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Upon the Altar of Freedom	By : Morghaine Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female Views: 3132 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Upon the Altar of Freedom
- 1
His hand moves down, too quickly to be arousing, and removes my remaining
clothes. He smiles at me again. How I wish he would stop that. His fingers
return to my breast, then again trail down my body until they reach the dark
hair between my legs. With more enthusiasm than finesse, he moves his hand down
until he can place a long, pale finger inside me. His movements seem almost
awkward, the clumsy fumblings of a teenage boy, rather than the experienced
manoeuvres of a middle aged Lothario. I wonder at the reports of his virility.
Perhaps, like most things Malfoy, they are just stories.

It is, perhaps, a good thing that I was so desperate to feel the love of my
husband, a good thing that I begged him to take me this morning. So perhaps the
fact that the man above me will not be first man I shelter this day will mean
that I will not experience pain or discomfort. That was, after all, part of the
agreement. Perhaps he even thinks that he is the cause of the wetness within
me.

I can hardly feel the finger inside me, but I can feel the steady grey gaze
upon me. Oh. He is waiting for my reaction. He is hoping to see pleasure in my
face. I make a small moaning gasp, a hollow parody of the noises I should be
making. He smiles in triumph. A triumph of what I am yet to understand. I can
feel the finger moving away again, and I exhale in surprise as he rolls upon me
suddenly. I spare a quick thought for the life in my belly, and lose it an
instant later as he thrusts inside me without warning.

I can feel him inside me, but it is not the pulsing throb of my husband. It
is more the slightly tight feeling that comes from too much friction and not
enough lubrication. But it isn�t uncomfortable as such. I have certainly
experienced worse in my life. Those clumsy teenage fumblings. Again I almost
laugh, but manage to turn it into another hollow moan. He raises himself on his
hands, looking down at me with that triumph in his eyes again. Oh. Awareness
dawns. He feels triumphant that he has made me moan. Well, one good turn and
all. I start to moan with abandon. In between my heated acting, I manage to
curse myself that I didn�t think of this sooner. Although his technique needs
work, like most men he seems keen to see me orgasm before him, so he can enjoy
himself without thinking of me. I come to a climatic, and in my opinion, award
winning orgasm just moments before I feel his thrusts speed up, quick and
jabbing into me. His whole body seems to shudder only seconds later as he
climaxes and slumps down on me.

Again my thoughts turn to the child in my womb, and I push at his shoulders
to get him to move. He raises himself again and looks at me with a my smy smile
on his face. Like this, he is almost attractive. I can almost lie here and look
at him in his afterglow and imagine that this is something I chose not for the
sake of others, but for the sake of myself. But no. If it were for myself, he
would be another and I would be basking in my own afterglow.

I move from the bed and dress quickly, mopping at myself on the corner of the
sheet and performing a spell of protection under my breath. I do not, cannot
fear pregnancy from this act, but I fear disease, both for myself and my child.
I turn around and look at him. "Satisfied?" The words escape my mouth in an
almost biting tone and I hurry to salvage the situation. "Was it good enough?"
There, that is better. The slightly anxious tone of a woman who wants nothing
more than to please the man.

He sits up on the bed, his eyes calculating but his mouth still locked in the
dreamy smile. It is quite amusing to see him like this.

"Now, Hermione. I believe we have a few things to discuss, and you can be on
your way." His tone is light and almost cheerful. How unlike him. This is good
fun, now that the �dirty work�, so to speak, is done.

"Yes. You have the potion ready?" I just want to get this over and done with.
The rest of the day will be hard enough.

"Of course. But first�."

What? He is stalling for time? This was not part of the plan. I cannot help
the frown on my face when I ask him, "What?"

His face softens slightly, "Tell me why."

"Why?" What does he mean why? Why does he care? The Dark will win the war,
and it will all be over. What does it matter? I have already bought my safety,
and his silence. "Because I am tired, Lucius. I am tired of the war, I am tired
of living as a soldier�s wife, and I am tired of never knowing where my husband
is."

"So in order to make sure you know where he is, you are putting him he he
graveyard?"

I wish I could tell him the truth. I wish I could tell him that it isn�t for
my sake that I will drug my husband tonight, keep his death a secret for the
week it will take for the Dark to win the war, for the Light to lose without
him. Tell him that it isn�t for my own sake that I sold my body to him in return
for my safety when it is all over. Tell him that I wouldn�t have considered what
I did if it wasn�t that he was the only man who could protect me from both the
Dark and the Light. But I can�t, so I stay silent and merely turn my head from
the gaze of this man who walks in neither the Light nor the Dark, but somewhere
in between.

