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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
- 21
- 22
- 23
Hello, there! New chapter up and about. As always, I want to thank everyone for reading and reviewing, as well as my lovely beta Nerys!

WARNING: Torture! Smut!

Chapter 21
Hermione knew she was emotionally unbalanced the first week after her escape, but she couldn’t help it. The nightmares made it hard for her to sleep, and even though her wounds were healing nicely, she kept feeling the ache. In her rational mind, she knew it was probably psychosomatic, but that didn’t do anything to ease the pain. The only thing that seemed to help was being with Voldemort and experiencing the pleasure of his touch. She spent most of her time with him, but he was not always available.
Since the holiday was about to begin, Hermione didn’t have to worry about school, but Voldemort still had one class left to take care of. He left early on Tuesday morning, and Hermione decided to spend the morning in her own flat where her parents were staying. Even though they had been staying there for a week, Hermione hadn’t had the opportunity to speak with them about her pregnancy. Something else always came in the way. If it weren’t Althea who wanted attention, it was Voldemort.
Nonetheless, at breakfast on Tuesday morning, Hermione found herself alone with her parents. Althea was entertaining herself with her drawing chalk and would thus not disturb them for half an hour or so.
“There is something I need to tell you,” Hermione said when they were finishing their breakfast. “I’m pregnant.”
Her father, who had been eating porridge, dropped his spoon into the bowl with a splash. Her mother choked on her coffee and began coughing. Hermione winced. That was not exactly the reaction she had hoped for.
“Are you sure?” Helen asked when she finally managed to breathe again.
Hermione nodded, not able to look her parents in their eyes. What did they think of her? She had been called the brightest witch of her generation, and yet, she had managed to get knocked up twice, even though she knew perfectly well how to do a contraceptive spell and had a contraceptive potion standing in her bathroom closet.
“I’m not sure what to do with it yet,” she said, trying and failing to keep her voice steady.
“Is it Marcus’s?” Malcolm wanted to know.
Hermione scowled, irritation running through her. “Of course it is.”
“When did it happen?” Helen wondered. Since she didn’t sound like she was disappointed, Hermione glanced up at her. Helen’s face was neutral, with only a hint of worry in her eyes.
“Before … over two weeks ago.” Hermione swallowed back the tears. Her father didn’t quite manage to school his expression, and she could see that he was troubled by the news.
“Does Marcus know?” Helen asked.
Hermione nodded. “But we haven’t decided what to do with it yet. It was quite unexpected.”
“But how did it happen?” Malcolm asked. Then, he became very red. “I don’t mean how … er, I just meant, that is, wizards do have protection, right? Weren’t you using that?”
Hermione felt herself turn red as well. “There are both potions and spells. However, the spell only works if the caster doesn’t want to have children. Magic only works if you want it to happen. If someone secretly wants a child, then the contraceptive spell wouldn’t offer any protection.”
Speaking about magical theory was something she liked very much. It made Hermione feel a little more comfortable, and that gave her the courage to continue.
“I’ve been on a potion, though, which always works. That is, if you remember to take it every month.” Hermione took a deep breath. “Marcus was away on a conference for two weeks, and I was supposed to take the potion during that time, but it just slipped my mind when I didn’t … er, have any usage for it. And then he came back in the middle of the night and decided to surprise me, and well …” Hermione trailed off, shrugging.
It was true; it just wasn’t the whole truth. But her parents didn’t need to know that she had been drunk again.
Neither of her parents said anything. Malcolm’s face was still very red, and he seemed to find his porridge very interesting because he kept staring at it. Helen looked thoughtful, and then, she reached across the table and took Hermione’s hand.
“I hope you know that we will stand by you no matter what decision you make,” she said.
Hermione felt some tears of relief escape her eyes, and she squeezed her mother’s hand, thankful.
“Yes, of course,” her father agreed and took her other hand. “Whatever you need, just tell us.”
Hermione smiled at him through the tears. Merlin, she loved her parents.

xxx

Voldemort’s class finished five minutes to twelve. Anyone who had questions was welcome to come up, but he doubted anyone would dare. Since it had become common knowledge that he had been involved with a student, a couple of other students had tried their luck by exchanging services against better grades. Voldemort wasn’t against bribery, but since he wasn’t interested in anyone but Hermione, he declined. Or, well, not only did he do that. Just to make sure no more rumours would be spreading about him, he made his standpoint clear at the very beginning of class.
