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
- 18
- 19
- 20
Hello! New chapter up, thank you all for reading and reviewing! Review replies can as usually be found here: http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/20494-shared-flame-by-lady-miya/ (I hope, there seem to be some sort of error right now, but hopefully you’ll be able to see them later!)

Also want to say thank you to Nerys and Serpent In Red for betaing (and thank you for all the help, overall, Serp!).

Okay, so this chapter contains so many warnings (of the non-smut kind) that I don’t even know where to begin… eh, so I’m just hoping there is no one around that dislike things like that. If there is, proceed with caution.

Chapter 18
The day after the party, Hermione woke up, feeling absolutely horrible. The night before was just one black hole. The last thing she remembered was sitting with two other students, discussing … er, something. She wasn’t sure what.
“Hermione?” Someone was nudging her shoulder.
Hermione carefully opened her eyes, wincing when the light made her headache worse. Before she closed them again, she recognised Ginny sitting in front of her on the coffee table. That meant she was in her own living room. That was good, at least. Someone must have helped her home.
“Fucking hell,” Hermione groaned, pressing a hand against her forehead.
“Here, drink this. It’s a hangover potion.” Hermione could feel Ginny holding up a bottle against her lips. Hermione took it and drank it in one go.
After just a few minutes, she started to feel better. The headache was still there but not as severe.
“Thanks,” Hermione groaned and sat up, looking around in her living room. “Where’s Althea?”
“Still asleep. I had some trouble getting her to bed last night. She started to miss you around bedtime.”
Guilt washed over Hermione. “Remind me never to party again. What time is it?”
“Just after eight,” Ginny said, looking a bit worried. “What happened last night?”
Hermione ransacked her mind. “I’m not sure … I don’t remember getting home. Did you hear me come home?”
Ginny shook her head. “No, sorry.”
Hermione sighed. “I’ll just go and use the bathroom before waking up Althea.”
Once in the bathroom, Hermione discovered that she was still wearing Victoria’s dress. Had she gone home alone last night, or had someone helped her? A horrible thought hit her, and she quickly removed her dress. She exhaled in relief when she saw that her body seemed completely unharmed. Her knickers were clean as well. She removed them and tried to see if there were any signs of someone taking advantage of her.
There were none.
However, when she sat down to pee, it stung a bit, like it usually did after she had sex. Weird. However, if she had been taking advantage of, she was sure it hadn’t been willingly and thus, she would have shown some sign of force. Only Voldemort had ever managed to get her wet, and he wouldn’t be back from the Cook Islands until later today.
She stepped into the shower and let the water wash away her worries. Perhaps she had left on her own then. Just because she couldn’t remember what had happened last night, it didn’t mean she had been raped or something like that. She had heard about lots of people just drinking too much and passing out, not remembering a lot the day afterward. She was just being paranoid.
Since it was Sunday, she had promised to visit the Burrow for brunch. Even though she didn’t really feel like going, she didn’t have the energy to cook and she knew she needed some food today. Even more, Althea needed real food, and Hermione felt guilty enough for leaving her alone last night that she decided to go to the Burrow for her sake.
They were in the middle of eating when Harry arrived at the Burrow, looking grim. Mrs Weasley immediately poured him some of the stew she was serving and told him everything would feel better after he had some food in his stomach. The others around the table nodded in sympathy, and Hermione got the feeling she was missing something. Thankfully, Harry sat down next to her so, when the others began talking with each other, Hermione could ask Harry what was going on discreetly.
“My superior wanted to test my ability to stay professional,” Harry muttered and stabbed a bit of pork with his fork, “so he made me Malfoy’s probationary officer. Now I have to go to his manor every week to make sure he hasn’t fallen back to his old ways. And do you remember how huge that thing is? This morning, I was there for four hours! And Malfoy keeps giving me snide remarks about how I should appreciate the art and not just scan it for dark magic.”
Hermione patted his shoulder. “Was it junior or senior?”
“Senior. I haven’t seen junior yet. I got to search his room, though. Talk about being spoiled.” Harry grimaced.
“But you found nothing? And Malfoy doesn’t seem to be up to anything?”
“Nothing any wizard would find alarming, but the dungeon was filled with chains, whips and a knife collection that would have made any Muggle worried. But none of it contained magic, and Malfoy said those were just old things his great-great-grandfather or something had left there. And the other Aurors hadn’t removed it when they swept the house back when he got arrested, so …” Harry trailed off, shrugging.
Hermione sighed. “I just can’t believe they released him. If there is a devil, that man is it.”
“Yeah. Or the devil’s right-hand man at least,” Harry muttered, stabbing another piece of pork.
“Right. Still no word about Voldemort?” She wanted to tell him that Voldemort was living right next to her but couldn’t. She even had to force back a cough by thinking it.
“No, we are just cleaning up his mess.”
“Oh?”
“They found some bodies. It matched Voldemort’s magical signature. And since the bodies were recently killed, at least we know he is alive and kicking.”
Hermione felt a shiver run down her back. “How recent?”
“About a month. All the deaths occurred between three to five weeks ago. It’s strange, we have found almost nothing at all for so long, but now he seemed to have got more active again. Or maybe he has just changed his dumping place. However, all the victims were Muggles, so we don’t know what purpose he had … Hermione? Are you alright?”
No. She wasn’t alright. Not even a little bit. Voldemort had been murdering again? A lot of Muggles? Why? And when had he had time to do it? A month ago, he had practically lived with her! When had he had the time to sneak away and kill Muggles?
