Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

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

Chapter List
- 40
- 41
- 42
Hi! Sorry for the delay in updating. This story is reaching its end, and I have to make there are no loose ends. I hope you won’t have to wait as long for the next chapter.

I want to thank Nerys and Shan84 for spending so much time betaing this chapter. You are awesome, have a cookie. I’d also like to thank everyone else for reading and reviewing.

Review replies can be found here: http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/20494-shared-flame-by-lady-miya/

Chapter 40
Voldemort had to force himself not to scream. It helped that he felt too weak to scream. Strange. Why was he so weak? The curse wouldn’t have made him feel weak, only feel pain.
Healing potion. His magnificent brain came up with the answer in a fraction of a second. Hermione had knocked him out. She must have taken him home and healed him. Or rather, started to heal him. If he had been completely healed, he wouldn’t feel this much pain.
“Voldemort?” Her voice was low. Scared. She was scared. Of him? No. For him. She was worried about him.
He opened his eyes. They were in their bedroom. He was lying on the bed, naked. Oh, she always loved seeing him naked. Naughty kitten. The thought made him giggle.
Great, she had given him that healing potion. The one that made you act like you had drunk an entire bottle of vodka. Good thing he had such a high tolerance for …
“You are as pretty as a pony!”
Then again, maybe not. Fuck.
Hermione’s face softened in relief. She knew how potent the healing potion was as well. Undoubtedly, she had wanted him to be all unfocused and drunk.
“How are you feeling?” she asked, taking his hand and squeezing it.
He smiled. “I’m going to rip your brain out through your nostrils and feed it to the cat.”
She arched an eyebrow at him. “We don’t have a cat.”
He frowned. They didn’t? Oh, that’s right. She had wanted to get the girls a cat. They hadn’t got around to it. “I’ll have to come up with something else. You knocked me out.”
“It was for your own good. The pain would have knocked you out otherwise,” she said, clearly not taking his threats seriously. That was stupid of her. He was very serious. As serious as … a lamb pie.
“So how are you feeling?” she asked again.
“Like you gave me a too heavy dose of the healing slash pain-relieving potion,” he said and tried to sit up. That was not a very good idea. The pain increased, and his head started to spin. He fell back down against the pillow.
“I wouldn’t try to move yet. I put on the healing paste just fifteen minutes ago. It will take some time before your skin grows back,” she said.
“This is internal pain,” Voldemort muttered. Even though he might not be in complete control over his mouth and thoughts, he wasn’t stupid. “The curse must have reached some internal organs before you managed to stop it.”
“Oh. Yes. Well, the potion will take care of that overnight. Do you want something to help you sleep?”
“Oh no, you don’t, kitten. I will not be knocked out again,” he said, making another attempt to sit up.
Right, he had already done that. Once again, it proved to be a bad idea.
“Just lie still,” Hermione ordered him. “Do you want anything else?”
He looked up at her again. Then, he frowned. There was something wrong with her shoulder. Something that wasn’t supposed to be there. “You’re hurt?”
Hermione followed his eyes. “Ah, I’d forgotten about that. Well, it seems to have dried up. I’ll just clean it off in the bathroom.”
“Nooooo, stay here. Strip for me?” he asked.
She eyed him in disbelief. “You are in no position to have sex with me right now.”
“I want to see you naked!” he whined.
“You have seen me naked millions of time,” she argued, but to his great delight, she vanished her clothes and went to the dresser to look into the mirror.
He hummed at seeing her pretty arse sway as she moved. Salazar, she was a perfect witch. His witch. His kitten.
“It’s just a scratch,” Hermione said, and he watched as she disinfected the wound.
Several bottles of potions stood on the desk. He recognised the one she had given him. It was half-empty. Oh, she would regret that in the morning. He might not allow anyone else to hurt her, but he could— Hold on. She had not allowed anyone else to harm him either.
“You killed for me,” he remarked.
She froze. He could see her expression in the mirror. For a moment, she looked guilty; but when she turned around, her face had hardened.
“You killed for me,” she replied with a shrug.
“Yes. But I do that. They hurt you, and no one can hurt you. I won’t let them. But you are not me. You killed. Again. But for me this time.”
Halfway through his ramble, she had started to frown. She looked like she was considering something for the first time.
“You looked at me,” she said slowly.
“I look at you all the time. You are quite the looker. Good looker.” He giggled again.
“No. You looked at me to see if I was okay. That was when you got hit with the curse. It wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t looked at me. Why did you look at me?”
He frowned. What sort of stupid question was that? “You screamed. They hurt you. I had to make sure you weren’t bleeding to death, didn’t I?”
“Yes, but you did it before you had taken care of the last wizard,” she commented and walked back to him, sitting down on the edge of the bed. For some reason, she seemed happy. “You were worried.”
He slowly took her hand and squeezed it. “You aren’t making any sense, kitten.”
“I killed for you because the sight of seeing you hurt made me angry. Because I love you. You did the same for me.”
A smile spread over his face. “You are so cute when you are fooling yourself. I don’t love.”
“So, then what? You act as if you do.”
“You are mine. It’s as simple as that. Simple as pie. Or blueberry muffins. Do we have blueberry muffins? I want some.”