“As Miss Stevens and Mr Tsu are already aware of, I’m not open for a blowjob in exchange for higher grades.”
Needless to say, the class had been rather uncomfortable after that. Mr Tsu had fled the room and Miss Stevens had sunk down in the chair, face red of mortification. It had been fun to watch.
Once everyone had left the classroom, Professor Cox-Trotter entered and closed the door behind her before he had even gathered his things.
“Professor Foster,” Cox-Trotter greeted him, her face serious.
“Professor Cox-Trotter,” Voldemort replied, equally serious.
“I heard about your announcement in class today.”
She sounded strict, but he could see in her eyes that she approved. “Yes, I thought it was best I made it perfectly clear where I stand on bribery.”
“It is. However, questions will continue to rise as long as you are with Miss Granger,” Cox-Trotter remarked.
Voldemort jumped down from the stage. “And as I said at my discipline hearing, I have every intention to provide for and raise my own child and thus, I will not end my relationship with Miss Granger.”
“Yes, and admirable as that is, the council continues to see it as a problem that you are her teacher.”
“But since I’m one of the best Transfiguration Masters there is …” Voldemort mused. He was well aware of his status, which had only increased when he had been to the Cook Islands.
“Yes, there is that. Then, there is also the fact that Miss Granger has every potential to be an even better Master with the right training. Not to mention the fact that she is much more humble,” Cox-Trotter said dryly. “However, not everyone in the council believes this. Some of them have even contacted her old university in Australia as well as Hogwarts to see if there have been any … sidesteps there as well.”
Voldemort’s eyes narrowed. “And this has nothing to do with the fact that she is a Muggle-born, I hope?”
Cox-Trotter sighed. “You know I don’t speak ill of my colleagues, Marcus. But that is not the reason why I came here, though. I actually want to know how Miss Granger is doing.”
“She was tortured and locked inside a small cell by a Death Eater whom she had to kill to get away from. How do you think she is doing?” Voldemort asked dryly.
“I imagine she is feeling quite badly. But would she be up for a talk with me? I want to be able to put a suggestion of actions before the council that doesn’t result in ‘throwing her out on the street’.”
“You would let her continue her education?” Voldemort asked, not surprised. Cox-Trotter was in some ways the complete opposite of him. Always on the side of the weakest and fighting for their rights.
“Of course. Although, I think we will have to come up with something where you aren’t the one grading her. But I want to talk to Miss Granger about it.”
“I’ll ask here when I get home,” Voldemort promised, thoughtful.
“You live together, then?”
“No, but I like to spend time with Althea, and usually, Miss Granger is there as well.”
“I see. Give her my best.” With a nod, Cox-Trotter left the classroom.
Voldemort smirked. Oh, he would make sure Hermione got to stay in school. But first things first. He Apparated away. Not home, but to a hidden basement in the countryside of Scandinavia. The basement was made of concrete and had been a refuge during the Second World War. It had not been a very good refuge though, since the opening had been bombed, and there was no way in or out except with magic.
A fire was burning in the middle of the room and hanging over it was a naked, young man.
“How are you doing, Draco?” Voldemort asked, flicking the ropes so the boy turned to face him.
The boy only sobbed. Voldemort had found and brought him here the night after Hermione had told him what had happened to her. Now Draco was hanging here, waiting for Voldemort to grow tired of him. Since he had promised Hermione not to kill any more Muggles, he had really made sure to get the most out of this toy. Alas, this toy was so close to broken that Voldemort decided to just kill him off after today’s session.
“What should I do with you today?” He pulled out a chair from thin air and sat down, looking at the blond boy’s bloody face. “Oh, right. In the loving memory of your aunt Bella, why not bring out some of her knives?”
Malfoys had always been good screamers, and Voldemort felt like it was a poetic way to finish off the last of the Malfoy line by letting all his precious blood drain from him.
Voldemort was feeling quite happy when he Apparated back to England from the basement. He stopped at the mirror hanging in the foyer of his house to make sure he looked presentable before he walked up the stairs to their flats. He checked his own flat first and left his teaching robe there before walking to Hermione’s.
