Chapter 12. A Broken Childhood

Irene awoke to a noise in the hallway, and her gaze immediately slid to the small room. Making sure Tom wasn't there, she slipped to the door and listened to what was going on. Apparently, it was the noise of the guys who lived here. Her hand involuntarily reached for the knob, but the door was locked with charms, so no Muggle could enter if they wanted to. Of course, Tom didn't give the impression of a careless person, but it was worth making sure. Soon the voices died down, and Irene strode across the cool floor back to the bed. She sat down on the prickly blanket and looked at her body; there was hardly a trace of her wounds. Tom hadn't lied when he'd said she'd look the same as before.

The Legilimency sessions were obviously not going to end, so Irene took a deep breath before sinking into her own consciousness. Tom shouldn't know her genuine emotions and feelings, so she intended to hide some memories.

On June 2, 1938, little Irene woke up in an unfamiliar room. The plaid was unpleasantly prickling her arms and legs, making her whole body itchy. She swung her legs off the bed and wiggled them, staring intently at a black dot on the floor. The reverberations of yesterday flashed through her mind, and it was clear that her memory had not returned. Questions of who she was and where she came from remained unanswered.

The door of the room opened, and a young girl appeared on the threshold. If Irene remembered correctly, her name was Martha. The nanny told her to go to the common dining room on the first floor for breakfast in the next ten minutes, but first to go to the girls' bathroom on the same floor.

Entering the room that had several sinks, Irene modestly said hello to the other girls. They smiled at her, and a red-haired girl named Bella even gave up her seat. Irene quickly cleaned herself up and obediently went downstairs. There were unfamiliar children around, laughing and talking loudly. The atmosphere was not tense, but inside everything clenched, and her body involuntarily refused to take the last step. Irene froze at the entrance to the dining room and scrutinized the tables. It seemed as if all the children were as clear as day and could be read like an open book. Aside from the naive and completely ordinary thoughts of children, Irene considered fear. Fear towards the same boy, but otherwise they looked like the most ordinary children.

Sitting down at the table that was in the very corner by the window, Irene began her morning meal. Her appetite was brutal. She remembered how she had been running endlessly for a long time and had not slept well all night. Suddenly, the surrounding atmosphere became tense. Her gaze automatically scanned the room, and it was clear why: a tall, dark-haired boy was pacing around the dining room.

"Not here!" Irene thought to herself as Tom, aged eleven, brazenly and defiantly sat down opposite, which made it unpleasant. He would not leave, so Irene started a dialogue first, in order to somehow defuse the situation. After all, he doesn't bite, does he?

"Hello, Tom!" She squeaked, hoping the boy would respond in the same friendly manner. But she was wrong.

He gave her a look of contempt, and Irene, hiding desperately behind the mug from which she was drinking her tea, for her throat had gone dry as soon as he sat down beside her, felt it. And then the authoritarian voice rang out, "Actually, this is my place."

Irene wanted to collapse to a point and disappear, but she was suddenly brave. It wasn't because she wasn't afraid of anything, but because she had nothing to lose, so the best defense was an attack.

"You can sit with me," she said cautiously, testing the waters for a future relationship, but she still didn't dare look into his eyes. She stuck the aluminum spoon into the porridge and then added, trying to look as calm as possible, "Unless you ask stupid questions."

"I wasn't going to talk to you," Tom said, as if doing her a favor. He sounded unbearably wry and ate silently, but Irene felt as if the ceiling were about to collapse on her head. There was a terrible pressure in her temples, and she could hear her own heartbeat.

"Look, let's just eat breakfast," she spat out harshly and coldly, finally looking at the face across from her.

She felt bad. So bad that words could not describe it! Mom and Dad still hadn't come, and there were some strange children around, and now this Tom, who was responding to her friendliness with arrogance.

Tom froze. His gaze slowly shifted from the spoon to Irene's face, and she inhaled, but seemed to have forgotten how to exhale. The big black eyes stared into her soul. She wanted to fall through the ground, but she couldn't tear her gaze away from those familiar eyes. A multitude of questions rushed into a demonic dance in her head. Why had she allowed herself this momentary weakness and rudeness? What would he do next? It seemed as if the hairs on her head were about to move—how unpleasant his gaze was!

