The Curious Case of Two Souls

by LadyMiya

Summary:

Voldemort died in the final battle. But when has that ever stopped him from possessing someone? This time, Hermione will fix it by herself.

Notes:

Hi, hello, good afternoon! I'm back after *checks notes* five years of inactivity! Maybe with a few less organs, but who's counting? I have been writing this story in between other projects for the past four years. As always, I like to finish my fics before starting to post them, so you can expect weekly updates for the coming 15 weeks.

I have had help from the gracious, wonderful, spectacular NerysDax in editing this story. If there are any exclamation points missing, she is to blame. But also assume that any commas are her doing because fuck it if I know how the English language work.

I will now write the trigger warnings. If you don't want any spoilers, I suggest skipping them.

Content warnings: torture, non-graphic organ harvesting, murder, body modifications, non-graphic magical surgery, kidnapping, forced engagement, Tomione endgame

Sexual content warnings: anal, oral, sex toys, bondage, sex during torture, rough sex, Lord Voldemort being dominating, non-con, sex wake up call, mastrubation

Chapter 1: Prologue

 

Hermione stared at the cottage. She had followed the map through the forest to a T, despite half hoping she would get lost. Because getting lost was a more appealing option than what waited for her in that cottage.

Was she really doing this? Any number of things could go wrong, and this time, she didn’t have anyone backing her up. All she had told her friends was that she would visit Viktor Krum, because he wasn’t feeling well.

Which, technically , was true. 

Just not the way she had implied to her friends.

Drawing a deep breath, she walked up the gravel path and knocked on the wooden door.

He opened almost immediately. He probably had some wards up to alert him if people were close by, just like he had an Anti-Apparition ward.

“Hermione,” he said, smiling.

She could tell that it wasn’t Viktor. Not only because he pronounced her name correctly, but because of that glint in his eyes. A wolf trapped in a sheep’s body. She forced herself to meet his gaze. 

“Voldemort.”

He chuckled. “Welcome. I am very curious to hear your proposal.”

A fire was burning in the hearth of the cottage, and Hermione removed her cloak, hanging it on the wall next to the door. 

When he placed his hand at the small of her back, she jumped.

“Don’t worry, I won’t bite,” he purred. “Not yet, at least.”

She took a deep breath. “If you want my help, you won’t hurt me.”

“Oh, but pain can be such a good motivator,” he said jokingly, but she could hear the threat behind it.

He put his hand at the small of her back again, more firmly this time, and led her to the wooden table. She sat down on the bench, and he took the seat on the opposite side, leaning his back against the wall behind him.

He looked so much like Viktor, but without any of his warmth. Viktor had always reminded her of a puppy. He would look at her with trust and devotion, and act like he hadn’t quite grown into his body yet.

This man …

Voldemort . 

It was hard to even think about it. To admit to herself that it was real. That what she had seen in the Chamber of Secrets at the final battle hadn’t just been a nightmare. But the man in front of her was proof enough.

Voldemort’s gaze was calculating, and he moved like he knew exactly how deadly he was. He was in control, literally and metaphorically. He was inside Viktor’s body like a tumour.

Hermione removed a scroll from her bag where she had written down her ideas.

“I can help you split yourself from Viktor’s body,” she began.

“My body,” Voldemort interrupted softly. “Viktor wouldn’t exist if I hadn’t created him.”

Hermione forced herself not to argue that very philosophical question. This was not a classroom. She would not get extra points for being a know-it-all. Probably just get tortured.

“I can help you two split. Become two different persons.”

Voldemort opened his mouth, but instead of words, a whine came out. He rose swiftly, placing both his hands on the table, and stared at her with fear in his eyes.

“Her-my-nine, don’t do this.” Viktor grasped her hand. “Run. Forget me and run!”

Before Hermione could respond, Voldemort was back, letting go of her hand as if it was poison. He cleared his throat and sat down again.

“I admit there are some things holding me back, but I have nothing but time to work on it.”

Hermione forced her hand to stop trembling.

“I have read about all cases of two beings inhabiting one body. In the end, they all died an early death. And from what I can gather, the bigger the struggle, the earlier the death occurs. You don’t have time.”

That struck a nerve. She could see it in the way his wand hand clenched. It gave her the confidence to continue.

“It’s been four months since the final battle. If you had known a way to solve this, Viktor wouldn’t still be here, and you wouldn’t have responded to my letters. And you can’t ask anyone else for help and risk letting the Order know you are still alive.”

“Oh, you think you know everything,” Voldemort mocked her. “I made sure you couldn’t tell the Order, didn’t I?”

Hermione pressed her lips together. She had taken an Unbreakable Vow for Viktor’s sake, because she had hoped that it wasn’t true. That Voldemort had merely used the Imperius Curse on Viktor. She couldn’t tell anyone about what she had learned in the Chambers of Secrets.

“And that’s why I will help you. In return, I want you to swear to let Viktor go once you two have split bodies.”

He smiled and leaned forward. Then, in the blink of an eye, he snatched the scroll from her hand.

Hermione huffed. “Do you think I’m that stupid? It’s encrypted.”

Voldemort looked through it. “Aren’t you prepared?”

He tossed the scroll back to her.

“Very well, I think we can reach an agreement. After I have evaluated your usefulness.”

“What, like a test?” she asked.

Voldemort regarded her thoughtfully. “Yes. You better make yourself comfortable, Hermione. You will be staying here with me for some time.”

Chapter 2: Strange Bedfellows

 

The cottage only had one bedroom. Of course. A tiny bedroom, which was mostly taken up by a queen size bed and a narrow table beneath the window. If she were here with anyone else, she might have thought it cosy with the beautiful red-and-brown bedspread and the knitted tablecloth. Now she just felt trapped.

“Should I just conjure up a bed in the other room then?'' she asked.

Voldemort was leaning against the doorpost. “You have shared a bed with me before.”

Hermione felt her cheeks turn red, both from embarrassment and anger.

“I shared a bed with Viktor, not you.”

“Are you sure?” he purred.

Hermione crossed her arms. “Yes. You were busy terrorising Britain at the time.”

“And yet, I remember you vividly,” he said softly and took a step closer to her.

Hermione took a step back and tried not to let her discomfort show. He was just trying to unnerve her. “You have seen Viktor’s memory of it. It’s not the same.”

“Is it not? I didn’t just see it; I felt it. Viktor’s memories are my memories. And you are the only partner he has had that stood out to me.”

He had backed her against the table. She stood frozen as he captured a lock of her hair.

“Tell me, have you had any other partners?” he asked quietly.

“That’s none of your business,” she growled.

He smiled at her tone. “Take it as the first question for your test.”

“Are you serious?”

“Always.” He twisted the lock of her hair around his finger.

She wanted to hex him. Do something that made that smile disappear from his lips.

“No. It’s not like I’ve had the time,” she finally muttered.

“Good, I dislike sharing.” He let go of her hair and took a step back. “As for the sleeping arrangements, you will sleep in here and I shall sleep in the other room. There is nothing dangerous for you to stumble upon in this room.”

Hermione exhaled as quietly as she could.

“Do you wish to rest before dinner? Or perhaps freshen up?” he asked.

“I could use the bathroom,” she mumbled.

“It’s through here.”

He led her back to the main room and to the door next to the front door. Once she had closed and locked the door, she sank down on the floor and closed her eyes for a moment.

She could do this. She had to do this. No one else knew Voldemort was alive, and even if they did, they wouldn’t know how to get rid of him. Clearly, he had contingency plan upon contingency plan. The only way to get to know them was to study him. Dumbledore had clearly thought so as well, otherwise he wouldn’t have shown Harry all those memories.

Viktor was sharing a body with him and, as Hermione had suspected, memories. If Voldemort could see Viktor’s memories, then Viktor would be able to see Voldemort’s. He could find out what more Voldemort had done to keep himself alive.

Also, Viktor deserved saving. Hermione didn’t have the same feelings for him as she had two years ago, but she still counted him as one of her closest friends.

After the battle at the Ministry her fifth year, Hermione had spent a few weeks in Bulgaria with Viktor. The curse she had been subjected to had taken long to heal and together with losing Sirius, she had been depressed. Just like her friends.

Viktor had comforted her, made her laugh again, made her … a woman. She would always be grateful for those weeks of passion.

But she was so tired. Tired of being the one who had to save everyone. Even though Harry had been the chosen one, she was the one who had done all the research for him. She had been the one thinking and making plans from his impulses.

Harry was great in a fight. He had fast reflexes and trusted his gut, which made him quicker than she could ever be. A natural. She had worked hard to become as good as him at duelling.

In this situation, Harry would be useless. It was up to her to solve this.

The wash basin was magical, and she only had to wave her hand to make the water flow from a bronze tap. Then, she vanished the content from the bowl. It was the same type of system Viktor had had at his house.

A mirror in a bronze frame hung above the basin. She straightened as she met her own reflection. She would do this for Viktor. For everyone. She was Hermione freaking Granger and she had been through hell and back countless times. What was once more?

In the main room, Voldemort had already set the table and was standing by the cauldron hanging over the fire in the hearth. It smelled good, like some sort of stew.

With a gesture of his finger, the content of the cauldron flew through the air, landing in the bowls on the table.

“Have a seat,” he said and went to the bench by the wall.

Hermione took up her wand and cast a check for any poison in the food, but it showed nothing. Voldemort looked amused as he began eating.

“If I wished to kill you, you would be dead,” Voldemort remarked.

“There are many things you can put in a stew that aren’t deadly,” Hermione pointed out.

“It must be exhausting being so paranoid.”

Hermione snorted. “It’s not paranoia if there really are people out to get you.”

“True. I know many, many people who would pay a fortune to have you at their mercy,” he said casually.

“Likewise,” she just stated, trying to sound just as casual as she began eating.

It was just as delicious as it smelled. Who would have thought Voldemort could cook? Viktor had never been able to make anything like this.

“What did your friend Weasley say when you told him you were coming here?” Voldemort asked suddenly.

Hermione frowned at him. “Why do you ask?”

“He was always so jealous, especially of Viktor.”

“Well, Ron and I aren’t a couple, so he didn’t have much say in it.”

“Oh, what happened?” He sounded very curious.

“The war ended,” Hermione answered shortly.

It was still a bit painful to think about.

“And you once again realised how boring and shallow he is?”

Hermione flinched. That was what she had told Viktor two years ago. That nothing would ever happen between her and Ron because of how shallow he was. And boring, only caring about Quidditch.

“I don’t wish to discuss it with you,” she stated.

The truth was worse. Ron had always cared too much about what other people thought of him and had let that define him. Now he was a war hero, just like Harry. But while Harry hated the glory, Ron loved it.

She was a war hero, too, but she had never got the attention the two of them got. Or the fangirls.

“Yes, you are far too good for him,” Voldemort said, as if to comfort her. “Harry thought so, too.”

“What?” she asked, surprised.

“He wrote to me just before you got here,” he said, looking pleased. “He asked me to take care of you.”

Hermione just stared at him, not knowing what to say.

“I reassured him that I would.” He smiled.

Hermione couldn’t help it, she began to laugh. She laughed so hard tears started to run down her cheeks. Voldemort just looked at her with a smile on his face until she finally managed to calm down.

“This is so bizarre,” she gasped, wiping her cheeks with the napkin. “If Harry knew …”

“But he doesn’t. And never will.”

Hermione snorted. Not until Voldemort himself made some miscalculation and revealed himself at least. 

She resumed eating.

***

Hermione had a hard time falling asleep that night. She was so tired, but her mind wouldn’t stop spinning, thinking over everything Voldemort had said and done that night. Had she missed something?

It was well after midnight by the time she fell asleep, and she hadn’t been sleeping for long when she was woken up by someone sitting down on the bed next to her.

In a second, she had her wand in her hand and was just about to throw a curse when the lamp on her nightstand was lit and cast a yellowish light on her visitor.

“Viktor?” she asked, surprised.

Because there was no doubt it was him. His mannerisms were completely different from Voldemort. His posture had sunken down, and he was looking nervous.

“Her-my-nine,” he said. “Why are you here?”

“To help you of course,” she said in a low voice. “Where is … he?”

“Sleeping,” Viktor said in an equally low voice. “I don’t know how much time I have. It takes much out of him.”

