Entry tags:

fic, het, remus/severus/tom, slash, threesome, voldemort/hermione

Happy Springsmut, lunalelle!
Author: arbor_vitae
Recipient: lunalelle
Title: He Haunts
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Voldemort/Hermione, Lupin/Tom/Snape, hints of Hermione/Ron
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: Don't close your eyes. He's standing right there, before you.
Warnings: Horror, slight non-con, may be a little gory near the end
Word Count: ~3,700
Author's Notes: Written for lunalelle who requested a canon-compliant Voldemort/Hermione and Lupin/Tom/Snape darkfic, powerplay, and a bittersweet ending. May you have a wonderful spring! It was a great honor to write for you, and I do hope you enjoy this tale. Many thanks to my wonderful beta! You were a wonderful help!



A single raindrop trickled down a leaf and plopped on top of her head. Hermione looked up, her eyes just barely glimpsing the first sunrays after the rainfall that gleamed past the thick canopy of leaves. She could still feel the raindrop trickle down her scalp, eventually lost amidst her thick mane of hair.

Three years after her graduation from Hogwarts, Hermione's hair was still as bushy, if not more wild and tangled than during her school days. Her closest friends often teased her chaotic state of her hair due to the amount of work and stress she had at her new job in the Ministry in the Department of Law Enforcement.

"Just look at those crazy curls," Harry or Ron oftentimes would tell her. "You're driving yourself mad!"

Hermione smiled warmly at the memory.

Another raindrop dripped from a tree leaf, splashing right over Hermione's eye. She tensed, the warm memory of her friends vanished.

No. Don't close your eyes. He's standing right there, before you.

Her eyes stung with the need to blink, but Hermione forced herself to stare blankly ahead.

Don't close them, she willed herself. Her eyes half-closed, she could already see him...a pair of demonic red eyes looking straight back at her...

No...

Against her will, her eyes shut tight. Instant, the eyes bore back into hers as though a demon of a man was standing right before her, looking into her eyes, tearing her from the inside. A devastating chill shot through her thin body. Hermione shook herself, forcing her eyes open.

Breathing hard as though the ice was weighing against her chest, Hermione collected herself and left as quickly as she could.

~~~

"Sometime during the battle in the Great Hall, his eyes met yours," Harry said, gently swirling his coffee mug over the table. "Maybe this is all some form of post traumatic stress? You just keep seeing his eyes but it's not real."

"That could be it," Hermione said, picking at her small salad. Hermione didn't want to confess this to Harry, but she did not think the eyes were a vivid fragment of her imagination. The scarlet serpentine eyes were definitely real, and they were always looking right at her, piercing her very soul, violating her...

Hermione swallowed heavily.

"Hermione?" Harry's voice broke into Hermione's troubled thoughts.

"Yeah," Hermione said tentatively, shaking her head. "I just have a complex case I'm working on right now."

"You really need to take some time off and just rest," Harry said, shaking his head and smiling.

"Yes," Hermione said in a voice that sounded strange even to her. "Rest."

~~~

He died, Hermione told herself over and over while she worked on the desk in her bedroom. He's dead. I saw him die in the Great Hall. How can he still be alive?

Her bloodshot eyes scanned the words she had just written on her report, not absorbing their meaning. Blinking could not last for more than a nanosecond. Her eyes begged to close, to rest, but Hermione refused. Her dreams, thankfully, were something that Lord Voldemort did not seem to penetrate; however, falling asleep was a tricky affair. She couldn't close her eyes; she had to fall unconscious before her eyes would close.

Hermione looked up from her notes, sighing heavily. She simply couldn't concentrate on this case. The fear of the red eyes disturbed her more and more each day.

"It's absurd," she said softly to herself. "Only Luna Lovegood would believe such a ludicrous thing!"

But his eyes were too real, Hermione had to confess to herself. The penetrating stare was too intense to be just my imagination, I don't have a vivid imagination in the first place; I can't write a stupid poem to save my life! I keep telling myself that he's dead, but there's still something, something that I can't put a finger on.

She glanced to her left. What if he is still around?

She leaned against her chair, deep in contemplation. She could close her eyes and try to communicate with the deceased dark wizard. After all, so many survivors of the war had been in the Great Hall and had briefly met Voldemort's eyes before he cast the fateful curse, and she did not hear of any case like hers.

If I never find out what's going on, this will always bother me, Hermione thought. But if it's a benign matter after all, then I won't have to worry about it again. I won't know unless if I close my eyes.

Steadying herself, Hermione closed her eyes. Instantly, the fiery red eyes stared right back. Hermione held the gaze.

"What do you want?" she demanded. The eyes did not blink. "What do you want?" she asked again. She could feel - yes, feel - him sneer, his lips curling inhumanly. The sneer wrapped around her, threatening to consume her.

