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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
- 34
- 35
- 36
Hello! The intermezzo is up! This is the in-between part. Part two (which takes place seven years into the future) will begin with the next chapter. This takes place four months after when we last saw the jolly couple.

There is music mentioned in this chapter, by a Swede named Larsson. If anyone of you are interested to hear this music, remove the spaces and add the tripple w for this: youtube (dot) com /watch ? v= SZD7FOWy61c

When it comes to the end scene of this chapter, Nerys has helped me write the fluffy parts. Or actually, I’ve looked as she added tons of tons of fluff. So she deserves all the credit (blame?) for that! Couldn’t have done it without her! And as usual, I’d like to thank both Nerys and Shan84 for betaing. And I also would like to thank the rest of the merry GC-gang for coming with ideas and suggestions for this chapter. Thank you all a lot!

Also want to thank everyone who took their time to review! Here are the replies: http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/20494-shared-flame-by-lady-miya/page__st__20

INTERMEZZO

Chapter 34

It was a warm morning in the middle of August when Voldemort woke feeling like someone had stabbed him in the stomach. Disoriented, he sat up and looked around, wand already in hand, ready to hex whoever made him feel this excruciating pain.

No one was in the room, except him and Hermione. Just like that, the pain disappeared. Voldemort frowned, his hand wandering down to his stomach. There was nothing indicating that something was amiss.

“Oh, Merlin,” he heard a mutter next to him.

He turned around and saw Hermione pressing a hand against her enormous belly, her face in a grimace.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, even though he was already guessing the answer.

“A contraction,” she said, taking a deep breath. “A bit more forceful than the ones I’ve had lately—it’s probably nothing.”

“Or it is. Your due date is in just two days, after all,” Voldemort commented, yawning as he allowed himself time to wake up. If Hermione were about to have the baby, he’d better call the Healer at once.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Or it isn’t. Come on, let’s just go back to sleep. You heard what the Healer said the last time she was here. I need lots of rest before the delivery.”

She did look tired. Voldemort sighed and lay down in the bed again. He could probably use the rest, too. The past few months had been very trying for his patience. Hermione’s constant mood swings were enough to make any man annoyed. For him, they were slow torture. He would be very happy once the child was out of her and she could go back to being her normal self.

He was just about to fall asleep when it happened again. This time, he actually groaned. “What the hell?”

Hermione was also groaning. “I had forgotten how painful the contractions are.”

Voldemort grew cold as he suddenly remembered something that had happened almost eight months ago. Hermione had wanted him to see that it was much harder creating life than taking it. She had cast a spell on him, but when nothing happened, he had just figured the spell hadn’t worked. But what if it had? This was not good.

“Help me up. I think I need to pee,” Hermione said, breaking his line of thoughts.

Voldemort did. She had gained about twenty pounds during her pregnancy and was much harder to manoeuvre. It made sex a bit more difficult than he would have liked, especially since she was usually tired as well.

Once he had managed to get Hermione off the bed, she waddled her way over to the bathroom and disappeared inside. Voldemort sank down on the bed again and glanced at the clock. It was only five in the morning. It was a good thing the summer holidays had begun and that Althea was visiting her grandparents. He could sleep in.

Strangely enough, he almost missed his daughter running in every morning, wanting breakfast. She was such an amusing little thing. However, with Hermione’s upcoming delivery (which would take place at their flat), they had decided that Althea could visit her grandparents for a while, so she wouldn’t get scared when Hermione went into labour. That, and Althea had expressed wishes of going to her grandparents. After he had made Althea’s room at the Granger’s fairy-proof, there had been no problems to leave Althea there.

Voldemort groaned when, once again, he felt his entire stomach burn with pain. Somehow, he was definitely feeling Hermione’s contraction. With a growl, he rose from the bed and stalked into the bathroom.

Hermione was sitting on the toilet with her hands pressed against her stomach. “I think my water broke.”

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll call the Healer. But first I need you to remove the spell you have cast over me.”

Hermione started at him in disbelief. “What spell?”

“The one that has me feeling your contractions.”

Hermione blinked, looking confused. “I didn’t … oh.” Apparently she also remembered what had happened eight months ago.

“Oh, indeed. Remove it now.”

She became angry. “I don’t know how I did it, so I can’t just remove it!”

“Try,” he ordered, his voice hard.

“Voldemort! I’m going into labour. Just call the Healer.”

He crossed his arms. “Try first.”

Slowly, Hermione rose from the toilet. “I can’t waste time and energy on that! I’m going to push a small person out of my vagina soon. Who cares if you feel it? I’m the one who is going to do all the work. Call the fucking Healer!”

Voldemort tightened his grip of his wand. Something Hermione spotted.

“Oh, so now you are going to torture me? Is that your answer to everything? Just because you are unhappy, others need to suffer. You know what, Voldemort, grow up. Life is unfair, deal with it.” She marched past him and went into the living room.

He didn’t know what to say. Hermione had never been this unreasonable before. And he would not curse her and risk both hers and the baby’s life. He would have to come up with a punishment afterwards …

“Fucking hell!” he growled when another contraction made him bend over in pain. From inside the living room, he heard Hermione groan as well.

Right, first, he would make sure the labour went by smoothly and then he would focus on how to best punish his fiancée. With a quick spell, he was dressed and went to the living room.

“Put on your dressing gown so you won’t get cold,” he grunted to Hermione. “I’ll call her.”

Hermione’s anger vanished, and she obeyed him without question. Fifteen minutes and three contractions later, the Healer Apparated inside with a bag. She was an elderly witch named Nathalie Reyes who had retired from St. Mungo’s but helped in home deliveries if the price were right.

“Into bed with you, and let see how far dilated you are,” the Healer ordered Hermione briskly, only giving Voldemort a nod in greeting.

Hermione did as she was told, and Voldemort stood behind the Healer as she started to examine Hermione’s sex. It was always fun to see Hermione’s sex, although right now, it didn’t look exactly as he remembered.

“You are already six centimetres dilated. The contractions will start to come closer together and get worse. I suggest you try to be up and walk around as long as you are able to. Perhaps eat something as well,” the Healer said.

The next hour was slow torture for Voldemort. Hermione didn’t seem to be in half the amount of pain that he was in, even though they experienced the same pain.

The Healer took one look at him and said, “Sympathy pain. How sweet.”

When the contractions started to come every two minutes, Reyes allowed Hermione to go back to the bed. Voldemort forced himself to move as well. The pain was more than anything he had ever felt before. Even though it was a long time since he was Cruciated (by anyone other than Hermione, but that hardly counted), he didn’t remember it being as bad as this. For a start, the pain lasted much longer.

“Ten centimeters. It’s time to start pushing, you’re fully dilated,” the Healer commented.

Hermione grabbed Voldemort’s hand and pulled him down on the bed next to her. “You put me into this mess,” she growled.

Voldemort’s jaws were too tightly pressed together, stopping himself from screaming a reply. How could women do this? And more than once as well! The pain was unbearable, he couldn’t think straight. When would it be over? Please, let it be over!

“When the next contraction comes, it’s time to start,” Reyes said from between Hermione’s legs. “Try to focus on the pushing. The harder you try, the sooner this will be over.”

Hermione nodded, and Voldemort could feel that she was bracing herself, focusing on her body. Her hand held his in a tight grip. Voldemort closed his eyes. Perhaps it would be easier if he didn’t see it happen?