Her mother opened the door. “Yes?”
He sighed. “Can I come in?”
It was perfectly clear that Mrs Granger did not want to let him in, but Hermione showed up in the hallway. “Hi, Marcus.”
Voldemort made his way past the sour woman at the door and greeted Hermione with a kiss just to spite Mrs Granger even more.
“Where is Althea?” he asked.
Like on cue, his daughter came running from the bedroom and stopped, demanding to be lifted up.
“Grandma is angry, and Mum has been crying,” his daughter informed him in Parseltongue.
“Do you know why?” Voldemort asked, glancing at Hermione who looked just fine.
“No. Will you read to me tonight?”
“I will see what I can do,” he promised before letting her down again.
Althea skipped back to the room and closed the door. She liked her solitude, much like him when he was younger. Although, he had never run to meet an adult like that.
He looked around the room. Mr Granger was sitting on the couch, pretending to read the paper. Something had made him rather uncomfortable, and Voldemort wondered what it was. Mrs Granger had also returned to the couch and seemed to be doing a crossword puzzle. However, Voldemort could feel her coldness towards him. Voldemort looked down at Hermione. She seemed to have noticed the tension as well and rubbed her stomach. Her pregnant stomach. Oh, right, she must have told them.
“Well, isn’t this a cosy, uncomfortable tension we got here?” he said out loud, leading Hermione towards an armchair. He sat down in it with Hermione on the arm of it.
Malcolm let his newspaper fall to his lap, still looking very uncomfortable. Helen, on the other hand, straightened her back and looked right at them.
“Yes. Hermione told us about the pregnancy and that you haven’t reached your decision yet. In light of that, we are wondering what your intentions are with our daughter.”
If Helen were a witch, he could have used her as an interrogator when he had been the Dark Lord. She seemed to know which questions to ask and wasn’t afraid to ask them. Voldemort didn’t think she would be against beating the answer out of someone if she had to. Being direct would be the best action here. If he beat around the bush, Helen would not respect him at all.
“For now, I plan to live with her and help her recover from her ordeal. I don’t want us to make a hasty decision about the foetus.”
“But what do you want to do with her?” Helen asked.
Voldemort hesitated. He knew what most parents would want for their children: a marriage. He had never wanted to get married, and he didn’t really know what Hermione’s thoughts on the matter were. However, he did want her to be his, in every sense of the word. Being married would make everyone else see that she belonged to him as well.
He turned to Hermione. “Well, this wasn’t how I had planned to ask you, but … someday, in a not too distant future, would you like to marry me?”
Hermione gaped, clearly shocked. Damn, he should have prepared her. If her parents thought that there was something wrong, they would start fuzzing. He quickly grasped her hand.
“If you aren’t ready for marriage yet, I understand. We don’t have to rush. I just want you to know that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Not once before have I experienced such contentment as I do when I’m with you.”
Hermione swallowed. She looked like she had been boxed in a corner. “Well, this is rather sudden. I hadn’t expected you to ask me like this.”
He grimaced. “I know, sorry. You know I’m not very good at being romantic.”
She blinked at him. Then, she began laughing. She laughed long and hard, until tears started to run from her eyes of laughter. From the corner of his eyes, Voldemort saw Malcolm getting up.
“Hermione? Are you alright?” Malcolm asked, sounding concerned.
Hermione’s laugh lessened, but he could still see the mirth in her eyes. It had been a long time since he saw her so amused. The last time must have been before she found out his true identity.
“I’m fine. But I do think that is a bit of an understatement, Marcus,” Hermione said, still giggling a bit. “‘Not very good at being romantic’. The worst romantic in the whole of Britain is more like it. Possibly even the whole world.”
Voldemort rolled his eyes. “I probably am. But you aren’t much better, kitten.”
Hermione snorted. “I suppose not.” Then, she became thoughtful. “Merlin, our wedding will be a disaster! People will be crying in horror! I think we better order professional help for the planning. I mean, if we were to organise it …” She shook her head, trailing off.
Voldemort chuckled. “I’ll have you know that I’m an excellent researcher. How hard can one party really be to throw?”
