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. |
Good afternoon! In celebration of my mum’s 55 birthday, here is a new chapter! I want to thank everyone for reading and reviewing and special thanks to Nerys for betaing!
WARNING! Smut! (Okay, this warning is starting to become quite redundant since there is smut is almost every chapter… from now on, I’ll only warn if there are any dark themes coming up. Thus, if you can’t handle smut in stories, find another story to read.)
Review replies can be found here: http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/20494-shared-flame-by-lady-miya/page__pid__246385__st__20#entry246385
Chapter 22
Hermione didn’t know if she should just sigh and get up, or scream. She had been left unsatisfied and sticky on the bed. For a moment, she thought he was playing with her and would come back and finish. But then she heard the shower turning on, and she knew he didn’t plan to come back. She scowled against the ceiling and managed to wriggle herself into a sitting position, moving her bound hands in front of her. With a little help from her teeth, she managed to undo the knot he had made in her shirt, and she used it to wipe the sperm from her stomach before throwing it on the floor. Merlin, she needed a shower as well. And to get off. Her lower regions were throbbing with unfulfilled need.
Stepping into the bathroom, she marched straight into the running shower where Voldemort was already standing. The shower wasn’t big; it was just a stall with a curtain hanging around it. Voldemort was shampooing his hair when she entered, and he didn’t open his eyes, but she knew he knew she was there. The small smirk at the corner of his mouth was very telling. She nudged him away and stepped under the running water, wanting to wash herself off. She had only began to wet her hair when he moved in under the water as well, forcing her back against the wall. Her sex clenched with need. She wanted him so much!
However, his cock hung soft and useless between his legs. Well, she would have to do something about that, wouldn’t she? She trailed her fingers over his chest and stomach, all the way down to his thigh. Sneaking a glance upward, she noticed his smirk had disappeared, but he wasn’t looking like he was about to move away. She moved her thumbs at the inside of his thighs, up under his cock. When she started to massage his sacks, he let out a sigh and opened his eyes.
“And what do you think will happen if you continue to do that?” he asked in a low voice.
“I was hoping you would ravish me against the wall,” she answered truthfully, trying not to blush too much. If there were one thing she had learned about him was that he rewarded honesty.
“Is that so?” he mused, his hands coming up to her neck. “But I’m not a teenage boy, Hermione. I need some time to recov— Oh!”
Hermione had read that some men liked to be stroked right behind the sacks. It appeared Voldemort was one of those men. She looked up at him innocently. “I could stop?”
He gripped her neck with both hands. “Stop and I will strangle you.”
It was really wrong that his threat only made her hornier. His cock grew harder, and she moved one hand up to stroke the head. It didn’t take long until his hands moved down from her neck and brushed her hands away. Then, he lifted her up against the wall and placed her legs around his waist. She wrapped her arms around his neck and closed her eyes. She was already so close to an orgasm it wouldn’t take much until she was pushed over the edge.
When he began to thrust in and out of her, she met his strokes eagerly. One of his hands was supporting her arse and the other was between her legs, playing with her clit. She bit into his neck as she came, muffling the scream of satisfaction. He followed soon afterwards, and they were left panting under the hot water.
Hermione moved her legs down to the floor and leaned her head against his chest. Now she could think straight again. “So you want me to keep the baby?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
The fact that she would keep the child didn’t sadden her. Quite the opposite. It made her heart feel warm, and she wanted to prove to herself that she could be a good mother from the very beginning. But at the same time, she was worried about what Voldemort could want with it. Because she was sure he felt like he was winning something with his decision. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have made it.
He was silent for a moment before he answered. “It would go well with my persona.”
She leaned back, looking up at him. “But you are not Marcus Foster.”
“But I am. That is the secret behind a good alias. You and I are the only ones who know the truth. The rest doesn’t even suspect me. Why would they? I have created a past for Marcus Foster; now I’ll also have a future for him.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Yes, but don’t try to fool me, Voldemort. You must be getting something out of this as well.”
He smiled and leaned down to kiss the tip of her nose. “You are so cute when you are trying to figure something out, kitten.” He stepped away from her and washed off his sex before making his way out of the shower.
“Wait,” she said, scowling.
He looked at her, his hand already on the shower curtain.
“If we will have a second child together, we are going to have a serious talk about how to raise them. And you will compromise.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Oh? And what if I don’t care about that?”
“Well, if you want people to see you as Marcus Foster, you can’t treat them as you would if you were Voldemort. It would be very suspicious if your own children feared you.”
He glared at her. “We shall see about that.”
He stepped outside, and a moment later, she heard the bathroom door slam close. Hermione sighed. But she was going to fight for this. She wanted Althea and the next child to begin a Muggle school before Hogwarts. And she didn’t want them to have to be afraid of their father. Somehow, she would make sure they had a happy childhood, no matter what.