Then, the pain took over again. It was worse than before, perhaps because Hermione was pushing. There was a storm in his head, deafening him to Hermione’s cries. Maybe he was crying as well, he didn’t know. He couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe …

Then, darkness. Blissful darkness welcomed him with open arms and he didn’t feel anything at all anymore.

xxx

Hermione had forgotten how hard it was to go through labour. But when she heard the cries of life from her new born baby, she began crying in happiness.

She let go of Voldemort’s hand and stretched her arms towards the Healer who was rapidly casting spells, making sure everything was all right with the baby. There was worry in Hermione’s chest that something would be amiss. Thankfully the Healer looked up with a smile after just a few minutes.

“Perfect health. Ten fingers and ten toes,” Reyes said, handing her the child that she’d wrapped in a towel. “Here is your daughter.”

Hermione looked at the small girl in wonder. “A girl?” For some reason, she had always called the baby “he”, it had just felt right. But she was happy with this as well. Another girl. A little sister for Althea. Hermione felt tears of joy in her eyes as she pressed the whining child against her chest.

“Look at what—” Hermione turned to Voldemort and stopped when she saw that he was unconscious. She frowned and looked at the Healer. “What happened to him?”

The Healer was already running a diagnostic spell over him. “Men pass out during the delivery all the time. And look, there is nothing wrong with him.” The Healer shook her head. “Don’t worry about him. He’ll be up in no time.”

Hermione grimaced. Voldemort would be furious when he woke up. Oh well, hopefully he had learned an important lesson. It was much harder to give birth than to kill someone. She took a deep breath. Her whole body felt sore. She could drift away to sleep at any moment, but at the same time, she didn’t want to stop looking at the child at her chest. It was so different from what she had felt the first time with Althea. Back then, she had felt so much angst, not knowing how to be a mother, not knowing how she would handle her future with a child, not knowing why she had got pregnant in the first place. Now, it was only joy. She vowed to herself that she would do it right this time. Of course, she would still take care of Althea and make sure she was happy as well. But she would do it right. She could do this.

“The seventeenth of August, 2003 at eight fifty,” the Healer wrote out loud. “Healthy baby girl … Do you have a name for her yet?”

Hermione shook her head. They had decided to wait until the baby was born to name it. She had a few ideas, but she wanted to discuss it with Voldemort first. “Just baby Granger-Foster.”

The Healer nodded and wrote it down in her chart. Right then, the girl began screaming loudly. Hermione felt a sting of panic run through her and began to rock the girl back and forth, hushing her.

Next to her, Voldemort let out a groan and sat up, slowly. She glanced at him and could see that he was angry, but it disappeared into a look of surprise when he saw her and the baby.

“Is that …?” He poked the little girl with a finger.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Yes, this is our second daughter.”

“Why is she crying?” he asked, looking very protective.

“That’s what babies do,” the Healer commented. “She will calm down.”

“She is so … wrinkly,” Voldemort said slowly, brushing his fingers through the dark tuft of hair. “Is she healthy?”

“She is in perfect health,” The Healer reassured him.

“Good,” Voldemort said, not taking his eyes of the girl.

Hermione observed him. He was acting rather strange. The intensity in the way he looked at the child was almost frightening, but at the same time, strangely reassuring. She had learned to read Voldemort well enough by now that she knew he wasn’t about to hurt the baby. Instead, he looked at her the same way he looked at Hermione sometimes: obsessive.

“Do you want to hold her?” Hermione asked, still rocking the baby slowly.

Voldemort just nodded and gently took the baby into his arms. Hermione’s heart tightened when she saw that the little girl stopped crying and opened her eyes for the first time. Voldemort actually smiled.

“Hello there, little one,” he mumbled, using his thumb to stoke the baby’s cheek.

Hermione began sobbing.

“What’s wrong?” She heard Voldemort asking.

A hand came down on her shoulder, squeezing. “She has just gone through something physically and mentally draining. Tears are to be expected from everyone. She will need a lot of support the next couple of weeks while her body returns to normal. It’s best not to upset her.”

Hermione smiled through the tears. Voldemort not upsetting her? That would be fun to see.

xxx

“Why is she sucking your breast, Mum?” Althea asked. She was sitting next to Hermione on the couch, watching her little sister getting her milk. It was two days after the delivery, and Althea was curious about everything the little girl did.

“It is how she gets her food,” Hermione explained. “Since she doesn’t have any teeth yet, she can’t eat normal food like us. Instead, she drinks the milk from my breasts.”

“How come there is milk in there?” Althea asked curiously.

“When I gave birth to your sister, my breasts started to make it to give her food. It’s the natural way of things.” Hermione didn’t mention that she hadn’t been able to breastfeed Althea. It didn’t matter now. Althea had turned out nicely, and she didn’t want any sibling rivalry to begin.

“Is it any good?”

“Your sister seems to like it, so I hope so.” Hermione hadn’t tasted it herself.

“Can I taste?”

Hermione chuckled. “Maybe another time, Althea.”

Voldemort, who had been sitting quietly in the armchair, chuckled as well. “Why don’t you let your sister eat in peace, Althea, and tell me what you did at your grandparents?”

Althea shrugged, jumped down from the couch and went over to her father. He lifted her onto his lap and listened to Althea speak in Parseltongue. However, Hermione could see him glancing at the baby now and again.

Ever since the birth, Voldemort hadn’t seemed to be able to stay away from the baby for long. Twice already she had awoken to him standing over the cradle in the middle of the night. It was starting to unnerve her, but she didn’t know how to talk to him about it.

“Well, perhaps that is something we should take up with your mother,” Voldemort suddenly said in English and turned to Hermione. “Althea wants to know why her little sister doesn’t have a name yet.”

Hermione looked down at the small girl in her arms. “We just haven’t come up with a perfect one yet. You know, Althea, it took me several days to figure out what your name should be.”

Althea considered this and looked at the little baby, frowning.

“What do you think about Alexandra?” Voldemort suddenly asked.

Althea’s face lit up. “Pretty!”

Hermione looked at Voldemort curiously. “How did you come up with that name?”

Voldemort shrugged. “It just came to me yesterday when I was holding her, but I wasn’t sure. What do you think?”

Hermione looked down at the small girl sucking at her breast. “I think Alexandra will work just fine.”

Not long after that, Althea had to take a nap to adjust from the time difference. Once she was in bed, Voldemort came and sat down next to Hermione who was trying to stop Alexandra from crying.

“This is the hardest part,” Hermione said with a tired sigh. “Before you learn why they are crying.”

“I think she is tired,” Voldemort commented. “The Healer said she would sleep a lot the first time, and she has been up for two hours now.”

Hermione grimaced. She should have thought about that. However, she was pretty tired as well. She hadn’t got a lot of sleep that night, and she still needed to recover from the labour.

“Give her to me, I’ll walk with her,” Voldemort said, reaching out for the baby.

Grateful, Hermione let him have her. Her arms were getting tired as well.

“Perhaps we should scan her for fairy magic,” Hermione said after a moment. She hadn’t wanted to bring it up, because she was afraid of the answer. However, they needed to know.

“I already did last night,” Voldemort said. “She has no fairy magic inside her.”

Hermione felt like a weight she hadn’t known she was carrying was suddenly lifted from her shoulders. Good. Then they only needed to worry about Althea. But as Voldemort had said, they had time. She could take the rest of the summer to recover without worry.

“You are not as I expected you would be with a newborn,” Hermione noted when Alexandra’s cries had lessened.