"How far along are you?" My face must have registered my surprise because he
continues softly, "Your little husband may not recognise the first swell of your
belly, my dear, but I remember the same thing on my own precious wife. It is not
easy to mistake, and it will be very obvious soon. But I don�t understand. You
can�t very well bring up the next saviour of the Wizarding World all by
yourself." He is genuinely confused and I am shocked into an honest answer.

"I am not raising the �next saviour of the Wizarding World�. If I don�t do
this, there won�t be a world to raise him in. Have you seen what is happening
out there, Lucius? People are dying daily. The fighting is escalating and I
can�t see an end to it. I know we are, strictly speaking, on opposite sides of
the fence, but seriously Lucius, can you see a life under either side anymore?"
I surprise myself with the voracity of my response. I may be tired, but that
doesn�t mean I am not just as vehement as when I campaigned for elf welfare back
in school.

He slumps back on the bed, resting against the intricately carved headboard.
Even in the heat of passion, Malfoys take the time to be ostentatious. "You are ht. ht. There is no right and wrong anymore. There is no winner to this war. But
how does what you are about to do solve anything? Forgive me; I will not talk
you out of it. If you want to throw the game, I won�t stop you. But how will it
help?"

Again, honesty bubbles out of me and I can�t help it. It won�t matter in a
few hours anyway. "I love Harry, Lucius. Always have, right from those last few
horrible years of school. But he is everything to everyone else, too. The
Light�s best kept secret. That is what you have been trying to get your hands on
for the last twelve years, that is the big secret of our defences. Harry Potter,
the boy who lived. Well, if the boy who lived wasn�t living anymore, then you
wouldn�t be losing. The Dark could win the final battles and the war would be
over." I sigh and sit back down on the little Chippendale chair. I look over at
him and am astonished to find surprise there, "There isn�t that much difference
you know, between the Dark and the Light. Things will be the same as always,
just a new face on the Galleons, and a new man we call Sir. But I will be safe
with my child. You have promised me that and I have given what you asked. You
will protect me and my son, and we will be taken from this place and kept safe
in our own world. My child will grow up not being the son of Harry Potter, but
being himself."

Suddenly the irony crashes down on me and tears start forming in my eyes, "I
am going to poison the only man I�ve ever loved, to save the one man who can�t
even tell me he loves me yet. Ironic, isn�t it? We always lose that which we
need the most. Harry is almost dead anyway. I can see it; he looks so old, so
grey. He doesn�t cry anymore, not even when a child lies dying in his arms. He
doesn�t sing, he doesn�t laugh. He barely even loves. I watch him at night lying
in sleep and he looks so troubled. He once told me that he doesn�t even have
dreams anymore, only nightmares. That isn�t life. I can�t fix that, I can�t stop
what the world is doing to him, but I can make sure that it doesn�t happen to
our son." I descend into tears, sobs wracking my body and I almost fail to
notice the strong arms encasing me and providing support in a most unexpected
way. I lean against him, resting my head on his shoulder and I cry. Finally, as
I can cry no more, he strokes my hair gently and presses a small vial into my
hand.

"Hermione. I understand what you are trying to do, and I will uphold our
agreement. I will protect you and your child, and assure you safe passage when
the war is over. I wish I could offer you happiness, but some things in this
world are not to be."

I look up at him and see reflected in his eyes much the same pain as I am
feeling now. I see the loss of his wife and son, dead and cold in the rubble of
an attack by the Light on a Dark field hospital. Suddenly I understand. We are
not so different. We have all lost in this war. There are no winners and no
losers. There are just people struggling to get on with their lives.

I hug him qui, an, and, for the first time this day, I press a kiss to his
lips. Whispering my thanks for services rendered, and services to come, I slip
out of the front door and leave this middle aged, wrecked Lothario to his
memories. I have much to do this day, and much to prepare.

But when they ask, in later years, what spurred a woman to kill the one she
loved, and to forfeit a war, I hope they remember; I know what happens to boys
who fight for the light. I look at Ron and see nothing but the steel chair, and
the blanket that covers where his legs once were. I look for Seamus and Dean at
a party or meeting, and remember that I need to look in the graveyard instead.
And I look at my beloved Harry, the weight of the world on his shoulders, and a
haunted, dead look in his young eyes, and I know that I don�t want my son to
bear this burden too. I want him to have the childhood Harry never had. I want
him to have the education Harry was never able to enjoy. And I want him to have
the chance to make the choices Harry never even knew existed. Away from the
Dark. Away from the Light. Away from it all.

~fin

�I pray that our Heavenly Father may assuage the anguish of your
bereavement and leave you only the cherished memory of the loved and lost, and
the solemn pride that must be yours to have laid so costly a sacrifice upon the
altar of freedom.�

- Abraham Lincoln in a letter to Mrs Bixby. Nov 21,
1864
- 1
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Upon the Altar of Freedom