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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
- 22
- 23
- 24
Hello! New chapter again! Thanks Lady-Gizzy for finishing it so quickly for me! This chapter contains more smut than usually. Hope you’ll like it!

Thank you all so much for reviewing! They make my day!

Sjauthor; I’m glad you like the progress of the story! And I have so far written 34 chapters and I don’t think there will be more than 35 chapters. The betaing takes time because my beta has a very busy life. I’m just grateful she finds the time to do it at all!

Chapter 23

Hermione wasn’t in the mood to go out and shop, so she spent the morning watching the TV with Reya. The other woman had never watched TV before and Hermione spent a good ten minutes explaining things like electricity and radio-waves. Reya didn’t seem to understand so in the end Hermione had just told her to look at it like a magical photo. Only with sound and colour.

They watched the same show Hermione had seen in Finland, only in Portuguese this time. Hermione didn’t know why, but she felt smug when she saw the young heroine kicking the villains arse. Reya snorted over the silly love affair the heroine had with some man in the show.

Voldemort and Snape came back at lunchtime with some take-away food. After they had eaten, Snape and Reya decided to take a walk to the magical market. Hermione sank down on the couch again with Dmitri in her arms. It was time for milk. Voldemort took the opportunity to tell her what he and Snape had been doing. Hermione found the old chief’s story very fascinating.

“What if there is only one Cup?” Hermione said.

“Care to explain that thought?” Voldemort asked and sank down on the armchair opposite to the couch.

“Well… what if the Cup can travel trough space and time? That would explain why so many have claimed to see it at the same time.”

Voldemort arched an eyebrow. “It’s just a Cup, Hermione, not a human.”

“No, but what if it has a conscious? I mean, like the Sorting Hat.”

Voldemort sank back against the armchair and clasped his hands together. “The old man did call it the Goblet of Gods. Do you believe in Gods?”

“I believe there have been people powerful enough to get the status of a God. Although, I don’t believe God has created men.”

“Neither do I.” Voldemort sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. “However, something tells me there are two of them. Life and death, dark and light… like yin and yang.”

“Perhaps you are right.” Hermione stroked her baby’s black hair. It was so soft!

“However, if the Cup is a thinking object… what is its mission? Why was it made? Because it isn’t human, so it can’t have been made by mistake,” Voldemort’s eyes lingered at Dmitri for a moment.

Hermione glared at Voldemort. “If you ever tell our son that he was just a mistake, I’ll find a way to castrate you!”

He arched an eyebrow. “But he was a mistake, Hermione. Neither of us wanted him.”

If glares could kill, Voldemort would have died. Hermione pressed the baby closer to her body, as though to protect him from his father’s harsh words.

Voldemort rolled his eyes. “Fine. Back to the Cups. Do you think they… or it… has a mission?”

Hermione shrugged. “Well, they, or it, must have been made for a reason. I wonder where they came from. It could tell us a lot about the purpose.”

Voldemort stood and started to pace. “When was pottery invented?”

Hermione shrugged again. “Well, it expanded a lot at the same time as humans began with agriculture. But the oldest vessel they have found is about 12500 years old. It’s from Japan.”

He shook his head. “The wizards weren’t so advanced back then. It’s not easy to make a magical object. Writing had to be invented.”

“Well, Sumerian is the oldest written language we know of. The earliest findings are from 3200 BCE,” she said. “Although, that happened in Mesopotamia, where Iraq is now. I too think it comes from the North, so… perhaps the Cups aren’t more than 3000 years old?”

Voldemort sank down in the armchair again with his head in his hands. “We need more information.” He suddenly looked up at her. “You have to steal it.”

Hermione frowned. Dmitri had finished feeding, so she removed him from her breast and placed him over her shoulder. “Steal what?”

“Dumbledore talked about Hufflepuff’s Cup like he knew something about it. You have to break into his office and find the book.”

Hermione blinked. “You must be joking.”

