Harry Potter Kill a king (use his madness against him)

**Kill a king (use his madness against him)**

**Prompt: **Laughter

**Rating: **M

**Warnings: i**mprisonment / canon divergence / prison sex /

**Word count: **1497

**Summary: **There's a dungeon beneath the long, dim halls of Hogwarts, a magical cell that drains the core out of every witch and wizard, not designed to kill them but to leave them behind weak, helpless, _a muggle_. Hermione conceptualized it herself and helped to steady it, made the walls as hard as granite and there was no way for anyone to break out of her wards and spells. Not even _him_.

**A/N: **This is the most canon story i've written so far, and i guess it's also the only one of the prompts with magic. Tom is held captive and Hermione visits him again and again, though i limited the story to one night in particular.

**Disclaimer: **This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

* * *

**o.**

There's a wild laughter in her ears, piercing and ferocious that cuts right to her bones.

_(it's madness that sings in it)_

**i.**

They didn't know how this happened and all of them kept their distance as soon as they spotted the boy _(or rather the man)_ months ago after the battle of Hogwarts, laying on the floor right on the spot where Harry's Expelliarmus and Voldemort's Avada Kedavra clashed. He was unconscious but wore the most beautiful face Hermione ever saw and she blushed when his eyelashes fluttered gently on his cheeks.

"Impossible," was the first word out of Harry's pale lips and she noticed how his hand tightened like cement around his wand, his words pressed between his teeth, "That's Riddle."

No one spoke of the Killing Curse that day.

No one spoke of it on the following either.

**ii.**

_(they imprisoned him while he was still senseless and so, the first thing he saw as he opened his eyes were the lithic walls of his eternal gaol)_

**iii.**

There's a dungeon beneath the long, dim halls of Hogwarts, a magical cell that drains the core out of every witch and wizard, not designed to kill them but to leave them behind weak, helpless, _a_**_ muggle_**. Hermione conceptualized it herself and helped to steady it, made the walls as hard as granite and there was no way for anyone to break out of her wards and spells. Not even _him_.

It's far after midnight, the castle long asleep and Hermione doesn't keep track of the time anymore, hours that pass are counted in suns that rise and suns that set and she stopped to see her days in wasted minutes. She uses her wand to guide her, keeps one hand on the rough, cool stone to save her feet from stumbling over uneven stairs while she leads the way down to her condemnation.

_(the treck down in the bowels of Hogwarts becomes a habit, each step strangely familiar and heavy for her)_

**iv.**

The guards on Tom's cell_ (not Voldemort, just Tom)_ stand in silent vigil and let her pass into the room beyond, mute, eyes cast to the ground and Hermione knows they won't speak to Harry about this, wouldn't dare to speak to anyone about this. This wasn't her first nocturnal visit, not by any means. Her eager interest in his knowledge was soon replaced in favor for his person, the power he still emanates in waves even though it shouldn't be possible behind these bars.

_(perhaps that's what draws her to him in the first place)_

For a second she forgets to breath and thinks about Harry and Ron, about the contempt in their eyes if they'd ever find out, the disgust, the hate. But then she pushes it all aside and opens the cell.

_(there are no regrets on her mind)_

**v.**

The change in surroundings is startling when she enters, the dim archaic halls in sudden bright light and humble furnishings. A bed with dark sheets, a desk, a cupboard and a ton of muggle books , the only distraction they allowed him in his isolation, gathered around the cell walls, stacked in piles that nearly reach the ceiling. It looks like a comfortable studio, save for the windowless walls. A pretty prison.

_(but still a prison)_

Tom sits on the bed with his back on the wall, legs sprawling out before him and the book in his hands has scratches and scraps on the cover, buckling on the spine and Hermione wonders which one it is that captured his attention so much. The urge to run her hands over the paper is tempting but she suppresses it, lowers her useless wand to put it on the near desk. Tom doesn't give any indication that he noticed her entering, his eyes transfixed on the tome in his hands but Hermione knows better.

She waits.

