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
- 28
- 29
- 30
Worst. Day. Ever. Car break-in. Sympathise me! (Other than writing naughty fanfics, I think that’s what the Internet is for … or maybe it was book-shopping).

Thanks to Shan84 and Nerys for taking the time to betaing this chapter! Kisses and tulpenises to you! And thanks to Dream and Serp for always making me feel better with the hilarious chats!

As always, many thanks to all my reviewers. You make me go all wiiih! Review replies can be found here: http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/20494-shared-flame-by-lady-miya/

Chapter 28
Once they had discovered that it was the fairy that was behind everything, Hermione and Voldemort became even more determined to find out as much as possible about their bond. They both believed that it would be the best way to discover what was so special with the new child, and why the fairies had singled them out to be parents to the child they wanted. Was it only because Voldemort had made a deal with them? But why had the fairies even offered to help him if they thought he was such bad influence? It didn’t make sense. It had to have something to do with their Shared Flame.
They decided to see if they could find any other couples with a Shared Flame and ask about their experiences. However, finding other couples proved much harder than they had thought. The author, Bäcker, had only written down the age and country in where he had encountered the couples, and it was akin to finding a needle in a haystack. Hence, they focused on finding out more about Bäcker and where he had been.
In February, Hermione, who had the best knowledge of the Muggle world and was open to actually talk with Muggles, managed to find where he had lived. Alas, the place had been torn down already, but she found where Bäcker’s daughter, Mrs Grindelwald, had lived. Since she had been Bäcker’s only child, they hoped that she had kept something of her father.
It was an early Thursday morning, the second week of February. Hermione was having a wonderful day since her morning sickness had finally ended. Voldemort also seemed relieved, but his only comment about her entering the second trimester was that the risk for miscarriage had decreased significantly.
They Apparated to the countryside of Germany near the Alps where Mrs Grindelwald had lived alone in a cabin. Since the Grindelwalds had been childless, Mrs Grindelwald’s mother’s nephew had inherited it. The nephew, Hermione had found out, was a rich businessman who used the cabin as a holiday home during the summer. Hermione and Voldemort hoped that he hadn’t got rid of any of his aunt’s old things.
The cabin was bigger than they had expected. The nephew seemed to have renovated the bigger part of the cabin, and Hermione doubted they would find anything worthwhile in there.
“There has to be an attic,” Voldemort said when they had searched the whole cabin without any results. “It looked much bigger from the outside.”
Hermione started to search the ceiling. In the hall she found a hatchway in the ceiling with a hole big enough to put a hand through. “Over here!”
Voldemort went over to her and managed to pull down a ladder that lead up to an attic filled with boxes and old furniture.
“I guess we have our work cut out for us,” Hermione muttered when she noticed even more boxes hiding behind a big wardrobe.
“Be thankful they haven’t thrown anything away,” Voldemort replied. “At least now we have a chance to find something belonging to Bäcker.”
Hermione sighed and started to dig through the boxes. At least the person storing them seemed to have some sense of organisation. Each box was filled with the same sort of things. Thus, she could just push away the ones with old clothes, china and toys much faster and focus on the ones with books and papers. However, when she ran across a box with old baby clothes, she paused.
“Shouldn’t we start buying things for the baby?” she asked, looking back at Voldemort who was sitting a yard away, rapidly going through a box of old newspapers.
“Mm, I guess,” he answered without looking up.
“And not to mention the other things. I mean, I haven’t even started to think about names yet,” Hermione continued, pushing the box with clothes away and moving onto her knees to search the next one. She heard Voldemort pushing his box away as well, moving to another.
“Me neither. Shouldn’t we wait until we know what gender it is?” he replied.
“Thinking about it doesn’t hurt,” Hermione said. “It took me weeks to figure out what to call Althea. When she was born, the nurses just said ‘Baby Granger’.”
“Right. Both children will have your last name.”
