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The Prisoner	By : Nerys Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 63563 -:- Recommendations : 6 -:- Currently Reading : 13
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
- 6
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author’s note: I want to thank everyone who read, rated and reviewed: Summer Leah, shinobinaraku, MarksPet, Aviendha, Fleur K.

Review replies can be found at:

http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/19576-the-prisoner-by-nerys/

xxx

Special thanks to my amazing betas: Serpent In Red and Cosettex.

xxx

The Prisoner

Chapter 5: Problems and Major Dissatisfaction

Furrowing her brow, Hermione concentrated again on the three objects in front of her on the table: a comb, a potted plant, and a cup. This time it was going to work. Multiple-to-One Transfiguration was in itself a complicated subject. Doing it with items that were unrelated to each other and the wanted outcome was deemed impossible. However, according to Riddle, that was nonsense if your skill at Transfiguration was sufficient. You only needed to focus your magic on what you wanted in the end. And she really wanted an owl now since she lost track of how many times she’d failed already.

With another flick of her wrist, she cast. The cup flew into the air, landing on top of the potted plant that had started flapping its leaves. Leaves turned into feathers, surrounding the smooth surface of the cup that twisted and turned, changing colours, until two big eyes remained and a beak. A loud hoot welcomed her. Satisfied, Hermione looked at the perfect specimen in front of her. She did it. Finally, she’d transfigured an owl out of …

Her eyes fell on the comb lying next to the owl that was hopping on the table in excitement. The comb seemed to mock her performance with its silent and unmoving presence.

‘AAAH!’ she yelled in frustration and blasted it to pieces.

Making hooting noises of clear objection as several feathers came off its newly formed wings, the owl flew up in the air when the force of Hermione’s Blasting Charm took the table along with the comb. A million miniscule pieces smashed into the wall.

‘Don’t we need that table to eat on?’

Ron’s voice took her by surprise and she turned around, watching him duck as the owl fluttered around the tiny room before fleeing the scene through the chimney.

‘Great, now it escaped,’ Hermione muttered, whipping her wand absentmindedly at the debris behind her back. It swirled through the air, gathering together. ‘I still have work to do here.’

‘Aah,’ Ron whined, ‘can’t you take one evening off?’

‘Nope, this is important.’

Ron grumbled something underneath his breath about McGregor being a slave driver and Harry being a far better boss who understood people had private lives, too – all of which Hermione ignored. She didn’t want to start an argument that would take time away from her casting.

‘Besides, I figured you’d want to eat in front of the telly,’ she added airily. ‘Your favourite show is on.’

Ron’s eyes brightened at that news. Satisfied he was suitably distracted, Hermione turned back to her reformed table. One of the legs was dangling at an odd angle, and she fixed that with a flick of her wand. Where was the comb? Her eyes scanned the ground. It should’ve mended back together with the table, but it appeared to be hiding from her instead.

‘Accio comb!’

Satisfied, she caught the reluctant object and placed it back from where it came.

‘Where is the lasagne?’ Ron asked with his head almost fully inside the fridge.

‘I got Chinese take-out,’ Hermione replied, summoning another cup and a new plant.

‘But you made lasagne last night and–’

‘I burned it upon reheating,’ she interrupted, lying through her teeth. ‘I forgot I had it in the oven.’

‘Oh,’ Ron said, sounding disappointed as he now checked through the cartons for their contents. ‘Brought any Kung Pao Chicken?’

‘Should be there, somewhere,’ Hermione replied offhandedly.

She was concentrating on her transfiguration again. She’d been too busy at work to practise there, and she had to get it done before tomorrow. Surely her Transfiguration skills were at least “sufficient”. She’d received an Outstanding for it on her N.E.W.T. for crying out loud.

For the rest of that evening, Hermione kept practising, occasionally cheering to herself whenever she succeeded. Ron was transfixed in front of the television screen, occasionally muttering comments to himself about the programme or how his father would’ve liked to watch this. Hermione had been unable to get a television functioning in the Burrow. Something about the magic holding the house up had made it impossible for his wife to get a clear signal without possibly disturbing the structural integrity of the Burrow. From the excited curiosity on Arthur’s face, Ron was sure his father would’ve told Hermione to go for it –house be damned– if his mother hadn’t been there. Arthur had been that intrigued that Muggles had invented a radio with pictures powered by “elektriek”.

‘Shall we go to the Burrow tomorrow?’ Ron asked, chewing on a potato chip.