Well, there was that time she had woken up, needing to pee and found him missing. However, she had been half-asleep at the time and thought nothing of it, and the next time she woke up, it had been to him … No. He couldn’t have, could he? Not even he was so sick that he went from killing someone to fucking her. Right?
She ran to the bathroom, losing her dinner into the toilet. Oh fuck, fuck, fuck! How could he do that? How could he just … do that? Hermione shivered. She didn’t know what to think or feel. It was all surreal. How did you react in situations like this?
There was a knock on the bathroom door. “Hermione? Are you okay?”
Ginny. Hermione took a deep breath. Oh, shit. How would she explain her reaction to them? Taking another deep breath, she stood up and opened the door.
“Sorry, I think I still got a hangover,” Hermione muttered and looked down on the floor.
Ginny gave her a pat on the shoulder. “Do you want some Pepper-up Potion?”
Hermione nodded, even though she knew a Pepper-up Potion couldn’t do anything to ease the angst. It was so sick. She felt tainted and angry. Both angry at Voldemort and herself for continuing to sleep with him when she knew who he was. Even though she couldn’t tell people about him, she shouldn’t have stayed with him liked that. And why had he all of a sudden started to kill Muggles anyway? You’d think he would have been in a good mood with all the sex they had been having.
Or had he just begun to kill again because of her?
Harry had said they hadn’t found any bodies older than five weeks. That was around the time she had found out the truth about him. Had he started to kill again because of that?
No! She would not feel guilty over this! It was his fault, all of it. But then why did she feel like she had to fix it somehow?
Ginny came back and handed her a cup with Pepper-up Potion. Hermione drank it and then followed the red-haired woman down to the kitchen again. The others had already finished eating and only Molly and Angelina were in there, cleaning up. Molly gave her a worried look, and Hermione repeated the lie about having a hangover. Hopefully, they would all think the shame on her face was because of that and not because of anything else.
Once she had reassured Harry as well, she bid them adieu, took her daughter and Apparated back home. Althea went to the bedroom to play by herself as usual, and Hermione sank down on the couch. What should she do? Should she talk to him about it? Ask if it were true? But how would she know if he lied or not? And if he had killed them, what should she do then?
She didn’t know how long she sat there, trying to figure it out, when there was a knock on the door. She stood up and opened it. Of course it was him.
“Hi. What do you want?” she asked cautiously, while trying to keep the anger in check. Just confronting him wouldn’t get her any answers. She needed to make him talk somehow, to know exactly what he had done and hopefully why.
He stepped inside and closed the door. “Aren’t you looking wonderful today. Rough night?”
Hermione’s eyes narrowed. He sounded like he knew something. “Why are you asking that?
He smirked and walked past her into the living room like he owned it before sitting down on the couch. The same couch where they had had sex more times than she cared to admit. Had he left her every night to go and kill?
“In due time. First, I want to know what you have been up to these past two weeks.”
“What is that to you?” she asked and stalked over to the couch. She needed to know if he had killed those Muggles or not. If he had, she would hex him, she decided.
“You are my little kitten, Hermione. And you will tell me exactly what you have done in my absence. Snogging with any other students?
“Snogging?” Hermione asked, her anger suddenly pushed back by the surprise.
Voldemort arched an eyebrow. “Oh, you don’t remember Peter? Really, Hermione, one would think you’d remember the boy who gave his life for a kiss with you.”
A very bad feeling settled in her stomach. She remembered Peter. He had been one of the two she had talked to … Could she really have kissed him? If she had, how could Voldemort possibly know that?
“Gave his life … You killed him?”
“Naturally. I don’t like it when people touch what is mine.”
Hermione felt sick again. “And what about the Muggles? Why did you kill them?”
He merely blinked. “What Muggles?”
Her anger returned, more forcefully than before. “Don’t lie to me, Voldemort! Harry told me they found countless victims with your magical signature on them! And I know you have been sneaking away at night!”
He stood up. “Calm down, Hermione.”
“Tell me the truth!” she ordered and went up to him, grabbing his face. She had seen into his mind once before, and now her anger was fuelling her magic, making her strong enough to do it again.
Voldemort tried to push her away and also tried to block her intrusion with Occlumency. For some reason, neither worked. Hermione pushed into his mind, tearing into every memory he had, searching for the truth. It didn’t take much time until she found it. She could see the victims, their faces as he tore them open in various ways. She could feel the satisfaction in him. Sick satisfaction as he watched their blood flow. There was only one face she recognised: Peter from last night. He had actually killed him.
Not only that, but she could also see what he felt after every kill. How he needed her, Hermione. How he came home, taking her.
She let go, feeling like she was going to be sick again, but the anger pushed it away.
“You sick bastard,” she whispered.
“Hermione, calm down, they were just Muggles—”
“My parents are Muggles!” she screamed of anger, despair and disgust. And fear. What if Voldemort, who seemed to just pick Muggles off the street, killed her parents? No, she wouldn’t allow that.
She had never been so angry before. With a growl, she threw herself at him and began to hit him everywhere she could. His face, his chest and head. When he almost managed to break free, she took a hard grip around his neck, choking him. She barely noticed the wand pressing into her rib, and she didn’t have to. No magic came. He clawed at her wrist, and she could actually feel the panic rising in his body. A violent surge of magic erupted from him and finally threw her away. She hit the wall hard and passed out.
“Mum?” A small sob made her come back to consciousness again. Althea.
She sat up her, feeling her head throbbing slightly. Voldemort lay unconscious a few feet away. She hugged her daughter. “It’s alright, Althea. I’ll make it alright.”