“What does?” Hermione asked, eager to find out Voldemort’s every weak point.

“Everything. Keeping me down, controlling the magics, even moving. But he is getting stronger.”

“The magics? You mean there is more than your magic in you?”

“Yes, I felt it, before he came. Like a … disease, but from inside. It started stinging when we first met. I … I thought it was because of you. Because of … my feelings. But it was Potter.”

“How did Harry …? Oh … the Horcrux,” Hermione whispered.

Viktor nodded. “Yes. Every time a piece was destroyed, that disease in me grew. I … I don’t really understand. I only know because he knows. He realised it when he awoke. In here.” He pointed to his head. “But, Her-my-nini, he is stuck. He has been trying to break free ever since, but he can’t. Then you wrote, and he … he was so happy. He is so happy you are here.”

Hermione felt a chill go down her spine. “Why is he happy?”

Viktor shook his head. “He can cloud his thoughts sometimes. I can’t see it all. But he thinks you can help him.”

“I will. To get you free from him,” Hermione said.

But Viktor shook his head. “No, I’m keeping him down! If he is stuck in me, I can stop him. I won’t let him hurt you.”

“Of course, magic is all about intent,” Hermione said softly.

However, as long as Voldemort was inside Viktor, they couldn’t kill him. But she couldn’t say that. Then Voldemort would know for sure what her motivation was. She had to be careful what she said.

“Come here,” Hermione finally said and moved over so Viktor could lie down next to her. It was evident that he was scared and the least she could do was comfort him.

He curled up on his side, and she embraced him with one arm, stroking his back. She could feel his ragged breath against her chest.

“I will help you, Viktor,” she said into his hair. It smelled so familiar. Comforting. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

When she had felt so lost, he had held her like this. That was probably why she fell asleep.

Next time she woke up, it was by the sun shining through a gap in the curtains. She yawned, stretched her back and opened her eyes.

And screamed.

“Good morning to you, too,” Voldemort said, lying on his side, watching her.

Hermione pressed her back against the wall, pulling the covers up around her. “What in the name of Merlin are you doing here?”

“I was surprised, too, when I woke up,” he said, stretching. “But it seems you were the one inviting me here.”

“I was comforting Viktor ,” she hissed.

“Oh, he appreciated it. Especially the view of your breasts.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “Get out.”

Voldemort smiled but got off the bed. “I will begin breakfast.”

The nerve of that man. Was he merely trying to make her uncomfortable? Drive home the point that she was here at his mercy?

No, Viktor had said that he wouldn’t let Voldemort hurt her.

Was Voldemort trying to put a wedge between her and Viktor’s friendship? That sounded more plausible.

By the time she got dressed, breakfast was ready. Voldemort had made eggs, toast and cut up fresh fruit. She had no idea where he had got them, because she hadn’t seen them last night. For all she knew, he had a poor house-elf enslaved somewhere.

“What’s that?” Hermione asked, nodding at a small wooden box on the table.

“That’s your first test,” Voldemort said as he poured milk into his tea.

“What’s in the box?”

“Something that will require you to use the Dark Arts.”

Very suspicious, Hermione decided not to even touch it until she had finished eating. For all she knew, touching it cursed her.

“Are you not going to argue that there is no task that can’t be solved without using the Dark Arts?” he asked, smirking.

“Nope,” she responded and mixed the fruits in a bowl before eating.

“My, what would Potter say?”

Harry would definitively claim that you didn’t need the Dark Arts for anything (despite having used the Unforgivable Curses several times), but that was because he had her to figure out how to make the Dark Arts less … well, dark. Or, at the very least, she would forgo telling him that something technically was considered dark. All because he regretted using the Unforgivable Curses so much after he had used them in moments of hate. 

“Harry isn’t here,” she stated. “I have no interest in discussing the arbitrary way the ministry classifies magic.”

“Is that so?” Voldemort said, smiling.

“Yes, now shush, I believe I have a test to take,” she said, deciding that she would rather start the test than be forced to talk to him.

As she finished her tea, she leaned in and studied the box closer. It was just an inch high and made of sturdy wood. A rune was carved into the top of it, and she recognised it as a rune for danger. However, when she walked to the side of the table and saw the rune upside down, it looked like a completely different rune. Joy or laughter.

She had read about that particular symbol in a Dark Art’s book. It was an evil trick. The more magic you used on the box, the stronger the curse inside it got. Thus, when someone saw the danger rune, they would start examining the box with magic, unwittingly making the curse so strong that if you were unlucky it could kill you. In the past, wizards had used it to murder unsuspecting victims.

There were many ways to disable such a device. The easiest way was to just trigger the curse when it was still weak and use a shield. However, that didn’t destroy the box, and as long as the box was around, you could arm it again.

It was dangerous, and she decided to both rid the world of its evil and show Voldemort who exactly he was dealing with.

She went to the cupboard in the kitchen and found a small cauldron with a lid. With a tap of her wand, she made it bigger.

Voldemort was eyeing her with interest. When she put the box inside the cauldron and went out of the cottage, he followed her silently.

She put the cauldron on the ground and took a deep breath. This required great focus.

Focusing on her target, she silently cast the spell.

From her wand, a tiny dragon of fire rose and dove down into the cauldron. Quickly, she put the lid on and sealed it magically so no air could get into the cauldron.

A muted puff was heard from inside the cauldron, but the lid stayed put. Hermione smiled, it had worked. She looked up at Voldemort who watched her with raised eyebrows.

“Fiendfyre. Well, clearly my information about you is outdated.”

Hermione shrugged. “I saw Fiendfyre used at the final battle. It wasn’t what I had been led to believe.”

“What do you mean?” Voldemort looked intrigued.

“I had read that it was almost impossible to extinguish and ate everything in its path since it is so unbelievably hot. But it’s still fire, and fire needs oxygen to survive,” Hermione explained. “Also, the bigger it is, the hotter it gets. So if you start out small, it’s easier to contain.”

“You have been experimenting with Fiendfyre?” Voldemort asked in disbelief.

She smiled with satisfaction. Clearly she had managed to impress him.

Fire had always been her expertise. It was one of the first spells she had learned, and even as a child, she remembered how fire just … spoke to her in a way. She had no problem controlling it. Therefore, when she had seen that someone as stupid as Crabbe had managed to conjure it, she had decided to do some careful testing inside the Room of Requirement. The Room had been completely restored after Crabbe’s death, but the objects that had been in that particular room had vanished.

Not that she would confess that to Voldemort. If he knew that the Room of Requirement was safe to practise things like Fiendfyre, there was no telling what he would do with that information.

“You are further ahead on the path of the Dark Arts than I had thought for one of Dumbledore’s protégées,” Voldemort said quietly. “Have you ever cast the Unforgivables?”

“Yes.” 

They all had done despicable things to end the war.

His eyebrows rose even higher. “Have you ever killed anyone?”

“We were at war, so yes,” Hermione said in a low voice. “But only in self defence.”

He snorted. “There are many ways to disable someone in a battle without killing them.”

“Yes, I’m aware.” She walked into the cottage again, and he followed her. “So I take it I passed your test?”

“Oh yes, Hermione. Outstanding. I will have to make the next one harder.”

She groaned. “Can’t we just get started with splitting you and Viktor?”

“There are other skills necessary than just knowledge of the Dark Arts,” he said and went to a cupboard, tapping it with his wand for it to open.

Hermione went up behind him to see what he was hiding. She saw a row with books and scrolls at the top shelf, but the others were filled with dark jars with potion ingredients, different stones and crystals, and one row with just different weapons. What caught her attention was the lower row. She recognised the clear jars with milky white mist. They were memories.

Her mind was racing with ideas on how she would be able to access those memories, and thus, she didn’t notice him picking up one of the knives. Not until he grabbed her arm and made a long, deep cut through her cardigan and into the skin, right below her elbow.

She let out a yelp as a searing, burning pain slashed through her. Reflexively, she kicked him, hitting him right below his left knee.

Her whole arm was throbbing in a way she recognised all too well. She still had nightmares about that knife.

She was about to kick him again, but he let go of her and took a step back.

“Medical knowledge will also be—” he began, but she didn’t listen.

She held her arm tight against her chest, ran out the door and kept on running until Voldemort and the cottage were far away.

Chapter 3: Blast From The Past

 

When Hermione’s legs no longer could carry her, she was deep in the forest, surrounded by pine trees, moss and silence. She collapsed on the soft ground, the wild panic finally giving way to exhaustion. Only then could she start to inspect the wound.

She forced down a couple of deep breaths, reminding herself that she was not captured at Malfoy Manor. Bellatrix Lestrange was dead. Hermione had kicked her dead, twisted body just a few months ago. 

She was in control, and the only way she would find a solution was if she went about it rationally. If she couldn’t heal the wound, just cleaning it and stopping the bleeding would have to do.

When she pulled off her cardigan, she discovered that the wound didn’t bleed at all. Instead, the smell of burnt flesh met her. The cut was not deep, just long and narrow, going from the side of her wrist up to her elbow. Some magic in the knife had cauterised the wound, but the throbbing was just like when Bellatrix Lestrange had cut her while torturing her. The word “Mudblood” was still visible on her other arm. She hadn’t been able to remove it. Just healing the wound had been difficult; Bill Weasley had helped her back then. He had shown her how to use Dittany mixed with tea tree oil and cloves. He had told her that the best treatment were phoenix tears, but those were hard to find.

Unless … She remembered how Fawkes had come to Harry when he desperately needed him. Although, Harry had had a special bond with Dumbledore and been completely loyal to him. Would Fawkes show up for her, too?

Only one way to find out.

“Fawkes?” Hermione called out. “I need you.”

She didn’t know what had happened to Fawkes after Dumbledore had died. No one had seen him. Phoenixes couldn’t die, but it was possible that he no longer cared about humans and lived somewhere secluded with other phoenixes.

“If you can hear me, Fawkes, I’m trying to save my friends and I could really use your help.”

The forest stayed quiet.

Hermione put her face in her hands and felt some tears fall down her cheeks. Why had Voldemort used that particular knife? Did he know what Bellatrix had done to her?

He must have known. Harry had said that he’d arrived just after they had escaped and that he’d tortured Bellatrix and the others. He’d probably looked through their memories, too.

But why use that knife now? If he did know how Bellatrix had used it on her, he must know that she had been able to heal it before. Was it just to see how well she did it? Or was it just because he liked seeing her suffer?

Suddenly she could hear the most beautiful sound echoing around her. She looked up just in time to see a phoenix appear in a flash of fire.

“Fawkes,” she gasped in shock. “You came.”

The bird landed on the stone next to her. He met her gaze, looking solemn.

“I was cut with a cursed knife,” she said and showed him her arm as she got up. It was still throbbing painfully. “I’m sorry for bothering you, but could you help me?”

Fawkes bent his neck, and a few tears dropped down on her arm.

Immediately, the pain lessened, and she could see the wound healing in record speed until just a thin, white line remained. She let out a relieved breath.

“Thank you, Fawkes,” she said and stroked his back.

He inclined his head but continued to look at her like he wanted something.

“Oh, can I do something for you?” she asked.

He turned his head again, and a teardrop fell down his beak onto the stone. She stared at him, puzzled for a few seconds.

“Are you offering more tears?” she asked, uncertain.

He nodded.

“Are you sure? Thank you so much,” she said, awed that he was so giving.

She quickly conjured up a vial and held it out to him. She had only expected a few drops, but he kept going until the vial was almost full. Once he was done, he let out a cry, took off from the stone and disappeared in another flash of fire.

“Thank you,” she whispered after him and carefully sealed the flask before putting it in her pocket.

Fawkes’s song had calmed her down a lot, and she felt strong enough to return to the cottage. It took her a moment to orient herself, but with a simple Point Me spell, she knew which direction to walk.  As she walked, she compared her arms. You could still see a thin, white scar, but it was nothing like the ones on her other arm. Those scars were still red and could still throb sometimes, reminding her of that horrible day.

“You are back,” Voldemort noted when she entered the cottage again. He was sitting at the table, a book in front of him.

“Yes,” she said stiffly. “I healed my arm.”

Voldemort rose and went up to her. “May I see?”

Making sure she had her wand at the ready if he tried something again, she held up her arm.

He took it and stroked the scar slowly with his thumb as he inspected it. She could feel a tingle of magic in his touch.

