#darkwizard!tomhiddleston

[colorsunimaginable]

the spare // chapter fifteen // darkwizard!tomhiddleston x plus size ofc - voldemort wins au

story summary: While one a mission to avenge the death of her best friend, Ilvermorny graduate Melisa Alder finds herself in the middle of the fight to defeat Voldemort. Upon capture after the Dark Lord’s triumph, she’s being sold at an auction with other muggleborns and bloodtraitors. Her only hope is also her only bidder - the tall, dark, and handsome Thomus Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy’s younger half-brother. Is he just another Death Eater or is he hiding more than just his face beneath the mask? Will she realize her true potential to be one of the resistance’s greatest weapons? *a Voldemort Wins AU with Tom Hiddleston cast as an OC x a plus size protagonist*

words for this chapter: 4k

warnings for this chapter: none

CHAPTER MASTERLIST

Chapter Fifteen:

In the morning, I wake to the sun beaming onto my face, right over my eyes. My legs stretch out and I move to turn away from the light, but I realize I can’t. Somehow during the night, Thomus and I had shifted until we were spooning. The front of him is pressed intimately up against my back, even his legs were fitted behind mine. The only thing that makes this more cliché is his arm around my waist, but instead of classically cupping a boob, he’s got a firm hold on my stomach.

It honestly really surprises me. In the past, the guys I’ve almost slept with have just politely avoided my ample belly. Especially where it seamlessly connects to my fupa – a term I’d come to know during my time at a No-Maj college. To have Thomus, undoubtedly one of the most attractive men I’ve ever seen in my life, hold it like it was nothing, makes my heart pound.

The sunlight must have reached him as well because I feel him stir behind me. His grip on my waist tightens and he somehow pulls me closer. This brings to my attention something hard rubbing along my ass. Oh fuck. He must not actually be awake yet. Awake Thomus would not be doing this.

I grab his wrist and lift it enough to turn onto my back under the covers. So instead of being pressed into my butt, his length is being pressed into my hip. My bare hip only covered by the scrap of undies I had chosen the night before. The dress must have ridden up while I slept. I’m also alarmed by the cool air hitting my chest, specifically my nipple peeking out from under the corner of the neckline. My eyes are on his face so I see when his flutter open and squint at me under the sunlight. Quickly, I shove my boob back under the dress.

I can see the moment reality hits him. He lifts his head, his eyes going from my face down to how we were positioned. They widen ever so slightly when he realizes what he has pressed against me. Then that face is quickly replaced by his usual frown as he pushes himself away from me. I stay hidden under the covers and curl onto my side facing him as he sits on the edge of the bed.

He leans on his elbows, rubbing his face in his hands. I think I hear the word “fuck” as he heavily sighs. He doesn’t give me a second glance before he leaves through the bathroom door, shutting it behind him. I hear the shower kick on.

Ah, great. Another moment spent with me he can add to the Regretä list. I sigh and reposition myself in bed, settling in for more sleep.

For once it’s nice to feel… well I’m definitely depressed, but I’m not on the verge of breaking down like I was before. I know what happened last night, but when I try to think of specifics, I just can’t remember them. If only he could do the same for my encounter with Bellatrix. Maybe it would stop the nightmares and I wouldn’t have to rely on sleeping in his bed – or with him for that matter – to get some decent rest.

It's also a great relief to not have to hide what happened. Thomus knows. I don’t have to go through this alone. Though based on the way he reacted to waking up in bed with me, I doubt he’ll be so willing to let me find comfort in his arms again any time soon.

When I wake up, changing into a hoodie and some shorts, Thomus is gone. I walk around the house, looking for shit to do, but find nothing. Breakfast – though it’s early afternoon at this point – is still warm on the table. Next to the tea is the magic suppression potion.

I grab the vial and I dump it down the sink. He’s not here to force me to take it, so how’s he going to know? However, as soon as I put the empty vial on the counter top, it fills back up again. Fine, whatever, there it’ll sit forever on the counter until Thomus makes me take it.

Sitting down at the kitchen table, I consume the buttered toast in seconds. I use tea to wash it down. A loud, high-pitched bird-like wail comes directly from the vial on the counter. I finish the cup of tea, intent on ignoring the noise. I keep eating, but with every minute that passes, the wailing just gets louder.

I try to ignore it, I really do. But after nearly ten minutes, I take the vial, open the door to the backyard and chuck it as far as I can into the garden. The wailing echoes as it flies over the garden wall along the forest. Satisfied, I turn back inside, only to get assaulted by the noise once again, because the vial had returned to the counter, this time louder than ever.

“Fine!” I fume out loud, scooping it up into my hand. The wailing stops the moment the vial touches my lips. What an annoying fucking bastard.

After I finish breakfast/lunch, I feel lethargic. It’s been a while since I’ve had a belly full of food. It’s the first time in days since I’ve felt remotely hungry. I curl up on the couch with my book again, and manage to get through a few chapters before my eyelids get heavy.

~*~

When I wake, the evening sky is pink and purple behind the dark blue clouds, and draws my eyes from where I lay on the couch. It makes me go out and sit on the patio, watching the sky until it fades to black behind the trees.  

I get uncomfortable sitting outside in the dark, listening to the evening cicadas. My thoughts start to drift, and I just sit in the patio chair staring at the yellow porch light reflecting off the glass table. The box with Montague’s name on it rattles violently in my mind. One of the memories that didn’t get locked away manifests itself on my body in a phantom touch. Kisses on my neck, hands grasping for me like they would never get to again.

I wrap my arms tightly across my middle, hunched over in the seat, my eyes squeezed tightly shut. I want to say that the memory is unpleasant. The only reason it makes my breath catch and my heart palpitate with longing is because I see Thomus.

But… I know that can’t be right. Maybe my memories got mixed up and they’re blurring together now. Maybe I’m thinking of when we returned from Edinburgh the first time.

After what feels like a long while, I go back inside. I retrieve the record player from the office, where I’d last left it, and find something new to listen to. I find yet another Disney vinyl. It just says classics, nothing about if it’s the original recording or not. Damn, for not having a TV, Mary sure did love Disney music. Not that I’m complaining, the music will always have a chokehold on me.

I set the record player upstairs and crank it. I hope that a shower will wash away the feeling of hands on me. Midway through, after washing my hair, I decide a bubble bath would be more relaxing. So I change the faucet, pull back the curtain, and sit while waiting for it to fill up with water and bubbles. The tub is surprisingly big for how small the bathroom is. I can comfortably sit back with the water line coming just below the tops of my shoulders.

When I shut the water off, the music plays louder and more clear from my room. I close my eyes, relaxing in the warm water, and begin to sing along to the song playing, Let’s Go Fly a Kite. A few more songs play, luckily ones that I know, so my voice doesn’t stop, enjoying the echo off the tile in the bathroom.

That is until Thomus bangs on the bathroom door from his side, startling me to the fucking moon.

“You almost done in there?” comes his voice. “I’ve gotta take a fucking piss.”

“No,” I respond. “Wait your turn.”

“I’ve been waiting.”

“Should’ve gotten a house with more than one bathroom then!” I smile to myself, knowing that probably pissed him off.

My smile instantly disappears when I hear my bedroom door swing open. My hands arms fly to my boobs, and I sink under the bubbles, my knees surfacing. “Get out!”

He barges into the bathroom, not sparing me a glance as he stands above the toilet. “I told you, I’ve got to take a fucking piss and I’m not waiting any longer.” He puts a bottle of something on top of the tank.

I turn my head away, a blush rising to my cheeks when I hear his zipper undo. I glare at the wall across from me. Fuck the way this bathroom is laid out. Out the corner of my eye, I catch movement. He sways a little on his feet, needing to brace a hand on the wall. Is he drunk?

I readjust my arms and the water makes enough noise to make him look. Thomus turns his head away but then does a double take back at me, as if realizing for the first time what I’d actually been doing in here. I feel myself blush even harder. He finishes, zipping himself back up, and goes to wash his hands.

“You forgot to flush!” I call out when he leaves. He also left his bottle. He doesn’t respond and I hear him moving something in my room. The music stops and I sit up, straining my neck to see what the fuck he’s doing.

“Terribly sorry,” he says, coming back into view, dragging the chair I’d had the record player on.

“What’re you – “

He flushes the toilet. “You look like you could use some company,” he says. He places the chair down next to the tub, and grabs the bottle of watermelon schnapps before sitting down.

I can only stare at him in shock and utter indignation at his audacity. He either ignores my look or doesn’t see it when he takes a long drink.

“This stuff’s fucking awful,” he says, making a face. “How do muggles bare it?”

I shrug, exasperated. “Who cares? Get out.”

“What ever for?”

“I’m naked,” I say, stating what I feel should have been obvious.

He throws a hand up. “Oh no, a naked woman. What ever shall I do?”

I blink, stunned. This is probably the most emotion and normal he’s ever acted around me.

“Was that a joke?” I ask.

He lets out a chuckle from deep in his chest. “I do know how to make those sometimes.”

He brings the bottle to his lips for a quick swig, then he offers it to me. My eyes flicker from the bottle to his raised eyebrows.

You know what? Fuck it. I slide down under the water more to ensure I don’t bare anything when I raise my right arm above the foamed bubbles to grab the liquor. I’ve no idea what he’s talking about. This watermelon schnapps is to die for. There isn’t that much left in the bottle, so I chug it. When I come up for air, a loud burp escapes my mouth.

My eyes fly to him and there’s a beat before I let out a straight up laugh. “I’m sorry,” I say, trying to hold back a grin. I hand the empty bottle back.

He’s looking at me with a hint of a smile at his lips. “I think this calls for another.” He stands, going through to his room. “Now, this is the good stuff,” he says when he comes back. He brandishes a golden bottle and two whiskey glasses. He sets the glasses on the vanity, and uncorks the bottle, pouring. “Dragon Barrel Brandy. Gold standard. Aged 150 years.”

“So it’s gonna taste like shit?” I say, already feeling the warmth spreading in my belly.

“Yes, probably,” he says. “But it’s sure to get you drunk as a boiled owl.”

“What does that even mean?” I ask as he hands me a glass, our fingers brushing.

He sits heavily. “No idea. My brother, Lucius, said it to me once, and it’s one of those phrases you don’t quite forget.”

I bring the drink to my lips, and take the smallest of sips while I see him take a much larger one. He keeps a straight face while mine scrunches up.

“That’s disgusting,” I say. I clear my throat to help with the burn, then take another longer sip. He brings his ankle up to rest on his knee and sits back, balancing his glass on his thigh. His eyes bounce around the room.

“How are you?” he asks after a moment.

I snort. “Better than you. You’re the one that came home drunk.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

He stares at me and I see dark circles under his eyes, a frown appearing. I keep the whiskey glass close to my chest. Neither of us seem to want to answer. At least the alcohol is relaxing my nerves somewhat.

“So,” I start slowly, “Lucius is Draco’s father.”

“Yes.”

“Draco’s a bit… older than I’d expect. How old were you when he was born?”

He considers for a moment, doing the math. “Fourteen,” he answers.

That makes me stop. Why have I never thought about it before? “Wait, how old are you now?”

“Thirty-two.”

“So is Lucius a lot older than you?”

“Only by ten years,” he says. “What’s with the interrogation?”

I press my lips together, feeling embarrassed. “I, um, I’m just trying to understand. You and Draco seem close, that’s all.”

He takes a drink. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“Like what?”

He pauses. “How did you get caught up in all this?”

“Well, I was stabbed and kidnapped.”

He puts his foot down and leans forward. Elbows on his knees, he rolls the glass between his palms, serious eyes concentrated on it. “Not what I meant.”

Thomus looks up at me when I don’t respond, and I quickly avert my gaze to the dark window above the tub, half afraid he’d use Legillimency on me to get the truth. I bring the glass to my lips and swallow the rest of the brandy in one gulp. He picks up the bottle from its place on the floor and refills my glass.

“After I graduated college, I didn’t really know what to do with myself,” I begin, carefully picking out my sentences before I speak. I’d become good at telling white lies. I could always twist the truth into what I needed it to be. Like when Voldemort searched through my memories, or even now, when I find myself wanting to be honest with him, for him to know me. The truth is just going to be an Auntie Anne pretzel. I keep my eyes on the window as I speak. “I found an internship opportunity at the Daily Prophet, which naturally, made me privy to a lot of information about the war. Even after Thicknesse took over.”

“How did you get involved with the Order?” he asks when I pause a moment too long.

I shrug. “Just met the right people I suppose.”

“Who?” he asks. Now who’s being interrogated?

I decide to answer anyway, he’d probably start thinking I’m lying if I don’t. “They’re dead,” I lie, lightly shaking my head and looking down into my glass. “So it doesn’t really matter.”

When I look back at him, his eyes are on the bubbles in the tub, but his face is blank, like he’s not really seeing. My eyes follow his, making sure nothing can be seen through the bubbles. I shift, causing the water to ripple, and his eyes are brought back to my face.

I raise my eyebrows. “Anything else?”

His eyes travel upward, to my wet hair and they stop at the ends of it on my shoulders. His head tilts curiously. “Why do you have pink hair?”

I snort. “Easy. It makes me happy. Next question.”

“Is it magic?” he asks, reaching out and touching the clump of it near my neck. The heat from the alcohol in my stomach travels up to my cheeks when I feel his fingers brushing my skin as he studies the strands.

“Not entirely,” I manage to say through my blush. “I, um, use muggle products to get it the color I want, and then lather in a Hair Stay potion. It makes the color stay vibrant and last longer than it would without.”

“I don’t think we have that here,” he says.

“Oh yeah, no, I can’t get it in the UK. Before I left I ordered a bunch from the catalogue to bring with me.”

“Where’s it now?”

“In my vault at Gringotts,” I answer honestly, then reconsider, raising an eyebrow at him. “Assuming that it’s still mine.”

His eyes flicker to mine and he drops my hair, drying his fingers off on his thigh. “Of course it’s still yours,” he says, sounding offended. “What makes you think it’s not?”

My other eyebrow raises, and I blink at him. “Bro did you, like, forget that real actual money was exchanged for you to own me?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

I look at him, confused. “Well, wouldn’t that mean you have access to it?”

“I haven’t really thought about it,” he admits.

“Great,” I say sardonically and take a drink. “My turn.”

“For what?” he scoffs, sitting back in his chair.

“To interrogate you.”

He shakes his head. “No, no. I wasn’t interrogating you. We’re just having a conversation.”

I narrow my eyes at him over the rim of the glass and tease, “Yeah, that’s just what an interrogator would say.”

He upends the bottom of his glass and begins to refill it. “Ask away.”

“How come we live here and not at Malfoy Manor?”

Thomus rolls his eyes and sighs heavily. “This again?”

“Your answers were extremely vague.”

“That was intentional,” he says. “Why the fascination?”

“Because,” I say, shifting again. The water is beginning to get cold, but luckily the bubbles are still intact. “It just doesn’t make sense why you would choose to live here when you could be there.”

“It wasn’t really a choice I made,” he says. “I had to leave.”

“Why?” I ask, my voice quiet, eager to hear more.

He runs a hand through his hair, sighing again. “Because of a choice I did make.” I don’t say anything, waiting for him to continue. “You’re familiar with Bellatrix Lestrange, are you not?” My breath freezes in my chest, then sputters back to life, shallower than before. “I believe you call her my ‘girlfriend’.” He uses his fingers to make air quotes at the word.

I bite my bottom lip and nod slightly.

He stares down into his drink. “She is married. Has been for quite some time.” I see his jaw tick. The alcohol no longer relaxing him during this line of questioning. “The first time my brother discovered us, he merely gave me a warning. The second time he wasn’t so forgiving.”

His grip on the glass is tight as he takes a drink. I do the same.

“So, you can never go back?” I ask.

He chuckles dryly. “No. I can come and go as I please. I just can’t live there.”

“And, why this place?”

“The muggle living here had been caught in a skirmish, so her residence was empty and available,” he says. Poor Mary. My hearts aches for her. “I bought it off the man who killed her. It didn’t really matter that this was a muggle home. I just needed somewhere to keep you.”

“I see,” I respond. The water is cold now, and I shiver. He notices, and pulls out his wand. I watch apprehensively as he taps the tub with the tip of his wand and the water warms. I didn’t realize how tense my shoulders were until the heat relaxes my muscles. “Thanks,” I say.

“Is that all your questions?” he says.

“Mmm,” I say, thinking. “Why is there such an age gap between you and your brother?”

He sighs heavily, taking another drink. I must’ve found another sensitive topic. Surprisingly, he doesn’t hold back. “Lucius was terribly sick as a child. To the extent that doctors told our father that he wouldn’t last the winter.” Thomus’s eyes stare off somewhere, dazed again. “So, in an exemplary act of self-preservation, father decided to have an affair with my mother to create another heir.” He stops talking.

“But he lived,” I prompt.

“Yes, he lived,” he continues, bitterness dripping off his tongue. “And I became my father’s bastard. The extra Malfoy. The spare.” He chugs the rest of his glass and abruptly stands. “Alright, enough talking.”