She allowed herself to take a long shower before she went back to the bedroom again. She had left her dressing grown there, and now, she pulled it on while waiting for her hair to dry somewhat so she could start brushing it. In the meantime, she was getting hungry.
Voldemort was already lying on the couch fully dressed with a bowl of soup on his stomach and a book hovering in front of him. “There is food on the counter under a stasis charm,” he said without looking up.
Hermione went over to it and poured herself some of the soup. She brought the bowl to the armchair before she began eating.
“How come you are so good at cooking?” she asked after tasting the delicious carrot soup.
“Practise,” he replied, eyes not leaving the book.
“Obviously. But there has to be more to it. My parents are just mediocre cooks, even though they have been going at it for forty years or so.”
He sighed and turned his head. “Can’t you see I’m reading?”
“Yes, and that’s rather rude when someone tries to talk with you,” she replied cheekily.
She wanted to talk to him about something normal. Something that took her mind away from everything that had happened. She was in a good mood after the sex and she wanted to stay that way.
He studied her closely for a moment, and then, sighed. The book slammed close and floated back to the bookcase.
“Very well. I hate the British kitchen, and for obvious reasons, I prefer to prepare my own food. Because of this, I’ve tried to find new sorts of food, which have led to a lot of practice, and thus, I excel at cooking.” He sat up and ate the last of his bowl’s contents before placing the bowl on the coffee table.
“Oh.” She ate some more. “How come you hate it?”
“I grew up in the thirties, Hermione, just after the economic collapse. How do you imagine the conditions of the food were at an orphanage?”
“I see.” Since he seemed in a sharing mood, she continued to ask: “What was it like growing up before and during World War Two?”
He arched an eyebrow. “Horrible. Every night I was begging to the gods to please spare my life and not let the evil forces take me … I think that must be the reason why I am like this today. Oh, yes, now when I’ve finally got to share the burdens of my childhood, I can see the light. I want to spread joy to the world by handing out kittens and candy canes.”
She scowled. “I was only curious. There is no need to mock me.”
He snorted and stood up. “Oh, I’m sure you have no intentions whatsoever to turn me into a good, little boy.” He took her now empty bowl and disposed of them in the sink. “And we have more important things to discuss than whatever traumatic experience I encountered during my childhood.”
Hermione sighed. Apparently, he wasn’t in a sharing mood. Perhaps she could try again sometime after they had sex? “Fine. What important thing?”
He came back to the couch and sat down again, swinging his legs up on the table. “I spoke with Cox-Trotter today. She wants to talk with you before the council does.”
Hermione felt her stomach twist into a knot. “And?”
“The council wouldn’t mind kicking you out. Half of them are ancient fossils who still think women should be home with the babies, Muggle-borns should be grateful for whatever bone they are given and young people are too stupid to ever be of any use.”
She swallowed. “And the other half?”
“Of the seven in the council, I think only two have sympathy for you. Cox-Trotter is one of them. However, even if she can persuade them to let you continue your education, you can kiss whatever hope you have of becoming a Transfiguration Mistress goodbye. The majority of the council has to approve your doctoral thesis when you present it. No matter how innovative and spectacular you’ll no doubt make it, they won’t approve.” He placed his hands behind his head.
She sighed. She had feared as much. “But I guess you could still fix this mess if I … do what?”
“Of course I can fix it. However, this is your punishment for trying to kill me. Why would I fix it?”
Did he have to look so pleased?
“Oh, and since you have already agreed to have sex with me whenever I want, you’ll have to come up with something else.”
“Why can’t you just be nice and helpful for a change? You may like it!” she exclaimed.
He began laughing. Hermione had never heard him laugh like that. It was not a cold laugh but a laugh of amusement. It suited him. If only he hadn’t been laughing at her.
“Fine,” she growled. She did not like the way this conversation was heading. Okay, so it wasn’t strange that he wanted to punish her for trying to kill him. But wasn’t it punishment enough for her to have to live with him forever? “If you help me stay at Oxford and make sure they don’t destroy my chances to become a Transfiguration Mistress, I’ll marry you.”
He removed his legs from the table and leaned forward instead. “We’ve already established that.”
She crossed her arms. “I never agreed. And since you can’t force me to marry you without risking to arouse suspicions, you’ll need my agreement.”
“How had you planned to keep me from murdering Muggles through sex if you aren’t married to me?”
She snorted. “I’ve managed so far, haven’t I?”
His eyes narrowed. “Fine. But then you’ll have to start acting like you love me in front of your friends. And I don’t mean I’m-under-a-love-potion love, I mean like society expect a woman in love to behave. To testify to that, you’ll make sure it’s the wedding of the century.”
Hermione stared at him in disbelief. What could he possibly win by having a big wedding? Or maybe he had always dreamt about a big wedding? No, that was ridiculous.
“And you’ll act like you love me?”
“Naturally. I’ll even buy you flowers, if you want to.”
“Very well,” she agreed, clenching her teeth together.
Now he seemed pleased again. Hermione hoped that meant he was satisfied with her offer and would help her.