‘Uhmm-umm,’ Hermione replied, adding a wine glass to the pile she planned to transfigure into a golden retriever.

Taking that as a yes, Ron rubbed his hands together in anticipation of his mother’s cooking.

Blocking out the ambulant, irrelevant noises around her, Hermione gradually increased the number of items she was transfiguring until she could perform the multiple-to-one Transfiguration with her eyes closed and with as many objects as she desired. Satisfied, she flicked her wrist and the huge pile on the table swirled around the air in a dark vortex until a single rose petal glided down on the table. Smiling brightly, she whipped her wand again and the petal duplicated itself so rapidly it was like a fountain of rose petals sprang from the table. The petals twisted and curled in mid-air and changed back to their original forms. With another flick of her wand, Hermione sent them all back to their respective places in the flat. She had fully mastered the complex spell after only a couple of hours.

Time to go to sleep. She had an early rise tomorrow.

xxx

She would’ve felt self-conscious about the clothes she was wearing entering his cell had it not been for the emergency assignment that McGregor had dumped on her lap, taking some of her attention away. Not that she was uncomfortable wearing skirts, she wore them a lot – only with underwear. It felt exciting, forbidden to go without it, and it had been even more exciting to witness the approval in his expression. But she had decided to limit her compliance to his clothing demands to his presence – there was no way he could check upon her full compliance anyway.

Hermione stretched out her arms above her head. They were sitting next to each other on the bed as usual while Tom was going through the top secret Unspeakable file in his hand and she voiced her concerns.

‘It’s weird. The Bell Jar in the Time Chamber suddenly stopped functioning properly. The hummingbird is only getting older and older. You should see the state of its feathers.’ She shivered. ‘It was supposed to be on its way back to becoming an egg again twenty-two hours ago. If we can’t find what’s wrong with it, it’s going to die soon.’

‘Maybe,’ Tom muttered, scratching his neck.

‘Maybe?’ Hermione questioned, leaning forward to get a glimpse of his expression. She felt he was acting weird all of the sudden.

‘If it was supposed to be at the end of its lifespan twenty-two hours ago and it didn’t die then, I doubt it will die at all,’ he explained, frowning at the papers in hand.

‘That’s even worse,’ she said. When he arched an eyebrow at her, she added, ‘Not everyone shares your immortality obsession.’

His mouth opened, but then, he shook his head as if deciding against it. ‘The hummingbird in the Bell Jar is a magicked creature. It won’t act as real life beings would.’ His eyes scanned through the file rapidly.

‘The hummingbird was Morgana’s creation. It’s a historic artefact of unprecedented value and … oh.’

She slapped her hand in front of her mouth in realisation.

A historic artefact of unprecedented value! Oh Merlin, no, I’m going to throttle him.

Slowly, Hermione narrowed her eyes at the person sitting next to her. She had a rather astute idea. After all, a certain someone had rather oddly got his young body back and hadn’t died when he should have. She watched how Tom Riddle was no longer flipping the pages and immediately knew she was right. His face was set too blank and too innocent.

‘You,’ she hissed.

He smirked smugly, dropping the act.

‘You,’ she repeated, aghast. ‘What is it with you and destroying priceless artefacts? Do you have any idea what that Bell Jar was worth before you tampered with it?’

He shrugged. ‘It was only a showy display on Morgana’s Time-Turner Theory, Granger, nothing more. Besides, I never quite understood why you lot thought I only relied on Horcruxes, especially since I informed Potter I had gone further along the path that leads to immortality than any other wizard before me when I resurrected into my old self. In my elation, I recall “one or more of my experiments” slipping from my tongue.’ For a second he looked at his body satisfied. ‘But I suppose the boy had other things on his mind at the time. I daresay this worked better than I thought it would. But it can’t be just me or the Bell Jar would’ve malfunctioned immediately.’

‘How do you know?’ she said, growling frustrated. ‘Maybe it took this long to reach a certain threshold?’

‘Mmm…’ Tom pondered, ‘maybe.’

But she could tell by the tone of his voice that he didn’t find it a likely explanation.

‘What did you do to it?’

‘Extracted one particle of the temporal wind inside.’ He shook his head again. ‘It doesn’t make sense. One particle shouldn’t have had this much effect.’

Demonstratively, Hermione stared at his body, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

‘On the hummingbird,’ he snarled. ‘Besides, I used the particle in an extensive Dark Arts ritual. It’s not solely responsible for this body.’