Voldemort carried the baby, bouncing her just a little. “I have always hated infants, so I was actually expecting that this would be a lot harder. But it isn’t. She reminds me of Nagini, actually. Nagini was difficult to handle at the beginning, but from the moment I saw her, I knew she would be my familiar. She was just … perfect. I felt the same the first time I saw Alexandra.”

“I hope you don’t plan to feed her humans and make her into a Horcrux,” Hermione said, a little bit worried.

Voldemort smiled but kept looking at Alexandra whose cries were lessening. “No. You need not worry, kitten. She will be perfectly safe.”

Hermione had a nagging feeling that she and Voldemort didn’t mean the same thing with the word “safe”, but she didn’t know how to comment on it. The good thing was that he seemed honest and would take care of the baby. Maybe even happily. Coming from Voldemort, that was probably as much as she could hope for.

Hermione put her head against the armrest of the couch and looked at how happy he seemed with Alexandra. Perhaps this would be the time to bring up the proposal she had worked on for so long? There would probably not be a better time.

“You know, both you and I grew up in the Muggle world,” she began slowly. “Even ‘Marcus’ has. People will expect our children to know their way around the Muggle world. And don’t you just hate those ignorant wizards who make a fool of themselves every time they have to step outside their own world. I mean, even though they try not to, they always do end up there eventually.”

Voldemort arched an eyebrow and looked up at her, seemingly amused. “What do you want, kitten?”

“I think we should put Althea in a Muggle preschool in September. And Alexandra, too, when she gets old enough. Althea needs to be around children her own age. She doesn’t have any friends.”

“And what about the fairies? We can hardly tell a Muggle teacher to watch out for Althea behaving strangely due to magical creatures like we can when we leave her with your parents, or the nanny. What if they take her or start to spend time with her again, trying to talk her into killing Alexandra?”

Voldemort didn’t sound angry, but Hermione could see that he didn’t like the idea.

“We can’t just keep her at home all the time out of fear, Voldemort,” she said as calmly as she could. “If we put her into a completely Muggle environment, we can monitor it for magical activity. I’ve looked into the matter, and I’m fairly certain I can make sure it detects fairy-activity as well. If we notice any fairies visiting her, we can just Apparate there and tell them to leave. Either they will stop coming after a few tries, or we just remove Althea from the preschool.”

It looked like he was considering it. Hermione waited, nervous.

“How do you expect her to get into a good preschool on such short notice? Because I won’t let her go to some public school where thirty children are left in a big room with no supervision.”

“I actually enrolled her in a sufficient preschool in Oxford when I first moved here a year ago. My mum helped me pick it out. Back then, I told Althea about it, and she seemed to like the idea. I’m sure she’ll be happy to meet new friends.”

Voldemort regarded Alexandra again and stopped his swaying. Apparently, the girl had fallen asleep.

“You have thought about this for some time,” he remarked softly.

Hermione stood up and slowly walked over to him. Walking still felt a bit strange after the delivery, but she tried not to think too much about it.

“Please Voldemort, I only want her to have a normal childhood. Play with other children and all that. She deserves the best.”

“And this is what you think is the best?” He still wasn’t looking at her.

“Yes.” She placed her hand over his, which was lying on Alexandra’s stomach.

Voldemort sighed and looked up at her. “Well, it will give me more opportunities to fuck you once you have healed.”

Hermione smiled and stood on her tiptoes to give him a quick kiss on his lips. “We will still have Alexandra, though.”

“I can fuck you while you breastfeed,” he replied, grinning.

Hermione rolled her eyes and then glanced down at their youngest daughter. She seemed to be sleeping peacefully. It took her a split second to make up her mind.

“Come,” she said and nudged him towards the bedroom. “We should take the opportunity to get some adult time.”

He arched an eyebrow at her but followed her. “The Healer said that even with magic helping you heal, it would take at least a month before we can fuck again.”

She smirked. “Vaginally, yes.”

The lust in his eyes lit at once. “Oh, my naughty little kitten.”

Alas, they didn’t make it to the bedroom, because right then, there was a knock on the door. Hermione cursed. Even though she couldn’t have sex properly, she wanted to just lie naked together with Voldemort. She felt strangely empty without the child inside her. Not that she wanted to be pregnant again, she just wanted closeness.

Instead, she went and opened the door, while a disappointed Voldemort went to put the baby in her crib.

Ginny and Harry stood outside the door. Ginny was beaming with happiness, carrying a present wrapped in purple paper against her huge stomach. Harry was standing just behind her, looking a bit pale.

“Hermione!” Ginny greeted and handed her the gift. “We heard that you had the baby yesterday and just wanted to bring this.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said and, after making a split second decision, she also invited them to come in.

She had seen Ginny several times since the wedding almost four months earlier, and the redhead had seemingly got over her encounter with the Dark Lord. She had also warmed up a lot to Marcus and was appearing to grow quite fond of him. Harry, however, was another story.

Hermione was overwhelmed with guilt every time she saw him. She knew Harry was going through hell. But he didn’t seem to blame her. Instead, he looked at her with worry and was usually trying to ask her how she felt the few times they had met. He never asked about Voldemort and hadn’t seen him since the week after the wedding. Sooner or later, that would become suspicious, though, and Hermione thought that this would be as good time as any to start trying to smooth things over. Harry should really try to be in the same room as Voldemort and learn to act like nothing was amiss.

“Do you want some tea?” Hermione asked as they walked inside the flat.

“We don’t want to be a bother, Hermione,” Harry said quickly. “We understand if you are tired. Ginny has made me read all the books about how the labour is and …” he trailed off with a shudder.

Hermione snorted. “I’m fine. The labour was quick and without complications.”

Right then, Voldemort came out the bedroom. “Oh, the Potters. Hello. How nice to see you.”

Ginny beamed at him. “Hello, ‘Daddy’. How does it feel having two children?”

Voldemort smiled at her. “I can’t take my eyes off of the little one. Who knew babies were so cute? But since she is sleeping now, I guess I’ll have to do with you. You look absolutely radiant.”

Even though Hermione was happy that Ginny didn’t suspect a thing anymore, she wasn’t happy with the teasing going on between Ginny and Voldemort. From the look on his face, neither did Harry.

“Thank you,” Ginny said. “You don’t look too bad yourself, but then again, Hermione was the one who went through the hard part.”

“Yes. Still, it’s very hard to see the woman you love going through that amount of pain and not be able to do anything about it.” Voldemort walked up to Hermione and wrapped his arms around her. “Be prepared, Harry.”

Harry just nodded, his jaw set.

Voldemort turned his attention to Hermione again. “Let me make us some tea, kitten.” He kissed her forehead and then gave her a small nudge towards the couch.

Hermione just nodded and bid Ginny and Harry to sit down on the armchairs. “How are you feeling, Ginny?”

The redhead smiled at her. “Wonderful! I’ve got so much energy. I have spent the entire weekend cleaning the flat from floor to roof. I just got this impulse.”

Hermione smiled; she had read that it wasn’t uncommon, but she hadn’t experienced it. “How about you, Harry? How are you?”

Harry shifted uncomfortably. “Just busy with work. I have put in a lot of overtime so I can stay at home with Ginny and the baby when the time comes.”

Hermione nodded in understanding.

“Here we go.” Voldemort levitated a plate with tea and biscuits over to the coffee table. He gave Hermione her cup first and then turned to Ginny. “Milk?”