“Oh, okay,” I say quietly, bringing the glass to my mouth. No sooner had I finished the last of my drink, was he taking the glass out of my hand and disappearing into his room.

I breathe a sigh of relief to be alone again. I wait a few minutes to make sure he’s gone before getting out and drying off. The hand that had been under the water the entire time to hide my arm is pruney.

Admittedly, I feel the alcohol a lot more when I’m standing and moving around. It takes a couple tries to slip on some underwear while remaining balanced. I need to drink some water or I’m going to have the worst headache in the morning. With my hoodie back on, I make my way downstairs to the kitchen, gripping the wall and the railing for support.

Thomus is already in the kitchen, pouring two glasses of water. Were his shoulders always so wide? He hands me one when I enter, and I lean against the counter taking large gulps, my eyes closed. Mostly to force myself to stop looking at him.

“Don’t you have any fucking pants?” he asks, his voice irritated and quite loud. Maybe I’m feeling the headache already. He’s already walking towards the door.

“Oh, shit,” I say, realizing I just have my hoodie and undies on. It’s already covering my butt and stomach, but it still fell just shy of the tops of my thighs. I blush and yank the hem down further. “Sorry.”

So focused on making sure I’m covered, I don’t realize he’s still in the doorway when I try to leave. My balance already awful from the alcohol, my feet were very ready to let me fall as I bump into him. Before I do, he quickly catches me around the waist, holding me steady against him. My hand goes to his shoulder as my brain catches up with my body and I look up.

His flushed face is nearly a breath apart from mine. I stare wide-eyed, lips parted in a gasp. My mind zeros in on how I’m practically naked, no bra, no pants, just a hoodie and broken dreams, being held flush against him. I could melt from how strong he feels. The hand at my waist grabs a fistful of the hoodie. His eyes are intense as they take in my face from the wet, curled hair framing my face down to my mouth. His other hand comes up, fingers gliding over my cheek, and his nostrils flare slightly from the deep breaths he’s taking. Even drunk, I can tell his mask has slipped a bit.

He sighs heavily. “You’re going to get me in so much trouble,” he speaks low. Not quite a whisper, but the husky tone sends shivers down my spine.

Then he releases me as quickly as he grabbed me, and goes upstairs to his room.

[colorsunimaginable]

the spare // chapter five // darkwizard!tom hiddleston x plus size reader - voldemort wins au

story summary: While one a mission to avenge the death of her best friend, Ilvermorny graduate Melisa Alder finds herself in the middle of the fight to defeat Voldemort. Upon capture after the Dark Lord's triumph, she's being sold at an auction with other muggleborns and bloodtraitors. Her only hope is also her only bidder - the tall, dark, and handsome Thomus Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy's younger half-brother. If he just another Death Eater or is he hiding more than just his face beneath the mask? Will she realize her true potential to be one of the resistance's greatest weapons?

CHAPTER MASTERLIST

words for this chapter: 3.2k

chapter warnings: graphic violence

Chapter Five:

The next morning I wake to a splitting headache. I roll over in bed, looking for the time on the bedside table and I gasp when I see my glasses, placed right in front of the clock.

I frantically reach for it, afraid it was going to disappear if I waited any longer. They slide onto my face, and the familiarity is instantly comforting. They wouldn’t help the headache I already had, but they would come less often now.

In the bathroom, I check the door to his room to see if it could be locked from the bathroom side. A sigh of relief when I see a latch only accessible from this side.

Now with assured privacy, I give the room a once over: looking in the shower, the medicine cabinet, and the storage under the sink. There is an in-wall shelf with folded towels. The medicine cabinet has the over the counter pain meds I usually use for these kinds of headaches, and I find an unopened pack of toothbrushes under the sink. I make quick use of these, nearly gagging on my enthusiasm to ingest drugs and clean my teeth.

Besides quick glances, I avoid looking in the mirror. I know if I look too closely, I’ll start picking at my skin. Even at 24, some days I have the skin of a teenager. Now that my facial hair is gone though… hm, I guess that does reassure me the slightest bit. One less thing to worry about.

When I’m ditching the simple white dress, I remember what the Healer said about my wound. I suppose it’s been a few days. While I wait for the shower water to warm up, I peel off the bandage. The bruising looks like it had gotten worse since I’d last seen it. I gently press my fingers into the discoloration for a moment. It doesn’t hurt, just a dull ache. The laceration is still scabbed over.

I don’t care to keep track of how long I’m in the shower. It’s too heavenly to rush. Long after every little crevice is scrubbed raw, the water finally runs cold, and I dry off. I finally leave the bathroom, wrapped in a towel that barely closed.

I stand for a moment in the middle of the bedroom. I was too excited by the idea of getting clean that I didn’t check to see if I had any clean clothes to change into. Checking the wardrobe, it is indeed stocked with its purpose. If anything will fit… that’s a different problem.

Surprisingly, it’s overflowing with clothes. New clothes. T-shirts, blouses, leggings… even underwear and socks. I pull open a drawer and find multiple bras. I grab comfortable looking underthings, a t-shirt, and leggings.

Another sigh of relief – everything fits. I doubt Malfoy went shopping for me personally, but I’m extremely grateful for whoever did.

Once I’m dressed, I can’t prolong my curiosity any longer. I creep out of the bedroom, and tiptoe down the stairs. The door to his room is closed. It was noon when I woke, so I suspect he’s been awake far longer than I have.

Throughout my exploration of the house, I’m… disturbed by the layers of dust I find on almost everything. Like whoever lived here died and no one came to collect what was left behind. Of course, given who owns this house now, that’s probably what happened. The old lady was killed, and now I’m here in her place.

I think the thing that surprises me the most are all of the No-Maj objects I find. Light switches, electronics, household appliances… Why would someone who hates them live in one of their houses? It makes me wonder how much choice he had in the matter.

After exploring the kitchen, living room, closets, and a small office, I’m relieved to not find him in any of these spaces. So I decide what my first task is. If he wants me to cook and clean, then I will. If anything, just to keep myself busy.

First, the living room. I vacuum, dust, grab things that look like they could use a wash, and throw them into a pile. I make sure to be gentle with the figurines and picture frames littered throughout. Smiling, unmoving pictures of people from decades ago.

I’m sweeping away some cobwebs by the front door when I hear birdsong from outside, and I pause. Didn’t he say I have free roam of the… property? That would mean outside right? The perimeter is at the front gate so that would mean I had access to the front yard at least?

I swing the front door open and get hit immediately with warmth from the sunlight. It’s a stunning May afternoon. Wildflowers grow unmanicured on either side of the stone path to the front gate, a birdbath poking through on one side. Taking a deep breath, I step outside, barefoot onto the stone entryway. The heat feels comforting, especially after being cold for what feels like forever.

Curious, I wander around the side of the house. The wooden fence remains in eye sight from the house until it becomes a stone wall that eventually disappears into the forest. I wonder if the barrier extends beyond what can be seen.

Deciding to explore it later, with shoes, I continue around to the back of the cottage. There was a cute little patio set near the house and a wooden bench just visible off another path, facing the forest. How I’d love to curl up with a book there on a day just like this.

The back door leading to the kitchen is unlocked, and I take notice of a cat door. The moment I do, the hair on the back of my neck stands on end. I pause in the doorway, looking back into the forest. My eyes scan the forest’s edge, looking for… I’m not sure. Whatever it is, I’m feeling uneasy. I step further into the kitchen, closing the door and locking it behind me.

Returning to the living room, I resume my cleaning.

~*~

The kitchen was the worst. Grime from who knows where, dirty dishes and moldy food from who knows how long ago. The whole room takes me twice as long as the living room did, and by the time I’m done I’m exhausted. I’m about to head upstairs when a tray of hot, steaming food appears on the kitchen table, complete with teapot, cup and saucer.

On cue, my stomach gurgles. I know I should be more cautious of random plates of food that appear in front of me, but my options for dinner were slim to none. Between a couple cans of vegetables and a box of Kraft – all of which expired in 2006 – this is a godsend. A plate of sausages with mashed potatoes and peas never tasted so good. Even the tea is delicious. I don’t even like tea.

As I’m eating, I ponder the knife in my hand. This is the first actual weapon I’ve seen in the house so far. I’d scoured the kitchen – nothing. Even the office and bathroom turned up empty of things like tweezers and letter openers, not even a stapler.

Once I’m finished eating, I bring the dishes over to the sink to give them a wash. Specifically, I’d like to see if I could hang onto the knife. When I set it down to dry, all the dishes disappear. Well, fuck. I guess in a crisis a frying pan will have to do.

I bring a small cast iron one to hide in my room. As I go back downstairs, his closed door beckons to me. I try the handle, and it is indeed locked.

Eventually I wander to the living room turning on a few lamps as I go, unsure of how to spend my evening. I could go to bed early, or clean some more, or… maybe read a book? There’s a small book case next to the fireplace. My eyes drift to the basket of yarn and I snort, thinking of my joke last night. Maybe I could learn to knit.

As I stand there contemplating, the front door opens, and in walks Malfoy. Dressed still in his Death Eater regalia. Dragon leather boots that climb up his calves, snug pants and button down shirt that left room for dexterity, but not much else. I can still make out the burn holes I left in his cloak from when we fought. I throw away the thought in the back of my mind that he looks hot.

He doesn’t see me immediately, his tired eyes jumping to the lamps. When they do find me, they don’t linger. He somehow manages to find every single little change to the room I made during my stay so far.

“I see you’ve played house today,” he snaps. He faces me now, looking at me, but… not quite seeing.

I snap right back. “Isn’t that what I’m here for? To play house?”

He doesn’t respond. His eyes do focus in on me now, roaming my face, and then wandering downward. Lazily, he begins removing his gloves, pulling off one finger at a time.

“Perhaps.”

My eyebrows shoot up and I blink in confusion. “Wha-“

“As I said last night,” he interrupts, “you really should be thanking me.”

“How?” I blurt out. “On my knees?”

His eyebrow that seems to always be quirked, goes even higher. I flush and look away scowling at the floor when I realize the double meaning in my words. I can’t believe I said that.

“That won’t be necessary,” he says. He begins toward the stairs. “If that’s what I wanted, it would have happened already.”

“But I thought last night you said –“

“Yes, mudblood, I know what I said.” He stops at the base of the stairs and turns, his expression brutal. I wince. Not because of the word, but because of his tone. “I am not like my colleagues. They might enjoy the idea of fucking filth, but I do not. Just because I have you to fuck at my disposal, do not make the mistake of believing that I want to.”

Malfoy sure does have a gift for making me somehow feel worse about myself. I watch as he climbs the stairs and listen for his bedroom door to open and tightly slam shut.

~*~

I hardly sleep that night. I might’ve been able to busy myself all day, but lying in the dark, there’s nothing to block my thoughts.

What does Malfoy want from me? I could hardly believe he bought me just for shits and giggles. He doesn’t seem to share a desire to rape and abuse his… Lot like the other Death Eaters so obviously did. They were thirsty for it, barely able to contain their excitement. He said he wanted me to cook and clean and when I listened, he seemed surprised that I actually did. Did he expect me to just sit around? Like a toy that’s just waiting for him to play with?

There has got to be something I’m missing. I think back to when we first met at his family’s estate. He’s been in my head, just as I’ve been in his. All I’d been able to see were a few memories of his childhood and scenes with people I’d come to know later. He and Bellatrix were the ones who kidnapped Luna to bring to the Malfoy’s, holding her hostage. I also knew that he and Bellatrix have a more… intimate relationship than they let people know.

Perhaps that explains why he has no desire to take advantage of me, besides the fact that I’m undesirable. At least to someone like him. He belongs to someone else, even though I now belong to him.

Maybe it was something he saw in my memories? Does he know about the Horcrux I killed? How I did my best to hunt the other ones?

Tears fill my eyes and I sob in the darkness. It’s been a few years now since Sam’s death, but in this moment it hurt all the same. I miss my best friend so much. She could never understand a single thing I told her about Ilvermorny, but she delighted in the simple little magic I could do without my wand. Even growing up, when I had to leave for school, we would write. My friends at school always thought I was nuts for using the actual mail service instead of just sending an owl. She and I liked to collect the stamps we sent each other. I had to use postal anyway because of my parents. There’s no way they’d get anywhere near an owl.

I miss my parents, too. Thank god they’re No-Maj’s in an entirely different country, away from all of this insanity.

And my heart ached for the boy who lived. Harry had been so kind to me, even with all of the stress he’d been under. Everything he did had been for nothing.

It makes me feel hopeless thinking of all that I’ve lost. The life I knew, the people I loved.

I hope I can survive whatever Malfoy has planned for me.

~*~

The next morning I wake to the sound of the shower running and I have the craziest idea.

I doubt he has his bedroom door locked while he’s home. Quickly I roll out of bed, throwing on the same shirt and leggings I had on the day before. The door to the bathroom is closed from my room. I open my door and tiptoe across the landing. His doorknob turns and I’m in.

The first thing I look at is the door to the bathroom. It’s cracked, steam drifting out. The room is only slightly larger than mine. It has the same amenities; unmade bed, wardrobe with a door wide open, side table. I take wide strides to the side table, opening and closing the drawers after rummaging. Nothing. Not even nail clippers. Next I dash for the wardrobe, and I find it empty for the most part. He has pants strewn across an open suitcase. I shove those aside, looking for anything, checking every pocket and crevice I can find.

“If you’re looking for my wand, I don’t think that would help you,” Malfoy says from behind me.

I whirl, nearly falling in my haste to face him. He’s standing in the bathroom doorway, a towel tied around his hips and his skin still damp. His hair looks almost black and is extra curly. I try to keep my eyes from drifting down over his muscular torso and shoulders, instead keeping them pinned to his face.

He tilts his head, eyeing me as well. “I suppose this is my fault,” he sighs, side stepping me. I mirror him. He’s going toward the wardrobe, and I’m angling for either the bathroom or the door. I notice his shoes by the door, an expensive looking shoehorn leaning against the wall. It has a metallic skull on top – perfect. “I should have locked the door. It was arrogant of me to assume you wouldn’t try anything while I was home.”

“Correct,” I say curtly, inching towards the door.

His eyes follow mine. “Do I need to stun you or are you going to behave?”

“I think we both know how this is going to go, if you remember from last time,” I taunt. I’m still taking baby steps towards the door, towards the weapon leaning against the wall. He must know I’m after something because his steps start towards me. “And you look a little wandless right now.”

He raises his eyebrows and flicks his wrist, wand appearing in his hand. Seeing this, I turn and dive for the shoehorn. I manage to grab hold of it, before he levitates and flings the shoehorn across the room, taking me with it. I scream when I tumble to the floor, the side where my wound is colliding right with the corner of the chair I land on. My brain numbs for a moment as the pain of my wound being ripped open overpowers anything else.

He’s on me in the next instant, wand at my throat, and hand holding down the wrist the shoehorn was still in. I know he’s straddling me almost completely naked, but I can only focus on the pain from where his knee is pressed into my side.

“Ha ha,” he mocks, “I win.”

“Fuck you,” I whisper breathlessly, unable to stop myself from wincing, tears in my eyes. The hand on my wrist slides up, his fingers slipping into my clenched fist, and I let go, releasing my only weapon. His weight shifts as he tosses the shoehorn far under the bed, knee pressing in more on my wound, and I can’t help but whimper.

His blue eyes narrow and I can’t tell if it’s from confusion or distrust. I try to shift under him, moving away from his knee. The pain is dizzying.

When he finally looks down, his expression instantly changes. Eyes wide open with shock, he sees the blood soaking through my shirt, no doubt onto his knee and the floor as well. He closes his expression off as he looks at it. Back in control.

I try to push myself up, my head begins to swim, no doubt from loss of blood and lack of food in my belly. He’s by my side in an instant, swinging my arm over his shoulder, and helps me stand. I start in the direction of my room.

“No, lay here,” he says. I don’t argue as he helps me lower onto his bed. I feel him pull my shirt up away from the wound.

He points his wand at the opening, and I look away, turning my head. I hear his deep timber murmur a healing spell and feel the wound close. Then he murmurs something else and the dampness from the blood is gone. The ache remains.

“How do you feel?” he asks, his voice closer. When I look back, he’s studying my face, his expression still closed.

My expression is wary. “Does it matter?” I say, defeated.

He sighs, shaking his head. “I didn’t expect you to be this difficult.”

He starts to walk towards his wardrobe. I’m impressed his towel is still in place. Must be a good knot.

I attempt to sit up. “Well, I didn’t –“ I stop abruptly, losing my train of thought. My head becomes very heavy and I sink back into the pillows. I give up on trying to speak.

My eyes are closed as I hear him dress. Maybe I’ll take a nap right here. His bed feels slightly more plush than mine.

“I’ll be back in twenty minutes,” he says. I squint at his fully dressed form, some black jeans and a sweater, heading for the door. He pauses at the doorway and I give him a lazy thumbs up. He waves his wand and the shoehorn comes flying at him. Malfoy catches it, and then leaves, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Let me know what you think!

