Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

The Contract	By : TheLadyMiya Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 55312 -:- Recommendations : 4 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 21
- 22
- 23
Hi! I’m so sorry it has taken such long time for me to post this! Both my beat and I have been very busy with school and life and such things. I hope it won’t take so long time to update the next chapter. Don’t worry, though, I have almost completed this story now and I have never abandoned a story!

Sonia; I’m glad you liked the story so much. I hope you have got enough of sleep now!

Lyra Aphrodite Moon; Yes, the baby has a name! Once again, thank you for going through the story with me! I’ll talk to you when you get home!

Treeson; Do you really think I’ll tell you how Dumbledore has tried to kill Voldemort? Tihi, you will find the answer in a later chapter! And you won’t be missing any good bits in this chapter, however, you better read the next chapter here… it will be censored on ff!

Ginnylovesharry07; yes! Congratulation being reviewer numbed 100th! I’m glad you like the story!

Sjauthor; Yes… Harry and Hermione’s parents. I know what I have in mind for them… You’ll find out soon enough! Haha, and yes, Hermione might be a bit more eager to break the contract than Voldemort is!

Thank you all so much for reviewing!

Chapter 22

Voldemort and Snape were in the middle of a rather heated conversation when they heard an ear splitting scream. Voldemort cursed and debated with himself if he could put a silencing charm over the room or not. Deciding that he could, he swished his wand and the screaming stopped. Snape frowned a little, although he was wise enough not to comment his master’s action.

Their discussion continued.

Around six, Hermione and Miss Radcliff came back. Voldemort frowned when he saw all the bags they were carrying. Snape had disappeared into the bathroom just a moment earlier to take a shower before dinner.

“I hope that isn’t Muggle clothing,” he said in a stern voice.

Hermione’s smile faded. “What if it is?”

Miss Radcliff looked around. “Where is Severus?”

“In the shower,” Voldemort answered without taking his eyes from his wife. “You aren’t allowed to wear Muggle clothing, wife.”

Hermione crossed her arms.

Miss Radcliff let out a small sigh. “I’ll just go and join him.” She disappeared, neither of the Riddles noticed.

“Why wouldn’t I be allowed? Now when Dmitri is born, I may come and go as I please. That means I will be spending time in the Muggle world, therefore I have Muggle clothing.” She took up her bags again and went toward their bedroom.

“I don’t want you to spend time in the… What is that on your shoulder blade?” When she turned her back against him, he saw a black Chinese mark on her shoulder blade. “It that a tattoo?”

She looked back at him and rolled her eyes. “Oh, relax; it will wear of in a couple of weeks. We just thought it would look cool.”

He stared at her as she opened the double doors. You hade to push them aside to open them.

“If you want to look cool, I could give you a bloody tattoo,” he muttered as she stepped into the room.

He frowned when he saw her eyes widen. She hurried over to the child’s bed and Voldemort remembered the silencing spell. When it disappeared, he heard the infant’s scream again.

“WHAT IN THE NAME OF SALAZAR FUCKING SLYTHERIN HAVE YOU DONE TO MAY SON?” she roared and tried to comfort the crying baby.

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t scream at me. I had more important things to do than to take care of him.”

She stared at him in disbelief. Then she took out her wand and aimed it at him. She opened her mouth and… groaned. The Contract had stopped her from hurting him. Cursing under her breath, she began to change the baby’s diaper. Then she took up the bottle Voldemort had neglected to use, and fed their son.

“Hermione…”

“I’m not talking to you,” she hissed and turned her back against him.

“Fine,” he spat and went to the bathroom to get ready for the dinner.

Dinner became a rather awkward affair. Hermione wouldn’t even look at Voldemort and Voldemort was angry with her because she wouldn’t.

Thankfully, Miss Radcliff seemed to be able to talk for all four of them. She told Severus about every store she and Hermione had been in, and how surprised she was over the fact that Muggles could make such good products.

Voldemort hardly noticed any of it. He was plotting on ways to make his wife obey him. She had been manageable when she had his offspring in her stomach, but now she wanted to talk about cooperation and having her own life. Merlin, if she wasn’t so useful he would… well, not kill her, but he would do something nasty. He mentally sighed and glanced at his wife. She was wearing a very pretty red dress she had bought earlier. It was very simple with small straps over her shoulders and tight over her slightly larger breast (due to the milk in them). It reached her knees and had a slit which gave him quite a view of her thighs when she sat down.