Hermione turned and looked at him. He was sitting with his hands in a box with some books but was looking at her with an unreadable face.
“Since I’ll have the child before we get married, yes. Why?” she asked.
“You plan to take my name after we are married?” he asked.
She frowned. “I hadn’t really thought about it. Hermione Foster. Or did you mean Riddle?”
Voldemort snorted. “Yes, because that won’t be suspicious at all.”
She rolled her eyes. “I just meant, it’s not your real last name. Perhaps you could change to mine?”
He looked thoughtful for a moment. “No. I think it would be better if we just kept our respective surnames. Marcus Foster is already famous, as is Hermione Granger. Althea and,” he nodded at her stomach, “can have a combined last name.”
“Sounds good,” she said and turned back to the next box. Then, another thought hit her. “Why don’t I call you Tom?”
She could hear Voldemort pick out more books. “Because you know that I’ll make you regret it profoundly if you did.”
“Still, if anyone were to overhear me call you Tom, I could just say I made a mistake,” Hermione reasoned, turning to him again. “If they hear me say Voldemort, it will be rather hard to explain. Or, if Althea or the new baby hears me call you it too often, they may pick it up and call you that as well.”
He looked up. “Althea can’t say it front of others any more than you can. And I’m perfectly convinced you will not screw up and call me by the wrong name. However, if you call me Tom, I’ll—”
“Oh, I’m sure you will rip my tongue out and feed it to the cat and all that,” Hermione interrupted him dismissively. “And you can’t just throw spells on our children, Voldemort. It isn’t right.”
“It doesn’t hurt Althea. She just can’t say my name in front of others.”
Hermione didn’t like it one bit but didn’t know what to do about it right now. She would have to convince him later on that there was a better way for them to deal with it. Perhaps she should start calling him Voldemort when they were alone? She could probably call him Marcus in front of Althea and the new baby if it were absolutely necessary. Then again, was it right that they wouldn’t get to know their father’s true identity?
Hermione hadn’t thought too much about it before. However, now that she did, she realised that she didn’t want to tell Althea all about her father’s evil deeds. How could a child carry that knowledge?
Still, it felt weird lying to their children about Voldemort’s name being Marcus when it really was Tom. Why couldn’t she just call him Tom?
“Why do you hate your name so much?” she asked.
“It is not my name,” he answered, sounding annoyed. “It’s the name of the worthless man who fertilised my mother. My name is Voldemort.”
“Which just is an anagram for Tom Riddle,” Hermione commented dryly.
His expression darkened, and she could see his wand-hand twitch. Hermione realised she had just crossed a line and that he would no doubt do something stupid if she didn’t calm him down. Normally, she would have been too proud to admit that she had made a mistake. However, when dealing with a known murderer, she didn’t want to risk an innocent Muggle’s life because of her pride.
“Sorry,” she said, sighing. “I didn’t mean it like that. I was just curious.”
He regarded her intensely for a moment. Then he seemed to relax a little. “Just try to find something of Bäcker.”
They went through a couple of more boxes before they stumbled over something of importance.
“Aha! An early copy of his book,” Voldemort said, withdrawing a whole file of papers from a box.
“Does it say anything?” Hermione asked.
Voldemort thumbed through it. “Not anything that stands out. A few pages have been crossed over. I’ll take it home and see if there is anything to find. It’s probably just corrections of errors and what not.”
He shrugged, shrunk the file and put it in his pocket.
Hermione didn’t like stealing, but judging by the amount of dust on the boxes, no one had been here for quite some time. She didn’t think anyone would miss it. Besides, it could possibly help them protect their children. Surely stealing something could be justified then?
They searched the rest of the attic, but all they found that had belonged to Bäcker were some old family heirlooms and photo albums, which was of no use for their research. Thus, they went home, Hermione not feeling very hopeful at all. Voldemort, however, decided to go through the draft of the book line by line.
“This is interesting,” Voldemort said later that night when they were sitting on the couch.
