Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Shared Flame	By : TheLadyMiya Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 58981 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 5
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I do not make any money writing this.

Chapter List
- 26
- 27
- 28
Hello, people! New chapter up! Alas, I’m very busy this week with home-exam and moving to Gothenburg, so I’m not sure how long it will take until the next chapter is done. Hopefully you won’t have to wait more than two weeks, but I can’t promise anything.

Great thanks to Nerys and Shan84 for betaing this chapter! And thank you all for reading and reviewing. Review replies can be found here: http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/20494-shared-flame-by-lady-miya/

Chapter 26
Once Christmas was over, Voldemort and Hermione moved into the bigger flat that the university council had promised them. It contained two bedrooms, a big combined living room/kitchen and a bathroom. With the new child on its way, they decided that Althea should have her own room. During the day that was not a problem, but in the first week, Althea came in to her parents’ bedroom every night because she couldn’t sleep. Hermione and Voldemort shared the responsibility to take Althea back to her own room and stay with her until she fell asleep again. Usually, this only happened once a night.
The new semester began in January, and by then Hermione had managed to do all the work she had missed during the time she had been kidnapped and spent in recovery. Despite Voldemort’s distrust, the nanny stayed with Althea when they were both in school, but it was only two to three times a week. Once the lectures were over, Hermione and Voldemort took their turns staying at home with Althea. Sometimes, Hermione needed to go to the library and check things up. Other days, Voldemort needed to be at his office or at some meeting. When they were together, they tried tracking down Bäcker and find out more about his Shared Flame research, but at the end of the day, they were lucky if they got to spend more than one hour working on it.
“You do realise that if we didn’t have sex so much, we would have more time to research,” Hermione pointed out when they were once again lying in the afterglow late one night in the second week of January.
Voldemort chuckled, his head resting on her abdomen. “Realise, yes. However, I find myself much more attracted to you now that I know how much of myself is inside of you.”
Hermione scowled, feeling her annoyance rise. Ever since he figured out a part of her magic came from him, he had started to take credit for almost everything she excelled in. She responded the same way she always did when he acted like that by smacking him across the head. It wasn’t that she believed violence could solve anything; but since nothing else seemed to work on him, she was prepared to give it a chance. Alas, so far it hadn’t worked. But, she thought to herself: If first you don’t succeed …
“Ouch,” he said, though it seemed as though he didn’t feel any pain at all. “Should I take that as an indication that you don’t want to have sex anymore?”
She snorted. “Of course I want to have sex. But we spend over two hours every day having sex—sometimes over three. Perhaps we could combine it?”
“Or you could just spend less time studying. It’s not like you need it.”
“I don’t think a teacher is supposed to tell a student to study less,” she remarked dryly, moving so his head fell down on the mattress. It was getting too heavy. Probably because of his ego.
Voldemort sat up and stretched his back. “When the student is as far ahead as you are, they can. We are not cutting back on sex unless you want me to start disappearing at night again.”
“You promised you wouldn’t,” Hermione said, hating how her heart fluttered with fear. But she was well aware that if he broke his promise, there was little she could do.
Voldemort gave her a reassuring smile and lay down again, half on top of her. “And so far I haven’t had to.” He then kissed her.
Hermione shivered with pleasure as sparks began travelling down her spine. However, after a couple of minutes, he broke the kiss and lay down next to her.
“I’m glad to hear,” she whispered in relief. She could sense that he wasn’t lying. Although, there was something in his voice she just couldn’t put her finger on. “Is it hard?”
He snorted. “No, you’ll have to wait another half-an-hour.”
It took her a moment to realise he was talking about his cock. She rolled her eyes in response. “I didn’t mean … ah, never mind.”
“What?” he asked, curious.
Hermione sighed. “No, I was just … It doesn’t matter, I don’t want to know.”
“What are you talking about?”
She sighed; she wasn’t sure she wanted the answer to the question, which had been niggling at her for quite some time. In the end, the side of her brain always seeking answers won.
“Is it hard, you know, not killing?”
She felt him stiffen. After a moment, he replied with: “How did it feel killing Lucius?”
“I try not to think about it actually,” she mumbled, already regretting her question.
He turned towards her, his hand now resting on her stomach. His eyes were gleaming in the dim light. “It felt good, didn’t it? Knowing you had the absolute power over another person.”
She swallowed. “Not really. I’m glad he is dead but not … I was just trying to get out.”
“Is that really true? Or are you just telling yourself that because it is socially acceptable?” he questioned, looking eager. His hand came up to cup her face. “Think back: What were you feeling when you held the wand?”
She felt unease sweep through her. “I’m not sure; I don’t remember.”