“So how do you plan to make the council accept me?” she asked.
“Oh, I have my ways. It will definitely help that we will get engaged.”
“You won’t hurt anyone?”
“The less you know, the less guilt you have to burden yourself with,” he replied with a smirk. “Enough about this, though. I’m horny. Come here.”
“But we just had sex twice!” she cried. “I’m not horny at all.”
He leaned back on the couch, his hands behind his head. “First, that doesn’t matter because you promised you’d fuck me whenever I wanted to. Second … yes, you are.”
“No, I’m not!” But as she said it, she could feel her sex starting to throb.
He smirked knowingly.
“What did you do?” she demanded, coming over to him and undoing her bathrobe. She had promised after all. And, well, she rather fucked him than argued with him.
“Nothing. Just proving that the mere thought of having sex with me makes you wet.”
“Shut up,” she growled and straddled him.
“Make me,” he mumbled just before she captured his lips in a searing kiss.
Much later that night, Hermione lay awake in Voldemort’s bed, staring at the small glimmer of light that made its way through the curtains. She had fallen into an exhausted sleep after her seventh orgasm that day, but now, she just couldn’t sleep anymore. It was still in the middle of the night, and she felt quite comfortable just lying there, listing to Voldemort’s heavy breathing next to her.
Her fiancé. Soon-to-be-husband. The father of her children. Oh, and one of the darkest wizards who had ever existed.
She turned her head and looked at him. Even in his sleep, he looked intimidating. Or perhaps that was because she knew that if she as much as moved to touch him, he would awaken, ready to curse her. Or curse anyone else who dared enter the room. She was certain that he would hex anyone who came in, even if that person were only interested in hurting her. He would keep her safe from others. She was his.
It should bother her much more than it did, she was aware of that. She had always known she was her own person, free to make her own choices in life. She had even made it her mission to free others from enslavement, even if they didn’t seem to want it. Yet, when he had told her parents that he intended to marry her, she hadn’t protested. Even when she had promised to marry him if he helped her stay at Oxford, she had known she would marry him even if he didn’t help her. He probably knew that as well.
Hermione shifted her leg slightly and grimaced when the muscles in her groin protested. She would have one hell of cramp in the morning. He hadn’t hold back at all today. Every time they fucked, he had become more and more aggressive. She had loved it. Not that she would ever admit it out loud. However, she was sure he knew that, too.
How come he didn’t gloat about it? Did he have a kind bone in his body? Or did he just know that if he didn’t bring it up, she wouldn’t start to fight it? Because she probably would have put up more of a fight if he had said anything along the line of “I know you want it”.
Being with him went against everything she believed in, but she just couldn’t help it. Without him, she was scared. With him, she knew she was protected. If they hadn’t had a fight just before she was kidnapped and he hadn’t got thrown into prison, she was completely certain he would have searched for her.
Wasn’t that what everyone wanted, really? Someone that would always search for you? Someone who wouldn’t allow anyone to hurt you?
Okay, so with Voldemort, he wanted to punish her himself. However, that wasn’t as bad as it could be. She knew that she could handle what he did to her. She had so far. Besides, she could always compromise her way out of his punishments. Like she had done today. Or maybe that was what he had wanted from the beginning? Why did he want to have a big wedding? It wasn’t like either of them had a lot of friends. At least she didn’t.
However, she did have a lot of associates. Like everyone in the Order. But would they really come if she invited them? It wasn’t like she had bothered to stay in touch with anyone. She was sure Harry and the Weasleys would come. Maybe Andromeda Tonks and Teddy. Other than that, she wasn’t so sure.
Even though she was recognised by many, she wasn’t famous like Harry was. People didn’t seem to want to be in her presence as they wanted with him. Not that she minded, of course. However, when everyone would fight to get an invitation to the Potter-Weasley wedding, she seriously didn’t know whom she would invite to hers. Perhaps Voldemort should have married Harry if he wanted a big wedding.
The thought made her snort out loud before she could muffle it. Voldemort opened his eyes. When he saw that it was just her, he yawned and stretched.
“What are you doing?” he asked, voice rough from sleep.
“Just thinking.”
“About?” He closed his eyes again and turned to the side so he was facing her, even though he looked like he was about to fall asleep again at any moment.
“Why do you want a big wedding?”
He smiled, eyes still closed. “They seem more fun.”
She huffed. “Yeah, right. Seriously?”
He opened his eyes again. “I have a lot of new friends and I want them around me on the happiest day of my life.”
She stared at him in disbelief.
“Oh, I’m not jesting,” he purred and moved closer to her, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her cheek. “And you better act like it’s your happiest day as well. Now go back to sleep.”
After a few moments, Hermione relaxed in his arms and closed her eyes. At least now she knew that the wedding had something to do with “friends”. When she saw the guest-list, she would probably figure out what he was up to.
xxx
Voldemort straightened his navy-blue teaching robe before he knocked on the door to Master Nabelius’s office. He was the oldest member of the council and the one with the most influence, besides Professor Cox-Trotter.