‘But it was the primary ingredient of the ritual,’ Hermione countered, sure of that and curious now.

Tom considered her. ‘Yes,’ he said approvingly, ‘and if you want to know, I’ll explain the entire ritual to you once you’re ready to understand the theory behind it. However, there is no use going into the ritual I performed now since it doesn’t bear relevance on what is happening to the hummingbird. There has to be another reason it is no longer turning young again. I nicked the particle in the late fifties.’

‘But you only resurrected due to it a couple of years ago.’

‘If that was the tipping point, the hummingbird should’ve started malfunctioning the moment the particle was activated to resurrect me,’ he countered. ‘No, there is something we’re missing.’

‘Besides a particle?’ Hermione joked.

‘Besides that,’ Tom replied, pausing to look at her before he leaned in. ‘But you’re not that upset I used that particle to regain this body, are you?’

‘Arrogant arse.’

‘That’s not a denial,’ he teased lightly, turning his attention back to the file. ‘It might be those tests the department heads keep insisting on. For every test, the Unspeakable in question has to withdraw a few particles to check their functioning status, and for as far as I can tell, nobody checked to see the effect it had to restore the particles after testing or even if all particles were restored every time. They didn’t keep a very accurate database.’

Suuuure, someone else is to blame. What else is new? It couldn’t possibly be your doing, Hermione thought snidely, while Tom continued to talk and scribble down things he deemed were important.

Soon, he had a long list and began computing the evidence. Hermione looked over his shoulder, pointing out things he’d missed or things she felt were completely irrelevant. In the end, they agreed it had to be the multiple taking of particles (at which Hermione had pointedly looked at him) and the altered state in which they were returned to the Bell Jar (at which Tom had mimicked her expression with an added edge of smug triumph to it since he’d not returned anything). Hermione had tiresomely shaken her head at him. However, they’d proven that taking the particles from the confinement of the jar had to have a miniscule effect on their state of being. That little change then caused their effect on the hummingbird to be drastically altered after enough particles were removed and returned.

‘This is not good,’ Hermione said, sighing, while Tom’s eyes ran over the information again. ‘It will be impossible to determine which particles are wrong from outside the Bell Jar and taking them all from the jar will automatically lead to every single one of them changing. If only Morgana had left some documentation on how she created it, we could simply restore the particles for new ones. But without the information, we’ll never get–’

‘Brilliant,’ Tom interrupted, immediately starting to write something down.

‘What?’ Hermione asked, confused. ‘What did I say? What are you calculating there?’

‘Shush, let me think.’ More lines quickly appeared on the paper. ‘Yes, that might work. If we can just figure out the right amount. Hmm…’

Frowning, Hermione watched what he was writing down, but she couldn’t make heads or tails from it. He was using too many magical subjects through one another. Several times, her mind sputtered in protest when she was sure he added things that weren’t supposed to be added together at all. She barely was able to stop her automatic reflex to correct him as she’d done many times when she noticed Harry or Ron write down something wrong. However, she had an inkling this time she’d be the one in the wrong, so she bit her lip. Grudgingly.

Merlin, he didn’t just combine the two opposing Laws of Baba Yaga together. That’s a big no-no.

Shifting uncomfortably, Hermione had a hard time keeping her cool. She froze when a warm hand touched her knee and moved up to squeeze her thigh underneath her skirt comfortingly.

‘On the verge of exploding already?’ Riddle asked, humour lacing his tone of voice as he turned away from his writing and looked at her. ‘If you need to rant for a moment, I can wait.’

Instead of opting for that, she decided to go for the other issue that had risen. ‘You’re touching me.’

‘So I am,’ he said, smirking and not removing his hand at all. ‘We never finished that hour in which you would repay me fully, Hermione.’

She blinked. She’d not checked the time yesterday. Damn. Sneaky snake. ‘Oh.’

‘Oh indeed,’ he replied, chuckling and turning back to his notes while his fingers briefly danced over the inside of her thigh, making her twitch in reaction.

‘How much time is left?’ she asked hoarsely.

‘You don’t know?’ he teased, giving her thigh another squeeze.

‘I wouldn’t ask if I did.’

His pen scratched through one of his previous assumptions, replacing it with a different number.

‘And why is it my responsibility to let you know?’ he asked, not removing his eyes from the paper he was working on. ‘I thought you’d already learned how to tell time.’

