Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Shared Flame	By : TheLadyMiya Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 58981 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 5
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I do not make any money writing this.

Chapter List
- 16
- 17
- 18
Hello. First, I will just take a moment to express my deepest condolences and sympathies for the victims, both dead and alive, in the terrorist attack in Norway last week. My thoughts and tears are with you.

As always, I want to thank Serpent In Red and Nerys for betaing, and also thank everyone who have taken their time to read and review. Hope you enjoy the chapter.

Review responses can be found here: http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/20494-shared-flame-by-lady-miya/

Chapter 16
Monday morning, Voldemort’s special “study” group gathered for the second time during the semester for a brunch. His latest conquest was an undergraduate named Rebecca Shacklebolt, the favourite niece of a certain Minister. Since Rebecca’s parents had been murdered during the war, she was now living with the dear Minister. Voldemort was sure he could use her to influence the Minister in due time.
They were sitting together in one of the lounges in the school. Most of them were majoring in Transfiguration, but there were a handful he had managed to snatch from other disciplines. The common factor for them was that they could all be used by him one way or another. They didn’t know this, of course. Miss Shacklebolt was under the impression that her latest paper had been extraordinarily insightful and that he had merely thought she would find it interesting to talk about it with a postgraduate, Mr Richard Turpin. Turpin, in turn, was there because Voldemort had heard he was about to be recruited by the Department of Mysteries once he had finished his doctoral thesis. Voldemort was always very interested in knowing what was going on inside the Ministry, but he had yet to find someone he could get information from in that Department.
William Giles was also one of the few students in the group who wasn’t studying Transfiguration. Instead, he was majoring in Study about the Dark Arts, which, of course, was only taught at Oxford for gaining knowledge for defence purposes. Now, William turned his head to Voldemort. “Did you hear that the Aurors got a lead on the whereabouts of You-Know-Who?”
Voldemort arched an eyebrow, mildly curious. “Again?”
William chuckled. “Yes, although, this time it seems solid. Some fishermen found dead bodies in the Pacific Ocean. A lot of them. They are being transported to London as we speak. The magical trace on the bodies seems to be from him, but they need to compare it to the samples they have here.”
It didn’t really worry Voldemort, but he didn’t like that he hadn’t heard about it earlier. “Where did you hear this?”
“Oh, from my uncle. It’s very hush-hush, but he asked me to help him do a Dark Arts Trace.”
That made Voldemort very glad. Then, he would be able to keep track on the findings. “Good for you, William! I’m sure you’ll make your uncle very proud.”
The young man beamed. His uncle was one of the top Aurors at the Ministry.
Madeline Nott, the daughter of one of his former Death Eaters and just as much into Dark Arts as her father, snorted. She was sitting next to William, and it was quite clear the snort had been aimed at him.
“What?” William asked, rolling his eyes. There was no love lost between William and Madeline.
“Well, you don’t really expect to find anything that will lead them to You-Know-Who, right?”
Even though Voldemort hadn’t been active for four years, people were still afraid to say his true name. Well, except for Hermione and her friends of course.
William rolled his eyes again. “Duh, Madeline, it’s not why I’m there. I’ll just look at the Dark Arts that had been used. At most, I’ll be able to tell what spells had been at work. But it isn’t sure I will even be able to determine that it was him.”
“Don’t give yourself so little credit, William,” Voldemort replied sweetly. “By being able to find the right spells, you’ll at least be able to rule out a lot of suspects. When it comes to the Dark Arts, very few have the power needed to actually do many of the spells. Take the Curse of Tibet for example. We have all read about it, but when it comes to actually doing it, I’ve only heard about a few wizards –”
“And witches,” Madeline piped in.
“And witches,” he acknowledged, “that have been able to actually perform it. Therefore, if you find traces of that particularly curse on any of the bodies, the Aurors will only have maybe six or seven suspects to go through.”
“Yeah, you are right. And if it really were You-Know-Who, he would probably have used his own spells,” William said, excited. “Oh, it would be so cool if I got to examine a body that had been cursed by a spell invented by him!”
From the opposite side of the table, Peter Wood let out an aggravated sound. “A little compassion wouldn’t kill you, William.”
William blushed. “I-I didn’t mean it like that.”
