Dangerous Games

Chapter 15: Seduction

---

-"And now," said he, "to settle what remains. Will you be wise? will you be guided? will you suffer me to take this glass in my hand and to go forth from your house without further parley? or has the greed of curiosity too much command of you? Think before you answer, for it shall be done as you decide. As you decide, you shall be left as you were before, and neither richer nor wiser, unless the sense of service rendered in a man in mortal distress may be counted as a kind of riches of the soul. Or, if you shall so prefer to choose, a new province of knowledge and new avenues to fame and power shall be laid open to you, in this room, upon this instant; and your sight shall be blasted by a prodigy to stagger the unbelief of Satan..."

-Stevenson's DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

Wait!/ What's this?

Sweet miss!/ I thought I has lost you!

It's fate!/ What bliss!

Sweet miss!/ Your folly will cost you dear

My dear/ You'll see

You'll never escape me!/ I'm here

I fear

And you will pay dear,/ My dear...

-selection from "Alive" from JEKYLL & HYDE

~888~

The boy did not even flinch or turn. His head bowed; a low growl escaped his lips.

"Hermione."

The hairless head lifted as he inhaled deeply.

"Have a seat." He waved his wand, and a simple wooden chair appeared halfway between him and the door. Hermione approached it warily and sat down, but Voldemort did not move.

"Why did you come here when you knew I'd be here? Stupid, foolish girl, I am not Tom Riddle, I do not have the same qualms over your dead body."

Hermione looked down. "I didn't come here on purpose."

"Yes, you did." He breathed deeply again, exhaling with another growl. "Don't think you can fool me, Hermione, and don't think you can fool yourself forever. Think, girl, why did you come here when you knew I'd be here?"

"I didn't."

Voldemort chuckled in his throat. "Subconscious curiosity can be a dangerous game, Hermione. Have you ever wanted to run a blade along the vulnerable veins in your wrist just to see the blood? Or how about taking a spoon and gouging out your eye, has that ever crossed your mind? Or even raising your wand and screaming 'Avada Kedavra' just to feel the rush of death and the coolness of a new soul floating on the breeze? Or... coming to watch the birth of pure evil. Each of them ends the same. You know this. And yet you come. Why?"

Hermione shook her head violently, trying to rid her mind of the forbidden yet enticing images Voldemort had put there. "I'm telling you, I don't know."

"Tell me, Hermione. Have you ever felt such power as I know you sense in me now? Killing, it makes one powerful. It is only with death that we can conquer it. The absolute pleasure in killing Peeves, then my father, grandfather, and grandmother. Then a few people of the streets no one will ever miss. You have no idea the exhilaration, the ecstasy. So alive, like one is taking, draining, drinking the life from the blood of the victim."

"Tom would never have done any of that," Hermione said quietly.

He chuckled again. "Really? Then why did he free me?" He paused. "In fact, why did you free me? You knew, didn't you, that I would become this terrible thing. Why did you still want to see my face after knowing the result?"

"You made me, Lord Voldemort," she replied, "in a deal I should never have made."

Another deep breath.

"The power first came to me at eleven, when my magic first revealed itself in the form of venomous emerald viper. It bit my mathematics teacher; he nearly died. I remember I laughed and congratulated the serpent, then set it loose on the world. I shortly received my Hogwarts letter. I felt I was given my compensation for all those years I was taken advantage of. I could finally get my own back. I could show the world I was more than just a poor orphan who needed a scholarship to even attend Hogwarts.

"And I did show them. They, the Slytherins, taunted me at first for being only of half-blood. But I showed them."

Voldemort seem to derive particular joy from that statement.

"Soon they knew I was Slytherin's own Heir, with his blood flowing through these very veins, with great power at my hands, Parseltongue, and a love of curses. They learned to beware of me. As you should have."

"You never hurt me before," Hermione said.

"I could hurt you now," Voldemort murmured.

"Then why don't you?"

"I'm not finished with you yet. And I'm the one asking the questions, not you!" The sharpness of these last words silenced Hermione. "Why did you come here?"

"I-" Hermione swallowed. Okay, so obviously it was not pure chance that had brought her here, but she could not remember really having anywhere in particular to go when she had left Gryffindor tower. Then it occurred to her. "Of course. You Summoned me."