[colorsunimaginable]

the spare // chapter one //darkwizard!tom hiddleston x plus size ofc - voldemort wins au

Summary:

While on a mission to avenge the death of her best friend, Ilvermorny graduate Melisa Alder finds herself in the middle of the fight to defeat Voldemort. Upon capture after the Dark Lord's triumph, she's being sold at an auction with other muggle borns and blood traitors. Her only hope is also her only bidder - the tall, dark, and handsome Thomus Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy's younger half-brother. Is he just another Death Eater or is he hiding more than just his face beneath the mask? Will she realize her true potential to be one of the resistance's greatest weapons?

*a Voldemort Wins AU with Tom Hiddleston cast as an OC x a plus size protagonist*

Notes:

This is a fanfic inspired by The Auction by LovesBitca8. I have so much love for the story and I also REALLY wanted to see Tom Hiddleston as a Dark Wizard in this universe with a plus size protagonist. It was writing itself in my head long before I put it on paper.

This is a dark fic with explicit moments of no-con, violence, and degradation of the plus size main character throughout its entirety, so please take that into consideration ahead of time.

words for this chapter: 4.9k

CHAPTER MASTERLIST

CHAPTER ONE:

We were losing.

That’s all I could concentrate on. We were losing and it was hopeless. I dodge curse and jinx after curse and jinx, somehow managing to send just as many. In this chaos, this crumbling ancient castle, surrounded by dozens of witches and wizards I didn’t know, everything is becoming too much. These literal children fighting the darkest and most powerful of our kind is heartbreaking. A part of me is aching for the life I had before all this.

The member of the Order of the Phoenix I’d been deployed to the grounds with, Arthur Weasley, is nowhere to be seen. I can no longer tell who was part of our group and where they were, the figures in the dim light are indistinguishable from good and bad.

I duck behind a thick tree to avoid a curse. Another one doesn’t follow and I chance a peak around the corner just in time to see the Quidditch Pitch ignite with a deafening boom. With the new golden glow lighting the field, I can now see around me. Well, as much as I could see without my glasses anyway. Only a few yards away, a hooded figure stands from his crouched position, his height silhouetted against the flames.

“I thought that was you,” he says, chuckling darkly. He moves closer, taking slow, sauntering steps. He removes his hood, a wicked smirk across his handsome face. “I believe you have something of mine.”

I point his wand at him and shrug, desperate not to show my fear. “Well that fucking sucks, doesn't it?"

Before he can say anything else, I throw a stunning spell at him. He easily reverses the spell, sending it back to me. I duck behind the tree again, swirling around to the other side to shoot beams of light like lasers from the tip of the wand. He quickly raises the length of his cloak like a shield, the beams landing on the black fabric and sizzling like the burnt end of a cigarette. The second I take an advancing step out from behind the tree, he waves his wand and an invisible force knocks me off my feet. I land flat on my back in the grass, a root from the tree digging into my side.

A familiar hysterical cackle comes bounding down the hill from the direction of the castle and I twist my head up to see her. She stops dead in her tracks when she spots me. She looks curiously from me to the other Death Eater.

“Surely you aren’t still dealing with this filth, Thom?” Bellatrix taunts, her eyes wide and wild as she stares at us. “The Dark Lord requires us in the Forest.”

He was beside her now. “You know how I take pleasure in tormenting them,” he purrs to her.

With her eyes on his, she points her wand at me, and the most excruciating pain I’ve ever felt in my life courses through my body. I don’t know how much time passes under the cruciatus curse, but when it ends, my voice is hoarse and I could have passed out asleep right there in the grass, every part of my body aching and exhausted. I’m barely aware that Bellatrix and Thomus were still there.

“THAT is how you torment them!” she hisses, pulling out a dagger. My eyes widen. I know what this woman could do with that. With what little strength I have, I’m desperate to try to get to my feet. “And this is how you kill them.”

The force of the dagger in my side sends me back to the ground. The wand lands at their feet.

“As if you needed reminding,” she says coldly, brushing past him in the direction of the forest.

He pauses a moment, eyes lingering at the blade embedded in my side. I can feel the warm blood quickly dampening my clothes as I stare back, seeing stars. His eyes flicker to my face briefly before he picks up his wand and continues on after Bellatrix. I close my eyes.

~*~

After months of making my Polyjuice potion and the several trials to make sure it would last long enough, at long last it was perfect. When I look in the mirror hanging on the back of her office door, the middle-aged face of Rita Skeeter stares back at me. 

“Let me go, you fat bitch!”

I turn to the real Rita Skeeter, her tight blond curls askew and her red lipstick smeared across her cheek. She struggles against the ropes magically binding her to her chair. I replace my wand with her own, sliding mine into my purse with an undetectable extension charm. 

“Silencio,” I whisper, pointing her wand at her mouth. She openly gapes at me, still trying to voice her protest. After rummaging through her purse for her makeup, I manage to replicate her thin arched brows and apply the red lipstick exactly as she has it. As I do this, I let her wand hover behind my head, curling my new blond locks to match hers. Finally I slide her half-moon glasses onto my face. I transfigure my clothes, baggy on her, into the exact acid green dress she’s wearing, the fit snug. The only thing I dreaded wearing were the heels. 

The last thing I do before leaving the office, is put her into a full body-bind curse. When I close the door to the room, I flip the sign to read Out of Office. 

Looking like Rita, getting into the Ministry of Magic is easy. Working directly under her as an intern for the Daily Prophet, I discovered that it wouldn’t be a shock to see her walking around. She often lurked, trying to ascertain any information about… anything. As long as it was juicy she could spin it any way she fucking pleased. It was a talent really.

I try not to look like I’m just wandering through the halls of the ministry. My nose is buried in a notebook, the matching acid green Quick-Notes quill clenched tight in my hand. I’m extremely glad I took a double dose of the Draught of Peace before descending in the decrepit red phone booth into the Atrium. 

Luckily, I manage to find Umbridge’s office easily on Level One. Her door sports two plaques that read her name and HEAD OF THE MUGGLEBORN REGISTRATION COMMISSION, respectively. An eyeball swirls in its socket between them. I’m about to knock on the door when I hear a voice behind me.

“Skeeter, did you have an appointment?” a balding man says. He’s standing in front of rows of workers at desks, magically assembling pamphlets. He looks a little disheveled. They all do.

I put on a coy smile and approach the man, taking my time to answer him. Next to him is a pile of those pamphlets. I arch my brow when I read the title, Mudbloods and the Dangers They Pose to a Peaceful Pureblood Society, and slip one into the crook of my arm. 

“Is she not in?” I say, finally dragging my eyes back to him. A smile remains plastered to my lips as I hope I’ve mastered her accent.

“She just left for the courtrooms.”

“Ah! Lovely.” I don’t bother to thank him, and head in the direction of the elevators, my mind scrambling for the route to get there. When the elevator voice announces the Atrium, I get off, looking to ask someone in guest services how to get there. Hopefully Skeeter’s never been to the courtrooms. 

Just as I get to the horrid Magic is Might fountain, there’s a commotion behind me, coming from the elevators. Three people burst through the crowd of dark robed wizards, one of them looking very much like Harry Potter. He has the exact object I’m looking for, dangling from his hand as they run. 

The quill, notepad, and pamphlet get shoved into my purse so I can pull out my own wand. I hold it up to my eyeline, thankful that Skeeter is far-sighted, as I point my wand directly at the golden locket. 

“Materiei vestigium,” I whisper and a green blinking light that only I can see shoots out from the tip. It flies through the frenzied crowd to land right on the object as he and his companions jump into one of the fireplaces and escape.

~*~

The blinking green light on my wand had been growing steady the further I walked into the Forest of Dean. The sunlight had been slowly dissipating for hours now. I’d have to perform the illumination spell before too long. 

I get to a clearing, the sound of rushing water nearby. The blinking speeds up, going so fast the light remains constant, but pulsing. I walk further into the clearing, confused. There’s nothing here.

Well, nothing that I could see.

“Well fuck,” I mutter into the darkness. I trust my tracking spell. It has to be here somewhere. Maybe it’s been hidden? Placed here to keep safe? “Lumos.”

I begin circling the clearing, pointing the light from my wand anywhere suspicious. There are plenty of crevices here to hide a locket. In the crook of a tree or buried in the leaves? That would take forever to search, though. Maybe if I focused on the darkness from it, I could find it here. Like I did in Diagon Alley. 

I close my eyes and inhale deeply, trying to focus. The memory of the feeling is front and center. It’s like my mind is sniffing out the source of a scent. It’s close. My feet follow where my senses direct me, making a beeline for where the darkness is. 

I have to come to a complete halt when I bump into something and stumble backwards. When I open my eyes, nothing’s there. I hold my hand up, attempting to advance again. I hear a muffled Stupefy before the spell hits me and my body tumbles to the ground.

~*~

When I come to, I’m tied to a tree, wandless. Three people are standing around me, wands pointed at my face. My eyes focus on Harry Potter, the locket is around his neck. I’ve found what I had been looking for. 

“Is that a horcrux?” I demand. They had wanted it, broke into the ministry for it. They have to know what it is. Harry Potter and his friends glance at each other.

“It might be,” the redheaded boy says. His arm’s in a sling. “What’s it to you?”

“I’m hunting them.”

“Hunting them?”

“Yes.” I nod toward the locket. “You got it from that pink woman in the ministry a couple days ago? Umbridge?”

“Do you work for the ministry?” Harry asks. 

“No, but I was there,” I say, trying to sound as honest as possible. I need them to trust me. We’re on the same side. “trying to do the same thing.”

They look at each other again. The girl, who I recognize now as Hermione Granger, opens up my backpack, which had transfigured back from the purse I’d used as Rita Skeeter. She begins to dig through it.

“What do you want it for?”

“I want to destroy it.”

Harry falters, his wand lowering briefly before his eyes harden and he raises it again. “Why do you want to destroy it, exactly?”

“What does it matter why I want to destroy it? You know who it belongs to.” They still don’t lower their wands. Not that I blame them. I look at my backpack. “Accio.”

Hermione gives a startled little gasp when a small shield-shaped wooden plaque shoots up into her hand. She pulls it out further, dropping my bag, and they point their illuminated wands at it. The wood is heavily charred with burn marks surrounding a splintered hole in the middle, traces of molten gold glisten under the light. Under the black burns letters could barely be made out: AWARDED TO T.M. RIDDLE FOR SPECIAL SERVICES TO HOGWARTS. 

“How’d the bloody hell you get that?” the red-head demands. 

“You’ve seen it before?” she asks him.

He nods. “Yeah, Filch made me polish the metal piece on it four times – kept saying it wasn’t clean enough.”

“I think that was because you vomited slugs all over it, Ron,” Harry says.

The red-headed boy – Ron – shook his head to brush off his annoyance. “Point is, I remember this thing from Hogwarts. I also remember it not being where it was supposed to be the last time we were in there.”

“When Angelina was locked in the trophy room?” Hermione gasps. “I remember that.”

They look to me and I shrug. “Look, I don’t know about all that. I’ve never been to Hogwarts.”

“Then how did you get this?”

“I found it hidden in my friends room,” my voice cracks. I haven’t talked about her in so long. I clear my throat. “There were some pretty good Disillusionment and Notice-Me-Not charms on it, but it was almost like someone wanted me to find it. You’d think something as important as that would have been hidden a lot better… But I could sense the darkness and found it.”

“Did your friend put it there?” she asks. 

I look down. “I don’t think so. She was a No-Maj.”

“No-Maj?” says Ron.

“No magic?” I explain. “You call them muggles here.”

“So what you’re saying is that your muggle friend had this from a school neither of you have ever been to?” says Harry. I grimace and nod. “Why’s it look like this?”

“Because I stabbed it with a basilisk fang I got from the Dark Arts professor at Ilvermorny.”

There’s sudden hope in all of their expressions and Harry asks, “Do you still have it?”

I shake my head. “The fang was so old it’s a miracle it even worked. It splintered apart the moment I stabbed it and couldn’t be fixed. Then the professor suggested I go see Albus Dumbledore to see if he knew anything more about Horcruxes, but when I got here… He had just died.”

“And how did you know about the locket?” Hermione asks.

“I saw a guy sell it to Umbridge in Knockturn Alley,” I say and then stare at the glistening locket around Harry’s neck. “The darkness coming from it is the same as that plaque. So I knew they were connected.”

“You don’t sound like you’re from around here,” Harry says. “Why do you care so much about destroying it?” 

I give a twisted smile. “You mean, besides the fact that the wizard who created it is like, awful?” My smile fades and I sigh. “The process for creating one, involves killing someone. My best friend is dead because of him. I don’t know why he chose her, but he came all the way to the US to do it. It’s only fair I come all the way here to return the favor. Or at least help... somehow.”

~*~

The first thing I’m conscious of are the lights. They’re so bright. I try squinting to see, but that isn’t enough. I try to lift my arm to hover my hand over my eyes, but my arm feels like jelly. The second thing I’m conscious of are the voices. I only catch snippets in between bouts of sleep.

“…why’d you even bother? She’s as good as dead…”

“…I did the spell… she’s not much to look at, but I just couldn’t pass up the chance at 5,000 galleons…”

“… no one even knows who she is…”

“… don’t think no one will care…”

The next time I wake fully, I’m in what’s clearly a makeshift hospital, no doubt to treat the survivors of the battle. There isn’t anyone I recognize. Most of the beds are empty, though clearly had been occupied at some point.

I try moving, sitting up even, but it’s useless. It seems the dagger in my side has been removed. No doubt my lethargy is due to blood loss and the lingering effects of the cruciatus.

I remember how Ron’s sister-in-law, Fleur, had treated Hermione after we had escaped the Malfoys. A hot bath and a massaging of the most damaged muscles is the most that can be done. If only I’d paid more attention during the Special Ed Healing classes at Ilvermorny. Maybe I would’ve been able to help her and myself.

I lie awake waiting for someone to come until I don’t have the will to keep my eyes open any longer. I fall asleep wondering if Harry, Ron, and Hermione had made it. If the only ones I’d come to care for had survived.

~*~

The wand is still shoved against my throat as a strong grip wraps around my elbow, pulling me forward down the large hall.

“Make sure she’s THOROUGHLY interrogated, Thomus!” the wild-haired, crazy eyed witch orders. Looking back, I make eye contact with Harry and Ron before they’re taken out of sight through a darkened doorway.

We stop abruptly and I’m shoved through a pair of double doors into an office. He tosses me to the floor, and I immediately turn to face him, shuffling away until my back hits the front of the desk in the middle of the room. I hear the door lock as I’m scanning the room for possible weapons, keeping his form in my peripheral vision.

“Look at me.” A command. An order. His voice is deep and I’m reluctant to give in, my teeth clenched in dread of what could possibly happen in the next few moments. I have a feeling this man knows a few dark and twisted ticks to torture someone. I make sure my Occlumency walls are sturdy before giving in to his command.

Little did I know the moment our eyes met, he was prepped with bombs to tear those walls down and let himself in. I shove forward dumb useless memories; doing my makeup, laughing with my friends at Ilvermorny, a scene from my favorite movie – nothing to pique his interest, but just enough to keep him distracted and searching.

Slowly, while I let the endless queue of memories play on the television in my mind, I follow the connection and fade into his own. His mind gives no resistance as I drift like a ghost from scene to scene, watching through his eyes. A tall blond boy with a long narrow face trips him, and the boy snickers before offering him a hand. Another scene – the man holding a very fair-haired girl by the throat, and the woman from earlier is pointing her wand at a cowering fair-haired man, screaming threats at him. Another memory, the same man and woman are sharing a heated kiss in a dark corner, away from the crowd of masked Death Eaters. They break apart when an oily black haired man sweeps into the room.

A girl screaming in the distance drops me out of his head, falling like dead weight. Hermione.

I’m back in this office. I bring my eyes to stare into his cold blue ones, his thin mouth almost in a sneer as he glares at me.

“Had your fun?” he bites out.

I scramble to my feet, quickly putting the large imposing desk between us, trying to ignore the pounding headache. “Seems like you did, too.”

“Ah, yes, I certainly loved watching you ridicule yourself in front of a mirror.” He points his wand towards me, his face a full sneer now. “What a fantastic waste of time.”

Hermione screams again.

“Y’know, not as much as this conversation, I’ll have to admit,” I say. “Why don’t we speed things up?”

Before I can barely finish thinking it, his wand is flying out of his hand towards my out-stretched one. He lunges, trying to recapture it, but instead it goes flying across the room behind piles of books on the floor. We make eye contact again for a split second before we both dive for it. He reaches the corner first and is hastily toppling the piles over when I doze full force into his side with my shoulder.

“Fuck!” he exclaims as I tackle him. He stumbles onto his side, his arm swinging wildly at me. A backhand goes across my face, cutting my lip with my teeth and losing my glasses amongst the books. I shove my way towards the wand anyway. My focus wasn’t on me getting the wand, but on him not getting it.