Hermione, who had been studying, looked up from her book. “What is?”
“Bäcker crossed out a whole page of the book where he made a reference about the children of Shared Flame couples. He discovered that two couples didn’t have the children together; they were from other marriages. But because of politics and what not, they pretended that they had the children together.”
“What does that mean?” Hermione asked.
“It could be nothing. Bäcker only discovered this in regard to two couples. There were still two more that appeared to have children together. He wasn’t interested in the children, so he left that part out. It was the connection between the two with a Shared Flame he wanted to study.” Voldemort looked thoughtful. “I guess we’ll just have to ask if we ever find anyone else with a Shared Flame.”
“Still no names?” Hermione asked, defeated.
Voldemort shook his head. “Don’t worry, kitten. We’ll find them. Just be patient.”
Hermione could be patient, but since this was about the welfare of her children, she’d rather not have it take too long.

xxx

Alas, the search for answers about their Shared Flame progressed slowly after they had visited the cabin. As spring progressed, other things kept getting in the way. School took up a lot of time for both of them, and then, there were the preparations for Harry and Ginny’s wedding. Hermione hadn’t counted on how much time that would take.
Then, there was one thing that Hermione hadn’t counted on at all: Althea being defiant.
“I don’t want a dress!”
Hermione winced when her daughter’s high-pitched scream carried over the entire store. An older Muggle woman gave Hermione a smile of sympathy before hurrying away. Thankfully, it was still early in the morning and there weren’t that many customers in the clothes store for children.
“Can’t you at least have a look at the dresses?” Hermione asked Althea, trying her best not to lose patience with the child. It was good that Voldemort hadn’t wanted to come to the Muggle world to help getting them dresses for Harry and Ginny’s wedding. He would no doubt have killed someone by now. Ever since Althea had lost her shadow friend, she had become more and more disobedient. Hermione thought it was because Althea was lonely, but she didn’t know what to do about it.
“I don’t want a dress; they’re ugly!” Althea’s face was twisted into an angry mask.
“You’ll only have to wear it for one day. I will be wearing a dress, too,” Hermione said, massaging her temples. She did not have the patience for this right now. She had hoped that the shopping would only take an hour so that she would be able to go to the library the moment Voldemort came home from his meeting. She had an essay to write. It was due the very next week, and she hadn’t even started yet. Never had she been so late to start on an essay, and the thought that she might not make it really stressed her. It didn’t help that she hadn’t got the sleep she required for the past week either. Her libido was out of control, and Voldemort was more than happy to take advantage of that.
“I don’t want to!” Althea screamed again, stamping her foot on the ground.
Hermione snapped. “Sometimes in life you have to do things you don’t want to, Althea. Either look for a dress you like or I’ll do it for you.”
Althea gaped at her mother’s angry tone. For a moment, only shock was evident on her face. Then her eyes began to fill with tears. Hermione cursed and took a deep breath, counting backwards from ten.
“Just look at the dresses, Althea. The sooner you have chosen one, the sooner we can go back home,” Hermione said slowly, making sure not to sound as angry as she had before.
The girl lowered her head and walked down one of the many aisles. Hermione could hear her sobbing, and even though it pained her, she knew Althea would get over it in due time. Althea had to learn that she couldn’t always have her way. Voldemort was the worst example when it came to that.
After five minutes, Althea had found a plain blue dress, which she held up at Hermione. It seemed to be suitable enough, so Hermione didn’t press her luck by asking Althea to try it on. Instead, she made sure they had the right size and went to buy it. If it turned out it didn’t fit, they could always return it and … do this again.
Hermione grimaced. Then again, with magic, they would probably be able to do any alternation necessary. Somehow, she wouldn’t be at all surprised if Voldemort turned out to be a great tailor as well. After all, he always wore stylish clothing, but she had never seen him come home with any shopping bags.
Thankfully, Althea didn’t argue when Hermione took her to the tailor Ginny had hired to make all the bridesmaids’ dresses. It was the final fitting before the wedding and only a few changes needed to be made.