“Mum, wha append?” Althea wanted to know.
“Shh, honey, I’ll take care of this,” Hermione promised, not taking her eyes away from Voldemort’s body.
Letting go of her daughter, she stood up. Yes. She had to make it alright. She had to make sure he would never hurt another living thing again. Next time, it might not be a Muggle. Next time, it could be one of her friends. Her parents. Her daughter.
“Go back to the bedroom, sweetie,” she said and pushed Althea toward the bedroom. However, before they got there, Hermione heard a strangled groan.
She took a hold of her wand, forgetting her daughter. Voldemort was coming to. Determination strong in her chest, she walked over to him, aiming her wand at him.
Voldemort stared up at her. He had never looked so afraid before. He glanced to his left, and she spotted his wand lying there. Before he had time to lunge for it, she had kicked it away, never letting her own wand leave him.
“Don’t you regret it at all?” she asked and, to her annoyance, she could feel tears rising in her eyes.
He tried to say something, but she must have damaged something in his throat because nothing came out. However, no regret was showing on his face. Just panic. He didn’t feel anything. He was just a manipulative monster. How could she ever have allowed him near her? Near her daughter? The thought about protecting Althea was what gave her the strength to do what she had to do.
“You are an evil bastard, Voldemort,” she spat, blinking away some tears. “Avada Kedavra!”
The green light left her wand. His eyes widened in panic the millisecond before the curse hit him straight in the chest. He flew back about a yard and landed on the floor with his eyes closed. Hermione dropped her wand and stared at him.
She had no idea how long did she stare at his body, but she knew what snapped her out of it: Althea walking over to him, poking him.
“Dad?” she asked in a low voice and then added something in Parseltongue. Probably “dad” again.
Hermione’s eyes widened. She had completely forgotten that her daughter was still there. Oh, no. This wasn’t good. This wasn’t good at all. How on earth would she be able to explain to Althea why she had done what she did? Althea couldn’t comprehend what her father had done. To her, he was just the father who could talk her special language with her and who made her delicious dinners. Althea was probably the only human who liked Voldemort!
“Dad!” Althea sobbed and slapped his cheek.
Hermione was on her way over there, when something happened that almost made her heart stop. Voldemort grabbed Althea’s hand.

xxx

Voldemort had passed out for a while. When he came to, he was very relieved and surprised over the fact that he wasn’t dead. Hermione had looked so ready to kill him, and for a moment, he had thought she would actually do it. Her eyes had been cold and hard, and he knew she was powerful enough to do it. If she really wanted to. Thankfully, she must not want him dead as much as she thought. Or maybe something else was at play?
A hand connected with his cheek. A small hand. Althea was calling out to him. His mind was foggy, though. However, he did not want his daughter to hit him again and thus he grabbed her hand and opened his eyes.
Althea’s face brightened immediately, and he smiled softly at her. His sweet, little daughter. With a murdering bitch as a mother. He sat up and saw Hermione stumbling backwards, falling to the floor. His eyes narrowed. He hadn’t seen it coming, none of it. When she had started to accuse him, he had been completely surprised.
That she had managed to break into his mind was both worrying and baffling. When she had hit him, he hadn’t known what to do. He had tried to curse her at one point, only to have the oath kick in, stopping him from harming her. By then, the lack of oxygen had made his mind slower, and he hadn’t been able to come up with any non-curse way to get her off. Thankfully, his magic had acted on its own, blasting her away. Alas, it had drained him in the process, and that was the only reason why she had managed to get so close to killing him.
Now, however, the tables were turned. He rose carefully and ignored his throbbing limbs. Just because the chit hadn’t managed to actually kill him, didn’t mean it hadn’t hurt. And he did not tolerate people hurting him.
He continued to hold Althea’s hand as he walked towards his wand. Hermione would regret this. Severely. As he bent down and picked it up, he heard her move behind him. When he spun around to stop her, she had already reached her wand and Disapparated. He stared at the spot she had disappeared from and let out a huff of frustration. Oh, well. She would be back. After all, Althea was still here with him. She would come back for her daughter’s sake. Of that he was certain.
“Dad?” Althea pulled his arm to get his attention. “Why did you and Mum fight?”
Voldemort sank down next to her, stroking her hair. “Because your mum is not well. But when she comes back, I’ll help her, okay? So if you see your mum, just call for me and I’ll come to help her. It’s very important that I do. Do you understand?”
At least he could speak Parseltongue. His throat felt very badly wounded. He needed to find a way to heal it now.
Althea nodded; then, she trailed a finger down the side of his face. “Dad. You are all red.”
Voldemort sighed. “I know, dear. Let’s find some healing cream in the bathroom. Then Dad needs to get some sleep.”
Althea nodded again and led him into the bathroom. Voldemort’s body was aching more and more by the minute. He swallowed two bottles of anti-pain potions in one go, despite the fact that they made you tired. It was not like he could continue to stay awake much longer anyway. He would just have to hope Hermione didn’t come back in the next few hours. He needed sleep to regain his energy.
With the last of the magic he could muster, he placed a ward around Hermione’s bedroom so no one would be able to enter, or at least not without going through lots of trouble and giving him time to wake up. Then he fell asleep, still holding his daughter’s hand.

xxx

Hermione Apparated blindly, landing somewhere she didn’t recognise. It was outside and raining mercilessly. She breathed heavily as her mind worked furiously.
She had failed.
And she had left her daughter behind. After traumatising her by trying to kill her father in front of her. She was the worst mother ever. Even Voldemort was a better parent. At least he had always made sure to torture her with Althea tucked away someplace else. Hermione laughed hysterically. Gallows humour. Just what she needed.
