it to you?" she said warily, and was startled when she felt his leg began moving against her again, deliberately grazing over the entrance to her womb.

Apparently, Riddle hadn't given up in using this tactic to scare her out of her wits, and probably delighting in this kind of fear that he could incite from her.

But Hermione wasn't going to give in to his cruel games.

"Just answer the damn question," was Riddle's tight and curt reply, still rubbing against that part of her that elicited an unwanted current of pleasurable shocks.

"Three," she lied and started squirming for real this time, annoyed when her body instinctively started responding to him without her permission.

Hermione's stomach coiled with something akin to anticipation while intense heat began to pool deep within her belly.

Perhaps it's time to stop with this ruse. Hermione thought as her body started to betray her. I know he's doing this to prove his point, but this is just getting too dangerous...I must act fast before this could get out of hand.

No, not yet. Some part of her objected. It's not the right time.

Then, when?

Then, she felt Riddle's free hand on her hip. Large and masculine, like everything about him.

It felt like his hand was burning through the rags she was wearing.

"Only three?" he murmured close to her ear while his hand kneaded her hip.

"Yes," she managed to choke out, trying to ignore the sensation of his leg rubbing against her centre, which made Hermione feel unusually hot and getting damp down there fast.

"Hmn, why am I even surprise? When you have such impure blood after all?"

She twitched, anger kindling inside her.

Yes, someone with impure blood, whom you happen to be pressed against with at the moment, you despicable son-of-a-cur! she wanted to snap back, and was about to start fighting her way out of him, when –

No, wait!

At once, Hermione froze. That cold part of her mind was back to counsel her yet again.

Let him do this.

Why?

His attention is almost completely diverted, and that could prove to be useful to you, if you let him –

No!

Don't be a fool! If you wanted to successfully escape from him, then use this means to keep him preoccupied with something else. He is already getting distracted as it is. Look how he failed to retrieve his wand immediately because of you. Make him lose all his concentration. Temptation is the most potent weapon a woman could use to a deadly effect. A man who can't have, whom he perceives as someone forbidden, is as destructive as any lethal poison. When it is applied correctly, it will silently destroy your opponent from within. A silent killer if you will, which you must utilize and learn first-hand.

After thinking it through, and weighing the pros and cons without delay, Hermione decided to set this new plan in motion.

Riddle's hand was moving again. There was a draft of air when he lifted the hem of her drab clothing up until she was exposed from the waist down, revealing her lower torso to his gaze; from her firm round buttocks covered by a pair of black satin knickers, her lean thighs, toned legs, skinny ankles, and of course, that part of her which had grown moist after Riddle had been stimulating it for a while.

The strange connection they had was potent as it was unyielding. It inevitably rose up and wrapped around their minds, holding them captive and made them unable to resist to its demands.

The atmosphere was still thick with violence, antagonism, and torment. It was a silent clash of negative emotions, a rioting and cloying energy; volatile and palpable. Yet the strong mysterious bond she and Riddle had, couldn't even differentiate what was between bloodlust and lust. For they were forced to disregard one emotion in favour of the other.

They were driven to acknowledge the thing they wanted to deny.

The call of Lust.

Even when they were both bloody, dishevelled, slightly injured, and a bit sweaty from their brief scuffle, they didn't care. Pain connected them together. They share every bruises, scars, and other wounds that appeared on their body, but never the blood that clung to their skin.

Despite Hermione's muggleborn heritage, it didn't stop Tom Riddle from desiring her.

For approximately ten seconds, no one moved. All was quiet except for the sound of their harsh breathing. At the same time, a thick, electrifying tension now hanged over their heads, and around the room, like a cluster of lightning-streaked nimbus clouds.

"Why the sudden meek behavior, mudblood?" Riddle queried, almost suspiciously.

Hermione could feel his free hand skimming the curve of her butt, testing her resolve and trying to see if she was going to break under his touch.

Hermione didn't, even when he started stroking and caressing her butt, massaging it in firm measured strokes that had her stomach tightening in anticipation, and her thighs trembling with the need to rub them together and alleviate the ache building up at her core.

She could almost feel Riddle's piercing blue eyes staring at the back of her head.

She willed herself to remain where she was, stalwart and unmoving; and allowing him to do whatever he wanted to, even when all Hermione desired was to scoot away from him and ignore her body's traitorous response towards his masterful and sensual ministrations.

"I am doing this because that's what you would have wanted me to. I am all yours to command, so long as I won't be at the receiving end of either of your wand... or your hand."