“You can pick it up in three days,” the friendly tailor said with a big smile as Hermione and Althea were about to leave.
“Thank you, I’ll be back then,” Hermione promised.
Once they had found an empty ally, Hermione took Althea’s hand and Apparated them both away. Lately, Althea seemed to have worked up a tolerance for Apparating and no longer required a Calming Spell. Therefore, once they arrived home, Althea was free to just stalk into her room and slam the door shut. Hermione closed her eyes and counted backwards from ten again.
“I take it the trip wasn’t a success?”
She looked over her shoulder and saw Voldemort sitting on the couch, surrounded with scrolls. She walked over and fell down in one of the armchairs, feeling exhausted.
“No,” she replied shortly. It would have been very nice to get a massage right now. However, if she asked for a massage, then that would lead to sex, and she really had to get started on the essay.
But surely, she could rest for at least five minutes?
“Is something wrong with the wedding or was it Althea?” Voldemort asked, glancing up at her. Hermione knew he was not happy with Althea’s sudden defiance, but he was handling it better than she had dared to hope.
“Althea,” she said, but then, to get his thoughts away from their daughter, she added: “The wedding will be even more interesting now though. Ginny is pregnant.”
“I know,” he just said, turning back to the scroll in front of him.
Hermione arched an eyebrow. “You know?”
“Yes, I figured it out at the Christmas dinner. Didn’t I tell you?” He didn’t take his eyes from the scroll.
“No, you didn’t,” Hermione said sourly. What was the use of a clever fiancé if he didn’t tell her these things?
“Ah, well, I must have forgotten with everything else that happened that night,” Voldemort muttered.
“I guess,” Hermione hesitated. “Ron will be at the wedding, though. The Healers will release him soon. They have managed to undo the brainwash.”
Voldemort looked up, his expression grim. “I hope I don’t have to tell you to stay away from him?”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m not all that happy with him, brainwashed or not. Don’t worry. Although, I think we should have another talk about you not forbidding me to see my friends.”
“I’m only trying to protect you, kitten,” he said and turned back to his scroll. “We can talk about it later, if you want to. Now I need to work.”
Hermione didn’t say anything; she wasn’t angry or surprised that he wanted her to stay away from Ron. But it wouldn’t have hurt if he had said it in a different way and not ordered her to do it. It was so … typical Lord Voldemort.
She sighed and glanced down at the scroll he was reading. It was lying flat in front of him on the coffee table, an empty teacup weighting it down at the top. She guessed it was one of her classmates’ essays. The students who studied full-time had turned their essays in the day before. She really ought to get started with hers.
Yet, she kept still in the armchair, watching him as he read the essay. She could see his eyes move over the text, but no thoughts were visible on his face. Whose essay was he reading? Was it any good? If it weren’t, how did he keep his patience? Hermione knew how hard it was to keep your patience when the students just wouldn’t learn. And she had only dealt with Harry and Ron.
Right then, Voldemort looked up. “Is there anything else you want?”
Merlin, he was hot when he said that. She could think of several things she wanted. Most of them included him, naked, in various positions.
Her thoughts must have been clear in her expression because a smirk spread over Voldemort’s face and he stood up. With a predatory glint in his eyes, he dragged her up as well. Without another word being exchanged, they went to the bedroom. Needless to say, Hermione didn’t make it to the library until much later that day.

xxx

The last week before the wedding was a nightmare. Hermione burst into tears three times because of stress. Voldemort hated it when she cried, and she knew it. Therefore, she always looked so disappointed when he tried to get her to think better thoughts. The last two times, she had just walked away from him and he had found her curled up on the bed afterwards, staring into the wall.
It wasn’t like it was his fault she was crying, so why did she take it out on him?
He hated it. The crying, the disappointment, the moping. He especially hated that nothing he did seemed to help. Instead, everything he did seemed to make her want to get farther away from him. Why?
