A corner of Voldemort’s lips turned sly as he drank in her shattered expression. “Why are you lying to yourself?”
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His face was carefully blank, but she could tell fury was brewing beneath the surface as his jaw tightened.
Voldemort walked in and clicked the door shut with a finality that rattled her bones, despite how softly he had closed it. A storm looked ready to be unleashed and cut her to the bone as he watched her with impenetrable eyes.
“My, my…haven’t you been a very busy girl tonight,” he said quietly — completely devoid of emotion.
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She felt him sensually trail his right thumb down to graze the sensitive skin of her wrist. Her eyes followed his every movement as he encircled her wrist gently and held the pads of his index and middle fingers against her wildly fluttering pulse. Her skin burned against his as she slowly inhaled his scent of warm wood and bergamot.
He turned slightly towards her, eyebrow quirked. He lowered his smiling lips closer to her ear and breathed, “Hermione, are you distracted today?”
Six years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Auror Hermione Granger activated a mysterious dark object, which unexpectedly sent her decades into the past.
The year is 1966, and Tom Riddle, now known as Lord Voldemort, returned to British wizarding society after a decade-long absence. Under the pretense of securing the DADA teaching post, he returned to Hogwarts to conceal one of his Horcruxes, Ravenclaw’s Diadem. However, the coveted position had been stolen a week before his arrival by an intriguing witch. As manipulative schemes emerge, tension builds into a ruinous obsession.
Six years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Auror Hermione Granger activated a mysterious dark object, which unexpectedly sent her decades into the past.
The year is 1966, and Tom Riddle, now known as Lord Voldemort, returned to British wizarding society after a decade-long absence. Under the pretense of securing the DADA teaching post, he returned to Hogwarts to conceal one of his Horcruxes, Ravenclaw’s Diadem. However, the coveted position had been stolen a week before his arrival by an intriguing witch. As manipulative schemes emerge, tension builds into a ruinous obsession.
Six years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Auror Hermione Granger activated a mysterious dark object, which unexpectedly sent her decades into the past.
The year is 1966, and Tom Riddle, now known as Lord Voldemort, returned to British wizarding society after a decade-long absence. Under the pretense of securing the DADA teaching post, he returned to Hogwarts to conceal one of his Horcruxes, Ravenclaw’s Diadem. However, the coveted position had been stolen a week before his arrival by an intriguing witch. As manipulative schemes emerge, tension builds into a ruinous obsession.
He existed in her mind like a heartbeat, with flawlessly crafted incisions that allowed him to burrow into its dark crevices, pulsating tendrils anchoring into her.
But she will find a way to uproot him, or there could only be ruination at the end of this path — her ruination.
Six years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Auror Hermione Granger discovered a mysterious dark object that unexpectedly sent her 38 years into the past. The year is 1966, and Tom Riddle returned to British wizarding society after a decade-long absence.
During his travels, he cultivated an unrivaled understanding of the Dark Arts. Under the pretense of securing the DADA teaching post, he returned to Hogwarts to conceal one of his Horcruxes, Ravenclaw’s Diadem. But a week prior to his arrival, the coveted position had been pilfered by an enigmatic witch. As manipulative schemes emerge, tension builds into a ruinous obsession.
She would never admit to anyone that the sinister voice in Slytherin’s locket kindled a twisted rage in her. But that wasn’t really him, was it? It was a sliver of magical consciousness formed by black magic that preyed on a person’s perceived flaws.
The voice never chastised her for inaction — for the way she completely froze in her terror in the Department of Mysteries, and she was grateful for that. It brought to light her flaws and those things she didn’t like about herself — traits that don’t belong to a Gryffindor, such as her absolute vindictiveness. Her need for it.
Voldemort supported her against that primordial backdrop of fire. His enviable silken curls dipped roguishly over his brow, the black reflecting copper in the warm light.
But he didn’t look as put-together as usual.
Without taking his eyes from hers, Voldemort swept his arm upward. His hand clenched into a fist, tendons straining, and the flames around them were extinguished instantaneously.
Faint scorch marks on the inky walls were the only indication that she had clearly lost all control.