The laughter turned into sobs. She was already soaked so it didn’t matter. Sweet Merlin, what should she do? What could she do? She should go back for her daughter’s sake, but … what about Voldemort? She was afraid of what he would do to her. The bond had always made her feel safe that he, at least, wouldn’t kill her. But now … if she had managed to ignore their bond to try to kill him, surely he would be able to do the same? He had threatened to kill her before, after all.
She needed some sort of help. But who?
She rose. Even though it was only five o’clock, it was getting rather dark. Partly because of the rain, but it was late November as well and the sunset was rather early. In just an hour, it would probably be completely dark and unlikely to get any warmer than this. She needed to get under a roof. Harry and Ginny would welcome her with open arms, but they would ask questions. Since Voldemort was still alive, the curse on her was still intact, and she wouldn’t be able to say anything. She would just make them worried. She didn’t want that.
However, her list of friends was quite short.
Then it hit her. Victoria! Even though Voldemort knew about her, he didn’t know how close they had become. He probably wouldn’t look there tonight. He probably didn’t even know where she lived. It was perfect.
Her mind set, she Apparated to Victoria’s corridor. She knocked on the door.
No answer.
Hermione shifted from one foot to another and weighed her options. She could probably break in. Victoria would understand when she got back and Hermione explained. Or well, made up an explanation.
“Granger? What are you doing here, soaking the floor?”
She spun around and saw Draco Malfoy standing there with his girlfriend, Rosaline Morel.
“That’s none of our business, Malfoy,” Hermione answered darkly.
Malfoy frowned, but before he had time to answer, Rosaline nudged him.
“I really have to go now, Draco, or I’ll be late. See you tomorrow?” she asked.
“Of course, I work until four. Shall I stop by after that?” he asked, leaning closer.
“Please do.” She gave him a kiss. “Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Rosaline Disapparated, and Hermione snorted at the irony that Malfoy had a loving relationship, despite all the horrible things he had done, while she was stuck with Voldemort. Life really wasn’t fair.
“Do you got something to say, Granger?” he asked, apparently having heard the snort.
“Not at all,” Hermione muttered, knocking on Victoria’s door again.
He stalked up to her. “Do you have some sort of problem with me?”
She looked at him in disbelief. “Do I have any problem with the fact that you bullied me for six years in school? Nooo, whatever makes you think that?”
He fisted his hands. “It will never be enough, will it? Whatever I do, all of you will still hate me and see me as scum!”
“That’s because you are scum, Malfoy,” she replied, really not having the patience for this.
“I’m not!”
She turned toward him. “Look, Malfoy, I’m not having the best of days here and I have no wish to stroke your ego by saying that you are a better person because frankly, I can’t see it. Even though you haven’t called me a Mudblood this semester, you haven’t done anything positive either that may result in me forgiving you. So just get lost!”
Malfoy’s eyes narrowed. “Father was right about you, Granger.”
She rolled her eyes and turned to walk away. She would come back later and see if Victoria was home then. Or at least, that had been the plan until she was hit by a Stunner in the back.

xxx

Voldemort woke up feeling slightly better, but his body was still aching like he had tried to run a marathon carrying a Hippogriff on his back. It was completely dark outside, and Althea was asleep on his arm. He carefully eased his arm out from underneath her and went to the bathroom, needing to empty his bladder.
As he walked to the kitchen to find something to eat, he mused over the fact that Hermione wasn’t back. He had thought she would return sooner rather than later for the sake of her daughter. Probably with some sort of reinforcements. Perhaps she was waiting for morning?
After he had eaten, he went back to bed. Even though he didn’t plan to sleep, only to rest, he did fall asleep and didn’t wake up again until Althea began to move around at seven o’clock.
“Dad,” she asked in Parseltongue when he was fully awake. “Why doesn’t Mum come home?”
“I don’t know, Althea. Maybe she is afraid,” he answered, slowly stretching his body to see if there were some places that hurt more than normal.
“Of what?”
“Your mother did some very bad things yesterday. She could be afraid to face the consequences.”
He winced when he stretched his arm. No bones seemed to be broken, but the muscles were tender.
“What are consequences?”
“Everything you do has consequences. Some are bad; some are good. Like, if you don’t brush your teeth, your teeth will rot.”
“Okay.” Living with dentists had taught Althea everything about teeth.
He made them breakfast and finally managed to start healing his throat. He was about to apply a healing cream on the many bruises as well but changed his mind. If Hermione could see the damage she had done to him, she would feel guilty and hesitate to hex him again. That would give him a chance to hex her instead.
During the whole day, he expected her to barge in at any moment. He played a little with Althea and made them lunch. Then he made them dinner and still no Hermione. Night came, and he was certain she would storm in the moment he fell asleep. He placed a dozen of heavy wards around the flat because he knew he still needed to sleep to heal.
The next morning, he woke up, and none of the wards had been disturbed. It puzzled him to no end. Was she really so much of a coward that she was hiding?
Very well, he didn’t mind a hunt now and again. First, he just had to find out what to do with Althea. After much thinking, he decided to hunt at night when the girl was asleep. He placed a ward around her to notify him if she woke up. If something or someone disturbed the ward, he could be by her side in seconds. He also made sure no one else could enter the flat without going through much trouble. He still couldn’t rule out that Hermione was waiting for him to leave to go in and snatch Althea.