“Enter,” came a dry, old voice from inside.
Voldemort opened the door and stepped inside the overblown office. Master Nabelius was sitting behind an enormous mahogany desk. He was slowly writing on a scroll with a long quill, his round glasses at the tip of his nose. Even though he looked older and slower than Dumbledore had done before his death, Master Nabelius was not to be underestimated. He was still very aware of his power and cared all about appearances. Voldemort was quite sure the old goat had planned his own funeral down to what type of handkerchief the guests would use to wipe away their (no doubt fake) tears.
After half a minute, the wizard looked up from his scroll. “Ah, Professor Foster. What brings you here?”
“There is something I wish to discuss with you about a student of mine, Miss Granger.”
The wizard leaned back in his chair with a nasty smirk on his face. “Yes. You made a real fool of yourself there, Foster. What has the little slut promised you for coming here? And don’t you dare look appalled, boy, I know her type.”
Voldemort sighed theatrically and sat down in the armchair across the desk, even though the old man hadn’t invited him to. Voldemort had expected this response. Master Nabelius was very careful not to insult the wrong people but took his horrible personality out on the ones he thought were below him. Voldemort was very much looking forward to the day he could show the dried-up, old coot that Lord Voldemort wasn’t below anyone.
“She has promised to marry me, as a matter of fact. And since I want a respected wife, I am here to … ah, convince you to not destroy Miss Granger’s chances at Oxford,” Voldemort said, his wand dancing between his fingers.
Master Nabelius’ eyes narrowed as he watched the wand. “Cursing me will get you nowhere, boy. Security will be here before you have a chance to even aim your wand.”
Voldemort doubted that, since he was very quick with his wand. “I never planned to do anything of such crudeness. But by all means, call in security. I think they would be happy to know all about the strange murder on a Muggle-born that happened here back in the Seventies.”
The quill snapped in the hundred-and-twelve-year-old’s hand. “What are you suggesting, Professor Foster?”
Voldemort smirked. “Even though the Aurors thought it was a Death Eater attack, not everyone bought it. Oh, I’m sure You-Know-Who would have ordered the death of Mr Andersen as he started to get influence here but … I have reasons to believe someone else was to blame for this.”
“You know nothing!” Nabelius rasped, sweat starting to form at his forehead.
Voldemort chuckled. “Now, now, Master Nabelius, I’m certain that I can … forget to mention my findings to the Aurors if I have something happier to celebrate.” He rose. “But if Miss Granger isn’t allowed to continue her studies without reprisals, I will be very displeased. And you don’t want to see me displeased, Master Nabelius.” He stroked his wand slowly. “I hope we understand each other?”
Nabelius tried to scowl, but the fear in his eyes was obvious. “We do, Professor Foster.”
“Excellent. Good day.”
Voldemort left the office and went straight to Cox-Trotter’s office where Hermione was. Since his meeting with Nabelius had gone by fast, he assumed he would have to wait a while until Hermione was done. To his surprise, the door opened just a few minutes after he had sat down on one of the benches, which were strategically placed a little here and there in the corridors.
“How did it go?” he asked as Hermione came out, looking rather relieved.
“She wanted to be sure that I hadn’t used our connection for any unfair advantage. I swore that I hadn’t, and since there haven’t been any exams yet and I’ve only handed in two papers, she said that it would not be too hard to check. She was happy to hear that we are getting engaged, by the way. It puts us in a better light. She thought it would also be good if we made it official before my council hearing next Friday,” Hermione summarised in a low voice as they went towards the exit.
“Well, if you are up for it, we can go and pick up the papers at the Ministry right away,” Voldemort suggested.
Hermione looked a bit nervous. “Can’t we wait until after lunch? There may be less people there on a Friday afternoon.”
He shrugged. “Fine. Where do you want to eat?”
“Can’t we bring my parents to lunch? They will, after all, be leaving on Sunday.”
Voldemort sighed, but since he knew he would be rid of her parents in just two days, he decided he could live through it. “Very well. Walk or Apparate?”
Hermione hesitated before she let out a sigh. “Walk. I don’t want anyone to think I’m hiding.”
Voldemort just opened the door for her and didn’t mention that she had in fact been hiding from the world this week. He benefited more from being seen with her than the amusement he would get by making her scowl. Although, not a lot of people seemed to notice that they were walking together. The few who did immediately began whispering about it to their companions, but on a whole, the majority of the students were too busy with their own thing to notice them. After all, there were a lot of professors and students walking in close proximity on their way to lunch. Voldemort acted on the urge to take Hermione’s hand, just so people would notice and see that she was his. The faster everyone realised that, the better.
It took about ten minutes for the Grangers and Althea to get ready for lunch. Since it was unusually good weather for the second week of December, they decided to walk from the magical area of Oxford and find a good restaurant by foot. They took their time eating. Hermione told her parents that they would get engaged and that she had decided to keep the baby. To Voldemort’s surprise, her parents didn’t object at all.