“What did you use?” he finally asked.

“What I needed. Have I proven to you now that I have adequate knowledge?” she asked, her voice hard.

“I need to know what you did if I am to evaluate your performance,” he said calmly, inspecting the scar closer.

“I have been acquainted with that knife before,” she said darkly. “Dittany, tea tree oil and cloves worked to heal the wound.”

She didn’t want to tell him about Fawkes. He would no doubt try to exploit the bird if he thought Hermione could summon him.

Voldemort, however, didn’t seem convinced. 

“That wouldn’t heal it so fast or so smoothly. Let me see the other scar.”

He let go of her left arm.

“Why?”

“Because I want to see if it healed as well as this did.”

“I got that scar under completely different circumstances. I was tortured,” she spat, “by your Death Eater.”

Voldemort looked thoughtful for a few seconds. 

“Of course. Bella. She mentioned that she tortured you. Didn’t get anything useful out of you.”

“No, she did not. But I found out where she hid your Horcrux,” she said with satisfaction.

His gaze snapped back to her. “I see.”

She could see his wand hand twitch and readied herself to cast a protective shield if needed. But instead of reaching for his wand, he crossed his arms.

“What did Bella say that gave it away?”

Hermione regarded him. Was there any harm telling him now? The Horcrux and Bella were gone.

“She kept asking what we had stolen from her vault at Gringotts. And since she didn’t want to summon you until she had figured out what we had taken, I realised that she was keeping something for you down there. Didn’t take a genius to realise what that was.”

Voldemort’s face was unreadable as he looked at her. She realised that maybe it wasn’t the best idea to gloat about having foiled his plans for immortality. But she met his stare, refusing to back down. After what felt like the longest minute ever, he chuckled and went to sit down by the table again.

“What?” she asked and followed him.

“It finally makes sense now. How Potter could figure it all out. He had you.”

She couldn’t argue about that. Harry and Ron would have been lost without her.

“So what?” she asked, not seeing the humour of it.

“Now I have you,” he said with satisfaction.

“You don’t ‘have’ me. I’m here for Viktor’s sake,” she clarified.

“Yes. Darling Viktor. How fortunate I was that you met us and fell in love with us.”

“I fell in love with Viktor, ” she stressed.

“Oh, don’t disappoint me now, Hermione. You must have a theory on how I came to be here inside him,” he teased her.

Hermione had had several before coming here. But after what she had learned, only one made sense. 

“You tailored him from yourself and somehow impregnated Viktor’s mother. Because I take it he isn’t an exact copy?”

“No, not an exact copy, those never survived,” Voldemort said.

Hermione tried not to think about that unpleasant thought. “Does his mother know who his real father is?”

“No. She was easy to seduce, but she never knew who I was. Afterwards I removed the memory, so she couldn’t tell anyone about it. They both think Viktor is merely their son.”

Voldemort leaned back and smiled fondly.

“But Viktor is so much more than my son. If anything ever were to happen to my Horcruxes, he would act like a magnet for them, collecting them again, so that I could … start over.”

“So what went wrong?” Hermione asked and conjured up a pen to start taking notes.

“Why do you think something went wrong?” he asked, his smile fading.

“Because now you are stuck here.”

He stared daggers at her, but it wasn’t as frightening as it would have been with his old body.

“Do you want my help or not?” she asked, crossing her arms and meeting his glare.

He shifted in his seat. 

“No one has ever done this before. Every time someone has made a copy of themselves, they only needed a body. A soulless, empty shell, which they could take over right away. I needed something more. Something that would survive for years on its own, not to mention collect the pieces of my soul that disappeared from my Horcruxes. I experimented for decades. And it worked.”

He made a gesture over his body.

“I have bested death once more.”

And once more he was stuck, in need of help from others to find a new body. Pettigrew had sacrificed his own hand to create a body for Voldemort. She wondered what she would be forced to give up for Voldemort.

“Do you still have access to the research you used back then?” she asked. “You must have taken some notes.”

He scoffed. “I destroyed those the moment I succeeded in creating Viktor. I couldn’t let it lie around for my enemies to find.”

“Can you recreate them? It would help me if I could understand the process.”

Voldemort leaned forward over the coffee table. “Do you think you will be able to kill me, Hermione?”

“What?”

“I know your motivation, girl. You want to save your precious Viktor and kill me in the process.”

Hermione first wanted to deny it but then realised how foolish that was. 

“Sure, that would be the dream scenario. But my first priority is to save Viktor. To do that, I will need your research. Otherwise I risk making your situation even worse. I need to know everything .”

“Not until I get an oath from you to not harm me or kill me.”

“You are not really in a good place to negotiate,” Hermione remarked coldly. “You are stuck, and you will die all on your own without help.”

“Maybe. However, do I really need to remind you what I’m capable of, Hermione? If I go down, there is no telling how many will go down with me. Do you really want to risk that?”

Hermione glared at him. She had counted on him wanting to stay hidden and thus being careful with killing since it would alert everyone that he was still alive. But if he didn’t care about that, he could still kill a lot of people before someone stopped him. 

“If I take an oath, I want you to do the same. You will not harm me, Viktor or any of my friends.”

“Oh, aren’t we overreaching? No, that kind of language never works in an oath. But I’m not unreasonable, I will allow you to name three. Those three people, I will swear not to kill, and in return, you will swear not to kill me.” 

Voldemort folded his arms over his chest and leaned back. She had a feeling she couldn’t press her luck more than that. But who to choose? Viktor and Harry were the obvious answer; they were both the most likely people Voldemort would try to kill once he got his own body back. She could say her own name as the third one since she would be working with Voldemort, and it was possible that he planned to dispose of her the moment he no longer needed her. Or should she try to make herself safe some other way and use this opportunity to save someone else? Like Ginny. If Voldemort couldn’t go for Harry, it was possible he would go for Harry’s girlfriend instead. Or maybe Ron, his best friend?

No, a small, petty part of herself didn’t want to name Ron after how he had hurt her so many times. It was not like Ron really was a threat to Voldemort anyway. Ginny was a much more powerful witch than her brother. And she deserved to be safe.

“Fine,” Hermione said and withdrew her wand. “I, Hermione Granger, swear not to kill Tom Marvolo Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort. In return, he will swear not to kill Harry Potter, Viktor Krum or Ginny Weasley.”

Voldemort cringed at the mention of his given name, but didn’t look surprised over her choice, only amused as he withdrew his own wand. 

“I, Lord Voldemort, swear to not kill Harry Potter, Viktor Krum nor Ginny Weasley. In return, Hermione Granger swears not to kill me.”

A flash of magic came from both their wands and collided between them. Hermione could feel a shiver run up her spine as the magic took effect. It wasn’t impossible to break a wand oath like that, but it would be really hard, and since they had linked their oaths, both of them would break if she or Voldemort found a way to do that.

“Excellent,” Voldemort said and rose from the table.

From the cupboard, where he had kept the knife, he retrieved a small stone cup as well as several bottles of white mist. His memories. Hermione waited in anticipation as he poured them into a Pensieve.

“Ladies first,” he said and made a gesture towards the bowl.

Hermione got up and leaned over the Pensieve. It grabbed a hold of her and pulled her into it. She landed on a thick, red, furry carpet in front of a grand fireplace. The room was luxurious; windows reached from floor to ceiling and were framed with burgundy curtains. Between each window were chandeliers made of bronze, and on the opposite side of the room, big portraits hung of stern-looking wizards from different eras.

A man sat in a grand armchair in front of the fire. She recognised him from textbooks: Gellert Grindelwald. He looked middle-aged; his beard and hair were blond and curly, and he was dressed in what appeared fancy enough to be a dress robe. It was deep red with a silver thread that showcased the symbol that was still considered his: the Deathly Hallows.

The double doors behind the armchair opened. Behind it, Hermione could hear music and laughter. Grindelwald smiled wickedly, but didn’t get up from his chair. It was a display of power. By having his back turned to whoever came in, Grindelwald showed that he wasn’t afraid to get attacked from behind.

Three men entered the room. Hermione recognised the one in the middle as a much younger Voldemort, probably younger than she was now. She could definitely see why everyone had always said he was handsome. It was even more than that, he was beautiful and graceful even in the way he moved.

“Sir, we caught the intruder,” one of the men flanking Voldemort said.

If young Voldemort were worried, he didn’t show it at all. He just stood there with his hands clasped in front of him, waiting.

Grindelwald finally rose from the armchair. He was a big man. Not as tall as Voldemort but muscular. Very muscular.

“And just who may you be to interrupt me at my own birthday party?” Grindelwald asked, sounding more curious than angry.

“I’m Lord Voldemort.” 

Even Voldemort’s voice was beautiful. Deep and melodious.

“British, eh?” Grindelwald laughed. “Did Albus send you to kill me?”

“Not at all. And I didn’t come here to interrupt your party. In fact, I came here to give you a gift,” Voldemort said and reached into his robe.

Both of his guards raised their wands, and Voldemort stopped his movement.

“If I may?” he asked.

Grindelwald regarded him curiously for a few seconds. “Very well.”

Voldemort reached into his robe again and withdrew a bottle with some dark liquid in it. 

“I believe you have been looking for this.”

He held it out to Grindelwald, but one of his guards grabbed the bottle and cast several spells over it to check for traps.

“And what is this thing I’ve been looking for?” Grindelwald asked, but he looked very interested.

“The blood from a Matagot Maledictus,” Voldemort said.

Surprise flashed over Grindelwald’s face, and he took the bottle from his guard’s hand.

“Leave us,” he ordered his guards.

They bowed and closed the doors behind them. Grindelwald made a gesture for Voldemort to join him and conjured up a chair in front of his own armchair.

“Why do you think I need blood from that particular creature?” Grindelwald asked once they were both seated.

Voldemort smiled. “I heard a rumour that you were searching for some rare ingredients.”

“And in your kindness, you decided to just show up and give me one of them?” Grindelwald laughed. “What do you want, boy?”

“There are very few potions that need Matagot blood, and only one I can think of that needs it to come from a Maledictus: Loxias’s Doubling Potion,” Voldemort said, looking intently at Grindelwald.

Nothing could be told from Grindelwald’s expression, however. The older wizard merely looked at him with mild interest.

“I have been trying to find more information about that potion,” Voldemort continued. “If you let me read whatever books or scrolls you have about it, the blood is yours.”

Grindelwald scratched his beard. “Why are you even interested in that potion?”

“Academic curiosity,” Voldemort said nonchalantly. “I want to know as much about magic as possible, and it is a fascinating potion.”

Grindelwald laughed. “Is that all? I have heard rumours about you, too, Mr Riddle . You are becoming quite a name in our circles. They say you are as ambitious as me. What are you planning on doing with all this knowledge?”

“You never know what might become handy in the future. The potion has many interesting aspects: creating a new life from your own body, transferring your soul to a different host … It’s unusual magic, even for the Dark Arts.”

“And what does dear old Albus think about one of his students having such an interest in the Dark Arts?” Grindelwald asked with a smile.

A flash of annoyance flew across Voldemort’s face. “Dumbledore’s opinion means nothing to me.”

Grindelwald laughed again. “You should have studied at Durmstrang instead. It would have given you a much broader education.”

“Alas, I had little choice, but I’m trying to remedy that now.”

“Well, never would it be said that I stand in the way of a young man’s education.” 

Grindelwald rose from the chair and went over to the row of bookcases standing behind a huge desk.

Hermione turned towards the present day Voldemort. “Were you interested in the potion because of your Horcruxes?”

Voldemort smiled at her. “That was how I stumbled on it. But there were many reasons why I sought Grindelwald out.”

Hermione could think of a few. It made sense for Voldemort to seek out the then most powerful Dark wizard in the world.

“Did you think about joining him?” she asked.

“No, I was never interested in following others.”

Grindelwald came back with an ancient looking tome. “This is Loxias’s Grimoire. The potion is on page 354. I hope you brought a scroll to copy the text to, because that book will never leave this castle.”

Voldemort accepted the tome and opened it. Just as Voldemort had come to the right page, the whole memory around them froze. Hermione looked around in confusion. Did the memory end?

The real Voldemort smiled at her and motioned for her to step up.

“There you go, let me know when you have finished reading the page,” Voldemort said.