The night leading to Tuesday, he broke into all her friends’ houses to see if she were hiding there. Invisible and silent, he moved from Potter’s place (it was ridiculous how easy it was to break in there) to the Burrow (he hadn’t even expected that to be hard) and then to all the Weasley children’s places. She wasn’t there. Not that he had expected her to be. She still couldn’t tell anyone about who he really was, and it would just be too complicated for her to give them a reason as to why she had left her daughter with someone she didn’t want to see.
He also looked everywhere at the Oxford campus before he needed to go to bed. He would have a lecture the next morning. That gave him somewhat of a dilemma. He had to give the lecture, otherwise it would arise suspicions. However, he couldn’t leave Althea alone and he couldn’t trust Hermione’s babysitter. Leaving her with someone else would lead to questions about why he had Althea and where her mother was.
Unless …
A brilliant idea hit him. Why hadn’t he thought about it before? He could prove that he was Althea’s father and that would put Hermione in an awful situation when she came back. Not only would her friends have questions, but the school would probably kick her out. That would teach her not to try to kill him again. He, of course, had nothing to worry about when it came to the school kicking him out. He knew all the naughty things the people on the council had done. If Hermione begged sweetly, he could help her. But that would have to involve some pretty sweet begging on her end.
However, first, he would have to report her missing. If he reported her missing to the Aurors, he could spin his tale in any way he wanted and possibly flush her out. He knew he would be a suspect, but he had always been excellent at making himself appear innocent. Not to mention that, this time, he really was innocent.
His plan clear in mind, he had no problem leaving Althea with Madeline Nott. As a member of his special study group, she wouldn’t ask that many questions. The thing that mattered was that he could trust Madeline to not let anyone but him collect Althea.
While he held the lecture, his mind worked on what he was going to say to get the greatest advantage. Even though he wanted to take his revenge on Hermione, he still didn’t plan to let her get away from him. When it became official that he was Althea’s father, Hermione wouldn’t keep full custody of Althea. Instead, he was certain they would get shared guardianship to begin with. He could even get full custody by pulling a few strings. Even though the Ministry wasn’t as corrupt as it had been during the war, there were still people who were willing to do favours if the price were right. Voldemort was also aware of how much Hermione wanted to stay in school. He could make sure she got to stay. If she begged for his help.
Once the lecture was over, he picked up Althea and went straight to the Ministry of Magic. At the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, he was asked to wait for about half an hour before what must have been the youngest Auror came to get to him.
“What can I help you with?” the Auror asked, trying to sound very professional, but his nervousness was obvious. He was sitting on the other side of a small desk, and Voldemort doubted he could ever get any peace at work. People walked past the desk all the time to get to the lifts and the rest of the department.
“Well, I’m here to report a missing person. Or, at least I think she is missing … She stormed out her flat Sunday afternoon and hasn’t come back, not even to get her daughter,” Voldemort said, trying to sound sheepish and patting Althea’s shoulder. She sat next to him, following the conversation with great interest.
“Right. What is the person’s name?” he asked and noted something on a clipboard.
“Hermione Granger.”
That made the Auror’s eyes widen. “Excuse me.”
He left the desk, and Voldemort saw him walk over to one of the offices and knock. A moment later, Harry Potter showed up at the door. A few words were exchanged, and then, Potter followed the man over to Voldemort.
“Professor Foster,” Potter asked with a frown. “Auror Perkins says that you want to file a missing person’s report for Hermione?”
“Yes. That is, if you haven’t seen her?” Voldemort asked, pretending to get hopeful.
“No, not since Sunday,” Potter spotted Althea, and his frown deepened. “Please, come with me to my office.”
Voldemort followed the boy who had been the bane of his existence for almost two decades. Nowadays, he just disliked the young man strongly. But he could control that dislike. If he ever got the chance to kill Potter without anyone finding out, he would definitely take it. Until then, he would keep a low profile.
Potter’s office wasn’t big. It only contained a desk slightly bigger than Perkins’s had been and a couple of chairs. Just as he remembered Potter’s brain being, the desk was a mess. On the wall behind it, there were pictures of the Weasleys, the boy’s parents’ wedding photo and one rather large picture with Potter, the youngest Weasley boy and Hermione in Hogwarts attire. Voldemort held back a snort. Potter’s weaknesses had always been easy to see, but this was ridiculous.
Voldemort sat down in one of the wooden chairs and placed Althea in his lap when she stretched her arms up at him. Potter seemed rather puzzled about this but didn’t comment on it.
“What makes you think Hermione is missing?” he asked instead.
“The fact that I’ve been taking care of Althea since Sunday night,” Voldemort said. “She asked me to watch over Althea because a friend of hers from school, Victoria Cole, had a small crisis she needed help with.”
Voldemort had planted a memory of this in Cole’s mind just after class.
“When she didn’t come home that night, I figured Miss Cole needed a bit more help and I stayed the night with Althea. When she wasn’t back on Monday, I went to Miss Cole’s flat, but neither of them were there. I thought it was strange that Hermione hadn’t contacted me but decided to wait until today. Then, after class this morning, I met Miss Cole, and she said Hermione had never made it to her flat. That was when I decided to go straight here,” Voldemort said, making sure worry was evident on his face. “And I don’t think I have to mention how alarming it is when Hermione doesn’t show up for class.”
“That is alarming,” Potter said, but he was still looking at him through narrowed eyes, seemingly to judge whether he was telling the truth or not. Then, he looked at Althea. “Althea, is this true? Has your mum been missing since Sunday?”
Althea, who didn’t have a concept of which day was which, just frowned. “Mum hit Dad, then go pop.”
