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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
- 32
- 33
- 34
Hello everyone! Sorry for the wait. Too much RL-stuff for both me and my wonderful betas, Shan84 and Nerys. I want to thank them with lots and lots of cookies and chocolate, but alas, I don’t have their addresses. For some reason, they don’t dare to give it to me … noooo idea why.

Thank you for reading and reviewing! Replies can be found here: http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/20494-shared-flame-by-lady-miya/page__st__20

Chapter 32

After breakfast, Hermione left for her retreat. Not even five minutes had gone by after her departure before Voldemort regretted agreeing to it.

Althea wouldn’t stop crying. She stood by the closed front door and cried out for her mother, wanting her to come back. Since Hermione had already Disapparated, she, of course, couldn’t hear her daughter. Therefore, Voldemort was left all alone to comfort his daughter.

He sat down on the floor next to the door. “Althea, you are being childish now,” he told her sternly in Parseltongue “Your mother needs some time alone, and you are going to stay here with me.”

Althea just looked at him with big, sad eyes for a short moment before she began crying again.

Voldemort wanted to hit her, but she would no doubt tell on him the moment Hermione came back. That would not improve things with Hermione at all.

“Stop crying,” he tried ordering. Alas, the girl didn’t seem to understand that you always followed Lord Voldemort’s orders. She was so like her mother.

“Fine, sit there and cry for all I care,” Voldemort growled and stood up. “When you calm down, tell me and I’ll give you a bath.”

He cast a silencing spell over the hall so he wouldn’t have to hear her cries. He needed to get some work done. With everything that had happened the last couple of days, he had fallen behind on his grading.

It only took fifteen minutes before Althea came back from her sulking. She still didn’t look happy, but at least she wasn’t crying anymore.

“Are you ready for your bath?” Voldemort asked her in Parseltongue.

“Can you read me a story first?”

“We can do it after your bath,” Voldemort promised and stood up.

Althea agreed. Half an hour later, they were both sitting on the couch, Althea on his lap. He had asked her to sit next to him, but she sought to look at the text with him. Since Voldemort wanted Althea to be able to read as quickly as possibly (so he wouldn’t have to read for her), he agreed.

The story Althea chose was a myth from the Egyptian Mythology. Her grandparents had sent her a book, which contained myths from all around the world for her birthday. This particular myth was about how the god Osiris was killed by his brother Seth and brought back to life by his wife Isis.

“Dad, what happens after you die?” Althea asked, sounding curious.

The question caught Voldemort off guard. He had no idea how to answer that. He would never die, so he hadn’t given it much thought. However, he knew that others died. He also knew that there were countless of different guesses on what happened after death. There were some known fates, like turning into a ghost or a vampire, but that didn’t happen to most people.

“No one really knows,” he said slowly.

“Why not?”

“Because no one has come back from death and told us what happens. Well, except for ghosts, they can talk about their Deathday for hours. However, those I’ve talked to seem to think there is something beyond being a ghost as well, but they don’t know what.”

“Have you met a ghost?” Althea asked, horrified.

“Several. Don’t worry, my dear, they can’t hurt you,” he quickly assured her. “They are quite friendly.”

Althea hugged his arm tightly. “I don’t want to meet a ghost.”

He stroked her hair in comfort. “Don’t worry dear, no ghost can come in here. And if one should come in, you can just tell them you are my daughter. That will make them leave you alone.”

“But Dad, you aren’t as scary as a ghost!” Althea objected.

Voldemort laughed. “Believe me, I am.” He shut the book and put it on the coffee table. “Do you want your colouring books or would you like to play with your toys while I work?”

“Colouring,” Althea said after a moment of thought and slid down from his lap.

Voldemort kissed her forehead before he stood up to get the book. Hermione was always showing the girl a lot of physical affection, so he guessed that was the right thing to do. Althea seemed to appreciate it. In fact, she seemed to have lost all ill feelings she might have previously had against him. Perhaps it was time for him to try to find out what sort of ideas the fairies had given Althea and undermine them? Yes, he would work on it while Hermione was gone.

xxx

The spa hotel Voldemort had booked for Hermione lay on the south coast of England. She got her first appointment in the spa at ten. It was a massage that left Hermione much more relaxed than she had been all year. She also booked a pedicure for later that evening. Even though she wasn’t at her biggest, she was already experiencing difficulties with bending down to reach her feet.

