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
- 19
- 20
- 21
New chapter. I want to thank everyone for reviewing, I really appreciate it! Great thanks and cookies and sweet dreams to Nerys for betaing. Also, thanks to Trelaney for reminding me of Lucius’s pimp cane. Can’t have a story without it!

WARNING! Death.
Chapter 19

Hermione was running a high fever. It could be from a lot of reasons: The bleeding wounds on her back could be infected; the draft and cold could have made her catch pneumonia, or it could be something else entirely. The problem was that there was no one around to help her. Malfoy hadn’t been down since the beating, which had to have been several days ago. She had decided to try a more sneaky attack the next time. If she had managed to take down Voldemort, then surely, she could beat one of his former minions?
The problem was that she became weaker by the hour. If he didn’t come down soon, she wouldn’t have the strength to get out of bed at all. Merlin, she hated the blond arse. She had never hated anyone as much in her life. Not even Voldemort.
Being locked up here had really made her revalue her relationship with Voldemort. She knew he was capable of the exact same thing as Lucius was, and yet, he had never hurt her this much. She had spent a lot of time trying to figure out why that was and, in the end, she thought it had to do with power. Lucius wanted power, and he certainly had her at his mercy. Voldemort often claimed he did everything for power, and she had felt how much he craved it. They both wanted power and took it by controlling others. Lucius had taken her; Voldemort killed Muggles. She had felt how satisfied Voldemort had been by taking their lives, but he was also satisfied when they were having sex.
That had made her thinking that perhaps she could try to make some sort of bargain with Malfoy so he would let her leave or send a message. Then, she could tell Voldemort about him and have him kill Malfoy.
The thought about using Voldemort as an assassin had bothered her at first, but now, she didn’t care anymore. She wanted the blond ex-Death Eater to die. She wanted this to be over. Why wasn’t Voldemort here to help her with that? Was it just that he didn’t know, or did he want her to suffer for what she had done to him?
She must have drifted to sleep, because she awoke with a start when the door opened.
“Up. You are on laundry duty today,” Malfoy ordered.
So much for a sneak attack. Best to try bargaining then. “Look, Mr Malfoy, you don’t need to keep me locked inside here all the time. I’m sure we could work out some other arrangement to—”
He kicked her off the bed. She stood up slowly, trying to fight the pain in her body. He grabbed her arm and dragged her out from the cell and down a dark corridor. She tried to talk more about an arrangement, but he ignored her.
They reached a door, and she was pushed inside a small room. In the middle of it was a huge tub filled with water. On the floor next to the tub lay a big pile of clothes. Apparently, he wasn’t kidding. It made her more furious than everything else. What was she? Some sort of slave?
“Surely it would only take a second to clean this with a wand?” she hissed, swaying a bit on her feet, trying to fight the dizziness she was experiencing.
He merely pushed her down at the pile of clothes, making her whimper in pain. “If this isn’t clean when I return in two hours, you’ll be sorry.”
He turned around and left. Hermione stared after him. Why was he doing this to her? Were there other people here as well, being tortured? She had to get out of here or make someone aware of where she was.
A thought occurred to her. Harry was Lucius’s probation officer. He came to Malfoy Manor every week to make sure Lucius didn’t do anything. If she could just make sure Lucius wasn’t able to come and greet Harry, Harry would try to find him. They had ways to track down people on probation. She didn’t know exactly how long it had been since she was captured, but she doubted it was more than a week. If she were lucky, Harry would come later this day or tomorrow. She just needed to knock Lucius down.
Looking around the room, she tried to find something that could help her. The walls were made of stone with no windows. The tub was made of wood. The clothes were just fabric. How was she supposed to wash them with only water, anyway?
Testing, she dumped a black cloak in the water. The water began to bubble. She had no idea what she was supposed to do. She knew how to use a washing machine, but how were you supposed to get the clothes clean with just bubbling water? When she was younger, she had seen some show on the telly about how women had done housework back in the days, but she couldn’t remember how laundry had been done. Only that it had looked hard and heavy. Speaking of shows on telly though, there was another thing she had seen that could be done with wet fabric: hit someone.
Yes, she was sure she could make a sneak attack with that. She just had to wait at the door, and when he came, she could take a swing at him.
However, just in case it didn’t work, she really ought to try cleaning her wounds and the rest of her body when she was in the presence of water. She would be damned before she actually tried to do the laundry. She still had some dignity.
She removed her torn shirt and used one of the clothes in the pile as a washcloth. Strangely enough, they didn’t seem dirty at all. Could Malfoy have thrown some clothes in there just so she would have something to do? She didn’t see the point of it other than to make her suffer. Well, for Malfoy that was probably enough.
She spent the next two hours cleaning herself and resting. She wanted to gather her strength and was always listening carefully after steps in the corridor. She had heard him walk away before and was sure she would hear him come again.