Voldemort froze. Although he had told Althea to call him “Dad” in public, he had not said anything about mentioning the fight. This would not look good.
Potter blinked as well; then, he suddenly had his wand aimed at Voldemort. “I have to ask you to hand in your wand, Professor Foster.”
Since he knew resisting would only make him look more guilty, he withdrew his wand from his pocket and laid it on Potter’s desk. It wasn’t like he didn’t have another wand hidden where no one would find it. The wand he had given to Harry was the wand he only used when he was playing Marcus Foster. The wand had a very different magical signature than Voldemort’s own wand, which he used when he did his Voldemort things.
“Now, tell me the truth about what happened Sunday night and the truth about your relationship with Hermione,” Potter ordered, still having his wand aimed at Voldemort.
However, since the boy’s favourite spell was so harmless, Voldemort could hardly say he was worried. Yet, the urge to kill the boy had grown quite a bit. But that was not why he was here, luckily enough for Potter.
“I didn’t lie,” Voldemort said slowly. “I just … didn’t say the whole truth.”
He took a deep breath, making a show of looking slightly ashamed.
“I am Althea’s father. You can have St. Mungo’s test our DNA later. I know they do that now.” He paused, stroking his daughter’s hair. “I didn’t know Hermione before she started at Oxford. All I remembered was a drunk night with a beautiful woman. Then, this summer, she moved into the flat next to mine, and … well, I recognised her. It was a shock to discover that I had a daughter, but I wanted to do what was right. Hermione and I started meeting, just as friends, really.”
“Then … I fell in love with her.” Voldemort made sure to look fond as he told the biggest lie of his life. “I haven’t told her yet, but … I think she feels the same way.”
“Of course, sometimes we have our misunderstandings,” Voldemort continued with a grimace after a moment’s pause. “I came home after a two weeks trip on Saturday night and found her drunk as a broom at the doorstep to our house. I helped her up to her flat, but I wasn’t too happy about her doing that to herself. Then, on Sunday night, I came in to talk to her about it and … well, she slapped me and said something about me not being her father. Then, she stormed out, claiming she had a friend to take care of. That’s why I didn’t find it too strange that she didn’t return that night. I thought she was still angry with me.”
Potter was still looking at him with suspicion. “How do I know that you didn’t strike back when Hermione hit you?”
Voldemort’s eyes widened.
“I would never hit her, Mr Potter,” he said, as if the mere thought were outrageous. “I can’t say I’m happy about being hit, but I do understand why she did it, even though I think it’s wrong. She was still feeling miserable because of the hangover, and I did come down quite hard on her about the partying.”
Voldemort could see that Potter found it believable, but there was still a lot of suspicion in his eyes. “Why didn’t Hermione tell us that you are Althea’s father?”
“I’m her teacher,” Voldemort stated. “She would most likely get thrown out if the school were to find out about us. However, Miss Weasley once saw us together and figured it out. Hermione made her swear not to tell anyone.”
Potter didn’t say anything, but Voldemort could see that Potter was surprised his girlfriend hadn’t told him about it. Then, the boy rose.
“I’ll have to start a search for Hermione. We also have to determine whether or not you are in fact Althea’s father. If you wait here, I’ll have an Auror escort you two to St. Mungo’s and then back here for more questions.”
“I don’t think I actually need an Auror to find my way to St. Mungo’s,” Voldemort protested, standing up and lowering Althea down on her feet as well.
“This will be much easier for you if you cooperate, Professor,” Potter said in a hard tone.
It was clear that he was both angry with the situation and worried about Hermione but somehow managed to stay professional. Voldemort held back a smile. It seemed like Potter had learned to control his temper. Voldemort wondered how much it would take to make Potter lose his temper. Alas, that would have to wait until a later date.
An Auror escorted them to St. Mungo’s and allowed them to eat dinner before returning to Potter’s office. The boy wasn’t there yet, which was good since Althea was rather talkative.
“When will Mum get home?” She wanted to know.
“That’s why we are here, to have them find her,” Voldemort answered, making sure no one was around to hear them talking in Parseltongue. “Once your mother sees that we are looking for her, she will no doubt come running home.”
Althea was about to say something more, but right then, Potter opened the door, and Voldemort hushed her.
Potter’s face was grim, and he was holding a thin file with papers.
“Well, this is proof that you are Althea’s father. But I’ll have to ask you to stay here and answer some more questions. Perhaps it will be best if you let someone else take care of Althea? I just talked to Ginny, and she is more than happy to look after her.”
Voldemort did his best not to curse out loud. They were going to interrogate him. Well, it wasn’t too strange, and hopefully, he wouldn’t have to stay too long. Better to just play meek. He didn’t like to let Althea stay with a Weasley, but if this did take long, Althea would become whiny. He probably shouldn’t try his patience with that as well.
“Fine,” he said and didn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice.
Potter left the office again.
“What did H mean, Dad?” Althea asked, her eyes wide of worry. “Why do I have to be with Gin?”
Voldemort sighed. “Potter wants to ask me some more questions, and that will probably take the rest of the day. You’ll be more comfortable with Ginevra.”
Althea took a hard grip of his arm. “I don’t want to go to Gin! I want to stay with you!”
Right then, Potter came back with his fiancée, and Voldemort switched from Parseltongue to English. “Althea, it will be best like this. I’m sure you will have much more fun with Miss Weasley.”
“I don’t want to have fun! I want to stay with you!” Althea cried, sticking her small nails into his arm.
Since Potter and Weasley were watching, Voldemort knew he couldn’t hex Althea for annoying him. Instead, he hugged her.