Finally, I see the wand, and just as I can barely pull it between my fingers, two strong arms wrap themselves around my waist and yank me back. The wand goes flying as we fall – him onto the floor, and me on top. The desperate move knocked the breath out of him and I use it to my advantage. I elbow him in the ribs, making him release his hold. Then I roll onto my knees and immediately spot the wand just above his head. He hasn’t noticed it yet because he’s still writhing under me.

Holding my breath, I quickly crawl over him until I can snatch up the wand. When I sit up, I’m straddling his hips. I lean on my right hand, holding him down by his shoulder, his own wand shoved up under his jaw. The only sound to be heard is our panting from the tussle.

“Ha ha,” I tease, smirking. “I win.”

If looks could kill, his glare sure would have torn me apart. He struggles against my hold, grabbing my hips and moving us just enough for me to realize my center was over his… my eyes widen. A loud crash of shattering glass comes from the distance, the sound honing in my determination. Before he can make another move, I stun him.

I scramble to my feet, quickly forgetting about the stunned man on the floor. Giving the door a quick Alohomora, I slide out, going in the direction of the noise. Just as I get to the large room, a body whizzes past me to the floor with a loud thwump.

“Stupid elf!” Bellatrix screams. “You could’ve killed me!”

I see Harry, Ron, and Hermione with the others standing by the bannister across the room. Pieces of glass and broken metal lay in a heap between us. I take a few steps towards them, only being noticed when I step on a piece of glass.

The wild-haired woman whirls, her arm flinging a dagger aimed straight for me. Before I’ve had time to think, my wandless hand is up, and the knife stalls in mid-air. I let it drop and briskly walk towards my friends, my wand hand now up.

“Dobby never meant to kill,” says the elf as I reach them. “Dobby only meant to maim or seriously injure.”

Behind my back, I hear the beginning of a spell, and I turn in time to see the elf snap the blond witch’s wand into his own grasp.

“How dare you take a witch’s wand?” Bellatrix woman shrieks. “How dare you defy your masters!”

“Dobby has no master,” the elf declares. “Dobby is a free elf! And Dobby has come to save Harry Potter and his friends!”

Dobby reaches for everyone’s hand, and we disparate.

~*~

I struggle to tell how much time has passed. It felt like it could have been days, but all of the hard sleep left me unsure. The converted hospital room has no windows, and the Healers that came in periodically refused to speak to me.

I can only assume the worst outcome has happened. From my vantage on the grounds, it seemed like we were losing, so it wouldn’t be a stretch to believe we lost. Harry Potter must be dead, who knows how many others. What was the value of keeping me alive? Of healing me?

When I’m able to sit and stand on my own, men who were obviously Death Eaters came to escort me. They’re staring makes me instantly uncomfortable because I’m only wearing a one size too small hospital gown. The hallway they lead me down is long, the stumble of my bare feet lightly echoing against the super reflective black tiles. Our destination is a rest room with a few shower stalls.

“Wash,” one of them says. They don’t leave, but they turn their backs.

After I turn on the water, I gingerly remove the old gown, careful not to pull at my wound. I peel back a corner of the light bandaging. There’s deep bruising, but the gash where the knife had been buried to the hilt had been closed, simply a red scab now. Resealing the bandage, I squint to read a small, messy signature on my left forearm. G. Goyle in black ink. Confused, I rub it under the water, but it doesn’t budge. A tattoo… a brand mark. Ownership.

I try to pretend as if I were alone, and doing my best to Occlude my panic and anxiety while I wash away the dirt and grime. I have no idea what they’re keeping me around for. I wonder if there are others. Didn’t the man say something about galleons? I have no idea what that meant.

I quickly towel off. The warm water and crappy shampoo made the bright pink color of my shoulder length hair run and stain the white towel. I pull on the fresh hospital gown. It’s also too tight and I fold my arms over my chest.

Once done, they lead me across the hall to a room with an exam table in the middle and order me to lay on it. Then they leave and return with two Healers.

“We’ll test it on this one, too,” one of the Death Eaters says. I see the older looking Healer nod. She pulls out her wand and does a diagnostic charm on my wound.

“Are you pregnant?” she asks as she looks over the results.

“No,” I reply, my voice hoarse.

“Your wound is healing nicely. You should be able to take the bandage off in another day or so.” Her voice cracks a couple times as she speaks and her eyes keep bouncing to the Death Eaters standing by the door. I nod in acknowledgement.

She runs another diagnostic spell, a general one this time. It hovers over my body, blinking with lights that I couldn’t remember the meaning of. She looks to the other, younger healer. “Has she been getting food along with the rest of them?”

The young healer shakes her head. “No, she’s mostly been unconscious.”

“Dolohov, when she joins the others, ensure she eats. Her nutrition levels are low,” she says to the men. One of them scoffs.

“I will do no such thing,” Dolohov says. “From the looks of her she could obviously stand to miss a meal or two, I think.”

The healer clenches her jaw and I feel my cheeks heat with embarrassment.

“Do the other spell,” the younger Death Eater says, his tone eager.

I watch as the younger one mutters a spell and a warm feeling washes over me, beginning at the tip of my head and toe, meeting in the middle over my stomach. There was a little pressure, and a glowing white light floated up from my belly button.

“Fuck yeah,” exclaims the young Death Eater.

“Don’t get too excited, Goyle,” says Dolohov. “I couldn’t name a single person who’d pay 5,000 galleons for her, even if she is a virgin. You’d be lucky to get 2,000.”

Goyle. He must be the one who branded me.

“I’m sure I can show off her potential,” Goyle grumbles. “She’s got a mouth, doesn’t she?”

I grit my teeth to hide my scowl. I’m both shocked and offended. What the actual fuck are they talking about?

“Give her the suppressants, too,” the older one orders. “One should do it, she’s just a mudblood.”

The younger witch helps me up, holding my hand. The older one slides a vial into my hand. I hesitate, sniffing it apprehensively. Minty.

“I’ll shove it down your throat if you don’t take it,” the older Death Eater snarls.

The young witch smiles and nods reassuringly. I take deep breaths before tipping the vial into my mouth. A chill spreads through me, smothering the hum of my magic like fire in the rain. Tears prick my eyes.

“Now the last one,” Dolohov orders. The healers both hesitate this time. “We talked about this. We’re doing this to all of them, regardless of your experience with the procedure.”

The younger witch looks resigned. “Lie back,” she says to me.

The older one holds her wand up again, standing near my hips. She presses her hand on my waist, the opposite side of the wound. When she points her wand over my pelvis, realization hits me as to what’s about to happen. With no magic, my Occlumency isn’t present anymore and my panic and fear have sprung forward with full force. I contemplate saying I have the No-Maj contraception birth control, an IUD. No, it wouldn’t matter.

My eyes widen and I gasp as she mutters a spell and twists her wand over my left side, severing a fallopian tube. She leans across me to the right side, blocking Dolohov’s view. Her wand taps my hip and she pinches me hard. I gasp again, confused.

The Healer turns to him. “Finished.”

He nods and Goyle steps forward, pulling the lump of my poorly scourgified clothes from his robes. Thank god.

The witches turn their back to me to do paperwork as I dress, thinking. I’m relieved to know there were people still silently fighting. This act of defiance gave me hope. Maybe we weren’t lost.

[colorsunimaginable]

the spare // chapter sixteen // darkwizard!tomhiddleston x plus size ofc - voldemort wins au

story summary: While one a mission to avenge the death of her best friend, Ilvermorny graduate Melisa Alder finds herself in the middle of the fight to defeat Voldemort. Upon capture after the Dark Lord’s triumph, she’s being sold at an auction with other muggleborns and bloodtraitors. Her only hope is also her only bidder - the tall, dark, and handsome Thomus Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy’s younger half-brother. Is he just another Death Eater or is he hiding more than just his face beneath the mask? Will she realize her true potential to be one of the resistance’s greatest weapons? *a Voldemort Wins AU with Tom Hiddleston cast as an OC x a plus size protagonist*

words for this chapter: 6.2k

warnings for this chapter: drinking ig

author notes: if you wanna make this story a little more immersive, I created a playlist for the songs used in this chapter. when you should listen to them is marked by ***. You can listen to the playlist on youtube or spotify.

CHAPTER MASTERLIST

Chapter Sixteen:

The next morning it’s very difficult to get up. My head pounds and I feel nauseous. I had tossed and turned all night, mostly thinking about Thomus. The way he grabbed me and got all up in my face last night does nothing to quell the phantom hands that run all over my body.

To think we actually had a pretty pleasant conversation last night. Questions that had been burning in the back of my mind had finally been answered. But they only left me wanting to know more. What happened to his mother? Is she still alive? Why did he come home drunk? Why did he feel the need to actually, purposefully spend time with me? Why wasn’t he being cruel? And what the hell did he mean when he said I’m going to get him in trouble? I’m too busy focusing on not getting myself in trouble to worry about his ass.

The pillow he’d used the night before smelled like him. It somehow wound up in my arms and I give it full credit for the miniscule amount of sleep I got. Damn him for smelling so good.

When I do drag myself out of bed, it’s because the pounding in my head wouldn’t go the fuck away. I pull a dose of medicine from the bottle in the bathroom and head to the kitchen. Breakfast is fruit and yogurt. I manage to ingest two bananas and my meds. I sit at the table, head buried in my arms, and wait for my headache to go away before getting up.

I go to the office and peruse my options. I think Thomus is still sleeping, so I don’t want to be too noisy. It’s still unorganized in here. Books and magazines strewn everywhere, records that I keep finding I’ve stacked in a corner. I check out the books, looking for something new to read. The Martian is good, but I’m just bored as shit. My eyes land on Mary’s crafting books, one about knitting catching my attention. Her basket of yarn still sits in the living room. I’d embroidered and cross-stitched before with my mom, how hard could it be?

Several frustrating starting attempts later, I think I’d been over-confident in my ability to learn to knit. I really try to follow the book’s instructions, but the pictures and descriptions make no sense to me. What I wouldn’t give for a YouTube tutorial.

Thomus finally wakes when I manage to make my first decent row, ignoring my probably too cheerful good morning as he goes to the kitchen. A few long moments later and I smell coffee.

When he comes out, he’s holding a small scroll and a mug, taking a sip. I eye the scroll warily as he sits in the armchair. He’s already dressed for the day. Not his Death Eater outfit, but casual clothes. A long sleeve black shirt with the sleeves pushed up his forearms and black pants.

“Didn’t know Owls delivered here,” I say, pausing the knots I’m making.

He takes a sip, perching one leg over another. Damn he’s got some hot ass thighs. I’ve sat on those at one point?

“Technically Owls can deliver anywhere they can fly,” he says, unexpectedly snarky. I open my mouth to fire back, but he continues. “But to answer your question, they only deliver to me.”

I resume knocking the sticks together. “Well, yeah, no shit.”

“We have a meeting to go to tonight,” he says, referencing the parchment.

My fingers stall and I look at him slowly. “We?”

“Yes. We.”

My expression turns apprehensive. “Didn’t know I was so important.”

“You will be serving those in attendance.”

“Like drinks and stuff?”

“Yes,” he says. “Are you up for it?”

“I have a choice?”

“Not really. I’m just insuring that you’re not going to have a breakdown while serving someone’s tea.”

I sit quietly, trying to imagine being in a situation like Edinburgh. Especially so soon… after. I don’t think I’d feel any more anxious about it than I did before… the incident.

No. I shouldn’t think of it like that. Before I was raped.

He’s watching me, probably trying to ascertain how I was feeling as well.

I nod. “I should be okay. I don’t really… have any feelings about what happened.” Except for my phantom touches. But he doesn’t need to know that.

He visibly seems to relax, exhaling deeply. “Good. I meant to ask you about it last night, but I got distracted.”

“Yeah, being drunk will do that to you.”

He takes another sip of his coffee. I see an eyebrow raise. “Mmm-hm,” he hums. He fingers the parchment again. “Wear a simple grey frock.”

I nod for a third time, knowing I’m gonna have to wear a long sleeve again.

~*~

Later that night, we’ve Apparated into the middle of a long gravel path. Wide, manicured lawn spreads out on either side of us. At the end of the path – the path that Thomus is already walking – is a ginormous estate house, right before my eyes as if it were plucked out of a period drama. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s where we were.

“Where are we?” I ask Thomus as I catch up with him.

“The Astor’s family estate,” he replies. “Cliveden House.”

“Right,” I say. “I forgot the Astor’s were fucking loaded.”

As we approach, I expect him to grab my arm at some point, but he never does. I realize this is one of the few places he’s taken me that doesn’t have a perimeter barrier, making the tattoo ineffective. My mind races to contemplate possible methods of escape. Hogwarts was one, but I was never left alone and there were too many Death Eaters. This place… there has to be a million fucking exits here. Maybe he wouldn’t notice if I slip away to use the bathroom. Montague’s box rattles again at the thought.

Yes… Thomus would notice this time.

There are cars like in Edinburgh, sitting abandoned by what looks to be the main entrance. Thomus doesn’t even have to knock, the tall glass doors magically open, and we’re greeted by a fancy hotel lobby, a reception desk to our left. Two guards stand on the inside of the door. Music is blaring from somewhere close. Thomus must have been here before because he quickly directs us to another large room, where the music is coming from. He pauses in the hallway before we enter, pulling me aside.

“I didn’t know it was going to be like this,” he says, grabbing my jaw and forcing me to look at him. “If anything happens, tell me. Do you understand?”

His intense face is too much for my anxiety right now and I shake him off, pulling away. “Yes, I’ll be fine,” I say, my voice short.

The room is dark, not because of lighting, but because of how much dark wood is used on the wall and ceilings. There’s large tall windows on the wall opposite, to the right a grand fireplace, to the left three archways with a staircase beyond it. Spread throughout the room are tables, chairs and couches. It reminds me of Edinburgh. There’s a group of people dancing in the largest gap between the furniture.

 Jacob Astor spots us as soon as we enter. “Malfoy!” he calls, coming to greet Thomus. I stand to the side, anxiously fingering the snug hem of the sleeves of my dark grey dress.

“I thought the party was yesterday,” Thomus says, not amused. Is this place why he came home drunk yesterday?

“I know, I know,” says Astor. “But one thing lead to another and - Bernie!” Astor puts his arm around Thomus’s back, trying to guide him to a section with of couches in the back corner of the room.

An elf pops next to him. “Yes, sir?” comes his squeaky voice.

“Show Malfoy’s mudblood to the kitchens.”

“Yes, Sir.” His ears flop as he nods. Bernie looks to me. “This way.”

I let my eyes linger on Thomus for a moment as the elf leads me toward the three archways. He has his focus on the group Astor is leading him towards. I turn back to follow the elf. Men who were clearly guards stood at doors beyond the archways. The elf pops open a hidden door and we slip through.

“Master says you is to serve the guests,” Bernie says. “With the others.” We take two flights of stairs, the smell of food drifting upward as we descend. We reach a stainless steel industrial kitchen, packed with elves standing on stools and a few girls also wearing grey dresses of varying styles. Theirs were far more revealing than the modest v-neck with long sleeves I’d dug out of the wardrobe. I don’t recognize them from the holding cell at the Ministry.

They’re standing near the door, waiting for the elves to give them something to bring upstairs. Their beauty makes me feel… frumpy, for lack of a better word, next to them. Even though I’d done my makeup and attempted make a braid leading away from my face.

I get in line behind them and turn my gaze to the exits. More guards stand under the two red exits signs on both ends of the room. Damn.

A blond girl turns to me. “Who do you have?”

“What?”

“The name on your arm?” she asks, holding hers up. “George Bullstrode.”

“Oh, uh, Thomus Malfoy.”

“Oh, fuck, really?” says a dark-haired girl with makeup skills far superior than mine.

“Who’s that, Cassie?” asks the third girl. She’s small with tight blond curls.

“Remember that one from two weeks ago in Edinburgh?” Cassie says. “The ridiculously handsome one that we all wanted to choose us?”

The short blond turns her eyes to me, wide as saucers. “Wow.”

“You’re lucky,” the first girl says to me. “If Bullstrode had a face and an ass like that I wouldn’t mind getting called up to his room every night for his,” she uses air quotes “nightly massages.”

“Same here,” says Cassie. She gets handed a tray of complicated looking devilled eggs and heads for the stairs. “Maybe we’ll get lucky tonight and they’ll decide to do a trade.”

“A trade?” I ask.

“Yeah, where they switch us,” the first girl says. “Sorry, babes, you’d be getting the short end of the stick.”

I don’t know how to respond to that. It hadn’t occurred to me before that Thomus used other Lots. Or that he even would. I’m already used to the idea of him being with Bellatrix, but I’d been under the impression that was because of emotional ties.

“Wait, are you the girl that Malfoy beat up Montague for?” the short blond says. I press my lips together and nod. “I couldn’t believe that when I heard.”

“Why?” I ask as she gets handed a tray of sandwiches.

“Most of the them don’t care who fucks who, as long as they pay beforehand. I heard that Montague did pay, and that Malfoy beating him up was because he was jealous and had changed his mind.” She stops, looking at me. “You are SO brave for being here.”