What bothered him the most was that she looked so incredibly fuckable in it. He was sure she only wore it to bother him and he didn’t like it. She was getting too sneaky for her own good! Another question that had bugged him for the whole evening was why he didn’t just take her up to their room and take her up against that mirror closet. He was sure he could make her enjoy it in some way; he only had her word that she couldn’t have sex. What if she was lying? He wouldn’t put it past her. Not that it made any sense, though. They had had sex every morning the month before Dmitri was born, and she hadn’t complained. Hell, they had almost done it just a couple of nights ago and she had screamed like a Banshee!

He was pulled out from his thoughts when the waiter came in with the desert. It was some sort of ice-cream cake. Voldemort muttered that he only wanted some tea. The others, on the other hand, didn’t mind the sugar sweet, tooth-destroying, constipating, mind-blocking cake. They gladly began to eat. He huffed under his breath and sipped on his tea. They were so stupid sometimes. Didn’t they know what all that sugar did to their bodies?

When he had drunk half his cup of tea, he realised that he in his anger had forgotten something. To check the tea for poison. His heart began to speed up.

“Excuse me,” he muttered and stood. On his way to the lift (they had been dining in the hotel’s restaurant) he started to check his body for symptoms. Except for the fact that his heart was still beating madly, he couldn’t find any. Nevertheless, that didn’t mean he hadn’t been poisoned. Some poisons didn’t show until it was already too late.

The elevator took it’s time and Voldemort cursed under his breath. He had to get the tea out from his body! He couldn’t risk it.

It finally came and he stepped in and pressed the button several times before the door closed. He had begun to sweat. Did this stupid Muggle invention have to go so slow? He could be dying!

He shuddered at the thought and thankfully the doors opened and he found himself inside his room. He raced to the bathroom and threw himself on the toilet. The tea, and the rest of the dinner, came up again. He was shaking as he sank down on the floor with his head on the toilet seat. Too close. That had been too close. If she hadn’t districted him with that dress, he would never have forgotten to check for a poison. Merlin knew he had enough enemies to be worried! If they somehow found out he was here…

The bathroom door opened. He sighed but didn’t look up. A hand was placed on his back, carefully… trembling…

“Was there… something bad in the food?” his wife asked with an unusual voice. She almost sounded worry.

“Get out,” he muttered.

She removed her hand from his back. “I just… Do I have to be worried?”

“No, go.” He didn’t want her to see him like this. He didn’t want her to think he was weak. Because he wasn’t weak, just careful.

“I…” She sighed and rose. “Just call me if you need anything.”

He didn’t answer. Merlin, she thought he was weak. He had to show her he wasn’t! He had to… he didn’t know how, but he had to show her! After taking a deep breath, he stood and cleaned himself with a spell. He drank some water (after checking it for poison) and washed his face. Then he left the bathroom.

Hermione was sitting on the bed with Dmitri in her arms. He wasn’t asleep and Hermione was talking to him in a low voice. Not with a baby-voice, thankfully. He would never have been able to stand it. She looked up with a concerned look.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“That’s none of your business,” he hissed.

She seemed taken aback by his harshness. “Sorry…”

“Leave the baby, we are going out.”

She frowned. “Where? And I’m not leaving the baby alone again…”

“They will stay here, won’t they?” he made a gesture toward the other room where Severus and Radcliff probably were.

Hermione sighed and rose from the bed. She went to the other bedroom and knocked. A moment later, Severus opened the door, dressed in a bathrobe. Voldemort snorted. They were like bunnies.

“Uhm… sorry to bother you but… could you to watch Dmitri?” Hermione asked, not really meeting her ex-teacher’s eyes.

“Of course,” Severus answered, just as awkwardly. “Just… put him in his bed. I’ll cast a spell so we can hear… if he needs anything.”

“Thank you,” Hermione mumbled and turned around.

Once she had put the child in his bed again, Voldemort took her hand and dragged her out from the room and out from the hotel. It was past nine and the nightlife of the city had just begun. Voldemort breathed in the air of carbon dioxide, smoke and a various other typical city-smells which reminded him of why he preferred to live in small towns or on the countryside. The sky was dark, but the city wasn’t. Muggles and their electronic light. He scowled at it as he dragged his wife toward the wizard’s part of Brasília. Lucius had told him about some… interesting clubs which were illegal in London. Lucius had been very excited about the “massage parlours”, but he had also told Voldemort about duelling-clubs and a Dark Arts coffeehouse where wizards exchanged their knowledge about the Dark Arts.