He moved closer to her; his nose was now almost touching hers. She felt his breath on her mouth as he pressed their bodies together. “Will you show me?” His hand now came to rest at the back of her head.
“I’m…” Her heart was now beating faster in panic; she didn’t know what to do.
“Please,” he whispered.
She stared at him, unable to ever recall him asking nicely for something. With a sigh, she caved in. Before she could even give him verbal permission he entered her mind. The initial panic she felt eased when he ignored all her other memories. He pulled them directly to her memory in the laundry room.
It was strange, reliving it again. However, this time, she was watching from a distance. The feelings she had felt back then were there, just not as strong. She recognised them as desperation and anxiousness, but there were also determination. She could feel Voldemort there as well, seeing everything she saw.
The door opened, and Malfoy entered. Hermione saw herself hit him again and again with the wet piece of clothing. Then, he was lying down, and she was holding his wand. She could barely keep up with what she was feeling. There were so many emotions swirling around her mind that she couldn’t sort through them quickly enough. The green light flashed, and Malfoy was dead. Memory-Hermione was about to pass out, but before she did, Voldemort somehow managed to enhance the feelings. Relief was the strongest, but there was also a great amount of satisfaction that she couldn’t remember feeling at any other time. There was no guilt or remorse whatsoever.
Voldemort withdrew from her mind, and Hermione blinked several times before lying down on the bed again. When the spinning stopped, she noted Voldemort was watching her. It took her a moment to recognise his look; he was proud.
She opened her mouth, wanting to say something but not knowing what. Perhaps justify why she had acted like that. That she felt guilty now, after it had occured. Though, she then realised that she didn’t feel guilty at all. She hadn’t wanted to think about what had happened. It had scared her and made her feel sick but not guilty.
Voldemort’s mouth suddenly came down on hers in a searing kiss. She felt his hard member against her thigh. However, even though the thought of death seemed to turn him on, she still hadn’t sunk quite so low. Therefore, when his hand started to wander downwards, she broke the kiss.
He paused, but his eyes were still burning with lust as he watched her. It made her feel slightly ill.
“I’m not like you,” she stated with conviction, never feeling more serious in her life.
The burning lust faded and was replaced with disappointment and … was that hurt? Before she had time to analyse further, he had got off the bed and stalked into the bathroom, slamming the door shut.
Hermione stared at the now empty space. What had happened? Surely he couldn’t be upset just because she wasn’t like him? It wasn’t like it was a secret. Nevertheless, there were only two possible reasons Hermione could think of as to why Voldemort would leave so quickly. The first was that he was angry with her, and since he couldn’t curse her, he left. The second was that he had possibly got a stomach cramp. Either way, Hermione knew that disturbing him was out of the question. She had made that mistake once before when he had left in the middle of an academic dispute. She had followed him and told him that he was being childish. After maybe ten minutes, he had come out again, replying dryly that he did have a digestive system.
Still, it was annoying not knowing. As the minutes passed, she became more and more agitated. But she would be damned if she went and asked if he was alright. Nope, she wouldn’t. Not at all. She was sure that he would come out when he was ready. She was not worried that he might have Apparated out of the bathroom and was now torturing innocent Muggles just because she hadn’t shagged him. Not one bit …
Scowling, she finally went and knocked on the bathroom door. “Are you there?”
She reached for the handle and found the door unlocked. When she opened it, she saw him standing in front of the mirror.
“I needed to think,” he said without looking at her.
“About?” she asked.
He sighed and turned towards her. “If I could make you understand.”
Hermione frowned. “If I could understand what? Why you get horny from killing?”
He scowled and turned back to the mirror again. “That sort of response indicates just how little you understand.”
Hermione crossed her arms over her naked chest. “Well, why don’t you try me?”
It wasn’t like she could ever think murdering innocents was ever excusable, but she had never seen him act this way and was therefore quite curious to find out what he was thinking. Before she had met and got to know him, Hermione had thought Lord Voldemort was just a very, very disturbed creature and couldn’t understand at all why people wanted to follow him. The real Voldemort had shocked her. He was very rational, and his mind was bloody brilliant. He did show emotions and could behave like any other human.
Then, there was this other side. Hermione had tried to ignore it, but that was clearly impossible; it always came up. So perhaps she should give him a chance to try to explain. Even though she would never agree with him, it would help if she were able to at least somewhat understand a part of what he felt when it came to killing. Perhaps then she had a greater chance to keep him from doing it in the long run.
However, there was always the risk that what he would tell her would scare her beyond belief. But now she thought she was ready to take the risk.