Okay, maybe that was a stupid question. She would hardly be the first person who tried to get away from him. No, the real question was: Why now?
Perhaps it had to do with Althea. Salazar, what was he supposed to do with that child? Ever since he and Hermione had made it impossible for the fairies to enter, her behaviour had become harder and harder to deal with. That afternoon it was particularly bad.
“It’s not stupid; it’s a way for you to control your magic,” Voldemort growled at Althea when she just wouldn’t follow his orders.
“It’s stupid! You are stupid!” Althea’s very clever insult had been spoken in English for a change.
“If you don’t do it, you’ll end up hurting someone.”
“No, I won’t.”
This was followed by a magical outbreak, which smashed all the windows in their kitchen. Hermione then started to cry not soon after that.
Later that night, Voldemort was still too frustrated to fall asleep. He turned to his right and looked at his sleeping fiancée who was lying on her back next to him. Strays of curly brown hair were lying over her face. He brushed them aside and noted how sweaty she was. With a grimace, he brushed his fingers against the sheet. Her body’s increased production of fluids seemed to be yet another effect from the pregnancy. Besides the sweat and the tears, she seemed to be peeing more than a normal person did. On the good side, though, she was also much wetter when they had sex.
His eyes wandered over her body. Her stomach was getting bigger, even though he doubted anyone had noticed it. She also had a much more attractive aura surrounding her. When they were alone, this was not a problem. But when they were with others …
Hermione hadn’t noticed that other men were watching her lately. But Voldemort noticed. So far, no one had ever been so bold to talk with her or touch her. If they did, he would have to step in.
That was why he wasn’t looking forward to the wedding in two days. Hermione had showed him the azure dress she would be wearing. It was knee-length, showed quite a bit of cleavage and hugged her body perfectly. In short, she was perfectly fuckable in the dress. And he wouldn’t be the only one to notice it.
Voldemort felt a surge of anger and sat up. How could he be expected not to kill everyone who looked at her with lust-filled eyes?
He cursed and rolled out of bed. Of course he knew he couldn’t kill them. Even though it would be a great way for the world to see the return of the Dark Lord, it was not yet time. In fact, the longer he stayed with Hermione, the more he started to get the feeling that it might never be time. If he did regain power again, people would once again try to find his weaknesses and …
The anger in his chest grew into a great fire. He needed to get out. He needed to hunt. He needed relief.
It only took him a swish of his wand to get dressed, and without a second glance at the sleeping woman who he had promised never to kill again, he silently Apparated away.
London.
Breathing in the fumes of the city, he was reminded of the first time he had hunted on the streets of London. It had been the first place where he had hunted at all. It was never hard to find victims here—despite the late hour. He only had to be patient.
Now that he was out, the anger transformed into ice-cold determination. He could feel his heart slowing down as his whole body relaxed. He took in his environment. Tall, dark buildings surrounded him. The light was on inside a pub, and he could hear the sound of high voices coming from inside. Drunks. Hardly worth the effort. He spied down the street and saw a woman coming towards him. Despite the cold, she was wearing fishnets and a short skirt. She had a jacket buttoned up to her throat, but it couldn’t hide her enormous bosom. Even from a distance, Voldemort could see that she was wearing heavy make-up. Definitely a whore.
He looked around but didn’t notice a procurer anywhere. That hopefully meant she was alone. Good. Whores were quite hard to hunt. They knew which men to stay away from and were usually not afraid to use any means necessary to get away from them. They fought dirty.
He would have to be careful not to show his true intentions. Therefore, he looked out over the street, faking a nervous expression. He bit his lip and let his eyes flicker from left to right as he constantly changed the positions of his hands.
“Hullo, love.”
Excellent, the woman had come up to him.
“Fancy a bit of company?”
He looked down at her (even in her stilettos, he was taller than her), pretending to be unsure, yet willing. “Erhm, I dunno. Er…”
Her red-painted lips curved into a smile. “No need to worry, love. Come with me.” She placed her hand on his arm and steered him into an ally.