“You say that now, but just wait till you see the bill,” Malcolm commented dryly, sitting down again.
Voldemort and Hermione turned their attention back to her parents.
“Right,” Voldemort commented and then looked at Helen. “Does that answer your questions on what my plans with your daughter are, Mrs Granger?”
Helen was still frowning, but then, she sighed. “Well, since both of you clearly are serious about this, I won’t be in your way.”
“Thanks, Mum,” Hermione mumbled.
“I just want you to be happy, Hermione,” Helen added mildly. “Excuse me.” She left for the bathroom.
Voldemort stood up as well. “I need a word in private, Hermione. It’s about school.”
That tempered Hermione’s happiness. “Let’s go to your flat. See you later, Dad.” She rose as well and made her way towards the door.
Voldemort was right behind her when he heard Malcolm clear his throat. He turned toward the younger man (who might look older, but Malcolm was still at least fifteen years younger than him).
“Yes?” Voldemort asked.
Malcolm walked up to him. “I’m usually against violence, Foster. However, you are in a position to cause my daughter great sorrow. Since you are a father yourself, I just want you to consider this: If anyone were to hurt your daughter, what would you be willing to do then?”
Voldemort highly doubted the other man would be able to pour lava through the nostrils of another person, but he did make a mental note for himself. If he,for some reason, had to hurt Hermione, he would kill her parents as well. Not that he really believed two Muggles could harm him, but he’d rather be safe than sorry.
“I get your point, Mr Granger,” he just replied and left.
When he entered his flat, Hermione was already sitting on the couch, leaning her head against the back and staring at the ceiling.
“You seem troubled,” he noted and sat down next to her.
She sighed. “You just told me you wanted to marry me.”
“And?”
She snorted. “Right. You wouldn’t understand.”
If there were something Voldemort had always hated, it was people telling him he wouldn’t understand.
“I’m one of the most educated men you will ever have the pleasure of meeting. There is little that I do not understand.”
She tilted her head, looking at him. “Well then, Mr Know-It-All, can you understand that I would want to marry out of love?”
Voldemort regarded her for a few moments. She was telling the truth.
“Yes, I’m aware that a lot of people fancy themselves in love and use it as a reason to reproduce and marry. However, what we have far outweighs the notion of love. What we have is very much real and very powerful.” Illustrating it, he gripped her cheek with his hand and stroked down her neck.
“Love is real, too,” she said with a shuddering breath.
“Then, how come you have never experienced it?”
She looked at him, puzzled, until she recalled she had given him access to her memories. “I love Althea and my parents.”
“Different thing,” he dismissed, starting to unbutton her blue shirt. “You share the same blood. You want them to be well and protected.”
She got a thoughtful expression on her face. “Just so that we are speaking about the same thing, what do you think love is?”
He arched an eyebrow, stopping his movements.
“I mean, what definition would you give love if you had to?” she clarified.
He thought about it for a moment. “The insanity that makes people want to risk their lives for someone else.”
She straddled him with her shirt still half open. Voldemort frowned as she stroked his cheek up to his hair. Her other hand came up to his hair as well. Voldemort was about to ask what she was doing when he felt a sting of magic enter his mind. He was about to push her off when she withdrew her hands, staring at them.
“What did you do?” he asked, trying to feel if anything had changed inside him.
“Well, I wanted you to understand.” She leaned back in his lap, her hands falling down to her sides.
“Understand what?”
“That it’s much harder creating a life than taking one.” She spoke as if the words were just coming to her. He did not like that.
“And how exactly are you planning to do that?”
“I just got an idea and I remembered this Legilimency book I read a few weeks ago about enhancing the Legilimency by making the caster experience the feelings of the subject when viewing a memory …” She hesitated.
He did not like where this was going one bit. “And?”
“Well, I figured it could be used the other way around to send emotions to someone, and I just want you to feel what it’s like going through labour, so you’ll know that it’s much harder creating life than destroying life,” she finished in a near whisper.
“WHAT?” he roared, standing up and dropping her on the coffee table.
She winced. “I don’t know if it actually worked! Just as I thought it, I felt this spark go through me.”