As if making some kind of decision, Tom just silently ducked into his porridge, and Irene exhaled in relief.

"I'll sit here, Tom. I don't pester you with silly questions, and neither do you," she voiced in a near whisper, to which Tom agreed with an indifferent nod.

Irene finished her breakfast quickly and walked away, not wanting to be around him. It was too hard. It felt like he was strangling without physically touching. The thoughts of the other guys said he should be shunned and avoided. He's mean. He could hurt.

Irene sat down on a bench outside the orphanage, trying to remember something, but in vain. Since she was stuck here until her parents arrived, she needed to decide how to behave. She could be friends with Bella. But Bella is just a defenseless girl. There were a bunch of boys standing around, but they reeked of stupidity. Tom's probably the best match. At least he didn't look stupid. Making friends with him would make sure that no one would hurt her at the orphanage, since everyone was afraid of him. And after all, maybe making friends with one boy was easier than trying to find common ground with everyone else? Or maybe she had hit her head too hard and thought she could feel the emotions and hear the thoughts of the other boys? Irene shook her curly hair, chasing away that vivid feeling, but her gut kept telling her otherwise: it wasn't her imagination.

A low hissing sounded behind her. It was a snake. Irene was not frightened but smiled for the first time in a while. She immediately got off the bench and sat down on the grass, where a small white pebble was lying. The desire to take it with her was very strong, but first there was a conversation with her new friend. Unfortunately, it didn't last long because Bella came in. She called Irene to the building, and already inside, she remembered she had forgotten the stone. She had to go back. Tom was sitting on the bench, but the snake was gone; he must have scared it away. He looked at Irene with a completely indifferent look, and then silently held out the stone. Irene took it, and Tom went to the old, rusty swing without saying anything.

The intrusive stares of a black-haired boy with an angelic appearance were deceptive. He'd followed her, stalked her to the bridge, and just silently watched—all of it frightening. Little Irene, having been at the orphanage for a couple of weeks now, was convinced that everyone indeed feared him, and even her little heart sank involuntarily when she felt his silent presence, even if he kept his distance.

Determined to act, she brazenly sat down with him in Martha's class, immediately receiving an attack in return with a slyly taken notebook and its subsequent burning. He'd shown that he could take any thing and do anything he wanted. It hurt like hell and made her want to burst into tears for the entire class. Why would he do that? All she wanted was to be friends. Why did she end up here? A sickening hope that mom and dad would come soon because they were out there somewhere. They are alive somewhere! Something just happened.

The desire to escape. But where to? Drowning in her thoughts, she went around the corner of the orphanage building, just to be alone with herself and to cry from helplessness. But then the boys appeared, like a pack of hungry jackals, who decided that she would be a punching bag because she looked fragile and could not fight back.

Irene remained silent, not wanting to confront them, but they didn't stop. They pushed her so hard that she fell to the ground, tearing her knees and palms. It hurt so badly, and the one question that echoed in her head over and over again was: Could she be in hell? How could she call it anything else if it was like a nightmare on the surface?

The familiar silhouette of the dark-haired boy who'd just watched the whole time as she was pushed and fell over and over again, tearing her body bloody. Did he step in? It seems like he did. Anger at everything that was happening and unwillingness to accept the situation she was in took over and spilled out onto one of the bullies. It hurt him, and he even bled . She was taken out of what felt like a trance by someone who painfully grabbed her wrist and dragged her in the direction of the orphanage. It was Tom. He was hurriedly dragging her up the steps to the second floor. Irene watched her small feet in black sandals hurrying up the steps, but she still could barely keep up with Tom. Why had he stepped in? And then came the sound of him saying that she was just like him. What did he mean by that? The mirror reflected two mounds of black, frizzy hair and pale, gaunt faces. Tom suddenly declared confidently that no one would hurt her. Of course, no one would hurt her. Except him. It was at her own risk to stick close to him, to be fun and unpredictable but reliable, and to keep his interest.

And then he showed what he could do. Not all at once, but gradually. Gradually, the realization grew that this step was probably the wrong one, and she should have stayed closer to everyone else but not to him. What if he did something like that to her? But there was no turning back, and so it was necessary to jump headlong into the darkness that came from him, not to seem but to be faithful in her attitude toward the new friendship.