The moment they were out of sight from the street, he gripped her around the throat. He saw a flash of surprise in her eyes before he Apparated them to a more private place. She fell onto the ground when he let go of her.
“Thank you, love, for making this so easy for me,” he taunted her and took a few steps away.
She looked around the small dark room, fear and shock evident on her face. “Wha… whe…?”
He chuckled darkly. “Do not worry. I, like every other man, am just looking for some pleasure and amusement in my life. And I do hope you are a screamer. Crucio!”
She did scream. However, he had only held her under the spell for half a minute when something unexpected happened. Blood started to pour out from between the woman’s legs. He didn’t even realise he had released her from the spell until her screams lessened to sobs. Now, he could also make out what she was saying.
“Please … please don’t … I’m … pregnant.”
He stared at her, but it was no longer the face with the heavy make-up he saw. It was Hermione’s face.
Why was it all of a sudden so hard to breathe? Had all the air in the room disappeared? Had someone hit him with a spell? He had to breathe!
Somehow, he managed to take a deep breath. And then another. The blood was racing around inside his head, making him deaf for everything but the sound of his own heart. He didn’t remember the last time his heart had been beating this rapidly. Nor could he remember feeling like this. His hands were cold and yet sweaty. There was a feeling of pressure over his chest and back, making breathing much harder than it usually was. His head was pounding, and his legs felt weak.
She had done this. Somehow, the whore had done this to him. He had to stop her. He had to kill her.
But as he raised his wand at the whore and she flinched, he once again saw Hermione’s face. The disappointed look she had given him so often these past few days.
“Obliviate!”
The spell he cried out was a different from the one which he had first thought of. However, it would have to do. The woman would wake up the next morning with no memory of what had happened, and she’d run to the nearest doctor.
With a growl, he Apparated back home. He felt … dirty. It was not a way he was used to feeling, but he desperately craved a shower. However, no matter how hard he scrubbed, he couldn’t remove the picture in his mind of the blood that had been running from between her legs and he kept seeing Hermione’s face instead of hers with it. Why couldn’t he stop seeing it?
He stepped out of the shower and blinked when he saw Hermione standing in the opening to the bedroom with a very grave expression on her face. Her arms were crossed over her naked chest.
“Where have you been?” There was so much accusation behind her words.
He scowled and walked past her. “I didn’t kill anyone. I just needed to go out.”
“Needed?”
“Yes. Why aren’t you asleep?” He threw the towel over the back of the chair standing in the corner of the room.
“I couldn’t when I saw that you were gone.” She stepped closer to him. The accusation in her face had turned into worry. “What’s wrong?”
He didn't answer. He wasn't sure himself. All he knew was that it felt like he was caged. What disturbed him the most was the fact that he had made the cage himself. He had made himself another persona so he would be safe to search for an alternate way to gain immortality and rule the world. But again and again, he had been side-tracked by something else. And now it felt like he was completely losing his focus on what was important in life. More power had always been the most important thing for him. Now, he had suddenly started to want other things just as much as he wanted power and it was … unsettling. What were his priorities?
His thoughts were interrupted when Hermione came up to him and carefully placed her hand on his. When he looked at her, she slowly tugged him towards the bed.
“Come on, you need to relax,” she said almost tenderly.
He frowned, wondering what she had in mind. Although, both he and Hermione naked in bed together could only lead to very relaxing things, and thus, he allowed himself to be pushed into bed. He desperately needed something else to think about. However, he was mildly surprised when she pushed him down on his stomach. His cock couldn't enter her from that direction.
Her intentions became clearer when she retrieved the massage oil he had got for Christmas and she sat down on top of his arse. A massage. He couldn't remember ever receiving one. Although, they sounded pleasurable enough. He could always roll them over and take command if it weren't.