Another lie. Hermione wasn't going to stay there long enough to see whether he was going to hurt her or not.

"Such a tempting offer, which I might need a day to consider...," she heard him drawl.

"However, in the meantime, why don't I see how far you are willing to play this game, hmn? Ready to get your hands burn, mudblood?" He said arrogantly, his voice taking a gruff quality to it, almost like a predatory growl.

Gradually, she sensed his hand drifting lower and lower, leaving a hot trail on Hermione's body. The warmth of his hand searing through her thin clothing.

Let him have a taste of you, but don't let him take you completely. It came as a warning in her head.

"I'm certain that I'm not the one who's going to get their hands burn - ," she mumbled quietly... too quietly for Riddle to hear.

You should know better than to leap into the fire with me, Riddle. Hermione thought.

But no sooner than she thought of it, her breathing hitched when she felt the faintest brush of his fingers right against her sex.

Dazedly, Hermione heard Riddle's sibilant hiss the instant his fingers encountered her drenched knickers. She felt his hips rocking against hers in instinct, as if he wanted to take her right then and there.

Hermione trembled, reluctantly getting aroused.

In that moment, she knew that she had drawn his attention to her successfully, but it was not enough.

She needed him completely blinded.

Riddle began to probe her right through her undergarment; a shudder came unbidden through Hermione when she felt it.

Biting down her lower lip, she allowed him to touch her, even despite her misgivings. Yet the feeling of him right there, made her want to squirm from the irrepressible sensation that it elicited from her.

"You're wet," was Riddle's blunt statement. His tone perfectly well-modulated, controlled, but not enough to completely hide the strain that seeped out between his words.

If she hadn't heard him hissing not a moment ago, and felt him jerking his hips with an urgent need upon discovering how wet she was, Hermione would have thought that touching her hadn't affected him at all.

A blush threatened to suffuse her face from his blunt words, but Hermione repressed it. It wouldn't do any good to her if she acted like a blushing maiden, even if she was one.

"What an impressive deduction skills you have there, Sherlock," she retorted, using sarcasm as a shield and armour to sound as unaffected as he was.

Although her voice came out tremulous, stilted, and - and a bit more than affected, especially when she sensed his fingers dancing over her, sliding up and down in between her nether lips in a slow, dizzying glides that had her stomach twisting into knots and making her entrance slick with moisture. Hermione was tempted to press her thighs together due to her increasing arousal.

"Insolent, little minx," Riddle suddenly growled right next to her ear before nipping her lobe.

She gasped, her thighs quivering as those fingers probe her a bit more, trying to splay her nether lips apart through her knickers, and searching her briefly until….

A long moan of pleasure was wrenched from Hermione's lips, when Riddle's questing hand finally found something between her folds.

He began to flick and tweak that sensitive spot with his thumb and forefinger, setting a frisson of pleasant jolts streaking straight into Hermione's core and making her inner walls twitched at the unexpected and erotic sensation.

Hermione's body tensed and trembled, feeling the throbbing need for something that she was just beginning to understand.

The feel of those fingers felt incredibly good, so exquisite that Hermione had to purse her lips tightly and stop herself from letting out her noises of pleasure. She didn't want to give Riddle the satisfaction of hearing them.

Soon, a red haze began to creep into her mind, making it difficult for her to think straight. Her body felt hot and needy for something that involve Riddle ripping her knickers off and doing those naughty things she only heard from Lavander and the other girls.

To stop herself from inevitability losing her ability to think coherently, Hermione began to memorize a passage about brewing a particular potion.

"Add four measures of freshly-cut wild carrot on the cauldron, and stir clockwise three times..." she began, her voice quavering and closed to a whimper, her face flushing from the sensation of those fingers brushing against that sensitive part of her in slow, lazy circles.

Hermione had the terrible desire to press herself against those fingers, but suppressed it immediately.

" -Afterwards... crushed two - two bundles of howlet's wi - wing in the mortar, make it ugh..as fine as possible…" her ramblings came to an abrupt halt, attention momentarily diverted to the delightful feeling of those finger gliding over her entrance and her bundle of nerves in a up and down motion, followed by a rapid flick and whirl against her little pearl.

The heat in her belly intensified, her insides contracting and tightening... building up towards something inevitable...

However, determined not to succumb to the cloud of lust creeping into her mind, Hermione continued on.

"Ah -add the ingredient to the...to the cock –"

There was muffled, rumbling laughter that came from behind her, which could only mean that Riddle was listening.