“I won’t be gone long, Althea. You just have to be a big girl and—”
Althea’s wail of sorrow interrupted him. She threw her arms around his neck and wouldn’t let go, no matter how he tried to soothe her.
He glanced at Potter and Weasley and saw that both of them looked very uncomfortable. Then, suddenly, he felt a shiver run through him. At once, Althea stopped screaming and just sobbed softly against his neck. Voldemort turned in his chair. It felt like someone was standing right behind him. But he couldn’t see anyone. Not even a glimmer of an invisible someone. Besides, Potter and Weasley stood right in the doorway; no one could have got inside.
Yet, Althea’s focus seemed to have turned to something else. But since Voldemort didn’t want to draw attention to the fact that something seemed to be going on with Althea, he simply continued to soothe her.
After a few minutes, she loosened her grip around his neck and fell back on his lap. She looked much calmer. Voldemort stroked her tears away with his thumb.
“Do you think you can go with Miss Weasley now, Althea?” he asked softly.
She nodded. “Shadow-friend promised to stay with me.”
Another shiver went through him. It felt like there was something he knew but had forgotten. However, there was no time for him to investigate that now; he had to focus on the interrogation. Therefore, he only leaned in and kissed her forehead.
“That’s good, Althea,” he whispered. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
When he stood up, Althea willingly slid down his lap and followed him over to Weasley and Potter. She took Weasley’s hand, and Weasley mumbled some promises about how much fun they were going to have. Voldemort leaned down again and hugged Althea goodbye.
Once his daughter had disappeared down the hall with Weasley, Potter turned to him. “If you would come with me, Professor Foster.”
Voldemort just nodded and followed the boy down to the interrogation rooms. Potter was still holding the file in his hand, and Voldemort saw the label “Foster, Marcus” on it. He groaned. It was never a good sign when the Aurors created a file for you.
The interrogation room they stepped into was small and empty except for a table with three chairs around it. At one side of the wall, a big one-way window was placed. Potter gestured to Voldemort to sit on the chair which was facing the window and then took the chair at the opposite side from him. A moment later, the door opened again, and an older Auror entered. Voldemort immediately recognised him as John Dawlish and knew he was in for quite an interrogation.
“Professor Foster,” Dawlish said, his expression and tone completely professional. “Potter has told me about Miss Granger, but I’d like to hear your version of your relationship with Miss Granger as well as what transpired before her disappearance.”
Voldemort told Dawlish the same things he had told Potter but in a slightly different way and with some other details, so his tale wouldn’t sound rehearsed. Dawlish made some notes as Voldemort spoke, while Potter just said quietly next to his superior, studying Voldemort closely.
“There is surprisingly little information about you, Professor Foster,” Dawlish commented once Voldemort had finished his tale. “All we have is a birth certificate, your father’s wish to have you home-schooled and your N.E.W.T.s scores. Then, there is no other information until three-and-a-half years ago when you received your doctoral degree in Japan. That is over ten years of no information. Do you care to enlighten us?”
Voldemort didn’t bother to hide his irritation. “I can’t see what that has to do with Hermione being missing. Shouldn’t you be out, trying to find her?”
“We have already begun searching for her,” Dawlish answered. “However, if we are to solve this, we have to look at everyone as a suspect. You admit to having a fight with her prior to her disappearance. That is suspicious, as is the lack of knowledge of your past. In my experience, the less you know about a person, the more that person got to hide.”
Voldemort pressed his lips together. “Yes, I got some things I rather not speak about, but that has nothing to do with Hermione. Why can’t you just try to find her?”
“If you really want us to find her, we have to do a thorough job, which means follow up on every lead. From what Mr Potter has told me, Miss Granger isn’t the type of person to leave without telling anyone anything. That indicates that she has been taken by force.”
Voldemort realised that it was indeed what it started to look like. Perhaps Hermione wasn’t staying away because she was afraid to face him. Perhaps someone had kidnapped her. But who? A few names popped up in his head. Damn it, he needed to get out of here to find out.
“Then it’s even more important that you try to find the real kidnapper,” he growled, his patience running thin. “Didn’t you just release Lucius Malfoy for example? Hermione was worried about him coming after her. Shouldn’t you go and see if he had anything to do with this?”
He could see Potter blink. Apparently, the boy thought it was a possibility.
“We will,” Dawlish ensured him. “But first, I want to make sure you have nothing to do with this. And to do that, I need to know more about your character. Hence, you need to tell me a bit about why there are so few papers about you.”
Voldemort groaned and pressed his hands against his face for a few seconds. Then, he looked up again, as if he had just collected himself.
“What can I say? My Muggle father raised me. When he died, not long after my seventeenth birthday, I decided to leave Britain once I had taken my N.E.W.T.s. I searched for my mother whom I have never known. That took quite some time since she lived with her tribe in the Amazon. Once there, I discovered that she was dead, but I still decided to stay with some other relatives to learn more about my background.”
Voldemort paused, as if he were uncertain to what he would say next. When the Aurors didn’t ask any questions, he continued his made-up life story.
“Three years after that, I continued to travel the world. When I heard rumors that You-Know-Who was back in Britain, I didn’t feel inclined to return here. I only did it one time, ironically just a few days before the battle at Hogwarts, to pick up my N.E.W.T.s papers and see what my chances of getting into university were. I was disappointed to find out that I couldn’t get my nearly finished doctoral thesis published in Britain because of their rules about having to actually attend their universities. That night, I drank my sorrows away and found a girl who did the same for some reason. I can’t say I’m very proud about the fact that I had a one-night stand with a teenager, but there you go.”