“Where are we going?” Hermione wanted to know when they had walked for almost a quarter of an hour.

“You’ll see,” he muttered. He was in the mood for a duel. He wanted Hermione to know that he wasn’t weak.

After another five minutes, he found the entrance to a wizard’s alley. Like in London, they had to go through another house to get to the alley. The place was a restaurant, but it had no guests. When Voldemort glanced at the pricelist, he wasn’t so surprised. The waiter tried to make them stop for a drink, but Voldemort just pushed him aside.

“You are not in a very good mood, are you?” Hermione muttered.

“I will be,” he muttered back as they stepped through the entrance to the alley. He transfigured his Muggle clothes to a forest green robe. She lifted her arms to do the same, but he stopped her. “No. You are fine.”

She arched an eyebrow. “I thought you hated Muggle clothes.”

His eyes wandered downwards over her body. “Not when you look so deliciously slutty. I’ll probably get to torture someone for touching you tonight.”

She paled. “You wouldn’t…”

“Oh, yes, wife. I would. Come along.” He continued their journey in search for the duelling-club. The alley was nearly empty. They only met one other wizard who hurried past them without looking at them.

When he found the club, he felt quite sure that everyone of the Brasília wizarding population was in that club. It was crowded and very noisy. People screamed and cheered at something in the middle of the room. It was dark, except in the middle and when they went into the club, he saw two wizards duelling in what reminded him of a Muggle boxing ring. The audience was sitting on different levels around it at small tables. Everyone seemed to be drinking some sort of alcohol.

He made way for them down to the VIP-section. It wasn’t hard to find. It was a small secluded area where everyone looked extremely wealthy. They weren’t cheering like the rest of the audience either; they seemed more interested in the women who were serving them wine.

In a quick Spanish (he didn’t speak Portuguese, but the languages were very similar so he understood it perfectly) he explained to the owner that he wanted to fight. The owner took one look at Hermione and invited them both to sit next to him.

Voldemort sank down in one of the overstuffed white and blue armchairs and before Hermione had a chance to sink down next to him, he pulled her into his lap.

“I’m not a sex-object,” she hissed and glanced at the other women (and men) in similar positions. They all seemed to be dim little sluts, searching for a rich husband to satisfy their lust for material things.

Voldemort couldn’t help but to snort at her comment. “Of course you aren’t. If you were, I would actually have sex with you.”

She huffed and made an attempt to get up, but he held her still. The man, the owner, next to him, made a comment about her reluctance and that he should get his money back. Voldemort laughed out loud and told the man that he, unfortunately, was married to her.

The man seemed very surprised and muttered an excuse.

“So, now they know you are taken,” he commented dryly. “Better?”

She snorted unladylike. “At least they don’t take me for a prostitute.”

“No, although I’m sure you could make quite a lot of money by pretending to be one,” he remarked, honestly.

She elbowed him, not hard, in the ribs. “Perhaps if you get yourself killed.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t.” He placed a hand on her thigh and watched the current duel. It was a wizard and a witch. The witch was better than the wizard, but he saw a lot of errors in their duelling. The witch won in the end and cheers as well as groans broke out in the room.

The owner told Voldemort that he could fight now if he wanted. Voldemort, whom still was eager to fight, stood and dumped his wife on the seat. With a grace that would make no one guess his current age, he jumped up in the ring. His opponent turned out to be one of the wizards who had been fighting when they entered the club. The wizard had dark skin and a lot of muscles. He seemed to be very cold and calculating. Voldemort liked that. It would make the match more interesting.

A bell rang and the match begun. Voldemort focused on his opponent as they slowly circled each other. For someone so big, the dark wizard was very graceful. Voldemort made a first test attack. The other wizard put up a shield without blinking. He was probably a solider of some sort. Voldemort noticed a black mark on the dark skin and mentally sighed. The other wizard was from the war academy of Ghana. The good thing was that Voldemort had studied their technique and would probably be able to figure out the wizard’s style after a while. Nevertheless, the warriors of Ghana were best of the best. Voldemort guessed this wizard was an outcast; otherwise he would hardly be in a club like this. Although it didn’t matter much. He had the mark, which meant he had fulfilled his education. Which meant Voldemort was in for a very tough fight.