His laugh rang throughout the trophy room, reverberating off the walls like barbed needles. "Very good, Hermione. And, now that you've begun thinking again, something you do rather well when you start, why do you think I did this?"

Hermione shuddered. "To kill me, finally."

"Wrong," he growled, not unpleasantly.

"Let me ask you, Hermione, can you imagine what I felt when I found the Chamber of Secrets, when I saw the basilisk and did not die, when I commanded it to do what it was made to do?"

"To kill Muggleborns, like me," Hermione interjected.

"No, foolish girl, you've been misinformed. The basilisk was made to purge the halls of the impure. You may be Muggle-born, but you are not impure. Oddly enough, Muggle-borns tend toward that impurity of which we speak. It is difficult to find, but not at all difficult to discern for the intelligent. That was the basilisk's chore. Then, to blame another for the death and escape clean, unscathed, and even honored... I have the school at my fingertips.

"Can you imagine the power derived from a kill, the sheer exhilaration? First Myrtle, then Peeves, then my father... oh, my father..."

Voldemort clenched his fists as he continued. "Everyone in that town knew the Riddles, and they all had something horrible to say when I inquired. Then I went to him, my father. He was spoiled, selfish, conceited, condescending, a parasite of a man. This was the man my mother fell in love with, but he was too good for marriage and magic.

"I told him I was his son, and I killed him. I wanted to do it slower, let him feel every biting insect of humiliation and pain his abandonment gave to my mother and me. But my grandparents were there as well. I had to get rid of them quickly to avoid a fuss.

"What little life force they had came to me, to their detested relative. My father, who hated magic, only fuelled my own."

Voldemort turned around slowly, waving his wand to banish the chair. Hermione fell to the floor, then hurriedly stood back up. The robes were open in the front, but Hermione was too mesmerised to even look away as she saw him, bare and beautiful. She stepped back until she was against the wall.

"Now do you know why I summoned you, Hermione? I once told you killing you was only one primal act I desired upon you. Now do you know? Run, little Hermione, run if you want to remain pure this night." His grin was terrible, vulpine in nature, and the glint in his scarlet eyes was nearly unbearable. But as Hermione's reason was shrieking at her to leave, her breath quickened, and she could feel her heart pound, blood thrumming through her body.

"Would you like my power, Hermione?" he whispered. His very words swept across the room and curled through her hair and down her spine. Hermione closed her eyes at the touch.

When she opened her eyes, he was there, right in front of her. He swiftly reached around her and closed the trophy room door.

Then he shoved her against the wall and pressed his lips against hers. In one desperate movement, he tore her robes in two and threw them to the floor, leaving her only in her corset, camisole, and flannel slacks she always wore under her robes.

Hermione responded immediately, reason fleeing from where it was no longer wanted. She pushed aside his robes as the force of his kiss lifted her off the ground, relying only on himself and the wall to hold her up. She opened her mouth and swiftly caressed his tongue with hers, running her nails in bloody streaks down his back, growing more and more aroused as she felt him pressing against her where she was most sensitive, where she most wanted him.

He wrenched himself away and bit her neck, tasting blood as he undid the strings of her corset under the camisole.

"Hermione, closer," Voldemort moaned, and he growled into her collarbone.

She slid her hands against his heated skin, relishing each movement he made under her administrations. She was doing this to him. He wanted her. The realization was as sweet in her mouth as him.

A sudden bout of their connected, intense desire summoned a four-poster bed into the middle of the room. Biting, growling, and clawing, Voldemort dragged Hermione to the bed and mounting her.

Hermione arched to meet him, but then Voldemort smiled against her shoulder and began kissing her slowly and deliberately, making her pull him closer to hurry the contact. His sensuous languidness was agonizingly sweet to Hermione, and when Voldemort did not initiate anything more real, Hermione began to stroke him where he was most vulnerable to her. He gasped at the intimate touch. Then he propped himself onto his elbows and stroked her hair gently.

"Tell me, Hermione, is this what you want?" His face was red, and he was slightly breathless, but his eyes burned crimson in earnest.