“No! When we get back I wish you to break in to Dumbledore’s office, see if you can find anything about the Cups and bring it back to me. I wish you to not notify Dumbledore or anyone else about what you are doing there. If someone sees you, you’ll lie and get back to me.”

She blinked again as she felt the tingle of magic. “That is not fair!”

He stood from the armchair again. “I’m certain you will make a wonderful thief, dear. Now, get some rest. I’ll go back to the village later and you’ll come with me.”

“What ever for?” she asked, trying to figure out a way to break his wish.

“Perhaps you can get something out from the chief.”

“How?”

He started to walk toward the lift. “Use your imagination!”

Hermione stared after him. Did he imply that she should…? No… He couldn’t! She was his wife! Or could he?

Cursing over her evil, manipulative husband, she went to the bathroom to take a shower. Dmitri had thrown up in her hair again.

Several hours later, Hermione was dressed in a comfortable knee-long brown skirt and a red blouse. She was standing in front of the full-length mirror in the bathroom. It was almost seven o’clock and she had just put Dmitri to sleep. Voldemort had said that they would be leaving at seven, and Hermione wanted to look nice. She wanted to make a good impression, but she didn’t want to look shallow. The only jewellery she wore was her wedding-ring and she had put her hair up in a plait.

Voldemort came in to the bathroom. When he saw her, he sighed. “Why?”

“Why, what?” she asked and left the bathroom with a last glance in the mirror.

Her husband followed her. “Why are you dressed like that?”

“You don’t like it?”

He made a grimace. “You look so… Muggle.”

She arched an eyebrow. “And?”

He was dressed in ordinary black pants and a blue shirt, but somehow, you just couldn’t mistake him for a Muggle. Perhaps it was his red eyes.

“Muggles are bad!” he muttered and took her arm.

“My parents are Muggle,” she reminded him, and then frowned. “Do you know anything new about my parents?”

He sighed. “We don’t have time for this now. Besides, I don’t want you to get your hopes up.”

Hermione arched her eyebrows. “You care about my feelings?”

He looked down at her. “No, you are just annoying when you cry.”

“Oh…” Why wasn’t she surprised?

Voldemort Disapparated them away. She closed her eyes and didn’t open them again until she felt solid ground underneath her feet. They were standing just outside a small village. She could see a fire and hear voices from behind the cottages. Still holding her hand, Voldemort started to walk toward the fire and the voices. When they came closer, Hermione pulled her hand from his. She didn’t want these people to believe she had been forced to come here. She was really interested in meeting them!

An old man stood in the circle of people around the fire. He greeted Voldemort with a nod before he turned to Hermione.

“Good day,” he said with a heavy accent.

Hermione smiled. “Hello. Thank you so much for inviting me.”

“I was… curious.” It seemed like he couldn’t come up with the right words. Hermione understood him; she never found the right words when she was speaking French.

She heard Voldemort huff. The old chief took her arm and led her to the fire. Voldemort followed them, however, when the chief sat down with Hermione, there was no room for Voldemort. He huffed again and sat down at the opposite side of the fire instead. Hermione was a bit surprised that he didn’t make a scene. On the other hand, he probably hoped she would be able to get some more information out of the old man.

Someone started to speak. Hermione didn’t understand the words, but she listened carefully. She got the feeling that this was some sort of feast. They were all dressed in colourful clothes and she could see drums standing next to some of the men.

“We celebrate the end of this… uhm… era,” the chief whispered in her ear. “We are gone soon.”

Hermione frowned, but nodded. She wasn’t sure what he meant, were they leaving? Or had someone died? She knew there were people who celebrated death as the next step of life.

“Your man is wary, no?” the old man asked.

Hermione shrugged. “He is always wary. He doesn’t trust anyone.”

He nodded with a thoughtful look on his face. “You don’t… know each other?”

She sighed. “We have been married for nine months, so we know things about each other. But no, we don’t know each other.”

“You wish to know him?”