“You say that as if any of us have a choice,” says the first girl. An elf shoos the short blond up the stairs. My mind is whirling. How the actual fuck did the gossip spread so fast and so wrong? Did Montague pay? Did something happen that I wasn’t aware of? Did Thomus lock up a memory that he didn’t want me to remember? I’d lose my shit on him if that were the case.

The first blond turns to me. “Don’t listen to what she says. Choe just loves spreading gossip.”

I laugh nervously. “It’s okay. I’m a nosey bitch, too.”

“I’m Lauren, by the way,” she says as she gets a tray shoved into her hands.

“Melisa,” I say. She gives a knowing smile before heading back up the stairs. A minute later I’m following her with a tray of drinks.

The party is just as bumping as it was when I left. What shocks me the most is the music playing. It’s definitely No-Maj party music. It wasn’t uncommon to hear it playing at Ilvermorny or among the magical community, the US isn’t so secular when it comes to music. Hearing it here though? Where they do more than just turn their nose down at No-Majes? Again, shocking. The hypocrisy is hilarious.

I stand awkwardly by the archways, my eyes seeking Thomus out. He’s in the area Astor led him to when I left, laughing at something. The dark-haired girl, Cassie, is smiling at Thomus and offering him a devilled egg. He takes one from her, grinning. My chest tightens when my mind involuntarily pictures him with her his lap. He laughs at something she says.

I inhale sharply, gripping the tray a bit tighter than before. Okay, okay, okay. Don’t think about it. Ignore it. Ignore him.

The other Lots are walking around with their trays, mostly to those on the couches. I begin walking around the couches as well, ignoring the dancing crowd. It’s men with a few girls in their lap. As I pass drinks out, my eyes scan the room for more exits, hoping one of them is possibly unguarded. I sigh in annoyance when I find none.

An older and beautiful woman summons me. I don’t notice who she’s hanging onto until she says his name.

“Would you like anything, Oliver?” she says demurely into his ear, but loud enough for me to hear over the music. I can’t stop the surprise on my face when my eyes meet Oliver Wood’s. We’d met briefly before the Battle had begun with a hasty introduction from the Weasley twins. The last time I’d saw him, he’d taken a hard fall off his broom.

There’s slight recognition in his eyes before he looks to the woman he’s with. My eyes follow his muscular physique to his arm when she slides his hand over her thigh. The tattoo on his arm reads T. Nott. He shakes his head at the woman and she shoos me off.

By the time I get to Thomus, Cassie had long since moved on and I only have a few drinks left. I feel superfluous and annoyed because as I get to him, I spot a table full of Liquor and mixers, all it’s missing is a bartender standing behind it. What am I here for?

He’s sitting with Astor and the other American friends that had been in Edinburgh. Isobel O’Quinn is also there, sitting in Astor’s lap. I stand behind Thomus’s chair, trying to act busy and hoping no one will notice me. No one does for a few minutes, until Astor snaps his fingers to get my attention.

“Do you have my drink?” Isobel asks.

Social panic. “Um.. “ I say, trailing off, looking down at my tray.

“I haven’t asked for it yet, babe,” Astor says. “The party’s just started.” He grabs the remaining two glasses off the tray. I step back to where I was, not even looking at Thomus.

“The party started hours ago,” she whines, draping herself around his shoulder dramatically. “I wanna have some fun.”

“Will, can you do me a solid and take her to dance?” Astor asks. Will Hoffman quickly gets her up from Astor’s lap.

“But I wanna dance with you,” she complains, pouting.

“I’ll dance with you in a bit, babe. I’ll make sure your drink’s ready for you when you get back.”

“Fine.” Her pouting doesn’t stop as she turns into Will’s arm, letting him lead her away to join the dancers.

“She’s still using that stuff?” Eric Roosevelt asks, surprise in his voice.

Astor sighs. “Look, I’m not complaining. Whatever gets her off.” He snaps his fingers at me again. “Alder, go down to the kitchens and ask Bernie to make O’Quinn’s drink and then another one without the stuff.”

My eyebrows furrow and I nod, repeating what he said in my head. I don’t look at Thomus as I pass him again, even though I feel his eyes on me. When I get to the kitchens, I shyly ask for Bernie and tell him my order. He quickly gets them ready, and places the glasses on the tray in my hands.

“Mudblood,” the elf says, “the missus drink has silver ice, the other has grey ice.”

I look down at the tray to see if I knew what he meant. The drinks are both in tumblers with dark purple, almost black liquid. The weird ice in them looks identical. When I look up to ask him, he points to the one on the left. “Missus drink.”

“Okay,” I say slowly and make my way upstairs again.

O’Quinn spots me going towards Astor and makes a beeline for him as well. She squeals with delight after her first sip and goes back to dancing, drink in hand.

O’Quinn’s popularity with the crowd is clear when after they see what she’s drinking, and they all want one. The music slows and so the dancers have disperse. At least momentarily. I’m quickly called for more from those who’d been dancing and they request O’Quinn’s drink. For the next hour or two, I’m kept busy running up and down the stairs to get it for them, even as they return to the dance floor. The other Lots were doing the same, though their trays of food kept changing.

Throughout all this, my dumb ass keeps seeing Cassie next to Thomus. Every time my eyes seek him out, there she is, laughing at something he says, gently touching his arm as she did so. Eventually I get tired of the knot in my chest at the sight and force myself to stop looking at him.

As I clear out all empty glasses, zoning out and vibing with the music, O’Quinn approaches me as asks for two more of her drink. The Special kind. When I return, she tells me to place them on the bar.

I notice that the other Lots have stopped waitressing for the night and have been pulled into laps. Cassie, specifically, is right in Thomus’s.

My heart pounds in my chest at the sight. Her arms are around him, and she keeps giggling and whispering in his ear. His arm’s on her waist, but he doesn’t seem particularly happy that she’s demanding his attention. All the same, I just want to slip away and hide.

I slip behind the bar, getting rid of my tray, and pouring myself a fuzzy navel. I see why they aren’t getting drinks from here, it’s all muggle alcohol. More for me, I think to myself as I go heavy on the peach schnapps.

Drink in hand, I go sit in a deserted section of comfy red couches near Thomus’s circle, right behind his chair. I’m hidden from their view from where they’re all casually sitting. My thighs are killing me from all the trips to the kitchen. The clock on the mantle says it’s been nearly three hours since we’ve arrived. I take a long drink and close my eyes, enjoying the alcoholic warmth that spreads through my stomach.

My face tenses when I hear Cassie’s laugh over the music. She’s trying to convince Thomus to do a trade with Connor Selwyn. She’s trying to be slick about it, too. Every compliment she gives him on his physical appearance I can picture in my head. His beautiful hair and eyes. How strong he is. God and those hands. I take a drink every time I hear her voice. My glass quickly drains while I listen.

The only solace I take is how he responds. I can’t tell if he’s outright ignoring her, but every time I hear his voice, it’s in response to the conversation around the table.

I can’t even blame her for trying to sleep with him. He’s hot as fuck and can be charming when he wants to. He’s hot shit compared to the other Death Eaters, and I hate myself for finding him attractive. Thomus just has to look at me once for my insides to melt.

Then a terrifying thought occurs to me. What if she succeeds and convinces him to do a trade? I don’t wanna sleep with someone else. What’s the phrase? Lie back and think of England?

“Need another drink?” says a voice, interrupting my thoughts. My eyes snap open to see Will standing in front of me. I sit up straighter as he takes a seat in a chair adjacent to the side of the couch I’m on. He has a sweet, non-threatening smile on his face. He holds out one of O’Quinn’s drinks. I hesitate.

“Don’t worry, it’s not hers,” he says at my wary expression. “I got it from the bar.” I look over at said bar and see more of her drinks have appeared. I can’t tell which were the ones I’d placed there.

“Thanks,” I say, looking back to him. I place my empty one on the coffee table in front of me and he hands me the new one. He brings his own, also a copy of O’Quinn’s, to his lips and I mirror him. The drink tastes like fresh strawberries with no hint of alcohol, but the warmth spreads through me all the same. I see why this is the hit of the night.

“Enjoying the party?” he asks.

“I guess.” I take a longer sip after answering. The warmth spreading from it eases all the tension in my body.

“It really was supposed to be a meeting,” Will says. “Most of the people from the party yesterday never really left, so it started again.”

“I see.” My voice is static and I watch him warily. I’m trying to match his current face with the one from school. He was cute then, but god he’s hot now. The type of hot that would not be talking to me, under any other circumstances. I vaguely remember him being a Wampus and they’re usually nice people.

“So what did you do after Ilvermorny?” he asks after a moment. He shifts in his seat, leaning closer to me. Even in the dim lamp lighting, I can see he has golden flecks in his blue eyes.

“I didn’t go to M.U.”

He chuckles and my eyes are drawn to his perfect teeth behind his perfect smile. “Yeah, I was kind of forced to go. My parents are professors there.”

He takes a breath to say something else, but I beat him to it. “Do you remember the year we had a Sasquatch teach potions?”

“How could I forget?” says Will, eyebrows raising so much it crinkles his forehead. “If he talked about potions as much as he did about his grandfather’s heroic deeds during the Great Sasquatch Rebellion of 1892.” He spoke with his chest, lowering his timber, imitating the professor’s mannerisms with acute accuracy. “I might’ve actually learned something.”

I look at him in surprise before the laugh slips out of my mouth. Someone getting me to genuinely laugh is the last thing I’d ever expected tonight. It’s a breath of air after drowning for weeks. Someone I can relate to, from a time where something like the current reality I’m living in was unimaginable. The thought should make me sad, but it’s amazing what this simple earnest laugh has done for my mood.

“Do you –“ I start.

“Will, what’re you doing talking to the Mudblood? Get over here!” comes Astor’s voice. My face falls when everyone from that area turns their eyes towards us. I must’ve laughed too loud. I take another long drink and it instantly calms my nerves.

“Yeah, gimme a sec!” Will calls back and he leans even closer to me, “Any song requests?”

I pull the drink from my lips, clearing my throat. I take a deep breath and glance at Thomus. He’s twisted in his seat, looking at me curiously. “What do you have?”

Will shrugs and stands. “Anything you want.”

***“Cuz I…” My eyes bounce to Thomus again because he shifts in his chair. Cassie isn’t in his lap anymore. “Love you by –“

“Lizzo! Yes!” Will says excitedly. He goes over to the speaker system in the very back corner of the room, just beyond Thomus’s circle. My heart nearly drops when I see him pick up a phone that’s connected to it. He presses his thumb on it and the screen lights up. My hopes are quickly dashed when I realize that means it’s probably fingerprint enabled. There’s no way I could get into it.

As he gets the song ready, Will calls over to me, “You ever dance much, Alder?”

“Not really,” comes my reply after I take another long drink. “I’m definitely the wall-flower type.”

Astor laughs cynically. “You’re just his type then,” he says. “Thomus was always pulling the girls who weren’t dancing.”

Will casually looks at Thomus. “You gonna dance with her?”  

My heart leaps into my throat.

“Absolutely not,” Thomus scoffs. His English accent pops just now when heard side by side next to the American ones. It’s divine.

“What do you have her for then, if not to have some fun?”

Thomus’s voice cuts harshly across the momentary silence from the song change. “I bought her to cook, clean, and suck my cock every night. Not to dance with.”

Lizzo’s voice floats out of the speakers, and just when the loud brass comes through, I hear Will say, “Good, so you won’t mind that I will.”

He begins to make his way over to me, determination in his step now. I quickly chug the rest of my drink before he offers his hand with a mischievous grin. My brain isn’t really a part of the decision to take his hand. My body decides for me and delights in the immediate excitement that comes with my hand in his. As he drags me over to the dance floor, he’s talk-singing the lyrics, and badly. The smile that breaks across my face feels unfamiliar.

When we reach the crowd of dancers, he slips his arm around my waist and pulls me close. He continues to fake sing, and I do the same, his mood contagious. We sway to the song, my hands on his shoulders. Except for when he uses his fist as a microphone for us. Eventually I get comfortable enough to actually put effort into the lyrics. Especially since I knew them so well.

Damn, where the fuck did my inhibitions go? Why do I feel so comfortable being with Will, a guy I hardly know? My body is feeling something for him that my brain definitely doesn’t understand.

Once that song ends, another one I know and love comes on, American Wasted by New Medicine. I jump and laugh with excitement as I dance with him, throwing my hands in the air. My voice gets almost louder than the song when I shout “SEX DISEASE!” into the crowd. He doesn’t seem to be embarrassed by how ridiculous I’m being. Thank fuck. Maybe that drink was stronger than I thought.

And maybe it’s because I’m dancing and moving my body around so close to him, but Will is hot as fuck. His beard is something I can just shove my face into and his golden blond hair should be swept out of his beautiful eyes. I don’t think twice when my fingers comb through his hair to push it back. The song changes again, something with loud bass that I quickly recognize.

“You sure do like Yung Gravy,” I say, pulling him by the shoulders closer to me to speak. “It’s like the millionth one tonight.”

He laughs, his hands back on my waist. “Thank god someone noticed. I was so fucking tired of requests for the Weird Sisters.”

“What’s wrong with Do the Hippogriff?” I ask.

“Nothing! I just don’t wanna hear it a thousand times. It’s like all they know here.”

I laugh again, almost losing my balance and catching myself on him. “Sorry,” I say, and stand back.

“Don’t worry about it,” he smiles, pulling me back.

A slower song starts, Sit Next to Me by Foster The People, and our dancing turns from super jumpy to soft and smooth. He sways with me, takes my hand and twirls me a few times. I can’t stop giggling as I spin. He pulls me back every time and each time our faces get closer. I’m so proud of myself. I’m having such a good time and I haven’t looked at Thomus once.

Until his voice nearly makes me jump out of my skin.

“You call that dancing?” Thomus says from behind me. Will’s cute smiling face drops when he looks away from me up to him. Immediately his hands drop from my waist and he steps back. They’re quickly replaced by Thomus’s hands, sliding around my waist to my stomach, pulling me back against him.

“Hey!” I say breathlessly in protest. My hands, of their own accord, slide over his arms as he drops his chin to my shoulder.

“I’ll take it from here, Hoffman,” Thomus says, his tone domineering. His voice does delicious things to me, right to my core.

Will steps back further, his hands up. “No problem.” He doesn’t even sound upset. I look at him apologetically as he leaves the floor.

I turn my head towards Thomus and say “What was that for?”

His head drops, his lips brushing against my ear. “That thing you called dancing was an absolute travesty.”

I turn my face away, rolling my eyes and huffing. “Yeah, well, you had your fucking chance to teach me and you turned it down.”

A hand of his around my waist goes up to my neck, not squeezing, but holding it firmly just under my jaw. My chest starts to heave – not from the exertion of dancing, but from the excitement of his touch. I let out a soft gasp.

His hot breath sends shivers down my spine. “Dancing with you is a very bad idea,” he almost whispers. The song changes again. Something that has me close my eyes and makes me wanna move against him.

I push my hips back against where he’s pressed against me. “Prove it.”

His hard grip on my hip starts to move me, his hips guiding me from behind how I should move. I get lost with the heavy bass in whatever song is playing. Once I just keep repeating the movements, he runs his hand down to my thigh, over my hip and back up. The fingers on my neck tighten ever so slightly right over my pulse. I feel his lips on my neck, setting fire to my skin.

At this my head falls back on his shoulder. I swear if he touches me anywhere else, I’m gonna lose it. I can just feel myself getting wetter by every beat of the song. I’m so lost in his touch that I almost don’t hear a shrill voice floating above the music.

“Where’s my drink?” comes O’Quinn’s voice, closer now. I ignore her. I’m busy.

Thomus isn’t paying her any attention either. His lips continue on my neck, even his tongue darts out occasionally. The hand on my throat releases its hold and blood rushes to my head as he trails the tips of his fingers down my chest. He barely touches my breasts on his way to my waist, but they’re so sensitive right now that a small moan escapes my mouth.

“That Mudblood took my drink!” does even register in my head. That can’t be about me.

As soon as I moan, I turn in his arms, my fingers threading through his hair. He smells so good. My body pushes up against his and all I can think about is kissing him. Even as his body stiffens, his head jerking up out of my reach, my lips seek out his neck instead. Kissing and licking and biting whatever skin I could reach as my other hand slides around his waist to keep him close.

Then I’m getting pushed away and pulled back at the same time, my hair pulled tight and I let out a strangled scream.

O’Quinn has me by the hair, screaming in my face. “You took my drink, didn’t you!?”

“What? No!” I gasp, my hand reaching up behind me in an attempt to loosen her painful grip on my hair.

The music has stopped. Astor, Will, and Eric have all come up behind O’Quinn. Thomus stands an arm’s length away, hands in his pockets, his expression closed and concentrated on her.

O’Quinn’s hand in my hair goes side to side, forcing me to move with it. Her eyes are wide and wild as she says, “Admit it, you took it!”

My head feels dizzy with want and confusion. Tears stream down my face from the pain. I know I like my hair pulled, but not from where she’s grabbing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Astor puts his hand on O’Quinn’s shoulder. “Baby, what’re you talking about?”