Voldemort pattered the young man’s shoulder. “I know you didn’t. And Peter, I’m certain you understand the academic value in it. Besides, what else can we do for these poor humans than make sure their deaths weren’t in vain? Sure, we can grieve, but I always find it more useful to see how I can turn a sad event into an opportunity.” He drank up his tea. “As the saying goes, when life gives you lemons, make lemonade.”
That made them laugh. Voldemort smiled. All of them were his new followers. And no one, not even them, was aware of it. Yet.

xxx

“Miss Granger, how wonderful to see you again.”
The moment Hermione stepped into her old school, McGonagall was there to greet her with a full smile on her lips. While they walked to the castle, her old Transfiguration teacher wanted to know everything about Australia and her education. When they finally reached the Headmistress’s office, Hermione was in the middle of explaining what she was studying right now. Which brought them to the pretend reason of why she was there.
McGonagall bid her to sit down in front of the mahogany desk in one of the red armchairs. Dumbledore peered down at her from one of the portraits on the wall. Hermione suddenly realised how foolish she had been for thinking she would get an opportunity to speak to him alone. Even if McGonagall would leave the office, there were still thirty other portraits that would listen in on the conversation.
A house-elf came with tea and biscuits, and Hermione thanked the poor creature absentmindedly as she tried to figure out what her next move should be. Perhaps she should just come clean? It was, after all, innocent enough to ask about Soul Mates. However, that wouldn’t explain why she had lied in the letter. Oh, rats.
Dumbledore, however, seemed to be as insightful in death as he had been in life (or Hermione was just plain lucky) because he said: “Minerva, I believe we have a small situation in the Great Hall. I’ll be honoured to entertain Miss Granger in the mean time.”
McGonagall sighed. “Very well. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
She rose and left. Once the door was closed, Hermione gave her old Headmaster a small smile.
“Minerva read your bachelor thesis, Miss Granger, and she was kind enough to summarise it for me. I find it difficult to believe you would have a problem understanding one of my theories,” Dumbledore explained kindly.
Hermione blushed. “Well, I did find that particular theory rather taxing but … I didn’t know if Professor McGonagall would take me seriously if I told her what I was really having a problem with.”
“Oh? Do tell, dear child.”
Hermione weighed her words carefully. “Ginny told me that you had told her that she and Harry may be Soul Mates, and I was wondering what you know about Soul Mates.”
Whatever Dumbledore had expected her to say, it wasn’t that. He blinked in surprised, but then, he moved his glasses up his nose and sighed.
“Soul Mates is obscured magic, Hermione. I don’t know much and what I know I’m not certain whether it’s correct or not.”
“Please, tell me what you suspect. I haven’t been able to find anything of use.”
He regarded her for a moment. “I assume you have already read about Soul Mates in the Divination section, despite your dislike of the subject?”
She grimaced but nodded.
“What is written there is completely bogus,” Dumbledore said with a dismissive gesture. “From what I’ve understood, being a Soul Mate doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with love.”
At least Voldemort would be pleased to hear that.
“Technically, you can hate your Soul Mate. Or just be friends with him or her. The magic involved in it is deeper. Are you familiar with the concept of reincarnation?”
“Of course, but it is viewed differently in different religions. Some, like the Hindus, see it as if the soul travels on to a new creature after death. Others –”
Dumbledore held up a hand with a friendly smile. “Good. There is a Hindu myth which contains the idea that Soul Mates are something that is developed across lifetimes. But what are the odds of meeting the same soul through several different lifetimes?”
Hermione actually did a calculation. The odds were practically non-existent. “But I still don’t understand …?”
“While I don’t think the myth by itself is true, I do believe it holds a seed of truth: The bond that binds Soul Mates together is so strong that it is passed on through lifetimes, and since the bond is so strong, that is why the two parties keep finding each other, even though the odds are against them,” Dumbledore explained kindly.
Hermione frowned. “It sounds like bonds of love to me.”
“It doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with love. But you are correct; bonds of love are one of the strongest bonds you can make with another person. If you love someone with your body and soul, that love can be carried on, even in a new life. However, there are other types of bonds as well. Hatred can be carried for a long time, too. Then, there are those made purely of magic.”