Hermione looked at her husband. He was in a conversation with a younger man to his left, but he kept glancing at her. His eyes seemed to be burning in the light of the fire. Not an angry burn… only burning.

“I don’t know. Something tells me this marriage is doomed to fail. Although, if we could only talk to each other, perhaps it didn’t have to be so hopeless.”

The chief nodded. “We always need to talk.”

Hermione sighed. An old woman came up to her and gave her a bowl with soup. Hermione realised that half of the people in the circle had received a bowl. Voldemort was looking at his with a superstitious look. He was probably checking it for poison or something like that. Hermione couldn’t help but to roll her eyes. She pitied the fool who would try to poison Lord Voldemort’s food. They wouldn’t live to see tomorrow for sure.

“Eat,” the old man said with a smile. “Healthy.”

Hermione took a small sip. She hadn’t got a spoon, so she had to drink it. It didn’t taste bad, but very different from anything else she had eaten before. The main ingredient appeared to be maize, but it tasted a bit like lemon… and cinnamon. She took another sip. Yes, very different indeed.

The old man started to tell her a bit about the life in the village. He pointed out his wife and children, told her a little how they managed to do magic without wands. At that point, she really wished she had been able to understand his language. He didn’t know enough word to tell her more deeply about the theories. She decided to find a book and read about it when she came back to England.

When they were finished with their food almost an hour later, people started to play on the drums and dance. It wasn’t the kind of waltzes Hermione had danced before. This seemed to be much more fun. Everyone appeared to be moving like they wanted to the rhythm. Hermione felt happy when she saw them. Happy and warm. Not even realising what she was doing, she stood and joined the dancers. She laughed. Worries didn’t seem to exist inside the circle of the small cottages. The fire started to change colour. Somehow, she knew that it was the dance that made it change. She stopped right next to it and stared into the flames. The fire seemed to be whispering. It was very beautiful…

Suddenly, she felt hotter than ever before. Someone came up behind her and pressed his body into her back. She purred and leaned into the body, like a cat. Hands came up on her shoulders and stroke her arms. Two white wedding-rings glistened in fire.

“Hermione…,” her husband whispered in her ear. His hand came up to her throat and he kissed her ear and chin.

She moaned and rubbed her arse against his hardness. They seemed to be alone in the universe. There were only them and the fire. He purred into her ear as the hand on her neck slowly started to move downwards, ripping up the buttons on her shirt. She turned around as he ripped of her shirt and threw it into the fire. She didn’t care. All she wanted was to taste those red, blood-filled lips. His hands moved over her back and down to her arse. He pressed her harder against him as she forced her tongue into his mouth. The strange taste of lemon and cinnamon was in his mouth as well. There was something else as well. She hadn’t notice it before… although, she didn’t really care about it now.

Her hands found their way down to his belt and she made short work of them before she pulled down his trousers. He groaned and pulled up her shirt to her waist.

Neither of them were aware that they had fallen down to the ground. All she knew was the burning ache between her legs. The ache only he could put out. But he teased her. His lips had found her breasts and he was torturing them mercilessly. He nibbled the underside of her breast before he went up to the nipple. After only a short lick, he moved over to the other breast and did the same thing there. She groaned and managed to change their positions so she was on top of him. He moaned when she attacked his nipples with her mouth. After a couple of moments, he pulled her up by her hair and kissed with more passion than ever before.

They changed position again, so they were both lying on their sides, facing each other. She placed her right leg over his hip and he penetrated her with a single fast stroke. It hurt, but she was almost numb to the pain, there was too much pleasure! He stopped inside of her. Hermione was still kissing him, or rather, sucking on his tongue. The weird lemon-cinnamon-taste made her blood pump faster than she thought was possible.

She moved her hips to make him understand that she wanted him to move. He smirked against her lips. She groaned and forced him to roll on his back. Then she started to ride him. Surprisingly, he didn’t change their position right away. Instead, he realised her mouth and took a couple of deep breaths. She rubbed her own clit and brought herself to her first mind blowing orgasm of the evening. It wasn’t the last...