“Yes, please,” Ginny said and reached for the cup.

Hermione could see Harry tense and clench his jaws again, but he didn’t stop his wife from taking the cup.

“Harry, would you like some milk?” Voldemort asked, and Hermione thought she could hear a hint of taunt in his voice.

“No, thank you,” Harry said with ice-cold politeness.

Hermione saw Ginny frown at her husband, but when Harry accepted the cup, she just shrugged it off.

Voldemort sat down next to Hermione with his own cup and sipped it. “Please, help yourself to the biscuits.”

Ginny happily did, but Hermione didn’t feel like it. She was actually wishing that her friends would leave so she could cuddle up next to a naked Voldemort and just sleep until Alexandra needed feeding.

“Where is Althea?” Ginny asked after a moment of silence.

“She’s sleeping—she just returned from Australia. Since we had a home birth, we thought it would be best if she stayed with her grandparents. Don’t want to subject a four-year-old to that sort of screaming,” Voldemort said with a chuckle.

“No,” Harry agreed. “She might think Hermione was being tortured.”

He sounded bitter, and Hermione winced. If Harry kept acting like this, Ginny would definitely realise that something was up.

Voldemort, however, just chuckled. “Oh, I think Althea is aware that I would never harm her mother. Nonetheless, it is quite unnecessary for her to get scared.”

Right then, a scream was heard from inside the bedroom. Hermione jumped, ready to go to her child. Voldemort, however, stopped her.

“I’ll take her,” he said, but at the same time, he touched her hand and she could feel the whisper of his mind: Remind your friend of the oath.

“Oh, do you want to see her, Ginny?” Voldemort asked. “She probably just needs her diaper changed, and then, we can bring her out here.”

Ginny looked more than happy to, and if she found it strange that Voldemort didn’t ask Harry to come, she didn’t show it. Hermione wouldn’t have been surprised if all she could think about right now was babies.

Once the bedroom door was closed, Hermione looked at Harry with a frown. “I know this is hard for you, Harry, but you can’t do anything to make Ginny suspicious of who he is.”

Harry balled both of his hands into fists. “How can you stand it, Hermione? He is just sitting there like he doesn’t have a problem in the world, laughing and talking like he’s … normal!”

Hermione sighed. “I know. But I’ve learned to live with it. You have to find a way to cope with it, too, otherwise … he will win.”

“So you know he is only doing this to torture me?” he asked in a low voice.

She grimaced. “I’ve been living with him for almost a year. I’ve picked up a thing or two about him. But if you just leave him alone, he will leave you alone. I promise.”

Harry sat quietly for a moment. “You have fallen in love with him.”

Hermione blinked. The statement caught her off guard. At first, she wanted to laugh and tell him that he was being ridiculous, like she had four months ago. She wanted to tell him that she could never love the man who had destroyed so many people’s lives.

But something made her pause. Perhaps it were all the love hormones that were running around in her body after the pregnancy, but all of a sudden, she was uncertain of her own feelings. Sure, she had feelings for him. He was the father of her children, and they did have fun together. He was the study friend she had always dreamt of. She felt safe with him, even though she knew she couldn’t always trust him. But it wasn’t love. Because love was something else.

Love was …

Well, she couldn’t really compare it to the love she felt for her children, parents or friends. Voldemort was part of her family, so to some extent, she did feel that kind of love for him. She couldn’t picture her life without him any more than she could picture her life without Althea and Alexandra. That was the sort of love she felt. But not the other kind. The true love kind.

True love was …

“Hermione?” Harry had got up and was standing next to her.

Love is the insane notion that makes people risk their lives for someone else.

Voldemort’s words came back to her. That was what he thought love was. She didn’t feel like that for him. She would never risk her life to save his.

Or would she?

She would risk her life to save any other member of her family. If someone tried to cast the Killing Curse at her children, she would—without a doubt—throw herself in front of them. But for Voldemort?

“No, I … I don’t know,” she said as she realised it. “I don’t know.”

Harry sat down on the couch next to her, taking her hand. She looked at him. Harry would definitely risk his life for Ginny. He was risking his own sanity for her well-being as it was. Hermione was certain Ginny would do the same for him. That was true love. That was the difference between the two couples. It didn’t matter if Hermione knew whether she loved him or not, because Voldemort didn’t love her. He would never even consider risking his own life for hers.

True love went both ways. She would never have that.

She began crying in earnest. Harry wrapped his arms around her and held her as she cried.

“It will be alright,” Harry mumbled. “Some way, I’ll make it alright.”

Hermione didn’t believe him. She was trapped. She would never experience true love because the truth was that she didn’t want to leave Voldemort. Because she did love him.

Of course she did. It could be the only description for the emotions she was feeling for him. She had never felt anything like it before. It had to be love, even though it wasn’t Voldemort’s definition of the word. But she didn’t think he felt anything like that for her.

The bedroom door opened, and a moment later, she felt herself being pulled away from Harry.

“What’s wrong?” Voldemort asked, looking into her eyes.

Hermione looked away and saw Ginny standing at the other side of the room with Alexandra in her arms. “I’m just … exhausted.”

She felt Voldemort’s lips at the top of her head. “Yes, you should sleep. Come on.”

He helped her up from the couch.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but …” Voldemort trailed off, and Hermione knew he must be giving Harry and Ginny a meaningful look.

“We understand completely,” Ginny said. “We didn’t mean to stay long; we just wanted to say hi and give you the gift.”

“Thank you,” Voldemort said. “You’ll have to come back another day, when we have had a bit more rest.”

“Of course.”

Hermione didn’t dare look up when her friends took their leave. When Voldemort let go of her to take Alexandra, she hugged herself, feeling weak and vulnerable. She only mumbled her goodbyes to them and didn’t look up until they were gone.

Voldemort made a gesture for her to follow him to the bedroom again.

“Strip and lie down,” Voldemort ordered her. “You do need to sleep. You can give me a blowjob later.”

The comment was so typical for him that she laughed, but it soon turned into crying again. She did need to sleep. What surprised her was when he lay Alexandra down on the bed next to her. The little girl looked at her with big, dark-blue eyes. Hermione lifted her and cradled Alexandra against her breast. A moment later, Voldemort lay down behind her, spooning her.

“What are you really crying about?” he asked, his lips brushing against her neck.

Hermione didn’t bother lying. “You’ll never love me.”

He was silent for a moment; then his hand sneaked up to where hers was resting on the baby. “I’ve already told you that what I feel for you is real and much more powerful than love.”

“You don’t understand love,” she replied scornfully.

He sighed. “Hermione. Kitten. If you begin to dwell about this, you will only make yourself unhappy. If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have Althea or Alexandra. You would probably not be about to marry a very wealthy, handsome, intelligent and powerful wizard who thinks you are the most interesting person he has ever laid eyes on.” He kissed her neck, sending shivers down her body.

Hermione sighed and closed her eyes. He was right. She had a lot to be happy about. So what if she wouldn’t experience the thing Ginny and Harry had. There was no guarantee that she would have, even if she hadn’t met Voldemort.

Still. Everyone wanted to be loved.

Alexandra had fallen asleep again, and Hermione carefully moved the baby away from her and turned around to face Voldemort. “Lie to me,” she asked. “Please. Just once.”

Voldemort stroked her cheek with a small smile on his lips. “I love you.”

He really was a great actor. But Hermione knew him too well. She smiled sadly. “Liar.”