Very hesitatingly, Hermione walked past Grindelwald. It felt like he would come alive again at any moment and curse her.

The memory Voldemort had opened up the book to the right page and was standing just far enough to the right for her to go up beside him and be able to read the text. It was just as vile as many other Dark Arts texts she had read. In this particular text, you needed the uterus of a strong magical creature. It didn’t specify what kind, but Hermione wouldn’t be surprised if Dark wizards had used a witch’s uterus. She did not look forward to finding out what kind Voldemort had used, but it was information she needed.

“Okay, first page finished,” Hermione said somewhat grimly.

The memory started again, but to her surprise, memory Voldemort didn’t start by copying the text. Instead, he immediately turned to the next page, and the real Voldemort froze the memory again.

“Are you really able to read this quickly?” Hermione asked after a few minutes of memory Voldemort just turning over the pages, and the real Voldemort freezing the memory after each page.

Voldemort smiled. “No.”

“Then why aren’t you copying down the text?”

“You will see.”

Voldemort was circling Grindelwald, a thoughtful expression on his face. He only looked over to Hermione whenever she needed him to unfreeze the memory for a second so his younger self could turn the page.

The last few pages were Arithmancy calculations of when and where the ritual should take place as well as what volume the ingredients should be.

“Okay, I’m done,” Hermione said as she finished reading the final frozen page.

Voldemort unfroze the memory, and his younger self pulled out a scroll from inside his robes.

Hermione shrieked as Grindelwald’s curse flew straight through her. The younger Voldemort dove towards the window, blew out the glass with a spell and jumped through it as Grindelwald tried to curse him from behind.

The last thing Hermione saw was Voldemort flying like a bird, away from the castle and the cursing wizard.

She gasped as she was brought back to the real world, feeling like she just stepped off a fast going carousel. She closed her eyes for a moment, until the spinning stopped.

“How did you know he was going to curse you?” she asked, reluctantly impressed.

“I would have done the same,” Voldemort said with a shrug.

“Why didn’t you just steal the book then?”

“That was my intention, but it would have taken too long to undo the wards he had put around his belongings.” Voldemort sat down by the table again. He looked quite drained.

“Then why—Oh.” Hermione suddenly realised why it had been so easy for her to read the book. “You always planned to go back into the memory to read the text.”

“Yes,” Voldemort said smugly.

“How did you even come up with the idea?” she asked as her mind spun over all the books she could reread inside her own mind. Books she never thought she would gain access to ever again.

“Professor Dippet, the headmaster before Dumbledore, showed me the Hogwarts’ Pensieve when I was Head Boy. I figured there was probably a way to freeze a memory to be able to carefully study things you had seen but not actively noticed. Alas, I can only control my own memories that way.”

That was probably a blessing for them all.

“I’m sure you want to take notes while the text is fresh in your mind,” Voldemort said. “I will start dinner.”

Hermione realised it was much darker outside. How long had they been inside that memory? It was already evening.

As they ate, she scribbled down every detail she could remember from the text and added her own reflections about it.

“You must have made a lot of modifications to the ritual,” she noted after she had finished eating. She had feared she would lose her appetite if she had discussed the ritual during dinner.

“Yes. And it would take fifteen years before I decided to start working on it.”

“Why then?”

Voldemort sighed. “That is another memory. I can show you tomorrow. However, it will not be as pleasant to watch as this one.”

Hermione snorted. “None of this is pleasant.”

He tilted his head and gave her an unnerving smile. 

“Oh, there will be pleasurable memories as well. I take it you will want to see how I actually executed the ritual?”

“Yes, but I doubt I will find much pleasure watching you kill some poor witch for her uterus,” she muttered.

“Ah, yes … that was not necessary,” he smirked. “I realised early on that a uterus is more powerful inside of a living body.”

“What do you—” She froze and felt a blush creep up on her cheeks. “You had sex with Viktor’s mum.”

He just smiled.

She shuddered and rose from the table. 

“Well, if we won’t be watching more memories tonight, I think I will just take a relaxing bath and go to bed.”

Chapter 4: A Folly of Love

 

 

Hermione suspected that Viktor would visit her that night as well. She listened as Voldemort did whatever it was he did before going to bed. He had looked really tired when she had left her bath. Whatever magic he had used in that memory had taken a toll on him. He had always been such a powerful wizard; it must annoy him to no end to have those powers limited.

That was what he needed her for, she suspected.

The light from the other side of the door was extinguished. It only took a couple of minutes before her door opened, and Viktor stood there, his shoulders sunken down.

Hermione moved in bed to make room for him, and he came and lay down next to her. She grasped his hand for comfort, and for a few minutes, they just lay there in silence.

“Was there anything he tried to hide from me today?” Hermione finally asked.

“He was astonished by your control over fire,” Viktor began slowly. “That convinced him he didn’t need to do more tests. You already have a lot of knowledge of the Dark Arts.”

His voice held a hint of accusation, so she rolled over to her side to look at him in the darkness. The light from the moon through the window made her able to just make out his face.

“You know the Dark Arts, too, Viktor. We even talked about how some spells shouldn’t be branded that way, and that there are legal spells that should be considered dark!”

“Yes, but he was happy you had killed people, Her-my-nini. And even more happy you didn’t regret it.”

“We were at war,” Hermione reminded him coldly. “It was kill or be killed.”

“I know, but you didn’t feel what he felt when he found out,” Viktor said in despair.

“What did he feel?” she asked, a cold shudder going down her spine.

“Excitement … you know … sexually ,” he answered slowly. “He thinks he can seduce you.”

Hermione's eyes widened, her mouth falling open.

“He has seen us together, in my memories,” Viktor continued. “He knows what you like. What he can do to get you to … accept him.”

Hermione shook her head. “I would never accept him.”

“Her-my-nini, he got my mother to have an affair with him. And my mother loves my father!”

“Your mum didn’t know who he was. I do. Don’t worry about it,” she said in a final tone. “But speaking of your mother, do you know why he chose her?”

“She is powerful,” Viktor explained. “And a descendant of the founder of Durmstrang, Nerida Vulchanova.”

“Ah, he keeps being fixated on having pure blood,” she muttered.

Viktor shook his head. “Not anymore. Now he just wants you.”

“Merlin,” she whispered. “He wants to use my uterus now?”

Viktor nodded. “Unless you can find another way to split us. I’m sorry.”

Hermione closed her eyes and tried to push down the panic. She should have realised it the moment he said that a uterus was more powerful inside a living body. And Viktor had started out as a normal baby, his mother must have been pregnant as normal.

“I would never agree to carry and raise a Voldemort baby,” she stated.

“It wouldn’t be him,” Viktor said in a low voice. “It would be me.”

Hermione’s eyes widened, and then, she mentally scolded herself for not realising it. But the thought was so foreign to her. Not only carrying a child but her former boyfriend? No, the whole concept was too disturbing to take in.

“But what would happen to you and your memories?” she asked in disbelief.

Viktor only shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t want to forget my life or put you through this.”

“There has to be another way,” Hermione stressed. “The original ritual didn’t need anyone to become pregnant, just a uterus. There must be some way to do this without having you come out as a baby.”

She really didn’t want to think how weird it would be to have your ex-lover’s soul become your baby. There had to be another way to do it. Voldemort had tweaked the original ritual, so why couldn’t she? That was why she was here, because he couldn’t do it on his own.

“Why won’t you leave, Her-my-nini?” Viktor asked in a low voice full of anxiety. “You deserve so much better than being here.”

“I would never leave my friends when they need my help,” Hermione replied hotly. “So stop asking, I’m staying.”

Viktor lowered his eyes. “Forgive me.”

Hermione sighed. “It’s okay.”

She grasped his hand, fingers intertwining.

“Where does everyone else think you are?” she asked, wanting to change the subject.

“My parents and friends think I’m in Britain, helping to rebuild Hogwarts after the final battle,” he murmured. “That’s what I wanted to do.”

Hermione opened her mouth to answer but instead froze when a shudder went through Viktor, and with a blink of the eye, Voldemort was there.

“Sweet Salazar, I have to interrupt, because that is just not true, Viktor. Although, I do applaud you for your ability to lie.”

She tried to pull back her hand, but Voldemort kept it in an iron grip as he focused his gaze on her.

“He told his friends he was going to Britain, so he could get you back, because he so very desperately wants to fuck you again.”

Hermione’s mouth hung open. Was Voldemort telling the truth? For whatever reason, she believed him. It must have shown on her face, because Voldemort looked victorious, and with another shudder, Viktor was back.

“No!”

Hermione sat up, finally able to pull her hand from his grasp, so much softer and kinder than Voldemort’s, and she grabbed her wand instead.

“Viktor …” she began.

“It’s not like that,” he interrupted her quickly. “I still love you, Her-mo-nini! I wanted to see if we still … but when he came into my head, I only wanted to protect you.”

He got out of her bed, and she could see tears in his eyes.

“ He doesn’t understand love. He mocks me constantly. I love you, but … no, he only sees the lust. Only understands the lust.”

Hermione frowned, the beginning of an idea forming in her mind. Voldemort didn’t understand love, but now he was sharing mind, body and perhaps even feelings with another human. There had to be some way she could use that.

“I believe you,” she said slowly.

Viktor let out a heavy sigh of relief and sank down on the bed again, putting his hands against his face.

Lily’s love for Harry had saved him from Voldemort several times. When Voldemort was possessing Quirrell, Harry had managed to kill Quirrell by simply touching him. What would happen if Viktor fell deeply in love with her? Would it banish Voldemort from his body?

She only loved Viktor as a friend, but maybe she could make him think she loved him back the same way. Voldemort clearly thought Viktor’s affection for Hermione was amusing. So, if she didn’t make him suspicious, she might get a chance to free Viktor with love as a weapon.

Then, if it worked, she could tell Viktor how she really felt. A broken heart was better than sharing a body with a megalomaniac.

Trembling slightly, she put her hand on Viktor’s shoulder. “I love you, too, you know.”

Viktor looked up, surprise written across his face.

“This situation is just so weird,” she continued. “I didn’t want to tell you in case Voldemort decided to use it against me, but … of course I love you.”

A smile brightened up his tired face. He embraced her tightly, and then, Hermione pulled back a little bit so she could give him a shy kiss on his lips.

Viktor had always been a good kisser. He knew exactly how much pressure to put against her mouth and didn’t just stick his tongue into her mouth as Ron had done. He tasted better, too. Good dental hygiene.

Slowly, she pulled away from him again and opened her eyes. Viktor’s cheeks were red, and he let out a deep sigh.

“I don’t know how this will work,” she stated softly.

Viktor opened his eyes, and the longing was clear in his gaze. “We’ll take it slow. Not do anything when he is awake.”

She could see that he had put some time into thinking about this. “Obviously. But for now, let’s just sleep. I’m exhausted.”

Hermione lay down again, and Viktor lay down next to her, but this time, he moved closer to her and put his arm around her waist. She turned to her side, so he could spoon her instead. He moved even closer to her and brushed her hair out from his face.

It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep, but Hermione lay awake, staring at the wall, considering exactly how far she was willing to go to get rid of Voldemort once and for all.

***

 

When Hermione woke up the next day, she was lying with her head against Viktor’s chest and he was playing with her hair. For a moment she just lay there, not wanting to open her eyes, even though she had a feeling that it wasn’t Viktor anymore. She knew it would be difficult to convince Voldemort that she was in love with Viktor and not have him sabotage her plan. He was already trying to come between them.

“Well, isn’t this cosy,” Voldemort purred.

Even though she had suspected it was him, his voice still made her jump away from him.

He watched, amusement clear on his face as she tried to get her hair away from her face. She glared at him.

“Okay, we are going to need some boundaries,” she growled. “I have no problem being close to Viktor, but if you wake up, I want you to leave.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because it’s polite!”

He chuckled, and with a grace that Viktor never managed to show, he stretched and got off the bed.

“You know I remember what you and Viktor chat about while I’m asleep. You know about the need for a uterus. So you might as well get used to the idea of having me close, because before this is done, I will have to get very … close .”

His gaze wandered up and down her body before he gave her a dangerous smile, and then, he turned around, leaving the room.

“We will come up with another option,” Hermione hissed at his back.

“Sure. I will make breakfast,” he said over his shoulder before closing the door.