Hermione risked breaking the gaze to look elsewhere. But there was nothing there. The eyes kept following her gaze. Icy snakes were coiling around her, slithering up her thighs. Their ominous hisses filled her ears. She tried to fight them off, only to find that nothing was on her.

"Are you a ghost?" Hermione demanded, gathering courage. "Well? Why did you seek me? A Muggle-born of all people! What do you want from me?"

A dreadful high laugh ripped through her body.

"Answer me!" Hermione yelled. Gust of bitter wind swept past bare skin. Hermione glanced down. Before her mind could register the fact that she now stood nude, an ice serpent struck, burying its nose deep into her pussy.

"No - stop!" Hermione shrieked as thick ice invaded her. She could not move; an invisible pair of hands gripped her tightly. "Get out of me!"

Hermione opened her eyes. Panting hard, she looked all around and above her as though the dark lord was still there, just waiting to grab her again.

A pain shot up her body. She looked down and saw a very thin line of blood beginning to seep through the hem of her skirt. Her panties were discarded several feet away.

She shot up from her desk, rushing to the shower.

What's happening to me? she thought, panicking as she took a closer examination with shaky fingers. There was no semen present, but her virginal entrance was cut.

"How could the snake be real?" she asked aloud, shocked. The showerhead rained down on her, washing her body, but Hermione didn't feel any cleaner. A wet strand of hair brushed against an eyeball, but she fought against the reflex. She didn't dare close her eyes again.

A peculiar sensation swept past her back, and she spun around to make sure no one was there. The unsettling feeling of someone watching her overwhelmed her.

Just my hair, silly, she told herself. You're scared of your own hair! He's not behind you. No, he wasn't. He was here, looking right at me. But she could only see him when she closed her eyes...

What if he's still around even with my eyes open?

