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

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
- 4
I want to thank Serpent in Red and Perfect Imagination’s Tomione fan for betaing this chapter! (Sorry I had to remove all the colours so people can’t see how many changes you had to make. And sorry for the exclamation point!).

Hugs and cookies to everyone that have read rated and reviewed!

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Chapter 2
Lord Voldemort was very productive the four years after he’d visited the fairies and got a new look and his soul back. The first thing he tried to discover was what having a Soul Mate meant.
Of course, he’d recognised his Soul Mate the moment he saw her, and he knew that it was just his luck that it had to be Harry Potter’s best friend. Even though he’d found it aggravating to have to interact with a Mudblood, when he had touched her, he’d felt the magic start to work. Not that he’d known what sort of magic it was (he still didn’t), but it had become awfully clear what he should do: Fuck her. He hadn’t minded it one bit and neither had she. Once it had been over and she had passed out in the bed—she might have passed out during the act; he had been too caught up in his own pleasure to notice—he’d placed the diamond on her stomach, and it had disappeared.
However, no matter how much he researched about what had transpired between them, he didn’t come closer to understand what being a Soul Mate meant or what sort of magic was in that crystal that made his soul return. Or why he had to put it on her stomach afterwards, for that matter.
Hence, he put that to the side and instead worked on a new way to influence the world. The direct being-a-dictator way hadn’t worked out so well. Therefore, he decided to go back to the plan he had when he was younger: influencing people by changing their beliefs. However, he didn’t have the patience to teach young children at Hogwarts anymore. Instead, he applied for a teaching position at Oxford University after he’d helped in making sure that one of the old Professors passed away. Sure, it was a little harder to change the beliefs of people whose first lesson was to think critically about everything, but he enjoyed the challenge.
Not many wizards cared about going to university in Wizarding Britain. The Ministry educated most of the people they needed themselves when the students left Hogwarts. But only the most powerful and ambitious wizards and witches went to university. Of course there were ambitious and powerful people who didn’t bother with university as well. He had been one of them, preferring to get his knowledge head on. Alas, that meant that he had to write a doctoral thesis before he could actually become a professor. That took him a whole year.
Despite his image of youth, the Head of the Magical Department was very fascinated by his somewhat controversial ideas, and he got the position right away. After only half a semester, all his students loved him. Some of them loved him so much he started a “study-group” for the most eager undergraduates and postgraduates.
Now, that started to pay off.
Two of his former students got high positions at the Ministry and would be Heads of their respective departments within five years. Two others became teachers themselves. Another three were about to take over the Daily Prophet and other well-read papers. All of them listened to his thoughts and ideas and were happily spreading them.
The ideas? That wizards were better than Muggles, of course.
After four years, he almost managed to push Hermione Granger out of his mind completely. The last thing he heard was that she’d moved to Australia, and he didn’t bother to keep an eye on her. He was busy enough, making sure no one realised whom he really was. He created a whole new life for himself. If anyone asked, he had the whole story thought out already. He had been raised in London by his very strict father, who’d unfortunately deceased fifteen years ago. He, “Marcus Foster”, had been home-schooled, as some fake paperwork he had sneaked into the Ministry would prove. When he’d got older, he had been travelling around a lot. He had supposedly participated in several different Muggle societies, like a literature club, chess club and a judo class. Those papers had been absurdly easy to fake, and he had also placed himself in some group-photos. No one ever bothered to look deeper than that.
Alas, now he had a feeling his perfectly made world would come crumbling down on him. The blasted Mudblood was standing in the apartment right next to his.
At first, he was so busy trying to mask his horror and silently begging that the girl didn’t recognise him that he didn’t notice the creature standing next to her. Maybe that wasn’t so strange, though, the little girl was very … well, little. However, when he did notice her, he felt himself starting to get sick. Merlin, no! It couldn’t be…
The equally sick look on Granger’s face told him that it could very well be what he feared. Damn fucking shit! He needed to distract Cox-Trotter.