Tom was special, but cruel. He could hurt anyone and simply go unpunished. Wide-open dark eyes and a friendly tone when needed. Gradually, Irene got used to it, plus it turned out that Tom was right, and she could do strange things too. Since she wasn't like the others in the orphanage, it meant one thing: she had chosen the right friend, no one would hurt her, and she could just be herself; otherwise, sooner or later, the boys would hound her. The only thing that little Irene promised herself was not to show Tom that she was sometimes terribly afraid of him.

One day, she found a gigantic snake in the basement of a building on the street side. Tom didn't go with her, thinking it was a stupid idea, and anyway, it was raining outside, and he preferred to read books in this weather. The snake was hungry, and Irene thought of nothing better, sympathizing with the poor reptile, than to take the rabbit from Billy Stubbs. There was a quarrel and even a fight. Tom, throwing Irene on his shoulder, carried her off to his room, saying she had behaved foolishly. Then he asked about her parents, and she honestly said that she wished they could come and get her. His lips pressed into a thin line, and he yanked painfully at her black hair, pulling her close to him. Irene was frightened, knowing what he could do. She couldn't contain herself, and he realized it. With a squeamish push away, he quickly left the room. Moments later, there was some commotion in the hallway, and she wanted to burst into tears. Pleading for her parents to just come get her because it was so bad here... That night, she couldn't sleep. For the first time that night, her emotions took over, and she cried quietly into her pillow.

When the tears were over, Irene walked out into the hallway in the gloom of the night, wanting to make peace with Tom. He was her only friend. He had to understand that she was just tired, and that she was waiting for her parents, and when they came, she would be sure to ask that he be taken too.

She was quietly descending the stairs when she saw the boy's grim silhouette slip silently down to the first floor. Following him was a white fluffy rabbit hopping along, obediently following his every command. Irene cautiously followed down. Tom went into a small room on the first floor where the rafters were. What happened next made Irene nauseous.

It wasn't the fact that Billy's rabbit was being killed that scared her—it was Tom. It was his equanimity and calmness, his satisfied smile at everything that was happening, as if he was enjoying the spectacle of the butchery, his every gesture, and the convulsions of the little animal, that frightened her. And the most disgustingly horrible thing about it all was his gaze. It was the same way he sometimes looked at Irene when he touched her hair or her body. Goosebumps traveled over her skin, and a feeling of sickness swept over her.

Irene hurried quietly to her room, realizing that she had to regain his favor tomorrow morning at all costs.

The door creaked open, and Irene raised her hand in readiness for a duel. Tom entered the room. The snow was silvery on his black coat and then had melted slowly. He looked indifferently at her palm and inquired, opening the wardrobe.

"How are you feeling?"

"Much better." Irene tucked both hands under the blanket and wrapped herself more tightly in it.

Tom approached the bed and held out a small package. It was obvious that it was meant for Irene, so she took it and warily looked inside, where there were vials of potion.

"Drink one at once."

"What is it?"

"It's a potion to prevent you from inadvertently having offspring." Tom went back to the closet and fiddled with bags or clothes like a grandfather. "You'll always drink it after or before sex."

It made her feel a little uncomfortable. He'd stated the fact, deciding that this was the way it was going to be from now on, without asking if she wanted it. Of course, physically, she still wanted him just as much. But that's the nerve of it!

"And if I don't want it," Irene snorted in the best tradition of rebellious women.

Tom froze. Then he looked out from behind the door. His face contorted into a repulsive smile. He finally grasped what he was looking for, immediately walked over to Irene, and silently handed her the pants and jacket. Apparently, he had restored her clothes, and all this time, those had been safely lying in the wardrobe. "You could've given it to me sooner!" Irene reproached herself.

"I couldn't have," Tom said phlegmatically, sitting down in his chair. Irene frowned. Had she lost her occlumency ability? "That's what you were probably thinking. Your body needed constant application of ointments and taking potions. So, don't make up something that isn't there. You have shoes now, by the way. They're in the wardrobe."

Irene gave Tom a meaningful look and waited for him to turn away to get dressed.