" -I mean concoction and let it...ugh..ah, simmer for about three – hmn.. three minutes before...ngh.. slicing the blue cohosh root with argh-!"

Riddle pinched her hard right then, making her insides contract with blissful shocks and set her hips rocking involuntarily.

Fortunately, Hermione was able to stop her squeal of surprise in time.

"Are you seriously memorizing the instructions in how to brew a contraceptive potion right this second?" she heard him asked in between amusement, perplexity and fascination, while his fingers work on her clit fast, stroking her in a circular motion that had her insides fluttering spasmodically and her stomach twisting like a high-strung cord.

Hermione helplessly writhed against him.

"What else do you think I was doing?" came her pathetic, yet sarcastic response. It sounded more of a whimper as she tried to concentrate on her plan, and not the blissful sensations she was currently receiving. Hermione hadn't even realized that she had been reciting the instruction for making a contraceptive potion, until Riddle pointed it out to her. She was also kind of hoping that it would turn him off.

Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect from what she expected.

"Well, I don't know what book you've been reading," Riddle began, suddenly slowing down, and Hermione didn't know whether to feel slightly relieve or frustrated. " - but I have never heard of blue cohosh roots and wild carrot being used at the same time." he said, his fingers playing at the edges of her knickers.

At the feeling of him there, Hermione's body instantly flushed with undeniable excitement. One tag to the side and Riddle would be able to touch her bare flesh.

Nonetheless, Hermione angrily stomped the feeling down, trying to focus more on what Riddle was saying.

"Those ingredients are already potent ingredients for disrupting sperm implantation and blocking progesterone synthesis -"

Hermione was boggled when she listened to him spout out scientific explanation. However, considering that he was raised as a muggle, he probably had some muggle education, and perhaps had read some Anatomy books in his spare time.

"You won't need both of them in the potion. Either you choose one of the ingredient, or you'll end up relatively - "

Hermione's tendency to correct someone, when they were wrong, reared its ugly head. Even though her mind was slightly muddled by those erotic fingers moving against her, Hermione still interrupted him.

"Actually, two of these potion have already proven to be effective when combined together. The effects would even last for a week if brewed properly," she said, trying to hide the tremor in her voice, even when her body felt like it was standing at the very edge of a precipice with Riddle holding her by the thread.

She vaguely noticed when Riddle stopped what he was doing to listen to her. She could tell that he was fascinated about this new information. "As what I've read in the updated copy of Esmeralda Ackerman's N.E.W.T Level Potion Making. It is generally well-known by Potioneers that the ingredient, blue cohosh root, had been added to amplify the certain effects of the contraceptive potion -"

"I've read her book, mudblood, but I don't recall her having recently updated it."

Oh, shit! Hermione thought in alarm, suddenly realizing that the book she was referring to hadn't even been published yet.

Hermione burst out into peals of nervous laughter to hide her mistake, purposely pressing her soaked knickers to draw the bastard's attention back to what he had been previously doing.

Riddle remained still.

For one horrifying and heart-thumping moment, Hermione was afraid Riddle had seen through her lie, but her fear was unfounded when he started touching her again.

She shivered, deliberately grinding herself into him and keeping his attention there, while she said: "I must have read it from a different book then. Not Ackerman's..."

"Perhaps you did…" came his cool statement, his fingers grazing lightly against her nub repeatedly, which had Hermione's inner walls quivering from the blissful shocks it generated.

"I would have recalled everything what I have read from specific books, mudblood, and even quote every damn thing from a certain page - word for word, but apparently not you."

What an arrogant git! Hermione inwardly bristled, but she let that one go.

"Should we be talking about books and potions right now?" she said, ignoring the fact how her thighs trembled while the liquid heat at the pit of her belly seemed to intensify when Riddle continued to touch her sensually.

At last, Hermione knew exactly when she was going to attack him, but she needed to lead him there carefully, or he might notice what she was about to do.

"Why don't you tell me, girl? You were the one mumbling about potion instructions while my fingers were preoccupied with your cunt."

Hermione forced herself not to blush after hearing his lewd statement.

"Was I successful in ruining your fun?" she was able to snap out, despite the dizzy feeling she got when Riddle proceeded to play with the edge of her knickers, running a finger at the side of it, and brushing the barest of skin.

And when he did it again, Hermione had to suck a lungful of breath.

"Oh, that was your plan all along?" he inquired, his voice turning low and gravelly as his finger skimmed over the edge of the cloth. He took an experimental dip beneath her knickers and promptly felt her moist, naked flesh.