Hermione thought about it. “But if you are to believe this myth, you have to accept the concept of reincarnation.”
“Indeed. I told you this is a much obscured subject and I don’t believe in reincarnation. What I do believe is that Soul Mates have something to do with magical bindings on a very, very deep level, like in the soul. The mystical part about it is that you don’t seem to grow into becoming one’s Soul Mate; you already are and you can either find it or not. Therefore, there has to be something else going on, besides mutual love or hatred. The myth that explains it with reincarnation does explain how Soul Mates come to be, and that is what makes it interesting.”
She sat quiet for a moment, thinking this new information over. Then, another thought hit her, and she looked up at Dumbledore’s portrait again. “Did your source tell you how one knows if you have a Soul Mate?”
Dumbledore hesitated. “What did Miss Weasley tell you about herself?”
“I think she told me everything. From how she was caught trying to make a potion to what you said.”
Dumbledore smiled sadly at the memory. “Yes, poor girl. That was, according to my source, how one could act when discovering one’s Soul Mate. Usually, the two parts discover it at the same time when whatever it is that ties them together comes into action again. However, if one is to fight the bond, it will lead to a great distress for both parties, like the one Miss Weasley was in. Although, in Miss Weasley’s case, her Soul Mate didn’t have the opportunity to see her for what she was. At least not fully, and I think that’s why she suffered while Mr Potter didn’t. He couldn’t realise who she was until the piece of Voldemort’s soul disappeared from him.”
Hermione blinked at that. It didn’t make sense. First thing, Harry and Ginny had become a couple while Harry was still Voldemort’s Horcrux. Why would Harry suddenly discover their connection like that? Besides, Hermione had never seen Harry and Ginny behave as passionately as Hermione and Voldemort did when they were touching. Speaking of that, shouldn’t Hermione have felt something for Harry since he carried a part of Voldemort’s – her Soul Mate’s – soul inside of him?
And about the fact that Harry had been a Horcrux …
“Yes, what was that about, by the way? Why didn’t you tell Harry that he was carrying Voldemort around inside him?” Hermione didn’t mean to sound so accusing, but it was something that had bugged her for quite some time.
“An old man’s mistake, Miss Granger. Which is why I now try to be absolutely honest with you. You should try it yourself sometimes. It can feel very relieving.”
Hermione tried not to blush under his piercing blue eyes. It wasn’t like she could tell the truth even if she wanted to. Voldemort’s spell made sure of that.
“Okay. So say that you have found your Soul Mate and he, or she, has discovered you as well. What happens?”
“I’m not certain. I’ve only seen it, never experienced it. However, I do have to say that from what I saw, a very intense connection was formed between the two parties. It reminded me of magnets. They seemed to instinctively be drawn to each other and very reluctant to let go once they were together.” Dumbledore looked a bit uncomfortable as he said it and wouldn’t really meet her eyes.
Hermione grimaced. It did sound exactly like her and Voldemort. “Is there any way to find out more about this? Do you know any books or persons who may know?”
“I’m afraid I do not. The two Soul Mates I met are now dead, and I haven’t had any direct contact with them since the forties; I’ve only heard about them after that.”
She frowned. “Who was it? Maybe I can poke around?”
Dumbledore gazed at her over his half-moon spectacles, his face solemn. “Why are you interested in this, Miss Granger?”
Hermione grimaced. “I rather not say.”
“Being a Soul Mate can be both wonderful and terrible,” Dumbledore said slowly. “Since you can’t decide for yourself who is your Soul Mate, it can turn your life upside down when you suddenly find yourself depending on someone you haven’t known before.”
Hermione’s eyes went wide in shock. Dumbledore’s tone clearly indicated that he had figured something out. What was it? She tried to hide her surprise and worry, but it was too late.
Dumbledore sighed. “Yes, Miss Granger, I’m quite certain the reason you are asking is because you have found your Soul Mate, and I’m also starting to think that you found him four years ago.”
“What makes you say that?” Hermione asked, trying not to panic.
He clasped his hands in front of him and looked at her gravely. “Both Minerva and I were very surprised when we found out you were pregnant, Miss Granger. Although we both are certain you are an excellent mother, it seemed very … uncharacteristic for you to become pregnant at such young age. We both agreed that there had to be some extraordinary circumstances involved.”