Hermione forced herself to breathe regularly and answered, "As Lord Voldemort, if I did not, would you care?"

"No," he said bluntly. He slid his tongue against her neck where the blood was welling up again. She moaned in pleasure. "But I would feel so much more... satisfied... knowing..."

Hermione stroked his upper arm and kissed the corner of his mouth, making him purr against her lips. "I'm not running, am I? You gave me the chance to run, and I stayed. I want you, Lord Voldemort. Now. I want you."

"Good," he hissed, and he closed the curtains of the bed, leaving behind a bloody hand print on the fabric.

~888~

You flatter, sir/ You really do!

With half a chance...

What would you do?

Don't ask me!

Here's to the night!/ Here's to romance!

To those unafraid/ of taking a chance!

-selection from "Lucy Meets Jekyll"

~888888~

Chapter 16: Back to the Future (I couldn't resist :)...)

Hermione woke up slowly and drunkenly, with vague memories of champagne bubbles gushing inside of her, then overflowing at the climax. She did not know when Voldemort had pulled away, sweating and panting, and settled beside her on the bed. She did not know when she had fallen asleep, dreaming of lions hunting their prey.

She felt stretched and aching, the dried blood on her neck and arms and chest and back and belly crackling as she shifted. Her back and shoulders stung from Voldemort's violent passion, but she felt... what was it he had said last night?... satisfied. Yes, that was it. She sighed in pleasure as she felt his mouth presently against her shoulder and his hand on her sore breast, his body pressed to hers. His even breathing revealed that he still slept.

Carefully, so as not to wake him, she slipped from underneath his arm and opened the curtain, peeking through.

She almost shrieked when she saw Apollyon Pringle grinning at her.

"The girls Riddle chooses rarely escape him, my dear," he said calmly. "Perhaps he has spoiled you, I don't suppose you'd mind if I..." He shed his coat and began undoing the buttons on his shirt.

Hermione gaped in shock for a few moments, but as Pringle unzipped his fly, Hermione took the first action that came to her mind. Closing her eyes, she willed her body to transfigure.

When Pringle looked up again, he faced a full-grown jaguar with deadly sharp teeth and claws. His mouth opened like a gutted fish.

"He bedded a powerful slut this time," he said carefully. "I'll leave."

The jaguar growled balefully as Pringle backed out of the room. Hermione emerged from the spotted pelt after she heard him far down the hall. She sat down on the floor and pulled on the clothes Voldemort had removed.

Two things struck her as peculiar about the whole experience. First, she knew she had just made love to Lord Voldemort, the sworn enemy to Professor Dumbledore and Harry Potter, the two people she loved the most at home, and yet, she felt no shame. The second thing was the odd sensation of fullness, like she was more than just one person and was looking at herself from the outside of her body.

And, she thought with a rather wry smile, stroking her stomach, she might very well be more than one person.

She stood up and said softly, "Accio Time-Turners." After a few minutes, the hourglasses dangling on her chain came tentatively into the trophy room, and, after confirming that Hermione was the girl who summoned them, they floated into her hands.

She slipped both of them over her head and slowly stood. She closed her eyes and was about to turn the hourglass when she turned back. Her fingers let the Turners fall between her breasts.

Hermione opened the four-poster's curtains, letting a slit of light illuminate Voldemort's face. Smiling peacefully, she reached out and stroked his cheek, her first lover.

"Goodbye, Tom," she whispered gently, withdrawing her hand and closing the curtains.

Then she Summoned her trunk full of the only clothes that fit her new body and her cat, rather annoyed at flying through the air, and she turned the hourglass.

From the window near the ceiling of the trophy room beamed a square column of light. The dust motes twisted and danced from the sudden disturbance of time change.

The light made the Special Awards for Services shields shine. One in particular glinted like gold; it was inscribed T. M. Riddle.

~888~

-Somewhere I know there's a someday/ That's just for me

Everybody has a "someday"/ So why not me?

Lucy, do you really need to/ Fill your heart with empty dreams.

You'll always be what you are/ Stop chasing that distant star!

Night time is where we live/ Night is when we give

Everything we have to give.

Most lovers can rejoice/ We don't have a choice

We just know/ We have to give.