“Miss Granger?” he asked out loud. “Oh, I think I’ve heard a thing or two about you. But I’m afraid further pleasantries will have to wait until later. I’m running a little late to a meeting. I just heard that someone was here and got curious… Uhm, welcome to the building!”
He didn’t want to call it fleeing. All he did was leave the room a little quicker than he usually did, and then, he Apparated away the moment he’d left the house. Hoping Granger wouldn’t tell the old lady too much, Voldemort took a deep breath before he called out.
“Morgana.”
The fairy was there already, of course. She became visible right in front of him, and her smile was wild with pleasure.
“A child?” he mumbled in disbelief. “You made me create a child?”
“Yes! Is it not just hilarious?”
Voldemort shuddered. He really, really didn’t find that amusing. Nor did he understand how that was possible. The first side-effect that happened when you split your soul was becoming impotent.
“How?”
“With a little help from our magic, of course.”
“Why?”
“This is the price you paid for your new life, Tom Riddle,” Morgana stated, “and we always put the price after the favour. Big favour, big price.”
With a laugh, she left him, and he sat down, staring at the grass for over an hour and trying to figure out what to make of this. The Mudblood would, without a doubt, confront him. He would have to decide how he would deal with that. He could always try to erase her memory and make her forget ever meeting him. No, that was too risky. Cox-Trotter would undoubtedly notice if anyone started messing with Granger’s memory. Should he bribe her to keep her quiet? Nah, too risky, too, with her being friends with Potter. If she knew there was something not right with him, she might just report him, no matter how much money or power he gave her. Neither did he think threatening would do much good. Bellatrix Lestrange’s mind had shown him how well Granger could stand torture. She probably would not be scared by the prospect of him torturing her. Especially not if she didn’t know whom he really was, and he didn’t want her to find out. Perhaps he could use the child against her? Yes, that was probably the best way. But how? If he threatened to hurt the girl, Granger would definitely run to that Potter, and he would have the Aurors up his arse.
Perhaps if he … pretended like he wanted to get to know the child? However, it was forbidden for teachers and students to have an intimate relationship, so they would have to keep it a secret. Yes, that could work. At least then she wouldn’t talk about him.
If she hadn’t already…
Voldemort rose and Apparated back to the house. Surely the snooping Cox-Trotter had left now? Well, there was only one way to find out. He walked up the stairs and stopped at her door. It was quiet inside, which sounded like a good sign. He knocked carefully.
She opened almost right away, and he suspected she had expected him. She made a gesture for him to come in.
“I’m not just imagining this, am I?” she asked, looking shyly at him. “You are that Marcus, right?”
Voldemort suddenly found his mouth very dry. What on earth was happening? He couldn’t be scared, could he?
“If you mean the same Marcus whom you slept with a little over four years ago, then I’m afraid so,” he mumbled and looked around the room. “That little girl … younger sister?” Oh, please let it just be Morgana tricking him.
“Daughter,” she answered, squashing his hope.
“I see.” He had to lick his dry lips. “And … how old is she?”
“Three and a half.”
He nodded. Fucking shit. “And you didn’t happen to sleep with some other man as well that spring?”
She shook her head. “I actually don’t even remember sleeping with you … just … well, asking you in and then waking up naked and aching, so I figured…” She hugged herself. “When I realised I was pregnant, it was already too late for an abortion.”
It surprised him that she seemed to regret that. Then again, she was very young to be a mother and did seem to value important things in life. In that case, children would only be an obstacle for her.
“What’s her name?” he found himself asking, taking in the child's dark brown hair and pale skin. She had the same eyes as her mother.
“Althea,” she whispered. “I’ve always liked Richard Lovelace’s poems.”
Voldemort nodded in understanding. Not that he liked Lovelace, only that he knew whom she was referring to. “And is she … healthy?
