Disclaimer: The story is mine, the characters not.
Alert! Mature content.

Although I read well in English, writing and speaking are a lot of effort. This is one of my attempts to be a disciplined person and train my weaknesses.

Enjoy it!

-o-
The Bait
by XL Nozes
-o-

The girl lying on the floor of the house squirmed in front of the flash of light coming towards her. She bent, pulling her back from the floor, her limbs stiff and her eyes open, almost terrified.
"Will this work?", a man asked watching the scene. The girl's body convulsed and laid, motionless, on the floor. A pink mist circled her and the girl sucked in breaths, as if she was suffocating.
"Let's hope so," said a second, older, male voice. "This is our last alternative."
"Everything is ready?", he asked, looking suspiciously at the limp body in the middle of the room."
"It's all we could do. The rest is her responsibility."
The mist faded gradually, completely inspired by the young woman as the two men watched her work.

-o-

She moved slowly, feeling the sand from the ground pressed against her right cheek. Her eyelids lifted and the world began to spin. She blinked once, then twice, three times, trying to get things into focus. The green mass on the extreme left side took shape until it turned into treetops, the brown just below it was distinguished in trunks. Hermione Granger doubled over, feeling her abdomen burn in a strange pain to her - as if it did not really hurt her. With one hand resting against the nearby trees, she rose to her feet, her knees trembling, insisting that she stay on the ground. She narrowed her eyes trying to focus her mind on what she needed to do. A hand tightened on her right temple as she struggled to organize her own thoughts. It was not common to see Miss Granger unable to distinguish a line of thought. She took a deep breath, and in the fog that covered her mind, she could find what they had been insistently saying.
She had to find the Dark Lord, Voldemort. She had to find him soon.
Her legs were trembling, and her footsteps were almost desperate as she crawled into the woods.
The plan did not seem particularly bad, she just wasn't too happy to have been chosen as the bait. She suppressed a groan, her hand tightening the cloth over her belly. She took a deep breath twice before finding the strength to go wandering. The Dark Lord should be around here somewhere. She just needed to find him and everything would go its way. She just needed to find him...
She swallowed a sob. She did not know how long she had wandered through the trees, seeking him, but he should have appeared by now. He should have followed her scent, found her.
She fell back against the trunk, cowering between the roots. Her legs were sore and the heat that covered her belly was enough to make her skin itch. She slipped a hand through her hair, irritating herself as her fingers clutched at the knots. Maybe ... Maybe she should look for a river. Yeah, a river. There she could get rid of the heat that consumed her, which prevented her from thinking rationally. She rose, trembling, and strained her ears to the sound of water. She heard nothing that could guide her. In fact, she heard nothing but the anguished groans within her own head. A groan escaped her and Hermione raised a hand to her forehead, feeling feverish. Her skin was beginning to accumulate with sweat, and the urge to brush against her thighs increased every moment.
She took a hesitant step, her knee weakening at the weight. She wouldn't, she knew she wouldn't make it. Her fingerprints clawed against the bark of a tree as she sought something to keep her on her feet. Her body fell dead on the floor as the world spun. She took a deep breath, but the air seemed to keep her lungs empty and to dry her tongue. She wanted to... She exhaled, shrinking, her fingers pressing the skin on her belly. The vision dimmed gradually, the edges turning gray, evolving into black, and then Hermione lost consciousness.

-o-

There was something cool and wet on her forehead, and the girl let out a sigh of eagerness, almost relieved. Her spine curved, pulling her body away from the floor, and her knuckles turned white as she closed her hands, her knees brushing against each other. "Awake?", came a definitely masculine voice over her.
She bit her lip to hold a moan and control the urge to jump on anyone else. Hermione raised her eyelids slowly and found a pair of green eyes so deep that the air in her lungs died out. His scent began to make a winding path into her nostrils, a musky mixture of wood and rain. The two emeralds have moved away, and the girl could see him better - the aristocratic nose crowned by a pair of round glasses, square and firm jaw, lips darker than skin, thick eyebrows, black hair on the top of his head.
Merlin, she was in trouble.
This was definitely not the Dark Lord and she was really in trouble.
Whatever they had done to her had put their hormones into frenzy and the only coherent thought that could make the way through their hazy mind to their consciousness was that he was not the right man.
"Are you better?", he asked in a baritone voice that made her body tighten.
The male hand slowly climbed toward the towel in front of her, however, in the desperation not to make it possible to destroy the mission, Hermione struggled back, ignoring the way her skin crawled over the leaves and branches.
"Miss?", he asked uncertainly, his hand curling.
"Just do not touch me. No... do not touch me", she murmured, her eyes tightly shut, as she tried to rise. She staggered back, her shoulder slapping against a nearby tree and avoiding a fall.
"You should not be standing", he stood up as well, but kept the distance she insisted on imposing.
"I must go," the girl stammered, moving around the tree. Soon she was moving forward, concentrating on placing one foot in front of the other.
"You do not look well", he argued, following her from afar.
Hermione shook her head, persuading herself to move away from him as fast as her uncoordinated legs allowed. His scent drew her close, and her hormones demanded that she respond to the request. She wanted so bad to grab him and do things that would make her neighbors scandalized!
"Leave me alone!", she breathed. She felt sweat pour from her forehead to her chin and the idea of throwing it all away and ignoring her responsibilities seemed more and more tempting.
She was only more comfortable when she stopped listening to the footsteps behind her.