Deciding it was better to attack first, Voldemort started to cast curses for real. The Ghana warrior seemed surprised at his viciousness, but responded quickly. Voldemort received a cut over his left arm which began to bleed, but not before he managed to cut the other wizard’s shoulder, not even an inch away from his neck. Voldemort pretended to get tired. He could see the warrior’s smug face when he thought the match was won. He went in for the kill and… Voldemort jumped. He used his magic to fly over his opponent and stabbed him in the back with a rather nasty curse which would probably make the warrior delusional for days.

With a satisfied grin, he stepped out of the ring and went back to his wife. The owner congratulated him for an excellent fight and wanted to give him some wine. Voldemort declined. He hardly paid the owner any notice because Hermione was more interesting. She was actually smiling at him.

“Merlin,” she said. “I never knew you were such a good fighter!”

He smirked, sank down next to her and placed an arm around her. “If you train with me, you may be almost as good.”

“Almost?” she asked.

“I’m not stupid, I would never let you be as good as me,” he mumbled into her hair, suddenly feeling quite tired. “Let’s go home.”

“Finally.” She sighed, relived.

He bid farewell to the owner who wanted him to come back another night. Voldemort promised he would consider it. Perhaps he could take over the business? He was so deep in thought that he didn’t notice the bright blue eyes staring at him from the audience.

xxx

Hermione woke up first the next morning. Voldemort was snoring a little. Hermione was lying on her side with her hand on her husband’s elbow. He was lying on his back with one arm over his head and the other over his stomach. Hermione could see the cut he had received last night during the fight.

Merlin, she had never been so impressed in her entire life! He was an extraordinary fighter and she had suddenly understood why so many people followed him. People looked up to great fighters; in most ancient societies the greatest warriors had always been the leaders. Great fighters were respected. Not only because of their ability to protect their people, but because a great fighter could hurt you if you didn’t do what the fighter wanted. Hermione wouldn’t be surprised if most Death Eaters saw Voldemort as both a protector and someone to fear. At least now she knew Voldemort could protect her and Dmitri.

Unless he mistreated the poor little baby to death when she wasn’t around. Hermione sighed and sat up in the bed, suddenly remembering why she was angry with him. She had feared that he wouldn’t be a very good father, but to completely neglect the baby? It was just… wrong. She had to find a way to make sure the baby was never alone with Voldemort. Perhaps they should hire a nanny after all? She was certain Voldemort would be more pleased if Hermione was home with Dmitri all the time, however, Hermione wanted to do something. She was a better mother than Voldemort was a father, but it wasn’t her dream. Sure, she had always thought that she would have children some time, although not at the age of twenty! There was so much she still wanted to do! Most of the things were probably impossible now, like travelling around the world. It was just too dangerous for a child. She didn’t want to be away from her baby that long. She did feel a responsibility for him. Nevertheless, there were other dreams… like getting a job. Not anything life threatening, but perhaps a job in a bookstore, or in the Ministry, or even at Hogwarts! However, who would employ the wife of Lord Voldemort? The mother of the Dark Lord’s offspring?

She sank down in the bed again, not in the mood to get up. An arm came around her and she was pulled toward her husband.

“Good morning,” he purred into her hair.

Hermione just sighed. She wasn’t as angry with him now as she had been yesterday but… she felt a bit resentful.

Voldemort didn’t seem to notice. “Aren’t you impressed by your husband?”

She grunted.

“You are! How couldn’t you be? I’m probably the best fighter in the world,” he said with a chuckle and let his hand wander from her waist to her thigh.

“You certainly aren’t the most modest person,” she muttered.

“Modesty will get you nowhere.” His hand travelled up to her stomach and Hermione couldn’t help but to shudder. “Neither will false modesty.”

“What do you mean?” she asked and opened the eyes she hadn’t even noticed she closed.

He turned her over to her back and rolled on top of her. “You are a brilliant witch, Hermione, but you are wasting your potential.” He bent down to kiss her neck but she pushed him off.

“Well, you are the one who wants to keep me locked in a golden cage,” she said irritated and sat up again.

He pulled her down and held her shoulders in a firm grip. “That’s because I can’t trust you, dear.” He kissed her shoulder. “Although that’s not what I mean. You got to let go off your false modesty. I know you want to shine, be powerful and respected…”

“Is this one of your, you-should-be-a-Death-Eater-speeches? Because I’m not in the mood.”