That's why the day/ Can never be bright

For the girls of the night.

Fly away, fly away/ Let me find my wings!

Let me be/ The girl I want to be!

I'm afraid to fly away/ For all I have is here!

I have my hopes/ I have a child

And children must be fed.

Forget your hopes/ Or you will be misled!

With the dawn they disappear!/ Then why are mine still here?

Ask me to share/ Your fantasies, dear

But don't ask me/ Where tomorrow is.

Don't ask me/ where to find happiness

But I know for sure/ Where sorrow is.

Sorrow is where the dark meets the light...

Someday I pray my fear will take flight...

Sorrow is where all hope fades from sight...

For the girls of the night...

-excerpts from "The Girls of the Night" from JEKYLL & HYDE

-"Weeping like a woman or a lost soul," said the butler. "I came away with that upon my heart, that I could have wept too."

-Stevenson's DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

~888~

Hermione suddenly found herself face-to-face with Filch in the year 1999 in June. His eyes widened in shock, but he had no time to say anything before Hermione had substituted the forward year Turner with the backward day Turner and had turned this one as well. She disappeared again.

When she arrived back in the trophy room nearer to her previous time, she sighed with relief at the chill in the air.

"Home," she breathed.

"Indeed, Miss Granger," said a voice from behind her.

Hermione jumped and spun around to face the smiling, but old face of Headmaster Dumbledore.

"Come," he said softly. "Professor McGonagall is waiting for you in my office." He slipped an arm about her shoulder and led her out of the trophy room.

~888~

The morning after Hermione had went back in time and immediately before Hermione came back from the past, Lord Voldemort woke from his restless slumber.

He no longer dreamed. He had lost that blessing decades ago. No, the vision surfacing in his mind was a memory of one of his previous selves. His first two in face. Oh, this was a rare treat. The gap between Tom Riddle and Lord Voldemort was equivalent to a large ocean. He had whiffs of memories, but usually not this far back.

His eyes widened as the memory played itself out.

Then, "Harry," he hissed, "that is what she said. Similar appearances. A great wizard."

He laughed maniacally as the clues fit into each other like in a puzzle.

"Harry Potter." He spat out the name. "She is close to Harry Potter."

~888~

"Why, Severus, I did not expect to see you here."

The sneering Potions Master was lounging in one of the crimson, winged chairs flanking Professor Dumbledore's desk. He was sharing a malicious glare with Minerva McGonagall when Professor Dumbledore and Hermione walked into the office.

"Headmaster," Snape said, standing. "Miss Granger."

One look told Hermione that he knew. Her hand involuntarily flew to her stomach.

"Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall exclaimed suddenly, interrupting Snape and looking as excited as she had about fifty years ago. "I'm so proud of you. To think I never knew Charlotte Shannen was you until Albus told me. Welcome home!" The professor looked at the half-dressed girl before her. "You look different, Miss Granger."

She flushed and sense Snape's quick, black eyes were focussing on her physical improvements and she knew he would deduce she was under the effects of the Enhancement Potion.

"A year is a long time," Snape murmured softly, inexplicable saving Hermione an explanation.

"Indeed," replied Professor Dumbledore, "but there is something that Professor McGonagall needs to tell you. She has kept her peace, and she wanted to wait for your arrival."

"Yes," Professor McGonagall said, her expressive face becoming its strict mask once again, "I wanted you to know that when you had been spending your time with Tom Riddle-- I know you'll be astonished-- you were spending time with You-Know-Who."

"She knew," accused Snape from behind Professor McGonagall.

"Ridiculous, Severus, she was Petrified in the hospital wing when he was revealed to be You-Know-Who, how could she possibly...?"

"That is enough," Dumbledore said quietly. "Minerva, I have to ask you to wait outside. You may speak with Miss Granger in a few minutes. For the moment, I wish to speak with her about certain matters. If you will..."

Professor McGonagall, still glowering at Snape, exited the room huffily.

"Now, Miss Granger," Snape hissed, "I would like you to read this."

He thrust a piece of parchment under Hermione's nose and crossed his arms, waiting for her reaction.

Severus, give this to a Muggle-born named Hermione.

V.