For a moment, Hermione just sat there. Then her face broke out in a smile and she leaned down to kiss him. He didn’t mind; he liked her kisses. He had never liked kissing people before he met her. Fuck? Sure. But not kiss.
“I’ll be right back with the muffin,” she said and got up, wrapping her dressing gown around her before she left the room.
She was so peculiar, his wife.

xxx

Alexandra opened the door to her parents’ room. It was always risky, but she and Althea had learned to open the door soundlessly and then listen to see if it was safe enough to look in. Once you had seen your father's naked behind once, you weren’t too keen on seeing it again. Alexandra did understand why their father had made up the rule of always knocking and waiting until someone opened their door. The problem was that Alexandra wasn’t too keen to follow her father’s rules. It always took so long for them to open, and sometimes they didn’t even hear. This time, she just wanted to know that they were home.
When she couldn’t detect any grunts, screams or moving furniture, she peeked through the opening. They were asleep. Satisfied to know that they were back, Alexandra closed the door and went down the corridor to the library. She knew what magic would take her to her sister now, but she was nervous. Even though the magic book didn’t say a wand was necessary, Alexandra was uncertain if she had the power to do it. And what if she failed? The magic book had many warnings about what would happen if you failed.
Therefore, she wanted to read it again, just to be sure she had it right, in case she needed to go and get her sister. She was still counting on her parents, though. She was certain the only reason they hadn’t got Althea back yet was because of those mean Aurors. If her parents just got to work, they would no doubt get her sister back. But if something happened to her parents again, she wanted to be able to do it. Alexandra would not let her sister suffer.

xxx

Voldemort woke up with a pounding headache, feeling nauseated. His chest was aching as well. What the fuck had he done last night?
Oh, right. Gringotts. Curse. Healing. Something about a blueberry muffin. He groaned. Oh, right, that healing potion.
“Her-mi-ne,” he slurred. It felt like cotton was growing inside his mouth. He needed water.
“Hmm?” He felt Hermione move next to him.
“Wat-er,” he ordered.
She stretched next to him, the mattress dipping as she got up. He opened his eyes just a little. The headache made it hard to see. He would need some sort of pain reliever. One of the problems with the healing potion from last night was that it had withdrawal effects that needed to be dealt with through another potion. Hermione seemed to know that, too, because after she had given him some water, she handed him a small bottle with a normal pain relief potion.
The effect was instantaneous. The thunderclouds in his head disappeared, and his stomach stopped rolling around. Only the aching in his chest and nausea remained. He ignored that. He was the master of his own body, and he would be damned if a little pain stopped him.
Still, it wouldn’t hurt to inspect the wound.
“How are you feeling today?” she asked and dropped down on the bed again, drawing the covers over her body. She liked cuddling in the morning.
“Fine,” he replied shortly. He was not in the mood for cuddling. Instead, he got up and removed the bandages she had placed over the wound. It was a big area on the right side of his body, beginning just below his ribs and up to his shoulder. The skin was red and tender when he touched it, but it was healing nicely. The one who had thrown the curse wasn’t very good at Dark Arts. If he had cast it, the wound would have been much harder to heal.
Not that there would have been anyone left to heal, mind you.
“You seem cranky,” Hermione commented.
“I can’t imagine why,” he muttered and began to smear some more healing paste on the wound. It wouldn’t do for it to leave a scar. That would be hard to explain in case anyone saw him without a shirt. “Did you get what we fought for, at least?”
“Yes,” Hermione said, as if she had just remembered. “They are still in my bag, though. All energy I had left last night was spent healing you. We will have to sort through them.”
“I’ll do that,” Voldemort said and went over to where she had thrown the bag. “Go down and get breakfast.”
Hermione arched an eyebrow, but she did rise from the bed. “You’re sure you know what to look for?”
“As I recall, I know a bit more about fairies than you,” Voldemort snapped, opening the bag.
“Fine,” Hermione replied, sighing.
It surprised him. He had been sure she would be all over the books. Perhaps she was finally learning to trust his judgement? Voldemort snorted softly. No. It was more likely that she felt sorry for him because he had been cursed. Ah, well, as long as it kept her out of his way.
“What do you want?” Hermione asked, going for her dressing gown.
“Just toast and tea,” he said, digging through the bag after the scrolls and books as she wrapped the dressing gown around her.
“Are you sure? The healing must have taken its toll. You’ll need your strength,” Hermione said.
He sent her an annoyed glance. “And the healing potions left me feeling sick. Not to mention that I still feel sick because of the aftereffects from the Cruciatus Curse. I won’t be able to keep more down.”
As he had expected, that made her look guilty. Excellent. If he were feeling miserable, then she should, too. True, he could ignore his sore muscles, upset stomach and aching head, but it became even easier when he got to see someone else suffering as well.
Voldemort returned to bed with the books and scrolls. He would need space so he could sort through which text he should prioritise. He had no idea what to expect from Merlin. For his time, Merlin had been brilliant and innovative when it came to magic. However, over a thousand years had passed, and Voldemort wasn’t certain everything in Merlin’s scroll would be new to him. There was a great chance most of Merlin’s magical theories had already been spread and developed, or even thought of by someone else. Voldemort wasn’t one who thought the secrets of magic lay in the past, he was certain it lay with ambition, creativity and hard work. The past could help, and would certainly help with Althea, but it would probably not help Voldemort’s own quests.