She waves her free hand at me, exasperated. “Look at her! She’s all horny and sexed up from my drink! I would know!”

Realization dawns on me. That stuff she has in her drink is a Lust Potion. With wide eyes, I look at Thomus, fear evident on my face. He only glances at me briefly.

“We can just get you a new one, baby,” Astor coos. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?!” O’Quinn shrieks. Her fist in my hair tightens and I can’t help the whimper that slips out of my mouth as she shakes me. “This fat Mudblood whore stole something from me. Of course it’s a big deal!”

“I didn’t know!” I cry. The lust potion had relaxed so much of my inhibitions that the control over my fear I’ve fought so hard for recently has disappeared. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know!”

Will steps forward. Thomus’s eyes snap to him. “I’m sorry, Isobel, it was my fault,” he starts, his voice calm. “I grabbed it off the bar. I thought I could tell the difference.”

O’Quinn looks from me to him. “It’s the silver ice, Will! How many times do I have to tell you guys?!” Her mood has drastically changed like it’s night and day, her face now relaxing into a twisted smile. “Now how are we gonna punish the Mudblood?”

“But I didn’t-“

“Shh,” O’Quinn says, shaking me again. “Let the adults talk, sweetheart.”

“Fuck you!” I shout at her through the pain in my head.

Her face twists in anger again, but before she can say anything, Astor covers his hand over hers in my hair. “Let Malfoy think of something,” he says. “She belongs to him.”

O’Quinn pouts at him. “You never let me have any fun.” She shoves me forward and I stumble into Thomus’s steady form. His arm catches me around the waist. I don’t hesitate to cling to him again.

Eric and Will are leading O’Quinn away when Astor comes up to Thomus, patting him on the shoulder. “There’s an empty guest room three doors down from the top of the stairs,” he speaks quietly. “On the left.”

 “But they’ll be here any minute,” Thomus hisses. His face may not show it, but his voice doesn’t hide his fury.

“And I’ll stall for you, relax,” Astor says. “Rookwood and Lestrange made us wait this long, they can wait for you.”

Thomus shakes his head, his jaw ticking. “I’d rather not.”

Astor leans in closer to Thomus’s ear. “Look, the potion won’t wear off until she orgasms. Until then, she’s gonna wanna fuck anyone that even looks at her. That’s why she was all over Will.”

They were all watching?! My face flushes even more from embarrassment and I want to sob. I feel Thomus’s chest intake sharply at Astor’s words. He’s not even looking at Astor, his eyes are fixated on Will across the room.

“So just take her upstairs and fuck her brains out,” Astor continues, smirking. “You won’t miss anything, I promise.” He starts to walk away and turns back just to say, “Third door on the left!”

The music starts up again and Thomus finally looks down at me. I wish I could know what he’s thinking as he stares at me, his eyes darkening. My thoughts are consumed with how good he feels against me right now and how much I want him to kiss me. I think if he decided to just ravage me on the floor here in front of everyone, I’d be okay with that.

I don’t realize I’m reaching up to make his lips meet mine until he pushes me away. He doesn’t look at me as he grabs my elbow and begins towing me through the crowd to the stairs beyond the middle archway. I use the sleeve of my dress to wipe the drying tears off my cheeks as we ascend the stairs, my body trembling with excitement.

[colorsunimaginable]

the spare // chapter seven // darkwizard!tom hiddleston x plus size reader - voldemort wins au

story summary: While one a mission to avenge the death of her best friend, Ilvermorny graduate Melisa Alder finds herself in the middle of the fight to defeat Voldemort. Upon capture after the Dark Lord's triumph, she's being sold at an auction with other muggleborns and bloodtraitors. Her only hope is also her only bidder - the tall, dark, and handsome Thomus Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy's younger half-brother. Is he just another Death Eater or is he hiding more than just his face beneath the mask? Will she realize her true potential to be one of the resistance's greatest weapons?

CHAPTER MASTERLIST

word count for this chapter: 2.6k

chapter warnings: none

CHAPTER SEVEN:

I fooled Lord Voldemort.

Whatever else he knew about me, he’d been unable to confirm his suspicions. As isolated as I am, it gave me some relief to know I was able to help. Even if it was just by sheer dumb luck.

I spend most of the following days in the garden. There was a little clear spot in the back corner just before the forest line. The wildflowers and bushes were tall enough that only the top of my pink hair could be seen from the house. I bring a blanket out, sometimes a book, and just lay in the shade of the trees. Sam keeps me company most of the time out here. Laying in my lap, or curled up next to my side.

The only progress I make in having any kind of upper hand is venturing out to the other side of the house. I couldn’t tell if it was an accident or if Sam led me there on purpose. Sam was acting strange, meowing loudly, and standing at the corner of the house, the side I hadn’t been to yet. I don’t notice it at first, but when I get closer, I see Sam climbing onto the top of a large object and I gasp. A car. A Volkswagen Golf to be specific. It’s dark green, blending into the foliage perfectly.

I go around to what I know would be the driver’s side here. The door’s unlocked, and the keys are in the ignition. My shaking hands can barely contain my excitement as I turn the key. The noise is so loud in the quiet, I jerk my head around to see if anyone would come running, though no one does. There’s a full tank of gas, no check engine light, and there’s a GPS in the dash. I used to drive all the time back home. It’s exhilarating to sit behind the wheel again, even if it is on the wrong side of the car.

I hold my hands up at 10 and 2 on the wheel, gripping it tight, and imagine flying down the road. The dark ink catches my eye on my left forearm. I almost cry with disappointment at the sight. Even though I have a vehicle, there’s nothing I could do about the barrier on the perimeter. I guess it’s nice to know, just in case I need it someday.

Now I keep the keys in my room with the frying pan.

~*~

Malfoy has taken to giving me the suppression potion every other day. I think it’s a little excessive. Why not just make a stronger potion that lasts longer? Surely there’s a way to do it. Whatever it is, by 7pm every other day, Malfoy summons me to the living room. He watches me take it, forcing me to open my mouth and show him it’s gone.

It kind of reminds me of what I assume being in a mental institution would feel like. Lining up to take medication every day. The first few times he forced me to open my mouth and stick my tongue out. I blushed to high heaven, barely able to look at him. Now, I can look him in the eye, glaring the whole time.

Today in the garden, I must’ve fallen asleep. I open my eyes to see the white pages of the book I’m reading. I’m lying on my side, head on my curled arm. The sun is setting below the trees, leaving dark shadows across the house and the garden. I blink into focus Malfoy’s shoes. His oxfords. Must’ve been a stay home day. Pushing myself to a sitting position, I rub my eyes under my glasses.

“It’s past 7,” he says simply. Without looking at him, I hold my hand out.

“If I must.” I tip the vial into my mouth and make a face. It’s thicker and extra minty this time, almost like medicine. He did make changes I see. “I was wondering when you were gonna make it stronger.”

“It should last a few more days as well,” he replies. I look at him now, squinting into the light. He’s wearing a dark blue button down tucked into fitting dress pants. The blond in his longish dark hair glows from the light hitting his tall frame behind him. It curls behind his ears and the nape of his neck. I’d love to investigate how soft the curls feel against my fingers.

“I’ll be in in a minute,” I say after a moment, finally looking away. I close my book, and stand, rolling up the blanket.

“Can you show me how to use the muggle light in my bedroom?” he asks abruptly. I stop and look at him, confused. He looks uncomfortable, hands in his pockets, as he continues. “I’m tired of trying to read by candle light.”

“Ah,” I say. It’s definitely not the first thing I’d ever expect of him to ask. It’s unlikely he’s just trying to make up some excuse to get me in his bedroom. I doubt he needs a bed to do any of those sort of things. “Sure.”

When we go inside, I drop the blanket and book off in the kitchen, and follow him to his room. He stands awkwardly to the side, watching me as I approach the lamp on his bed side table.

“So… it’s called a lamp,” I begin. “This one I think has a switch under the shade by the light bulb.” I stand to the side as well, trying to let him see better. My hand goes under the shade. “Yup, there it is. Give it a twist and –“ The light comes on. “Ta-da.”

I move out of the way so he can look at it closer. It’s interesting to see him so fascinated by it. His open sincerity makes me wonder if now’s a good time for questions.

“How come we live in a No-Maj house if you hate No-Majes?” I ask. “Why not your family’s house?”

Malfoy doesn’t immediately shut me down. His gaze turns to the window above the table, perhaps looking at his own reflection with the new bright light against the twilight sky outside.

“It was… crowded.”

I snort. “A mansion? Crowded? Oh, yeah totally.”

He doesn’t appreciate my light tone and his jaw is tight when he turns to glare at me. His face now in shadow. “I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

“Excuse me for wanting to know a little about the man who has me“ - I aggressively point to his name on my arm – “branded and caged like a fucking farm animal.”

He takes a step closer to me. “Interesting choice of words,” he muses. “If you wanted me to call you a cow, you could’ve asked.”

I bite my tongue this time. I need answers, not a fight. “I just want to know why you’re keeping me here, when it’s clear you don’t even live here.”

“I live here now,” he says, “with you.”

I don’t reply and look at him expectantly, hoping he’ll say more if I just stare him down enough. He caves after a brief staring contest.

Malfoy sighs. “My nephew purchased a Lot as well.”

“Who?”

“Your friend Granger,” he answers. “the Golden Girl.”

“And you couldn’t have us living under the same roof.”

“Bingo,” he says, taking another few steps closer, coming to meet me in the middle of the room. “I like to say it’s so no one can hear you scream.”

His head is tilted a bit as he looks at me and I feel my face start to get hot. He’s so close that the quick breaths I inhale smell of cedar and pine. It makes my head swim, but in a good way.

I step back, turning my head away, and give a short nervous laugh. I can’t let him know the effect he has on me. The untainted air helps my head and I move toward the door. “Don’t make me laugh.” My smile fades entirely. “I just want to know if she’s okay.”

“Yes,” he says. “You’ll find my nephew’s very… keen to protect his investment.”

“That sounds like a good thing.”

“For her.”

“And why not for him?” I ask.

“Because it’s dangerous to care for someone like that.”

I suddenly understand his meaning. His nephew has feelings for Hermione, and that could get him killed. I couldn’t imagine what that would mean for her.

“I see,” I say after a moment. He approaches me again, this time getting so close I’m forced to backstep onto the landing. His expression is cold.

“I won’t be making the same mistake,” he says, and closes the door.

~*~

The next day he’s gone again. I’d spent all evening and morning considering what he had said. Hermione is with his family. At Malfoy Manor. She must be swimming with information by now. The manor was the hub when we were brought there.

A part of me is envious of all that she could accomplish there, if she has even a smidgen of the freedom to move about as I do here. She’s smart. She’ll have everything all figured out in no time. How to get beyond the barrier, maybe how to remove the tattoos…

Or maybe she’s just as trapped as I am, just in a gilded cage instead of tucked away hidden. Or she could be getting abused by someone who supposedly cares about her. I don’t know what’s more fucked up.

Today is rainy so I decide to do a deep clean of the office – which mostly requires dusting and organizing. I take the time to comb through every stack of magazines and papers, looking for… I don’t know really. The lady, a No-Maj obviously, didn’t seem to have any connections with the magical world here. I did learn that her name was Mary. There were dozens of little thank you notes from people who’d received a knitted blanket from her scattered everywhere. I made sure to keep them all together in a neat little pile.

I almost shit myself when I turn to see Sam watching me from the doorway.

“You know, you really should announce your presence,” I say, a little annoyed. “A meow or something would’ve been nice.”

Sam just sits and stares, tail waving and curling slowly. I look at them thoughtfully when I realize I haven’t seen Sam since the day they showed me the car.

I’m so lost in my thoughts I almost don’t hear a knocking from the front door. It’s gentle, a couple knocks every couple moments. I quickly go to the living room, crouching low below eye level, and shuffle over to peak out the corner of the window. It’s a blond lady dressed in blue robes. Her face is turned away as she looks around, but when she looks back to knock again I recognize her now. She was at Malfoy Manor, standing with the blond boy. Is this who has Hermione?

I stand up straight behind the door, brushing dust off my shirt and leggings. Taking a deep breath, I open the door.

She smiles warmly at me, her wand pointed upward to create an umbrella, only visible because of the raindrops running off it.

“Hello, I’m Narcissa Malfoy,” she says. “Thomus’s sister-in-law. May I come in?”

“Um, sure,” I say, stepping back to allow her to pass. “Malf – Thomus isn’t here.”

She walks into the living room. “Yes, I know, dear. I came to see you.”

I close the door. “Me?”

“Yes,” she says, smiling again. “May I sit?”

“O-of course.”

She glides across the living room, taking a seat in the wingback chair next to the fireplace. I stand awkwardly by the door. Are slaves and prisoners allowed to have guests?

“I meant to come see you sooner, but –“ she sighs. “Thomus wouldn’t tell anyone where he was keeping you.”

I sink into the seat closest to the door, the farthest side of the couch from the fireplace. Sam hops up onto the couch next to me. Narcissa eyes him curiously.

“See me about what?” I ask. “Why wouldn’t he tell you?”

She almost rolls her eyes. “The Malfoy men tend to be… very protective of their women.”

I bark out laughing. “I’m not his woman. He wants absolutely nothing to do with me.”

“Yes, I’d wager he tells himself that, too.” She’s serious. “He hasn’t hurt you at all?”

I think of cedar and pine when I say, “No.”

“Good,” she says. “Have you been eating well enough? We weren’t sure what you liked, so we’ve tried not to send anything too complicated.”

“You’re the one that’s been sending my meals?” I ask, surprised.

“Not me, personally, no. My house elves see to it.”

“Oh, well, thank them for me. Everything’s been delicious.” It’s weird to sit here, having a semi-pleasant and normal conversation with someone. Especially someone who doesn’t seem to have cruel intentions when only weeks ago she tried to hex me.

“I’ll make sure to tell them.” She smiles gently. “Is there anything else you need?”

“A way out?” My question is kind of serious and kind of rhetorical.

Her smile fades. “As I told Hermione, I can’t help you escape. It would put my family in jeopardy. But I can make sure that you are as comfortable as possible.”

“Comfortable in a prison?” I ask, incredulous. “I know my situations probably not as bad as others, but I’m still a prisoner.” When she doesn’t respond, I change subjects. “How is Hermione? I only found out yesterday who bought her.”

“Yes, she was… acquired by my son, Draco,” she explains. “She’s as safe as can be at the manor. She tends to keep to the library.”

A library? “Is it extensive?”

Her head tilts, curious at my question. “It is one of the best private libraries in England.”

“Good.” Hermione’s bound to find something useful there. I change subjects again. “Would you happen to know why I’m here instead of there? Thomus gave me some flimsy excuse about not having two Lots together under the same roof.”

Narcissa’s perfectly shaped eyebrows furrow and she looks away, unsure. “I don’t believe it has anything to do with proximity.”

“Then what is it?”

Her mouth opens like she’s about to speak, but no words come.

“Am I not allowed to know?” I press, but then suddenly remember the memory I saw. “Does it have anything to do with Bellatrix?”

She sighs. “My… sister and Thomus. I would never have said they were a particularly good match.”

I shrug, but happy to have been confirmed correct. “Evil likes company.”

“I think that if you wish to know more, you’d have to ask him,” she says. “It’s not my place.”

“Okay,” I say, knowing that I’d rather face a Dementor than ask him anything like that.

Suddenly, she stands to leave, and I step to the door, ready to open it.

“If there’s anything you need,” she says, walking towards me. “Call for Mippy. She’s my personal house elf. She will hear you.”

“Thank you,” I say, trying to sound sincere.

“We’ll have to have you and Thomus over for dinner sometime soon,” she says as she leaves, putting up her magical umbrella again.

“Good luck convincing him,” I reply. She smiles again and she turns to leave. “Wait!”

She stops, facing me again. I take a deep breath. “Would it be possible for someone to send the Daily Prophet?”

“Of course,” she says simply. “Would you like the New York Ghost as well?”

“I would actually.”

“I’ll make sure it’s sent when it’s available.” She gives me one last smile. I watch as she walks down the stone path and past the gate before Disaparating.

[colorsunimaginable]

the spare // chapter fourteen // darkwizard!tomhiddleston x plus size ofc - voldemort wins au

story summary: While one a mission to avenge the death of her best friend, Ilvermorny graduate Melisa Alder finds herself in the middle of the fight to defeat Voldemort. Upon capture after the Dark Lord’s triumph, she’s being sold at an auction with other muggleborns and bloodtraitors. Her only hope is also her only bidder - the tall, dark, and handsome Thomus Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy’s younger half-brother. Is he just another Death Eater or is he hiding more than just his face beneath the mask? Will she realize her true potential to be one of the resistance’s greatest weapons? *a Voldemort Wins AU with Tom Hiddleston cast as an OC x a plus size protagonist*

words for this chapter: 5.1k

warnings for this chapter: ORAL RAPE OF POV CHARACTER, PLEASE BE ADVISED

CHAPTER MASTERLIST

Chapter Fourteen:

Edinburgh hasn’t much changed in the last week. The Apparition point in the shopping district still looks abandoned and desolate. As we climb the hill toward the castle, it seems like the lights I could see in the distance before have been snuffed out. There’s only the barest hint of light pollution, miles and miles away.