“Your mother was from the Parselmouth tribe in the Amazon?” Potter asked, frowning.
Voldemort grimaced. “Yes. And as you no doubt have concluded, Althea got her ability to speak Parsel from me. Which is something I’m not too keen to tell people due to obvious reasons.”
Dawlish didn’t seem to be soothed by that. Instead, he suddenly got an expression which told Voldemort Dawlish was starting to see him more and more as a potential kidnapper. Fucking hell.
“I’ve heard about that tribe,” the senior Auror said sternly. “Notorious pack of dark wizards. Did you start to practice the Dark Arts before or after you met them?”
“That’s absurd!” Voldemort cried in disbelief. “I don’t practice the Dark Arts. I can’t help who my mother is.”
“But you said you spent three years with that tribe,” Dawlish reminded him.
“Yes, to learn more about my family. I have never had any wish to become a Dark Arts practitioner.”
Things weren’t going exactly according to plan for Voldemort. If Potter had been the only one there, Voldemort could have focused on attacking Potter’s weak spots to get the boy to feel sympathy for him. However, Dawlish seemed almost convinced that Voldemort had had a hand in Hermione’s disappearance. Annoying Aurors. They were asking way too many questions.
“Very well. Let’s talk about this weekend instead. You said that you found Hermione drunk outside your house at two in the morning, correct?” Dawlish asked.
“Yes, a bit after two, I think,” Voldemort said with a sigh.
“And she was alone?”
“Yes.”
“See, this is what doesn’t make sense,” Dawlish said as he bent down and retrieved another file from the briefcase he had placed next to him. “We have witnesses that claim Miss Granger left a party that night together with another one of your students, Mr Peter Wood. The thing is that he, too, is missing. Perhaps you can say something about that?”
Voldemort stared at Dawlish. Yes, he could think of two words to say. Bloody Hell.

xxx

Hermione didn’t know how much time had gone by. She had been locked inside a small, dark room for quite some time. At least a couple of days. The room only contained a wooden bench with a disgusting excuse for a blanket and a hole in the ground where she could do her business. A small gap opened in the door now and again, and a bowl with a porridge-like dish (but tasted like something else entirely) was pushed in. She had tried to ask her capturer questions, when the bowl was pushed through, but got no answers. However, she did have an idea who it was.
Voldemort might like to torture her, but she didn’t think he would be able to leave her alone for this long. It had to be Malfoy. She wasn’t certain if it were Senior or Junior, but it wouldn’t surprise her if they worked together. What she couldn’t work out was what they wanted. If they wanted her dead, they would have had plenty of time by now. Even though it was considered torture to leave someone in a small room with almost no light, Hermione did think a Death Eater could do better. She was mostly bored, hungry and in desperate need of a shower. She tried finding a way to break free, but nothing she could think of worked.
She was about to get really desperate when something finally happened.
The door finally swung open. The sudden light hurt her eyes, and she couldn’t make out who had just entered. She pressed her hands against her tender eyes and, therefore, didn’t see the arm until it had pulled her off the bed she had been sitting on. She blinked a couple of times, until her eyes had fully adjusted.
“Good morning, scum.”
Shivers went down her back as she recognised Lucius Malfoy’s voice.
“Why are you doing this to me?” she hissed, finally able to see him. He was, as usual, clad in the most exclusive wizard clothing, but otherwise, he had changed. His face seemed sunken in, like he had lost a lot of weight and his eyes were … strange. Mad but yet intelligent. And hateful. Most of all, hateful. “You do realise my friends will be looking for me! When they find me, they will—”
“You are here to pay for your crimes,” Malfoy interrupted her, a sadistic smile playing on his lips.
“Crimes?” Hermione asked in disbelief.
His slap fell so fast on her cheek she didn’t have time to turn.
“Insolent piece of shit! You and your kind have destroyed my world. Now you will pay.”
“What? I haven’t done anything to you, even though you have tried to curse me several times and watched me being tortured–” She was interrupted when he slapped her again.
“Silence! I have paid for my crimes, and now, you’ll pay for yours.”
Now he was just looking crazy again.
“I’ll keep you here for four years and let you experience everything I experienced when I was in prison. Nothing more, nothing less.”
Hermione continued to stare at him. What the hell was wrong with him? It seemed like Azkaban continued to make people crazy, despite the fact that there were no longer any Dementors there. She didn’t know if she should laugh or try to talk some sense in him. If she had her wand, she would have hexed some sense into him.
“Your first discipline, whipping, will begin now. Stand up and place your hands against the wall,” Malfoy said, making a scary-looking whip appear.
“What?” Hermione growled, watching the whip with an increasing portion of fear. Even though Malfoy seemed to be completely mental, she didn’t doubt that he could inflict quite a bit of pain with that whip. She did not want that one bit.
“Oh, yes. The guards at Azkaban believe strongly in physical discipline. And they don’t see us as humans at all. Just someone that needs discipline. Or a hole to stick their cocks in.”
“WHAT?”
He watched her coldly. “Don’t worry. That will not be happening yet. Now, hands on the wall.”
Hermione could only see one option: try to make a run for it. She hoped to catch him off guard by just pushing him aside and running past him. However, he must have seen what she had planned because he managed to catch her and push her back at the wall. Hermione stumbled and fell down on the ground. Before she had time to stand by herself, he waved his wand at her, making her fly up against the wall, sticking there as if the wall were made of glue.
She tried to struggle. However, when the whip landed on her back for the first time, all she could think about was the excruciating pain. She screamed.
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