After the massage, she spent the hours before lunch catching up on her school work. With everything going on, she had fallen behind, and it was very relaxing to finally get it done without being interrupted by either Voldemort or Althea. She missed Althea, though. She hadn’t been away from her daughter for any longer than a few hours in the past year, and being away now made her feel anxious. What if something happened and Voldemort couldn’t figure out what to do?

Hermione scolded herself. Voldemort hadn’t been happy letting her go. If anything happened to Althea, Voldemort would love to use it as an excuse to bring her back home. The best she could do was to get her studies out of the way so she could spend time with Althea when she came home again.

It was around two o’clock when she took a break and stretched, looking around the room. The sun was shining through the big French windows, showcasing the dark-blue ocean outside. It was a shame to be inside when it was such a beautiful day. Perhaps she should have dinner in town and take a walk afterwards?

Her eyes wandered over the cosy room she was staying in. It was decorated in a romantic tone. The queen-sized bed had a bedspread with blue and pink roses. The wallpaper held the same print, and the carpet was soft beige. It was ridiculous how many roses one room could contain. A small vase in china, painted with roses in many different colours, stood on the nightstand. The white desk she was sitting at had carvings of roses all around the edges as did the chair. In the bathroom, there was even a real rose standing in a vase on a cabinet.

The overly mellifluous decoration aside, the hotel was probably what she needed right now. The personnel were very helpful, and the atmosphere was quite relaxing. Best of all, Voldemort had promised to pay for anything she wanted, which was really surprising since it was a Muggle hotel in a Muggle city. Hermione chuckled to herself. Perhaps she should go to Muggle stores and buy a lot of things as well?

However, first, she wanted to finish the essay she was writing on.

It was just after five when Hermione left the hotel. It didn’t take long to walk into town, and Hermione would have found it very enjoyable if it weren’t for the wind. It made her hair fly all over her face, blocking her vision. After fifteen minutes, Hermione grew sick of it and decided to just go to the first open place.

It was a small Asian restaurant, and the smell of chicken had Hermione’s stomach growling in hunger. She ordered and sat down near the wall where she could watch the other people in the restaurant. It wasn’t very crowded, probably because it was in the middle of the week and most people were just finishing work by now. Two families with young children occupied two tables in the middle of the room. They were the noisiest, but Hermione didn’t mind. It wouldn’t be long until she had to endure the screams of a newborn again. She might as well get used to it.

She had just got her food and had begun to eat when an elderly couple came and sat down at the table next to hers. At first, Hermione didn’t take too much notice of them at all; her eyes were on the adorable two-year-old who was playing with a dinosaur toy. However, when the waitress had brought the old couple some water, Hermione saw the female sneak out something long and pointy from the inside of her jacket. A wand.

Trying not to be obvious in her curiosity, she listened in on their conversation.

“—pumpkin juice,” the woman muttered.

She appeared to be over seventy, which, if she were a witch, meant that she was probably even older.

“I still think it wouldn’t hurt for you to try a Muggle beverage,” the man replied.

He seemed a bit younger than the female. Perhaps her son?

“Just be glad I agreed to this at all.” She huffed. “Why do you insist on bringing me here again after all these years?”

“Call me nostalgic,” the man answered with a sigh. “I just wanted to remember the place where we first met.” He sneaked a hand across the table and grasped the woman’s, stroking it slowly and lovingly.

Okay, so not mother and son, Hermione concluded.

The old woman stroked his hand back and her voice softened.

“You’re right, my love.” Then she pulled back her hand and opened her menu. “What do you suggest we order, then?” Her voice had got back its hard no-nonsense edge again.

Hermione smiled down at her plate. It was quite clear the couple loved each other. She found it very sweet, but at the same time, she felt sad. Even if she and Voldemort were still a couple when she was as old as that lady, she doubted he would ever look at her that lovingly. He didn’t love.

But he does have feelings for me, a small voice in her head reminded her.

Right, but not enough to not hurt me, physically and emotionally, a darker voice in her replied.

Hermione sliced her chicken more forcefully than she needed. Life was unfair! What had she ever done to deserve Voldemort?

Chewing the delicious and quite expensive chicken, she remembered that it wasn’t all bad. She had Althea and financial security as well as help with her career. The sex was great, and you could call Voldemort many things but boring wasn’t one of them.

It could be worse.

She ate the rest of her dinner in deep thought. After maybe twenty minutes, she called for the cheque.

As she stood up to leave, she experienced a head-rush that made her knees weak. She made an attempt to sit down again, but somehow, she confused her distance to the chair and landed on the floor.