-o-

Her legs failed and the girl fell hard on the floor, her knees sore and scratched. Merlin, she could not stand it any longer. If she did not find him, she would soon have to take the problem into my own hands. She was a modern girl and could do that. She felt the taste of blood dance on her tongue, the result of biting her lip so hard. She kept on crawling. There was no guarantee that the pressure she felt within herself would not worsen after what she was considering doing. She needed a river. A very cold river.
Her body spasmed and the girl found herself pressed against the half-rotted leaves, her arms wrapped around her belly. Oh, Merlin. Just... Just... Her right hand slid over the tight, her mind filled with images of the dark haired man who had tried to help her. She almost regretted letting him go. Her fingers gripped the hem of her skirt and began to pull it up. She just needed... She shook her head. No, that was not the point. What she really needed was to find the Dark Lord, period.

Her body tightened and she let a whimper escape. It was time for Plan B, the river. She lowered her eyelids and tried to concentrate on the sound of the water. She was surprised to realize that she could actually hear it. She must have been so distracted by her own perverted thoughts that she hadn't noticed before.

She crawled, stumbling, toward the sound source. Falling into the water without worrying about clothes or temperature. The cold covered her sweaty skin, refreshing her mind and putting her thoughts in order - the heat in her belly just a memory. She laid down, floating with the current.

She did not believe that she had spent so many hours wandering without finding the Dark Lord. The forest was his territory, right? Hence he attacked the villagers who insisted into entering the woods - arresting them or killing them. The forces that had been sent to get rid of him had failed - he was a wizard who refused to follow the laws of men. That's why they needed to destroy him.

She almost felt like a bitch with the plan the elders and counselors had drawn up.

It was nothing more than a couple of spells thought out by the village advisors - the few men who were born with the gift of magic - that should make any living thing with a Y chromosome want to bed her (or, instead of a bed, a table could be used, or a wall, or the floor). So far the plan did not seem particularly ingenious. However, they had cast a spell that should bind her life to the life of the first man to accept her, making them dependent on each other.

The final part of the plan involved her death and, consequently, his death, but that should not be thought of now.

She exhaled. It was not as if she was happy to walk into a trap that ended with the extinction of her own life, but for Hermione Granger life worked in a very practical and rational way. Someone had to prevent Voldemort from continuing to kill people, which had not happened in more than twenty years of troops sent with this exact purpose, and if that was the only way, Miss Granger would not hesitate to do what was right. Besides, it was not like anyone was going to miss her.