Hermione’s expression darkened.

‘No, I think I won’t inform you. It’s better if you learn your lesson the hard way, Hermione. Now stop disturbing me. I almost got this figured out. The sooner I am done, the more time there is left for … other activities,’ he added suggestively.

A sharp intake of air and the sudden tension in her muscles were the most telling reactions she had, but she couldn’t deny how her heart skipped a beat before fluttering like crazy and how her inner temperature seemed to rise significantly. A part of her wanted to pummel him to death for being him and another part wanted to grab the front of his shirt and snog his brains out. Realising both options wouldn’t get the desired result, she stayed still, reading what he wrote down while enjoying the “cared for” feeling his hand on her thigh evoked – surrendering to his possessiveness. To be owned was so relaxing, calming, she wanted to cherish the moment, especially since her rational mind knew it wouldn’t last forever. Soon, she’d be out there, back in the real world, with real life obligations. But it was nice to let go once in a while.

Suddenly, he leaned back, staring at his solution. ‘What do you think?’

‘Ermmm…’ She scooted forward to reach for the papers, brushing against his leg in the process. His fingertips stroked her sensitive skin softly. Trying not to react to his excellent attentions, she failed miserably by squirming a bit. Her wide skirt had ridden up to only barely cover her private parts, which felt all the more exciting since she wasn’t wearing any underwear. Soon, Hermione realised he went out of his way to distract her attention away from his work. She shifted her weight from one buttock to the other in reflex, and from the corner of her eye, she noticed this turned his expression beyond pleased. Almost letting out a relieved breath when she finished reading, she opened her mouth to comment on it.

Swiftly, one arm slid underneath both her legs and the other snaked behind her back. He lifted her legs up, turned her a quart, and pulled her onto his lap.

‘Eep!’ Hermione cried out, crumbling the papers as she grabbed a hold of him, too, trying to regain her balance in his arms. Her heart was pounding in her throat before she realised she wasn’t going to fall because he was holding her tightly. Quickly, she slapped his chest. ‘Couldn’t you like warn me or something?’

‘Not nearly as entertaining,’ he said, winking at her.

Hermione huffed, shaking her head as she tried to iron out the papers on her thighs, which gave her a pretty good view of her neatly shaven pubic region since her skirt was now crumbled together somewhere around her waist.

‘Nice view, don’t you agree?’ Riddle asked, looking down, too. ‘It’s so tempting to …’ His fingers slid up her thigh till they could go no farther.

Hermione gasped, jolting her head back. Her pupils dilated, and she stared into his eyes, her mouth still slightly ajar. Her body elicited all kinds of delicious tingles in anticipation. The arm around her waist snaked up to her head, his fingers massaging her scalp. For a second, Hermione closed her eyes, enjoying the sensations. Then, he took a firm hold of her curls and tilted her head abruptly. Her eyes snapped open, meeting his nervously right before he captured her mouth in a brutal, domineering kiss. She could do nothing but follow his lead. This was something else. She’d never been kissed with this much determination and conviction.

And she loved it.

Hermione tossed the papers away and laced her arms around his neck, enjoying the softness of his hair between her fingers. Her muffled, content moan vibrated between their bodies as she returned his kiss with equal vigour. A moan that turned deeper when he stopped caressing her folds and parted them to rub his thumb over her sensitive nub. Her fingers clutched to his hair, her back arching. She held on tightly as he circled his thumb over her clit, faster and faster, alternating the pressure so she couldn’t anticipate the strength of the electrical shocks searing through her body, connecting with her sex that became slick in need.

Everything he did to her demanded her complete and utter surrender: The way his tongue caressed against hers, exploring her mouth at his convenience. The way he forced her to stay upright with the tight hold he had on her hair and the bend arm pressed against her upper back. The way he tightened his fist and would put pressure on her roots in rhythmic synchronism with their kissing, letting her feel who was in control here. And the way his thumb and fingers teased her nether regions until her entire body was on fire. She was twitching on his lap, moaning into his mouth helplessly. He yanked on her hair, tilting her head to the other side without disconnecting their lips or allowing her to catch her breath. Her full attention was forced to stay on his actions.