She relaxed a little. It seemed to be all he knew. However, since she didn’t want risk putting Voldemort’s hex in motion, she didn’t say anything and looked down on the table.
“I don’t mean to pry,” Dumbledore said carefully. “But if you want to talk about it, I got all the time in the world. There is little to do when you are just a portrait.”
Hermione couldn’t repress a snort. “Sorry,” she quickly said and looked up at him.
He was watching her with an encouraging expression.
“It’s too complicated to discuss,” she said carefully. “But it would really help if I knew more about this. Can’t you tell me whom you got the information from? Please?”
He sighed, but then he nodded. “It was Gellert Grindelwald.” He looked almost pained. “I don’t know how he found his Soul Mate. All I know is that when he found her, he never let go. Neither did she. She visited Gellert in Nurmengard until she was too old and sick to move. Gellert lost all will to live after she was dead. Harry told me that he witnessed Gellert’s last moments in life, just before Voldemort killed him. He welcomed death. Probably since he hoped that would bring him to his beloved.”
Hermione forced herself not to gape. Ever since she had read Rita Skeeter’s horrid book about Dumbledore, she had wondered about his and Grindelwald’s relationship. They had obviously been friends, but Skeeter had claimed they were lovers as well. Hermione hadn’t believed that, thinking it was yet another of the nasty woman’s lies. Now, however, when she saw Dumbledore’s sad face, she wondered if it could be true. At least the part about Dumbledore feelings for Grindelwald. Apparently, they hadn’t been returned in the same magnitude. Or had they, but Grindelwald’s Soul Mate had just come between them?
“Are you certain you don’t want to discuss this, Miss Granger?” Dumbledore asked, looking a bit uncomfortable with his revelation.
She bit her lip. “Yes. It would only create too many problems right now. Maybe you’ll hear about it later, but not now. Or do you know if there is any way to stop being a Soul Mate?”
“From what I can tell, not even death will break it,” Dumbledore said gravely.

xxx

Voldemort was all over her the moment she stepped into the flat, both literary and figuratively.
He helped her out of her outer robe. “What did Dumbledore say? Did he know anything? He didn’t, right? Weasley had just made everything up and–”
She managed to shrug off the robe and then pressed a finger against his lips to silence him. “I’ll tell you everything if you stop fretting.”
Voldemort pressed his lips together and made a gesture for her to come into the living room. Althea was sitting on the floor with a paper in front of her and lots of colourful pencils around her. Hermione leaned down and pattered her daughter’s head. Althea gave her a big smile before returning to the picture. She was using a lot of green, and Hermione got the feeling she was drawing a snake.
“Well?” Voldemort asked impatiently when she sat down in the couch next to him.
“He knew Soul Mates existed and had met a couple who were Soul Mates. He also knew a myth about Soul Mates. Do you believe in reincarnation?”
“Reincarnation?”
She summarised what Dumbledore had told her. Voldemort was wearing a thoughtful expression when she finished.
“Such a shame I killed Grindelwald,” he finally said with a sigh, leaning his head against the back of the couch.
“Yes. But then again, it’s always a shame to kill people,” she muttered and curled her legs up underneath her.
He arched an eyebrow. “How did you know I killed him?”
“Harry told me just after you did it.”
He sighed. “I can’t tell you how happy I am that connection is broken.”
“I think the feeling is mutual,” she muttered dryly.
He didn’t comment on that. “I don’t believe in reincarnation. However, it does seem like there is some sort of bond that runs very deep. But whatever that bond is, it can’t be founded in love.”
“What makes you say that?” she asked. Not that she believed it either, but she wanted to hear his reasoning.
He arched an eyebrow at her. “It can’t be such a shocker for you that I don’t love you, can it? Do you love me?”
Hermione snorted. “No, of course I don’t love you.”
“There you go. And we don’t share any other deep, emotional feelings for each other. Yes, I know you have always hated me,” he added when she opened her mouth to protest. “But a lot of people have hated me a lot more and a lot longer than you. You don’t see me shagging any of them, do you?”
“No, I guess not.” Hermione had to agree.
Voldemort sat quiet for a short moment, and she could see that he was thinking hard. “Have you been attracted to Potter?”