When she heard steps once more, adrenaline shot through her. Ignoring the pain, hunger and dizziness, she pulled the wet fabric from the tub and twisted it. She hurried to the door and, as it opened, she swung the fabric with all the strength she could muster right down on Malfoy. He let out a scream and stumbled backwards. Hermione struck again, right at the side of his head, making him fall against the heavy door.
Malfoy lay there, motionless, and Hermione sank to the floor. Her heart was beating so hard that it was painful. The wounds on her back felt like they had reopened and throbbed so much that it brought tears to her eyes. Crawling forward, she searched his robe, trying to find his wand. Her hand came in contact with something round and hard. Withdrawing it, she saw that it was Malfoy’s silly cane.
Right, he hid his wand under the snake head.
She quickly pulled out the wand, one eye at Malfoy, hoping he wouldn’t wake up. She noticed he was bleeding rapidly from his head wound. He must have hit the doorknob when he fell down. Perhaps he would die?
Something dark arose within her. She wanted him to die. She also wanted someone to come and help her. She knew that those on probation were monitored. If they used an illegal curse, the Aurors would know and come at once. The monitoring spell was on the wand, which she was now holding. So, if she cursed him with an illegal spell, they would come.
Without thinking of the consequences of casting an Unforgivable Curse, Hermione whispered the most forbidden of them all. She knew she had succeeded. It felt different from when she had used it on Voldemort. It gave her a dark sense of relief, until she blacked out again.

xxx

“For the last time, I didn’t see Wood Saturday night and I certainly didn’t kidnap or kill Hermione,” Voldemort said for what must have been the hundredth time.
He no longer had to mask his irritation; any wizard would be irritated if they had been held in custody for two days. What he had to hold back was the increasing urge to take Dawlish’s wand and kill him with it. He knew plenty of ways to do that but, if he did, he would never be able to be seen as Marcus Foster again. And he had spent a lot of time and resources to make a name for himself in this new alter ego. He was reluctant to let go of him for something as silly as this.
“Why are you so certain that the two disappearances are connected, anyway?” Voldemort wanted to know. “Hermione has told me a lot about what she did in the war. Would it be so strange if some Death Eater or even You-Know-Who has taken her? Have you checked Malfoy? Hermione told me about his release just a month ago and how worried she was that he would come after her or her friends.”
That was, of course, a lie. However, during the last two days here, Voldemort had become quite sure that Lucius was behind Hermione’s kidnapping. If she were indeed kidnapped and hadn’t run off and got herself killed in some other way. Still, he wanted to be out there and find out for himself.
“Two students, who were seen leaving a party together, and they both disappeared without a trace. What do you think the odds are that those crimes aren’t connected?” Dawlish wanted to know. He was irritated as well, but Voldemort suspected it was because the Auror thought Voldemort would have confessed by now.
“Just because the odds are bad doesn’t mean it’s not a possibility. Wood could have left Hermione at her door when he realised she wouldn’t sleep with him, and then, he could have had an accident for all I know. Isn’t that just as likely? I mean, Wood is an excellent student, but if he were as drunk as Hermione …” Voldemort trailed off, shrugging.
“I find it very interesting that you are making up other scenarios,” Dawlish commented, writing down a note in the file.
“Since you clearly can’t find the truth, someone has to come up with new ideas,” Voldemort spat. “I know I didn’t kidnap either Wood or Hermione.”
Dawlish seemed to be about to say something else, but right then, the door opened and someone Voldemort didn’t know called Dawlish out. Voldemort sighed as the Auror left and leaned forward, putting his head in his hands.
The last time they had interrogated him, Potter had been there as well. At least he seemed to believe Voldemort now. Voldemort had actually made himself cry out of fake worry for Hermione. That had finally managed to convince Potter of his innocence.
However, Voldemort didn’t have much hope that Potter would be able to break Hermione out if she were indeed held captured by Lucius Malfoy. The blond arse would have placed Hermione in one of the secret dungeons in his mansion. Voldemort had helped put the wards around it himself and he knew the Aurors wouldn’t find it.
With a growl, he smashed his hands down on the table before standing up and starting to pace. At least he knew that Althea was with her grandparents. Potter had told him this the last time he had been here. Despite the fact that he risked his superior’s disapproval if he were to find out.
That Potter seemed to be the only one to believe his innocence was a small victory at least. Once they found out that “Marcus” actually were innocent, he was sure Potter wouldn’t cause him much trouble ever again.
He had been alone in the interrogation room for almost two hours when the door finally opened. To Voldemort’s surprise, it was Potter who opened it.
“We’ve found Hermione.” Judging by the angst on the boy’s face, something was terribly wrong.
“Where is she?” he asked, taking on a worried face at once.
“St. Mungo’s.”
Voldemort made sure to look horrified. “You have to take me to her!”