“Dear Merlin, are you alright?” A hand came out to help her up.

Hermione grabbed it and slowly rose from the floor. When she looked up, she saw that it was the old man that had helped her. Now he guided her back to her chair again.

“Yes, thank you,” Hermione said, carefully rubbing the small of her back.

“Oh, you are bleeding!” the man exclaimed. He quickly grabbed a napkin from the table and pressed it against her nose.

Hermione cursed and leaned her head backwards. She seldom got nosebleeds, but the last time she was pregnant, she had got them quite often for a period. There was a spell that usually helped, but she didn’t want to pull out her wand in a room filled with Muggles.

Thankfully, someone else didn’t have such qualms. Hermione felt a tingle of magic in her nose and it immediately stopped bleeding. She straightened her neck and looked up to see the old witch standing in front of her, blocking her from the curious stares of the rest of the restaurant.

Hermione gave her a grateful smile. “Thank you.”

The woman arched her eyebrow in question. “What for?”

“The spell,” Hermione said in a low voice. “I would have done it myself, but being in a Muggle restaurant …” she trailed off, shrugging.

“Another witch,” the man said in a low but excited voice. “How delightful!”

Hermione smiled, uncertain if she should say anything else or just thank them again and take her leave. Before she could make up her mind, the other witch addressed her.

“I recognise you.” The older woman wrinkled her forehead for a short moment before realisation hit her. “Aren’t you that Granger girl the newspaper wrote about a lot during the war? The Muggle-born friend to Harry Potter?”

“I am,” Hermione said slowly, feeling the usual discomfort whenever people remembered her from newspapers.

The wizard’s broad smile, however, calmed Hermione somewhat.

“Merlin’s beard, imagine Shannon, being at the same restaurant as a war hero!”

The witch, Shannon, didn’t look as amused, but she seemed interested nevertheless.

“Why yes, I do believe this restaurant business was worth it. Would you like to join us for dessert?”

“I-I don’t know; I don’t want to intrude,” Hermione started, not sure what she really wanted. On the one hand, it could be nice to have a civil conversation with mature wizards without the fear of being tortured for her opinions (even though it had been some time since Voldemort had done that). On the other hand, she wasn’t too keen to talk about things that she had done during the war if that were what they were after.

“Nonsense,” the witch said. “We have been married for forty years; we’ve got no new tales to tell each other. Please, join us.”

Not seeing how she could say no to that politely (and not wanting to be impolite to the couple that just helped her), she agreed and pulled a chair to their table. The old wizard called the waiter over, ordering them cake for dessert.

“Please, allow me to introduce us,” the wizard said. “I’m Daniel Alperton and this is my wife, Shannon. And please, call me Daniel.”

“Nice to meet you Daniel, Shannon,” Hermione said, starting to get the feeling her smile looked a bit strained. “Well, I’m Hermione Granger, obviously.”

Daniel laughed. He seemed like an easily amused person. He had very noticeable laughter lines on his slightly red face. In many ways, he looked like the complete opposite of his wife, who seemed to have more frown lines. Their bodies were also each other’s opposite. She was short and slender, while he was long and broad. Even though she looked older, her hair was completely black whilst his had obviously gone white with age. Her eyes were dark and his were pale blue.

“What are you doing here in the Muggle world, then, Hermione?” Shannon asked, clearly curious, even though Hermione didn’t understand why. It was usually Harry whom the strangers wanted to talk about with her. Unless they were students at her school, then they usually just wanted to discuss schoolwork.

“I’m on a small vacation,” Hermione explained.

Shannon’s dark eyes swept over her. “You’re pregnant,” she noted.

Hermione placed her hand on her stomach. There was a bump there, of course, but she had thought her loose clothing hid it.

“Yes, how did you know?”

“I was a Healer for quite some time,” Shannon explained with a humourless smile. “Old habits die hard.”

“Oh, I see. Well, it won’t be long until everyone notices, I guess,” Hermione said. “So, why are you here? On vacation as well?”

“No, we are just here for the night,” Daniel answered her. “Shannon and I are celebrating—this is where we met forty years ago.”

“That’s sweet,” Hermione said. “How did you both meet?”

“We ran into each other, quite literally,” Shannon said, and now the smile reached her eyes. “It was love at first touch, so to speak.”