Then:

Dearest Hermione,

Remember me? For you it has only been a few hours. For me it has been decades. Remember the fire that lit you like a torch, your heat radiating across the room? Remember the blood, the flesh, sweet flesh, against your mouth? Remember when your heat became a volcano. Remember the power between us and inside us?

I remember.

I seem to recall that you mistook me for a Harry, I believe, my vague, anonymous rival at the time. Your Harry is Harry Potter, isn't he?

You have made a fatal error, Hermione, by giving yourself to me from the beginning. How do you think your Harry will react when I tell him his best friend has slept with Lord Voldemort willingly, no bargain, no Imperius Curse, her own choice. You knew me from the beginning; you cannot deny this, my dear.

I will be seeing you again, Hermione.

Love always,

Tom Marvolo Riddle

P.S. Or, if you really want to be technical, now that I am only part of Riddle, now fully possessing him, I am

Lord Voldemort

---

Lisa Carew, can this be you?/ What kind of man is this/ You've taken?

Can you not see/ The kind of life/ That this would be?/ You are mistaken!

Time to awaken/ Before it's too late.

Before you forever/ Determine your fate!

-excerpt from "Lisa Carew" from JEKYLL & HYDE

---

"Miss Innocent, bookish, teacher's pet Miss Granger knows exactly who she befriended," Snape said softly, "and bedded."

Professor Dumbledore arched an eyebrow in surprise. "Careful of what you accuse Miss Granger of doing, Severus. Assumptions are not reliable enough. As a Potions Master, you ought to know that."

Snape snorted. "I make no assumptions, Headmaster. Read the letter for yourself. It arrived here an hour ago by Voldemort's private owl. Imagine my bemusement when I unfolded the parchment and found the letter indirectly addressed to Miss Granger in Voldemort's own handwriting. Then imagine my full-blown bafflement when I read the letter myself." He snatched the parchment from Hermione's hands and held it out for Dumbledore to see. "Read, Headmaster."

Professor Dumbledore hesitated before taking the parchment. Hermione was shaking, and she would not look either man in the eye. Dumbledore read the letter, his shoulders slowly drooping in weariness.

Hermione braced herself for Professor Dumbledore's fury or disappointment. She closed her eyes and waited, her arms around her belly.

When Dumbledore finished, he dropped the parchment on his desk and slumped into the nearest chair. He buried his head in his hands.

---

The rosy man had grown pale; his flesh had fallen away; he was visibly balder and older; and yet it was not so much these tokens of a swift physical decay that arrested the lawyer's notice, as a look in the eye and quality of manner that seemed to testify to some deep-seated terror of the mind. It was unlikely that the doctor should fear death; and yet that was what Utterson was tempted to suspect.

-Stevenson's DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

---

"I told you, Hermione, to stay away from Riddle," cried a muffled voice from behind those hands. "I know you were lonely; I know you were shunned here and there; I know you were frustrated; I know you were desperate, but why did it have to go this far?"

"Silly girl," Snape snapped, "how could you be so careless? Did you forget the past affects the future?"

"No," Hermione whispered. Her thought were swelling in her head, threatening to explode from her. "I knew precisely what I was doing."

Dumbledore looked up. Snape froze.

"You forget one thing, Headmaster, sir," Hermione said carefully. "I was tired. I was tired of being alone; I was tired of being shunned from being what I am; I was tired of people telling me to change and killing me in the process."

"Oh, boo, hoo," sneered Snape.

"Shut up, Professor, I'm not finished." Snape obeyed, more out of surprise at hearing Hermione Granger tell a teacher to shut up than willing compliance.

"I was tired of being laughed at and spit upon; I was tired of conforming; I was tired of waiting.

"The Sorting Hat told me I could have been good in Slytherin, repeating Riddle's words on the train almost verbatim.

"When I entered Gryffindor again, I was shunned there, too, for attempting to return home in the best way I knew how.

"I'm sorry, Professors, if people were hurt or killed, but he did not hurt or kill me. He saw me as I was and found me desirable. He saw my intelligence and found power. He saw my talents, and he cultivated them. I saw him rip fresh boomslang skin with his bare hands, but he would barely touch my hair. He was careful, tender, protective, and jealous.