She suddenly realised that Voldemort had been watching her throughout her entire internal monologue. When she finally came to her conclusion, he straightened and came over to her.
“You are freezing, dear,” he said in a low voice. “Let’s go back to bed.”
“I want you to tell me,” she said, sounding much more certain than she actually felt.
His smile was cold. “Very well, but I want to be inside you when I do.”
With his hands on her shoulders, he steered her back towards the bed. Hermione let the pleasure of his touch comfort her and make her wet. It took longer than it usually did, most likely because she felt nervous about what he was about to tell her. They were lying on their sides, she on her right and he on his left. He kissed her thoroughly for a few minutes while rubbing her back and neck, lightly scratching the most sensitive areas on her neck. His hand then travelled downwards again and went between her legs. When he found that she was wet, he lifted her left leg over his hips and positioned himself at her opening.
Hermione moaned when he finally thrust into her. However, instead of moving, he stopped kissing her and was suddenly still. She looked at him, wanting to move and feel that delicious friction that her body currently craved. However, Voldemort took a hold of her hip and kept her still.
“You wanted to know,” he whispered, rubbing small circles on her hip with his thumb. “Have you changed your mind?”
Right, talking about why he liked killing. It was hard to focus on that when it felt like her whole body was on fire.
“No, but I want you to move.”
“In time.” His voice was soft, but his eyes were hard.
She answered by clenching the muscles inside her cunt.
Voldemort exhaled with a groan of pleasure and closed his eyes for a brief period of time. “You are doing your best to stop me from talking, Hermione.”
“You are the one who wanted to talk to me like this,” she reminded him, clenching her muscles again. It enhanced the pleasure, and she began wondering why she didn’t do it more often.
“True,” he muttered and moved his hand over her arse. “I guess I have to talk quickly, then?”
“You better,” she answered huskily and closed her eyes, preparing for whatever he was about to say. She didn’t think she could feel too badly about it as long as he was inside her, giving her this much pleasure—perhaps that was what he had counted on.
When she had been still for a moment, he moved his hand up to her face, stroking the hair out of her face. She opened her eyes again and was struck by the look in his eyes; he seemed almost … fond.
“I don’t want you to be like me,” he whispered. “If you were, I would have killed you already. I wouldn’t want the competition of someone as brilliant as you being as power-hungry as I am.”
She looked at him cautiously, unsure what to say so she remained silent. His fingers came up to her mouth, stroking her lower lip.
“But I would like you to be a bit less concerned about the lives of people you don’t even know. Ah, don’t,” he said, placing a finger over her lips when she opened her mouth to retort. “I know you won’t. Just like you know you won’t be able to change me.”
She closed her mouth again, and he let his hand wander down and capture one of her breasts, stroking it gently. “You are a fascinating woman, Hermione. So brave, good and caring, and yet––” He closed his eyes and thrust his cock even deeper inside of her. “Yet, you have proven that you are willing to hand out your own retribution, even when it comes down to killing another.” He opened his eyes again, staring straight into hers. “You are not like me, but you aren’t the opposite of me either. You have darkness inside of you, even when I’m not doing this,” he added with a smile, whilst withdrawing and thrusting inside her again.
Hermione moaned and closed her eyes.
“My sweet kitten,” he whispered and leaned in to kiss her again. “The sacrifices I make to be with you …”
The high tension between them and the withheld pleasure caused a few tears to escape Hermione’s eyes. Voldemort licked them away carefully.
“I’ve killed so many people and I’ve done it with a song in my heart,” he continued with a low voice. “I enjoy it. It gives me peace of mind—just as this does.” He moved inside her again. “But I guess your question really is ‘Why?’ ...” His hand moved from her breast and onto her back, stroking it lightly. “Do you really want to know?”
She opened her teary eyes; the pleasure was making it extremely hard to think. All she knew was that she didn’t want him to stop. Never stop. She wanted him so much her heart was aching, so much so that nothing he could say would ever make her stop craving him.
“Yes,” she finally confirmed.
Voldemort smiled. It was a pleased smile. “It’s all about power.” He rolled on top of her. “The power over life and death.” He instantly began thrusting in and out of her. “There is no sweeter feeling than the moment they realise that I’m the one in control. Just before I kill them, I can see it in their eyes.”
Hermione tried to grab a hold of him, but he quickly took a hold of her wrists and pushed them down on the mattress.
“I. Am. The. One. With. The. Power,” he hissed, emphasising every word as he thrust into her.
They both suddenly climaxed, with Voldemort falling down on top of her. With his mouth right next to her ear, he whispered: “And when I see that they have understood it, too, I’m finally sated ... if only for a while.”