It was something in the way she said it that made Hermione very curious. Did she mean touch like the type of touch Hermione and Voldemort had, or did she mean it in an attempt to be funny? If they had literally ran into each other, then they probably hadn’t seen each other before they touched.

The waiter came in with three plates of cake, and Daniel raised his wineglass. “Well, cheers to war heroes, pregnancies and anniversaries!”

Hermione took her water and chimed in. They had quite a pleasant hour chitchatting about nothing in particular. Hermione wanted to find out more about what their “first touch” entailed, but she didn’t know how she should best approach them for more information about their relationship. She didn’t find it very polite to ask them what they did when they were touching. After all, they clearly were older than even Voldemort.

When they had finished eating, Daniel insisted that they escorted Hermione back to the hotel. “It’s such a lovely evening, and it would be nice to stretch my legs.”

Shannon didn’t object, and they made their way outside.

“Isn’t this city beautiful?” Daniel asked as they walked down the main street. It was an old city with a cobbled street. The houses on either side of the road were old-fashioned as well.

“It is,” Hermione agreed. “Do you come here every year for your anniversary?”

“No, our last time was quite a while ago now. Shannon isn’t very comfortable around Muggles, are you dear?” He winked at his wife and offered her his arm.

Shannon took it, amusement flashing through her eyes. “At least I manage to stay around you.” At Hermione’s questioning look, she added, “He is a Muggle-born, you see.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, not sure how else she should comment on it.

“Shannon, isn’t that the street where we met?” Daniel cried out, saving Hermione from having to answer. He was pointing towards an alley.

“Yes, I believe it is,” Shannon said, amused, stopping.

Hermione stopped as well, finding it rather romantic that they would remember these small details after all these years. Would she and Voldemort make nostalgic trips to the pub where they met for the first time when they were at that age? Somehow, she doubted it.

“This was an excellent Apparition point back in the days,” Daniel explained and took one step into the alley. It was a one-way street. At the end of it, a big dumpster was standing, right next to a door. Hermione guessed it belonged to the restaurant on their right.

She could see the use of the place as an Apparition point. The alley was small, but the end of it lay in the shadows so it wasn’t visible from the main road. She doubted many Muggles ventured down here. Probably only the restaurant workers, if they needed to throw out something.

“Are you really sure it’s here?” Shannon asked and took a few steps up the street. “There is a similar alley just down here.”

“No, I’m certain it was here,” Daniel said and took a few more steps down into the alley. Hermione turned to look at him as he walked away from her and Shannon. “Don’t you remember, you were just Apparating in here, and then you fell down, and I helped you up … hm...”

Hermione held back a chuckle as he made a show of looking down at the street, like trying to find their footprints. They really seemed like an amusing couple.

“Oh, what does it matter,” Daniel said, with a dismissive gesture. “The point is that we met in this alley and lived happily ever after.”

“You are quite right, dear,” Shannon replied. Hermione turned around again so she could see the other woman make a gesture for her husband to come over to her. “Well, after that little stop, why don’t we continue towards the hotel?”

They hadn’t even taken three steps when a pop was heard and a figure appeared right behind them, in the alley. Hermione spun around and stared in disbelief at Voldemort who had his wand raised, looking very suspicious. When he spotted Hermione, he quickly reached out and pulled her to him, stepping down in the alley, out of view from the street. Then he turned his attention to the other couple.

“Now, I want to know which one of you used Dark Arts on my fiancée.”

“What?” Hermione stared at Voldemort in disbelief, holding a tight grip at the arm he had encircled her with. “We were just talking and …” She looked at the other couple and trailed off when she saw Daniel’s guilty expression.

Shannon merely seemed despondent. “It wasn’t a curse. It was only a scanning spell.”

Hermione couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Why would Shannon have used a Dark Arts spell on her to begin with? What was she scanning for?

“Do you take me for a fool? There are no Dark Arts scanning spells. Scanning spells are harmless.”

“I invented it myself,” Shannon stated. “And we didn’t mean any harm to come to Hermione. We merely wanted to know if she had a Shared Flame.”

“What?” Hermione asked, shocked. Then she remembered what Shannon had said just before they walked into the alley. Daniel was a Muggle-born. “You have a Shared Flame as well.”

“We do,” Daniel confessed, taking his wife’s hand. “We were only curious to see if you had one.”

“Why would you want to know that?” Voldemort asked, but he didn’t sound as aggressive anymore, and he had lessened his grip around Hermione’s waist somewhat.