Thus, he sorted the books and scrolls in three piles: useless, interesting-for-later and about-fairies. He was just finished when Hermione returned with Alexandra in tow.
“Have you made the scrolls indestructible?” Hermione asked, stopping with the breakfast tray in front of the bed.
“No, I thought we could use the priceless scrolls we worked so hard to get as napkins,” Voldemort replied, rolling his eyes. A stupid question deserved a stupid answer.
Hermione sighed but didn’t comment. Instead, she placed the tray at the end of the bed.
“What are those?” Alexandra asked, coming to sit on the bed, next to the tray.
“Scrolls. Don’t rearrange them,” Voldemort ordered and accepted the plate with toast Hermione was offering.
“What are they about?” Alexandra asked.
“We aren’t sure yet, sweetheart,” Hermione said, sitting down at her side of the bed.
Alexandra carefully opened one of the books. “Why are they written in this strange way?”
“They are very old,” Hermione explained.
“Will they help find Althea?” Alexandra looked hopeful.
“That’s the plan,” Voldemort replied and unrolled another scroll as he took a bite of the toast.
“Can I help? I’ve read this book—” Alexandra started.
“The only way you can help is by keeping quiet,” Voldemort interrupted her. The text was hard enough to read without her constant chatter.
However, Alexandra, being seven, and immature and all, immediately became upset. She jumped off the bed and ran out.
Hermione scowled at him. “What was that good for?”
“It kept her quiet, didn’t it? Do I have to do the same to you now?”
Hermione rose from the bed and gathered two of the scrolls he had put in the fairy pile.
“What are you doing? I was going to read those!” Voldemort growled, making an attempt to grab them. However, movement caused his sore skin to stretch in a most painful way, and he groaned.
There was no sympathy in Hermione’s eyes now. “I will forgive you, because I know you are in pain and, well, you. But I won’t be around for you to pick on. I’ll translate these in the library. You can come out when you are able to play nice.”
She marched out and slammed the door shut behind her. Voldemort let out a content sigh. Finally. Now he could work in peace.

xxx

Going through Merlin’s scrolls went painfully slow for Hermione. He had clearly never meant for these scrolls to be read by others, thus the notes were as confusing as Ron’s notes in school. Luckily for Hermione, this had given her some practice, and by the end of the day, she thought she finally understood Merlin’s pattern.
He got an idea, played with it for a while, and then, dismissed it after a series of tests. She didn’t exactly understand how he tested his ideas, but he had created his own grading scale, and that she could understand. Something called the fire-prison-bind had a small star painted next to it, while the blood-sucker-healing had a small spider painted next to it. The star, she was quite certain meant success, while the spider meant failure. Then there were four other grades: tree, snake, half-moon and sword.
So far, she had realised that the tree meant the spell would be developed, since she found other writings about it in later scrolls, while the half-moon meant that it was half-interesting to continue. She wasn’t sure what the snake or the sword meant yet, but she didn’t spend too much time focusing on them. The ideas about the fairies all had spider, tree or half-moon next to them, so she worked with those.
Fairies seemed to have been even more annoying back in the day. Merlin had listed the things he needed to stop them from doing: stealing children, making the earth of poor farmers bleed, and destroying magical wards. At first, it was the destroying of magical wards that annoyed him, and he tried to find a way to keep fairies out. None of those ideas worked, and he started to think about how to limit the fairies’ powers.
When she was right in the middle of his latest ideas involving the four elements of nature, as well as magic, the scroll came to an end. Hermione fell back in her armchair and rubbed her eyes. When she looked up again, she saw Alexandra had fallen asleep on the armchair next to hers. It was already dark outside. How long had she been reading? It felt like it was just a few minutes ago when she had taken a break to make dinner.
Her wrist ached after all the writing she had done, translating Merlin’s text. Perhaps it was time to go to bed and continue tomorrow or at least make it to bed to see what Voldemort had come up with. He hadn’t left their room for the whole day. Ken had taken dinner up to him, but that was all.
“Alex,” Hermione said softly, nudging her daughter, removing the book in her lap and placing it on the table. “Don’t you think you’ll be more comfortable in bed?”
“Mm,” Alexandra simply muttered but rose nonetheless.
Hermione smiled and led the half-asleep girl to her room. She was already in her nightgown, and Hermione recalled Alexandra coming in, asking if she could read in the library before bed earlier in the evening. That must have been hours ago.
Glancing at the clock in the hallway, she saw that it was already past midnight. Way too late for Alexandra to be up. Although, unlike Althea, Alexandra seemed to feel quite good, even if she got one night of bad sleep. However, Hermione still felt that it was a good thing they had decided not to let her go back to school until Althea had been found. Children needed lots of sleep.
Once her youngest daughter were in bed, Hermione made her way to her own bedroom. Voldemort was still sitting in the bed, seemingly naked under the covers. He looked up when she entered, and she could see that he wasn’t angry anymore.
“Found something?” he asked, sounding curious.
