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First published January 1, 2021


“Now, I’ll show you the blood choke with an arm around the neck from behind.”
He rose from the ground, motioning her to do the same.
She shook her head stubbornly and remained on the ground. She yelped as he used his magic to gently pull her upward. He couldn't force her to move, but there was an odd magnetic tug in her body to move towards him.
It was a strange sensation that sent goosebumps across her body. He waited for her to get to her feet.
Voldemort stepped into her personal space behind her.
The heat from his chest surrounded her as he towered over form, but he didn't touch her yet.
She held perfectly still, hoping he wouldn’t see her shiver.
“This is known as a rear naked choke.” He encircled her neck with his right arm, her trachea in the crook of his elbow. Before he could grab his left bicep and apply any pressure, Hermione felt the air escape her lungs.
She trembled all over as a creeping dread flooded her veins.


His voice, like silk and smoke, broke the silence in the room. “You released a massive burst of accidental magic. You went somewhere else in your mind and tried to burn the room down.”
She could only shake her head absently as she gazed unseeingly into the void. “I will. I’ll burn it all,” she whispered.
Dolohov reared away from her and into Theo Nott beside him when he discovered she had suddenly brandished a live, writhing snake at the dinner table like it was a wilted sword.
With all her strength, Hermione pinned the wriggling snake to the table with her hand near its head as it hissed incessantly. She picked up her dessert spoon and transfigured it into a silver dagger, poised to strike.
Voldemort’s eyes had narrowed on her.
“Stop,” he said quietly.
Reluctant guilt churned in her gut. Today was not only New Year’s Eve, but it was also Voldemort’s birthday. Killing his evil creature and plotting the destruction of pieces of his soul on his birthday seemed rude.
Luckily, she had plenty of time to kill before the evening’s festivities.
Little kitten, the cold is so bone-deep here, I yearn to leap into the sun. I don’t mind your filthy blood, as I know it will flow hot in my hands. Time trudges on, stitched together by memories and dark thoughts. Have you ever looked at the world with eyes that are already dead? I don’t dream much, but when I do, I dream only of you. To say that I reminisce of your sweet voice as you beg me not to hurt you would be an understatement. I wish to one day look into your eyes and either watch the light fade away forever, or revel in absolution.
In her nightmares, Voldemort’s insidious voice from the locket whispered to her, poisoning her. Take him apart. Visit him in Azkaban and make him suffer. I'm sure he'd be delighted to see you.
“No! You misunderstood.” Malfoy lunged after her wrist and pulled her back hard against his chest, his hands on her upper arms. He buried his face in her thick curls, took a slow, deep breath. “I want you to call me Abraxas, please, Hermione.”

She had a unique mind that he couldn’t navigate, and she didn’t even realize.
Anticipation coiled in his gut. He hadn’t felt such commotion in his mind in so long. He hadn’t felt such desire to possess in so long.
“Now that you’re done with your little tantrum, would you like some Firewhisky?”
During their dance, he had been so fixated on that single, errant curl that escaped her hairdo, teasing her cheek and jawline—distracting him. But then he later found her with her hair down, curls loose and soft, for someone else.
He had been given so little, and another, so much.
His fist clenched against the marble wall, his knuckles turning bloodless.
Antonin’s feet lifted off the ground, and Voldemort released the bar on one side and flicked his wrist, fingers twisting. Antonin flew straight into his outstretched hand, which tightly seized the other wizard’s throat.
He'd not allow anyone to speak of her with such irreverence.
Another Death Eater dragged him off to the side.
She chanced a look at Voldemort. He was contemplating her with a small, quirked smile, but there was something more—held in the way he tilted his head, in the way his gaze seemed fixed on her. Something unbearably smug bled into his expression.
And it took her by surprise. Because it couldn't be. It was impossible for a marble statue of a Greek god to have a heart of stone that beat so convincingly.
Because the consequences would be too severe if he was truly made of flesh and bone -
There was no escaping gravity.
She stared hard at his tall, imposing figure, terrifying in its raw power and charisma, and whispered into the dark, ❝You're wrong, Voldemort. I will be the one to watch you fall.❞

His little siren was learning, but she never did anything as expected.
She collected pieces of him. But she, in turn, gave him pieces of herself. She was sharp enough to get beneath his skin - a pretty little thorn in his side.
Impossible to ignore or dismiss or remove.
Relentlessly plaguing him. Even in his dreams, he could taste her unique scent on his tongue.
He thought he had banished dreaming long ago.


❝You've abducted me from my room in the middle of the night without permission-❞
❝Have you ever known anyone to ask permission before an abduction?❞ he asked curiously.
❝You taste like sunlight. Why do you hide yourself?❞
“Keep your eyes on me. So you know which wizard you are taking into your mouth right now.”