It was almost two o’clock when they finally left. Helen and Malcolm decided to take a walk and maybe do some shopping, which left Althea to go with Hermione and Voldemort to the Ministry. They had just stepped out the lift inside the Ministry when Hermione’s name was called.
From their left, Voldemort saw the Minister of Magic himself coming towards them in the nearly empty hallway. He noted Hermione smiling a bit insecurely.
“Minister,” she said politely.
“Please, Hermione, we have fought side by side. Call me Kingsley,” the big man said and gave her a hug. “What brings you to the Ministry?”
Voldemort did not like the way the Minister appreciated Hermione’s appearance. He didn’t even seem put off by Althea holding her hand. Voldemort knew Shacklebolt was a womaniser, even though he had become a lot more careful since he became Minister. However, Shacklebolt had still been seen in romantic encounters with six different women in the last four years, and Voldemort knew about at least six more women who had found their way to the Minister’s bed.
It wasn’t that Voldemort thought Hermione would be interested in the much too tall wizard, but Voldemort felt a strong need to mark his territory. He placed his left hand on her shoulder.
“We are actually here to make our engagement official,” he said smoothly.
A flash of disappointment was seen in Shacklebolt’s eyes, and his smile became a little less friendly. “Oh, so you are the infamous Marcus Foster?”
“I am,” he said, not breaking eye contact with him.
In his mind, he imagined what would happen if he brought out his wand and decapitated the other man. At least then, Shacklebolt would be of normal length. Voldemort hated having to look up at people. He usually didn’t have to either. If someone were taller than him, he tried to gain height some other way, by standing on a platform or in a staircase. Here, there was nothing like that. Hence, he had to prove his superiority some other way.
“Hermione never told me you two knew each other. But oh, that’s right. You were both in the Order.” Voldemort smiled. “Must have been a relief to have someone as remarkably brilliant as Hermione on the team to save you all, right?”
The Minister crossed his arm. “It was. But how are you feeling, Hermione? I really hope no one has been disturbing you after your, er, ordeal.”
“I’m fine, Kingsley. And no, no one has disturbed me. I’ve been at home with Marcus, Althea and my parents. Just coping, you know.”
Shacklebolt sighed. “Yes, I’ll never forgive myself for not protesting when the Wizengamot started to release known Death Eaters.”
“It would have happened sooner or later,” Hermione said, her chin rising a little. “I survived.”
“Indeed. If you weren’t so big at the university, I would have insisted you joined the Aurors. But oh, I won’t keep you standing here. I got some politicians to hex. Or wish I could hex, anyway.” He grimaced. “Congratulations to the engagement. And if you need a minister for the bonding ceremony, I’ll be honoured to do it.”
Hermione glanced at Voldemort who gave her a tiny nod. “We’ll probably take you up on that, Kingsley. Take care.” After another hug with Hermione and a nod to Voldemort, Shacklebolt disappeared into the lift.
“Mum?” Althea asked. She had been staring wide-eyed at the Minister. “Who’s that?”
“That was one of my old friends, Kingsley Shacklebolt. He is the leader of this country,” Hermione explained and tugged Althea along down the hallway.
“Why’s he so big?” Althea wanted to know.
“He wasn’t that big,” Voldemort growled, not liking the way Althea seemed to have been enthralled by the other man.
“You didn’t like him,” Hermione noted in a low voice.
“He wanted to fuck you. Of course I didn’t like him,” he muttered in an equally low voice.
“You won’t hurt him, will you?” she asked, worried.
When he didn’t answer at once, she pinched him.
“Ouch! No, I don’t plan to. Not as long as he keeps his hands to himself. However, if you pinch me again, I will hurt you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You promised …”
He rolled his eyes and interrupted her. “Sexually, obviously. In the I-can’t-believe-I-actually-enjoyed-that-it-was-so-wrong kind of way.”
“Oh. Hey, don’t talk around such things when Althea is around!”
He looked down at his daughter who followed their conversation with her usual interest. “She doesn’t care. Besides, it isn’t like her ears will catch fire just because she hears the word ‘fuck’. You are just worried she will repeat it in a crowd, and then, people will start to think you expose her to bad things.”
“No, I don’t worry about that,” she protested.
He arched an eyebrow at her.
She sighed. “I just don’t want Mrs Weasley hearing it. She will fuss.”
He snorted just as they came to a stop at the Social Affairs Office. A witch in her mid-twenties was sitting at the reception and was more than happy to hand out the right paperwork for them to fill in. It only took fifteen minutes to write everything down, and when they handed them in, the receptionist explained that they would receive a notification when the papers had been processed.
Betrothed, they made their way back to the entrance hall. Voldemort was feeling very happy. Again, he had tied Hermione closer to him, and she seemed to accept it. Everything was running along just smoothly.