Then, she leaned towards him and kissed him.

xxx

“We … don’t … have … time … for … this.” Hermione gasped, wrapping her legs tighter around her soon-to-be-husband. She was pressed up against the door of the dressing room she was supposed to be dressing in.

“If I want to fuck on my wedding day, I will fuck,” Voldemort growled against her ear, moving in and out of her, fast and hard.

Hermione didn’t utter any other objections. They hadn’t been able to fuck at all for almost two months after her delivery, and since then it seemed that Voldemort was trying to make up for lost time. Not that she minded, much. She had missed this intimacy with him, too.

She let out a soft moan when she came, her legs going so weak she almost lost her grip around him. He answered by pushing her even harder against the wall and emptying himself inside her. He stayed there for a few seconds, breathing hard. Then he gave her a heated kiss and moved away, helping her regain her footing.

“Good thing we decided to go commando today,” Hermione remarked as she cleaned herself with a quick spell before rearranging the skirt of her dress.

“I think we should always go without underwear,” Voldemort answered in a chipper tone, cleaning himself. “You look very beautiful, by the way.”

Hermione snorted. “Now he notices.”

He rolled his eyes. “You were equally horny, kitten.”

Hermione didn’t bother to answer; instead, she turned towards the mirror again to make sure she didn’t have that “just shagged” look. Even she had to admit that Voldemort was right. She looked very beautiful. Ginny and Luna, her bridesmaids, had helped her with the hair and makeup. A small diadem made of diamonds and gold was placed at the top of her head, and her hair lay in a very complex knot around and behind it. She was wearing more makeup than she ever remembered wearing before, but it made her skin and neck look completely smooth; her eyes looked bigger and her lips redder. Although maybe that was more thanks to the kissing, rather than the makeup, that her lips looked so red. She would have to apply more lipstick.

She eyed her dress critically, making sure nothing was torn or wrinkled because of Voldemort’s treatment. Because of her Muggle heritage, she had decided to wear a white, strapless, empire wedding dress with blue embroidered edgings. It had been fitted just a month ago since she had thought it risky to get a dress before her pregnancy had ended. Voldemort had paid a handsome price to get the dress done so quickly, but he had been more than happy to. Her dress was only a small amount of money in the grander scheme that was their wedding.

When Voldemort had said he wanted a big wedding, Hermione hadn’t quite imagined it on this scale. She didn’t even know one-fifth of all the guests, but Voldemort sure seemed to. There were hundreds of people coming, and Voldemort had booked an entire hotel in Oxford to fit them all. They would be married in a great ballroom, and Kingsley would preside over their vows. It seemed like everyone she had ever known in the magical world had been invited, and possibly, everyone Voldemort knew as “Marcus Foster”. One-third were academics from around the world, but there were no names Hermione could pinpoint as extremely interesting from Voldemort’s point of view. She still hadn’t figured out why he wanted the big wedding.

“I came to give you this,” Voldemort said, getting her attention again.

He held a necklace in his hand. When she came closer, she saw that it was a pendent shaped as a heart. When she opened the heart, she saw today’s date engraved, together with their names. His real name, that was.

She looked at him in surprise.

“Everyone else will think it says Marcus,” Voldemort said with a smirk. “But I wanted you to have something that told the truth.”

“It’s beautiful, thank you,” she said with a fond smile.

He leaned closer and helped put it on. He stroked her neck, sending small sparks of pleasure down her body. “Just one hour left until it begins. Are you ready?”

“I guess.”

She had been nervous before. But then she had realised that this wouldn’t change anything between them. They would always be together, no matter if she had a ring on her finger or not. This was just for the world to find out as well. She did think the wedding was too much, but she had promised to grant his wish.

The door to the dressing room opened, and her parents entered the room. Helen was carrying Alexandra who was whining.

“There you are. I think she is hungry,” Helen said, ignoring Voldemort and handing Hermione the baby.

“Isn’t it unlucky for the groom to see the bride before the wedding?” Malcolm asked, frowning at Voldemort.

“Not in the Wizarding World,” Hermione responded and sat down in one of the comfy armchairs with Alexandra. One of the reasons she had chosen a strapless dress was because she could move it down over her breast to feed Alexandra. They had prepared a few bottles for her earlier, though, if she became hungry during the ceremony or when Hermione couldn’t do it. Helen had promised to look after her granddaughter for Hermione.

“Where is Althea?” Voldemort asked.

“Ginny is showing her how to walk down the aisle,” Helen answered. “She is already dressed and ready.”

“And Kingsley has the rings for the Wedding Spells?” Voldemort asked.

“Yes, I gave them to him an hour ago,” Malcolm responded. “Friendly fellow that one. I could hardly believe he is the actual Minister.”

“Yes, it was very nice of him to take the time to do this,” Hermione replied as Alexandra happily began to suck on her nipple. “We will have to remember sending him something to show our appreciation afterwards, Marcus.”

Before Voldemort had time to reply, Helen interrupted, “Is that really what you are wearing, Marcus?”

“No, but what I am wearing is only a dress robe; it takes two minutes to put on,” Voldemort replied, sounding annoyed.

“Well, now is as good a time as any to take those two minutes and get it on,” Helen said briskly.

“If you want time alone with Hermione, you only have to say so, Helen,” Voldemort replied sourly, but he left the room regardless.

Hermione sighed and looked at her mother. “What is it?”

Helen came to sit down next to her. She carefully spread the skirt of her golden-coloured dress so she wouldn’t wrinkle it.

“We just want to know if you are certain that you are doing the right thing. This has all gone very fast, and this big fancy wedding … well, I’m your mother, I can see that you didn’t have a hand in planning this. I know I said I wouldn’t get in the way, and I won’t, I just want to make sure that this is what you want.”

Hermione studied her mother closely. She did seem sincere in her worry, and Hermione couldn’t really blame her for worrying.

“I’m sure, Mum. And about the wedding, no, I didn’t really plan it and I didn’t really want to. I saw all the stress it gave Ginny in the spring, and I didn’t want to go through that. Especially not with all the guests we ended up inviting. We have taken help from a wedding planner, Glenda Carson, or GC as she prefers to be called. It’s very relaxing to know that someone else is taking care of all this,” Hermione admitted.

Helen sighed in defeat and patted Hermione’s shoulder. Then she rose. “Well then, is there something you want us to do before the ceremony begins?”

Hermione, who would very much like to be alone for a little while, quickly thought about something. “Well, you can go and see that the ceremony hall is in order. I think it is, but it never hurts to check twice.”

“Very well,” Helen said and walked towards the door.

Malcolm came up to Hermione and leaned down to give her a peck on the cheek. “I’m glad you are happy, Hermione. I just can’t believe you are so grown up!”

Hermione smiled at her father. “Thanks, Dad.”

When her parents had left, Hermione felt strangely detached from her emotions. Shouldn’t she be happier? Overwhelmed? Excited? She wasn’t. She just wanted this to be over, so she could go on her honeymoon. They would go to Switzerland where they had rented a cabin up on the Alps. They would be staying there for a week. In other words, they got to be naked and just fuck all the time. Except when Alexandra needed their attention. Althea would stay at home with her grandparents, something she seemed to be looking forward too. Hermione looked forward to having nothing else to worry about for a whole week.

A knock was heard on the door.

“Come in,” she called.

It was Harry. He was carrying a baby who was screaming quite loudly. Little James Potter was just a month younger than Alexandra, but Hermione had come to understand that he was quite a handful.