This makes the stars extremely bright, especially with the sky being so clear. I pause a time or two, unable to keep from looking up. Then I have to quickly catch up with Thomus, who’s long strides are already difficult to casually keep up with. At the barrier limit, he has to grab my arm again.

Inside the castle, the party is already bumping. Thomus fearlessly dives into the thick crowd and I have to grab the crook of his elbow so I don’t lose him as it swallows us whole. He doesn’t pay me any mind and allows the contact, pulling me to follow closer.

“Malfoy!” bellows a handsome dark-haired man. I’m getting flashbacks to last week already. Thomus brings us to a stop at a group of suited men. One of them looks familiar, but I can’t remember from where.

“Jacob Astor!” Thomus says spiritedly, full of charm. A version of him I haven’t seen before. He drops my arm to embrace the man with loud claps on the back. “Haven’t seen you since Venice.”

Jacob Astor laughs. “Yeah, well, we’re divorced now. Owled the papers last week.” He has an American accent.

“I hope she signed a prenup,” Thomus jokes. They’ve parted, and Thomus holds out his arm for me again. I wordlessly take it with both hands, holding it against my chest.

“Damn right she did,” Astor smiles. He steps back and nods to the other men he’s standing with. “You’ve met Goldman, right?”

“Kyle, a pleasure to see you again.”

“This is Eric Roosevelt, a buddy of mine from Merlin U.” Merlin University? All I knew about the place is that it’s a college for rich people after they attended Ilvermorny. There were only a handful of people from my year that I knew of who had planned to go. Also, Roosevelt? As in Teddy? The President? Alice Roosevelt was the real household name among American wizards. She was an amazingly accomplished witch who broke barriers of sexism and No-Maj/Wizard relations in the community.

Astor motions to the last man in the group, the one whose face I can’t place. “And this is Will Hoffman, a fresh-faced grad from our frat,” he says. I vaguely remember Hoffman’s name from my year at Ilvermorny. If I knew him once, I don’t anymore. The last time I saw him, he still had a baby face. Now his jaw is almost as sharp as Thomus’s. I doubt he even knew of my existence, let alone my name.

Thomus shakes their hands. “Delighted to meet you both.”

Unfortunately, Astor brings his eyes to me. “We heard you’d nabbed one of ours,” he says. He raises a judgmental eyebrow as he appraises me. I grit my teeth and try to keep my face blank. “A shame she’s not a better representation of what America has to offer.”

Before I get a chance to glare at him, Thomus chuckles. “Not everyone gets a chance to shag Isobel O’Quinn.” I want to snort. Isobel O’Quinn, while I’m sure is lovely, is simply famous for being a stunningly beautiful witch with a moderate singing voice… at least in my opinion.

“Definitely not the reason for his divorce,” Eric Roosevelt says, snickering into his drink.

Astor ignores the comment. “Didn’t you say she was in your year at Ilvermorny, Will?”

My chest tightens. Oh shit. Well, what’s he going to do? There’s nothing from my time at Ilvermorny that I’m afraid of getting out.

“Yeah, that pink hair’s kinda hard to forget,” Will says. Then his eyes drop down to my thighs. “If I’d have known back then she was such a slut, I definitely would’ve gotten to know her better.”

Thomus chuckles darkly. “Your loss was my gain.” He drops my arm and slides his around my waist. I nearly jump when I feel his other hand tugging my jaw so our faces nearly meet. All I can do is stare wide-eyed as he takes in my face, hunger in his eyes. God, he’s so handsome. My lips part and his eyes are drawn to the movement. When he looks back up at me, his mask has switched. He gives a nasty smirk and pulls away.

“Isn’t it funny?” he says mockingly, his hand now fully gripping my jaw as he turns my head to face them. “How she just can’t hide how much she wants to get fucked.” My eyes close from shame as I feel his breath at my ear. “It’s my favorite part.” They all laugh and he releases me.

If making me feel bad was his goal, he certainly succeeded. I’m sure the pain is written all over my face. I press my lips tightly together, forcing myself to frown instead of cry. Why couldn’t he be charming with me? Where is that sweet version of him that I couldn’t bear to trust when he tried his best to comfort me? What’s real?

“You ever let others borrow her?” I hear someone say and I open my eyes.

“Throw in a considerably large bag of Galleons and I might consider it.”

What kind of game is Thomus playing? He won’t even touch me in private and he’s saying he’ll pimp me out to members of this stupid boys club? I honestly want to smack him.

“What was her going price at the auction?” Kyle Goldman asks. “Jacob and I wanted to attend, but when we heard bidding was exclusive to you Brits we were pretty bummed.”

Charlotte, in a sleek black dress, appears next to me with a tray of full glasses. She smiles at the men and switches out their empty tumblers. Before Thomus can object, I take the strongest looking drink and shoot it down. I keep my eyes on him as I do this, enjoying the burn of the drink down my throat and the burn of his seething gaze. I place the empty glass back on the tray, smiling gratefully at Charlotte, before brazenly sticking my tongue out at Thomus.

“I bought her for 5,000 Galleons,” he bites out after Charlotte leaves, his grip stiff around my waist. “Though clearly I was over-charged.” The men in the circle snicker.

“From my experience it’s the feisty ones that love being punished,” Eric pipes up. “You remember Louisa Ashton?”

“That bitch you always fought with?” Will says. “How could we forget?”

“Yeah no, she loved getting tied up and spanked. Begged me for it.”

As Eric continues talking, I feel someone brush heavily against my back as they pass through. A hand, who I know definitely doesn’t belong to Thomus, feels along my ass. I look over my shoulder to glare at whoever it was and see it’s Montague. He pauses ever so briefly behind Thomus, smirking, and throws a wink at me before disappearing into the tight crowd. My eyes go to Thomus’s face. He’s still laughing at tales of Roosevelt’s sex life, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He didn’t notice a thing.

“I bet Alder enjoys your punishments, Malfoy,” Astor laughs. I look down, ignoring the heat building in my face. “Looks like she’s thinking about it right now.”

As they’re about to laugh at me again, I say, “Actually I was thinking about how much I have to pee.” I turn out of Thomus’s grip. He gives me a warning look as I head in the direction of the bathrooms. I hear Astor say some remark, and Thomus’s laughter rises above everyone else’s.

~*~

The hallway with the bathrooms is mostly empty and I breathe a sigh of relief to be alone. I didn’t really have to pee, I just wanted to get away from the assholes, Thomus included. I hang out in a stall for as long as I think I can get away with it before heading back into the now fully empty hallway.

As I pass by a door with a dark room, I’m grabbed by the elbow and pulled inside. Before I can make a sound, lips crash into mine and I’m pushed against a wall. All I could see before my vision was obstructed is that this person is wearing a black suit with no tie. The shadowed outline of his head against the light still spilling in through the door, tells me he has curly hair. Is this… Thomus?

His entire body is pressed firmly against mine, his hands quickly travelling back and forth from my breasts to my ass. The kiss is rough, open mouthed with almost too much tongue getting acquainted with my lips. His touch is hurried, like he’s afraid we’re going to get caught. If this is the only moment Thomus is going to give me, then I’ll take it. Being touched by someone - even if they’re the biggest asshole in the world - as if I’m desirable is a feeling I’ve never been able to resist. I can hate myself later.

My lips become pliant against his and my hands go from hovering to his shoulders. They run up the side of his neck and into his hair. As my fingers thread into his curls, I’m confused by what I feel. I have to fight through my mind’s fuzzy desire to concentrate on what I’m feeling. The curls aren’t soft and lush. They’re course, dry and thin. Who the fuck –

My fingers, the touch once delicate, balls his hair into a fist and yanks back. He makes a strangled cry as his face gets tilted into the light. It’s fucking Montague.

Angrily I shove him with as much force as I can muster. He stumbles back, a hand rubbing the back of his head.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?!” I almost yell, panting from shock. “How fucking dare you?”

He smiles disbelievingly at me, a hand disappearing into an inside pocket of his jacket. He pulls out his wand. “You’re just angry because you liked it.”

I shake my head, turning for the door. “Absolutely not! I – “

“Imperio.”

The weight of all the anger and shock dissipates in my mind and chest, stopping me in my tracks. The emptiness left in its place swells inside of me like a balloon and I feel like I’m floating. My shoulders and face relaxes as the tension melts away. Am I feeling… happy? I can’t remember why I was unhappy before.

Come here, comes a voice. I can’t tell where the voice is coming from – in the room or in my head – so I turn and spot Montague. A giggle comes out of my mouth as I see a corner of his mouth is smeared with my dark berry lipstick. His hands grasp my waist and pull me close, his lips placing soft kisses on my neck. I giggle once more and hum contentedly at the pleasant feeling.

His mouth finds mine again, and my fingers go to their favorite place twisted in his curls. We don’t kiss for long, because the voice I now recognize as Montague is in my head telling me to get on my knees. As I sit and wait patiently for him to unbuckle his belt, a familiar handsome face tries to manifest itself in the back of my mind. It’s not Montague, it’s Thomus. I wonder where he is. I hope I get to see him soon.

A fleshy object pokes at my mouth and obediently I let it inside. His voice in my mind tells me to suck and I feel a fist clench the hair at the side of my head to hold me still. It begins to move in and out and my mind goes numb as his becomes distracted by what he’s feeling. Too distracted to fully focus the unforgivable curse, but not enough to release me from the spell entirely. The happy, elated feeling is gone. I am just a body, I am just an orifice, I am just no one.

The man and his object hold still in my mouth after a while. As he finishes, the curse lifts, and my mind digs itself out of the hole that the Imperious Curse had buried it in. Panic, fear, and disgust replace the emptiness that had inhabited it only moments before. Clarity makes me pull away, bracing myself on my hands as I vomit on the stone floor. Clarity reminds me where I am and what had just happened. Clarity reminds me who I am.

Stomach empty, my body repeatedly dry heaves until I’m yanked to my feet mid-heave. This makes me choke and I have to cough forcefully to release whatever is trapped in my airway, tears streaking down my face. Montague uses a handkerchief to wipe at my mouth, removing the vomit and I imagine what remains of my lipstick. He runs his fingers hastily through where he’d fisted my hair. I’m forcing deep breaths, trying to concentrate on not gagging some more when he turns me away from him to the door.

I feel his mouth at my ear. “Under better circumstances, I’d want you to remember this,” he whispers. “But I don’t need you running off and telling Malfoy on me. It’s going to be our little secret forever.” The tip of his wand presses into the back of my head. “Confundo. Now run along to your master.”

Then unceremoniously I’m shoved back out into the hallway. I have to pause a moment. Why was I here? Oh right. The bathroom. I think I’ve already gone. There’s a bad taste in my mouth. I wonder if Thomus is looking for me. Run along to your master.

My feet carry me in the direction of the Great Hall. When I reenter, I pause, searching the crowd for his familiar face and hair. I spot bright, almost white blond hair first. Draco Malfoy. He’s standing with Thomus and his American friends. Will from school is still there. I wonder if he remembers the year we had a Sasquatch teach potions.

No one sees me approach. I stand between Thomus and Draco. My hands go back to where they were, wrapped around Thomus’s strong arm. It feels so nice to be near him again.

“There she is!” someone says, I think his name is Astor. “We thought you got lost.”

“We were about to send out a search party for you,” comes Thomus’s voice, light and teasing.

“I’m sorry,” I say as I turn my face up to look at him. I watch as his face changes from gentle humor to concern, making his eyebrows come together and the corners of his mouth tip down into a frown. Is it really concern? Concern for what? He turns his body to me and grabs my head in both of his long warm hands, his eyes bouncing all over my face.

“What happened to her knees?” Will asks. Thomus steps back a moment to take in the rest of me. My brows furrow in confusion. I look down and see my stockings are torn at the knees, my skin there lightly scraped.

“Hm, I must’ve fallen.” My voice sounds strange.

He tilts my face back up towards him. His gaze is intense as he searches my confused face. The longer he looks, the deeper his frown gets, as if he’s not at all happy with what he sees. A thumb brushes along my bottom lip.

I’m already looking into his pretty blue eyes when they meet mine and I feel the strength of his Legillimency. I don’t have any magic, so there’s no Occlumency to stop him from entering my mind like it’s a house he’s lived in all his life. He quickly finds the recent memories that have been hidden and bewitched by the Confundus Charm. Waiting around in the bathroom stall. Being pulled into a dark room and kissed. I feel his confusion and shock at seeing his own face in this memory. I’m a little fuzzy on who I’d kissed, and I remember thinking about Thomus, but I definitely wasn’t kissing him.

Then other memories resurface. Me on my knees, an emotionless doll being used for oral sex, vomiting. Specific feelings, like the stone floor painfully digging into my skin, my nose getting shoved into pubic hair, the lightheadedness from lack of air because of the abuse my throat was taking, come front and center. Quickly going from the Imperious Curse to the Confundus Charm prevented me from being fully present to experience it in real time. I’d basically been given a pat on the back and shoved out into the hallway, meant to pretend nothing happened.

I don’t need to be in his head to feel his barely contained rage as he rewatches these moments. His frustration is palpable when he can’t find a face besides his own. He pulls out earlier memories. My eyes trained to the sky upon our ascent to the castle, the way my chest tightened when he got in my face to make a joke at my expense, Montague’s wink.

Montague’s wink. He rewinds the memory, examining it closer. Looking at it repeatedly, the brush against my back seems intentional. The wink beyond Thomus’s gaze taunting. Thomus lingers on his own face as I did, how oblivious he had been.

Thomus leaves my mind, and I can refocus on the intense anger on his face. His breathing has become quick and shallow, his thumb lightly brushes my cheek as he gazes at me. I worry that I’m the one he’s angry with.

“Is everything alright?” someone asks.

“No.” With a single word, Thomus’s voice and tone conveys his fury. He releases me and steps back, looking at someone behind me. “Don’t let her leave your sight.”

Draco grabs my arm and I look in time to see the confused face he gives his uncle. “What for?”

Thomus doesn’t answer. He turns to his companions and makes his excuses. Then he disappears into the crowd. I try to follow his path with my eyes and eventually see him emerge, heading in the direction of the bathrooms.

“What happened to you?” Will asks. Everyone in the circle has their attention on me. I blanch and look back in the direction of where I last saw Thomus. I don’t want to think about what happened to me.

“Looks like she got a little felt up,” says Jacob Astor. I remember his name now. They continue to talk amongst themselves until a loud bang comes from the hallway Thomus had disappeared in.

The doors bust open as a body gets flown into the room. I see Thomus standing in the doorway and without thinking I rush forward. Instead of holding me back, Draco comes with me, and we stop at the wide circle that had formed around the scene. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Draco pull out his wand, ready to back up his uncle.

I recognize the man on the floor is Montague. He’s panting as he gets to his feet, his hands lacking the safety of a wand. Thomus’s eyes are intense and focused on Montague, mouth almost curled into a snarl. He barely waits before Montague is upright before advancing. Grabbing the collar of Montague’s suit, Thomus slams his fist into his jaw. Blood splatters across the floor and drips from his mouth. The following blows to his eyes, his chin, and ear were just as powerful and damaging.

When Montague can’t keep his head up any more, his face covered with bruises, cuts, and swells, Thomus finally drops him. He straightens his suit and pushes his hair back with his clean hand.

“I would like everyone to know,” he announces to the crowd. He points to the unconscious body on the floor. “That this is what happens when you touch a Lot without payment or permission.” Thomus walks slowly around Montague, staring intently into the faces of his audience, as if daring them to object. “This vermin has shown a blatant disregard for my family and the respect its name demands.” I could hear some murmurs of agreement, but there were also those who shook their heads in disapproval. With the spectacle over, the music and talking quickly resume their volume from before.

As the crowd resumes their party, I stare down at Montague on the floor, his body slumped against the unpolished tile in an undignified way. Even bloody and bruised, his face falls into place in my memories like a missing puzzle piece. Tears blur my vision when I realize Thomus only did this because Montague had damaged something that belonged to him. Defiled his own personal plaything. This retribution for my rape has absolutely nothing to do with me, and everything to do with re-establishing his position of power.

I lose sight of Montague when the crowd breaks the circle and suddenly Thomus is in front of us. He speaks with a low voice to Draco as they exchange possession of my arm. “I’m taking her home and then I’ll be back to help smooth things over.”

I don’t know if Draco nods or not, because I keep my eyes down. I don’t need Thomus to see me crumbling from the weight of it all.

~*~

Green firelight flashes the room briefly as we step into the cottage living space. Thomus clicks on the lamp, then grabs me by the upper arms and pushes me down onto the couch. The unexpected move makes me gasp, my mind regaining feeling. It kind of feels like the blood rushing into a limb after having fallen asleep.

Thomus’s hands on my arms linger for a moment before he straightens and turns away. He doesn’t need to ask what happened. He knows that I was made a fool of. I created a problem that he now has to fix. I made him look weak.