They both shuddered at the contact. Hermione's hips bucking against him without her even realizing it.

Riddle's fingers retreated. She listened to him breathing heavily, and knew that he was trying to control himself and the entire situation they were in.

"No, you didn't ruin the fun," he informed her, his breathing had turned to heavy pants, which she could hear just right next to her ear.

A moment later, he molded his large body against her back, flooding her with his clean-shaven scent and his intoxicating, sandalwood musk.

Hermione felt like she was about to drown from it. It made her head spin and compelled her to want his body closer to hers.

"Actually, I had this insatiable desire to have your mouth put to use, other than memorizing potion instruction, of course."

His fingers went back to what it was doing, alternately whirling around her sensitive nub teasingly and skimming at the edge of her knickers.

"Really? What other uses would that be?" she manage to say, though there was a moan and a groan lodged inside her throat somewhere that made her sound like she was a croaking frog.

Drawing nearer, Riddle murmured into her ear, "Your mudblood mouth wrapped around my cock," and to emphasis his point, he thrust his hips against hers, making her blatantly aware how aroused he was.

Hermione's ears burned red at Riddle's coarse words and action, though she compelled herself not get flustered.

Instead, she said: "Try it, and you won't have a cock to speak off soon."

Riddle's response was by giving her that low, seductive chuckles that Hermione had to grudgingly admit, sounded far too sexy for her own sanity.

Later, she mentally slapped herself for even thinking it in the first place.

"Come now, mudblood. Wouldn't you want to have a taste of someone far more superior than you?"

Him? Superior?.. He's so full of himself!

However, in an even tone, Hermione said to him: "No," before spreading her legs apart to accommodate him while adding.

"But you can take me right there, if you want."

Come closer and have a taste of your own poison, you despicable snake. Hermione thought venomously, throwing the bait.

She was rewarded by a needy nuzzle and a bite on the side of her neck. Riddle's rasping breath skittering over her skin, whereas his fingers now brushed insistently at edges of her knickers.

Then, as if getting frustrated with the cloth that separated their skin, Riddle impatiently tagged her knickers aside.

A draft of cool air immediately hit Hermione's exposed sex, but Riddle was already pressing his fingers back into her moist heat and covering her with his hand.

His long fingers met bare skin.

In a flash, Hermione shuddered with an unholy delight, a riot of explicit jolts generating from the contact as Riddle parted her moist folds with ease, and started grazing and drawing, tortuous circles on her swollen nub until she was reduced to a writhing mess against his merciless hand in no time.

She vaguely heard the bastard behind her growling in approval from his heightened desire. With the use of his mouth, Riddle suckled and licked the column of her neck hungrily.

Ugh...Merlin, that feels sooo gooood! Hermione mentally moaned, chewing on her lower lip, unable to stop her hips from bucking towards those skillful fingers without her volition.

Riddle had his teeth scraping the side of her neck, where her pulse point was, nipping and nibbling on her creamy white skin.

"You like that, don't you?" He whispered darkly in obvious need, still rolling his fingers over that sensitive nub in deliberate slowness, drawing out the pleasure and anticipation, and completely driving her insane with lust.

"No, actually... I'm wriggling my hips because... because I - I have this itch that I can't scratch," she didn't know how she managed to sound sarcastic between wanting to moan out loud, and trying to stifle the whines that threatened to rise up due to the bastard's maddening fingers, but she actually did.

It was a great feat in it itself. Hermione congratulated herself from not acting like a rambunctious vixen.

Riddle seemed to take her sarcasm in stride because he shortly said, almost mocking in his tone: "An itch, hmn? Where is it? Is it around... here?" and he was suddenly at her entrance, splaying her wet folds open and promptly sliding his finger into her slick, virginal passage, stretching her for the first time.

She heard his guttural groan when his digit invaded her slick entrance. Her inner walls convulsed tightly around him.

At the same time, a half-moan and half-whimper forced its way out from Hermione's lips before she could stop it, her body trembling at the new sensation of his finger inside her.

Hermione could tell that Riddle was losing it, his control was slipping as he began to move his finger in and out of her in blinding lust. She listened to the sound of his accelerated breathing as his finger stretched her. The sticky and wet sound of him entering her was so odd...and so sudden.

One minute they were grappling on the floor, and now she had Riddle's finger buried deep inside her. She was still wondering how it happened - other than him deliberately putting it there of course. She was just a bit confused how everything culminated to that point.