“No, this is one of my the-world-is-not-divided-into-good-and-evil-speeches,” he said with a chuckle.

Hermione sighed. “I already know that…”

“You do?” He rolled on top of her again and placed his hands over her wrists. “When did that happen?”

She sighed. “I have always known that there is a grey-zone, but there are darker shades of grey and you certainly are one of them… and why are you on top of me? I don’t want to have sex with you.”

He snorted. “As pleasurable as that may have been, I’m not here to have sex with you. Yesterday you claimed that you had lied to me. I am usually very good at spotting lies. But then again, you know that and you are clever enough to dance around the truth. Alas, in this position, I can both feel your pulse; see your eyes and notice if you begin to sweat.” He smirked down at her. “Oh, beginning to sweat already, Hermione? Do you have something to hide?”

Hermione tried not to blink, although she was indeed sweating. How would she talk her way out of this?

He shifted to a more comfortable position so he was leaning against his elbows. His hands were still over her wrists. “There are a few things I have wanted to ask you for quite some time now… I’ll begin with the easiest. Why do you hate Draco Malfoy so much?”

She relaxed a little. She didn’t mind telling the truth about this! “He is an arrogant little snob who thinks he can get everything because his father is rich. I have never been able to stand people like him and if I get the chance, I’ll kick his tiny little arse all the way to Jupiter!”

He seemed thoughtful for a moment. “Oh, well, I can’t blame you. The Malfoys are indeed very snobby. Although, don’t send him to Jupiter. When Lucius dies, Draco will take over… and he is so easy to manipulate. This is good, because I want his resources.”

Hermione snorted.

“Next question. Do your Order friends still like you?”

Hermione frowned. “Well… according to McGonagall, some of them think I’m a treacherous slut. But I now Remus will always love me… probably Harry as well.”

“Love you?” Voldemort frowned. “You never said you loved each other.”

“Of course we love each other! He is my friend. There are many different types of love. You don’t have to be attracted to everyone you love.”

Voldemort seemed doubtful. “Are you sure the werewolf only loves you as a friend? Because he seemed to be rather attracted to you.”

Hermione eyes widened. “You have to be kidding! He is like an uncle or something! Besides, he is old enough to be…” she stopped when she realised he was smiling. “Oh, come on, you aren’t… well, you are timeless.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” he said, still smiling. “Next question. Do you plan to have a career?”

“Yes.”

“As what?”

Hermione sighed. “I’m not sure… who would want to employ me? Especially after the interview…” She broke eye contact with him. “You really have ruined my life.”

Voldemort made her turn her head toward him again so he could see her eyes. “When I take control over the Ministry, you can have any job you want. I could even make you Minister!” Then he smiled. “If you help me, that can happen much sooner…”

She scowled and didn’t answer.

“Final question; when you saw that Severus worked for me, you got quite angry. However, since then, you have acted very neutral towards him. Why is that?”

Hermione’s disloyal heart started to speed up. “Well, he has been more civilised here than he was in school… and I’m acting rather friendly toward you, so why shouldn’t I be friendly toward him?”

“Ah, but you have always known who I am. He broke your trust. That stings harder than anything I have done toward you. Besides, you are sweating so I know there is something you aren’t telling me.”

Hermione bit her lip as she tried to come up with something believable. “I… I just don’t think he is evil. Unlike you, he hasn’t done anything to hurt me… quite the opposite. So… I just thought that he… perhaps… was trying to be good. And I can’t hate someone who is trying…”

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed. “I see. That’s a harmless explanation, girl… why are you so nervous? What are you hiding? If you don’t tell me, I will use Legilimency on you.”

Hermione winced. “N-no! It’s just… I don’t know why I am so friendly toward Snape. I realise that I shouldn’t be but… it’s just nice to see someone familiar! I really miss Hogwarts a-and m-my life b-before I g-got m-married.” She had started to cry. She hated it, but she couldn’t help it. The pressure made her cry.

She was very surprised when Voldemort rolled off her. “You don’t have to get weepy about it. Women…” He left the bed and went to the bathroom.