Turning the faucet closed, Hermione dried herself and left the shower as quickly as she can. She needed to contact Harry or Ron. She could not tell them what she had experienced. The proper words could not materialize in her mind, but she couldn't be alone, not with the ghost of Lord Voldemort.

~~~

"Is everything all right, Hermione?" Ron asked as they walked down the peaceful sidewalk outside her home, stars twinkling above their heads. A fortnight later, Hermione had steadily gotten worse in appearance. The dark circles below her bloodshot eyes had become her most striking feature.

"I'm fine," Hermione said, faking a smile to her friend.

"You sure? Harry reckons the final battle is haunting you."

"Don't be silly," Hermione said. "That was years ago." It's not the battle that's haunting me, it's him. "There's this really difficult case I'm working. I've been losing sleep over it. The convicted...he's a monster. The criminal's probably just reminding me of Voldemort."

"Well, okay, if you say so," Ron said, stopping in front of Hermione's house. "Call Harry or me if you need anything."

"Okay," Hermione said. She was already in her house, looking back at Ron. The door was still open just enough so Ron could see Hermione's face, the hand that was still holding the door, and part of her foot. They held each other's gaze, Ron hesitating to move closer, Hermione hesitating to move away from the door.

"Er, Hermione?" Ron broke the silence.

"Yes?" she replied. His eyes didn't leave hers.

"Take care of yourself," Ron finally said.

Hermione nodded. "I will. Have a good evening, Ron."

"Same to you," Ron replied, concern still on his face.

Hermione watched Ron until he turned onto another street and was swallowed up by the darkness. It was the perfect opportunity to invite him in, to be with him longer, possibly for the entire night. His feelings for her were no secret; neither were her feelings. After all, they had shared a kiss the same night as Voldemort's defeat.

It was just that one kiss, Hermione told herself. Why, she wondered, was she so reluctant to move ahead in this relationship, in any relationship?

Sighing, she reluctantly locked the door, already missing Ron's presence. A heavy invisible weight pressed down on her shoulders followed by the uncomfortable feeling that she was being watched by piercing eyes. All around her was silence. It was too quiet in the house.

She switched on the radio, but the booming tune of the song playing did nothing to lessen the tension. She looked around her uneasily as though she had just woken a large terrible dragon. With one flick of the finger, the sound abruptly stopped, but in its place now lay a ringing silence. Still, the spectre consumed her.

I can't let this trouble me forever, Hermione told herself as she settled on her narrow bed, lying against the many pillows.

She could close her eyes, confront the monster once again. She knew what to expect, what to fight against.

But these aren't illusions, Hermione reminded herself. The ice serpent was real. Either I confront him or I let him ruin the rest of my life. She made her decision. Determined, she made herself comfortable. With her arms folded, one leg crossed over the other, Hermione closed her eyes.

Scarlet eyes were staring back at her.

"I don't know why you've chosen me," Hermione said, "but I'm not afraid of you." She turned away quickly. The chill that had been threatening to swallow her once more had vanished instantly. She glanced over her shoulder; to her astonishment, the eyes and the pale body it belonged to had disappeared.

Checking around, Hermione did not catch sight of Voldemort anywhere around her. In fact, she wasn't even surrounded by pure darkness like last time.

She was now in a dimly-lit room. The drapes hung loosely, shrouded in cobwebs. A thick layer of dust covered the floor, the furniture overturned and the stuffing protruding from the seats. Hermione shivered in the cold; the room had not been lived in for many years.

Hermione did not recognize the room, but she made her way out to a grim hallway with tattered wallpaper. There was a chink of orange light in the distance. A fire must have had been lit; someone must still be living here.

But it was not a comforting sight that greeted Hermione; quite the contrary, the scene before her drained the color from her face. A naked man was slouching in the large chair beside the fireplace, but it was not the same man who constantly stared into Hermione's eyes. He was younger, more handsome. His youthful face was pale but not like the bone white skull of the monster who haunted her.

Hermione had never seen Voldemort when he was younger, but she had heard of his description many times by her friends. A sinister aura surrounded him that drew Hermione to him despite herself.

He arched his back on the chair, releasing a quiet moan. A wide grin played on his handsome face. His pants were discarded not too far away, his legs stretched wide apart. His hips slowly moved in rhythm to the attention the two men between his thighs gave him. They were on their knees on the floor, going down on Riddle as though their entire existence depended on it.

In the firelight, Hermione caught the faces of the two men.

"P-Professor Lupin?" she stuttered. "Professor Snape?" Impossible! Professors Lupin and Snape had died in the final battle! They can't be alive!

Their eyes were whitish blue and unfocused, both sporting an odd expression as though no brain resided inside their skulls. Hermione continued staring as Tom gave a sharp brief cry, shooting come over Professor Lupin's pallid face.

"Again," Tom hissed his order. Eagerly, Professor Snape brought his head down, licking the come that glossed the head of Tom's cock which was, to Hermione's astonishment, still hard. Tom lolled his head back on the chair, thrusting his hips up, easing himself into Snape's mouth. The two men were back sucking Tom Riddle, Snape deepthroating while Lupin drew kisses over Tom's stomach, sac, and thighs. Tom's soft moans filled Hermione's ears.

"You enjoy it," Tom suddenly spoke, his breathing quickening. He turned his head until he was staring right at her. His devilish grin widened. "Oh, don't deny it, Hermione. See the fire burn more intensely in the fireplace? The fire is you, Hermione. Can't you feel that same fire burning wildly inside you? I don't have to touch you to know you are wet. You're madly craving this, to have my cock inside your tight cunt."

"No," Hermione said, surprising herself at how shaken her voice was.

"Oh, you would like nothing more than to tear off your clothes and fuck yourself with any object you can get your filthy Mudblood hands on," Tom laughed darkly. "Your wand, your hairbrush, Harry and Ron...you would love to fuck anything, anyone...but you're afraid of sex, Miss Granger. Look at the austere way you live your pathetic little life. Yet, what most terrifies you is what you ultimately secretly desire."

"That's not true!" Hermione protested.