Hermione’s small hands started to stroke his back, from neck to the bottom. Then she began kneading, slowly and methodically. Voldemort closed his eyes and let out a sigh. It was pleasurable. Especially because it was her, he guessed. The pleasure their skin-to-skin contact gave him overwhelmed the fact that she sometimes used a little too much pressure. However, it wasn’t the usual I-need-to-bury-my-cock-in-you pleasure, but a more relaxing sort. Of course, he still wanted to fuck her ruthlessly once this was over, but until then, he didn’t mind just lying here.
Her hands seemed to magically make most of his confusion disappear. This was why he allowed himself to be side-tracked after all. Having Hermione by his side made the sacrifices he had to make worth it. After all, she was the best follower he could ever hope to have, and he didn’t have to be a Dark Lord to have her.
Okay, so she might not be a follower like the Death Eaters had been, but she did his bidding much better than any of them had ever done. Besides the fact that she constantly made him more powerful, she was also able to assist him in matters of the mind. She was clever and structured, resourceful and trustworthy.
Yes, trustworthy.
Even though he would never trust anyone completely, Hermione was probably the person he trusted the most. Of course, there would always be that small voice in the back of his head reminding him to keep her under supervision. She was friends with some of his enemies and could betray him to them. But he found it highly unlikely that she would. Not only was she the mother of his children, she was about to become his wife. She was also under the hex that kept her from saying anything that would reveal his true identity to others.
Voldemort’s thoughts were interrupted when Hermione started to knead his buttocks. The pleasure was quite rapidly changing to the aroused kind. Yet, he didn’t want to turn around and take control. He wanted to know what she planned to do when she was done with her massage. She had to be horny as well. She always became horny by a mere touch from him. Sometimes, only a look was necessary to make her cunt heat up.
Therefore, he stayed on his stomach, despite the discomfort from his hardening cock. All the anger and worry had completely dissolved. His entire focus was on the way her hands moved over his body as it continued down from his arse to his thighs. She was sitting on her knees in between his legs and he could feel the heat of her legs on the inside of his own. He could hear her shallow breathing. A sure indication of her arousal. He wondered what it was that made her so turned on by him. Not that he was surprised, of course he wasn’t. He was only curious.
His eyes fell shut. Never had he been this relaxed before.
That was when it happened. He had possessed people before, so it only took him a fraction of a second to realise he was inside of Hermione. But it was much different from possession. He met no resistance and the thoughts that flew around him were not much harder to follow than his own. They were just there, as easy as if he had thought it himself. He could see his own body through her eyes and feel what she was feeling.
It surprised him how warm her emotions were for him. Besides the arousal, he could detect tenderness as well as worry. But not worry over what he could do, but worry over how he felt. She was actually concerned about his well-being. She thought it was hard for him to change his ways and wanted to help him feel better about it. Encourage him to be better.
Voldemort snorted silently. Well, he would let her believe that it helped if it kept her this cooperative. However, it was nice knowing her motives. It was easier to manipulate her then. Too bad he hadn’t figured out how to do this sooner.
That thought made him frown. Hermione had stumbled her way into his brain the third time they had sex and only due to the fact that he was very skilled at Occlumency had he discovered it. It hadn’t felt like it normally did when someone tried to break into your mind. She had only been there. Hermione, however, was not good at Occlumency. She didn’t seem to realise he was inside her mind. How foolish of her. Then again, he had never done this before, so perhaps she thought he couldn’t do it.
It was strange that he hadn’t been able to do the touch-Legilimency on her earlier. What made this time different? They had been naked together many times before. It had to be more than that. When she had got into him the first time, she had said that she had only been wondering what he had been thinking. Perhaps that was it? However, he had been wondering about what she was thinking many times before, and yet, this hadn’t happened. There had to be something else.
He looks so peaceful. Has he fallen asleep? Bummer, I want to have sex.
Hermione’s thoughts appeared quickly in her mind, and Voldemort smiled. Perhaps it was time to withdraw and grant her wish?
