The Dark Lord's Playbook of Nefarious Misdeeds

ROBBERY IN PROGRESS

A/N: this is a shorter chapter, but I didn't want to keep you waiting for an update. I am nearly over the flu and looking forward to doing some more writing. This chapter I included a Tom POV, showing his conflicted feelings however twisted they maybe. I bring out some of Hermione's immaturity along with her unsure thoughts and feelings. I guess neither of them really know what to do with each other.

ROBBERY IN PROGRESS

Two days later...

Hermione POV

Tom has barely strung a sentence together acknowledging my presence. He's planning something and not letting me in on it. It's frustrating I already feel out of control being in this situation and to now have my actions dictated and decisions taken away.... I'm on the verge of breaking.

I am not a child, yes, I may only be 18 nearly 19 years old, at least 10 years younger than him but I am not an idiot. He doesn't need to treat me like a bumbling gullible moron. I know he doesn't see me as his equal, I don't think he sees anyone as an equal. But that doesn't mean he needs to shut me out. I sigh although how could I not expect him to rebuild his walls even higher after exposing himself emotionally. His spiel about Dumbledore certainly struck a chord and I have come to the stark realisation that perhaps this whole War was pointless and could have easily been prevented by Dumbledore all along. It's just that he chose not to, wanting the rabid opponent that Voldemort presented and played so well. What was equally annoying is that Voldemort was right, no tricks, no lies because why lie when the truth hurts even more. The reality that Dumbledore had something to do with our fall through time cuts me like a knife, dipped in betrayal, a venom more poisonous than anything Voldemort could say. I felt infuriated that he manipulated everyone, including Voldemort. Everyone's lives have been inexplicably altered, diverted to different paths because he wanted it so. Like Voldemort- Tom said we are all pawns on the giant chessboard, believing he has the right to play with our lives without his hands getting dirty. He created us into the perfect little soldiers, running off to war with no real grasp of what that entailed. He really was an allegorical representation of Victor Frankenstein. Moulding, shaping, haphazardly slotting pieces together to make us into what he needs us to be. It's so much to process, it's demoralising and humiliating to know that a person whom you looked up to as a great leader and educator would do this. I feel like the knitted rug of my life has been pulled out from underneath me. A corner thread pulled out and I have yet to stop it from unravelling.

I walk out onto the landing and watch from my doorway how Tom is folding everything neatly and placing it in the trunk we are 'borrowing' from the people who actually live here. I don't linger too long not wanting him to catch me watching him. So, l head downstairs instead, waiting for further instructions about what it is we are doing.

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Tom POV

I have ignored her for two days now, because I am reluctantly admitting to myself that I am growing fond of her. A little protective. Those instincts roared to life at the state of her when I saved her from that putrid den of immorality.

Seeing her sprawled on the bed, bruises already forming on her exposed thighs, bloomers askew and the blood dribbling down her chin enraged me, and I barely know this girl other than what I have discovered while being in Potter's head.

Holding her in my arms felt.... nice, having her in my bed felt nice, so nice in fact that I nearly strangled her in her sleep. Her slender neck beneath my fingertips, my thumbs caressing down the front of her neck to her jugular notch. I remember the thrill of gently pressing my thumb into that soft vulnerable spot between her clavicles. All it would have taken to crush her trachea was a bit more pressure. I remember her eyelashes fluttering like butterfly wings and I wondered whether she would open her eyes and see me hovering while contemplating killing her. Would she have screamed? Fought me with the same ferocity as she did in the whorehouse? Or watched with resignation of her fate? I observed her for a few moments longer than pulled away. As much as I fantasied about that moment, I don't know whether or not I would have been able to follow through. I wasn't ready to tempt fate by killing her just yet. She still may prove a valuable asset; it would be a waste to not use an intelligent mind like Miss Granger's. At least that is what I am telling myself, completely believing it is another matter entirely.