He took control over the situation again. He sat up and rearranged their legs so she could place hers around his waist. Then he forced her to move up and down as he sucked and nibbled her neck and shoulder. She scratched his back when he made her climax for the second time.

Then he changed positions again. She was now standing on all four with him behind her. She was too high on pleasure to know how she had got there. All she knew was his strokes in and out from her body. He managed to hit that sweet spot inside of her every time and she was crying out in bliss. Sometime during this position, he ripped of her skirt and threw it in the fire as well. She could still feel it burning. Not just next to her, but inside of her. It felt like she was the fire, and she knew Voldemort felt the same thing.

Her arms could no longer hold her after her third orgasm. She fell down on the ground and felt the mud in her mouth. Not that she cared. Voldemort turned her around and placed her legs over his arms and continued to push into her. She was only moaning now, her mind too tired to form a coherent thought. She had never felt this good before. This content. She and Voldemort were one. She could feel his essence, and she wanted to feel more. Pulling him forward, she captured his lips again. His arms moved from under her legs and his hands came up to her breasts. She massaged his skull; especially the point behind his ear she knew was sensitive. He moaned into her mouth and one of his hands travelled down to her clit.

Hermione sobbed when the fourth intense climaxed hit her. Voldemort finally climaxed as well. He fell down on top of her and she was welcomed into sleep’s soothing arms.

xxx

She woke up when she felt something move against her hair. It tickled. Without opening her eyes, she moved her hand to brush the thing away. Her hand came in contract with something soft and… alive. She opened her eyes and saw a big black spider sitting on her shoulder. She screamed and jumped up. The spider fell off her and ran away. Hermione shuddered. Spiders weren’t as horrible as serpents, however, she didn’t enjoy touching them!

It took her a moment to remember where she was and why she was so cold. The coldness was easiest, she was naked and it was still very early in the morning. Cursing she covered her chest with her arms and sat down. Voldemort was still lying on the ground with an arm over his head.

Slowly the memories came back to her. How she and Voldemort had come to the village, talked and eaten and… then… She blushed and groaned. They had had sex in front of everyone! Sweet Merlin, what made them act so… so…

She suddenly realised something. They were all alone. The native inhabitants had disappeared… and the cottages… and all the small things. The only evidence that it hadn’t been a dream was the burnt out firewood next to them, and the ache between her legs. She remembered what the chief had said; they celebrated the end of an era. They must have moved to another location!

Unfortunately, it didn’t explain hers and Voldemort’s behaviour. She turned toward her husband and decided to wake him up. Perhaps he knew what had happened to them.

When she touched him, something weird happened. She saw herself, standing in a long white dress next to an altar. She knew it was her, even if she couldn’t see her face. When she got close, the Hermione in the white dress turned around. The front of the dress was covered in blood. The blood came from an open wound in her throat. The eyes were black and she was grinning like a madwoman.

She gasped and removed her hand from her husband. What had that been about? It had almost looked like dream… everything except her had been fuzzy. She looked down at Voldemort. Could it have been his dream? Or had she been drugged last night? That strange taste in the soup…

Her husband woke up with a groan. He pressed his hand against his forehead as he opened his eyes. He looked straight at her for a moment, then his eyes darkened. “You…”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Uhm… what?”

He sat up and gripped her shoulders. “You drugged me!”

Hermione shook her head. “No! How could I have drugged you?”

He frowned and his grip loosened. “That is true. But how… Oh…” He seemed to become aware of his naked state. His trousers where lying next to him and he stood up and pulled them on. Hermione looked around for her clothes, but she couldn’t see them. She had a vague memory of him tossing them into the fire. Damn.

“They are gone,” he noticed with a grim look.