Tom laughed again. "Liar," he said silkily. "I know everything that goes on in your heart. Your fantasies, your desires. Your fear has kept your virginal for so long; do you not think one of your male friends is waiting for you?" He rhythmically thrust his cock into Snape's mouth, picking up speed as he continued. "I know how much this is driving you mad, Miss Granger. Oh! Take one of your fingers and rub your clit hard; it will do the trick. Ah! You want to do this. Rub yourself against this armchair, spread your legs so wide - Ah! - you want to squeeze your breasts hard while you pound your fist into your tight pussy and scream as you take yourself over the edge. AH!"

He climaxed again, filling Professor Snape's mouth. When Tom pulled out, Snape smiled uncharacteristically, pearly liquid dripping down his chin.

Hermione's stomach turned. "No!" she said, pleadingly. "No! I don't want this!"

"Your body is betraying you," Tom informed her. "For once, give in to what your body needs."

His cock came into view once more. Hermione couldn't keep her eyes off the slick head, a thin trail of come running down his shaft. He was right; Hermione was wet and needy for pleasure.

She bolted out the room, Tom's laughter echoing in her ears. She collapsed into another room, one without a lit fire. She didn't stop to take in her surroundings; the primal need overtook her. She yanked her jeans and knickers off. Her knickers was wet from her juices. She plunged her eager fingers inside, reveling in the bolts of pleasure that shot through her body once the heel of her hand came into contact with her clit. She lay on the floor, her legs spread wide, her hand working hard on herself. She rocked her hips to a fast tempo, breathing fast as she rose herself to climax. She needed an object, any object, to push deep into her pussy, but this would do. She was desperate for release, and she was so close.

Oh, yes! Almost there...

Suddenly, she felt something new, a hot wetness lick up her pussy and fingers. Gasping, she pulled her hand out and struggled to sit up. Her legs were still spread, her clit throbbing demandingly. But for one moment, Hermione didn't pay attention to her body's needs. Because she was looking into scarlet red eyes.

Lord Voldemort's face appeared just as he did the night their eyes met, years ago. He was sitting before her naked, a pool of silk blankets around him. Hermione glanced around her. Where was she? She couldn't see the door she had come in. Had the scenery changed again?

Before Hermione could speak, Voldemort grabbed her legs, keeping them spread apart. He blew on her quivering pussy. She shivered as the cool breath fluttered over her throbbing clit.

"What are you...?"

A tongue flickered out, tasting her nectar. Hermione fell back, crying out as he explored further with his mouth and long tongue. She wiggled her pussy against his face, which didn't anger the dark lord. Rather, she could sense the thrill he got from arousing such responses from her. She didn't know how she knew this; their bodies and souls seemed to be closely connected by some unseen thread.

A long, slim finger was inside her, pushing deep, invading her. She begged for more, for him, and Voldemort only complied. Hermione cried out, painfully, as her body was invaded with Voldemort's large cock. He was claiming her, tearing her wide open, but Hermione did not beg for him to stop, her mind and senses blinded by the bodily pleasures.

Every time their eyes met, Hermione felt not ice running through her but fire, fire that burned most bright inside her pussy, along her thighs that spread wide for him, her clit being teased and rubbed with a white thumb.

With a final cry, the orgasm ripped through Hermione. A great rush of intensity washed over her in shuddering waves; her belly clenched, and her clit throbbed overwhelmingly. Her body shook, her hips thrusting high before crashing down. Something warm spilled inside her.

"Enjoy it, Miss Granger?" Lord Voldemort inquired, his serpentine voice a low hiss.

Hermione's breath steadied, and she glanced back at the dark wizard.

"No..." she moaned, her voice cracking. "No...what did you do to me?" She sat upright, pulling her legs close to her body as though shielding herself. But the damage was already done.

If I felt the effects in real life from the ice serpent, I surely will feel this! Hermione thought fearfully. This wasn't a dream; the events that took place really affected her...

"Oh no!" she screamed. The tears flowed. She had lost her virginity, had fallen into temptation so easily. "Bastard! You raped me!" she shrieked at him.

Lord Voldemort laughed coldly. "You begged me," he reminded her softly. "You are not the proper young lady you think you are. Deep inside, you're a whore waiting to burst out. You would do it again, admit it!"

"No!" Hermione cried, a part of her shakily wondering if she really was just denying this fact about herself. She shook her head. "Open your eyes," she told herself. "Open your eyes!"

"That will not save you from me," Voldemort said. He brushed a long finger against her cheek; Hermione boldly pushed his hand away. Ignoring the gesture, Voldemort continued. "Every time you close your eyes, I will be waiting for you. We will bed many times; you will not resist me. Even a single blink will land you in my arms."

Hermione just stared at him. "How did you get into my head?" she said, not expecting a reply. He's not haunting my dreams, only my eyes, my vision...

She stared down to the heap of silky blankets.

Open your eyes! Why was it so hard to open her eyes? Had Voldemort escaped into the outside world? Was everything around her real? She thought back to the room with the fireplace, to her two former professors giving Tom Riddle head.

They're dead, she told herself firmly. They are no longer alive!

But Voldemort made them alive...

"They're dead!" Hermione cried out, her head snapping up. Voldemort was watching her silently, sporting the same devil grin as the handsome wizard in the fireplace room.

"You will never be able to escape me."

A thought suddenly popped into her mind. Why are there two of you? Even if Voldemort had somehow come back, why would she be seeing two versions of him? Maybe he can change his appearance, Hermione wondered. Or...

Her mind whirled back to the moment their eyes met in the Great Hall. Just like with Harry...he latched on to a living object for survival!

"Horcrux," Hermione mouthed. Of course! It all makes sense now! She gave a mad laugh that made Lord Voldemort look at her questioningly. He's cursed my eyes! That's why he doesn't haunt me in my dreams; he's not in my head! Only my eyes! The source of the Horcrux is my eyes! This is why I had those visions every time I closed my eyes!

She brought her hands to her eyes, covering them. A new terrifying thought occurred to her. He could escape! She ran her sharp nails down her cheeks, imagining the horrors if the fragments inside her were released.

She turned her attention to him. "You won't escape," Hermione said boldly. "I'll destroy you!"

"How?" Voldemort challenged, amused.

"By destroying the Horcrux," Hermione replied. She had a choice. This was the only way to rid the frightening visions, the only way to protect her friends, to prevent Voldemort from returning.

She brought her nails to her eyes.

Last thing she heard was Voldemort screaming at her to stop.

Then there was darkness, a tranquil silence.