Still, this was all part of her plan…right?

Yet the connection they have was proving to be stronger than she realized - and quite troublesome. It was humming in her veins, thundering in her heart, and enveloping her mind in a red haze which prevented her from thinking rationally.

Now, all she could think about was her captor's magical abilities to make her lost all coherent thought, like he had just done a Confundus charm on her with just a slip of a finger.

Hermione's stomach coiling tight at the overwhelming pleasure it evoked inside her.

"You told me you had already slept with three men," came Riddle's hoarse and taut comment as he pumped into her slowly, doing this beckoning gesture every time he sink his finger into her heated core.

Hermione bit her lower lip to stop herself from whining shamelessly and pressing her body back towards Riddle in wild abandon.

"If you did, their cocks must be...what? Made of thin-stick wands? Because you barely even stretched around my finger. So why don't you tell me the truth, mudblood?!"

"I did tell you the truth...You asked how many men I've been with, which I assumed you meant how many I dated, and not how many men I slept with, " she managed to lie, her mind could hardly think at the moment, not when she felt a jolt after jolt of unadulterated pleasure every time Riddle ran a thumb over her clit and pumped right back into her core.

"How many men then?"

"How many do you think? You're already touching me, why don't you feel for yourself?"

Riddle let out a strangled noise that sounded between a groan and a growl, his hips pressing against her tightly and Hermione knew then that the thin thread he held over his control finally shredded to pieces.

Good...Shit!

"Merlin, girl! You might as well tell me you are a virgin, than skirt around the truth!" Riddle hissed angrily, and with unbridled lust, slipped exactly three fingers inside her and started pumping into her hard and fast.

Hermione couldn't help but let out a weak whimper, wriggling helplessly with a look of discomfort written all over her face at the stretching feeling. However, soon after, it was shortly replaced by a look of unimaginable bliss as she got used to the sensation of those expert fingers moving inside her moist heat.

Merlin, that feels good! She could feel that familiar coiling at the pit of her belly, getting stronger by the seconds as those fingers drove into her. The feeling of his three digits stretching her, as well as his pace, setting her veins on fire while something within her began to unravel and uncoil.

It tore the last remained of Hermione's inhibition. She felt like she was about to combust into smithereens.

"The more you lie, the more I want to punish you for it," she heard him say in a voice thickened with desire, and still with a hint of anger.

"I think we both know that you wouldn't believe anything I say even if I told you the truth," she choked out. A flush of intense heat burn straight through her that made her grew damp. She met his thrusting fingers, almost as angrily as he was, apparently.

Riddle's fingers had stopped momentarily to do that come-hither gesture that had Hermione arching her spine the second his fingers pressed something erogenous inside her. It sent acute and exquisite pleasure racing through her veins that ultimately tore an unbidden cry from her.

"Oh - oh Merlin!"

With persistence, those fingers massaged the hypersentitive spot. Riddle drove in and out of her five times before massaging her again, doing it repeatedly until Hermione could feel her inner walls contracting spasmodically, and her body tensing as something primitive and raw took control of her body.

With her defensive walls disintegrating, Hermione pressed back hurriedly and desperately towards the man, who was both her tormentor and her enemy.

Yet for that moment alone, those fingers were her salvation.

Mewling with unrestrained passion, she allowed Riddle to do anything what he wants with her, nearly feeling faint from the exquisite pleasure, when his thumb worked on her clit

"Tell me when you are about to come,'' Riddle whispered to her with a sense of urgency that she hadn't heard before. His hungry mouth, bruising against her skin, marking her with a smattering of kisses and bites on her neck. "Tell me -"

Hermione didn't know what the fuck he was talking about. So she said to him.

"How can I come?! When I'm already right here!" she all but mewled, her body quaking while she felt her inner muscles clenching tighter and tighter around Riddle's fingers.

A second later, she began to spasm uncontrollably, a cry rising from her throat when –

All of a sudden, Riddle let go of her wrists. And using his unoccupied hand, he ripped the neckline of her rags as easy as paper, and unexpectedly sunk his teeth at the juncture of her neck, though not deep enough to draw blood.

Pain and pleasure lit her body up and she instantly went up in flames. Added with Riddle beckoning inside her and putting pressure on that erogenous region, Hermione came for him Hard, trashing and screaming and cursing him.

"Damn you to hell, Riddle!" she screamed in parseltongue while her body was wracked by powerful and delicious shudders, her free hands clawing at the floor while she continued to meet Riddle's thrusting fingers with the desperate and erratic jerks of her hips.