Hermione sank down in bed again, taking a deep breath. She would have to get close to him; that was true. But it would never come to her using her uterus for his benefit. Only for her own and Viktor’s. Having sex was not the issue.

The thing she was most worried about was how she would make Viktor feel true love for her. Could it be done without her feeling it back, at least not the same way?

Some guilt washed over her, but she immediately pushed it aside. No, if she were feeling guilty, Voldemort would sniff it out right away. She didn’t feel guilty about those she had killed in the war. She couldn’t feel guilty about this.

As she got out of bed and got dressed, it ran through her mind that this was what Ron had hated about her. She could be so ridiculously single minded that she did whatever it took to finish an assignment that everything else stopped to matter. Granted, he had been mad, because he didn’t like her nagging about school and that she hadn’t wanted to join him to social gatherings or eat proper dinner. But Ron would never be able to do something like this. It was because she was very goal oriented that she could pull this off.

It was time to put that mindset on. Forget her fear, her guilt, her worries, even her own health and safety. She was going to throw herself off the cliff and let Viktor fall in love with her again, while distracting Voldemort at the same time. This was how she would best him. It was just like an advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts class.

***

In his long life, Voldemort had been in several dire situations where most people would have given up. He never had. Not once. Instead, he had always found a way to get back on his feet and done whatever was necessary to do so.

However, he had always been alone with his thoughts. Even when he had inhabited other people, he had been his own entity. 

Not this time.

Despite every Legilimency technique he knew, his thoughts and feelings kept mingling with Viktor’s. It was not like any phenomena he had ever read about. Then again, no one had done what he had done. He had excelled where everyone else had failed.

You are the worst narcissist I have ever met, Viktor groaned.

Voldemort ignored him. That was what he usually did. Viktor often started to sulk when he was ignored and thus stopped annoying him.

He finished the porridge he was making and was about to put a stasis charm over it to wait for Hermione when she exited the bedroom.

The effect the witch had on Viktor’s body was like some sort of spell. Immediately, his heart started to beat faster, heat flushed through his body, and his breathing hitched. Voldemort had never experienced anything like it. At first, he had thought that it was a side effect of being in a new body, but no, it was just this particular witch that made this body react like this.

At first, he had wondered what was so special about the witch, but now he knew. Hermione Granger was here to give him full control of this new flesh. Somehow, his body must have recognised that she was the perfect witch for this mission.

Because surely it couldn’t be something so ridiculous as love.

That is how love feels, Viktor muttered.

Once more, Voldemort ignored him.

“Are we watching more memories today?” Hermione asked, nodding at the Pensieve that was still standing on the table.

“Yes, but first, how much do you know about my Horcruxes?”

Voldemort had been very selective about who he had discussed Horcruxes with, just so that people like Dumbledore wouldn’t realise what he had done. But apparently Dumbledore had figured out a lot, otherwise he would still have most of his Horcruxes left. What else had Dumbledore found out? The old fool was dead, but Voldemort needed to know what Potter knew, so he could plan ahead. Hermione was the perfect way into Potter’s head. She was clearly the cleverer one.

“I know you made six and used the murders of your father and grandparents, Myrtle, Hepzibah Smith and Bertha Jorkins to create some of them, and then, you stuffed the pieces into objects you thought were great magical relics. It wasn’t that hard to see the pattern,” she said with a shrug.

“Pattern?” he asked, pleased that Dumbledore clearly hadn’t known about the creation of all of them.

“You want to link your soul and your history to important magical historical events. The diary, ring and locket were basically just you bragging about how you are the Heir of Slytherin. You felt like Hogwarts was your home, so you claimed the diadem and the cup as souvenirs. You are proud of being a Parselmouth, so of course, you put a piece in Nagini,” Hermione explained curtly.

See how clever she is, Viktor said proudly.

Voldemort just smiled. “I see. Is that Dumbledore’s theory or yours?”

Her eyebrows rose in surprise. “Why does that matter?”

“Dumbledore always thought he understood me,” he said, amused. “And he thought he understood Horcruxes.”

“What more is there to Horcruxes?” she asked, sounding sceptical.

“You can’t make it out of just anything. For your soul to want to leave your body, it must go to something you are … attached to. Something that is deeply connected to who you are. And to be able to hold it, the object needs to be magically robust. That is why it took me so long to do them all. I had nothing growing up. What I got, I had to steal. Or charm my way to. But after the first five … it was a challenge to find something else of importance to me.”

“So, that was what you were doing when you ‘disappeared’ in the late 50’s?” she asked.

Voldemort smiled. The old fool hadn’t figured out where had been after leaving Britain. That was very good.

“Among other things,” Voldemort replied. “And I’m about to show you the memory of what led me to create my third Horcrux. I already had the locket, which I knew I wanted to make into a Horcrux, but splitting my soul two times had already started to have … unforeseen side effects.”

“Shocker,” Hermione snorted, but he ignored her.

“I needed to negate them before I continued, and so I travelled around the world, discovering more about magic than I thought was possible. There is so much more magic than you ever learn about at Hogwarts. But there are those who will teach you it … for a price.”

He withdrew a memory from his robe and poured it into the Pensieve. It was not a memory he had shown anyone ever before, but with Viktor’s memories, it was easy to see how he could manipulate Hermione. She was desperate to be helpful to her friends to the point that she forgot to take care of herself. If he managed to make her sympathise with him, she would be a much more effective ally.

Taking her hand, he put his finger into the Pensieve, and they were sucked into the memory.

It was 1962 and he was in the Soviet Union. The younger version of him was just entering the laboratory, looking paler than normal and weak. Behind him came Katja, one of the greatest witches he had ever met.

“It would be easier for you to recover a few more days,” Katja said, sounding amused and not at all concerned.

“I can recover once it’s all done,” Voldemort answered, determined. “It’s just the heart left.”

“Very well.”

Katja went over to the cupboards at the back of the room, gathering several bottles of potions as well as a tray with equipment. The room was bright. The white tiles were clean, and the light from an enchanted lantern reflected on its surface. It had once been a Muggle hospital, but Katja had taken over running it. The steady supply of dead and dying Muggles had serviced her experiments without suspicions from the people around her. Truly genius.

The Voldemort in the memory undid his shirt.

Hermione gasped. “Merlin, it looks like—”

“I have been cut open and sewn together several times?” Voldemort filled in. “It’s because I have. Four times. This will be the fifth.”

Several red and blue scars ran across his torso and back. Big bruises coloured his pale skin, and he had been patched up with Muggle stitches, because the magic involved couldn’t be disturbed by magical healing.

It had been excruciating but necessary.

“Why on earth would you do that to yourself?” Hermione gasped, horror evident in her voice.

“Two reasons. It was one of the ways I altered my body to achieve immortality,” Voldemort explained. “The surgery Katja performed made the key organs in me indestructible in many ways. I would never die of liver failure, heart diseases and so on. It was impossible to kill me by any Muggle means.”

“And the other reason?” she asked suspiciously.

“You are Muggle-born, so I assume you know more about biology and the body’s cells?”

“Of course.”

“Horcruxes affect cell degeneration unpredictably, and I didn’t make the Horcruxes just so I would die of old age faster. Thus, I decided to stop the degeneration completely.”

Hermione gaped. “How on earth did you do that?”

“That is a long, complicated process,” he said dismissively. “What is important here is what we will talk about next.”

The memory Voldemort was slowly consuming the potions Katja had handed him. The moment he had finished the last one, she clicked on her timer.

“I have been working on another project,” Katja said as she started to prepare for the surgery. “What do you think about children?”

Voldemort was leaning back on the bunk. “Awful creatures.”

“And creating children?”

Voldemort chuckled. “If you are asking me to fuck you, I think it will have to wait until later, but I would not father a child.”

“A shame. There is so much magic behind the creation of a life,” Katja continued. “I have been trying to find a way to control that magic. Only on animals thus far, but the power … it is extraordinary.”

“Ah, so I have finally found the single downside to being infertile,” Voldemort chuckled. “No matter, there are others who are always happy to ‘create life’.”

“Yes, but the key to controlling it lies in blood. You need to be a blood relative,” Katja said as she carefully coated her surgery knife in a slippery substance that he to this day had not got the recipe for.

“That would be a problem,” Voldemort said thoughtfully. “Unless you have a way around this kind of infertility?”

Katja smirked. “I might. For a price.”

He laughed. “I expected as much. I will of course need to see proof of that research before I buy that particular service.”

The timer rang, and Katja moved up to his chest. “That can be arranged. Now hold still, this will be a bit more painful than the other ones.”

Just as she made the first insertion, real life Voldemort grabbed Hermione.

“No need to see the rest. It goes on for a while,” he said and pulled them from the memory.

Hermione looked quite pale when they came out of the Pensieve. She sat down on the bench by the kitchen table and took a deep breath.

“I have read my fair share of Dark Arts books, but I have never seen anything like that,” she stated. “Who was she?”

“That was Katja. No last name. She didn’t look like it, but she is actually over 200 years old,” Voldemort explained and went over to put on some tea as he talked. “She is also a Muggle-born, just like you, but she didn’t get any traditional schooling in magic. She was sent to a penal labour camp, a katorga, when she was young and only managed to break free after a few years of honing her magical ability. Somehow, she managed to find a teacher after that, but she kept a very unique perspective on magic.

“Magic is raw power, and if you can find a way to control it, you can do whatever you want. There is also magic all around us. Life is magic, and that is why you can become immortal. Because if you control magic, you can control life. That is power.”

Hermione did not look impressed by his explanation.

He sighed. “This is crucial for understanding how I developed this body.”

“Yes, I get that,” she said with disdain. “I understand your reasoning.”

“No, you do not,” he said softly. “But I will show you. It’s not something to understand by reason. It is something to experience.”

He got up and went to the door, but Hermione stayed put.

“If you think that I will kill something—”

“Killing is not necessary,” he interrupted her. “Today will just be the first lesson.”

Chapter 5: Magical Playtime

They walked through the forest in silence. Hermione was trying to process everything she had seen in the memory. She wasn’t surprised Voldemort had done such a painful looking ritual to block the side effects of the Horcrux. What surprised her was that he was so open about what rituals he had done. But then, that had been with his old body, so maybe he wasn’t worried about showing the weaknesses from his last body.

She also couldn’t help being curious about what he was going to teach her. As long as she wasn’t killing or hurting innocent creatures, it couldn’t be that bad, right?

“What is the difference between a magical plant and a mundane plant?” Voldemort asked when he stopped by a creek.

“Magical plants have magical properties, while mundane plants can have magical uses but don't contain magic in itself,” Hermione said, quoting 1000 Magical Herbs and Fungi .

“Are you sure?” Voldemort pressed, looking smug.

“That’s what I’ve been taught,” she defended herself.

“Ah, yes. If you are going to help me with this, you will have to unlearn several things.”

She crossed her arms. “Why?”

“Because at school, magic is categorised in several inaccurate ways. Some for pedagogical reasons but most because of tradition,” he explained. “And it all starts with one philosophical question: what is magic?”

She snorted. “You are about to say power, right?”

“Indeed. But what is power?” he asked.

“Will this be an endless philosophical rant?” she sighed.

“No, but it’s important to know. Power is the ability to make things happen according to your will. In the context of magic, it is the ability to transform, create and affect the world according to your will.”

“But plants don’t have a will,” Hermione noted.

“Not in a human sense of the word, no. But they do transform and affect the world around it. They take the nourishment they need and can both kill and give life to the world around them. It’s just not sentient.”

“Are you claiming that all plants are magical?”

“Yes. Just like with wizards, they all have a different amount of power. Some are so weak they can barely do anything more than survive, while others are magical in a more noticeable way. Thus, through history, the plants that have been more useful to wizards have been classified as magical, while those not worth our attention have been called mundane.”

Voldemort squatted down and pointed at some flowers growing by the creek. 

“Look at these different flowers. None of them would be called magical, but there is still magic here. And when you have learned how, you can feel the magic.”

He closed his eyes, and Hermione squatted next to him to be able to observe more closely.

The yellow and white flowers were waving in the wind; a bumblebee collected nectar from one of them. When Voldemort lowered his hand over the flowers, the bee quickly flew away.

Slowly, the flowers closest to his hand stopped moving in the wind. They started to lean towards his hand, stretching out to get as close as possible. Voldemort took a couple of deep breaths. Hermione saw that when he inhaled, the flowers got closer to his hand, and when he exhaled, they relaxed a little.