Hermione opened her eyes, staring at the ceiling over his shoulder, feeling his weight press into her body. For the first time ever, she actually felt pity for the man lying on top of her. To always feel that unfulfilled… He was like a hungry wolf, trying to fill his stomach with the meat of innocent lambs. But just like a hungry wolf, he would always need to hunt again.
Nevertheless, he might think that he needed to kill, but unlike a hungry wolf, a wizard didn’t need to kill for their survival; it was just how he felt. She was a substitute for it, though, which meant he could be sated in other ways.
“That is not the ‘why’,” she said when she had finally regained control over her thoughts and voice.
“Pardon?” he asked, rising up to look her in the eye.
She reached up with her now free hand and traced the outline of his cheek. “I get it. You need to feel the power. But you didn’t tell me why.”
He turned his head and kissed her fingers. “The power is all that is important, Hermione.”
Hermione shook her head slowly. He had managed to get her to understand his need. Perhaps she could try to explain her feelings to him? She embraced him, nudged him onto his back and then rolled on top of him. Straddling his hips, she took his hand and placed it on her stomach. He watched her with a puzzled, yet amused, expression.
“What do you feel?” she asked, holding her hand on top of his.
Voldemort arched an eyebrow in amusement. “Skin?”
She scowled at him. “You know what I mean. What are you thinking about when you are thinking about our unborn child? Seriously,” she added when she saw that he was about to make up a dramatic lie.
He sighed. “I’m not going to give you an honest answer since I know that will only make you run away crying. Why do you wish to know?”
“I won’t run away crying,” she promised. “Please. You were honest before, and I didn’t run, did I?”
“I guess not,” he muttered but still didn’t seem convinced.
Hermione moved his hand over her stomach. “Well? What are you thinking?”
He sighed in defeat. “Practical things. What we have to get ready before it is born. What to expect from it in the first few months... Things like that.”
“Like how you can use it the best for whatever it is you are planning?” Hermione filled in neutrally. She didn’t hold any high expectations about his feelings for the child. But she wanted him to admit it himself if she were to be able to explain what she felt.
“Obviously,” he remarked dryly.
“And that is all?” she asked.
“Do you want me to say that I’ll love it?” he sneered.
“No, I don’t want you to lie,” she replied patiently. This would not go as she wanted if she got angry with him. Somehow, she needed him to at least consider it was possible to feel something else for the child.
“Then that’s all I’m feeling,” Voldemort concluded.
She watched him silently for a moment, debating the best way to proceed. Feeling emotions for other human beings was so natural for her, and she couldn’t imagine what it was like not to. Perhaps it would be easiest to work from a logical angle since that would give him an opportunity to follow.
“Do you know how scary it is, sometimes, to know that I’ve something growing inside my body?” she asked.
He looked rather puzzled before answering cautiously: “Yes, I would imagine so.”
“And you, if anyone, can understand that people try to get away from scary things, right?”
He smiled. “Oh, very much.”
“Unless there is something in it for them if they overcome their fear,” Hermione said.
Voldemort was not late to follow. “What is in it for you to carry around a foetus?”
“You tell me,” she challenged.
He looked up at her blankly for a while. “I can’t think of anything, really.” Then, he frowned. “Are you considering an abortion after all?”
She smacked his chest. “No! Because it’s bloody amazing to experience my body creating another individual who will one day walk around here, just like you and me.”
“Amazing?” he asked doubtfully.
“Yes. I never appreciated it when I was carrying Althea. But now, despite the morning sickness, I can actually understand why someone like Mrs Weasley was willing to go through six painful labours; it’s amazing.”
He still looked unconvinced.
“But it’s a feeling you have to experience to understand,” Hermione continued as she lay down on top of him, looking him straight in the eye. “Do you dare to see?”
He scowled at her. However, a moment later, he was inside her mind for the second time that night. She led him directly to what she was experiencing, and he let it wash over him. It was a feeling she didn’t know how to explain; hence, why she’d chosen this rather invasive method to show him her emotions. Maybe it was a sort of love, or maybe it was just all the hormones her body was currently producing. Either way, she could actually feel Voldemort be taken aback by it. It didn’t take long before he withdrew from her mind; she could sense that he was severely troubled.
She placed her head upon his chest, hearing his heart beat in a steady rhythm.
“That is what I feel for our unborn child,” she stated simply, “and for Althea as well. That is what is important for me. Not power—just that.”
To her surprise, Voldemort pushed her off him. She turned around and looked at him. He was staring at the ceiling. Minutes passed by, and he didn’t say anything. It started to worry her. She reached out to touch him, but he harshly grabbed her arm and moved so he was leaning over her. His other hand came up to her face; his eyes were dark, and she could feel her heart starting to beat faster in fear and anticipation. His face was not even an inch away from hers.