“I’m not sure. The scroll ended right when Merlin was describing a theory about the elements of nature and—”
“Oh, I read the rest of that,” Voldemort interrupted her, looking around on the heaps of scrolls and books on the bed before picking a scroll up. “Here. Explains how he put them out of phase with the rest of the world. You have read about dimensions in Muggle physics, yes?”
“I do make a habit of reading the books we have in our library,” Hermione said dryly as she sat down on the bed. “But Merlin was alive a thousand years ago; they didn’t know about physics then.”
“Things can be discovered many times before they become public knowledge,” Voldemort said, withdrawing three scrolls from a heap. “The problem was that he didn’t succeed to send them to another dimension. He hadn’t counted on their anchors in this world.”
“Anchors? And what do you mean fail? I thought Merlin had wanted the fairies to tell him about their magic, so that’s why he made it so they were still a part of this world, just unable to interfere.”
“People make up stories when they find out their idols aren’t perfect,” Voldemort said, waving it away. “Merlin was great, but he wasn’t perfect. He didn’t seem to have known about the fairies usages of diamonds.”
Hermione searched her memory, but she couldn’t recall reading about it in Merlin’s scrolls. The only time she had heard about it was from Voldemort. “They store magic in diamonds.”
“Precisely. And thus, he couldn’t send them away to another dimension. They clinged onto this, like ghosts.”
“But they lost their magic,” Hermione commented. “If Merlin failed, how come they got weaker?”
“I didn’t say he failed completely, just that he failed,” Voldemort answered. “I have the spell he used here, but I have no idea how he got it to work at all. But I think, if we add the diamonds to the equations, we can make it work and banish them to another dimension.”
Hermione frowned. “What about Althea?”
“Oh, I’m sure we’ll find her once the fairies are gone,” Voldemort said, seemingly happy with his plan.
“No, I mean, Althea has got fairy magic inside her. She is another anchor. What are we to do with her?”
Voldemort’s smile disappeared, and he sank back against the headboard.
“You didn’t even consider that?” Hermione asked in disbelief.
“I did,” he said slowly.
“And?”
“I’m not certain what will be the best approach,” Voldemort continued. “There is chance that she will be banished together with the fairies. Or that she ...” he trailed off.
However, Hermione could see his meaning clearly enough. “If you are even considering killing our daughter, I’ll kill you.”
He snorted.
Hermione clenched her hands. “This is all for nothing if she dies, Voldemort. I will kill you.”
“I’m not considering to kill her, Hermione,” Voldemort said softly. “But the spell is complicated enough as it is. Adding Althea … I’m not certain it will work.”
“So, we will come up with something else!” Hermione cried.
“Oh yes, that won’t be hard at all,” Voldemort muttered.
Hermione slapped his arm. “We will just have to go about this differently! We have more knowledge about the fairies now. Why don’t we just find them and bring her back first? The Blood Magic will keep her safe here, until we have done something permanently to stop the fairies.”
“We have knowledge about how the fairies acted before Merlin cast the spell on them, not afterwards.”
“How much could they have changed? They are still stealing children!” Hermione cried.
Voldemort blinked, sitting up straight again. “What did you say?”
“Merlin wrote that they had been stealing children before. I have it … here,” Hermione said, withdrawing one of the scrolls she had read earlier. “He could help the parents to get the children back. But it wasn’t the main reason why he decided to stop them. He was more worried about their ward-breaking capabilities.”
Voldemort breezed through the scroll. “Ah, yes. It says here that he thought the parents had themselves to blame for making some sort of agreement with the fairies, and they were stupid for not realising it themselves that they could … just make whatever they got out from the agreement cease to be,” Voldemort said, sounding grim.
“Yeah, but I never did— Oh,” Hermione said. “You had an agreement with the fairies.”
Voldemort grimaced. “They never said anything about taking my daughter. I wasn’t even planning on having a daughter. They made it sound as if getting my soul back and keeping it intact was the price.”
“What good would that do them?” Hermione asked, annoyed over his stupidity. “Couldn’t you have figured out that they wanted something more?”
“I probably could have, but I’m certain they went into my mind to put any worries I may have had at ease,” Voldemort grumbled and pulled a hand through his hair.
“Is there any way to break the agreement?” Hermione asked. “If we could make their claim on Althea invalid, maybe their magic will disappear from her as well? As if it never existed.”
“I got this body in that agreement,” Voldemort stated.
“So?”
“So even if we find a way to break it, that means I’ll change back to what I looked like before I got this body.”
“So?”
“Hermione, do you remember what I looked like? With Potter around looking for the truth about who I am—”
“So we will change your body back to this again, later!” Hermione exclaimed. “Surely, you must know how to do that?”
She could see that Voldemort was considering this. “I do. But I’m not even sure we can break the agreement. And even if we can do that, it’s not certain it will get us Althea back. They’ve got her, physically.”
“So, we will do the calculations for breaking the agreement. If we can conclude that the fairy magic will disappear from Althea if we cast it, we can immediately do Merlin’s spell which will send them off into neverland before they suspect anything, and then, we can get Althea,” Hermione growled. Did she have to think about everything herself?
“That’s all good and well, but how do you suggest we break the agreement? And how do we know if it has worked?”
Even though he sounded doubtful, Hermione could see that he was thinking, and she felt confident that they were going to figure something out. They finally had something resembling a plan.