With one final inhale, the flowers started to disintegrate into small pieces of dust. After just a few seconds, there were none left. But just beneath Voldemort’s palm, there seemed to be a yellow cloud of energy. It frizzled and sparkled.

Slowly, Voldemort turned his hand and opened his eyes.

“A skilled wizard can harness that magic,” he continued, “and use it.”

He threw the cloud into the creek, creating a big splash, even evaporating some of the water.

“But as a witch, I produce my own magic,” Hermione objected. “Why would I need to take it from something else?”

“Because sometimes you need to do things that require more magic than you can produce,” Voldemort replied. “And sometimes, the magic you can harness will behave differently than your own.”

“Doesn’t that make it harder to use?”

“Think of it as potion ingredients. That is the most common way to harness the magic from plants, and no one bats an eye. Two ingredients can contain the same amount of magic but will give you different results, depending on what potion you use them in.”

“Oh,” Hermione said as she finally understood what he was getting at. Why hadn’t she considered it before? It felt so obvious when he laid it out like that.

“Sit down,” Voldemort ordered, pointing to a rock next to the creek. “Good, now close your eyes.”

Hermione did, taking a deep breath.

“Humans commonly use their sight as the dominant sense. We tend to describe what we see before we describe what we hear, smell and touch. Wizards can also use their magic as a sense in the same way. First, tell me what you feel underneath you.”

“I feel the cold, uneven stone underneath me. I can feel some grass on my left hand and some splashes of water against my right hand,” Hermione explained slowly.

“Good. Those are all objects you can touch. What can you feel that isn’t an object?”

Hermione frowned and tried to go through every sensation she was experiencing. 

“I can feel the heat from the sun on my back,” she finally said.

“And what internal sensation are you experiencing?”

She turned her attention inwards. 

“My back hurts a bit; it feels like rocks are moving against it. I can feel my throat contract when I talk. And how my heart beats. And …” Hermione trailed off. 

There was something else as well. It felt a bit like how the sun heated her back, but instead it came from inside her body. It was like a flow underneath her skin, moving back and forth together with her breath. Was it her magic?

“I feel this … energy,” she finally said. “I can feel it the strongest in my arms and hands, but it’s everywhere. Like a second skin and a second lung.”

“That is your magic.” 

His voice was much closer now, right in front of her. 

“That sensation is what you will now use to explore me. Just like you turned your touch inwards, you can turn the awareness of magic from inside to the outside world.”

He grasped her right hand. “Touching makes it easier to discover. Use the magical energy to explore my hand.”

His hand was colder than hers; that was the first sensation that hit her. She tried to look past that and focus on the energy instead. The force of it made the hair on her arms rise, and her first instinct was to let go of his hand, but he wouldn’t let her.

“You will get used to the feeling; give it a few seconds,” he told her calmly.

She flexed her fingers and wrapped them around his hand again. This time, the sensation didn’t give her as much of a reaction. It still reminded her a little of getting an electric shock, but not as violent. Like tiny spikes prickled her skin where their palms met.

“That’s my magic,” Voldemort said in a low voice. “That’s the kind of sensation you are looking for when you search for magic in the world. With practice, you will learn to find the specific magic you are looking for.”

He finally let go of her, and she opened her eyes. To her surprise, her hand seemed to be glowing. As she moved her hand, sparkles seemed to follow her. Her hand still felt like it was being prickled.

“When you stop thinking about it, it will go away. It’s just magical residue,” Voldemort explained and rose from the ground. “Shall we go back? It’s time for dinner.”

Hermione forced her attention away from her hand and went after him. “Have you used this to steal magic from other people?”

“Wizards are much more complex than a flower,” Voldemort said nonchalantly. “You can’t just pull their magic from them. But there are potions that require pieces of other people. Within those pieces rests their magic as well. Like the Polyjuice Potion. But when it’s something that small, the subject doesn’t even notice it.”

“But those pieces, like hair, are just dead tissue,” Hermione objected. “How can there still be magic in it?”

“Finally, an interesting question,” Voldemort purred. “Why do you think that is?”

Hermione frowned. She had never considered why potion ingredients worked like they did. She had seen it as basically a chemical reaction with magic in the mix. But all potion ingredients were usually dead. Eye of newt was a common ingredient, which came from an animal that was very much dead. Some ingredients, like unicorn horns and dragon claws had been separated from their hosts, but they still contained a lot of magic, and only ounces were needed in most recipes because of their potency.

“Magic is energy,” she finally said, remembering Newton’s first law of energy. “And energy can’t die, just transform.”

“Precisely.” He sounded very pleased. “Once you realise that, you start seeing the world differently. You see yourself differently.”

Hermione’s mind felt like it was working a hundred miles per hour. So many things made sense, like how many things at Hogwarts worked, like the portraits and the Sorting Hat.

The Sorting Hat was a sentient being that had been around for over a thousand years. Godric Gryffindor was said to have put a piece of his mind into the hat to make sure it survived him. If it was possible to do that, then why couldn’t Voldemort do the same. But instead of just a piece of his mind, he had stuck his entire soul into Viktor.

But what was the difference between the mind and the soul?

“Wait,” Hermione stopped in her tracks. “Is the Sorting Hat a Horcrux?”

Voldemort looked delighted. “What an interesting question. Yes and no.”

“How can it be yes and no?” she asked, annoyed.

“The creation of the Sorting Hat is very similar to the creation of Horcruxes. The founders of Hogwarts all put a piece of their soul into the Sorting Hat, so it would come to life and follow their wishes, but it is not the actual founders. It was never meant to live an independent life. A Horcrux is a way for your soul to survive the destruction of a body and inhabit a new body. A Horcrux splits the soul in two, while the Sorting Hat only has a small piece of the founders inside of it.”

“How do you know that?” 

She wouldn’t put it past him to try and lie to her.

“I studied it thoroughly when I was still in school. Headmaster Dippet allowed me free access to it during my fourth year. I wanted to know how it was alive and yet not alive at the same time. It is fascinating magic.”

Hermione shook her head, trying to wrap her mind around all of it. Voldemort resumed walking, and she just followed him.

She knew what was considered the Dark Arts was subjective, but the Horcruxes had felt evil. To her recollection, the Sorting Hat hadn’t felt evil in any way. Maybe it was the intent behind why it was created? It was possible the founders had found a way to create something like a Horcrux but without murdering anyone.

Intent did matter quite a bit in magic, so it was likely. With accidental magic, only intent mattered; you didn’t even need a wand for it.

Back at the cottage, Voldemort started with dinner as Hermione sat down and began to write down what she had just found out. It was easier for her to sort out her thoughts that way. On the one hand, it was so obvious that magic was a type of energy, but on the other, it still left her with a lot of questions.

It was as she wrote down the questions that she realised another thing.

“You never told me if you had stolen someone’s magic,” she said, frowning.

Voldemort, who had just put down a stew in front of her, looked at her with a dark smile. 

“I strive to push the limits of magic.”

“You have done it then,” she pressed.

“It’s much easier to take and control when it’s freely given. But yes, there have been instances where I have had to steal small bits of it.”

“You never have to steal anything,” Hermione growled.

“Spoken like someone who has always had everything she needed,” Voldemort said, his voice deadly calm.

“Oh, cry me a bloody river,” Hermione bit back. “I know your childhood was horrid, but that doesn’t justify stealing or murdering or any of the things you have done!”

Before she could even blink, Voldemort had his wand in hand. She was thrown backwards, landing with her back against the wall, her feet hovering above the floor. The force knocked the wind from her lungs.

Slowly, Voldemort rose from the table and strolled up to her, wand still in hand.

“I do not tolerate that kind of disrespect, Hermione,” he said, tracing her cheek with his wand. “No, that will only anger me, and I am very unpleasant when I’m angry. Do you understand?”

Hermione nodded, her heart feeling like it would beat out of her chest in fear. She knew that very well.

“Good girl,” he whispered and withdrew his wand.

The force keeping her against the wall disappeared, and she fell to the ground, breathing hard and fast.

“Her-mo-nini!” Viktor cried and sat down next to her, pulling her towards him. “Are you alright?”

Hermione could just nod, trying to get her breathing under control again.

“I can’t believe he hurt you,” Viktor said angrily. “I told him not to, but he wouldn’t listen!”

“W-where did he go?” Hermione asked, shocked that Voldemort would just disappear like that.

“Passed out,” Viktor said. “It took a lot out of him to control so much magic. Serves him right.”

Hermione could only agree. He helped her up from the floor and back to the table.

“Do you think you can eat?” Viktor asked.

Hermione took a deep breath and nodded. She had been waiting for something violent to happen. It was useful to know where his limit was. At least he wouldn’t be able to do much harm to her.

Viktor cleaned up the spilled stew and poured her some more.

“Do you know why he is so weakened?” Hermione finally asked after taking a few mouthfuls.

“Not really,” Viktor muttered. “Not sure he does either. At first, he thought he would get stronger and stronger with time; for a while he did. But now it’s stagnating. My magic is weaker, too. It doesn’t behave like I’m used to.”

“Did your magic get weaker as he grew stronger?” she asked.

“Yes, it happened at the same time,” Viktor confirmed.

“It must be because you are both sharing one magical core,” she mused. “I wonder how magic is produced, biologically.”

Viktor frowned. “Produced? I was taught magic just is.”

“It must come from somewhere,” Hermione reasoned. “If all living things have some magic …” she trailed off, chewing slowly. “Does your magic feel different as well, or is it just that your control over it is weakened?”

“How do you mean?”

“Like, when you try using someone else’s wand, it sometimes doesn’t behave like your own wand behaves,” she explained, fingering the wand she had taken from Bellatrix Lestrange.

It was in some ways better than her first wand had been. She didn’t like to think about that; she just used it.

Viktor looked thoughtful. “No, it doesn’t feel different, it’s just … less. Less in strength, less in control.”

“Do you also get tired when you try using too much magic?”

“Not like him,” he replied. “But his willpower … I have been one of the best Quidditch players in Europe. I know about willpower. Even when I’ve been practising for days and my body screams for rest, I can push through it and do what I want to do regardless. But he … he never doubts himself or his ability. So he pushes through every sign of fatigue, because he has never had to worry about it before. I think that’s why he passes out.”

Hermione finished her stew in deep thoughts. She picked up her notebook and started to write down what she needed to do and what needed to be researched. In the meantime, Viktor cleared the table and vanished the dishes. She didn’t pay him much mind until he was suddenly behind her.

“You are so tense, Her-mo-ninny,” he mumbled and slowly started to massage her shoulders.

It was something Viktor had often done for her when they had been together in the past. He was a really good masseur. She leaned forward, giving him better access.

“Thank you,” she sighed.

She closed her eyes as his thumbs worked their way down between her shoulder blades and then up her neck. It sent shivers down her spine.

“I’ve never felt you this tense before,” Viktor muttered.

“This year has been pretty … intense,” Hermione snorted.

“If you take off your cardigan, I can use some of my Quidditch cream to help you relax?” Viktor offered.

“Oh, yes, that would be lovely,” she sighed.

As a Quidditch player, Viktor had always practised hard and got the best care for his body. Apparently, a lot of teams had their own masseur with their own secret potions and creams for a fast recovery. The best one (in Hermione’s opinion) was the cream that was like a hot bath for her muscles.

She removed her cardigan, pulled down the straps of her tank top and collected her hair in a messy bun, so it wouldn’t get in the way. Viktor withdrew the cream from the cupboard and came back to her, smiling.

She leaned forward over the table again as he smeared the cream over her upper back and started to massage it into her skin. The effect was instant.

“Merlin, yes,” she moaned, feeling like her stiff neck finally started to ease up.

He just chuckled, moving down between her shoulder blades, pushing down her tank top to her bra strap just to spread the cream as far as possible. Hermione just enjoyed it. Not only was it good for her body, but being close to someone and having their full attention was nice.

“You have new scars,” he noted as he started to go down her arms as well.

“Alas,” she sighed. “Wars leave scars. We were captured by Death Eaters at one point and …”

She turned over her arm, showing him the hideous scar Bellatrix Lestrange had left on her. It never really healed, always looked red and sometimes even bled if she wasn’t careful when washing it.