He pressed his wrist against the inside of her thigh when he entered her with one finger. Swiftly he found a rhythm between his thumb and finger. Her breathing turned heavier and heavier; her heart rate went through the roof; uncontrollable spasms made her legs jerk; her nipples had hardened into hard peaks; and her skin was perspiring in response to her rising need. She felt herself spiralling quickly out of control; so when he pushed two fingers inside of her and shifted the pressure on her walls by spreading and closing his fingers all the while rotating his wrist and intermittently stroking her clit mercilessly, she thought she was going to die. The painful pressure inside of her was rising, building, growing. So close. She was so close. She could feel it coming.

Suddenly, he yanked her away from his mouth by her hair, causing her to yelp. His other hand held still with his fingers motionless inside of her.

‘You were going to say, Mudblood,’ he hissed at her.

‘Uh?’ Hermione replied, not really in a state to comprehend anything or form a sensible thought.

He sighed exaggeratingly. ‘Do I need to paint everything out to your silly Gryffindoric mind?’

Before she had a chance to wrap her brain around what he was saying, he flicked his thumb over her clit.

‘Ooooh.’

‘Apparently, I do,’ he added with a vicious grin. ‘You were supposed to tell me how brilliant my solution to your department’s problem is.’

‘Incredibly brilliant,’ Hermione immediately agreed to. Eh, whatever kept him going.

Tom clicked with his tongue disapprovingly. ‘Now that sounded incredibly insincere and self-serving, Granger.’

Hermione tightened her grip on his neck, trying to bring him closer again. She might as well have tried to move a heavy marble statue for he remained stationary, his eyes glinting mockingly at her.

‘I don’t think so,’ he taunted, ‘not until you tell me your opinion precisely and in detail.’

She let out a disappointed groan when he removed his hand from her core.

‘Start talking, Granger. You’re normally not this mute.’

Hermione tried catching her breath while he unbuttoned her blouse at her chest, rubbing her juices over her swollen right breast. Coming down somewhat from her daze, she opened her mouth.

‘I do think it is brilliant,’ she objected to his “insincere” judgement, ‘maybe even too brilliant because it might be impossible to execute for someone else but you, and I doubt – oww.’ He’d twisted her nipple hard.

‘You’ve got quite sensitive breasts,’ he mused, seeming happy about that. ‘It will be my pleasure to teach you complete and immediate compliance by either rewarding,’ he massaged them gently, ‘or punishing them.’ The hard squeeze he placed on her nipple didn’t come as a surprise but made her cry out in pain nevertheless.

Hermione glared at him reproachfully. ‘That really was unnecessary.’

‘Not from where I am sitting,’ he replied, smirking at her as he stroked her bruised nipple softly. ‘And I don’t think you really mean it either, Granger, you love what I do to you.’ He waited, allowing his words to sink in before he continued, ‘So, you were saying something about the execution of my brilliant plan?’ Here, he smiled broadly.

‘Well, I think there will be a problem in obtaining the necessary phoenix ashes. But even if the department should have a supply of it, I still believe the spells are too complicated for the average Unspeakable to perform,’ she replied honestly.

The devious glee on his face told her she’d made a huge mistake, but she had no idea what that mistake could be.

‘Okay then,’ he said cheerfully, suddenly tossing her off his lap and back into a seated position next to him.

Hermione nearly tumbled over, catching her weight on the edge of the bed with her palms and leaning forward in shock. Her hair fell alongside her face, masking her horrified, frustrated expression while he kept talking in that upbeat tone of voice.

‘I’ll teach you how to do it. Get up.’

What?! He was going to leave her hanging? AGAIN!

The bed creaked when he rose and walked away from her, carelessly, as if there weren’t an extremely dissatisfied witch on the bed behind him. Hermione wiped her forehead, trying to regain her composure while her mind’s eye brought up visuals of a suffering Tom Riddle in vengeance. She heard the water streaming out of the facet as he washed his hands. Hermione took in a deep breath. She needed to clean up, too, and for that she needed to get to her feet. Still wobbly, she rose – glad she didn’t tumble back on her bum. Her revenge would just have to wait.

Tom Riddle was watching her progress lazily, leaning with his butt against the sink. Ankles crossed, his long legs were held at a slight angle to his upper body, while he dried his hands carefully with the fluffy, white towel. He tossed it back on the hanger behind him and placed his hands on the sink’s rim on either side of him, effectively blocking her.

‘Excuse me,’ Hermione tried.

‘You’re excused.’

‘Do you mind? I’d like to clean up, too.’