He was surprised when tears welled up in her eyes, and she shook her head. It made him slightly cold. If Althea had been created by magic, there could be something wrong with her. He really did not want to deal with that.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered and tried to wipe the tears away but more kept coming. “This may not be the best time for this conversation. I’m tired and homesick and worried and … I didn’t expect seeing you here!”
He didn’t think he had ever been in a situation this uncomfortable before.
“Quite understandable. I find myself more than a little shocked as well. But I assume we can talk more about it when you feel ready. I just… Well, don’t take this the wrong way, but Professor-student relationships are strictly forbidden. If anyone finds out about this and reports it, at least one of us will be kicked out. But I want to help you now,” he quickly added when he saw her stare at him in disbelief. “If you need anything, financially or, I don’t know, babysitting? Tell me. I just don’t want either of us to lose our position.”
She nodded slowly. “Of course, I didn’t expect you to drop your career or anything like that. And this is a huge opportunity for me as well. I just don’t know what’s what anymore. Perhaps we could see each other tomorrow again?”
He nodded. “Of course. I live in the apartment next door. If there is anything you need, knock. Or you can call real loud. I can probably hear you.”
She smiled faintly and nodded. He stood there for a few more moments, then sighed and left the apartment. Back in his own apartment, he sank down on the bed.
What was this horrible feeling in his chest? Dread? He felt like it was ripping him apart. This would be a huge backlash in his plan to regain power. If he had to deal with a child who had problems…
Or could he just put all of the responsibility on Granger? No, he didn’t trust the fairies. Perhaps they would try to use the child against him in some way? Even if they were usually just tricksters and not power hungry, Voldemort couldn’t help but to think the thought. He would have to keep a close watch on Granger. Just to make sure the fairies didn’t cause him any more trouble than they already had.
Should he tell Granger that fairies were involved? No, that would be too risky. He would have no good explanation to why he had even spoken to a fairy. He would have to pretend that he didn’t know what was wrong with Althea. If there even was something wrong. Perhaps Granger was just paranoid? He had to find out for himself. First thing tomorrow, he would once again research all the books he had about fairy magic and hopefully find something.
His mind made up, he rolled to his side and fell into a troublesome sleep.
The next morning he got up early, made himself some tea and moved all his books about fairies to his kitchen table. Since the summer holiday had begun and he didn’t have anywhere to be or anything pressing to do, he let himself sink deep in his study mood. He was surprised when he heard a knock on the door and realised it was already well past noon. His stomach growled at him, and he sighed. After not having to eat for more than twenty years, he often forgot that he needed it now. There were of course spells to stop such human feelings, but he remembered the agony he had felt the last time he did it and wasn’t keen to experience it again. Besides, there were much worse things in the world than eating. Some kinds of food were actually very enjoyable. Like chocolate.
He opened the door and was not surprised at all to see Granger standing there with her daughter next to her, holding her hand.
“Is this a bad time?” she asked with uncertainty.
“No, not at all. I was just about to make myself something to eat. Come in.” Since the initial shock had subsided, he felt much more at ease around her. “Can I make you something?”
She shook her head. “No, thanks. Er, this is Althea. Althea, this is Professor Foster.”
He forced a smile at the little girl, but she just looked at him with more intelligent eyes than he had expected from a three-year-old. “You can both call me Marcus, if you like. Everyone else does. Or well, not the other Professors, but they are stuffy.”
Granger gave him a hesitating smile and followed him into the apartment. He bid her to sit in his dark blue couch, and he watched as she helped the little girl sit as well. There was something … unnatural about the way she did it. He had seen many mothers with their children, and there was something lacking between Granger and the girl.
He fetched himself an apple and sank down in the armchair opposite of the couch. He and Granger watched each other under a tense silence.
“I want an apple, too.”
He almost choked and stared at the little girl. Oh sweet Salazar, she was a Parselmouth. Had Hermione noticed? Yes, she had because she was watching her daughter. Fuck, fuck, fuck, if Granger found out who he was…
“Althea! What have we said about hissing to people?”