Hermione wiped her tears away with the sheets from the bed. Was Voldemort uncomfortable with her crying? He had made her cry a lot of times before! Although… he had seemed to be very uncomfortable about it those other times as well. At least when he hadn’t intended to make her cry. Hermione could feel a small smile appearing on her face. It looked like she had found another weakness in her husband.

xxx

Around noon the same day, Voldemort and Severus travelled to an old village a couple of hundred miles north of Brasília. It took them some time to find the village, because it was in the middle of the Amazon. Severus had heard a rumour that the chief of the village knew more about potions than anyone else in the world. Voldemort was eager to meet him. He knew a lot about potions, but wasn’t arrogant enough to think he knew everything about it. Severus had proven that a long time ago.

The only subject Voldemort would claim knowing better than everyone was Dark Art. He knew he didn’t know everything; he had a couple of clay-tablets from the Indus Valley no one had been able to translate. There was probably a lot of other lost knowledge in the world.

They travelled by broom and it took them some time to spot the village in the jungle. The trees were in the way. They carefully started to sink down toward the ground. A big green anaconda was lying on a tree limb, almost camouflaged under the big greenish leaves. The serpent lifted its head when he passed it. Voldemort greeted it. The serpent didn’t answer, it just looked at him. Voldemort frowned. Serpents were usually talkative when they found that a human could talk with them. They always had something to complain about.

With a shrug, he continued his way down. Severus had already landed. A couple of villagers were standing outside their small cottages, looking at them. They were all magical, but they didn’t use the same sort of magic Europeans did. Voldemort wasn’t sure this people had ever seen a flying broom before.

Severus greeted them. Voldemort had ordered him to do the talking. These people spoke a dialect he wasn’t familiar with. He understood some of the words, but since Severus knew it by heart, it was better if the younger man did the talking.

Voldemort looked around in the village as Severus tried to find out where the chief was. The village wasn’t big. Six cottages made of dirt and wood with a big fireplace in the middle. He could see some agricultural land a couple of yards away. They also had a small farm with chickens.

A thin dirty boy came up to him. Voldemort arched an eyebrow. The boy was clothed in just a long grey tunic. His brown hair didn’t seem to have been combed for days. The boy reached out a hand to touch his broom and Voldemort gripped his wrist and shook his head. Then he frowned when he realised that the boy was wearing a glamour. When he touched him, he saw through the glamour for a moment. The boy wasn’t dirty at all…

Voldemort let go of the boy and looked at the village with narrowed eyes. The whole village was a glamour. Probably to make sure they were left alone. Voldemort had to admit it was clever. They could probably see the real village, but everyone else saw just a bunch of poor people trying to survive. It probably made thieves stay away as well. It took a lot of magic to do something like that. It was easy to fool Muggles, but not to fool other wizards. He was looking forward to meeting this chief.

A moment later, Severus beckoned that they could go. Voldemort followed his minion to one of the cottages. It was dark and it took some time before Voldemort’s eyes adjusted. He frowned when he saw an old man sitting on a carpet in the other end of the room. Severus sank down on his knees in front of the man and bowed his head. Voldemort sank down on his knees because there wasn’t enough room to stand up. He didn’t bow his head; he simply looked at the old man. His hair was long and white and he was wearing simple brown clothes. His face was wrinkled by time; however, he was sitting with his legs crossed and his back straight.

Severus said something in the same dialect he had spoken before. Voldemort recognised words like “honoured” and “please”. The old man didn’t look at Severus, his grey eyes rested on Voldemort.

“You are… not real,” the chief suddenly said in a broken English. “Dark.”

Voldemort tilted his head. “Yes?”

The old man chuckled. “Loco… crazy…”

“Perhaps,” Voldemort said. If they were alone, he would have tortured the man into telling him what he knew about the Cups.

“Sir,” Severus said to the old man. “We are very curious about your extraordinary knowledge about Potions.”

The old man chuckled again. “No… You are interested in Cálice dos Deuses.”

Voldemort could feel excitement rush through his blood. “You know about the Cup?”

The old man slowly stood from the ground. “Come… I show you.”

Voldemort and Severus stood as well and followed the old man out from the cottage. The other villagers looked at them as the chief led them toward the trees. The big anaconda came down from the trees and greeted the old man. The old man greeted back.

“You speak it?” Voldemort asked in Parsel.

The old man looked at him over his shoulder. “I speak it. Our clan is called the Serpent-tongued for a reason. There are eight of us in our village. I know about three others in other villages. ”

Voldemort frowned. He had met people who understood Parsel before, but never people who actually spoke it. “It is a forgotten art.”

“It truly is. None-speakers are frightened of it.” The man continued to walk with the serpent next to him.