Her spine had arched up when her body combusted, exploded, detonated like she had been doused with hellfire. She vaguely heard Riddle hissing in parseltonngue the second her inner muscles twitched and spasm around him, followed by a rush of wild and fiery heat rushing in every part of her body, making every cell and nerves burn, and tingle, and awash by overwhelming and raw ecstasy.

Afterwards, she slumped bonelessly to the floor, feeling dazed and drugged by endorphins.

However, she was brought back to the present by the feeling of Riddle abruptly withdrawing his fingers from her and heard the unmistakable sound of him unbuckling his belt.

"I'm going to take you now, mudblood."

Uh-oh…

The thick, red fog that clouded her mind dispersed.

Sharp clarity settling into her, along with the feeling of hatred and the desire to hurt.

It resurfaced into her consciousness stronger than ever before.

MAKE YOUR MOVE NOW!

That part of her shouted, and without further prompting, Hermione was on the move before her brain could process what she was doing.

With Riddle too busy pulling his pants down, and still blinded with lust, Hermione half-twisted underneath him and whipped her elbow back behind her, putting as much force behind it as she could muster. The chains on her wrists clanging loudly.

She heard a satisfying smack, followed by a string of curses as her elbow hit Riddle squarely on the side of his face.

"Why you filthy little –!"

However, Hermione didn't stop there because she was already twisting once more. Riddle had slightly lurked back when she had hit him, allowing her plenty of room to manoeuvre without him trying to restrain her.

A moment later, she was already scrambling on her feet with Riddle not far behind, but Hermione kicked him in the chest to keep him down. Riddle slammed unceremoniously on the floor with his trousers still a bit lower down his hips and his buckles unclasped.

By the time Riddle tried to sit up from the floor, Hermione was already standing behind his back and gripping the chains in front of her.

Judging from the bulge in his half-undone trousers, Hermione could see he was still aroused, but definitely getting pissed at her.

Not giving him the opportunity to attack her.

In a flash, she flung the chains around Riddle's neck, placed both her knees on his back for a better leverage; at the same time, she twisted the chains tautly and started pulling hard.

"Tell me Riddle," she began calmly and coldly, tightening her grip around the chains. "How many seconds do you think it would take before you lose consciousness from asphyxiation?"

Riddle started struggling then and shouting obscenities at her, hands grabbing for the chains that was trying to strangle him and started tagging it away from his windpipe.

"You fucking bitch! I will kill you for this!"

Riddle was stronger than her, and so she wasn't really surprised when he was able to put both his fingers in between the chains and tried to pull it away from his aching neck.

Hermione just pulled harder, leaning further back and placing a foot in between Riddle's shoulder blades for a firmer hold.

She strained.

Unbeknownst to her, Hermione's eyes began to glow an eerie yellow as she watched Riddle fought against her.

With cat-like eyes that were cold and cruel, she forcefully pulled the chains back hard and twisted it sharply.

TO BE CONTINUED...

War had come, but the King didn't have enough gold from the royal coffers to feed his hungry army.

And when men became desperate, they prey upon those who they deemed weak and defenceless.

And like the hungry wolves that came from the mountains, they descended upon her Village with the intent to take whatever they could get.

She could never forget that fateful night when she had lost everything.

The night when the grassy plains had ran red with the blood from those who had been slain by the King's men.

Screams of terror and cries for help had filled up the entire valley, when the Baron's garrison had descended upon her peaceful Village.

They came with the thundering hooves of their horses, the clangour of heavy armour and steel, and their loud demands for fresh provisions.

"The supply wagons had been attacked by the enemy forces before it could reach us," the Baron had explained to the Villagers during that time. "Our food supply is running low. Hence, we had come here to ask for your aid and resupply whatever we needed."

Whatever we needed, seemed to include taking women by force.

And when some of the Villagers had risen up against the Baron, they were put to the sword.

A slaughter had soon followed after.

The green grass of the Valley had turned scarlet.

A day after, the crows and other birds of prey had swooped in with their black wings flapping with the wind fouled by the scent of death and destruction.

oooOOOooo

She watched when her father was killed first, a sword through the back by one of the Knights, who was wearing blue painted armour.

The Knight had laughed then, a mirthless laughter when her father had fallen on his knees, choking on his own blood but still begging for the lives of his wife and children to be spared.

Her father's words a gurgle of blood, nearly incoherent while a scarlet stain had blossomed from the wound on his back, where the Knight had driven his sword through and straight out of her father's chest.