“For this to even begin to work, I need more magic,” Voldemort finally said, his eyes growing hungry. “Being cursed takes its toll.”
“Shouldn’t we finish researching first?” Hermione asked, even though she felt her whole body responding at his look.
“I want to be at my best while researching. And I think you would feel better with some extra magical energy, too, especially after how much you must have used to heal me last night. Besides, I think we have gone long enough with sex, wouldn’t you agree?” He pulled her towards him.
Hermione nodded, even though a big part of her still wanted to research. But that was only her mind. Her body craved him more than her next breath once she became horny. She longed for the blissfulness. There had been too much stress lately, and her body screamed for relaxation. That Voldemort could use the magic from her was just an excuse. A legit excuse, but it wasn’t the reason why she caved once his hands were on her body.
She was addicted, and he was her fix.
“I’ll try something new,” Voldemort breathed once she was naked and straddling him.
“Fine, fine,” Hermione said, stroking and kissing his face and chest.
“Don’t let go,” he told her as he pushed inside her with a groan. “I have never done this, so I hope I’ll have enough concentration for both.”
“Done wha— VOLDEMORT!” she shrieked as she felt them rising from the bed, flying up towards the ceiling.
She wrapped her legs and arms tighter around him, her heart beating rapidly in fear. Even after yesterday, it seemed her fear of flying hadn’t disappeared. Not even a little bit.
“Oh, sweet Salazar, yes, I knew this would be worth it,” Voldemort groaned, moving inside her in short, fast strokes. “Your cunt tightens up in the most delicious way when you’re afraid.”
“Put me down, now!” Hermione screamed, trying to reach something solid to hold on to, but everything was too far away.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” he said, turning them around in the air so they were lying horizontally in the air, him on top of her.
Hermione whimpered and immediately wrapped both arms around his back. It didn’t matter that the bed was right under her, or that she knew she wouldn’t fall far, she hated flying. If she could, she would have strangled him, but she was afraid to let go of his back. When they came down, she would spank him to the next millennia.
“I was right,” he groaned into her ear. “The fear is making you dripping wet. You love this.”
“You are delusional,” she spat; although, now when he mentioned it, her sex was pulsating like crazy and her heartbeat was thundering in her ears, like it did when she was about to reach a climax.
She couldn’t get an orgasm! What if she lost her grip of him?
“Come for me, Hermione,” Voldemort growled in her ear. “Give me the magic.”
His hand found her breast and started to play with it at the same time as he nibbled her neck in the way she loved. She gasped, pressing her nails into his back. Merlin, he was evil. Selfish, ruthless, but oh, why couldn’t he move faster?
As if he had read her thoughts, he did something that made them both move against each other, fast and hard. She had no control over her own muscles, he moved her with magic. All she could do was cling on as she felt her release come closer and closer, and the magical energy singing. She felt Voldemort absorb it greedily, and for a change, he was even giving her some of it as well.
The orgasm was sudden, and the fear made it more powerful than she was used to. She tried holding on, but her arms and legs started shaking. His body was sweaty as well, making it slippery.
Just as he came, she lost her grip. She screamed as she fell down on the bed. But it was not even two meters down, and the bed was soft. She bounced only once and then lay there, trembling in fear and afterglow. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she acknowledged that Voldemort had at least removed all the books and scrolls from the bed before she fell. That was something.
Voldemort floated down, landing on his side next to her. Chuckling, he stroked her body and leaned down to kiss her cheek.
“That was fun,” he mumbled, his hand reaching her sex.
To her great surprise, he pushed his three middle fingers inside, his thumb coming to rest on her clitoris.
“Don’t ever do that again,” she gasped, trying to push his hand away, but her arms had no strength.
“Now, don’t be like that,” Voldemort said, licking a trail of tears from her cheek. “I thought you said that you’d make it up to me, after you tortured me. This is making up.”
“I thought you’d wait and see what I found—”
“And I have,” he interrupted her. “You’ve pleased me with that as well. But don’t, for a second, think that is enough, Hermione Jean Granger.”
He flexed his fingers inside her, making her sex throb in pleasure.
“There are many things I’ve wanted to try. Sexually. We don’t have time to explore them tonight, of course, and we still do have our daughter to find. But once we have, I think I’ll tie you to a bed for a few days and try those things out. Well, those things that required you to be tied up.” He kissed the corner of her mouth and started to massage her clit with his thumb.
Hermione moaned in pleasure, even though there was still some fear lingering. What could he possibly be talking about? Hadn’t they done pretty much everything there was to do sexually? Okay, so the flying thing was new, but other than that? They had done every position in the book. She had even got a transfigured penis, and they had fucked each other in the arse!
He forced a fourth finger into her cunt as well, pushing them in and out, still flicking her clit. “There is a world of pain and pleasure you have yet to be introduced to. Whipping. Flogging. You may not be a submissive, but that isn’t necessary. It will be a punishment.”
Hermione’s heart beat rapidly in fear and arousal. She didn’t like pain. He had used a knife on her once, ages ago. Even though that went well, she wasn’t keen on doing something like it again. But she had said she would pay for torturing him …
“Just think about how pretty your back will be, covered in red wounds,” Voldemort whispered, suddenly pressing his thumb inside her sex as well. “I know where to hit, so I won’t damage any internal organs … unless I want to. I can make you bleed and still have you crying out for more. And you know how much I like it when you bleed for me, Hermione.”