Voldemort blinked. What? Althea had done this before? And Granger didn’t realise that she was actually speaking?
“I’m so sorry. I don’t know why she does that,” Granger apologised, turning to him. “She never speaks, so I think that she is making up her own sounds to express herself.”
She didn’t speak an ordinary language? That was very troublesome. Voldemort looked at the girl and could see a flash of disappointment. Perhaps the girl didn’t realise she was speaking Parseltongue? He remembered when he was young and he had got the strange feeling people didn’t understand him all the time. Especially not when he was angry. Later, he had figured that since the language came so naturally to him, he hadn’t made the distinction between English and Parseltongue until he became older. Perhaps that was the case with the girl? She had his genes after all.
However, how could he explain to Granger about her daughter’s unique situation? If this was what she had meant by the girl not being healthy, someone would find out sooner or later. Parseltongue was almost always genetic, with Potter being the only known exception. If a Healer found out, Granger would undoubtedly ask him about it anyway.
Okay, how to explain this without Granger jumping to the right conclusion?
He rose and went to get another apple. Granger watched him with a puzzled expression as he handed it to the girl who smiled brightly at him.
“Well … this is a bit awkward,” he mumbled.
Granger stared at the girl who was happily eating the apple. “How did you know she wanted an apple?”
“Well, before I answer that, I guess I have to tell you a little about my rather … interesting family-tree,” he said, improvising, using every fact he knew about people speaking Parseltongue.
He was the only one left in Britain, not including Potter, but there were some known people in central Africa. However, it was quite clear he wasn’t of African heritage. Neither did he look very Korean. That only left South America.
“I was raised by my father, and he didn’t like to talk much about my mother. She abandoned us when I was a baby. However, from what I have found out, she was from Brazil and a member of a large family of Parselmouths.”
Something seemed to click in Granger’s head, and she gaped.
“It’s genetic, so I speak it as well. But for obvious reasons, I haven’t wanted to show it.”
She nodded slowly. “Yes, with Voldemort and everything. My friend Harry is one and… I can’t believe I didn’t recognise it! I just thought…” Her eyes filled with tears again. “Some good mother I am, not even recognising my daughter’s language.”
“Mum’s crying a lot,” the girl noticed, watching him expectantly.
He realised she was testing to see if he could understand her again. He decided to answer in Parseltongue. “Yes, she does indeed. It’s because she doesn’t understand what you are saying.”
The girl frowned. “Why not? I understand what she’s saying. You understand what I’m saying.”
“You are not speaking the same language as she is.”
That had the girl thinking. “Like Mr Samboa at the store? He speaks funny.”
“Yes, like that. Could you try to speak in the same way she is speaking?”
“Why can’t Mum just learn to understand me?”
He chuckled. “Parseltongue, the language you are speaking, is very difficult to learn. You already understand English, so it should be easier for you speak it.”
The girl squint her eyes together. “Am I speaking English now?”
“No. Listen to how your mother and I say our words and try to copy us, okay?”
The girl nodded, and Voldemort turned his focus to Granger, who seemed to be amazed, jealous and sad all at the same time.
“I told her that she doesn’t speak in a way you can understand,” he explained. “Parseltongue is rather different to English, and since she is born as a Parselmouth, it’s much easier to only speak that. But I told her to try to copy our words. Understanding what you say is not the problem. She just has a problem pronouncing the words in English.”
“Oh.” Granger didn’t seem to know what she should think. “Are there any other family secrets I should know about?”
Voldemort could think of many, but none he wished to share. “Not that I can think of. I only had my father, and he died in an accident.”
“Do you know if you did magic at a young age?”
He nodded. “I have understood that I was unusually early, yes. Is she already doing magic?” He nodded at the girl.
Granger sighed and nodded. “She almost hurt herself and others a couple of times now. I don’t know why.” She hesitated. “Do you think you could ask here?”