Daniel and Shannon didn’t look at each other, but Hermione got a weird feeling they were somehow communicating with each other. They stood silent for too long for it to just be a coincidence.

However, their silence gave Hermione time to realise something else. She looked up at Voldemort. “Where is Althea?”

He didn’t look away from the other couple. “Asleep. If she wakes up, I’ll know.”

Since it was still quite early in the evening, Hermione doubted Althea had fallen asleep on her own. However, if he had thought that Hermione was being hurt, it wasn’t like he could take the time to call in the nanny. All their wards would protect Althea from any outside danger, and if she were in a magical induced sleep, she could not harm herself. Besides, this would probably not take long, and they could go back to Althea later.

She turned her attention to Daniel and Shannon again.

“Well? Why did you want to know whether Hermione had a Shared Flame?” Voldemort asked them again.

Hermione could hear that he was losing his patience.

“I scan every Muggle-born I come in contact with if I have the opportunity. For the past thirty years or so, I’ve been conducting research on the matter, and it’s very hard to find subjects to study,” Shannon admitted. “There seem to be many benefits from such a connection and, as I’ve discovered, many more to uncover with the right determination and techniques. I track down other couples so that I can improve the magic of a Shared Flame.” She hesitated.

“Go on,” Voldemort urged, but he didn’t sound as threatening anymore.

“Since you seem to be familiar with the term Shared Flame, I assume you have read Mr Bäcker’s book on the subject?” she inquired.

Voldemort nodded.

“Then you are aware that at least one part of the Shared Flame is Muggle-born,” Shannon concluded. “There is maybe one Muggle-born in a thousand that have a Shared Flame. During the last thirty years, I’ve had three couples who have been willing to help me. One couple passed away ten years ago of natural causes. The other two couples were killed during the Dark Lord’s regime.”

Hermione had to resist sending Voldemort a glare of blame. Voldemort, however, had focused on something else.

“What sort of benefits have you discovered?” he asked, clearly interested but still very cautious.

Daniel looked around in the alley. “Perhaps we could discuss this at a better location, Mr …?”

“Foster,” Voldemort said and finally lowered his wand. “Marcus Foster. And you are?”

“Daniel Alperton, and this is my wife, Shannon,” Daniel said, gesturing at the other witch. “We really didn’t mean Hermione any harm, Mr Foster. If she hadn’t had an active Shared Flame, nothing would have happened. We would simply have escorted her to her hotel and then been on our way. I know Dark Arts are considered the worst type of magic, and although I admit the spell can be used for bad purposes, no one is hurt when it’s cast.”

Shannon looked directly at Hermione. “When we saw that you had an active Shared Flame, we planned to tell you everything. However, your fiancé interrupted us.”

They both looked sincere. Daniel looked a little like a sad puppy while Shannon appeared more solemn. Hermione did believe them to an extent. Perhaps it would be worthwhile to hear them out? She looked up at Voldemort who was still regarding them closely. When he felt her gaze, he turned his attention to her.

“What do you say, my dear?” he asked.

“I don’t think it can hurt. They have been very friendly the entire night. I don’t think they meant to harm me,” Hermione answered, giving Daniel a smile. If the Alpertons did mean to harm her,Voldemort would no doubt go all Dark Lord-y on them.

“Good,” Daniel said happily. “Why don’t we make an appointment later this week and have a chat? There is a lot to be said and tested if you are willing to undergo them. You could come over to us for afternoon tea?”

“Very well,” Voldemort said before Hermione had the time to. “How about Friday? We have to check with the nanny so she can stay with our daughter.”

Shannon opened her handbag and withdrew a small card. “Friday will do. Here is our address. Just come around teatime.”

Voldemort accepted the card and put it inside his robe before Hermione had time to see what it said. She repressed a scowl.

“Until Friday then,” Voldemort said.

After saying their goodbyes, the Alpertons Disapparated. Voldemort turned to Hermione.

“I do know I promised to leave you alone for the day,” Voldemort began, “but I do think we should discuss this right away.”

Hermione sighed. “I know. We should.”

“Do you want me to follow you to the hotel, or do you want to come home?” he asked.

She frowned. He was behaving much more politely than she had ever seen him. Why was that? Not that it mattered right now; there was only one answer to that question.

“Home. Althea shouldn’t be alone this long.”

“She is perfectly safe,” Voldemort objected, a frown of annoyance appearing on his forehead. “She’s asleep.”