“Is Ginny here?” Harry asked, looking haggard. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him!”

Hermione smiled. “No, but she said she would come by here and make sure I hadn’t screwed up my makeup or anything before the ceremony begins. Why don’t you come in and wait?”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to disturb you,” Harry said, trying to comfort the screaming baby.

“Yes. James is probably just tired. There will be nothing to disturb him here,” Hermione offered.

Alexandra never seemed to be bothered by high noises for some reason. She just happily continued drinking milk from Hermione.

Harry was just about to close the door when Voldemort showed up in the doorway. “What are you doing here Potter?” he asked, a frown forming on his forehead.

“It’s okay,” Hermione quickly said. “I said he could wait for Ginny here. James is being cranky.”

Voldemort didn’t seem all too happy about that, but he closed the door behind him and took a glance at his arch nemesis’s son. A scowl appeared on his face. “No wonder he is screaming like that, you have put way too many clothes on him. The thing is too hot.”

Harry pressed his lips together. “Molly dressed him so he wouldn’t be cold. It’s the middle of winter.”

“And it didn’t occur to you that you would be staying indoors during the ceremony? Give him to me,” Voldemort ordered and held out his hands.

Harry watched him in disbelief. “Are you kidding me? Hand over my son to you, just like that?”

Voldemort rolled his eyes. “Oh, Harry, you know I don’t kill babies. I try, but it just never seems to work, now, does it?” Then, as a second thought, he added: “I hope you haven’t been staring at my wife-to-be’s breast.”

“What? No!” Harry objected, turning red.

“Because I may have to poke your eyes out if you have,” Voldemort continued seriously.

Hermione scowled. “Drop it, Voldemort, or else you will be the one not seeing any more breasts.”

Voldemort crossed his arms. “I don’t want other men staring at your breasts.”

“He wasn’t,” Hermione established firmly. “If he happened to see a glimpse, then it would be no different from when my father caught me breastfeeding this morning. Besides, Harry is married. He has no interest in other women’s breasts.”

“Those tiny, little things that redhead’s got?” Voldemort commented. “Come on, the poor boy must be longing for a real woman.”

“That’s my wife you are talking about,” Harry growled, taking a step towards Voldemort.

“Yes, I do feel for you,” Voldemort said with a sigh. “Nonetheless, don’t look at my fiancée’s breasts if you value your life.”

“Really, Voldemort! Do you want to sleep on the couch on your wedding night?” Hermione asked, just as Alexandra was finished with her meal. “Make yourself useful and take your own baby. I don’t want to get spit on my dress.”

“But it’s okay if I get it on my robe?” He was dressed in a bright-blue dress robe.

“Just take her,” Hermione ordered.

Voldemort chuckled but took their daughter. Hermione tucked her breast inside her dress again and rose, walking over to Harry and the screaming James.

“He does seem to be a bit hot, Harry. Why don’t we just remove the jacket?” she said in a less patronising tone than what Voldemort had used.

“Are you sure?” Harry asked, uncertain.

“Yes, he is all red,” Hermione said.

It only took a couple of minutes for James to fall asleep in Harry’s arms when they had got rid of his jacket.

“Told you so,” Voldemort muttered, wiping spit away from around Alexandra’s mouth.

Harry was saved by the door opening again, revealing Ginny, clad in a dark-green dress. “Almost everyone is here!”

For the first time that day, Hermione felt her stomach make a small jump in nervousness. She glanced at Voldemort, who looked pleased.

“And is Althea ready?” Voldemort asked.

“Yes, Helen just took her to go to the bathroom. I think it’s time for the two of you to get to Kingsley,” Ginny said and then gave Hermione a critical look.

Self-conscious, Hermione brought her hand to her hair to make sure everything was in place.

“Your lipstick is smeared,” Ginny commented. “Come here.”

Hermione let her friend fix her up again, and ten minutes later, she and Voldemort were alone and on their way to Kingsley. The soft Persian carpets on the floor dampened the sound of her heels. All of a sudden, her legs felt weak. Like they were made of spaghetti.

She stopped, panic overwhelming her. Voldemort stopped as well, looking at her. “What’s wrong?”

She just stared at him, not knowing what to say, because she didn’t know what was wrong. Voldemort took a step closer to her and grasped her hand. She heard a soft whisper at the back of her head.

Tell me.

Hermione couldn’t stop the flood of emotions and mixed thoughts from going straight to her fiancé’s mind. They had got rather good at communicating through touch, and she had also learned how to send more than mere thoughts through the bond. Voldemort’s face softened, and he sent back a wave of calmness.

Hermione closed her eyes and took a steadying breath. Merlin, she was about to get married!

“I heard that cold feet are quite common before the wedding,” Voldemort mumbled softly and embraced her. “Don’t worry, kitten. Everything will be fine.”

“You promise? You promise you won’t go back to your old hobbies when we are older and have had some trouble and …” she trailed off, holding back a sob. She couldn’t cry now. It was her wedding day.

“You have nothing to worry about, Hermione,” he whispered softly. “I will get new hobbies. Less … bloody.”

That wasn’t necessarily excluding killing, but it did calm her to some extent. She would simply have to do her best to stop him from killing again. She had managed for almost a year now. What was another fifty?

He pressed a kiss against her forehead. “Are you ready?”

She nodded. Still slightly shaky, Hermione entered the small office that lay directly behind the ballroom where they would be married. Kingsley was going through his script when they entered, mumbling under his breath. When he heard them, he looked up, smiling.

“Wow,” he said, his eyes moving over her. “Hermione, you are breathtakingly beautiful.”

Hermione blushed and felt Voldemort’s grip on her hand tightening. She glanced at him, amused. “Thank you, Kingsley. I’m glad someone noticed.”

“I noticed!” Voldemort objected. “I just didn’t say it at once. It’s just stating the obvious, really.”

However, her teasing had made him relax his grip again. Hermione smiled.

“Well, then. Are you two ready?” Kingsley asked.

Hermione’s stomach was suddenly in a tight knot of nerves. It wasn’t that she questioned herself, no, it was just that … this was her wedding! Soon, she would be standing in front of hundreds of people, confessing her love to Lord Voldemort. It was too bizarre for words.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Hermione said.

“We are ready,” Voldemort concurred. “Have you seen my best man, by any chance?”

“Yes, Master Mizuno is out in the hall, welcoming people together with Mrs Potter. They will both be here in five minutes or so,” Kingsley answered.

“Excellent.”

“I was a bit surprised when I heard you were so close with Master Mizuno,” Kingsley commented, his curiosity evident. “From what I understand, the head of Kyoto’s Magical Institute of Higher Learning rarely leaves Japan.”

“Master Mizuno was my mentor when I wrote my doctorate thesis. We have kept in touch since then,” Voldemort said.

It was the same he had told Hermione, but somehow, Hermione was sure there was more to it than that. For starters, Voldemort had written his thesis under quite suspect circumstances. Marcus Foster had never been enrolled in any school. Therefore, Hermione suspected that this Japanese Master knew a bit more about who Marcus Foster really was than others did, because Hermione didn’t think Master Mizuno was the sort of man you could blackmail.

Master Mizuno was one of the best Masters of Transfiguration, ever. He had discovered and improved more spells than all the professors at Oxford put together. He was admired for his outstanding magical discipline and feared for his strictness with students.