Hermione let out a groan when he forced his entire fist up her cunt. Years of sex and two births had made her much more loose, but not really that loose. Luckily, she was wet and horny enough for the pain to not overtake the pleasure of being completely full.
“Now, use the muscles inside your cunt to make yourself come,” Voldemort ordered.
Hermione groaned, but clenched her muscles. It made her legs shake, but it was a sweet, sweet feeling, making his hand press against everything inside her cunt. She was so close to another orgasm. Just one more …
“Voldemort,” she cried as she came around his hand, her whole body breaking out in spasms.
Before she had time to come down from her high, he withdrew his hand from inside her and rolled on top of her. It seemed all the talk about torture and blood had made him hard again.
She couldn’t do anything but lay there and take his thrusts, tears of pleasure running down her cheeks. Her body felt boneless, and despite that, he still managed to force yet another orgasm out of her before collapsing. She fell into a deep sleep before he even had the chance to roll off her, and her last conscious thought was that her husband was one scary bastard, but at least, he knew how to fuck.

xxx

Voldemort continued to push his magic into Hermione for a bit more, until he was certain she was in a deep sleep. He had done his very best to tire her out physically, but it didn’t hurt to add a little magic into it as well. He didn’t want Hermione to wake up too fast.
Falling onto his back, he sighed in pleasure. That had been just what he needed. He didn’t remember the last time he had absorbed that much magic from Hermione. After everything that had happened, though, he needed it. Especially tonight.
Stretching, he got out of bed and wrapped his dark-blue dressing gown around him. Withdrawing his wand, he went over to the seemingly empty armchair at the other end of the room, facing the bed. He grasped the thin, invisible fabric and pulled it off the person sitting in the chair, making him visible.
“Well then, Harry, where were we?” Voldemort asked, removing the silencing spell he had placed on the boy.
Potter looked like he was about to be sick.
“Right, somewhere between ‘I can’t believe you actually tried to break in; couldn’t you figure out I had wards beyond your capabilities?’ and ‘oh, none of your surveillance equipment will be of any use in here, because of said wards’.”
Voldemort patted Potter’s shoulder in mock sympathy when the boy looked absolutely defeated that his plan wouldn’t work.
“Being desperate often makes you stupid, Harry; you should have figured that out by now,” Voldemort scolded him. “And yet, here you are, and I didn’t even have to get out of bed to stop you.”
“Someone has to do something,” Harry growled. “I know it was you who broke into Gringotts and killed those guards. Five people lost their life just because you’ve managed to get the Ministry in your pocket. Five people that we know of, so far. If you think that I’ll just—”
Voldemort sighed loudly, interrupting him. “So this is your plan? Bore me with your righteousness until I die? Well, sorry to spoil your plan, but I didn’t kill five people last night. I killed four. Hermione killed one.”
“If you really think I’ll believe that—”
“Believe what you want,” Voldemort interrupted him again. “It doesn’t matter, really. Although, I do find it interesting that so many of you place Hermione up on such a high pedestal. Make her sound all perfect, good-hearted, clever and innocent. Well, sorry to spoil it for you, but she really isn’t. There has always been darkness in her, even before I met her. I know the things she did in Hogwarts, for you. Lying, hexing, stealing, fighting. But you just conveniently forgot about that, because she did it for you. For the ‘greater good’.”
“Don’t give me your shit, Voldemort,” Harry growled. “And I’m sick and tired of hearing your voice. For once in your life, just shut up and do the thing you always talk about: Kill me.”
“Kill you? Whatever would I do that for?” Voldemort asked, faking surprise.
“You have always tried to kill me!” Harry cried.
“I haven’t tried to kill you for years, Harry,” Voldemort reminded him. “That prophecy with the ‘neither can live while the other survives’ is clearly just poppycock. Here we are, surviving just fine together. Well, I am, at least, and that’s what counts.”
“I won’t rest until you are dead or at least imprisoned, Voldemort,” Harry spat. “If you don’t kill me—”
“Why are you so keen on having me kill you, Potter?” Voldemort asked, curious. “Does someone know you are here? Oh, yes, of course. You told someone that if you didn’t come back, it would be because I had killed you. Do you have someone watching outside?”
Voldemort eyed the boy carefully; Potter had never been able to hide his thoughts or emotions, and Voldemort had no problem seeing the answer without even using Legilimency.
“Weasley, I take it. And he is the one who is supposed to receive my recorded confession.” Voldemort rolled his eyes and arched his back. “How the two of you ever managed to get accepted as Aurors is beyond me. Well, since you have been in here for a couple of hours already, I guess he is bound to get worried soon. Did you have a time limit?”
Once again, Potter’s eyes betrayed him, and Voldemort could see that Potter and Weasley had indeed agreed upon some sort of time limit. Well, since Aurors weren’t bursting through the door as they spoke, Voldemort assumed he still had some time. He didn’t think Potter had planned to confront him into a confession. Undoubtedly, Potter had just wanted to sneak around underneath his Invisibility Cloak, hoping to catch some confession.