The Knight had responded to her father's pleas by cleaving him in half, sliding the long sword up until her father was torn in half from waist to skull. Entrails spewing form the torn torso, showing sawed bones, organs and flesh that ought not to be seen.

Still she had watched it happened. Unable to do anything.

Terrified.

Hopeless.

oooOOOooo

She watched still when they had turned their attention to her little baby brother next.

They had plucked the three month old infant from her mother's breast, and she remembered how her mother had screamed with tears running down her eyes, when the men had proceeded to smash her brother's skull unto the ground.

She could never forget her brother's wails, and how it had abruptly stopped when his soft head had simply imploded.

THUD-THUD-THUD It had sounded, when her brother's head had caved inwards, blood splattering the ground. His left eye popping out from its socket, along by a pulpy, gooey substance that spurted out from his cracked skull.

Her infant brother was dead the moment he had stopped wailing.

oooOOOooo

She hadn't known what terror was until she saw the men took her mother and her eight year old sister.

In silent horror, she had watched when the six men had ripped the clothes off from her mother and sister's bodies. The men had laughed and laughed, when they had shoved them to the ground, and did something to them that had made her sister and mother screamed and sobbed in pain.

Blood had ran between her sister's leg after, heavy and thick when the men had climb on top of her, one after the other with her sister screaming in pain, her fingernails broken and bloodied as she clawed on the dirt covered ground to try to escape from them.

Yet she never did.

When it was over, they had her throat slit from ear to ear.

By the time her sister was killed, her mother's head had already been impaled on the spike just next to her headless and naked body.

Then, the men had set the house on fire.

She didn't moved from her hiding spot until the garrison had left, and until everything had burnt to the ground.

It was by some miracle, she had survived.

The same reason those men hadn't seen her hiding in the corner while they had done those things to her family.

She had been invisible to them.

Because she had wished it so…

And now, she wished she hadn't.

oooOOOooo

The Villagers had been a peaceful folks…

Now, they were gone.

Their existence erased.

Perished from the fire and steel that had ran red.

Except her…

Always her…

She had survived…

Covered in blood and gore, her clothing half burnt while soot smeared across her face, she had stood there alone… The bodies of her father sliced in half, her mother's head impaled on a spike, her sister with a gaping wound on her neck and blood between her thighs, and of her little brother, whose head had been crushed...

Their corpses had burnt along with everything in the Village.

And with eyes empty and downcast…she had stood there in the middle of the carnage where the corpses of her family had lain, while the house that held so many happy memories, had been turned to smoking ruins.

Her entire family dead..

Her Village destroyed..

She was all alone…all alone in a sea of despair…

oooOOOooo

That day, her power had awaken…

Along with hatred and revenge.

Hatred for the Reigning Monarchs, the nobility and the entire Kingdom.

She would stop at nothing until she had everything destroyed.

Mortar by mortar, stone by stone, she would razed their castles and lands to the ground, like what they had done to her Village and her family…

oooOOOooo

She was alone.

Yet she didn't need anyone…

She didn't need it…

Why would she?

oooOOOooo

She was darkness..

A shadow..

A ghost…

She was…

Death and Destruction.

oooOOOooo

Not all Noble Knights of the Kingdom were honourable…

And the King was not benevolent…

This she knew… when she had watched those Knights and the King's men burned her Village down to the ground, razed it to ruin until a blanket of smoke and ashes lit up the night skies.

She knew it then…

She still knew it now…

She had been five when it happened.

Now, she was fourteen... and ready…

Ready for the hunt to begin…

oooOOOooo

One starless night, she appeared from the swirling fog that blanketed the moat that surrounded the castle.

Like a wraith, with bellowing dark cloak and glowing yellow eyes behind the cowl that hid her face, she strode forward. The fog parting and whirling around her as she walked towards the drawbridge that had been pulled up for the night.

"Halt! Who goes there?!"

The sentry stationed at the parapets of the castle called out.

She looked up, and saw two men standing there with their bows drawn.

From the corners of her eye, she saw the flickering movements behind the murder holes and the arrow slits of the battlements, and knew that there were more than a dozen men with their arrows aimed at her figure.

"What is your purpose here, stranger?!" One of them asked, but she didn't deigned them an answer because she was gone in a flash.

CRACK

She appeared behind them with her daggers drawn and aiming for their jugular.

They didn't stand a chance against her.

Blood sprayed as her sharp blades sliced their necks opened, the sentries cry of surprise instantly turned into a wet gurgle from the blood that gushed out from their mouths and the fatal wounds on their throats.