"Really?" He suddenly laughed warmly. "Düster, you amaze me!"

"Okay," she exhaled and got off the bed, shaking her clothes out onto the blanket.

She stood back, and goosebumps ran down her spine as every cell of her flesh felt Tom still sitting in the chair, watching her every move.

And he was really studying her body. The arousal came with renewed force, and he exhaled slowly, closing his eyes. Would it always be like this now? Would he want this witch all the time? Swallowing hard, Tom alerted, "I'll be right back with the food; dinner is starting there."

He returned rather quickly. Not wanting to get into any conflict with Riddle, Mrs. Cole had allowed him to eat at his place.

After all, Irene relaxed, felt more lively, and even joked around like she once did when she was a child. She even made Tom laugh twice, one of which he almost choked and hissed in displeasure, pointing out the need for manners.

After eating a bland, tasteless meal, he took the empty plates and glass back and returned just as quickly.

"We need to continue," he announced in a stern voice, shutting down any excuses.

Irene sighed heavily and noted to herself that Tom's face remained sculpted and stony. It was like he was going to work, not into her mind.

"Do you mind?"

Irene shook her head negatively, lowering her head meekly. Well, let him try. Anyway, she had hidden all her grievances against him, so it was unlikely he would find anything.

"Legilimens."

Tom dotted through the orphanage memories. He stopped only for a few seconds at the moment where he gave Irene the white stone by the bench and then continued looking.

They were walking into St. Paul's Cathedral. An unfamiliar man was sitting on a pew inside. Tom stopped there and looked at the man. Then he remembered that when he had hugged Irene outside, this same man had come out and smoked a thick cigar.

Tom was like a machine with a single purpose. He wasn't interested in Irene's childhood or her parents. He was looking for something else.

Diagon Alley. This was the moment! Tom concentrated, digging into consciousness and memories like a predator into fresh flesh.

"I know him," said little Irene, and she ran down the dark alley, forgetting Tom.

She walked hurriedly, but when she lost sight of the wizard, she stopped and looked around in confusion. Someone put his hand on her shoulder. A commanding but silent Imperio, and she obediently followed the man. It was him! He was the one in the cathedral. But who was he...?

Near the pub, where Irene had just sat down on the steps, a woman appeared. The man informed her that there was a boy with Irene. The woman snorted unhappily, but the man with the hat and cigar insisted that Dumbledore might have been with them as well. What if he was accompanying them? Which meant this was an unfortunate moment.

Hurried footsteps were heard—it was Tom approaching. They had to leave.

Tom grabbed Irene's wrist somewhat roughly and dragged her behind him.

"You already have my last name," Tom hummed, turning to go to the second floor, and Irene went to her room.

Dinner, where she talked about immortality. The corners of Tom's lips trembled in a faint smile at those words.

Irene left the dining room to pack her things before leaving. She hurriedly went up to the third floor, and a small room similar to Tom's was already in sight.

She had packed everything. The last thing to do was to close the suitcase and stow it under the bed so no one would see anything. There was a loud pop. Irene flinched.

Behind her stood a blonde woman, beautifully dressed, with neatly styled hair and wearing a hat, and a man in black austere clothes, also wearing a hat. He also had a funny polka-dot tie.

"Who are you?"

"We've come for you," the woman smiled.

She reeked of falsehood a mile away. Irene backed toward the door, shaking her head. Her whole being was telling her that woman couldn't be trusted. She pivoted toward the doors and sprinted, off the chain, toward the escape route. But a Confundus flew into her back, sending Irene crashing to the cold floor. Pain spilled over her body. Someone grabbed her arm roughly.

"She's too small to apparate," the man said in a stern voice.

"I don't care," the witch said through a smile. "If she's lucky, she'll live, and if she's not, she won't. What a pity!"

A bright flash of light. Her head spun violently. A painful sensation coursed through her entire body. Irene squealed, trying to plug her ears from the strain, but it didn't work. A metallic taste appeared in her mouth. Blood rushed from her nose, smearing all over her clothes. There was a hard thump against the stone surface. Irene moaned, unable to cry out a full-blown sob. It hurt too much. It felt like her body had been torn into a thousand pieces. Heeled shoes near her head that pushed carelessly against her face. The black ceiling. Pain and darkness.