“Yes, that’s why I’m here. You are no longer a suspect; follow me.” Potter quickly led him to the nearest Apparition point where they Apparated to St. Mungo’s.
Once there, Potter only had to wave his identification to be let into the now guarded ward with Voldemort in tow. Voldemort did his best to look worried, but he was in fact only curious to find out what had really happened to Hermione. He was also very relieved to finally be out of custody. He would make sure the Aurors regretted putting him there. But those plans would have to be put on hold for now. He needed to focus on Hermione.
They were taken into a sterile hospital room with only one bed. Someone was lying on her stomach in it. Judging by the hair, it was Hermione. She had been badly whipped. He frowned, not recognising the style.
“What happened?” he asked in his best horrified voice.
“There was an alarm of an Unforgivable being used by a monitored wand. I went to investigate and found Hermione there. She must have been locked up there since she disappeared,” Potter explained with genuine sorrow and quite a lot of anger in his voice.
“Who?” he asked.
“Lucius Malfoy.”
Voldemort cursed. “I told you he had done it! Why didn’t you go there earlier?”
“We did,” Potter said, clearly feeling very guilty. “She was hidden away. We didn’t find her.”
Voldemort held back some more angry comments. He would deal with them later. “Will she be alright?” he asked instead, while thinking of a way to best execute Malfoy.
“She will live but … we don’t know exactly what she had to endure and how that may have affected her,” Potter said in a low voice.
“Excuse me, Mr Potter?” A Healer in a purple cloak called from the doorway.
Potter placed a hand on Voldemort’s shoulder in some gesture of comfort. It almost made Voldemort flinch. He stood tense until he heard the door close. Then, he grimaced and walked up to the bed. Finally, it was time to show Hermione that she was at his mercy and not the other way around.
Hermione had her head bent to her right and seemed to be unconscious. Her back was bare and they had spread some kind of ointment over the wounds. It was already beginning to heal, but he could see that it would take some time for them to disappear completely.
He sat down on the edge of the bed and touched her hand gently. She woke up with a groan. He kept his hand on hers and tilted his head, looking at her. How come he always forgot how good touching her felt?
“Vol…”
He placed his other hand over her lips. “Hush, kitten. You are at St. Mungo’s.”
Her eyes began to fill with tears before she closed them again and took a deep breath. He watched her for a moment, continuing to hold her hand.
“Did you have anything to do with this?” she asked in a hoarse, fearful voice. She was most likely worried that she had escaped one homicidal lunatic only to fall in the hands of another.
He regarded her closely. “Do you really think I would have chosen such a crude method to punish you?”
She sighed. “Not really.”
“Indeed, I want you in one delicious piece,” he said with a smile, letting his hand travel up her arm.
She shuddered. “I guess it won’t help to say that I’m sorry?”
“For trying to kill me? No. But in your absence I’ve made things even between us,” he said softly, stroking some of her hair away from her face.
“What have you done?” she asked, more despondently than worriedly. He could see the fear disappearing as well. She knew he wouldn’t try to hurt her now.
“The world knows Althea is my daughter now, which means the school has found out about our relationship or they will do so soon. If you cause me anymore problems, I can take Althea and get you kicked out of Oxford. ”
A few more tears fell down from her eyes. “And I’ll have to rely on you, then.”
“Exactly.” That was why he enjoyed her so much. She was always so quick to understand. “However, if you beg very sweetly and behave, I can get you to stay at Oxford. Although, I think you’ll have to kiss that scholarship of yours goodbye.”
“So that you can support me?”
“I think we could work out an arrangement for that as well, yes.”
She grimaced but seemed otherwise too tired to react. “Where is Althea?”
“With your parents. I’ve been in custody. They thought I had kidnapped you and Wood.”
She frowned. “But you …”
He pressed his other hand over her lips and leaned down so he was a mere inch from her ear. “If anyone asks, you only remember turning Wood down and him leaving you. If you breathe one word about what I did, you’ll see how the Avada is really meant to work.”
Seeing she got the message, he made an attempt to rise. He figured she would behave for at least the rest of the day, but Hermione let out small: “No!”
He arched an eyebrow at her.
The conflicting emotions of fear and need were clear on her face. “It hurts less when you touch me.”
“Interesting,” he remarked.
However, he sat down, holding her hand once again. It was good that she realised she needed him.
Not many minutes later, the door opened again and a Healer stepped in with Potter.
“Hermione,” Potter said, relieved. “You are awake.
Voldemort tried not to be bothered by the loss of pleasure when he had to let go of Hermione’s hand. She, however, let out a whimper. The female Healer took his place and started to check her wounds. Voldemort pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat down.
“If you are feeling like it, Miss Granger, I believe you can sit up as I put another cream on your back before putting the bandages on,” the Healer said kindly.