Just before they were about to Apparate, he spotted another couple who looked like they were also about to be engaged. She was clinging to his arm, and he didn’t seem to mind. Also, on her finger, he noticed a golden ring. Voldemort sighed. He had had the feeling he was forgetting something. Or, not forgetting, of course, more like ignoring since he wasn’t one to be influenced by Muggle customs. However, he had noticed that more and more young people started to get engagement rings. Hermione’s friend Ginevra wore one.
“What?” Hermione asked when she noticed he wasn’t Apparating them.
“Do you want an engagement ring?” he asked.
She frowned. “I didn’t think you approved of anything Muggle?”
He sighed. “It’s just a ring. I don’t really care. If you want one, I do have enough money to buy you the most exclusive one.”
Hermione shrugged. “I don’t really care either. I’m not used to wearing jewellery. Will we have wedding rings?”
“Half-bloods and Muggle-borns usually have. Pure-bloods cling to the old ways and have the tattoo instead.”
“Right. Do you have to choose between those two?”
Voldemort frowned. “I have never bothered to read about it.”
Hermione grinned. “You mean there is something you don’t know?”
He scowled. “Well, it will be easy enough to find out, won’t it? Hold on.”
He Apparated the three of them out of the Ministry, and they landed just outside their building at Oxford. As they entered, they met yet another friend of Hermione’s, Ginevra Weasley. She was coming down the stairs, and when she spotted them, she stopped.
“Gins!” Althea exclaimed, letting go of Hermione to run and hug Weasley.
Voldemort had to force back a grimace. He did not like the fact that his daughter seemed to like the redhead. She would get enough wrong influence from Hermione.
“Hello, Althea, how nice to see you!” Weasley said, sitting down to hug Althea before looking up at Hermione again.
“I was just at your door, but no one answered,” she explained with a weak smile. “How are you?”
“Good enough,” Hermione answered. “Would you like some tea?”
Voldemort mentally grimaced. He had looked forward to some afternoon sex to celebrate their betrothal. Surely, that was customary?
“If I’m not intruding?” Weasley asked, looking from Hermione to Voldemort.
Yes, Voldemort wanted to answer.
“No, not at all,” Hermione said quickly. “In fact, I planned to owl you and invite you over.”
She had?
“Oh. Well, in that case.” Weasley rose and went up the stairs, still holding Althea’s hand and asking the young girl about her day. Hermione followed before Voldemort had time to ask what she was doing.
A few minutes later, they were all sitting in an uncomfortable silence around the kitchen table. Except Althea who was thrilled to eat her ration of ice cream for the week. Voldemort ate his fourth potion of ice cream for the week with a little less enthusiasm and a lot more grace. Apparently, the women were to “grown-up” to have ice cream and had tea. Voldemort didn’t mind since it meant there was more for him.
“So, what did you want to talk about?” Weasley finally asked.
Hermione, who had been staring down her tea cup, looked up. “Oh, I just wanted to know a little more about wizarding weddings. Except for Bill’s, I’ve never been to one, and even though I’ve been preparing for yours, I don’t really know a lot about what to expect on the actual wedding or afterwards.”
Weasley grinned. “You mean there is actually something I know more about than you do?”
Hermione’s scowl was very much alike the one Voldemort had worn ten minutes ago.
“Yes. However, we are ready to learn more now. Marcus and I just got engaged.”
Weasley gasped. “Y-you got en-engaged?”
Hermione looked down at the table. “Yes. Also, I’m not sure if Harry told you, but I’m pregnant again.”
The red-haired witch was actually gaping as she stared in disbelief at Hermione. However, it didn’t take her very long to return to her senses. “Well, congratulation then. You must be very, ehrm, happy?”
Hermione looked up, her face red. “Actually, we are. It may seem a bit rushed.”
“A little,” her friend quickly agreed.
“But we said that it would probably happen sooner or later and decided that, hey, why not now?”
“I guess,” Ginny looked a bit uncertain. “But are you feeling alright? I mean, after what happened?”
Like always when someone mentioned the kidnapping, Voldemort noted Hermione’s shoulders tense. “As good as can be expected. Having Marcus with me has really helped.”
“I’m glad to hear.” At least she looked like she wanted to be glad. “But what do you want to know about weddings? Haven’t you been to a wedding before?” She directed the last question to Voldemort.
“Just one British wizard’s wedding,” Voldemort answered honestly. “But they were traditional pure-bloods and it was quite stiff. I hope ours won’t be like it.”
Of course, one of the reasons why it had been so stiff was because the young bride had cried as her father had dragged her down the aisle. It had been one of the few times Voldemort had seen Bellatrix cry. As Bella got to know Voldemort, she had matured into a fascinating creature that seemed to be able to handle anything thrown at her. Such a shame she grew insane. She would never have been bested by a Weasley in her prime.