“A magically induced sleep, I suspect,” Hermione remarked, and when Voldemort seemed to be about to object more forcefully, she added: “I’m not blaming you. The necklace must have reacted to the spell, and you thought I was being attacked. But I don’t want her to be in a magical sleep for longer than she has to.”

Voldemort sighed. “Very well. Let’s go home then.”

They Apparated, and a moment later, Hermione was standing inside her own combined living room and kitchen. She arched an eyebrow when she saw the books spread out all over the coffee table and Althea’s crayons spread out on the floor. Althea herself was lying on the sofa with a protective blue glow around her.

“I was in the middle of my research,” Voldemort muttered as he walked over to Althea.

“I can see that. On what subject?” Hermione asked, picking up the nearest book. It seemed to be about magical theory.

“A little bit of this and that,” Voldemort responded and waved his wand over Althea.

The young girl mumbled something and turned to her side but didn’t wake up.

“Is something wrong?” Hermione asked, putting the book down again.

“Not at all. She has just slipped into an ordinary sleep. I’ll put her to bed,” Voldemort said, lifting the girl up in his arms and carrying her towards her bedroom.

Hermione was disappointed. She would have liked to say hello to Althea since she still planned to go back to the hotel once she and Voldemort had had their discussion. Nonetheless, she wouldn’t wake her daughter up just for that. Althea needed her sleep.

Sighing, she sat down in the couch and waited for Voldemort. He came back only a minute later, carefully shutting the door behind him and placing a silencing spell over it.

“How did you meet the Alpertons?” he asked as he sat down on the couch next to her.

Hermione told him about her visit to the restaurant and their offer to see her back to the hotel.

Voldemort sat thoughtful when she finished. “The woman was a Dark Arts mistress; I’ve heard about her before.”

Hermione frowned. “Was?”

He nodded. “She is about twenty years older than I am and was well-known back in the days. She invented several … interesting spells. I only heard about her, though. When I was starting to gather followers the first time around, I did plan to seek her out, but by then, she had already stopped with the Dark Arts.”

“You can do that?” Hermione asked, puzzled. She had read that the Dark Arts were addictive in some ways.

Voldemort arched an eyebrow. “Of course you can. I just don’t see why anyone would want to. Dark Arts aren’t any more addictive than other types of magic. That’s just Ministry propaganda.”

Hermione didn’t really believe him, but she knew too little about the subject to start an argument. Besides, they had other things to discuss.

“Why did she stop, then?”

“She fell in love,” Voldemort said, sounding both a bit disgusted and superior, like he would never make the same “mistake”.

“She found her Shared Flame,” Hermione concluded.

Voldemort grunted.

“Do you think she is right, then?” Hermione asked after a moment of silence. “Do you think she has discovered benefits of having a Shared Flame?”

“I think she has the competence to do it,” Voldemort answered. “And I don’t think we are putting ourselves in any immediate danger by going there. However, as always, it’s important to be critical and careful.”

“Obviously.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “Well, I should be leaving then. I have a pedicure now at eight, and then, I have an essay to finish before I go to bed …”

“Of course.”

Was that a flash of disappointment she saw in his face? If it were, it was gone the next second. He stood up and held out his hand to help her up.

Hermione took it. Maybe it was because she had been without his touch for the entire day, but the spark felt stronger than it had in quite some time. A shudder of something she didn’t care to venture deeper into went through her and she withdrew her hand the moment she stood up.

Voldemort’s eyes were unreadable. “Until tomorrow then.”

She nodded and without another word, she Disapparated.

Even though she was away from Voldemort, she couldn’t stop the tingling over her body, which had occured when they had touched. It wasn’t the normal you-have-touched-me-and-therefore-I’m-horny feeling, but rather an unsatisfied need for something. The feeling only increased during the pedicure. She had never noticed how sensitive her feet were, but it did feel awfully good to get one. A bit too good even.

When she returned to her hotel room an hour later, she tried to forget about the weird horniness and just study. It didn’t go well, and thus, she went to bed. Alas, sleep eluded her.

She lay, staring at the ceiling for half an hour before deciding to just masturbate and be done with it. She let her hands wander over her naked breasts and closed her eyes, imagining that someone else was there, stroking her body. Her skin was already hot underneath her hands, and she was already slick with arousal . It didn’t take many minutes before her hands found her sex. She pushed two fingers inside her and started to manipulate her clit with the other hand.

She tried to focus only on the exquisite feeling, but something was lacking. Her body didn’t usually feel this empty and lonely when she was reaching an orgasm. Her arm was growing tired as well. Did Voldemort feel this tired when he was fingering her?

