Love [Tomione]

Chapter 3: Nagini

SC:DEER IN HEADLIGHTS|SIA

" My Lord."

Tom swirled the glass of whiskey in his hand, watching it slosh lightly against the extravagant crystal. A fag smoking from his perfectly shaped lips.

" Beatrice Lovegood from the Ministry has resigned from her post as head of Magical Law Enforcement. The minister is looking for replacements from the auror side of the ministry. From what I heard from my colleagues, Joseph Prewett or Agnes Filch seem to fit the bill."

" Old fools." He laughed to himself as Nott watched his next words warily.

" They said an appointment was due next month. Said something about Moon's electoral promises to reaffirm muggle relations...require a strong representative to sort out the public. "

" Strong. Yet obedient followers of his. Prewett and Agnes have been waiting for this very day to come, ever since they have stepped into the ministry. Moon has been holding the strings of them for some time." Tom said, downing his glass. " Nott, you are to follow their very steps closely these two weeks. This may be your in. I assure you that."

Cantankerus had wanted to rise up the ranks in the ministry. Tom was a malevolent lord. Besides he needed an additional eye on those bumbling workers at the ministry.

" Understood, my lord." Nott nodded. " Is there anything else that you require me to do?"

" Just follow your orders."

" And you'll be fine." Tom smiled as Cantankerus Nott gave him an unsure look.

"Nott. If you fail. This is a only a small reminder."

He lifted his eyes to meet the dark irises of Tom.

" Crucio."

Torrents of rippling hell drowned Nott, spazzing on his italian leather armchair as Tom watched, grinning.

That Saturday evening, Tom arrived home from his activities.

Physical, one might add.

He found the witch in Flourish and Botts.

From the back, her curls were not as wild as yours. Her body was not as curvaceous as yours. Her face held no resemblance to you, Hermione.

But Tom thought it might do the trick.

It did not take much convincing for her and him to end up on the covers of her bed. The sheets were rough like sandpaper. Reminded him of the bed spreads from the orphanage. He did not mind. He got on with it.

Her mouths let out moans of pitched ecstasy with his frenetic pounding, the slapping of their skin reverberating across the musty mix of sex and air of the room.

He does not kiss her. He does not cuddle. He did not tell her any sweet words of love stricken words. Lord Voldemort fucks, period. Her body a tool for his lust stricken obsession with the image of his favourite and only brunette implanted onto the woman's face.

And he definitely does not cum into her.

She came first. One. Two. Three... a minute later, he pulls out and lets his seed run down her skin. He shook his head as she pants, looking at him like a love sick fool.

She was okay, he thought to himself.

She bits her lip at an attempt to get the man standing in front of her to fuck her once more.

And he did, a few more times. Taking her in the back. She squealed like a pig in the barn. He thrusts a few times into her mouth before growling frustratedly when her teeth meets the tip.