“Then perhaps you should tell me why it is that I crave power?” His voice was so calm and soft, but his she saw the hardness in his eyes.
Hermione took a deep breath. The feeling that this could either work out wonderfully or become a complete catastrophe made her think carefully about what she was about to say next. However, the truth was that she didn’t know much about his past, except what Harry had found out from Dumbledore.
“That is what I don’t know,” she said slowly. “And what I want to find out. Not to change you, just to try and understand. Please?”
He scowled at her before letting go of her face and sitting up on the bed. “Why do you want to understand me? And why now?”
Hermione took a deep breath and sat up as well. “Well, I guess I’ve started to understand that we are actually going to be together for the rest of our lives, and I want to understand my husband. It’s like … getting the full understanding of a theory before applying it in your research.”
His gaze was on the wall across the bed, but his lips briefly curved into a small smile, just for a moment. “What if you, when you understand it fully, decide that the theory doesn’t fit your research?”
She snorted. “You know me; I’d rather change the theory or my own research than use something without fully understanding it.”
Voldemort turned around. “But you said you didn’t want to change me.”
Hermione sighed but felt a small glimmer of hope that she was about to get through to him.
“But I can always change my way of looking at you. What I don’t like is that I don’t really know you. I know things about you, things I’ve been able to observe. And I know your opinions in a lot of matters. But I don’t know you.”
Voldemort looked a bit distrustful. “I take it that when you mean me, you mean my history?”
“Well, our experiences in life do in some degree shape who we are,” Hermione replied.
“But you have no ulterior motive to change me once you have figured out the ‘problem’?”
Hermione arched an eyebrow at him, starting to feel a bit annoyed. “Do you actually think I will be able to, even if I find out your whole life story?”
Voldemort seemed thoughtful for a moment; then, he smiled again. “Just want to make it clear from the beginning that you shouldn’t waste any time trying to change me.”
“Fine. It’s not like I would have the time anyway between being a Mum, being a student and having sex with you,” she muttered.
He chuckled and lay down again, pulling her with him. She snuggled up against his chest, fighting back a yawn. She had no idea what time it was, but it must have been long after midnight.
“Well?” she asked when he hadn’t said anything for a couple of minutes. “Will you start telling me about yourself?”
His hand came up to stroke her hair. “Oh, I think I can be … persuaded to tell you a thing or two.”
She snorted. “Persuaded. Right. Got it.”
She heard him yawn. “But I think that will have to wait until tomorrow. Althea will undoubtedly come in and wake us in five hours or so.”
Hermione agreed and soon she was asleep in the arms of her fiancé.

xxx

Althea carefully walked away from her parents’ bedroom door when she heard them doing that adult naked playing thing again. They were always doing it. Althea didn’t understand what was so fun about it. All they did was hug and kiss and moan. She had tried doing it with one of her teddy bears, and that had soon become boring.
“Althea.” A whisper came from behind her.
Althea turned around, delighted when she recognised the voice. It was her shadow friend. Maybe it wouldn’t mind sitting beside her when she fell asleep again. She walked back to her own bedroom and found the black, little snake lying next to the bed. Althea bent down to pat its head, but as always, her hand went straight through it.
“Why can’t I touch you?” she asked.
Like always, she spoke Parseltongue with her shadow friend without even realising it.
“You can’t, yet. But do you remember what I told you? About how you can touch me when you get older - if you want to?” the creature replied.
Althea nodded. “When will that be?”
The shadow sighed. “That is hard to know. Especially now, with your mother getting sicker.”
Althea became worried. Her shadow friend had said it a few times before, but Althea hadn’t wanted to believe it. But then … Althea had seen her mother hit her father many times. Not in the same way she had that one time when Althea’s daddy had been all black and blue, but still, it seemed to hurt him. That time, her dad had told her it was because Hermione was sick. Perhaps the sickness was coming back?
“I don’t want Mummy to be sick,” Althea said. “Why is she sick?”
The creature hesitated. “Well … it’s because of you, Althea.”
“What have I done?” Althea wanted to know, horrified.
“I know you didn’t want to, but sometimes, it happens. You can’t control your magic. But if you learn how control it, you can help your mother get better again,” her friend told her.
“But how can I control my magic? Dad has tried to show me a little, but it’s hard!”
“That’s because you have so much magic, Althea,” her friend comforted her. “It’s good. When you get older, you’ll be a very, very powerful witch. But for now, I can teach you how you can make your mum better. Would you like that?”
Of course Althea did.
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