“Ugh, yes, they can be rather horrible. Especially the branding,” Weasley grimaced. “You should really go for the rings, like Harry and I. Most couples do these days.”
“But you have to go with one of them?” Hermione wanted to know.
“Yes. The vows are magically sealed into the rings or the tattoos. If you do a branding, you can never divorce because then, the magic will be in the skin. Also, if you break your vows with a branding, that will hurt you. With a ring, the vow breaking will just be transmitted to the Ministry’s archive. So, if you want to break off the marriage because your partner has broken the vows, you can ask them to look in the archives. I don’t really know how they can see it, but I guess it’s written down magically. Then, if you do get a divorce, a court will probably rule in your favour when it comes to material possessions, like who will get the house and those sorts of things.”
“You can’t get a divorce otherwise?” Voldemort asked, frowning.
“You can if both partners agree to it, but you have to be absolutely certain you can’t live with the other person. It’s not so much because of the Ministry, even though they do frown upon divorces, but because of the magical bond that is created between the couple. Although, luckily enough, you have to be really certain you want to get married to begin with, because the magic doesn’t work if you don’t really want to be married. At least not with the new type they use if you bind it with rings. With the branding, that was never a problem for some reason.”
Weasley was fingering her own engagement ring while she talked. Voldemort saw that Hermione saw it, too. Did she want an engagement ring? She hadn’t given him a straight answer before. Maybe it was one of those things, which were supposed to be hinted. Voldemort was usually very good at reading what people wanted to hear and took great satisfaction in saying the opposite. However, if Hermione did indeed want an engagement ring, he didn’t mind giving her one. One of the reasons why he wanted to get married was because he wanted her marked. Why not do that already with a ring? However, if she didn’t want a ring, she might start to feel trapped with one and behave anxious. He didn’t want that either.
“I think we’ll probably do the ring thing, then,” Hermione commented with a forced smile.
“That is probably for the best. Since none of you are pure-blood, I think people would be surprised if you did the branding,” Weasley replied dryly. “When will your wedding be?”
“Not before next winter,” Hermione said. “If all goes well with the pregnancy, I will give birth in August. I mean, I want to be able to dance at my own wedding!”
“Oh, right, will you still be able to be my bridesmaid in April?” Weasley asked worriedly.
“Definitely. I’ll be in the second trimester then, so the morning sickness should be gone, and I won’t yet be terribly big. Last time, I had just started to show by then. Maybe we just have to make my bridesmaid’s dress a little bigger,” Hermione said thoughtfully.
“That’s good,” Weasley said, relieved. “And of course, you are welcome to come, too, Professor Foster. But during the wedding, Hermione will walk with my brother Charlie.”
“Please, call me Marcus,” Voldemort said politely. “And I’ll be happy to come. We haven’t put together a guest list yet, but I’m sure you and Mr Potter are most welcomed.”
“If I have bridesmaids, I’d be happy if you would be one of them,” Hermione quickly added. “But we haven’t planned that far ahead yet. I still need to research about it.”
Weasley laughed. “Now, you are starting to sound like your old self. Hey, do you have any plans for Christmas yet?”
Hermione tensed up again. “Ehm …”
“Mum just wanted you to know that you are all invited to come to the Burrow for Christmas Eve, Christmas Day and Boxing Day. She would really much like to meet you,” Weasley quickly added, looking at Voldemort.
“I’m sure that would be fun, but my parents have already asked us if we wanted to come down to Australia,” Hermione excused. “We’ll be staying till Boxing Day.”
Voldemort saw an opportunity he didn’t want to miss. “But with the time difference, we will be back in Britain the morning of Boxing Day. The Portkey we have ordered will leave at six p.m. and then it will eight a.m. here. That is, if you think you are up for visiting your friends?”
Hermione did seem a bit tempted. “We could do that. However, we will be rather tired when it’s time for lunch. Althea in particularly.”
“Perhaps it will be alright to wait and see on Boxing Day?” Voldemort asked, looking at Weasley.
“Yes, sure. You know Mum, Hermione, she always makes more food than necessary. If you can come, we’ll be happy, but if you can’t, we will understand.”
Hermione and Weasley talked for a little while longer, and Voldemort used the “Althea needs a bath” excuse to get away from the chitchat. Not that it was an excuse since the girl needed a bath, but it was much more fun speaking to his daughter than listening to the redhead’s Christmas shopping experiences.
“Dad, what does pregnant mean?” Althea asked in Parseltongue when she sat in the bathtub with Voldemort showering her hair.
“Pregnant means that a woman is making a baby inside her belly,” Voldemort answered in Parseltongue.
“How?”
“Well, you know how you have a lot of pretty things on the inside of your body?”
Althea nodded and put a hand over her chest. “The dunk is my heart.”
“Exactly. You also have a thing inside your belly that is capable of creating babies.”
Althea frowned as she thought. “How do you know if you are pregnant, then?”
“You know how Mum and Dad play their adult game sometimes?”
“The naked playing?”