His dark eyes flickered over her body appreciatively. Hermione knew she had to be quite a sight. Her legs were sticky and so was one of her breasts. She’d been able to keep her blouse from sticking to it by opening it farther, giving him quite the peepshow. She’d perspired, giving her a generally icky feeling, and she had sex-hair. Overall, she just looked like someone who’d been properly shagged, which she hadn’t.

Damn bloody tease.

‘I think you look positively scrumptious like this,’ Riddle said, a mischievous twinkle running through his eyes.

Hermione sighed, dropping her head in annoyance. She really should’ve seen this coming and not giving him the satisfaction of being able to refuse her.

‘Fine,’ she snapped, tossing her hands in the air and closing her blouse demonstratively. Apparently, she would be in need of a Cleansing Charm as soon as she was out from underneath these wards.

Thirty minutes later, she had a clear concept on how to perform his solution on the Bell Jar and he bid her goodbye, smiling satisfied at how she still appeared ruffled.

When Hermione closed the second door behind her and had arrived in the safety of the corridor where she could use magic, she focused. Her mind went over all the things Riddle had told her about using wandless magic purposely. Concentration, determination and desire were the key ingredients to success. And she really, REALLY didn’t want to show the guards her current appearance.

Suddenly, she felt her magic swirl around her as the clear indicators of a functioning Cleansing Charm smoothly moved over her body. Smiling brightly, Hermione jumped in excitement. She’d done it! She’d performed wandless magic purposely for the first time. She’d failed every other time before. With every passing day and every subsequent failure, it had become increasingly difficult to admit that to the very critical wizard locked up behind her, but now, she no longer had to. Making a little victorious dance, she pulled her underwear out of her jacket’s pocket where it was discretely tucked away and quickly put on her bra and knickers before moving upstairs.

Sure, Riddle had probably meant no underwear all the time, but she wasn’t going to be caught dead without her knickers outside of his presence. She felt secure that, unlike Ron, he had the decency not to go through her pockets unasked. So, he’d never know and even if he did find out … Hermione sniffed up her nose haughtily. She’d loved to see him try to enforce it. He was after all nicely tucked away in his cell. Sniggering to herself, she walked back to daylight and the normal, everyday world.

xxx

Her good mood had died out despite watching the hummingbird turn back into a fledgling and an egg before getting older again. When Hermione had seen the full contents of the tin containing phoenix ashes, she’d wondered just how many phoenixes they were taken from and if any of them had died because of it. She’d wrinkled her nose at Katie, who’d shrugged and said she might as well use it now since there was no way to return the ashes to their rightful owners. Reluctantly, Hermione had taken the ten ounces necessary and moved to the Time Chamber.

After Hermione’s extensive casting, the Bell Jar functioned as it was supposed to. Since there was no need for her to hover there, she went back to her tiny office. Ron had briefly popped in to give her a triumphant report of his latest success in apprehending a group of magical creature smugglers and he reminded her about their trip to the Burrow that evening. After he’d left, she scrambled through the papers on her desk, her mood rapidly deteriorating. Scribbling down the last sentence in her report, she looked up, feeling sour and unhappy, and she couldn’t pinpoint exactly why. She’d just succeeded at some very complicated magic, which normally made her elated and joyous but not today. And she liked going to the Burrow. She did. It was always cheerful and cosy there, homey – just what she needed.

No, after a bit of thinking, she knew exactly whom to blame for her current dark emotions: Tom Tease Riddle.

He continuously seemed to find pleasure in leaving her hot and bothered. She’d been so close to completion this time.

Damn fucking Dark Lords.

Closing her files with a snap, Hermione rose to her feet. She had plenty of overtime, and she needed a drink. A stiff one. Now.

xxx

‘She’s right over there, Mr Potter,’ the bartender said, waving at a dark corner of the empty pub. ‘I made sure she remained out of sight. Fortunately, it’s early, so there haven’t been many other customers around.’

‘Thank you for protecting her privacy and for owling me,’ Harry said, discretely handing the man ten Galleons.

‘No need,’ the bartender replied, obviously meaning the thanks since he pocketed the money quickly. ‘Everyone knows you two are best friends, and she said she’d curse off my balls if I contacted her husband, so …’ Trailing off, the man shivered briefly.

Harry snorted. ‘Sounds like her,’ he said, amused, before he gestured to a door nearby Hermione’s alleged position. ‘That’s the back door you mentioned in your letter?’

The bartender nodded in concurrence.

‘Then I got it from here on.’

Relieved, the bartender left Harry to go back about his business as far away from the scary, little witch as he could.