Hermione nodded and looked around again. Where was her wand? She knew she had put it in her skirt… was it burned as well? Oh, she hoped not. She stood up as well and went over to the fire. She ignored her naked state as she performed Accio. Her wand flew up in her hand from the pile of dust. She exhaled, relieved. For some reason, her wand had made it. The fire had been a magical one. Perhaps that had something to do with their behaviour. She had read about how fire-magic was used in fertility rituals… Oh, Merlin no!

“Do you know how to do a magical pregnancy test?” Hermione asked and turned toward Voldemort.

He frowned at her, but then he looked at the fire, and her wand. He seemed to reach the same conclusion as she, because his eyes suddenly widened.

“They couldn’t have…” He waved his wand over her stomach. A white glow appeared over her stomach. “No, you aren’t pregnant. Although it could still be too early to see anything. I’ll let Snape do the test. Sometimes the parents don’t get the right result.

She nodded and her stomach tightened up. She couldn’t be pregnant again! It was bad enough that they had one child who would be an outcast thanks to his father, they didn’t need another one! Besides, her period wasn’t back yet. The healers had said that it may take some time. Many women were infertile during the time they breastfed. However, those women hadn’t been in a magical sex-ritual.

Voldemort sighed. “Let’s go home. I bet you are starving and your whole body is sour.”

Hermione snorted. “I bet you feel the same way.”

He simply smirked and placed his arms around her. When he touched her naked back, she heard his voice in her head; If she is pregnant again, I’ll simply have to kill it. Salazar, my cock feels like a big bruise. Perhaps I’ll send after some apples. Or pancakes with apples. Not sugar. They must have drugged us last night. I would never have fucked her in front of everyone. I’ll find them and kill them. I wonder if she managed to get something good out from the old man. Perhaps Salazar came from this land. No one knows where the ability to speak with serpents came from. Or perhaps I will have pears. No, it’s not the season for them…

Hermione didn’t even feel them Apparate. When she could, she pulled away from him, her head was throbbing. Had she just heard her husband’s thoughts? How was that possible? He must know how to protect his thoughts.

Her eyes widened when she remembered what the old man had asked; “You wish to know him?” The strange taste in the soup… they had been drugged! Somehow, they had made her “know” Voldemort. Know his thoughts! Oh, Merlin…

“What happened to you?”

Hermione turned from her husband and saw Reya and Snape sitting on the couch, watching the telly. Reya was smirking and Snape looked quite uncomfortable. Remembering her naked state, she groaned and went into the bathroom connected to the bedroom. She sank down on the floor and took a couple of deep breaths. It wasn’t so bad… Reya was a woman, and Snape had seen her naked before. It could have been worse. She stood again, deciding to take a shower. She stopped next to the mirror and groaned again. Her hair was a mess, filled with dirt and leaves. She had eight love bites from her neck down over her shoulder and two on her breasts.

Voldemort entered the room with a small smile on his face. “Breakfast, dear?”

Hermione made a grimace. “I think I need a bath.”

“So do I.” He waved his wand and the tub started to fill up. “Jump in, I’ll go and order the breakfast. How about pancakes?”

Hermione froze on her way over to the tub. So she had really heard his thoughts? Oh, Merlin.

“Hermione?” he asked and walked up to her and placed his hand on her naked shoulder. Is this some side effect of whatever they drugged us with? Merlin, I’m hungry, perhaps I should take some of her milk? Dmitri wouldn’t mind, he is still asleep. I could use some sleep as well...

“Don’t touch me!” she pulled away from him. It seemed like she was able to hear his thought when he touched her. She needed to find a way to block that.

He arched his eyebrows and let his arm flop back down to his body. “Did I hurt you last night?”

She shook her head and looked down on the floor.

He tilted his head. “We are going to have a long talk about what happened last night… after breakfast. Get into the tub before the water gets cold.”