No alarm was raised.

But she was not finished yet, she needed to eliminate every sentry to prevent them from raising the alarm and rousing the entire castle.

And with a CRACK, she disappeared and appeared again somewhere, pinpointing the location where she had sensed people.

"What the -!" said a man who had instantly turned around upon hearing her arrival.

There were four of them this time.

"What in heavens -! Who are you?!"

"An intruder!"

"Quick! Raised the alarm!"

They shouted and exclaimed, hurriedly taking out the swords hanging from their hips.

She sauntered towards them, her steps quiet and measured. Her eyes glowing fiercely from behind her hood and the cowl that covered half of her face.

Then, without warning, she was streaking towards them, her form a blur with her daggers drawn in front of her.

"SHIT!"

"Get him!"

"Sound the fuckin'-"

CRACK

She appeared above them, whirling horizontally mid-air and slashing downwards with her deadly daggers out. Her cloak whipping sharply from the movements.

A splatter of scarlet hit her squarely in the face and hands. A second later, two heads rolled off from shoulders and tumbled towards the ground with a loud and wet thunk. It was soon followed by the sight and sound of bodies falling down.

She landed in a crouch on the walkway, now slick with blood from the fresh corpses.

"AARRGGHH!" one man was screaming while holding his severed arm, blood pouring from the stump like a scarlet drizzle.

The man who remained uninjured was shouting, "STAY BACK!" when she made a moved towards him.

She paused for a second, cocking her head to the side. Flicking the dagger and holding it at the tip, she drew her hand back by the elbow, and threw.

The dagger flipped in the air for second, just as the man was shouting.

"STAY THE FUCK -!"

The blade embedded itself in the man's forehead, instantly killing him. The dead man slumped into the ground.

Suddenly, the sound of loud ringing pierced the silence of the castle.

CLANG-CLANG-CLANG-CLANG

Someone was ringing the alarm, apparently they had seen her attacking the sentry's station in that area.

CLANG-CLANG-CLANG-CLANG

Not planning to waste more time, she used her magic to kill the last one.

Incendio, she thought.

The man who had been whimpering and holding his arm, burst into flames and started screaming.

With another loud CRACK, she was gone and moving through the castle. She met a lot of guards on the way.

She killed and butchered those who tried to fight her.

She was merciless.

There was no point in being subtle.

Death was coming to those who had escaped justice.

Now, she was bringing justice to them.

She would kill those who had been responsible for the death and destruction of her home.

They will know what terror felt like... and what horror taste like...

oooOOOooo

That very night, the castle halls had bathe with blood.

The walls splattered and dripped with scarlet.

They did not know her name then…

But soon, they will…

For her name was Morgana le Fay.

And she had come to destroy their Kingdom.

OUTAKES:

In that moment, he looked like he was torn between hurting her and fucking her, between biting her and kissing her. However, he chose neither because he was suddenly ripping her rags from neck to hem.

The tearing sound it made set Hermione's heart racing like a jackrabbit caught in a trap.

He tore the rest of rags from her shoulders and threw it over to the side, his blazing blue eyes instantly looking at her bared form only covered by her black, satin underclothes.

Hermione wanted to cover herself, but she couldn't, not with her wrists manacled tightly above her.

With his eyes like burning sapphires, he moved towards her bra, his hand going behind her back.

A whole minute later...

"What in Salazar's name is this contraption you are wearing?" He asked in frustration as his hand tried to find the clasp of her bra.

It wasn't there of course, because it was at the front, a hook carefully hidden. No bra exists like that in the 1950's from what Hermione had gathered.

"It's called a bra, or in other word, a brassiere," she responded sarcastically, "Are you sure you've done this before?"

"Shut up, mudblood!"

"Don't worry, Riddle. You'll have plenty of time to remedy your lack of exper–"

That's when he kissed her, forcing her back against the wall with his lips smashing into her in a punishing and bruising kiss. His other hand tagging at her knickers with such force that he ripped that as well, and then he was pressing himself between her thighs.

And...

Fuck! That felt good!

oooOOOooo

She heard his guttural groan when his digit invaded her slick entrance. Her inner walls convulsed tightly around him.

"Salazar's balls!''

If Riddle tried to hide the expletive using parseltongue, then he completely failed. Hermione understood him perfectly. Salazar Slytherin would be rolling in his grave when he discovers that his heir had just mentioned his unmentionables.

Such lack of respect to his ancestors.