"Something you may not understand, Professors, is that Tom Riddle is not Lord Voldemort. Tell me, Professor Snape, how many perfections were made on the HJ7 potion?"

"He last completed HJ15," answered Snape.

"Each HJ potion has retrieved more and more evil from the personality of Riddle. Riddle was cruel, yes, but he was hardly a murderer then. Myrtle was an accident."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "You have succumbed to him if you believe everything you say."

"Why do you not? If you can find a flaw in the truth, please tell me."

Snape fell silent.

"Why, Hermione?" Dumbledore asked solemnly. "Why did you have to choose Riddle?"

Hermione smiled grimly. "I didn't," she replied. "Riddle chose me. From the very beginning, he pursued me."

"How many times did you sleep with him?" Snape hissed menacingly, seething beneath his calm exterior.

Hermione laughed again, and the resemblance between her and Tom Riddle increased. "Only once, Professor; I am not his whore."

Snape snorted.

---

-Dear Mr. Stride, I am simply a scientist/ I have a code, to which I remain true!

I don't presume to the stature of moralist/ I leave pretension like that, sir, to you!

- excerpts from "Board of Governors" from JEKYLL & HYDE

---

Then Hermione turned nasty. "With who or what I sleep is really none of your business, Professor. I am not ashamed of what I did. It was my choice, and even as much as I hate T-- Voldemort-- I would not take it back if I could."

"Then you are his whore. He's been looking for a good one for years, but he hasn't found one yet. Tell me, Miss Granger, what are you going to tell your precious Potter?" Snape snapped.

"Absolutely nothing," Hermione shot back. "You've actually given me a nice bit of information, Professor, so I'll go on living as though I was never gone. In fact, no one should have even noticed my absence too much. I only disappeared this early morning. Anyway, I don't spend much time with him now," she said bitterly. "He left me for Ron's company. There was another use for Riddle. He reminded me of my times with Harry before... Then again, it's Tom's fault that Harry's distraught... It all gets so confusing."

"So you're just going to ignore Lord Voldemort's letter?" Snape asked incredulously.

"Yes. Let him come."

"Hermione," whisper Dumbledore, making both Hermione and Snape jump. They had forgotten he was still in his own office. "Do you believe that what you did was harmful to anyone, particularly yourself?"

"Of course she does, Headmaster. She put Potter and herself and all of Hogwarts into danger. Isn't that what you are fighting against?"

"I was asking Hermione, Severus."

Snape's mouth clamped shut, but his teeth began grinding in frustration.

Hermione looked straight in Dumbledore's eyes and shook her head. "It is Lord Voldemort who has put himself into an uncomfortable position, Headmaster, especially if he..." Her hand curled against her belly. Her eyes glowed with a not entirely good light. "I am not afraid of him. Because, you see, if he comes here, he'll be faced with himself."

"Miss Granger," said Professor Snape.

"Yes, Professor."

"Before you leave, you might want to heal that... hickey on your neck."

Hermione gave him a defiant glare, then stalked out of the office, the hickey remaining in place.

~888~

-O my poor old Harry Jekyll, if ever I read Satan's signature upon a face, it is on that of your new friend.

-...and indeed, had it not been for his fear of death, he would long ago have ruined himself in order to involve me in the ruin. But his love of life is wonderful; I go further: I, who sicken and freeze at the mere thought of him, when I recall the abjection and passion of this attachment, and when I know how he fears my power to cut him off by suicide, I find it in my heart to pity him.

- Stevenson's DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

-But, Simon, you knew/ I had to be free!

What I choose to do/ Is decided by me!

But when it comes to marriage/ I must pick whom I prefer!

I'm not the weak young thing/ You're seeking, Simon

Someone seventeen, obedient and sweet!

I am not the protege/ to waste you time on

I'm complete!

-excerpt from "Lisa Carew" from JEKYLL & HYDE

-All these precious years/ I dedicated to this dream.

Now with a word/ They claim the power/ To deny me!

Who are they to judge what I am doing?/ They know nothing

Of the endless possibilities I see!

-excerpt from "Board of Governors" from JEKYLL & HYDE

~888888~