-o-

Her eyes, wide open, watched the sky as she was carried. The temperature was no longer enough, and the girl was frustrated that she had not gotten the Lord from wherever he hide. She submerged, hoping it would keep her rational enough to come up with a plan to find him. She didn't feel hungry or thirsty. She felt nothing besides the urge to search for the first available male specimen and... seize it.
When she emerged, opening her eyes after running her hand over her face, a house entered her field of vision.
That could only be the Dark Lord's residence.
It was much less Gothic and much more Victorian than anyone could have expected.
She crawled out of the stream, feeling her legs tremble. She sucked in, anxious and fearful at the same time. If all went right, the relief was only ten feet away. With that thought, her hazy mind and tense limbs took her.
The knuckles of her fingers tapped against the light wood of the door, and she leaned heavily against the eaves that surrounded the porch, the muscles of her tights contracted, rubbing over and over again. A tight groan, particularly similar to a yelp, escaped her throat as that pair of ridiculously green eyes appeared after the door opened.
"How can I help you?"
Ow, damn it. His voice was serious and every time the air passed over his lips it was as if heat waves were enveloping her. She bit her lower lip, managing to ask a ridiculous question as her only intention involved that bit of bad road between his legs.
"The ... Dark Lord?", she said in a trembling, panting voice. Her knees weakened and Hermione clutched the wood more tightly.
"It's me, how can I help you?"
The world collapsed and the girl went with it, falling on the floor.
"I told you you were not well," he insisted, kneeling beside her, not touching her.
Now, beside him, knowing that this was the man she sought, her whole body seemed to be on fire. She felt so hot, so deep that the urge to crawl out of her own skin made her suck in the air. Her fingers gripped the wet cloth over her tights desperately, pulling it all over. Her crotch was damp, and no matter how she pressed her hips against the ground, nothing seemed to ease the despair.
"And ... u …", she gasped, without being able to coordinate her vocal chords.
"They put a terrible spell on you, didn't they?", he asked in a friendly tone that made her desperate.
They should have put a spell on her, one that would keep any man from resisting. However, the boy in front of her did not seem particularly intent on grabbing her anytime soon. Her affliction was mounting. She rubbed her hips one more time, her desperation almost bordering on tears. She nodded, unable to respond.
"Temptation, lust, desire ... something of similar?", he instigated her.
Hermione continued to shake her head, his scent urging her to throw herself into his arms, demanding that he do very, very naughty things with her.
"I can make a potion. It should take a few days, but it would get rid of anything they did."
At the mention of the days, her brown eyes jumped. No! She had ... had to seduce him. That was the plan!
Denying, she used her trembling, desperate fingers to pull him by the collar, bringing his mouth toward hers. His lips were not particularly soft or bulky. They were thin and there was a small piece of loose skin on the right commissure, but that did not matter. He was surprised by the impact, his mouth opening softly into a small "o". Hermione did not miss the opportunity to deepen the kiss.
He felt the warmth of her soft tongue and let out a quick, short moan as one of her hands gripped the masculine hair and pulled his head back, leaning over him. The boy allowed the woman's tongue to wander through his mouth in surprise. Hermione did not know what woke him, but soon he returned the kiss with the same abandon.
Something was growing between them, something warm, unsatisfied, and increasing in intensity. And she was choking on it. She pushed him to the floor, pressing her body against his muscles. The Lord was trying to murmur now, trying to pull away, but that was what she needed, what she came here to do.
His hands finally came to life, gently pushing her shoulders. He could not breathe. The man made a small sound, lost in the darkness of her feminine mouth. Both Hermione's hands held his face now - harder and brutal. He moaned around her tongue, things that were fragmented into the female despair.
Then his fingers tangled in her hair beneath her head, and finally pulled her away.
They both gasped, blushing and Hermione insisted on pressing their bodies together.
"Is it this? Is this what you need?", he stammered, and she responded by touching his lips again.
He smiled against her mouth, as if he were a child and she was a pot of sweets and so everything was acceptable. One of his arms circled her at the waist while the other was used as a support to rise.
Hermione enveloped him with her limbs, clinging to him as the man carried her into the house, the door slamming past them. They didn't reach far beyond the room, where he slowly fell to lay her on a rug. The girl moved, without even considering that it might be uncomfortable. She could think of nothing but the masculine lips on her throat. Oh, God, she thought. He kissed her neck, coming down. She stood up slowly, resting her hands behind him, wanting to feel more of him. The Lord laughed against her skin. Hermione shivered, using one hand to pull his shirt.

"Hm?", the man murmured, still between kisses, approaching her breasts.

The girl tugged at the fabric, wet because of her, more insistently.

He pulled away and Hermione could see him smile. Slowly, he removed the light-colored shirt. She gasped, the heat burned her interior mercilessly. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of his pale, husky chest. Hermione watched the body in front of her, the contrast of the dark trousers with the marble skin, the line of the male hips that disappeared under the fabric to places she had never seen. She could see the hairs descending toward the male crotch and wished to kiss the path they formed.

Her mind could not conceive anything beyond what they were about to do, her brain was just a pulsating mass that instigated her to do very, very bad things with him.
Taking advantage of the distance between the bodies, she tugged at the wide blouse of raw material she wore before returning to kiss him with renewed ferocity. The Lord traced a low path, following her breasts. So, having reached them, he stopped and the girl groaned in disappointment. He bit her skin just over her left breast and she moaned, feeling the moisture build up again. Then he bent, tracing the feminine side with his lips.

"Oh, God," she sobbed. No one had touched her that way, and the result went straight to her center.

His lips moved up to her toes, and the only thing she could think was that he should be sucking her nipples. He sucked and nibbled on her skin of her stomach and the girl shuddered at the feel of his hair against her breasts.

Hermione laced him with her legs and pulled him to her. The force and angle made her lie down again. She was about to pull his head to herself when his hands went up to her skirt until he gathered it around her waist. He bit her a few inches from her swollen lips and Hermione tightened her legs around him, trying to control the scream that was gathering in her chest. He continued, kissing the line that separated her leg from her center, nibbling and licking, making her tremble. Her fingers tightened on the soft fabric of the carpet, trying to keep the little control she still had.

She was burning from the inside out and the Lord had not even touched her in the places she was about to beg him to explore.