Self-assured, Harry walked to the corner, halting in front of the booth and taking in the unusual sight of a shit-drunk Hermione sprawled over the table – one hand on the bottle of Firewhiskey protectively and another curled around her nearly empty glass. Harry also noticed the already completely emptied out other bottle lying on the side, discarded.

Well, this is new, he thought, concerned. ‘Hermione?’

Her head snapped up abruptly. ‘Harry!’ she yelled loudly and far too boisterous. ‘Have a drink.’ She checked the contents of her bottle. ‘But get your own, okay? Mine’s only half full. This is the shittiest day ever. I am not sharing.’

She poured more into her glass and downed it immediately, not noticing how Harry scratched the back of his head, doubting what was the best strategy to undertake.

Hermione, on the other hand, felt that this was probably the best part of her day, unlike before when she’d not been shagged. Again. She should’ve killed him properly. Damn Aurors. He should’ve died in that damn sewer, choking on everyone else’s shit and pee. That would’ve been fitting. Damn Voldemort for always slipping through the cracks. Damn Voldemort for ignoring her needs. Just damn him altogether.

‘Maybe he can’t get it up anymore,’ she said snidely, making Harry shuffle on his feet while his face turned red in discomfort at what he thought were private problems between Ron and Hermione.

Yeah, that had to be it, Hermione’s drunk mind concocted. Too many bloody resurrections had to have some kind of adverse effect. No wonder he was so cranky all the time and kept killing people. Now, she finally learned the true reason behind the existence of Lord Voldemort, otherwise known as Lord Softy Wiener. Hermione snorted in derision. She continued drinking, determined to get wasted to the best of her abilities. Hermione Jean Granger never did anything half.

‘Let’s go, Hermione,’ Harry said carefully, taking a hold of her upper arm. ‘I’ll get you home.’

Oh great, when she got home, she would have to shag her blanks-shooting husband. Bad idea. Hermione groaned, hitting her head on the tabletop.

‘Have a drink or get lost,’ she slurred, ‘I’m staying right here.’

Harry snatched the glass away from her.

‘EH! I told you to get your own!’ she cried out, settling down quickly when she remembered her bottle. ‘Oh well, I got this,’ she murmured, placing the bottleneck against her lips and tilting it back.

‘We’re getting out of here now,’ Harry ordered, hoisting her arm over his shoulder and pulling her up.

‘Pffffttt… you’re no fun at all,’ Hermione objected as she staggered to her feet with the bottle in her hand. ‘Always so responsible and caaaaring, the famous Harry James Potter saves the day again. Do you get off on it, Harry, being everyone’s hero all the time? Hmm … probably not. You’re toooo disgustingly humble for that. Ron loves the attention – I bet he jerks off every time someone drools all over his magnificent heroic self. I bet he doesn’t tell them he hid at his brother’s – what’d you think?’

But she didn’t need any incentive from Harry. She kept going at a rapid pace.

‘Well, I don’t need saving unless it’s from the yapping morons in my life. Think you can fix that too, Harry? Maybe you could finally shut him up, not that I think it will work permanently. Nothing ever does.’

Harry desperately pretended not to hear what was coming out of her mouth as he dragged her out the door.

‘Yap, yap, yap, yap,’ Hermione droned, taking another sip from the bottle. ‘I don’t know how you managed all those years, Harry.’

‘It’s all right, Hermione. I’ll get you home and into bed,’ Harry replied, helping her in the car he’d left in the back alley and putting on her seatbelt.

‘To bed,’ Hermione slurred, ‘sounds like a wonderful idea, Harry. Not that much interesting has happened there before, you needn’t worry about performance anxiety.’

Harry shook his head. Did he just hear her correctly? Putting it on her current intoxicated state, he quickly moved around the car and took the driver’s seat. He really needed to have a talk with Ron and make him see he needed to pay more attention to Hermione. He’d never seen her in a state like this and it worried him.

‘You just need to rest, Hermione. You and Ron have both been under too much stress lately,’ he replied, starting the car quickly.

‘Oh yeah, Ron,’ she said, as if he were news to her, waving dismissively with her hand all the while leaning her head against the side window. It felt nice and cool to her heated face; so she pressed her cheek against it, attempting to gain as much contact as possible.