Hermione wasn’t surprised that Voldemort seemed to both respect and like the man. She just wondered why Master Mizuno had agreed to be his best man.

“Do you have your vows?” Kingsley asked, interrupting Hermione’s line of thoughts.

Voldemort tapped his temple. “All memorised.”

“Ginny has mine,” Hermione said.

She had memorised her vows as well, but she wanted to be able to look at it if she had to. It would feel a bit awkward speaking so intimately in front of all those people.

“Excellent,” Kingsley replied as he went to the desk and picked up two rings. “Here are the rings, ready for the final incantation once you are wearing them and have said ‘I do’.”

“Could I look at the magic you have put in them?” Voldemort asked, reaching out for the rings.

“I can’t see why not,” Kingsley said and handed him the rings.

Voldemort quickly withdrew his wand and began a diagnostic spell on the rings. Hermione rolled her eyes.

“He is such a control freak,” she told Kingsley, as a way to explain Voldemort’s behaviour. “Wants to know that everything is in order.”

“I seem to recall people saying the same about you, Hermione,” Kingsley teased her.

Hermione snorted and then spent the next few minutes making small talk with Kingsley. Ten minutes before the wedding started, Ginny, Luna, Althea and Mizuno entered the office. Ginny handed Hermione a round bouquet with dark-blue Chinese Bellflowers.

“Althea,” Voldemort said and crouched down next to her. “Do you have the little box I told you about?”

Althea nodded and reached into the basket she was carrying. It was filled with blue petals she would have to throw up into the air during their walk down the aisle. When she removed her hand, she held a black box. Voldemort opened it and laid the rings inside.

“Remember that when Kingsley,” he pointed at the Minister, “says it’s time to exchange rings, you’ll come up and hold up the box with the rings to us.”

Althea nodded, looking solemn.

“Good girl,” Voldemort said, stroking her hair. Her long, dark-brown hair had been combed into a plait, and he was careful not to destroy it.

“Has everyone gone inside?” Hermione asked, feeling her stomach flutter again.

“Almost,” Ginny answered. “GC has been counting them. Only twenty or so have had to cancel at the last minute, and there were only ten who hadn’t shown up when I left. But they still have a few minutes to spare.”

“Good,” Hermione said, taking a deep breath.

“That must be some salary you have at Oxford, Marcus, to pay for a wedding as big as this,” Mizuno said with a wry smile. There was only a hint of an accent in his voice, but then, Voldemort had told her Mizuno had spent a lot of time in Britain when he was young. Hermione had a hard time telling his age. She thought he was older than Voldemort, but he stood straight and his hair was still completely black. He was very thin and didn’t have that many wrinkles. There was, however, something in the way he moved and talked that showed how seasoned he was.

Voldemort chuckled. “It pays to be brilliant.”

“Indeed.”

Mizuno and Voldemort looked at each other as if they had just shared an inside joke.

Kingsley looked at the clock hanging on the wall over the doorpost. “Two minutes to go. I think we better walk to the entrance.”

When the clock struck two, they were all standing outside the doors to the ballroom.

“Are you ready?” Kingsley asked.

They all nodded. Hermione inhaled deeply to calm herself. Voldemort took her arm in his. Kingsley would go first. Then Althea would follow, throwing out petals, and then it was up to Ginny and Luna with Mizuno in the middle of them.

Three cellists had been hired for the wedding. When Kingsley opened the door, they began playing “Wedding March”. The wedding planner had told her it was from a Swede called Larsson and would have their wedding stand out from the rest. Hermione found it beautiful, and for the first time today, she actually felt a bit of excitement running through her body.

So now, she checked out the place with a new-found appreciation. On the wooden dance-floor, a wide, red carpet led to a slightly elevated platform on which the ceremony would take place. A wall of Chinese Bellflowers—the same as in Hermione’s bouquet—formed the background of the podium, giving the large space a more friendly feeling. On each side of the red carpet, rows and rows of comfortable, plush, velvet chairs seemed to go on forever. Voldemort had vetoed the simple, wooden benches normal people used for their wedding, which Hermione was certain the guests were very grateful for. Bouquets of Chinese Bellflowers flanked the chairs alongside the aisle, and the whole place was softly lit with floating, white candles, setting a romantic mood. All in all, she felt it was decorated nicely by GC. It, somehow, combined Voldemort’s wish for grandeur and hers for simplicity.

Hermione waited impatiently as the other five began their march down the red carpet. It was a long walk, though. They had rented the biggest ballroom in the hotel, just so they would be able to fit all the guests. Kingsley entered first, setting the pace to an appropriate slow stride. He was followed by the best-man and the two bridesmaids, all walking arm in arm together. Master Mizuno looked mighty impressive in his traditional silk, black-and-white Hakama, stealing the show from the two girls with his mere presence.

Ginny and Luna both wore a dress made of the same dark-green silk, though Ginny’s dress was short, tight and sexy whilst Luna had chosen a wide, ankle-length model with long bat sleeves. Even though Ginny had kept an eye on the bridesmaids’ clothing not clashing, she’d not been able to control Luna’s need to accessorise. Hermione could hear the cricket earrings chirping loudly as they made their way down the aisle.

When Luna stood still, the chirping was a soft, unobtrusive, background noise. However, when she walked, it drowned out the music. Ginny had tried to get Luna to lose the earrings, but Luna had refused, stating that it was bad luck if the chirping stopped and explaining that crickets were essential in bringing good luck to the happy couple’s household and warding off the evil eye. So, the earrings stayed.

By the time they’d reached their respective positions on the groom’s and bride’s side of the platform and it was Althea’s turn to enter, Hermione was getting restless. However, the sight of her little girl skipping down the aisle in what Althea called “her princess dress” almost made her teary-eyed. Althea looked so cute. The dress was from the same fabric as Hermione’s wedding gown, which had delighted the little girl. However, the cut was more child-friendly. It had a wide skirt, ending just below her knees, a simple bodice and short, wavy sleeves over her shoulders that Althea seemed to love the most.

Althea threw a tiny amount of petals up in the air at every other skip. A few times, she looked backwards to her mother for reassurance, since during the practise ceremony she had run out of petals before reaching the end. Hermione smiled and nodded at her for doing it correctly this time, brightening Althea’s face even further. The crowd’s responses to the little girl made Althea even more enthusiastic. After tossing her last petals in the air at the end, she turned around and daringly waved to everyone before sitting down next to Helen.

Then, it was finally time for Hermione and Voldemort to enter. Everyone rose. She gave some people she recognised a nervous smile as they walked down the aisle in a slow pace—something Hermione was grateful for because, despite her trail not being too long, she was worried she would step on it, trip and fall. It just wasn’t a style you were used to walking in. An older woman with a touched expression on her face nudged the man beside her and Hermione could hear her say “She is beautiful.” It made Hermione’s cheeks flush even harder, and she quickly averted her eyes. Though all the awed, smiling faces and other flattering reactions to her attire and person boosted her confidence. She’d been so nervous about how all these people Voldemort knew would judge her. Everyone knew she had been his student.

How do you feel?

Voldemort’s question was clear in her mind. He’d obviously noticed she’d been tightly clutching his arm.

Fine. I can’t believe you managed to get so many people to show up. Who are they?

She answered while her eyes swept over the rows of unfamiliar faces. She was reminded of the time that she had walked into the Great Hall during the Yule Ball with Victor Krum. Just like then, she could also see jealousy in some people’s faces.