Oh Merlin, she wished he was here fingering her instead.

Hermione opened her eyes when the thought hit her. She wanted to fuck him. What was stopping her from doing just that? A weak voice in the back of her head reminded her of what had happened, but the horny voice inside her was louder. Why shouldn’t she just Apparate back to her flat and fuck her husband-to-be?

Yes. He didn’t have a say in it. It wasn’t like he had ever asked; why should she? No, this time, she wanted to be in control. Merlin, that thought made her even hornier.

Her mind set on a single goal, she got out of bed and Apparated straight to their bedroom. She hadn’t even managed to take one step towards the bed before Voldemort was sitting up, his wand pointing at her. She stopped and raised her hands, showing that she was unarmed.

“Hermione? What are you doing here?” he asked, his face softening as he lowered his wand.

Once she was sure he wouldn’t hex her, she walked up in the bed. “Just shut up,” she commanded and pulled the covers away from him before straddling his lap.

Voldemort looked like he was about to say something so Hermione attacked his mouth with hers, preventing him from ruining it for her. Voldemort didn’t object. Instead, he eagerly responded, both with his mouth and his cock, which grew hard almost instantly. He fell back down on the bed again and she followed, grinding her groin against his.

When she was convinced that he was hard enough, she moaned into his mouth and used her hand to steer him inside her. Merlin, it felt heavenly! She closed her eyes and began riding him in a furious speed. She had too much pent-up frustration inside of her to be able to slow down.

Voldemort’s hands came up on her hips, trying to control the pace. Hermione let out a growl and pulled his hands away, moving them to the side of his head. She let go of his mouth and gave him a look of warning before continuing.

He was smirking at her but didn’t fight her. When she clenched the muscles inside her cunt, his smirk turned into a moan of pleasure and he closed his eyes again. With a satisfied smile, Hermione turned to her own pleasure. It was really remarkable how good this felt. Why had she left again?

No, better not venture there.

Instead, she brought her hand down to her clitoris and began stimulating it with her fingers. She could hear from Voldemort’s panting that he was close as well. Despite that her legs were already growing tired, she sped up, taking him as far inside her as she could.

It only took her a minute to climax, and she could feel that she was taking Voldemort with her. His hands suddenly gripped her thighs, squeezing them hard. If she hadn’t been in the middle of an orgasm, she would probably have found it painful.

“Hermione,” Voldemort gasped as they came down from their high. He looked like he wanted to say something more, but no words came out.

Hermione smiled in satisfaction and sank down on his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, and she could feel him brush her hair away from his face. She closed her eyes and listened to his slowing heartbeat.

xxx

It had been worth it, Voldemort concluded the next morning.

He was lying in bed, waiting for Hermione to wake up. She had fallen asleep right after their climax the night before. And sweet Salazar, what a climax. It was well worth it, risking her anger by sending a small pulse of magic inside of her when they had touched earlier that night. He had wanted to see what would happen when he did. The result had been more spectacular than he had dared to hope. Best of all, Hermione didn’t seem to realise a thing. At least not last night. He would have to be careful this morning, so she wouldn’t start to suspect anything now.

He turned on his side and watched his Gryffindor kitten breathe slowly. The blanket lay between her legs, only covering her sex and parts of her abdomen. That needed changing.

Voldemort carefully pulled the blanket down so he could see her fully naked. His hand came to rest on her swollen belly. There were no movements that he could detect from the foetus. Perhaps it was sleeping as peacefully as its mother?

He regarded the belly. In just four months, the foetus would be a baby. He, Lord Voldemort, would be a father of two. He had never thought he would have children. They were a lot of work, and even though you did try your best to raise them, they would no doubt find ways to disappoint. Voldemort had known enough fathers in his days to know that at least. There always seemed to be a lot of complaining.

Although Voldemort was certain that he would be a much better father with his children than those morons, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to treat them like he really wanted. Hermione would make sure of that. She was awfully humanistic in her views of how other living beings should be treated.

Regardless, he already had plans for his progenies. In time, they would be of much use to him. With his and Hermione’s genes, they were bound to be both clever and beautiful. You could get far in the world with both qualities. He would make sure one of them started a career inside the Ministry so that he or she could become a real influence. The other one would become some form of researcher.

“What are you thinking about?”

Hermione’s question made him snap out of his thoughts, and he removed his hand from her stomach.