Voldemort stepped up next to him on the small path. All thoughts about torturing the man had disappeared. He wanted to know more about this clan. “Who are your ancestors? ”

“The commoners think he was a god. A snake-man.”

Voldemort nodded. Yes, many of the old cultures had worshiped a god that looked like a serpent. How interesting.

“How come you speak it?” The old man asked.

“My mother’s family knew it. They are dead. My ancestor Salazar Slytherin spoke it, but I don’t know how he was able to…”

“So only you and your son speak it?”

“Yes. How did you know I have a son?”

“I can see it in your eyes. You are very fond of your precious as well.”

Voldemort frowned. “No, I find her very annoying! ”

The old man only chuckled. Voldemort thought about torturing him again. Then he suddenly turned to his left and Voldemort found himself at the entrance of a cave. The old man lit a small fire in his hand and started to walk into the cave. Voldemort took out his wand and lit it as well. There were numerous of signs on the walls of the cave. Paintings of humans, animals, buildings and stars. Voldemort could almost see the magic in the stone. This place was some sort of sanctuary and the paintings was telling him a story.

They went deeper into the cave until they reached an altar made of stone. The walls and floor around it were filled with different signs. More like letters than paintings.

“Your Cup,” the old man said in English. “Used to stand there.” He pointed at the altar. “It disappeared before my time.”

Voldemort looked at Severus who was studying the paintings on the walls.

“How did it get here? ” he asked in Parsel. He didn’t want Severus to know what he really was after. The fewer who knew, the better.

The old man also looked at Severus before he answered Voldemort. “It came from the west over two thousand and two hundred years ago. It came here on a boat. A man was on the boat. He had been ordered to throw it over the face of the earth. Unfortunately, the earth has always been round. But that man decided to stay here and hide the Cup. It became something holy.”

“Why was he ordered to throw it off the face of the earth?”

The old man went over to one of the paintings and pointed at a picture of a man with a royal sash on his body. “He came from China, during the time of the first emperor. The emperor was terrified of death. He searched the earth for immortality. Thousands of years earlier, in the coldness of the North, the Goblet of Gods was made. It was told to give immortality to its drinker, but it could do so much more. The emperor’s servants found the Goblet of Gods, but his opponents stole it and decided to get rid of it…”

“How could that man survive the journey over the Pacific Ocean alone in a boat?” Voldemort asked. This was just too good to be true.

But the old man smiled. “Isn’t it obvious? He drank from the Goblet. It didn’t give him immortality, but he lived for a very long time.”

Voldemort stared at the altar. “Did your people ever use it?”

“My people? My dear boy, my people didn’t exist when this happened. But we know how to read in stones. These paintings are from that time, and a couple of hundred years after that. A young boy found this cave the same year the Europeans came to this land. Our most powerful sorcerers found out what had happened and they were able to use the magic of the Goblet to protect the magical inhabitants of our people from the Europeans.”

Voldemort frowned. “So the Cup… Goblet… It just stood here for 1500 years?”

The old man shrugged. “Perhaps, perhaps not. The stones haven’t told us about anyone else entering the cave. Perhaps someone did.”

“Do you know anything about another Goblet?”

“No.”

“When did this one disappear?”

“About 150 years ago. We don’t know who took it or what happened with it. One day, it just wasn’t there anymore. It had other things to do.”

Voldemort looked around in the cave again. Helga Hufflepuff had had a Cup around a thousand years ago which had given life to Hogwarts. Two thousand years ago, the Romans had had another Cup which had brought death to the Gladiators. He had thought it was two different Cups. The Cup of Life and the Cup of Death. But if this Cup had been here for more than 2000 years, then Helga’s and Romans’ Cups had to be one and the same. Unless there were three Cups? No, for some reason, he didn’t believe that.

Merlin, he needed to talk to his wife about this…

Wait… had he just thought that he needed Hermione? He shuddered. No. He didn’t need her. He simply… well… since she already knew… it would just be faster if they thought about this together. Yes. That was it. He didn’t need his wife’s help. He just… wanted to be effective.

“We’re leaving,” he said to Severus and turned to walk out from the cave.

The old man put a hand on his arm. “Come back tonight. With your wife. It will help you.”

Voldemort frowned, but found himself nodding. Well, it couldn’t hurt… Hermione would probably wet her pants in excitement. It was always fun to see her excited. It was so much easier to get things out of her when she was.
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The Contract