He just stared at her. It didn’t feel like any foreign magical force was inside him. Perhaps it hadn’t worked. He had never heard about such a phenomenon before. However, he was still waiting on the book from the author who knew about Legilimency through touch. He hadn’t found any books in the Oxford library on it, only a bit more information about the author who had been dead for a couple of decades. Perhaps the book itself would contain more knowledge.
Hermione was looking up at him anxiously. His eyes darkened, and he grabbed her wrists, pulling her up.
“I think we’ll have to tie these naughty hands up for a while, don’t you agree?” he growled, pulling her towards the bedroom.
“W-what?” She sounded worried but didn’t fight him.
“Voldemort lesson one-oh-one, Hermione. I’m in control. Always.”
In the bedroom, he pushed her down on her back and undid the rest of her shirt. Then, he used it to tie her wrists together above her head.
“What are you planning to do?” she asked; her tone was still having a hint of worry, but in her eyes, he could see lust.
He smirked and leaned in to kiss her, nibbling her lip for a short moment. “Teaching you a lesson.”
Her breathing grew harder when he ripped off her bra and started to play with her breasts with his mouth, biting softly into the soft skin. He undid her jeans, scratching her hips and arse as he pulled them down. Only when she was completely naked, did he stand up and start to undress himself. Her body was a masterpiece. Exactly how he liked it. Breasts small enough to be completely covered by his hands. An interesting scar, showing what a feisty woman she was. Narrow waist, small hips, they were excellent and easy to position after his liking. Strong, long, pale legs. She hadn’t shaved them in a while, he noted. He didn’t really care what she did with her body hair, just as long as she let her pubic hair be. In contrast to the hair on her head, her pubic hair was smooth and soft. He liked feeling it between his fingers as he played with her clit.
The last of his garments touched the floor, and he stepped closer to the bed again. Her mouth was half open, and she was staring at him, willing him to touch her. His mouth formed into a smirk again as he sat down on the bed next to her. He brought his hand to her stomach and circled her bellybutton with his fingers. Her stomach was still relatively flat. A bit too flat even, but she had already started to gain back the weight she’d lost during her imprisonment. In a couple of months, however, her stomach would start to rise.
If he allowed her to continue the pregnancy, that was. It would be very easy to slip an abortion potion into her drink. This early in the pregnancy, she would probably not even notice something was wrong, until the blood came. If the book he had read were correct, it would only be a bit more blood than during her menstruation. A miscarriage at this point in time was very common, and some women didn’t even notice it. They just thought their period was a little late. He doubted Hermione would lose much sleep over it once it were over.
However … what would it be like if he allowed it to progress? His cock grew painfully hard at the thought of her heavy with his child inside of her. No one would be able to miss the fact that she was his. A mark of his ownership. Like the Dark Mark he had tattooed into his followers, but bigger. More noticeable.
He moved to sit between her legs, placing both his hands on her stomach. She was tiny, so her pregnancy would probably be seen early. Everyone in the world would be able to witness that he had managed to snatch the cleverest witch of her generation. With his offspring in her stomach and possibly even his ring on her finger, everyone would know she belonged to him. That would also open up new doors for him because of the status she and her friends had.
He was aware of the power of status. That was how he had managed to get so many followers so quickly. Malfoy, Lestrange and Avery had had influence in that time’s society. Now it were Granger, Weasley and Potter that carried the big names. Hermione had never taken advantage of it, but with his encouragement, a lot of powerful people would listen to her. Or rather, him.
“Yes,” he hissed and without much warning, he entered her.
She was already dripping wet without him having to do anything. Always wet for him. He placed his hands on either side of her body and began thrusting hard and fast. Her legs came around his body, and she tilted her hips to meet his strokes. They were both utterly close to their climax when he stopped, remembering that he still had to teach her a lesson. He withdrew, at once missing the tight heat from inside her. However, all he had to do was think about his marks on her body and stroke his cock three times before he came all over her upper body.
Hermione’s eyes flew open, and she stared at him questioningly.
He stroked away a few drops of sperm that had landed on her cheek. “In the future I want you to think twice before you try to do some improvised spell on me again. Understand?”
Her eyes narrowed in anger. He licked his own sperm from his thumb and rose with a smile, heading for the shower.
“Oh, and we are keeping the child,” he called back just before he closed the door.

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