Hermione nodded and slowly turned around to sit up. Potter seemed a bit uncomfortable witnessing his nude friend and turned his gaze away. Hermione didn’t seem to notice; she was in too much pain. But Voldemort noticed and wanted to growl, but he kept himself quiet. Now was not the time to hex boys.
“Do you think you can tell me what happened, Hermione?” Potter said once Hermione had the blanket around her and was leaning against her bent knees. “How did he capture you?”
Hermione was grimacing as the Healer applied the new cream, but she answered him nonetheless. “I was waiting for a friend of mine, Victoria, outside her flat when Draco came. We argued; he stunned me, and the next thing I knew, I was in a cell.”
“Draco Malfoy managed to stun you?” Voldemort asked in disbelief.
Hermione sent him an angry glare, but it lacked her usual passion. “In the back. I was walking away from him.”
“I see,” Voldemort remarked, surprised that Hermione had let herself be caught so easily.
Hermione rolled her eyes at him and then turned back to Potter, answering the rest of his questions. She told them what had transpired in the cell in a rather emotionless tone. She was probably still in shock from what had happened. Voldemort had no doubt she would react to it when some time had passed. If he played his cards right, he would be there to tie her even closer to him when that happened.
He was surprised Hermione admitted to killing Lucius Malfoy, but it pleased him all the same. It was always much easier to work with people who let their own dark side take over now and again. While society had to disapprove of murder, he could tie her closer to him merely by saying she had done the right thing in killing Malfoy that way.
“Besides the whipping, did Lucius Malfoy hurt you in any other physical way?” Potter asked when she had finished her story.
“No,” Hermione replied. “I only saw him those two times: when he whipped me and when he took me to do laundry.”
“So no … sexual assault?” the Healer asked in a careful tone.
“No, I don’t think so,” Hermione replied slowly. “I was asleep a lot, but I think I would notice if anyone molested me in my sleep.”
Voldemort suddenly got a very bad feeling in his gut.
“When is the last time you had sexual intercourse, Miss Granger?” the Healer asked, glancing from Hermione to Voldemort.
“Three weeks ago.”
The tense silence was heavy over them. Voldemort did his best to look as puzzled as Hermione. Yet, he felt more like hexing the Healer and Potter before they had time to vocalise whatever news they had that made them seem this uncomfortable.
“What is it?” Hermione was clearly annoyed.
“While you were unconscious, the Healers ran all the diagnostics they usually do after a kidnapping,” Potter explained carefully. “Looking for all sorts of internal injuries and signs of, er, rape.”
Silence. Voldemort was sweating rivers. No. No, no, no, no …
“I haven’t been raped,” Hermione remarked. “I think I would know if I had been raped.”
“That is good, Miss Granger,” the Healer said. “However, it would appear you have recently been inseminated and … you have become pregnant.”
Voldemort’s legs felt like spaghetti. He wanted to throw up. Even if Malfoy had raped her while she was unconscious, Voldemort knew for a fact that the man couldn’t father any children anymore. Voldemort had made certain of that years ago. If she were pregnant, it was his. Again. Great Salazar, when did he begin making errors such as these?
No. It wasn’t his fault. How could it be? It wasn’t like they hadn’t fucked before. She was on a contraceptive potion for crying out loud! She must have forgotten to take the next one or something. Yes, he remembered her taking one every month on the same day. She should have taken a new one almost two weeks ago. When he was away …
Unless she had decided to never sleep with him again, thus not needing a contraceptive potion. Oh. Fuck.
“Is there any way to determine whom the father is?” Hermione seemed to have come to her senses as well.
“Not at this early stage, Miss Granger, I’m sorry,” the Healer said.
Hermione’s head snapped back to him, and the passion he was used seeing in her was back. “Marcus?”
Either he could deny it and Hermione would no doubt have an abortion, or he could tell her the truth and she would most likely have an abortion anyway. What would benefit him the most? Telling the truth or lying? Since Hermione seemed to have the uncanny ability to know when he was lying these days, she would probably make a scene if he lied and he didn’t want that. Damage control was the best.
“We had sex the night I came back from the Cook Islands,” he said, confirming her beliefs. “I thought you were still on the contraceptive potion.”
Her eyes were shooting daggers. “How come I don’t remember that?”
“Well, you had a lot to drink,” he muttered. That was probably why she hadn’t remembered to tell him she wasn’t on a contraceptive potion when she had offered herself to him.
Hermione began coughing like crazy. Voldemort immediately rushed over, playing the part of the concerned boyfriend. She had tried to say something that would reveal him. Good thing his curse was working.
The Healer hurried to her other side and tried to determine the source of the coughs. Hermione’s coughs weakened, but she seemed to have lost all energy by then. She sank down on the bed again, lying on her side with her legs curled up in front of her.