“Why don’t you ask her yourself and I’ll just translate?” he suggested, sure that if he acted considerate, she would be easier to work with.
“Okay.” She turned to her daughter. “Althea, do you know why you are using magic so much?”
The girl looked from her mother to Voldemort who nodded.
“It’s funny. Things happen.”
Voldemort smiled. “She says that she does it because it’s funny when things happen.”
Granger nodded at him and turned to her daughter. “But do you understand that it can be dangerous?”
The girl frowned. “It’s funny.”
“She just thinks it’s funny to do magic,” Voldemort translated. “I guess she doesn’t understand that things can be dangerous yet. She is only three.”
“I just don’t want her getting hurt,” the mother mumbled and looked down at her hands.
Voldemort watched her thoughtfully. “It’s hard for you, being a mother.”
She just nodded.
He rose with a sigh and came to sit next to her. He knew what the social protocol expected of him right now—comfort. This was one of the things he hated about his new life. As the Dark Lord, no one ever expected him to follow the social protocol. He could always do whatever he wished. However, since that way had almost got him killed, he tried something new now.
When he touched her hand, an electric pulse went through him, and he immediately pulled back. It was the same electrical pulse he had felt the night they were together. Back then, he had thought it was the fairies’ magic just showing him that she was the one. Now, he wasn’t sure what to believe.
Perhaps it was the Soul Mate issue? If he could only find a reliable book about the subject. All he had found so far were ridiculous Divination books that claimed that soul mates were the same as true love and other nonsense. He never loved, and he doubted Granger fancied herself in love with him.
“What was that?” she wondered and touched him again, more carefully this time.
Maybe it was because he expected it, but it didn’t feel as strong this time. “I’m not sure. But that is what I felt the first night I was with you.”
She blushed and withdrew her hand. He noticed that her daughter was watching them with interest.
“You remember then?”
“Yes,” he answered truthfully, not seeing any reason to lie.
“Why didn’t you stay?” He could hear the accusation in her voice, even if he could not see her expression.
“I guess I was embarrassed.” That was a lie. He hadn’t seen any point in staying after he had done what the fairies demanded of him. “I never picked up a woman from a pub before or since that night. There was just something about you that had me… Well, that isn’t important.”
Now she looked up at him. “It is.”
He took his time to really look at her. She had aged since that night, even if her hair was just as frizzy and the plain brown eyes were just as haunted. Her body had changed though, becoming curvier, and her face had matured.
“Enthralled,” he said, only half-lying. He had been fascinated by her when he’d found out who she was, but he was sure he could have stopped it if he had wanted to. “You had me enthralled.”
“Then why did you leave?” she asked again, not as accusingly now.
“Well, as I’ve said, it was embarrassing not being able to control my urges. I was just passing through the town and on the hunt for a place to sleep. I was about to ask at the pub when I saw you and the enthrallment began. I saw that you were drunk, but I just couldn’t stop myself. I had to have you.”
She didn’t seem to know whether to be flattered or appalled. The latter could become an obstacle in his plans. He wasn’t sure what had made him tell the story that way. Surely he could have come up with something more romantic? However, he wasn’t sure he wanted something romantic with her. Or did he?
“So I was just a conquest.” It was a statement.
He grimaced at her hurt face. “No, you were a lonely, beautiful, young woman whom I wanted to—” He stopped himself, remembering the child in the room.
Granger seemed to remember her as well because she took the younger girl’s hand. “I guess it doesn’t matter now. You are probably seeing someone new and—”
“Oh, stop feeling sorry for yourself,” he interrupted.
He’d finally snapped. Granger really made it hard on him to play the considerate, want-to-be-a-good-father act.
“It was four years ago. Yes, I admit I acted badly, but one-night stands aren’t that unusual. Yes, it was a shame you had to go through the pregnancy alone and all that, but neither of us can change the past. So, instead of fretting about what happened, you should get a grip of yourself so we can solve this problem—because believe it or not, this time I won’t leave.”
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