Irene was breathing heavily, clutching the sheet of the bed so tightly that her fingers turned white. Riddle watched in silence as she struggled to regain consciousness.

"You're a skilled and strong Legilimens," she puffed. "I've met nothing like this before in my life."

"I remember that man. He was in the cathedral. He was the one who took you from the orphanage. They were both involved in the attack on your parents. Who is he, and who is the woman?" Tom asked in cold blood, ignoring everything she said before.

"It's Carrow and Grimmson." A malicious smile appeared on her face. "The enemy always pretends to be a friend, being a wolf in sheep's clothing, biding his time. All this time, I've been told that the Aurors attacked my parents." Irene chuckled nervously. "It was obvious that someone had set them up."

"Apparently, you learned from the best," Tom said indifferently, sitting down next to her on the bed. Irene looked up with a surprised look. "Why are you looking at me like that? You've been pretending to be a defenseless little girl all this time."

"Have you?"

"And I just wanted and want Hogwarts to stay open. I told you that honestly."

"And stole my magical walking stick, so I could get kicked out of school!"

Tom looked at Irene, who had waved her hands around emotionally, completely phlegmatic.

"What happened next? How did you survive? You were practically not alive after the transgression. So that's a long distance."

"It was Nurmengard," she said, lowering her head. "You know, and they fixed that in my head nicely too, successfully removing the first time in prison."

"Is this a prison?

Irene nodded silently. Tom's eyes gleamed with lively interest. She took a deep breath as if before jumping in, knowing full well what his gaze portended.

"Legilimens."

Little Irene was lying on the cold floor. She was starving and thirsty. Once a day, someone brought food and poured bitter potions into her mouth. Sometimes she refused to drink them. Then it was done under the Imperius Curse. As Irene felt better, memories of the orphanage came to mind.

Every night, the drawling whine and sobs of a little girl drifted through the stone-cold corridors of Nurmengard. It was Irene who kept calling for someone named Tom. Some people would come and gag her with spells. Eventually her strength just left her, and she fell to the cold floor. Her crying turned into monotonous mooing and heavy breathing, and her eyes were red and puffy from the constant crying.

Tom touched almost every day of her first weeks in prison. Day by day, she behaved with more restraint, but every night she cried herself to sleep and called for Tom again and again.

The door to the stone, dimly lit room opened. The heels came close to Irene with a loud sound.

"Tom," she cried. "Take me back to Tom. Where is he?"

"Stop whining! You filthy girl!" Carrow grabbed Irene by the hair, forcing her to stand up. "You're supposed to eat and be fit! And you whine day in and day out and wither before your eyes!"

Carrow had hoped the girl wouldn't survive or get too bad to take away her torment with Grindelwald's permission, but little Düster was a survivor that made her whole gut quiver with hatred and loathing. The outgrowth of the love of the man who should have been with her and the vile witch she had finally killed.

"Time to move her to the squad," the low, velvet voice of a man in a black hat with a funny tie sounded behind her.

"Yeah, but she's always whining and calling for some kid. What's his name?" Charlotte snorted.

"Tom," Irene looked daggers. "Tom Riddle."

"If the boy was a thoroughbred, we'd know his last name. He was the one, I believe, who was with her in Diagon Alley. There's no point in wasting time. Besides, he's probably been at Hogwarts for a long time," Grimmson explained calmly.

He waved his wand, and a small tray of test tubes flew into the chamber. Carrow threw Irene back on the wooden bench and began to pull out the orphanage memories without looking at them, with one purpose only: to remove that annoying name, Tom Riddle, which every night echoed through the corridor of the north wing of Section A with a monotonous wail.

Irene fell silent. Her gaze went blank and glassy.

"Sleep!" Carrow snorted, accepting the fact that the girl would be transferred to another section.

As Irene lay unconscious on the cold floor of Nurmengard, Grimmson put in the memory of how the Aurors had killed her parents and how they, Grindelwald's men, had bravely fought them shoulder to shoulder.

Riddle was like a predator, taking in every detail. No, not the little girl's emotions or the way she was calling him, but Nurmengard, the people of Grindelwald.