Silently, she obeyed him. He left the room again. Hermione put her knees under her chin. What was happening to her?

xxx

For the rest of the week, Hermione fled Voldemort’s touch like a hurt puppy. Voldemort found this very annoying, but he didn’t have time to figure out why she did that. He was busy with the new leads on the Cups. He returned back to the cave every day to try to figure out more about the Cup there. However, he always came back to the hotel frustrated and empty handed. All the cave did was to tell stories about all the things the Cup had managed to do for the people. Things he already knew about from all the other stories about it… or them.

When he wasn’t in the cave, he was in the some of the half-forgotten bookshop around Brasília. Or owling his minions in Britain. Or discussing potions with Severus. Since Hermione fled his touch, he spent a couple of nights at the fight-club, getting rid of his anger. He still didn’t know what those bastards drugged them with, but other than Hermione’s strange behaviour, he hadn’t notice anything different.

One night, he came back earlier than he usually did. The full moon was already shining down at him, however, he usually didn’t get back before two or three in the morning. He appeared directly into the bathroom. One of the fighters had managed to break his lip and he wasn’t keen to remind Hermione that he actually could bleed. After healing his lip and washing away the blood, he left their bathroom. The door from the bedroom to the living room was opened. He stopped when he saw Hermione and Severus sitting close to each other on the couch. Too close. Hermione was basically sitting on the other mans lap and Severus held his hand on her shoulder.

Fury beyond reason took hold of him. He stormed to the cosy couple on the couch and ripped his wife away from her ex-teacher.

“SO THIS IS WAY YOU WON’T LET ME TOUCH YOU?” he roared. “YOU ARE TOO BUSY PLAYING WITH MY MINIONS!”

Her eyes were wide and scared and she didn’t seem to be able to form a sentence. He threw her on the armchair and turned to Severus.

“AND YOU! CRUCIO!” He put all his power behind the curse. How could they do this to him? He was Lord fucking Voldemort! If there was one wife that was off limit, it was his! And to do it in the room he paid for!

Severus’ screams of pain were mixed with Hermione’s voice, begging him to stop. He didn’t. He would kill the bastard. No one touched what was his! No one!

Something very big and very strong knocked him off his feet. The curse broke and he found himself staring into the jaw of a very big wolf. He stayed still as the wolf growled at him and showed him its big white teeth. Where had it come… Oh, right… full moon. This was the hairy version of Severus’ girlfriend.

To aggravate his shame, Hermione came to his rescue.

“Reya, that’s enough,” she said with a trembling voice and pushed the wolf away from him.

Voldemort sat up and reached for his wand which he had dropped. Unfortunately, Hermione took it instead. Voldemort gave her a murderous look.

“Please, Voldemort. Snape was only comforting me and… I’ve been feeling so strange lately, so I thought I perhaps was pregnant… but I’m not. Snape did a couple of examinations to be really sure…”

“Stop talking,” he hissed.

She stopped immediately. He rose and straightened his robe. He turned to the wolf that was licking the unconscious Severus’ face. When Voldemort took a step closer to them, the wolf turned around and growled.

Voldemort stopped. “I know you are able to understand me since Snape brewed you the Wolfsbane potion. So listen closely; you are no longer welcome among us. If I ever see you near my wife again, I’ll kill you. Tell your mate that if I see him before I call for him, he will regret it deeply.” He turned to his wife. “Get our son, we are leaving.”

Hermione had stared at him with her mouth opened. Now she stood and walked over to her former teacher. “He is barely breathing!”

“Now, Hermione,” he hissed.

Hermione looked up at him with anger in her eyes. “You can’t just treat people like this! What if he dies?”

“That is not really my problem, now is it?”

“Then you can leave without me!”

Voldemort pressed his lips together. “So you chose him over me?”

“I’d rather save a person’s life than let you order me around, yes.”

His eyes narrowed. “Fine. Let’s see how you feel about it when the Contract kicks in because you aren’t living with me anymore.” He turned around and stalked into the bedroom. With a wave of his hand, he had packed their belongings. Without turning around, he took their son and Apparated away.

He didn’t see his wife for the rest of the month.
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The Contract