“Perhaps you should try to sleep some more, Miss Granger,” the Healer said kindly. “You don’t have to make any decisions today.”
Hermione didn’t acknowledge her. Instead, she was staring at Voldemort, confusion and anger written all over her face.
“Call if you need anything,” the Healer said before leaving.
Potter cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. “I have to send out an arrest warrant for Draco Malfoy and tell Ginny that you are okay.”
“Tell her I said hi, too,” Hermione just said, sounding very tired.
Potter left. Voldemort leaned forward and took her hand again.
“How could you?” she whispered, and he could see that she was tearing up again. How annoying.
“You were more than willing, Hermione. You actually offered yourself,” he stated, not very pleased with this development.
She stared at him. “Why would I do that?”
“Because you hoped that it would save your snogging mate,” he said scornfully. “Even though that didn’t work, I spared you the memory of seeing what I did to him.”
She closed her eyes and didn’t say anything. After a while he thought she had fallen asleep so he made an attempt to sit up. Hermione grabbed his wrist and opened her eyes again.
“Is there anything I can do to convince you we don’t belong together?” she asked, aggravated. Still, there wasn’t much energy behind her anger. She was too worn-out.
Voldemort looked down at their joined hands. “Do you actually think we don’t when a mere touch makes you wet, kitten?”
She let go of him as if he had burnt her. “There is more to a relationship than sex and you know it. Merlin, how many times have we had this conversation?”
“We wouldn’t have to if you weren’t so stubborn.”
“Stop it!”
“Stop what?”
“Just stop being you,” she said, and he could hear that she was close to tears of desperation and anger. “I don’t need this right now. Either you comfort me or get the hell away from me.”
After a moment of consideration, he chose the first since that would get him close to her again. Without saying another word, he lay down on the bed next to her and wrapped an arm around her, careful not to put pressure on her back. She let out a sigh and was soon asleep.

xxx

If there had been anyone other than Voldemort holding her when she woke up, Hermione might have screamed of fear. However, even in her sleep she had known it was him, and waking up came rather easy. Despite the fact that she had wanted him dead, she felt safe in his arms because it meant Malfoy wasn’t there anymore.
Not that she was sure Voldemort was much better than Malfoy. However, if trying to kill Voldemort didn’t drive him away, what would? Not that she felt inclined to drive him away anymore. Voldemort might be a devil, but he was a devil she knew. Instead of all the other devils out there. But how could she live with the fact that he came home to their bed with blood on his hands? That he had killed a wizard just because she had kissed him? A shiver went through her.
“Cold?” His voice was low, and his hand stroked her arm.
“A little,” she lied, not feeling like it was time for that conversation just yet. “What time is it?”
“Just six. You haven’t slept long.”
“Okay.” She closed her eyes again, shutting out everything but the feeling of his arm around her. She didn’t want to think. Not yet. If she started to think about the cold, dark cell or why her back throbbed, she would only begin to cry. However, sleep would not return.
“I’m hungry.”
Voldemort chuckled. “I’ll get you something to eat if you don’t make a fuss when I stay with you once we come home.”
Hermione would never admit the relief she felt when she realised she wouldn’t have to sleep alone when she left the hospital. “Alright.”
“That was too easy,” he remarked and sat up.
“I want a sandwich with tomato and cheese,” she replied.
He bowed mockingly and left. Hermione sat up in bed, wanting to get all pressure off her back as she waited. Her back was aching, both from lying down too much and from the wounds. She wrapped the blanket closer around her, trying not to think about anything at all. Especially not about how lonely she felt and that the room was getting rather dark. Wasn’t there a lamp here? Where was her wand, by the way? Did she have to get a new one again? It was rather ironic that both her wands had disappeared at Malfoy Manor. Perhaps she was cursed to be captured at Malfoy Manor every four and a half years? Oh, Merlin …
Hermione almost jumped when the door opened. It was Harry again and, to Hermione’s great surprise, her father. Her eyes immediately filled with tears. She didn’t like that her parents would be seeing her like this. She had been hurt many times during her years in the wizarding world, but her parents had never seen her then. Now they would see how dangerous her life as a witch really was, and she hated causing them pain and making them worry.
However, at the same time, she was relieved. Her parents were here. She was safe.
“Dad,” she whispered.
Her father, who seemed rather close to tears as well, walked over to her quickly and embraced her. His carefulness told her he had found out about her injuries beforehand.
“I arranged a Portkey for your parents when you were found,” Potter explained, looking a bit anxious about something.
“We wanted to come right away,” Malcolm explained seriously and sat down in one of the chairs. “That is, when they finally told us what was going on.” He sent Harry a dark glare.
“Oh?” Hermione looked from her father to Harry who was biting his lip.