"Stop," Irene said, clenching her fists, which made her knuckles turn white. Her head hurt so badly, she thought she was going to pass out.

Tom didn't listen to her; he continued to watch where Irene's sleeping body was levitated, studying the corridors and the people.

Another part of the prison where things didn't look so terrible. A big room with lots of beds. There were children sleeping there. Fifteen at most. They put the girl in an empty bed and left, closing the door behind them.

"Tom, stop," she whispered.

Her eyes closed. Irene cringed at the pain that was tearing through her head. Blood spurted from her nose, and she smeared it across her cheeks with her fist. It felt like something heavy had hit her head painfully. She opened her eyes, but the silhouette across the room was indistinct, rapidly receding, and there was a dull ringing in her ears. The last thing she saw was Tom jumping up from his chair and rushing over to her, picking up her body, saving her from falling to the floor.

Irene came to her senses quickly. Looking reproachfully at Tom, she pulled the blanket over herself and turned her back to him.

"I just wanted to know who took you," he said in a concerned voice. Tom ran his fingers through her disheveled curls. "Do you remember? I even asked you about it directly."

Irene shook her head positively. He sounded so attentive and caring, and only a few minutes ago, he hadn't even thought about her condition.

"I thought that if it was your parents...'' Strong arms encircled the feminine body by the shoulders. Pale fingers slid down her neck and tugged at her chin, forcing her head up. "Then I'd be looking for you after you graduated from Hogwarts."

"Why?" Irene exhaled raggedly. The sensation of his body somewhere behind her back made her common-sense desert, and it wasn't about to go back.

Tom was already slowly undoing the buttons of her clothes, making her body throb with anticipation of his hot palms, which didn't take long. He ran his hands under Irene's already unbuttoned jacket and squeezed her swollen breasts, exhaling into her ear, "To kill."

Irene swallowed hard, feeling the frantic tension.

"To kill your father." A scalding kiss on the neck. "To kill your mother..." Tom squeezed his palms harder and felt her nipples harden, making him want to take her right this second. "Kill you..." He bit down painfully on a lobe, unable to hold back the urge, and Irene gave a pained gasp.

"You're sick," she whispered, feeling his arousal.

"You're the reason for this," he whispered into the raven-wing hair. "Remember when you strangled Chris?" Irene moved back a little and pressed her hips against him, feeling Tom's sweet tension. "That was the first time I was emotionally aroused."

"Tom," she exhaled, "do you remember when I was whipped with rods?"

"Yes," he kissed her shoulders, "do you know what I did to them?"

"Wait," Irene pulled away and got off the bed.

She leaned against the table and crossed her arms over her chest. Tom didn't want to hear any "wait." He clearly wasn't ready for heart-to-heart conversations and discussions about anything. His eyes glowed scarlet in the winter's twilight night—a play of light, probably.

"It wasn't Mrs. Cole. Someone else was sent before Carrow and Grimmson," Irene continued. "That wizard didn't calculate that if I got angry enough, I could make a ruckus," she grinned. "He bound me with invisible whips, but I fought back. It was he who left those wounds. But I got a good slap from Mrs. Cole for chess and the night out. The boys told her I was going out after lights out, but I'd never been punished so severely."

Tom got out of bed and walked over to Irene, hovering over her like a grim shadow. There was fire in his eyes.

"I don't care, Düster!" He hooked his strong arms around her slim waist and sat her down on the table. He yanked her pants off her rounded hips, then tossed them to the floor, letting her know with every movement that he would not wait and would do what he wanted. He yanked at her hair, forcing her to arch against his fervent kisses. "I killed them anyway."

Irene jerked at the sharp jolt of arousal in her lower abdomen, goosebumps running down her skin. Tom's shirt fell to the floor, exposing his handsome, masculine body.

"You're just like me," he whispered, his fingers shamelessly undoing the belt on his pants.

"Wait." Irene nuzzled away the heated Tom, who was driven by instinct and desire. He froze, which made his eyes glow scarlet again, and a threat hung in the air, ready to descend at any moment and simply destroy her fragile body. "Let's try to take it slow, okay? I'm asking you to go a little slower."