“Harry, Harry, Harry,” Voldemort said, sighing, “when will you learn?”
He went over to the bed and saw that Hermione’s skin was covered in goosebumps. Ah, he couldn’t have that. He pulled the sheet over her. Should he wake her up yet? She would be furious if she woke up in the morning and found out what he had done to her friend, even though they weren’t exactly friends anymore. Ah, first things first. He needed Mizuro to prepare everything before they called the Aurors.
“I’ll be right back,” Voldemort told Harry and left the room.
Mizuro was still up, but in his room, reading. He looked up when Voldemort entered.
“The interrogation must be very entertaining for you to take so long with it,” Mizuro commented, sounding bored, his eyes not even leaving the book. “Or did Hermione interrupt?”
“She did, but she didn’t even notice he was there,” Voldemort said, giving him a wolfish smile.
Mizuro snorted and looked up. “So that’s why you decided to marry her? She’s good in bed?”
“She is, but no, that’s not why,” Voldemort just said.
It was a game between him and Mizuro. His minion couldn’t understand why Lord Voldemort would ever marry a Muggle-born when he had spent so much time hunting and killing them. Thus, he took a guess now and again. Voldemort would never tell him, though. Mizuro might be an useful and entertaining minion, but he was not his confidant.
“Do you still remember how to create the paranoia drug?” Voldemort asked instead.
A glint of malice flew through Mizuro’s eyes. “Of course. Do you have chili at home?”
“Naturally. You’ll find all the ingredients in the kitchen, I believe. Come to my room when you are done.”
Pleased, Voldemort returned to his bedroom. The paranoia drug wasn’t a magical potion per se, and thus, it left no trail that the Aurors would look for. The Muggle police might have been able to check the urine for it, but Aurors didn’t meddle with such things.
Inside the bedroom again, Voldemort found Harry lying on the floor in front of the armchair. It seemed the boy had tried to crawl to freedom, despite being bound to hand and feet. With just a flick of Voldemort’s wand, the boy was back in the chair again.
“You don’t have to overstrain yourself,” Voldemort said softly. “I’ll let you go in about fifteen minutes.”
“You’re lying,” Harry spat.
“Not at all.”
“Why would you let me go?”
“Because I have no reason to keep you,” Voldemort said, rolling his eyes at how slowly Potter was catching on. “I’m not Voldemort after all. Why would I keep you? No, I’m just an angry father and husband, who is sick of you terrorising my family.”
He went over to the bed again and withdrew the magic that kept Hermione from waking. However, even without the spell, she seemed to be fast asleep, and Voldemort had to shake her gently to wake her.
“Merlin, again?” Hermione groaned. “Can’t you just do it without waking me?”
Voldemort chuckled and brushed her hair from her face. “I recall you being quite upset when I did that the last time.”
“You have my permission now,” Hermione mumbled, already starting to drift off again.
“As much as that pleases me, I’m afraid I don’t feel like performing in front of an audience,” Voldemort answered.
Hermione slowly opened her eyes. “Audience?”
Voldemort nodded towards the chair where Potter was sitting.
Hermione lifted her head up. When she saw her former best friend, she sighed and her head fell against the pillow again. “What did you do now?”
“Nothing. Potter came here to spy on us, hoping to catch me making a confession, not realising we have wards against that.”
“Yeah, well, he never did think things through,” Hermione muttered. “Hand me my dressing gown.”
Voldemort complied and helped Hermione get out of bed. Potter wouldn’t meet either of their eyes. Probably still ashamed after the sex act he had witnessed. Voldemort shook his head, feeling sorry for Mrs Potter if that embarrassed her husband. They probably only did it in one position for five minutes. Poor Ginny.
Hermione also seemed to notice her former friend’s blush. “How long has he been here?”
“Long enough.”
“Voldemort,” she said with a warning undertone.
“Well, I was going to tell you, but you jumped me. I was distracted,” he replied innocently.
“I see,” Hermione replied, anger clear in her voice. “So you didn’t do all those things to me because you knew we were having an audience and you wanted to make him as miserable as possible?”
Voldemort smiled. “View it as retribution for the torture, kitten.”
She glared at him. “You know, sooner or later, that excuse will stop working.”
“I know, but not today.”
Hermione glared at him for a bit longer, but then she sighed, looking down. Clearly, she was still feeling guilty about the torture. He hadn’t expected that she would let him get away with having sex in front of an audience this easily.
“Now what?” she asked, keeping her anger restrained.
“Now, we wait until Mizuro arrives. Is there anything you want to say to your friend?”
Hermione crossed her arms. Apparently, she was still angry at Potter for getting her daughter kidnapped. How joyful.
“How about you, Harry? I could hardly shut you up before,” Voldemort said, smiling.
The boy had been uncharacteristically quiet. Voldemort frowned. Was the boy really that embarrassed, or was he planning something?
Right then, Potter looked up, his eyes wide and sad behind the round glasses. He looked straight at Hermione. “I’m so sorry, Hermione. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I just wanted to get Voldemort away from you. I would have cleared you of all suspicions in just a matter of days. I never wanted anything to happen to your family. You know I love you like a sister.”