The girl felt slippery with her own juices, but even that did not seem enough to arouse the shame that must have been hidden and fogged in some part of her mind. The Lord bit down on the top of her right thigh and the female legs parted, her brown eyes opened by the surprise that the pleasure associated with the pain brought her. She looked down and saw the impossibly green orbs watching her intently. Hermione had no idea what he was seeing, but the look he wore made her inside tighten in anticipation.

He grunted deep in his throat, moving closer to her center, as if to take her in his mouth, his eyes didn't leave the brown ones. Hermione dropped, not daring to watch him while he was wearing that mask of hunger.

She was on the edge, her mind begging him to touch her, to end the agony. She felt the air that the man exuded tickling in her tight and moaned. Then, suddenly, a small, fresh gust was blown over her sensitive, moist, inflamed skin, and all her thoughts were gone.

His hands found the dark strands of her - soft between his fingers - and she pulled him toward her mouth. When she had him in the places she wanted - wedged between her lips - she ran her palms across his chest, finally outlining it. It was suffocating and addictive, but the only thing Hermione could do was run a path of kisses and licks from his neck to his chest.

She heard him moan softly and his rough fingers stopped the work of her hands, holding her by the fists.

"No, no. If we want to do what I have in mind, this is not helping."

"Please," she gasped at his pectoral, cool against her flushed cheek. God, what was wrong with her?

"'Please'"?

"Please touch me."

It was a shock to both of them how coordinated her speech had been. The emerald eyes narrowed and he lay flat on her, kissing her deeply. However, she wanted more. The feminine hips went against him, her fingernails clawing at the robust back.

The Lord took control of her hands again, holding them against the ground and over their heads.

"We have to control ourselves."
Hermione wanted to think what he meant by this phrase, but her thoughts were much more carnal and far less philosophical at the moment. She struggled a little, wanting herself free, but her fight was futile when, unintentionally, her tight hit the volume inside his pants. He was hard against her, separated only by the thin fabric. That made her squeeze more against him. He pushed her hips down with his own, pinning her to the floor. Hermione arched her spine and groaned, feeling the effects of the whole walk on her tired and aching muscles.

She wanted more of him.

Finally, male lips made their way to her breasts, taking a stiff nipple in her mouth. The girl moaned. He moved to the other dark-skinned peak and kissed it, rolling it with his tongue. If Hermione had found her thoughts messy and tangled before, the feel of his hot, wet mouth against her was enough to make her think she was crazy.

Gradually his hands released her, making the way over her body, getting rid of the skirt that was still accumulated, wet, around her waist. Her legs were pulled back and Hermione was breathing rapidly, not knowing whether it was anticipation or nervousness.

He slid a finger between her folds and, suddenly, she felt no more fear, just need. He circled her clit, teasing her, and she could not bear it, begging him to continue. The Lord pushed his finger inside her wet entrance, and Hermione screamed. The pleasure was indescribable. He watched her as the girl arched her back, completely in control. He needed to make her reach the climax with only his fingers, even if he wanted to sink into it. He would explore her, take care of everything, and solve the little problem the girl had with spells.

He was pumping her with his fingers, slippery with her juices. The Lord could feel how close she was. He noticed, as he watched her flushed face, how innocent he was. There had to be an explanation for the whole situation, he just had to find it. With that in mind, he straightened his movements, sliding a second finger into the channel. She was so tight she barely let him in and the men could feel her twitching around him.

Hermione gasped as his finger slipped in and out. She had never imagined feeling anything like it. It was a blessing. She did not know if there was any sensation that could equate the pleasure she felt at the moment, as if every nerve ending in her body was on fire. Then she felt him slipping the second finger and hissed from the pain. She could feel his pressure straining and filling her. He pumped faster, deeper, while she gasped in pain. But there was something erotic about it. The more he retracted and reentered her, the more pleasure he accumulated.

"Mh, oh,", she groaned incoherently.

Then the Lord stopped, his fingers still deep inside her. His thumb worked her swollen clit and her mind saw nothing but color, her eyes closed as she moved her hips. He pushed her back, tapping his finger against the buildup of nerves, and suddenly the orgasm was there. Everything seemed to explode and she was screaming, her hips moving uncontrollably, but he did not stop. As the climax struck her, he drew his fingers from her, slippery, and circled her clit. The female body exploded in a new wave of pleasure.

"God, oooooooh, oh, god."

The female hands were out of control, one clawed at his back, another gripped the rug. The Lord continued to work on her clit and it was almost too much pleasure. He entered the convulsive center again, harder, and she no longer knew what was up and what was down. The movements continued and Hermione did not know whether to keep her legs apart or close them with almost asphyxiating pleasure. The fingers came in one last time, hitting the right spot, making her arch with pleasure before releasing her as the Lord swallowed her moans with a kiss.

-o-

Constructive reviews are always welcome.
See y'all,

Aunt Nozes