**vi.**

Hermione can sway a crowd as easily as Harry can inspire a whole nation, but when it comes to shadow business and abysmal decisions like the reasons she has to make for herself to lock a genius mind like Tom Riddle in the dungeon right under Hogwarts, Tom will always be the one with a swifter mind and sharper tongue.

And Hermione envies him for it.

**vii.**

"You're returning more often these days." His perfect, charming voice drawls while his fingers are still busy turning the pages of his book, his grey eyes absorbing the words like an athirst after years in the Sahara. Hermione bites her lips, stays silent but approaches him nevertheless. She reaches out reluctantly to run her fingers trough his dark hair, enjoying the soft feeling under her palm, slowly kneading his scalp. He sits perfectly still, not a muscle stirring but suddenly he lashes out like the animal he's descending from. His fingers curl around her wrist to pull her down on his lap, their bodies collide in limbs and flesh, his arms around her stomach and waists, her hands gripping at his shoulders, face, hair and they're fighting, clawing, tossing until she finally straddles his hips, chest on chest and their faces just mere inches away from each other. She could smell water on his skin, just as the cheap muggle shampoo they granted him to fulfill his human cleaning needs.

"I thought you'd like the company."

"I admit that your company proves to be promising."

"So is the mighty Tom Riddle telling me he sees me as an equal?"

"Not in the slightest, my dear." Tom laughs, all mockery and faux servility that doesn't reach his eyes, they're still frozen and predatory as if he's waiting for her to make a mistake. _(perhaps it's just her imagination)_

"You considered it."

"As you considered the danger you're bringing yourself into, with every time you're granting me one of your nightly visits."

They don't move for a second, their eyes burning into each other but then Hermione digs her fingertips in his shirt and yanks him forward, kisses him to interrupt any other protest out of his poisonous lips.

**viii.**

Tom's teeth drag over her jaw and neck, nibbling at the sensitive skin and it makes her shiver in anticipation, her fingers digging in the thin cotton fabric of his T-shirt to tug him closer, his chest pressing slightly against hers. He kisses her hard, demanding, challenging and she moans into his mouth as Tom winds closer, his tongue in her mouth in a split second. His fingers slide down her stomach to the hem of her blouse, opens the buttons one by one and, draws patterns on her skin but not for long because his hands demand more and before she knew where she was, he already opened the fly of her trousers. His finger dances over the skinny material of her knickers while his lips suck another mark on her neck that she'd need to cover once she leaves his cell, and her breath was lost as soon as he pushes in her, a slow tormenting rhythm that makes her rip on his hair even more. She lets her head fall and groans against his shoulder, bites trough the fabric until she feels his skin stretching behind her teeth, his moan a declaration of war in her ears. Tom's free hand and fingers bury in her curls, yanks her head back until their eyes meet again, fury and wild passion soaked clearly in them. She wets her lips, snatches his lips into a kiss again and fiddles on the buttons of his trousers. Tom laughs, bitter and amused at once, smile still on his lips when she kisses him and he pushes his finger deeper into her.

**ix.**

Every trust lets her guilty conscience drift away, just a tad more, until it vanishes in a dark corner of her mind.

_(she promises herself she'll release it once she's returning to the surface again)_

**x.**

It's hours later when Hermione finally rises from the bed beside him, grabs her clothes, puts them on bit by bit, and she doesn't regard the marks on her skin, neither does she care about the ones she left on his. "They'll know," he says in a flat voice without any emotion that might give him away and she can still feel his fingers digging bruises into her hips. She doesn't answer, however there's a tiny voice in her head screaming the truth she doesn't want to acknowledge. She grabs her wand from the desk, leaves him behind on shared and used sheets. Tom's up the second the cell closes behind her, rushes to the bars, presses his face against them and starts to laugh, calls after her, "They'll know, Hermione, they'll know!"

It's wild, maniac, bitter, the sound of it is sharp as shattered glass, discordant as misplayed notes and it'll haunt her even for hours later.

**xi.**

She doesn't look back.

_(but she'll return, the laugh still present in her ears)_


End file.

Harry Potter, Angst, Drama