Just people I’ve encountered during my time as Marcus, Voldemort replied. Don’t worry about them.

They came up to the platform where Kingsley, Mizuno, Ginny and Luna were already standing. Althea was sitting on the first row with Hermione’s parents. She would come forward when it was time for the rings.

Once Hermione and Voldemort were facing each other in front of Kingsley, he began.

“Friends, family. We have gathered here today to see Marcus Gustav Foster and Hermione Jean Granger unite in magical matrimony. If anyone has any reason as to why these two shouldn’t unite, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

For just one moment, Hermione’s eyes fell on the front row. Harry sat there, right next to her parents. Just as her eyes met his, she could see the agony in him. But he didn’t make an attempt to rise. Instead, he looked down, ashamed. Hermione let out a silent sigh in relief. She had been worried Harry would try something, despite the consequences.

“Marriage contains a magic of its own,” Kingsley continued. “Two individuals come together and decide to live together. Sometimes it doesn’t work. We all have our failed relationships where, even though we love them, it just doesn’t seem to work. But then, we find that one person where living together works. And not just living together, as in sharing the same quarters, but loving together. Laughing and crying together. Helping each other. Fighting for each other.”

“It’s a mysterious and powerful magic at work here. One that doesn’t just unite the body, but the soul as well. The marriage act is merely a declaration to the world for what the two persons in love have known all along.” Kingsley paused. “However, it’s always enjoyable to see and hear. Therefore, the happy couple will let their feelings be known in their vows. Hermione?”

Hermione took a deep breath. This was the part she was uncomfortable with. She and Voldemort hadn’t told each other what they were going to say, and for the first time in her life, Hermione had had no idea what to write on an assignment. She was certain Voldemort was going to come up with an amazing speech about love that would all be a lie. Therefore, she didn’t want to spill out her true emotions for him either. However, the audience would expect great words of love being uttered, because that was what you said when you got married. In the end, she had decided to go with honesty.

“Marcus,” she said, looking up at him. “You’ve given me two beautiful daughters that I love dearly and vow to protect from harm, always, like I know you will, too. There is no other man out there like you. Words fail to describe what I feel for you, so I’ll have to show it instead.”

Then, she reached up and pulled him down into a heated kiss.

Voldemort wasn’t late to answer her. His arms came around her, and he pressed her closer to him. She wrapped her hand into his hair, tugging just slightly in a way she knew he liked. Somewhere in the audience, a person catcalled. Hermione was quite sure it was George. Regretfully, she pulled away from him.

Voldemort looked slightly dazed when he came up from the kiss. Then, a knowing smile spread over his face. He realised she hadn’t wanted to say too much. He grasped her hands again, pressing them.

Kingsley cleared his throat. “Um, yes. That was … well spoken, Hermione. Marcus?”

“Shakespeare once said that ‘Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind’. However, I must say that my eyes definitely like what they see. And I doubt you’d be standing up here with me today if you didn’t like what you saw as well,” Voldemort said, smiling.

The audience chuckled while Hermione mentally rolled her eyes. Of course Voldemort would make this speech pretentious and all about how wonderful he was.

“Shakespeare also forgot to mention the importance of the soul. Hermione, you are my Soul Mate. No one else realises that love as powerful as what you and I have leaves its own mark. Not a wedding ring, not a visible sign … to love as deeply as we do, not even death could make us part. We will always be bound to each other and always protect each other. There is no force strong enough to come between us. We are entwined.”

He stroked her fingers softly as he talked, never once looking away from her.

“You are carrying a part of my soul with you. It’s something I have never dared to give anyone else ever before. But I know that you’ll care for it and nurture it, guard it and love it, because that’s how wonderful you are.”

Voldemort was quite the actor, Hermione thought. He looked very sincere, but she knew it was all an act. He wasn’t able to love. But he was sure as hell able to look like he was in love. She was nervous, though. He was saying an awful lot of things with an unclear, double meaning. He was wording it so that she was the active party in his vows. In fact, he had only said things that she would have to do and nothing about what he would do.

“How can I not promise to love you for all eternity when a mere hour without you feels like a lifetime?”

So typically Voldemort. Hermione had a hard time trying not to snort. Promising things with a question mark at the end, such a nice way to speak about love that didn’t entail him actually having to mean it.

“What can I say to you now that I haven’t already said a million times before? How can I not give you everything you ever wanted or needed? You are the one person who truly knows me, understands me, works with me and stands by my side. Always. I know you love me and you know how much I love you. Together, we can move mountains, touch the moon, reach for the stars, topple the earth’s axis and so much more that I can’t even mention … how much you mean to me. Together, we are unstoppable. You make me want to be more than I am. For you. You’ve changed my perspective, my life, my way of being. I just want to make love to you all day long. And for the rest of our days, I vow to do just that.”

Then, his mouth found hers in a hungry kiss.

Even though his words had made her uncomfortable, Hermione couldn’t resist to smile at the last part as he deepened the kiss. Of course the only vow he would actually take was the one where he swore to fuck her at every opportunity.

Once they had broken the kiss, Kingsley cleared his throat and said, “After those ... impressive vows, it is time to exchange the rings.”

Hermione looked at Althea who, with a little nudge from Helen, came up to the platform and held up the box with the two wedding rings. Hermione smiled at her daughter and took the bigger of the rings, sliding it onto Voldemort’s finger. Voldemort leaned down and took the smaller ring at the same time as he stroked Althea’s cheek.

“Good girl, now you can go back to Grandma,” he whispered.

Althea smiled brightly and went back to her own seat as Voldemort straightened.

Hermione felt a tremor go through her body as Voldemort put the ring on her finger and the magical marriage bond was sealed.

“Hermione Granger, Marcus Foster, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss each other. Again.”

The audience laughed cheerfully at Kingsley’s pun. But the moment Voldemort’s lips made contact with hers, she completely forgot about her surroundings. Her hand came up to his hair, and she kissed him hard. Snogging him, even. Voldemort was returning it in equal heat.

The loud applause made her aware of her surroundings again. She blushed, but nevertheless grinned, turning to face the crowd. As her fingers intertwined with his, she felt triumph and smugness in her belly. Everyone could see that he was hers now. It hadn’t really occurred to her before, but now it hit her as clearly as if a Hippogriff had jumped on her back. He belonged to her just as much as she belonged to him. Her husband. Lord Voldemort.

She looked out over the sea of people when another realisation hit her. They were people from all around the world. Powerful people. Not just academics, but former academics who were politicians now. Many of them.

Her grip tightened around his hand. You have influence over all these people? she asked him mentally.

Obviously. Give me ten years and I’ll have them eating out of the palm of my hand.

Hermione stared wide-eyed at the people. When could he have met all of these people? Quickly, the answer came to her. The Cook Islands! He had been there again just two months ago. After that, he had told her how many people would be coming to their wedding.

He must have left quite the impression on them to come all the way to Britain just for a wedding. Yet, she wasn’t surprised. Voldemort was very charming.

But why would he want to have influence over all of those people?

Hermione scolded herself over the stupid question. It was all about power, of course. Voldemort always wanted power. She didn’t know if he had a plan for what he wanted to do with the power— though he probably did—or if he just wanted the knowledge that he had power. It didn’t even matter. He got it.

As they walked out of the hall, Hermione felt rather strange. Voldemort was her husband. She had managed to get him to stop killing through sex. He was hers. He was going to become a very powerful and influential man. She had influence and power over him.

She got power.
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