I stare down at my hands in my lap. The only way I’d known it hadn’t been Thomus was simply the feel of his hair. I hate myself for believing it was him, for hoping that it was. I hate that I couldn’t do anything to stop it from happening. I used to be capable. How did I end up here?

My eyes follow his feet as he walks toward the door. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” he says and then I’m alone.

The sudden quiet, the absence of a presence except my own, all I can hear is my heavy breathing. I squeeze my eyes shut and rub them with my fingers, not caring if I fucked up my makeup. The echo of something getting shoved into my throat, the gagging and tears that followed reminds me that my makeup is fucked up already.

I stand, needing to do something other than sit upset on the couch. Oh, fuck, yeah I know what I need. My feet stumble forward and I drag myself up the stairs to Thomus’s room. I make a beeline for the crate of alcohol under his bed, picking a muggle schnapps that I know I can drink straight out the bottle. Before I even stand, I twist the cap and flick it off, chugging the sickly sweet liquid. I keep going even though there’s soreness in my throat when I swallow. The alcohol hits my empty stomach immediately. When I get to my feet after a few long moments, I have to grab the bedpost to keep from tipping over.

Somehow I make it to my room and instead of collapsing onto the bed, it makes more sense to sit on the floor. I set the bottle down next to my lamp and turn it on. My back against the wall next to my bedside table, I kick off my shoes, and undo the garter belt before shoving the whole thing, stockings and all, off my body entirely. I manage to undo my bra and fling it at the wardrobe. Finding something else to wear is impossible right now, so the dress stays. I grab my bottle, and slide down the wall to the floor. The carpet is thick and comfortable.

I chug my drink some more, as much as I’m able. Then I place it back down, and lower my body to the floor, my right arm behind me, my cheek pressed against the carpet.

~*~

This is how Thomus finds me, who knows how long after. I haven’t slept. My brain has just taken pleasure at giving me a marathon of the best moments of the evening. Now that I’m no longer under any spell, the memories don’t stop. And I thought before was bad. At least it only haunted me while I slept.

“What’re you doing on the floor?” he demands as he enters my room. His voice isn’t loud or angry. Maybe frustrated. I quickly push myself up, cross legged, and I grab the bottle again.

“The floor is grounding,” I reply, bringing the bottle opening to my lips. “It’s a good place to be when I’m overwhelmed.”

I take a long drink and I hear him slowly walk towards me. He kneels, while his hand, knuckles still bruised and busted open, takes the bottle from me. I expect him to put the bottle back, but instead he takes a long drink as well. This surprises me and I finally look at him for the first time since he pummeled his hand into Montague’s face. The black suit jacket is gone, making the blood splattered lightly across his white dress shirt stand out.

He sits on the floor next to me, back to the wall, our shoulders touching. He takes another drink before handing me back the bottle, his forearms coming to rest on his propped up knees. I see his fists clench and unclench.

I don’t know what to say. I’m definitely not going to apologize, and I don’t see him doing that either.

My head falls back against the wall. I close my eyes and bring the bottle to my lips, grimacing when my throat painfully swallows around my drink. It’s a struggle not to gag when the memory relives itself with every swallow.

“He’ll never touch you again,” comes Thomus’s voice in the otherwise quiet room. It’s tight, still full of anger.

I snicker, my eyes still closed. “What makes you think that?”

“I believe you were witness to the damage that was done to his face.”

I laugh again, far more bitter his time. “When you were defending my honor?” I ask in a mock British accent before taking another drink. “Don’t act like that was for my benefit.”

“He needed to be taught a lesson,” he hisses. “To not touch that which doesn’t belong to him.”

My heart thunders in my chest and I breathe a little faster now. There was the admission. It was never what Montague did, it was who he did it to. I think a part of me hoped that the spectacle had been for show. That secretly it was because he cared. But no.

“And here I thought it was to learn the meaning of the word, no,” I say jokingly through the pain in my chest. This just makes everything more painful. The final nail in my coffin for the night. I don’t have the strength to keep it together anymore.

He takes the bottle from me, drinking. “Do you ever not have a smart mouth?”

My lip trembles as I turn my head to smile at him. “Coping mechanism, remember?” Tears begin to slip down my cheeks and I sniffle, looking away.

He shrugs away from the wall, turning to me. I jump a little in shock when his long fingers cover my tight fist resting in my lap. “What else can I do?”

That’s definitely the last thing I ever expected him to say. Who’s he pretending for now? He had sounded almost compassionate. Maybe -

“Can you,” my breath shudders. “Can you take the memories away?” I blink away enough to tears to look at him fully. His expression is closed and unreadable as he gazes back. “I want to know it happened, but I just don’t –“

“I understand.” A hand comes up to cup my cheek, his thumb wiping the wetness away. Our eyes meet and he slips into my mind like before. He gathers up all the memories like they were toys strewn across the floor. He locks them up in a small box simply labeled, Montague, and leaves my mind with the key in his hand.

Relief floods my chest and I can’t stop the silent sob that shakes my shoulders, my head falling into my hands. I don’t realize he’s moved closer until he wraps his arms around me, pulling me close. Because of everything that’s happened in the last week, from this to being haunted by Bellatrix, I want to be comforted. Even though it’s him. This nice, compassionate Thomus is the one I want to take solace in. My arms snake around his waist and I press my face into his shoulder as I cry.

He holds me and lets me cry until I stop. I’m reluctant to let go, scared of how I’ll feel when he leaves.

“Can you stay?” I ask, so soft I can barely hear myself.

He rubs my shoulders. “You want me to?” I nod in reply.

“Alright,” he whispers. Shakily, I pull away and stand. He does as well. As I push back the covers and climb into bed, he hesitates.

“What’s wrong?” my quiet voice doesn’t conceal my vulnerability.

“I’ll be right back.” He swiftly disappears through the bathroom, returning a few moments later dressed in a plain white shirt and the dark blue PJ bottoms. Then he climbs in next to me, lying on his back. He motions silently for me to lie next to him. I hesitate a moment too, eyeing him warily. I know I wanted this, but I can’t help but be afraid this is something he’s going to make me regret later.

Thomus looks so inviting, even if his expression is unreadable. I finally give in, curling up into his side, my head on his shoulder, his arm draped down my back. He pulls the blanket up over us, and as he places his battered hand over my balled up one on his chest, I feel my body relaxing in a way it hasn’t for a long time.

“Thank you,” I whisper. My eyelids become too heavy and when they close, I breathe in his intoxicating scent of cedar and pine.

Authors Note: If you've made it this far in my fic, please let me know what you think! Also the biggest thank yous to everyone who likes and reblogs this fic! ❤️

[colorsunimaginable]

the spare // chapter eight //darkwizard!tom hiddleston x plus size reader - voldemort wins au

story summary: While one a mission to avenge the death of her best friend, Ilvermorny graduate Melisa Alder finds herself in the middle of the fight to defeat Voldemort. Upon capture after the Dark Lord’s triumph, she’s being sold at an auction with other muggleborns and bloodtraitors. Her only hope is also her only bidder - the tall, dark, and handsome Thomus Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy’s younger half-brother. Is he just another Death Eater or is he hiding more than just his face beneath the mask? Will she realize her true potential to be one of the resistance’s greatest weapons?

*a Voldemort Wins AU with Tom Hiddleston cast as an OC x a plus size protagonist*

words for this chapter: 1.5k

chapter warnings: none

CHAPTER MASTERLIST

CHAPTER EIGHT:

My evening is spent wrapped in my thoughts. Hermione is safe. She’s working on… something. Narcissa definitely seems to care about her, at the very least. The bar is low, but at least it isn’t on the floor.

If I needed to get a message to Hermione… Maybe Narcissa could pass it along? Or her house elf? I wonder if I sent a note along with my dishes, if they’d get it to her? Or, to someone?

Not a particularly good match, her words echo in my mind. I wish I could throw away the thought and never think about it again. The only reason is so that I don’t obsess over it. I have too much time to obsess over things now.

In an attempt to empty my thoughts, I try reading again, and I’m immersed for several hours, curled on the couch with a blanket. Every time I check the clock, I’m always shocked at home much time has passed. My eyes bounce from the clock to the door repeatedly. I don’t want to admit that I’m waiting up for Malfoy.

~*~

I wake the next morning on the couch, well past nine. I glance up at his door to see it still closed. The smell of breakfast draws me to the kitchen. It’s still hot and steaming on the plate. Next to it is the Daily Prophet. I snatch it off the table so fast the fork goes flying to the floor.

THE HUNT FOR UNDESIRABLE NO. 1 by Rita Skeeter

Undesirable No. 1: George Weasley, murderer and blood traitor, is on the run.

During transport to a holding facility to await trial for his crimes, Weasley ruthlessly overtook guards and murdered innocent bystanders. He is armed and dangerous. Last seen in Muggle London a week ago.

“We’ll have him arrested in no time,” says one of the Dark Lord’s most trustworthy followers, Thomus Malfoy, who reportedly has been tasked with the capture of the fugitive. After his success in Edinburgh, sources say that it is likely he will be successful.

His older brother, Colonel Lucious Malfoy, has before claimed that Thomus is the best tracker among the Dark Lord’s forces.

It remains to be seen if Thomus Malfoy will live up to his family’s notorious name. More about Undesirable No. 1 continued on page 3.

I have to sit to process what I just read. Since when was Voldemort holding trials? It was probably closer to an execution. I saw George at the Auction, first up. Could he somehow have escaped during our attempt to fight back? At least it seems we accomplished something.

After I finish eating, I take the paper to the office, hiding it amongst the stacks of newspaper already there.

And who of course is tracking George … my Malfoy? I couldn’t just say Malfoy. There were several of them. Thomus. Thomus is tracking him. That’s where he goes every day, why his schedule is so irregular.

I want to be able to help the resistance, but how can I do that trapped here?

I sigh. So many questions, and no fucking answers. Talking to Narcissa was the closest thing I’d come to getting any answers, and even she was cryptic.

I wish there was more that I could do.

~*~

Finally, Thomus comes home. He ignores me on the couch and goes straight upstairs, and I hear the shower turn on. He comes back out onto the landing, his fingers unbuttoning his collar.

“We’re going out tonight,” he announces. “Have you bathed?”

“Yes,” I say, clearing my throat. “I did after breakfast.”

“Good.” He pulls his shirt out of his pants after fully unbuttoning. “Get dressed for…”

“For what?” I ask. I’ve followed him up the stairs and I’m on the landing now.

His pretty blue eyes rake over me, the corners crinkled with laughter and curiosity. “Dress like you’re trying to get fucked.”

I blink. “And you want me out in public like that?”

“The place we’re going,” he trails off. “It’s definitely allowed.”

“And that place is?”

“I’ll tell you once you’re dressed.” He turns back into his room, closing the door behind him.

I go into my room, doing the same. I take a moment to calm down, breathing deep. We’re going out in public, surrounded by people who obviously will be looking at me.

Opening the wardrobe, I begin digging. Since I’ve been here, I’ve only ever really worn one outfit. T-shirt and leggings, with the exception of the lingerie he made me wear before Voldemort.

Maybe this would be easier if I was trying to seduce a specific person. I’ve never gone out clubbing trying to get fucked before. It’s never been in my comfort zone.

I’ve done a lot of things outside of my comfort zone lately, haven’t I? What’s one more?

I pull out a lacey white dress with ruffled sleeves. I put on a push up bra with too many straps across the breasts. With the dress on, my cleavage and those straps show. I pull on an equally white and frilly scrap of undies. They cover my ass, but only barely. To top off the look, I grab a pair of black fishnet tights. In an ideal world, I’d make them pink to match my hair. For shoes, I find a pair of white platform Mary Janes. The heel is barely existent, so if I have to stand for a long time, I should be okay.

I’m sitting on the floor in front of the mirror on the inside of the wardrobe door, just starting my makeup when I hear Thomus leaving his room. I’ve never been the type to do a full face of makeup, but I can at least put on winged eyeliner… even if it takes a few tries to get them looking the same. Mascara, little bit of blush, and a dark berry lipstick.

I was never able to really do much to my hair either, besides dye it. My natural hair was so thin that being damaged by bleach actually gave it some volume. So I simply stand, shaking my hair out with my fingers upside down. When I flip it up, I check myself out in the mirror. I hope it’s enough. I leave my glasses on the bed before going downstairs.

I told myself while getting ready that it doesn’t matter what Thomus thought of my outfit. It wouldn’t and shouldn’t matter to me either way. I didn’t dress to please him. I dressed to please myself. He’s focused on tying his shoes when I reach him at the door.

“You going to tell me what I’m doing dressed like this?” I ask him.

When he looks up, his eyes widen slightly before returning to normal, like this was my every day outfit. His eyes remain on me as he stands, lips parted. I can practically see his mask slide into place. Must be hiding his disgust.

“Well?” I ask.

He takes a deep breath, buttoning his black suit jacket, and then twirls his finger. “Turn.”

I step back, giving him a little one step turn. He nods once. I breathe a quiet sigh of relief.

“We’re going to a gathering of my colleagues and their… Lots,” he explains.

“So a party?”

“Essentially.”

“And the Lots are paraded about like… escorts?” I make a disgusted face at the word.

He sighs, pulling something gold and shiny from his pocket. “Turn around.” I comply and pull my hair to the side, feeling the cold metal on my neck. Once it’s clasped, it shrinks, becoming a choker. “These allow you into certain rooms and bar you from others.”

“Aw, do I have an all access pass?” I tease, turning back around.

“Yes and no.” He turns to put on his Death Eater cloak.

A terrifying thought hits. “Voldemort won’t be there, will he?”

He pauses. “No. Not tonight.”

I look down, smoothing out my dress. “What about your girlfriend?” I say, trying to be casual.

“My what?” he hisses.

I straighten out my tights some, really trying hard to keep my tone light. “She put a knife in me last time I saw her. How do you think she’ll react when she sees me paraded about as her boyfriend’s whore?” My heart is thundering in my ears.

When he doesn’t respond after a minute, I finally look up. His jaw is clenched tight, but he’s not looking at me. He’s staring off into space.

“No, she also shouldn’t be there,” he says when it’s clear he’s calmed down. I wonder why that question upset him so much.

“Another thing,” he says, his eyes meeting mine. “People will assume that we’ve been –“

“Fucking,” I interrupt. “Yes, I expected that much.” I try not to blush, my eyes leaving his. “I thought you also found me too disgusting to fuck?”

His voice drops deeper. “You begged me to.”

“Ah, so that’s why I dress like this,” I say, looking at him again, letting my anger at his words overpower my bashfulness. “Because I’m begging you to fuck me. Love that for me.”

“Think you can handle it?”

I smirk. Somehow this outfit is giving false bravado. I drag my eyes from his, down his front and back to his eyes, eyebrow raising. “Yup, I think I can handle it.”

His eyes are sparkling when he offers me his arm. “Shall we?”

I take it, and we leave, arm in arm.

~*~

CHAPTER NINE

[colorsunimaginable]

the spare // thomus pov drabble

story summary: While one a mission to avenge the death of her best friend, Ilvermorny graduate Melisa Alder finds herself in the middle of the fight to defeat Voldemort. Upon capture after the Dark Lord's triumph, she's being sold at an auction with other muggle borns and blood traitors. Her only hope is also her only bidder - the tall, dark, and handsome Thomus Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy's younger half-brother. Is he just another Death Eater or is he hiding more than just his face beneath the mask? Will she realize her true potential to be one of the resistance's greatest weapons?

*a Voldemort Wins AU with Tom Hiddleston cast as an OC x a plus size protagonist*

CHAPTER MASTERLIST

Also on Ao3

Notes: this is an excerpt from The Spare. spoiler alert: there will be parts of the story from his perspective and this is a snippet of one. I'm just testing the waters and would like some thoughts on if this is a route worth taking.

Control:

Thomus needed to regain control. The ball of yarn he kept wound tight inside him was coming undone.

And it was all her fault.

It was as if she took pleasure in unravelling his carefully crafted composure. The more the ball loosened, the further his control slipped from his grasp. It absolutely infuriated him.

In his desperate attempt to regain it, rolling her onto her back and pining her hands down to his bed, her chest heaved and a smile ghosted her lips. She liked the battle for control. He hovered above her, waiting until she opened her eyes.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” his voice rasped. Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip and the gap between her eyebrows puckered with worry as her beautiful green eyes roamed his face.

“What do you mean?” came her soft voice.

He straddled her thigh, pressing his knee up against her warm core. She bit her lip again, hips flexing as she squeezed his leg with hers. He lowered his mouth to her ear. She angled the ear up, whether to hear him or give him better access to her neck, he didn’t know, but the sight enticed him all the same.

His lips brushed her ear, tracing the soft curve. Her pink hair smelled sweet. He took his time breathing her in before speaking.

“You.” Deep breath. “Will be my undoing.”

Her breath escaped her mouth in a heavy sigh and her hips flexed again, pressing herself against his knee. She didn’t want to be in control. In this moment she wanted him to take it from her.