“Your friend Ginny came over a few days ago, asking if we could take care of Althea. She told us you were missing, but we didn’t hear anything else from anyone until now, when Harry here came down to get us.” Malcolm explained bitterly. “You’d think your Ministry would have given us the information instead, but no … Your mother is very angry. She is still at the Ministry, venting.”
Hermione sighed. Yes, that sounded like her mother. When it came to unjust treatment, Helen Granger was like a Niffler to gold. However, in this case, Hermione had to agree with her. Why hadn’t they immediately told her parents what had happened and that she had been found? Alas, Hermione thought she knew the answer: It was because they were Muggles. The Ministry only cared about them as long as it was to keep them ignorant about magic. Even the parents of Muggle-borns were only allowed to know about magic after they had signed a contract, forbidding them to spread their knowledge.
Her dark thoughts were interrupted by the door opening again, revealing Voldemort. His face showed nothing as he looked at her father. Without saying anything, he went over to her bed and handed her a plate with the sandwich.
“Thank you,” Hermione mumbled and looked down at the sandwich.
How on earth would she explain him to her father? Voldemort had said the whole world knew about them. However, it was probably just a figure of speech. She doubted there had been a big announcement in the newspaper or something like that. So, did her parents know or not? In any case, it would probably be better if she told them herself.
“Um, dad, this is Marcus Foster. Marcus, this is my father, Malcolm Granger.”
She didn’t dare look at them.
“I see,” her father said. His cold tone revealed that he did know what that meant. “The missing father returns.”
“Oh, I have been here the entire time. It was your daughter who ran off to the other side of the world. If she hadn’t, I would have been able to take responsibility much sooner.” Voldemort’s voice wasn’t as cold, but it wasn’t friendly either.
“Yes, because you had no responsibility whatsoever at the time of the intercourse,” Malcolm growled.
Hermione realised she should break them up before Voldemort killed her father. Or the other way around. However, she could see Voldemort’s wandhand and it was twitching a bit too much to her liking.
“Dad, stop,” she asked, finally looking at her father’s angry face. “Marcus and I have been over this. We both made mistakes, but that is in the past and we’ve let go of it.”
Malcolm’s face softened a little when he looked at his daughter. “You have to understand, Hermione, that your mother and I were quite disappointed when we heard that you had found Althea’s father and not told us.”
Hermione hated disappointing her parents. She swallowed the sudden impulse to cry. “I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to tell anyone.”
Malcolm sighed. “There will be time to talk about this later. Right now, I’m more concerned about how you are feeling.”
Hermione had dreaded that question. Tears started to flow down her cheeks, and she felt like all energy left her. Voldemort’s hand came around hers and squeezed it. She knew he was only pretending to comfort her because her father was there, but she really needed it and leaned closer to him. The sandwich lay forgotten on her lap.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t mean to—”
Her father was on her other side, squeezing her other hand. “It’s alright, Hermione. We don’t have to talk about it right now. But your mother and I are here for you now.”
Hermione cried as the two men comforted her. One of them out of love, the other out of fake love. After some time, she must have drifted to sleep because when she came to, she was alone and it was dark around her. She immediately tried to find a light source. With her hand she searched for the table next to her. When she touched something, the room brightened. Hermione took a deep breath. It was a magical lamp, lightening on touch. Thank Merlin. Hogwarts had something similar in most corridors so that lights turned on when someone walked close to it.
She looked around the empty room, feeling rather lonely. She wanted to see Althea. What had the girl thought when she had been away from Hermione for so long? Merlin, she was not a very good mother at all.
Thinking about her one daughter brought her thoughts to an area she hadn’t wished to visit. The fact that she was pregnant again. Her hand moved to her stomach. Since she had barely eaten anything for the past week, she was even thinner than normally. Her hipbones and ribs were poking out from under the skin.
She didn’t feel pregnant but didn’t doubt the Healer’s abilities. However, it had just been a little over a week since they had sex. From the books she had read, she knew that there was barely a foetus to speak of. If she hadn’t been here, it would probably have taken another month until she’d notice something was off. In Althea’s case, she hadn’t known at all until four months had passed. Her morning sickness had been so mild, and it hadn’t been unusual for her to have a wacky period. Would she notice the changes in her body more this time around?
Hermione frowned when she realised what she was thinking. Like she would let the pregnancy go that far that her body would start to change. Would she? With Althea she had tried every possible way to get an abortion. Now she could get one and, if she did it soon, she probably wouldn’t even notice it leaving her body.
Even though she was older, she wasn’t really in a position to have more children. Money would be a big issue as it were if she lost her scholarship (which she definitely would if they found out that she and “Marcus” had had more sex, which would be obvious if she kept the child). She would not crawl back and hide with her parents this time.
Also, she really wanted to continue at Oxford. Even if she could wait until the children were older, what sort of work could she get with one young child and another on the way? Even though there were laws to prevent any kind of discrimination, she had no illusions about the world, both Muggle and wizard. Only a few employers would hire a young woman with a kid on the way. Even if she began at once, she would only be able to work less than nine months before she had to take maternity leave. That was assuming she would feel well enough during the pregnancy to work every day.