“Precisely. That sort of playing can start the thing inside your belly to create a baby. Soon, your mum’s belly will grow because the baby is growing. Then, when it’s big enough, it will come out and you’ll have a new baby to play with.” Voldemort made sure all the shampoo was out of her hair before he put away the hose. “There, do you want to come up now?”
Althea nodded and stood, stretching out her arms so he could wrap the towel around her. Voldemort smiled. She was so trusting. If he played his cards right, she would grow up to be the perfect little minion to him.
“Dad, why aren’t you pregnant?” she asked when they were in the bedroom, dressing her again.
“I don’t have the same things on the inside as your mum does,” he explained, watching as she pulled on her socks.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m a male, and you and your mum are female,” he explained.
“Can’t I be a male?”
“With the right spells you could. But I suggest you try being female for a little while, okay?”
“Is it more fun being female?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never tried.”
“Why not?”
Voldemort thought about it. “I haven’t had time to try.”
Althea seemed completely puzzled by that. Voldemort smiled and then heard the chairs move in the other room. A thought occurred to him, and he stepped out. Hermione and Weasley were already hugging each other goodbye. Voldemort became a bit envious. They had just become engaged, and he hadn’t got to touch her at all yet. The moment Weasley was outside the door, he would change that. But first, he needed to ask the annoying woman a question.
“Miss Weasley,” he asked. “Could I have a word with you before you leave? Alone?”
Hermione looked a bit suspicious. “Why?”
He chuckled, went up to her and kissed her forehead. “You’ll find out in about two weeks.”
It took her a couple of seconds before she got the Christmas reference. Even though she didn’t seem to believe him, she played along. “Fine, I’ll go and make sure Althea is clean.”
“She is. No peaking.”
Hermione rolled her eyes and closed the bedroom door behind her. Voldemort faced the redhead.
“So, Miss Weasley …”
“Ginny is good,” she interrupted.
“Ginny, then. Or Ginevra?” he asked, giving her the pretence that Hermione had talked about her. Of course Hermione hadn’t mentioned her often at all since she found out who he was. “It is a very beautiful name.”
“Eh, thank you. But really, Ginny is good. No one calls me Ginevra.”
She seemed a bit uncomfortable in his presence. A little more flattery could help then.
“A shame. Not many people are graced with an intriguing name such as yours.”
Why did she tense? Surely, she couldn’t mistake the flattery for something more? Better get to the chase then.
“Anyway, Hermione has told me that you two have been close friends for a long time?” he asked.
“Yes.”
She was so guarded. She even seemed a little scared. Why?
“Then, perhaps you can help me? I have an idea of what I could give Hermione for Christmas, but I’m not sure how she would react. Since this will be our first Christmas together, I want it to be special and, well, not have her throw my present back at me.” He ran his hand through his hair in a way that he knew made him seem a bit sheepish.
“Okay?”
“I was thinking about giving her an engagement ring,” he said the last in a whisper. “But when I asked her about it, she just shrugged. I don’t know if that means she doesn’t want one or if she is pretending to be fine going without one, because she doesn’t want it to be a bother for me to find her a good one. But since you know her so well, I had hoped you would know what her thoughts were about such things?”
Finally, Weasley seemed to relax a little. “Okay. Yeah, I can see Hermione do that. I actually don’t know for sure. She has never talked about her dream wedding or anything like that. She is an independent woman and has always been for equality so … I guess that if you aren’t wearing an engagement ring, she doesn’t feel like she should either. And she has never been big with jewellery.”
He sighed. “I was afraid of that. What do you think I should give her then?”
“Books are always safe with Hermione,” she started slowly. “Although, it’s not very special. Oh, but if you could convince other wizards to free their house-elves, she will—well, it’s already too late to say that ‘she will marry you’—but she will be very happy.”
“House-elves?” he asked, only a little bit surprised. He had heard about her S.P.E.W. activity at Hogwarts, but not that she had been so passionate about it.
“Yes. She claims that it’s slave labour and that they should be paid and get the weekends off and things like that.” Weasley’s face showed exactly how ridiculous she thought that was.
“Well, I can follow her reasoning,” Voldemort thought out loud. “But you don’t know of anything material she wants? Besides books?”
“Sorry, no. She is not really the romantic sort.”
He sighed. “No. And usually I love her for that, but it’s hard around the holidays,” he said, accidentely-on-purpose mentioning the word “love”. Weasley would take it as a positive sign. “Well, thank you, anyway. I guess we’ll see each other around now and then.”
“I guess so.” Weasley fingered her robe. “I should just say goodbye to Althea, then.”
“Right,” he stepped aside and made a gesture for her to walk to the bedroom door.
A couple of minutes later, she had left and he was finally alone with Hermione. Althea didn’t count since she was playing in her own world.
“Sex, now.”
“But my parents can come home at any—”
He shut her up by starting to snog her senseless against the wall. If her parents did come in, they would just have to wait. He was horny.
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