“How much I adore this baby already,” he said with a smirk.

She arched her eyebrows. “Oh? How come?”

“Well, it must be the increased sex drive that the pregnancy is giving you, which made you suddenly decide to come back here and fuck my brains out, right?”

He leaned down and kissed her naked belly, hoping she would take that as a valid excuse for her actions last night.

Hermione snorted, but then, she frowned, suddenly watching him with suspicion in her eyes. “Because you didn’t have anything to do with that, right?”

Voldemort managed to look at her in disbelief. “What could I possibly have done?”

“Did you give me a lust potion?”

He sat up, faking annoyance. “Since when do I need a lust potion for you to fuck me? In fact, I would start worrying about my health if anyone gave you a lust potion. You are horny enough as it is.”

Hermione sighed. “Well, you only have yourself to blame if I don’t believe you all the time.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t comment. She seemed to have dropped that thought for now, which was good. She would probably forget the whole incident soon enough. However, to be on the safe side, he changed the subject.

“Do you want me to start breakfast? Perhaps something sweeter than porridge? Pancakes?”

Hermione regarded him, shaking her head. “Pancakes? What’s the occasion?”

He laughed and leaned over her, giving her a quick peck. “I had sex. Finally. One day without a release can really make your balls turn blue.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m sure they were.”

Voldemort leaned even closer to her. “Of course. But I think it would be good if you checked to see that they are really okay now.”

She chuckled. “Oh, I’m sure you would just love that.”

Voldemort smirked, and his lips met hers. “Oh, I really think it would be for the best. Pretty please?”

Hermione continued to chuckle into his mouth as they kissed, but her hand did wander down between them and found his cock, which was quickly hardening. She sneaked underneath it and slowly caressed his sacks. He purred into her mouth and started to caress her leg with his free hand.

Just as he was getting hard enough to move inside her, she withdrew her hand and moved away from him. He opened his eyes and saw her watching him with a naughty grin.

“I think it’s safe to say they are perfectly fine. Now, why don’t you go and make me those pancakes?”

He arched an eyebrow and moved his hand in between her legs. One of his fingers could easily slip inside her wet cunt. “Now, is that really what you want?”

She shuddered as he bent his finger inside her, stroking her sweet spot. When her eyes met his again, there was a wild hunger in them and he knew he had made his point. He removed his finger and pulled her towards him. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him hungrily. He lifted her up on his lap and trusted his cock inside her with ease.

He let out a groan of pleasure as Hermione started to trail kisses down his cheek and throat. Together, they began to move faster against each other. He closed his eyes and tightened his grip over her hips, helping her bounce up and down. When she came, she bit down at his neck. The action increased his pleasure, causing him to come as well.

Voldemort chuckled against her hair as he came down from his high. It seemed his little hellcat still had some frustration to take out on him. Oh, well, as long as they continued to have sex, he could deal with a bite mark.

Hermione eased out of his arms and lay down in bed again, stretching. “What time is it?”

Voldemort looked at the alarm clock on her night stand. “Just after seven. We still have three hours before the lecture begins.”

“I should probably go and check out from the hotel,” she said with a sigh as she rose from the bed, looking a bit distant and tense all of a sudden.

Voldemort watched her curiously. What had happened? He rose as well and placed his hand on her shoulder, gently turning her around.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, trying to read her expression. There was an air of defeat around her, and he had no idea why that was.

She looked down at their bare feet. “When I realised I was pregnant with Althea and would have to keep her, I went to a Muggle doctor. She said that I should always listen to my body, that my body knew more about what I needed than my mind ever would.”

He watched her without saying anything. This was important to her, he could see that.

“She said that I should sleep if my body was tired, eat when I was hungry and … that I shouldn’t be afraid to seek out physical pleasure if I had the urge.” Hermione’s lips curved into a bitter smile, and she looked up at him. “I wonder what she would say if she knew all my body wanted was a sociopathic mass murderer.”

He stroked the side of her face with his thumb. “I don’t think she would mind if she knew that you actually enjoy my company and that I will do everything to keep you safe and content … as long as you stay with me.”

She made a noise that was somewhere between a sigh and a chuckle. “There is always a catch with you, Voldemort.”

He leaned in and kissed her forehead. “You want me, kitten. It’s not a catch when you like it. If you didn’t have to be with me, what would you do?”

Hermione wrapped her arms around her body.

“You are right,” she whispered.

Voldemort embraced her and smiled against her hair. Victory.
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