Viktor gasped at the scar and said something in Bulgarian that sounded very much like a curse.

“Who did this?”

“A woman named Bellatrix Lestrange,” she sighed. “She tortured me for information. This was actually her wand; they broke mine. I grabbed this when we fled, and ironically, it works well for me.”

“Bellatrix … yes, I recognise that name,” Viktor said and shuddered. “She was insane. Even when he first met her, she was insane.”

“You can see his memories about her?” she asked, surprised.

“Yes, some memories he doesn’t bother trying to hide, those about his followers for example.” 

He was quiet for a while, his eyes unfocused. 

“Oh, I know what happened when you three escaped. A house-elf rescued you, yes?”

“Dobby, yes.” She hesitated for a moment. “What happened? Harry said he was furious. He could feel it.”

Viktor grimaced. “He was more than furious. Not only did they let Harry flee, they interrupted something important. He killed her and brought her back three times.”

“He did?! How?”

“Her heart stopped from the torture three times. He has this technique where he … Well, they don’t die from the magic, so he can bring them back with magic.”

Hermione felt a dark satisfaction at the thought of Bellatrix getting punished. If anyone deserved it, it was her.

“Maybe he knows a way to heal your scar, too,” Viktor mused, while continuing to massage her hand. “I will ask him when he wakes up again.”

“I wouldn’t hold my breath,” she snorted. “He isn’t exactly the type to just help out.”

Viktor leaned down and kissed the back of her hand. “I might be able to find something.”

He switched to the other arm and slowly massaged his way down to her hand. Hermione found herself smiling. He was so considerate and sweet. She had thought all boys were like Harry and Ron. Sometimes sweet but mostly clueless when it came to others’ feelings and needs. Viktor might not always know what to do or say, but he was paying a lot more attention to her feelings than Harry or Ron ever did. Especially Ron.

After everything she had done for him. Some of which he didn’t even remember. Like their trip down to the Chamber of Secrets where they had found Viktor. 

And Voldemort.

Without her, Ron would have died. 

Prick .

“Do you think he will be unconscious for much longer?” she asked after a while.

“Probably, the other times he overextended himself, he was out for a few hours at least,” he answered.

Great. Time to put the plan in motion then.

“So we are alone for a while,” Hermione clarified.

Viktor looked up at her.

“Yes, I think so,” he said, hesitatingly. “Why?”

Hermione blushed, but instead of saying anything, she leaned in and kissed him, searching for interest.

Viktor caught on quickly and kissed her back with passion. She sighed in relief, and he took it as an invitation into her mouth, pulling her closer to him. Her body responded at once. She could feel the heat pooling in her groin, her body heating up. Viktor knew her body well enough to know exactly where she liked to be touched.

He stroked her thighs, dragging his thumbs hard along the inside of her leg until he was almost at her centre. Then he shifted and found the hem of her tank top, dragging his nails along her back. It sent shudders over her entire body, and she impatiently pulled at his shirt, opening the buttons while kissing him.

When his shirt was off, he put his hands under her arse and lifted her from the bench up on the table instead. His left hand moved in between her legs, teasing her with light touches against her crotch. He knew she liked things rough and hard, so he would tease her until she got annoyed and either begged or took matters into her own hand.

Sex with Viktor had always felt natural. He had been a good teacher to her: knowledgeable, patient and encouraging. With his help, she had started to feel like a woman. A sexual woman. It was not hard to let herself fall into his embrace again. Let go of all thoughts, all fear, all control. Throw herself into the familiar pleasure.

He helped her out of her jeans and knickers as she fumbled with the buttons on his trousers. Before she could open them, he stepped out of reach. Before she could complain, he kneeled in front of the table and pulled her closer to his face. She fell backwards onto the table when his tongue made contact with her clitoris.

Merlin, it had been too long since anyone but herself touched her there. The feeling was almost too much. Her legs twisted, and she bit her lower lip.

Viktor must have sensed her tensing up, because he shifted focus, choosing instead to nibble on her inner thigh until she relaxed.

A bit more careful than before, he licked the area around her clitoris first, slower, gentler. It didn’t take long until that wasn’t enough for her, and she eagerly met his strokes by trying to get closer to him. He started going harder, pushing three fingers into her, surprising her with the sudden fullness. Before she had even got used to the hard strokes, he was back with his tongue on her clitoris, licking it with fast flicks.

Hermione cried out as she came, her whole body going stiff for a few seconds, feeling like a lighting bolt had gone through her.

Viktor stood up again and pulled down his trousers. Hermione sat up, eager for more. To be filled up. He had a thick cock that she could sometimes feel for days afterwards. She loved that feeling.

She scooted to the edge of the table, wrapping her legs around his waist and held herself open for him, taking a deep breath and relaxing as he slowly started to enter her.

Viktor let out another Bulgarian swear word as he sunk into her, one she was much more familiar with. It made her smile, and she kissed him deeply.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispered, his words a lot softer than his movements.

She only kissed him harder, clenching her muscles around him. Making him groan. Making him go harder.

Her arms were around his broad shoulders, holding on, meeting his strokes.

She could feel another orgasm start up. A bigger one. She moved one hand from his shoulder down between their bodies. Once again, he read her intention and moved his own hand between them, finding her clitoris again. Taking the hood between his fingers and rubbing the skin around it. Like he had learnt she liked.

Neither lasted long. She came first, letting out a cry, her whole body going limp. He followed her, swearing again.

Leaning against his body, she breathed hard, inhaling his scent. So familiar.

Viktor stroked the hair from her face and kissed her forehead.

“Well, that is one way to relax,” she finally said weakly.

He laughed and kissed her lightly on the lips before helping her down from the table. On somewhat wobbly legs, they made their way into the bedroom.

Chapter 6: A Betting Man

 

The sun was already shining into the window the next morning when Hermione was awoken by the most delicious feeling between her legs. She didn’t bother to open her eyes, just sighed and relaxed as Viktor continued their pleasure from yesterday.

He was a little rougher with his tongue than he had been the day before. A bit harder with his fingers pumping inside of her, stretching her. She loved it, moaning and grabbing the pillow behind her just to have something to hold onto.

Just when she was on the brink of her climax, his mouth disappeared from her clit and moved to the inside of her thigh instead. But his fingers were enough to send her over the edge.

As she cried out in pleasure, his teeth sank into the flesh, hard enough to draw blood. Yet, somehow the pain made her pleasure even more violent and delicious.

“What the fuck,” she gasped as she came down from her high, blinking up at him.

“That ought to remind you not to use my body without consent,” Voldemort smirked down at her.

The blood drained from her face, and she tried to kick him off the bed, but he caught her legs and pressed them down onto the bed.

“Although, you seemed to enjoy it. Perhaps you would like me to continue?”

She shook her head, unable to form a coherent thought.

“Let me know when you change your mind,” he purred and got off the bed, dressing with one flick of his wand and exiting the room.

Hermione stayed where she was, breathing hard.

Well, apparently, he had lied when he said he didn’t bite.

She winced and finally sat up, inspecting the bite mark. Blood had dripped down onto the sheet. She fumbled for her wand underneath her pillow, but it wasn’t there. Summoning it did nothing either.

Had Voldemort taken her wand as punishment? Or so she couldn’t heal herself?

Looking around, she noticed that most of her things were missing. Even her beaded bag, which she had hidden underneath the bed. Fuck.

Hermione pulled up the already ruined sheet and put one of the edges of it into her water glass. At least she could clean the wound with it. Some dittany would have been better, but she suspected he wouldn’t allow her to get some.

She had, of course, known he would not react favourably to her and Viktor’s fun. It could be worse. He could have carved his name into her leg or something.

She shuddered at the thought.

After a few minutes of pressing the fabric against her wound, she managed to stop the bleeding. The wound hurt, but so did most of her body, especially her thighs and belly.

This day would probably not be as fun as the last one had been.

***

You are right; she does taste delicious, Voldemort silently taunted Viktor as he prepared breakfast.

You are such a fucking bastard; you can’t do that to her! Viktor roared.

Do what, give her pleasure? Oh, she seemed to enjoy the pain quite a bit, Voldemort mused.

Don’t you dare hurt her , Viktor roared. If you hurt her, I’ll—

What could you possibly do? You are stuck with me.

I will kill myself.

What? Voldemort scoffed.

If it means keeping you from hurting the woman I love, I will do it, Viktor said. 

Voldemort could feel how utterly serious he was. It shocked him. He had never felt anything like it.

Don’t you think that will hurt Hermione far more than anything I can do to her? Voldemort finally responded.

Hermione is strong; she will understand. I won’t let you hurt her , Viktor swore.

You are so dramatic Viktor, Voldemort sighed. I have no interest in hurting Hermione. But I do not tolerate disrespect. And the two of you using my body—

It was my body first, Viktor growled. And I will do with it as I please.

Very well, then so will I.

What?

As I said, Hermione seemed to like my attention .

She would never agree to have you touch her, Viktor argued.

Are you certain? Voldemort purred.

Yes, Viktor said, but he started to sound more and more uncertain.

Then you will have no problem making an agreement.

What agreement? Viktor sounded most suspicious.

I will allow the two of you to be intimate when I’m not around, and if Hermione becomes interested in my advances, you will not interfere.

Hermione will never be interested in you, Viktor stated.

Good, so then you have no problem making that agreement!

Viktor was quiet, but Voldemort could sense that Viktor was aware that it could be some kind of trap. He just didn’t know what kind.

Otherwise I will be forced to protest in whatever way I see fit, Voldemort continued innocently.

Fine, Viktor muttered . But only if you also promise not to force yourself on her.

I would never force myself on her , Voldemort assured. I prefer it when they beg for me to touch them.

Hermione is not that kind of girl , Viktor argued.

Since Viktor had access to memories Voldemort didn’t bother to hide, he had seen some of the men and women Voldemort had been with.

You would be surprised what dark desires some people have, Voldemort purred and dragged up a flash of a memory of Viktor’s mother being tied and blindfolded while Voldemort whipped her naked body. It made Viktor flee into his own Occlumency bubble, and Voldemort was free to go about his morning in peace.

He had almost finished eating his breakfast when Hermione finally came out of her room. She was wearing the robe he had left her and a very sour expression.

“Where have you put my wand?” she growled and stalked over to the table.

“You will get it back,” he promised her, slightly surprised she wasn’t more ashamed of what had transpired less than an hour ago.

“It’s my wand,” she pressed.

“Technically, I believe it was Bella’s wand,” he smiled.

“I have the ownership of it now.”

“Yes. Isn’t it interesting that you are so compatible with the same wand that served Bella so well?” Voldemort asked.

Hermione snorted. “You had the same wand as Dumbledore. It doesn’t matter.”

Sensing that arguing would be fruitless, he changed tactics. 

“I decided to make it into a test. Your wand is indeed hidden, but you are familiar with its magical signature. You should be able to sense where it is. But eat your breakfast first.”

Sighing, Hermione dug into the porridge.

He studied her as she ate. Why was this particular woman so special to Viktor? What was so fantastic that he claimed to be willing to die for her? She had done nothing to stand out to Viktor, yet the boy had been drawn to her from the moment they first met.

Viktor had been hiding among the bookshelves in the library from a horde of fans when Hermione had come up behind him and just stopped right next to him. He had thought her more beautiful than the other girls that had been running after him since he came to Hogwarts. He loved her wild hair and determined expression.

Viktor had just looked down at her, preparing himself for more squeaks and stutters, but Hermione had just arched an eyebrow in question at him.

“Excuse me, I need that book,” Hermione had finally said, annoyed, pointing at the shelf behind Viktor.

“Sorry,” Viktor had muttered and hurried away.

He had felt embarrassed more than anything. Yet, he had continued to go back to the library, wanting to talk to her again but not daring to. She always looked so annoyed when people interrupted her, and he didn’t want to make more of a fool of himself. Every time his fans found him, Hermione would huff and go to some other part of the library.

Finally, when it was just a few weeks until the Yule Ball, he had built up enough courage to try and talk to her again. Try and woo her.

First, he had started to leave a flower on her books when she was away from them. After a few days, he left her a note, telling her that he was a secret admirer. He had disillusioned himself and watched as she read the note. The smile it had brought to her face had made his heart melt.

The thought of that smile was what had finally made him go over and talk to her in person.