“No!” Hermione exclaimed; then she realised he had started to think along the same lines she had in Dumbledore’s office. “And I see where you are going, but I never felt any pleasure when I touched him either, despite the fact that he did have a part of your soul inside him.”
Voldemort frowned. “I wanted to shag you like there was no tomorrow the first time I touched you. So did you, I take?”
“I think so,” Hermione said, slowly. “But that night is still rather fuzzy in my mind.”
“Right. Well, at that time, I hadn’t regained my soul yet. The part of my soul I did have was as small as the part inside Potter. So why did you feel pleasure at my touch and not at his?”
Hermione frowned. “Well, maybe because Harry had his whole soul inside him, and that interfered or something …”
She trailed off when she saw him shaking his head.
“I think we are going at this the wrong way. What if being a Soul Mate has nothing to do with one’s soul but is based on something else?”
Hermione’s eyes widened as she considered it. “Yes! The term Soul Mate is taken from Plato and his idea that humans once had four arms, four legs and two heads, but when the god Zeus split them up, they were left with just one half of a soul; thus, everyone must have a Soul Mate. But if you don’t agree with Plato’s idea, then the term would be misleading.”
Voldemort nodded, a glimmer of approval in his eyes. “Exactly. Maybe people have just used the term Soul Mate because they have no better way to explain it. Just because they are using a word doesn’t make it true.”
Hermione nodded eagerly. “So then, maybe the soul is irrelevant, and the whole bond has to do with … what?”
The same question could be read in Voldemort’s eyes as well. “No idea. Regardless, this is one step in the right direction. We’ll find out what it means in due time. At least … oh.”
“Oh?” Hermione asked.
“I just remembered; Grindelwald’s wife was a Muggle-born like you.”
Hermione frowned. “So?”
“So, I’ve always found it strange. Grindelwald despised Muggles as much as I do. He didn’t officially hunt Muggle-borns, but neither did he stop his followers if they killed them.”
Hermione frowned, very uncomfortable with him talking so freely about his hatred for Muggles. Even though she knew it, it was so much harder to stop herself from hexing him when he talked about it. She tried to focus on what they were really discussing. “But I read that Mrs Grindelwald was a half-blood.”
“A lie,” Voldemort dismissed. “I checked it up myself in the fifties.”
“Why?”
Voldemort looked at her, suddenly a bit amused. “Curiosity killed the Gryffindor kitten, Hermione.”
She scowled and smacked his arm. He laughed and, in a fast movement, wrestled her down on the couch, trapping her with his arms and legs. She growled and tried to fight free, but all she managed to do was get his cock hard.
Still scowling, she looked up at him. The raw hunger in his eyes made her feel weak. His hand sneaked in under her shirt, making her moan in pleasure. Before she knew it, they were snogging. She could never really get enough of his taste and smell. It was intoxicating and made her lose all concept of time and space. He could do whatever he wanted with her and she would enjoy it.
His hands were inside her skirt, on the skin of her arse, when she was pulled back to real life again by Althea poking her shoulder. Blushing, she let go of Voldemort’s lips and looked at their daughter.
“Yes, honey?”
“Dinner?”
Hermione sighed and made an attempt to rise, but Voldemort held her down. She looked at him with an arched eyebrow. So, he ground his groin against hers.
She scowled. “Not now!”
Even though she was horny as well, she would not have sex with him when her daughter was right next to her. How on earth could Voldemort believe she would do that?
Sighing, he let go of her. She straightened her clothes before she went to start dinner. Voldemort disappeared into the bathroom. Probably to take care of his hard-on. A little while later, he came back out, not looking happy, but he quietly took over her preparation of the food.
They were just sitting down to eat when a strange knocking sound was heard. It sounded like knocking on a door, but not her door. She frowned and looked at Voldemort.
“Oh, right, the spell,” he muttered, as if it explained everything, and rose. Without another word, he Apparated away.
Hermione huffed.
“Where did Dad go?” Althea wanted to know.
“I have no idea,” Hermione said bitterly. “We’ll have to ask him when he comes back. Aren’t you going to eat your carrots, dear?”
“Yuck,” Althea said, wrinkling her nose.
“No, they are very tasty, look.” Hermione took a carrot from her own plate and put it in her mouth. “Mmm.”