Then, there was Voldemort. Even if he would accept her keeping the child (and she wasn’t sure he would), he wouldn’t help her unless he were given something in return. Could she give him so much power over her? Sure, she had already allowed him to stay at her flat when she would leave the hospital, but things could change. Although, with them having two children together, society would see them as a couple and she was sure Voldemort would take advantage of that. Perhaps force her to marry him, even. And she would be under the constant threat of him leaving her and taking her children with him. With just Althea, she could always try to contact the fairies for help. They knew what Voldemort was capable of and had said they wouldn’t let anything harm Althea. But the second child?
Then, there was the final question. Did she want to have a second child?
The door opened slightly, and a Healer peered inside. When she saw that Hermione was awake, she stepped in. “I saw the light in the corridor. Do you need anything?”
Hermione hesitated. “Do you know where my friends went? The ones that were here before?”
The Healer stepped closer. “Sorry, no. But they probably left when you fell asleep. It’s five in the morning.”
“Oh. Right. So you don’t know if they will be back?”
The Healer shook her head. “No, my shift started at midnight. I haven’t seen anyone here. But it’s a rather slow period now, I could keep you company for a little while.”
Hermione relaxed. “Yes, please.”
The Healer came closer and sat down on the chair last occupied by Voldemort. The light fell over her face, and Hermione thought she looked rather familiar, but she wasn’t sure from where.
“What’s your name?” Hermione asked.
“Jenny Duke. And I know you are Hermione Granger. The whole hospital is gossiping about you being here. Not that your Healers have shared any information about your health,” the Healer quickly added when Hermione frowned.
She did not want to be anyone’s gossip.
“Just, having Harry Potter and Muggles here is very unusual. And the fact that everyone knows you were kidnapped and, according to the Daily Prophet, you have … Ah, that doesn’t matter. Everyone knows the Prophet is usually filled with garbage.”
Hermione’s frown increased. “What has the Prophet been saying about me?”
The Healer seemed to blush. “Just that you have had an affair with your teacher, and they speculated that this is something you have always done to ensure good grades. However, when the likes of Headmistress McGonagall, the Minister of Magic and Harry Potter testified to your virtue, no one actually seems to believe it anymore. The writer of the reportage posted an excuse in the evening paper.”
“Let me guess, Rita Skeeter?” Hermione wondered dryly.
Healer Duke rolled her eyes. “Who else? Anyway, I hope you don’t think that I’m snooping. It’s five o’clock. That’s usually the slowest time on this ward, and we have three Healers positioned here. Right now, everyone is asleep except the lady down the hall who seems to think we are her maids. My colleague is with her.”
“No, that’s okay, I didn’t think you were snooping. I’m not tired anymore, but I don’t really want to be alone,” Hermione admitted.
“I can be here until someone calls, so don’t worry. Are you in any pain now? I could fetch a potion if you’d like?”
The Healer sounded quite young, but there was something with her face that made it hard to determine her age. Her long hair was completely black with no strays of grey, and her face was smooth but in the same unnatural way as some women’s faces after they had used charmed creams to conceal wrinkles. Anyway, she seemed friendly enough.
“No, it’s not too bad. It just aches a little from lying down too much.”
“Okay, well, tell me if you need anything. I’m here until seven, then I can go home to my cats and get some sleep.” She sighed longingly.
Hermione smiled. “You like cats, too?”
Her precious cat Crookshanks had died a year earlier. Hermione still missed him a lot and didn’t feel like getting a new one.
“Oh, yes. I have several. My mother would rather I found a man instead, but I always say that a cat is better company. You can still cuddle with them, but they don’t leave piles of laundry or nag about what I do or don’t do.”
“Yeah, and they don’t knock you up,” Hermione agreed dryly.
The Healer’s smile shrank. “No. Not that either.”
Hermione cursed to herself. Why had she said that? Now, there was an uncomfortable silence between them.
“Sorry,” she mumbled. “Issues.”
“No, that’s okay. I have them, too,” the healer confessed mildly. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“I don’t really want to bother you,” Hermione said, uncomfortable.
The healer snorted. “I get paid for being bothered by patients. However, this isn’t bothering. Now, if you wanted me to clean up after you had made a mess in the bathroom, that would be bothering.”
Hermione smiled, but it soon faded away again. “It’s just … how do you know if you are making the right choice or not?”
The Healer looked thoughtful for a moment. “I guess you find out after you have made the choice. Unless you are very adept at Divination, of course.”
Hermione snorted. “No. But after you have made the choice, you can’t always take it back. What do you do then?”