Voldemort rolled his eyes. Salazar, Potter was getting desperate indeed. However, Hermione could also get emotional from time to time. He glanced at her, but to his great joy, she didn’t seem convinced. In fact, it seemed as if her anger had been redirected to her former friend.
“You didn’t want anything to happen to my family?” Hermione asked in disbelief. “So what do you count him as? My pet?”
Voldemort arched his eyebrows when she nodded at him. Her pet?
“He’s Voldemort!” Harry cried. “You helped me fight him for seven years! He’s a mass murderer!”
“He’s my husband,” Hermione growled. “I don’t have to justify our relationship. Especially not to the man who made it possible to have my daughter kidnapped.”
Abruptly, she turned to Voldemort. “When are you going to throw him out?”
“Oh, I was planning to call the Aurors. He is trespassing and harassing us, after all.”
“Why don’t you do that then?”
“In a moment,” Voldemort answered and looked at the time. Mizuro should be done with the drug now.
As if his minion had read his mind, Mizuro opened the door to the bedroom. “Finished.”
“What’s that?” Hermione asked, sounding suspicious.
“Just a little something to convince the Aurors that Harry needs locking up,” Voldemort said happily.
“The Aurors will find out that you used a potion on me,” Potter quickly said, looking a bit alarmed.
“Who said this was a potion?” Voldemort asked and made a gesture for Mizuro to help him.
Mizuro walked behind Potter and pinched Potter’s nose so he would have to open his mouth. Once he did, Voldemort grabbed Potter’s jaw and poured the cold liquid into his mouth. Potter coughed and tried to spit it out, but the liquid only required a small dosage to be absorbed into the body to work.
Voldemort wiped Harry’s chin with the hem of his dressing gown. “There we go. Ken, why don’t you go and call the Aurors?”
Mizuro took the empty cup and left the room with a nod.
“What was that?” Hermione asked, clearly getting annoyed at not being in the loop.
“We’ll talk about that later, dear,” Voldemort said and untied Potter. “You may want to get your wand.”
“What for?” Hermione asked, but she did withdraw her wand from the pocket of her dressing gown.
“Protection,” Voldemort said and handed Potter back his wand.
For a moment, Potter just sat there, staring at his wand in disbelief. Voldemort backed away, his wand at the ready. It wasn’t like Potter would be able to beat him in any type of duel, but the drug made people reckless and paranoid, and Voldemort wouldn’t be surprised if Potter would just cast the Killing Curse. Voldemort would have to hold him off until the Aurors came to see Potter in action. The door to the bedroom was open, so they would be able to hear the fighting once they were inside the house.
The change in Potter was drastic. One moment, he was just sitting down, staring at his wand. The next, he jumped up, rage and fear clear on his face. He didn’t even seem to notice Hermione; he was just interested in attacking Voldemort.
“Avada Kedavra!” Harry screamed.
Voldemort blocked it by throwing in its path a hideous vase Mrs Granger had given them for Christmas one year, which Hermione for some reason wanted to have on display. It broke with a satisfying crack.
“Oi!” Hermione growled in annoyance; but catching his intention, she sent a chair in the way of the next curse.
It didn’t take long until they had run out of things to destroy. Voldemort sighed. The Aurors should have been here by now. The drug had taken full effect of Potter, making him out of control. The curses he cast were sloppy and ill-aimed, though, making it quite easy to dodge them.
Finally, Voldemort heard people running up the stairs. Two Aurors showed up in the doorway, quickly taking in the scene. One of them cast a disarming spell at Potter, while the other cast a stunning spell. Both of them hit; Potter hadn’t even seemed to notice his colleagues entering.
Voldemort made a show of looking around for Hermione, as if he were worried about her wellbeing. Once he saw her, he rushed over and hugged her.
“Are you okay?” he asked, checking her body for injuries.
“I’m fine,” Hermione said, also sounding shaken. “Are you okay?”
Clearly, she had understood what game they were playing.
“Professor Foster, Professor Granger.” One of the Aurors came up to them. Voldemort recognised her as Mrs Brennan. “What happened here?”
Still hugging Hermione, Voldemort turned to the Auror, making sure his voice trembled just enough. “We had just got ready for bed when Potter suddenly appeared, out of nowhere, saying he had gathered evidence that I was You-Know-Who. Then he started to attack us!”
“He used his Invisibility Cloak,” Hermione added, pointing at the fabric Voldemort had dropped on the floor earlier. “He just acted really … I’ve never seen him like that!”
The two Aurors exchange a look. They seemed to believe them.
“My colleague will take Potter down to the station for questioning. Will it be okay if I remain to get a full statement from the two of you?” Brennan asked.
“Yes of co—” Voldemort stopped himself when he saw a door close behind the Aurors.
Alexandra’s room was at the opposite side of the corridor from them, and from her doorway, she could see into their room if the door were open. Now it seemed as if all the noise had woken her.
Voldemort let go of Hermione and walked past the two Aurors and the unconscious Potter. If Alexandra had seen their fight, she would no doubt be upset. And when Alexandra was upset, she always ran to someone she trusted. Since her parents had been occupied …
He opened the door to the room just as he saw Alexandra grab something on the nightstand. She didn’t even hear him come in. With a small pop, she was gone.
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