Althea looked at her with the greatest disbelief.
Hermione took another one. “Mmm. They really are good. But if you don’t want yours, I can take them instead.”
She reached with her fork over to Althea’s plate, but Althea quickly took a carrot and put it in her mouth. Hermione rolled her eyes and continued eating from her plate again.
When a couple of minutes had gone by and Voldemort still hadn’t returned, Hermione put his plate under a Stasis Spell.
“What did’ya do?” Althea asked, as always very curious when Hermione used her wand.
“Just making sure the food will still be warm when your father returns,” Hermione explained.
Another fifteen minutes had passed when Voldemort returned, looking even grimmer than before.
“What was that?” she asked as he removed the Stasis Spell and began to eat.
“I put a spell up so I would hear it if someone were knocking on my door,” he explained, “since I’m never there anymore.”
“True. Maybe you should be at your own place a little more. I mean, how fun can it be to be here all the time?” she asked, one part of her hoping that he would leave her alone for a day. Another part was hoping he would never leave, but she tried to shut that part down.
“Drop it, Hermione. Your cunt is here. That’s all the fun I need.”
“Voldemort!” she growled, glancing at Althea who was watching them with interest.
“What? She doesn’t know what that means.”
Althea hissed something in Parseltongue which made Voldemort grimace. Hermione had a strong suspicion that Althea had just repeated the word. He hissed something back. Hermione crossed her arms, frowning at him.
He rolled his eyes. “Anyway. You’ll be rid of me now, I’m afraid. That was Cox-Trotter. I’ll be going to the Cook Islands tomorrow afternoon.”
“Why? For how long?” How could she be both happy and sad at that remark? She did want some time away from him.
“There is a conference there I’ve wanted to go to since I started here. But it’s highly exclusive and secretive, and Oxford only sends their three most exceptional Professors to it. I’m not one of them yet.” The bitterness was clear in his voice. “But apparently, the three that usually get to go are unavailable this year. Hence, I have a chance to leave. And I can’t turn it down.”
“Oh.” It must be exclusive because she had never heard about any conference on the Cook Islands. “What is it about and for how long?”
“Two weeks. And if I knew what it was about, I wouldn’t have bothered to go. I had never heard about it until I began here four years ago.”
That told her a great deal about how secretive this thing was. “So you’ll be staying there all the time during those two weeks?”
“Miss me already, dear?”
“No,” she scoffed, completely ignoring the small part of sadness inside her. “I just want to be forewarned if you plan to drop in every night.”
“Hardly, since it will be day there when it’s night here. I’m afraid you’ll just have to find a way to sleep without me while I’m gone.”
“I will manage,” she muttered. Then, another thought hit her. “But what about the other thing Dumbledore told me? About the pain of being away for one’s Soul Mate?”
“I highly doubt two weeks will make much difference, since four years was no problem for us,” Voldemort said, rolling his eyes.
Hermione felt silly for asking. Maybe it wasn’t the physical distance that mattered, but rather the emotional one. Perhaps that was why she had never felt inclined to go on a date, or anything like that, in Australia?
“Fine. But what about this thing with Grindelwald? Shouldn’t we try to find out more about what he knew?”
“Most of Grindelwald’s things were destroyed after his imprisonment. It will be hard to find out if he wrote anything about it, or if he had some other source of knowledge. But leave that to me to find out. It won’t take long.” He finished his meal, and with a flick of his wand, the table was cleared. “Now, since I’ll be gone for some time, why don’t we have a proper good-bye?”
Hermione once again looked from him to Althea. Voldemort sighed.
“Aren’t you tired yet, Althea?” he asked their daughter.
Althea shook her head. Voldemort frowned, his hand tightened slightly over the wand.
“Don’t you dare,” Hermione growled at him and put a hand on her own wand, ready to stop him if he tried to cast any sort of spell on Althea.
“What?” he asked innocently.
“I can see what you are thinking, Voldemort, and if you try to do anything to her, I’ll throw you out the window. Again.”
All amusement disappeared from his eyes, and Hermione realised how utterly foolish it was of her to remind him of that embarrassment. Nevertheless, she straightened her back, determined to stand her ground. She had let him have far too much power over her already. But if he even dared to try anything on Althea again, she would hurt him. Or at least try to.