“Some people call that the progress of growing up. It’s okay to make wrong choices now and again if you learn something from them. Wasn’t it some famous Muggle who said ‘It’s in the nature of every person to error, but only a fool preserves in error’?”
“Yes, Cicero, if I remember correctly,” Hermione replied with a sigh. “But some errors are worse than others.”
“True. Is it something in particular you have in mind?” she asked carefully.
Hermione debated with herself on whether she should tell the Healer or not. Just like Muggle doctors, they did have a confidentiality duty. Perhaps it would be easier to talk it through with someone? Maybe someone fairly objective would be better than her friends or Voldemort?
“I don’t know if I should do an abortion or not,” Hermione finally confessed.
“I see. Yes, that is tough choice,” the Healer said slowly. “Do you want to tell me why you are considering an abortion?”
Hermione felt a bit relieved. The Healer didn’t seem to be judging her, just asking.
“Even though I have a daughter, I’ve never felt ready to have children. I still don’t. I love Althea more than anything, but she is very easy to take care of. But another one will be even more responsibility, and … maybe I’m selfish, but I want to live my own life. I want to study, and with Althea, I can manage to study part-time. If I have another child, I’ll probably not be able to study at all.”
The Healer leaned forward. “Most parents have children for selfish reasons as well, Miss Granger. It can be everything from ‘because all my friends have it and I want to fit in’ to ‘I want to feel needed’. At least in this part of the world, few mothers are forced to have children, even though they can be encouraged by their family. Pure-bloods often disapprove of abortion because they want more of their own kind. However, that is selfish as well. They gain something from reproducing, namely spreading their beliefs and customs, or at least, making sure their bloodline survives.”
Hermione nodded slowly. “Yes. But still, now that it’s in there … I have no problem using contraceptives to prevent getting pregnant because of selfish reasons. However, I guess the problem is that it is already in there. Life is growing inside me. Perhaps I’ll have a miscarriage in the next couple of weeks, and then, that will be that. But … if I make the decision to end it? Sorry, I don’t really know what I’m saying.” Hermione looked down sheepishly.
“I think you are touching a very complex moral dilemma,” the Healer said and shifted closer so she was leaning her elbow against Hermione’s bedside table. “When does life begin, and is it murder or not to have an abortion.”
Hermione sighed. “Yes. I guess so. Usually, I don’t see a problem with women having an abortion. It’s their bodies and their choice. But now, when it’s up to me … I don’t know what to do.”
“Yes, I can understand your dilemma. Do you sense it?”
Hermione thought about it, her hand coming down to rest on her stomach. “No,” she replied. “I don’t feel any different. But it has only been a week. Or well, three weeks if you count from the last time I had my period.”
The Healer smiled reassuringly. “Some mothers claim to feel it at once, others don’t. In that case, if you decide to have an abortion, would you feel like you missed something?”
Hermione tried to imagine what it would be like. She knew what potions would stop the pregnancy and the side-effects that could come from it: nauseousness, dizziness and so on. But that didn’t matter. The question was how she would feel emotionally if she had an abortion. The first thought that hit her mind was relief. Because then it would be over, and she wouldn’t have to think about it anymore. However, knowing herself, she would think about it. Imagine what it would be like if she had let the pregnancy run its course.
“Do you believe in destiny?” Hermione asked after a while.
“Can’t say I do,” the Healer answered and leaned back. For a moment Hermione thought she saw disappointment in her eyes, but it was gone after less than a second. “Do you?”
“No, not really.” Hermione sighed. “It would be easier if I did, I think. Then I would just have to leave it to the powers that be or something like that..”
“Right. But since you don’t …” The healer gave her a sad smile. “Look, I won’t tell you want to do. All I can do is advise you to think it through and, if you do decide to have an abortion, we can have the potion here in ten minutes, and the next day you’ll be fine. An abortion doesn’t mean you can’t have children later in life when you meet the right person.”
It took Hermione a moment to realise what she had said. “How do you know that I haven’t met the right person already?”
The Healer blinked. “Oh, sorry. It sounded like you thought you would have to take care of the children yourself. That just made me think their father wasn’t of the best sort.”
Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “What makes you think it’s the same father?”
“Sorry, I guess I’m just jumping to conclusions here.” She laughed nervously.
Perhaps she had spent too much time together with Voldemort, but Hermione was dead certain the Healer was lying to her. She sat up straight in the bed.
“You are lying.”
The Healer rose. “I’m just trying to be helpful and make you understand that an abortion isn’t wrong. In fact, I think you should do it. Children can become very dangerous under bad influences.”
“What do you know about that?”
Before Hermione had time to finish vocalising the rest of her thoughts, the Healer had disappeared with a “pop”. Hermione felt like someone had poured ice over her back. St. Mungo’s security was almost as tight as Hogwarts. Apart from the waiting room, you couldn’t Apparate in or out. Or, at least, a human couldn’t.

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