Tom took a step back. A commanding gesture that made her get off the table and stand across from him.

"On your knees," he whispered. "I'll do whatever I want with you and your body."

Tom was fed up with the fact that he couldn't get his own for several minutes, and the excitement was eating him up inside. So he made his desire clear.

Irene stared mesmerized at Tom, who gave off power, strength, and darkness that she wanted to dive into and not care what happened next. It wasn't Tom standing before her, but Lord Voldemort, a man who knew no refusal or compromise and was ready to kill anyone who got in his way and displeased him. In front of her stood the one who made her body languish in a craving frenzy, wanting to feel him inside. And damn it, let him say it again...

"On your knees, or I'll do it forcibly."

Irene obediently knelt and slid her pale fingers under his pants, stroking her palm down his ankle. Tom pulled her toward the unzipped fly while maintaining eye contact and holding her by the hair.

With a precise touch, the girl's fingers tugged down his pants and brazenly slid her palms down his legs. "Come on," Tom raggedly exhaled.

He immediately stripped himself of the annoying remnants of his clothes, presenting her aroused nature.

Irene definitely whimpered, and the next moment, Tom breathed a long, relieved sigh at the sensation of warm, soft lips on his aching cock.

"Mine."

He set her back on the table and leaned down. What does she taste like? He ran his tongue impatiently and insistently over her, feeling the strange flavor that made his arousal surge. She was all wet and burning with lust, and she moaned softly with every movement of his insistent tongue. A frantic sweep of his palm to put on the muffling spell, because the filth and permissiveness that went on in that room of the Muggle orphanage made it impossible to keep quiet, and he didn't want to.

Tom took the hard cock in his hand and, squeezing it at the base, ran it along oozing her. Irene moaned, thrusting forward. She was right—there was something languidly pleasurable about it. He played leisurely with her sensations, waiting for the sweet moment when she would beg for it. Finally, her pale palm reached forward, grasped his cock brazenly, and moved it shamelessly up and down.

"Please, my Lord!"

As soon as those words were spoken, a smug grin spread across Tom's face, and his black eyes squinted.

He entered slowly, making her drown in the sweet sensations and the maddening tenderness that spilled over her body. Irene moaned and arched against him, wanting to savor the moment when their bodies merged.

"You killed them," he whispered, "Grindelwald's men." He moved slowly, reveling in the tight, hot sensation inside her.

"Everyone who was in prison... They separated us," through quiet moans.

"How did you kill them?"

"Unforgivable..." Irene cried out loudly at the sudden, hard push, "Tom!"

He boldly grabbed her by the neck, hearing his name and choking her hard. The air was cut off, and the sharp thrusts drove her body into the tabletop. Irene almost begged him not to be so aggressive; she wasn't going anywhere from him after all, but all that came out of her throat was a muffled wheeze.

"Unforgivable," Tom whispered excitedly. He loosened his grip and moved his hands to her hips, gripping them somewhat roughly and moving them towards him.

"It's like sex," Irene moaned. "Killing is sex."

A smile spread across Tom's face, eating away at everything holy in the world. Irene understands him. She knows what it feels like. She feels it too—the power over another's life. A wave of the wand, and two words filled with such power.

Tom moved faster and faster, and the room filled with the loud slurping sounds of their messy connection. A green flash like the color of her eyes. A rough thrust. Hot cum poured over her heated body and slowly dripped down onto the table. Irene ran her fingers over the liquid, looked into Tom's eyes, and licked them, mooing with pleasure.

His whole gut exulted and triumphed at the fact that she belonged to him. Belonged to him by right. And most importantly, she was accepting him.

"You've always been like this," Irene whispered, grinning.

"Like what?" Tom hovered over her, resting his palms on the tabletop, and leaned down, kissing her forehead gently.

"You were always Lord Voldemort," she whispered, remembering the horrible drawing that little Tom had drawn.

He didn't like that activity as much as she did. But he had drawn a monster once. Something that was not pleasant to look at. When asked who it was, a sinister smile appeared on his face, and the answer was short: "That's me."

A pale face with eyes casting scarlet in the darkness blurred into a smile that looked like an evil grin.

"Voldemort is my past, present, and future."