‘And he has to be right ALL the time,’ she continued, making Harry’s eyebrows rise. ‘Doesn’t he know that’s so annoying? Mr Know-It-All, phooey. As if the rest of the world is crazy. HAH! I know who needs to visit a mental institution. I’ve never met anyone with so many childhood issues. Boohoo, nobody wanted me. Pfffttt… Yeah, I feel all weepy and sad and concerned for his feeble well-being now.’ Another derisive snort left her mouth.

She raised the bottle to her lips when it suddenly vanished. Unseen to her, Harry pocketed his wand. Confused, Hermione checked her empty hand as if the bottle would miraculously reappear if she looked long enough. Then, she checked the glove compartment before she bent at the waist, patting underneath her seat with her hand. When she was about to undo her seatbelt to be able to reach farther, Harry locked it with a flick of his wrist. She kept pressing the button to unlock it without success, slurring about needing to find her liquor or the day would seriously go to waste.

‘Oh!’ she called out in revelation, as if a lightbulb had flashed above her head, ‘I still got Bloodwine at home from my visit to Transylvania. I’ve been told it packs quite a punch.’

Satisfied, she leaned back in the seat, turning her head to Harry and then to the speedometer. Next, Harry had to pull her foot of his as she tried to make him press the gas pedal harder.

‘Hermione … HERMIONE DON’T!’ he yelled when she bent at her waist again and landed between his legs, pressing the pedal with both hands.

The car swerved over the road before stopping with squeaking tires right in front of a thick oak tree. Harry let out a relieved breath. Then, he pulled the stunned witch off him, laying her down in the seat he’d reclined with another wave of his wand. He hadn’t wanted to Apparate her, knowing that was sickening enough when one was sober. So, he’d opted for a car, not knowing it would nearly get them both killed. Without further ado, he drove on and parked in front of Hermione’s flat. Since she was out now, he unlocked the seatbelt and pulled her in his lap before Disapparating.

When he arrived in her flat, he undid the Stunner and she came to in his arms, still mumbling about him needing to drive faster.

‘Oh, we’re here. Good, the liquor cabinet is … I – I … am tired,’ she mumbled incoherently, yawning. She tried to stagger away from him and nearly fell, wobbling on her heels. ‘Bed.’

‘I’ll get you there,’ Harry said, hoisting her up and half-carrying her to the bedroom. She didn’t make it easy with her constant swaying and coming up with different ideas on their way over, one which included snogging him, but he finally got her into the bedroom.

Gently, he laid Hermione down on her bed, prying her arms of his neck and hoping she was drunk enough not to remember her behaviour in the morning. He was pretty sure she’d be embarrassed as hell. She was fast asleep when he took off her shoes and pulled the covers over her.

‘Feel better, Hermione,’ he said, kissing her forehead. ‘I hope you have enough Sobering Potion stored.’

A loud snore was her only reply as he closed the bedroom door behind him and sat down in the easy chair, waiting for Ron. He’d tried staying out of their relationship, ignoring the signs of unhappiness to the best of his abilities as he didn’t want to get caught in the middle and be forced to pick a side. Harry sighed, ruffling his hands through his hair absentmindedly. This was exactly what he had feared when they’d started dating: that their relationship would fail and their mutual friendship would lie in ruins in the wake of a no doubt nasty break up. He recalled very well how things had been during his sixth year at Hogwarts and he had no desire to see Hermione that miserable again.

Swiftly, he sent a Patronus message to Molly Weasley to let her know he’d be late in picking up his son. He knew she wouldn’t mind at all to have some additional quality time with James and would probably spoil him rotten when she was by herself with him. Harry smiled, knowing that Ginny had futilely tried to stop her mother from turning James into a spoilt toddler that always got his way. Molly had merely replied by stating it was her duty as a grandmother to spoil him, causing Ginny to give up what Harry had deemed an impossible endeavour from the start.

However, Ginny had limited the amount of contact time between James and Molly significantly after that. Only today, Ginny was reporting the latest Quidditch match between her old team – the Holyhead Harpies – and Montrose Magpies. She wouldn’t be home until much later, depending on how quickly the Snitch would be caught. Considering both teams lacked a good Seeker, Harry had not got his hopes up on seeing his wife that evening at all. Molly would have a field day with James, and he’d probably receive a scolding for leaving James at the Burrow for so long. A fond smile crossed his face. He was suitably happy with his wife. If only Hermione and Ron would feel the same about each other, his life would be damn near perfect.

Harry grabbed the nearby Daily Prophet and started completing the crossword puzzle.

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The Prisoner