However, before he could do that, he snapped up more of her thoughts.
Perhaps I could bite him to wake him up? If he is asleep, he wouldn’t have the chance to stop me. Huh, who would have thought that someone as paranoid as Voldemort would fall asleep like that?
Voldemort flew into his own body again and turned them around before she had time to react. He used his full body weight to hold her down and had her hands pressed against the mattress next to her head as he stared at her like he was seeing her for the first time. She was right. If he had been asleep instead of inside her mind, she would have been able to do anything she wanted to him. When he had become so careless around her?
Hold on. Why hadn’t she taken the opportunity to get rid of him? She had only thought about a harmless little bite. She had had no thoughts of killing him. Why?
“Do I have something extremely interesting on my face?” Hermione asked mostly amused, but with a hint of worry in her voice.
“Why don’t you want to kill me?” The question left his mouth before he could stop it. He needed to know.
Hermione became serious. “What makes you ask that?”
“You don’t want me dead,” he stated.
The last thirty years or so, he hadn’t met anyone who didn’t want him dead or at least imprisoned or wounded. Even the Death Eaters would have stabbed him in the back if he had given them the opportunity. It wasn’t something that surprised him. He was fearsome, and people always wanted to get rid of the things they feared. They just seldom had the courage to actually do it.
Yet, Hermione didn’t want him dead or wounded. She only wanted him to change more towards her version of what was good. Why?
“No, I guess I don’t want you dead,” Hermione said slowly, her brows together in a frown.
“Why not?”
Her frown deepened. “I don’t know. Why are you asking?”
He removed his hand from hers and traced her cheek. Still so young and innocent. She really did have no idea why the fact that she didn’t want him dead amazed him. It was good, though. Very, very good.
“A lot of people would gladly try to kill me, or watch as others tried,” he said softly and leaned closer to her. “You would interfere if someone tried to kill me, would you not?”
Her free hand came up to his head. She slowly stroked his hair. “I probably would, yes.”
“How far would you go to prevent me from being hurt?”
It was merely a hypothetical question, of course. If someone tried to hurt him, he would deal with them himself long before Hermione had the chance to.
“I don’t know,” she said slowly. “I guess it depends on who was trying to hurt you.”
Voldemort sighed and sat up. That was one of the problems with Hermione. She was loyal to others as well as to him.
“A diplomatic way of saying that you don’t want to come between me and your friends.”
She sat up, too, and placed her hand on his arm.
“No, of course I don’t,” she said forcefully. “They have been my friends for a very long time. Harry in particular is like a brother to me, even though we are not as close as we once were. But…”
She paused, her expression becoming troubled.
“But?” Voldemort inquired.
Hermione closed her eyes and exhaled. “But you are the father of my children and soon to be my husband.”
He smiled as realisation hit him. “I’m your family.”
“Yes,” she admitted and moved closer to him. “I would be sad if you were hurt. Even if you deserved it.”
Voldemort just smiled, brought his hand up to her face and stroked her lip. She bit his finger, a smile playing on her lips as well. His soon-to-be wife. The only person on this earth that could make his need to kill disappear for a while.
“On the day of Potter’s wedding, we are going to have to fuck several times,” he whispered and withdrew his finger from her mouth.
Hermione’s eyes widened, and she seemed to come to the realisation of why he had been so tense before. At least a part of it. He would never tell her about the new strange feelings in his body. No, he would ignore that. That would not be difficult if he got to bury his cock deep inside of her. Everything was so much better when he was inside of her, clearer.
“Of course,” she whispered in reply and pulled him closer to her, kissing him hotly, showing him her submission.
He embraced her, and she moved so her legs were on either side of his body. They had done this so many times now it was like his cock guided itself into her cunt. As they both worked their way up to a climax, Voldemort had successfully managed to suppress every bad feeling he had had that night. Once they were done, he slept like a little child, tightly wrapped around his Shared Flame.
- 28
- 29
- 30
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Shared Flame