She grabs onto his hair, squeezing it tightly as he kisses her ferociously, almost violently, crushing her into the wall. There is little time for breathing and she pulls his school shirt off of him. The rest of his clothes follow quickly, as do hers, and she wonders how he knows exactly where to touch her. It's not legilimency, because they don't make eye contact for the whole time, but it's something unusual.
That first time he fucks her, in one of the dungeons near the Slytherin common room, he fucks her hard and he fucks her fast. It's over quickly and she finds herself trying to regain her breath whilst biting at the part of his body which isn't quite neck but also isn't quite shoulder, her hand still twisted in his hair.
She wonders what Harry would say if he knew, and suddenly she feels disgusting. She disentangles herself from him and the pair of them dress in silence. He leaves while she's still trying to make her hair vaguely presentable.
He bends her over the desk and she clenches her fists in anticipation. She moans as he enters her and he fucks her just as hard as he fucked her last time. Just as hard as he fucks her every time.
His hands are clutching onto her hips tightly and she knows he's enjoying himself as much as she is.
Sex, to Hermione, had always been part of a relationship. It wasn't something that she thought she'd ever seek out, especially when she isn't even properly involved with the other person. But, she spends her evenings meeting Tom in prearranged places and getting thoroughly ravished by him.
She stopped feeling guilty and disgusting a long time ago. Now she just craves that he fucks her as hard as he possibly can.
She's not even sure that she wants to go back to where she came from, because nobody there could possibly match this.
In lessons, he touches her when people aren't looking. Just a hand on the thigh, that sort of thing, but sometimes, especially in Charms where there are long table cloths hiding any under-the-table activity, (they're actually there to hide all the damage the tables have accumulated over the years) he goes further, and it is all Hermione can do to remain silent.
She hates feeling like his slave, like he's in control of her, and so one day, when the class is getting a head start on the essay that was set for their homework, she reaches under the table and starts to touch him. It's nothing at first, just dragging her fingers along his thigh. She very much enjoys the deep breath that he inhales, trying to concentrate on his essay. She's still writing her own, multi-tasking like nobody's business.
She can feel him getting hard and it's her who smirks this time. She surprises herself with her audacity and reaches into his trousers, and wonders if anybody hears him gasp.
It only takes five seconds of gentle teasing before he loses it and shoots a spell into the air.
"Time freezing charm," he tells her.
"How did you manage that?"
"I'm fucking brilliant, now hurry up and finish me off."
Hermione looks cautiously around her frozen classmates, wondering how long the charm will last, and how long Tom will.
She grins and gets to work.
When the class unfreezes, it is strange, knowing that she and Tom have just experienced time outside of time.
She wants to do it more often.
"Hermione, for fuck's sake." It's rare that he loses his composure, but as she paces back and forward in front of the bare patch of wall, he becomes more impatient by the second.
The door to the room of requirement appears and Hermione tugs it open, Tom following her inside. She can tell by the look on his face that he's half enraged because she knows more about Hogwarts than he does and half curious about what will be on the other side of the door.
It's a bed. Just a normal bed with dark blue bedcovers. Hermione shuts the door behind Tom and he grins, turning the key in the lock before putting his hands on her waist and pushing her back onto the bed.
"Say my name," he breathes into her ear.
"Tom," she breathes back, the word muffled against the skin of his shoulder.
"No, 'Lord Voldemort'."
"No." Hermione says sharply. They stop.
Hermione shakes her head.
He kisses her neck, making her gasp. His kisses lead up to her ear. "What about 'my Lord'?" His hands roam over her body and he continues to kiss her neck, slowly building up a rhythm again.
She gives in and whispers it in his ear. He moans in arrogant ecstasy and she soon forgets about it because despite the weirdness, the sex is still so fucking good.
It becomes a much more frequent request. 'My Lord' she can cope with, but 'Lord Voldemort' makes it real, and it makes it sick.
He doesn't understand why. Of course he doesn't. He keeps pressuring her to say it and she's running out of excuses. He starts getting angry with her and she knows that she has to get out.
She has to get out because now he has stopped being Tom Riddle, and started being Lord Voldemort.