“The lioness has come out to play, has she?” he asked softly.
“Leave Althea alone,” Hermione repeated firmly, her hand tightening around her wand.
Voldemort said something in Parseltongue, and Hermione could see that he was losing his patience, especially when Althea’s answer sounded whiny. It led to an extremely harsh sounding reply in Hermione’s ears. Apparently, she’d been right about that because tears welled up in Althea’s eyes at an alarming speed. With an angry hiss to her father, she ran to the bedroom. Hermione stood up to run after Althea, but before she had taken more than two steps, he grabbed her.
“Not so fast, dear. It seems you and I need to have another chat,” he muttered into her ear.
Hermione was too angry to be scared. How dare he make her daughter cry? With a snarl, she slashed her wand at him, apparently catching him off guard, because he flew back into the kitchen table. Before he had time to recover, she had raced into the bedroom and was comforting the sobbing girl. She could hear him opening the door and expected him to hex her and drag her back out. But he didn’t.
She could feel his eyes upon her as she calmed Althea down. Despite what Althea had told Voldemort, the young girl did seem to be tired. Hermione helped her daughter change into her pyjamas, made sure she brushed her teeth and tucked her into bed. Not until Hermione was sure Althea was asleep did she meet Voldemort’s eyes. He was furious.
With all the courage she could muster, she straightened her back and walked out of the bedroom. She heard him close the bedroom door and mutter a Silencing Spell.
“You don’t harm me in front of Althea,” she noted, turning around to face him.
His eyes were still filled with fury, but she could see a cold, calculated glimmer in them as well. “No.”
“Why?”
“The balance between us is very fragile. But as long as Althea loves me, and she does, I’ll be welcomed here. You’ll not deny her anything.”
She crossed her arms as a chill went through her. “Manipulative bastard.”
He walked towards her like a big cat moving in on its prey. “I can live with the name-calling. But not the hexing. That will have to stop.”
“For as long as you deserve hexing, I will hex you,” she replied, but her voice was not as confident as her words.
The smirk told her he noted that as well. “Is that so?” He stopped right in front of her. “Then it would seem I need to find some way to convince you that you are wrong. I wonder what …” He reached out his hand and stroked her cheek, sending pleasuring spikes of energy through her body, like always.
She flinched backwards, but he followed, not breaking the skin-to-skin contact. “What’s the matter, Hermione? Surely you aren’t enjoying the touch of a manipulative bastard who is in need of a good hexing?”
His words cut deeper than she cared to admit, and she couldn’t stop herself from lashing out. “And surely the great Lord Voldemort doesn’t enjoy having conversations with and touching a filthy little Mudblood, does he?”
His eyes narrowed, and he withdrew his hands. “You don’t know the first thing about Lord Voldemort, Hermione.”
“Oh, I think I’ve figured out a thing or two,” she growled. If there were anything she hated, it was when people thought she was stupid.
“Is that so?” he asked, his voice low and soft. He was still standing close to her but didn’t touch her.
“I know why you can’t get enough of me,” she said in a low voice.
He arched an eyebrow.
“You are addicted to the magic we create when we fuck,” she said in triumph. “You can’t stand to be without it.”
Without as much as blinking, he grabbed her around her throat, squeezing. She panicked over the sudden lack of air and tried to struggle. He squeezed harder. She tried to kick him, but he blocked her attacks with his leg, making her lose her balance. The only thing holding her up was his hand around her throat. That wasn’t pleasant at all.
“Don’t for one moment think that you have any power over me, Hermione,” he whispered dangerously.
It began to darken in front of her eyes. She couldn’t find the strength to fight anymore.
As suddenly as he had gripped her, he let go of her. She fell down on her knees, her lungs burning as oxygen returned to them. Tears of fear and pain ran from her eyes, and she trembled.
He bent his knees and sat down next to her. She could feel his hand over her hair.
“Do you understand?”
She nodded, hating him with a burning passion.
“Good.” He leaned closer and kissed the top of her head. “I hope you’ll take these two weeks to really look over your priorities in life, my sweet Gryffindor kitten.”
He stood up and Apparated away. Hermione stayed on the floor, unable to stop crying. What should she do?

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