“Excuse me,” Viktor had said, sweating nervously.

“Yes?” she had asked, not at all as annoyed as the first time they met.

“I would be honoured if you would consider being my date for the Yule Ball,” he had said formally, bowing his head.

“Oh.” The blush and smile on her face had made him warm inside. “Are you the one who has been leaving me flowers?”

“Yes, beautiful flowers for a beautiful girl,” he had said, blushing as well.

“That’s very sweet of you. I would be happy to go to the ball with you.”

Voldemort examined the memories again, trying to see something that explained Viktor’s feelings for Hermione. It just wasn’t logical. She hadn’t done anything but be annoyed with him. Other beautiful women had also been annoyed with Viktor on occasion, yet he didn’t have the same response to them. No increased heartbeat, sweating and butterflies in the stomach.

Was it the way she smelled? Her taste had been far superior to any other woman he had ever pleasured orally.

“Why are you staring at me?” Hermione finally asked, looking uncomfortable.

“Viktor wanted me to help you with your scar,” he lied effortlessly.

“And what would you like in return?” She narrowed her eyes in suspicion.

It made him laugh in surprise. “I don’t know what flatters me most: that you assume I am able to help you or that you know I wouldn’t do it for free.”

“Seems like an easy thing to do for a wizard who escaped death twice,” she stated. “So, what would it take?”

“Why don’t we make a wager.” He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table and placing his chin against his fingertips. “I will explain the theory behind it, and if you manage to do it by yourself, we will be even. However, this is something that can be dangerous, and if you fail, I will have to save you. If I do, you will accompany me to an event Viktor is invited to. And act as if I am Viktor.”

“What kind of event?” Hermione asked, sounding most distrusting.

“It’s the annual Quidditch gala for the European league. Awards, ball gowns, all those things.”

“Why would you want to go to something like that?” she asked in disbelief.

“Because Viktor always goes, and it would be suspicious if he doesn’t go this year,” he answered with a shrug.

“Will anyone get hurt?”

“Not as long as you play your part and convince everyone that I’m Viktor,” he smiled.

“Fine,” she agreed. “Tell me how I should do this.”

He rose. “First, you will need your wand. Thus, you should try and find it. If you concentrate, you should be able to feel its magical signature somewhere in this room.”

“Like yesterday?” she asked, rising as well.

“Same concept, yes.”

He took care of the dishes as Hermione sat down on the floor with her back against the wall behind her. He studied her intently as she closed her eyes and took control over her breathing.

It would take a while. Voldemort had always been able to sense magic: his own and that around him. Even before Dumbledore had told him he was a wizard, he had known he was different. He was so full of powers, while those around him felt like a burning candle next to the sun. Stepping into Hogwarts had been a dream come true. Everything had been powerful, from the walls of the castle to the inhabitants. He had only had to nudge the castle’s structure to create secret rooms and passageways. When he had discovered the Room of Requirement, he had been ecstatic and sneaked into it every night for a month. Even to this day, he wasn’t sure how such a magical paradise had been created. All his attempts to copy its abilities had fallen short.

After a while, he started to detect a soft yellow glow around Hermione. Most people wouldn’t have noticed it, but he knew what to look for. She had activated her magical sense. With it, she could feel her way to what she was looking for.

It was a mystery why Hogwarts never taught the students how to hone this ability. Other schools did, so it wasn’t a secret by any means. British (and European wizards in general) felt like using a wand was the proper way to do magic, and if you learned the correct spells, you didn’t have to actually experiment by yourself.

It had been one of the sentiments among pureblood wizards that Voldemort had never understood or encouraged. That was probably the reason why his non-pureblood followers had been the most creative and powerful. Snape, for example, had always searched for the best way to utilise potion ingredients. He hadn’t been content with what he read or heard, and it had made him the youngest Potion Master in two centuries.

After another twenty minutes, Hermione finally opened her eyes and got up from the floor. She went straight to the open fire and inspected the bricks above it.

“It’s behind here,” she said, letting her hand sweep over two bricks. “How do I get it out?”

“Yes, how do you get it out?” he mused.

She scowled and started to poke the bricks. He snorted, and it made her scowl deepen.

“ Accio! ” she whispered angrily.

Nothing happened. Clearly, she was still very much stuck in the European mindset of using spells instead of pure magic.

Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes again.

The bricks started to move ever so slightly. He hadn’t put any real magic to hide it, just enough that she wouldn’t be able to physically pull it out. It would only take magical force and willpower to remove them.

Hermione had both in spades; she just needed to learn how to use it properly. The bricks slowly pulled out and hovered in the air in front of her. Behind it, she could see her wand.

She exhaled in relief, and the bricks dropped to the floor. Voldemort whipped out his wand and caught them in the air before they landed on her feet. Hermione quickly grabbed her wand, and he levitated the bricks back in place.

“Preferably, you don’t just let go of heavy objects when you have moved them,” Voldemort said dryly.

She just made a grimace and wiped off the dust from her wand. “Where is my bag?”

“What do you need it for?” he asked innocently.

Her eyes narrowed. “For some mysterious reason, I have a bite mark on my inner thigh that I would like to heal.”

He went closer to her and put two fingers under her chin, tilting her head upwards so he could look her in the eyes.

“You should be very, very grateful that the only punishment you received for using my body without my consent is a bite mark,” he said, deadly quiet. “Few people have received such mercy from Lord Voldemort.”

She tried not to look scared, but he could see the fear in her eyes.

“That mark will remind you of my mercy, and if you want your bag back, the mark stays where it is. Otherwise, I will have to put it back there, and it won’t be as pleasurable the second time.”

Satisfied that his message had been received, he let go of her chin and let her take a few steps back.

“Fine, I’ll keep it,” she mumbled. “Can I have my bag back? If nothing else, I would like to brush my teeth and shower.”

“Of course,” he said and reached into his robe, retrieving her beaded bag. “Impressive extension charm, by the way. Whatever did the Ministry say about it?”

She snatched the bag from his hand.

“They had bigger problems at the time,” she said with a pointed look. “If you excuse me, I will take that shower now.”

“Be my guest,” he just said.

When the door had closed behind her, he went to the cupboard to pull out some potions. If (or rather, when) Hermione failed to remove the magical residue left in her scar from Bella’s knife, he would need to act quickly. And he very much looked forward to that.

***

Hermione dragged out the shower for as long as she could. The tension between her and Voldemort was strange. Obviously, he was still dangerous, even if he had limits on his magic as well as physical limits due to Viktor’s influence. But she hadn’t expected him to … give her an orgasm while punishing her.

The thought made her blush, and she let the hot water flush over her face. Had he done that only because Viktor had? Was it some power move? It must be. Voldemort was all about power.

The bite mark stung as she washed it. She had read that a bit of pain could amplify the pleasure in sex but never experienced it like that before. Only things like pulling her hair, scratching her back, biting her lip and so on.

When she was finally finished and came out of the bathroom, Voldemort was sitting in the armchair, reading a newspaper and drinking tea.

“So, how do I heal the cuts in my arm?” she asked, seeing no reason to beat around the bush.

Voldemort sat down his cup and folded the newspaper neatly before answering.

“The theory behind it is simple. When you are bitten by something poisonous, the easiest is to just suck it back out. It’s the residue of magic that keeps your wound from healing. As long as that remains, the wound won’t heal no matter what other things you apply to it. You have to suck it back out,” he explained.

“And how do I ‘suck out’ the residue then?” she asked impatiently.

“That is the easy part. Just like how you found your wand, you reach out with your magic and pull out the residue that remains in your arm. The hard part is what you do with it afterwards. Energy can’t be destroyed, just transformed. Same goes for magic. If you don’t dispose of it safely, it will backfire in some way.”

“How can I dispose of it safely? Throw it in the fire?”

“Only if you want to kill both of us and every other living thing within a ten mile radius.”

 Couldn’t he just get to the point?

“Okay, then tell me how,” she demanded.

“My suggestion would be to transform it into something useful. Create a powerful ward around your belongings, for example. But you must take command over the magical residue, convince it that you are the one in control.”

“What happens if I can’t?” she said, already starting to regret making the deal with Voldemort.

“Then I will have to save you,” he said with a smile.

“Don’t you have any books about it I can read beforehand to prepare?” she asked.

He chuckled. “This is not a skill you learn by reading. You will only learn by doing.”

That was exactly what Harry had told her about flying their first year. It hadn’t turned out well for her. At least she was older and more experienced now. That should count for something.

“I suggest you get comfortable,” Voldemort continued. “It will take a while.”

With a huff, Hermione conjured herself a similar armchair to the one Voldemort sat in.

“Have you decided on what you will use the magic for?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied.

She would put up a ward that would alert her if someone were approaching the cottage. Voldemort definitely had some wards like that, but she wanted to be aware of threats as well. But just to annoy him, she would not tell him about it.

“Very well, good luck,” he said, looking amused.

Hermione took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Just like the day before, she focused on her magical sense, but this time she explored herself. There was so much more magic in her body than it had been in those flowers. The flowers were like a candle, she was a star.

However, in her left arm, there was something disturbing her flow of energy. Around her arm, the magic flickered in a purple discolouration. It had intertwined with her own magic, and she didn’t know where she should start to “suck” it out.

With her consciousness, she tried to examine it closer, but it felt like getting a root canal. Carefully, she tried to come at it from different angles, trying to ignore the unpleasant feel of it and take control over it.

Hadn’t Voldemort said this was the easy part?

Maybe she was thinking about it too much. Her instinct was to just rip it out. Perhaps she should just try and see what happened. Voldemort was there after all, and he had seemed very confident in his ability to save her from any side effects.

She snorted to herself. What had her life come to that she was comforted in any way by Voldemort’s presence?

Steeling herself against the feel of the curse, she willed her magical sense to just force the foreign magic out of her arm. With purple sparks, it exited her arm, taking some of her magic with it.

Hermione gasped in pain, pulling her arm towards her chest, her concentration breaking for a second, and she lost control of the magic before she could funnel it to a ward. The magically created armchair she was sitting on exploded, throwing her forward and into Voldemort’s lap.

He already had his wand out, creating an invisible wall around the magical energy. Hermione didn’t dare to move. That had gone even worse than she had feared.

Voldemort closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath, and slowly, the magic faded. She could feel him using himself as a funnel for the magic, but she had no idea what he was doing with it.

After a few minutes, he opened his eyes again, smiling down towards her.

“It seems we are going to a Quidditch gala,” he purred. 

 

Chapter 7: Mrs and Mr Krum

 

“I still don’t see why I need a new dress. My old one was perfectly fine,” Hermione muttered when Voldemort dragged her to another boutique in Sofia.

“It certainly was not,” Voldemort snorted. “It was obvious you had lengthened it with magic. And people will know that you had it last time you accompanied me to a gala.”

“That was almost four years ago,” Hermione objected. “Who keeps track of that?”

“You would be surprised,” Voldemort said, rolling his eyes as he led her to the counter of the shop.

The shop was filled with beautiful robes and gowns. The tasteful, expensive-looking décor made it clear that this was not for just any witch or wizard. These creations were ridiculously expensive.

If she had been alone, she was sure that the clerk would have looked down his nose at her, but for “Viktor”, he was all smiles as they talked in Bulgarian.

Hermione was used to being around celebrities. In Britain she was one herself. But it could not compare to the fame Viktor had in his homeland. Ever since they got here this morning, people had been smiling and waving at him, some even asking for autographs.

Harry had never been treated like that on a regular basis. People whispered about him when he passed, but no one asked for autographs. It annoyed her that someone who had done so much good like Harry was met with whispering, while someone like Viktor who was only good on a broom was cheered. It wasn’t fair.

The clerk gestured for her to move onto a spin table in front of mirrors. With a wave of his wand, a ruby-red fabric came flying, draping itself over her body. The fabric was incredibly soft, lightweight and seemed to be gleaming.

Voldemort and the clerk continued talking in rapid Bulgarian. Hermione only picked up on some words like “yes,” “no,” and “beautiful”. Viktor had taught her a little when she had visited him a few years ago.

Three measuring tapes flew around her body, and a magical quill was scribbling on a piece of parchment on the desk next to the clerk. What enchantment could have been used to link the different measuring tapes with the quill? How did it go about writing down just one measurement at the time? It was incredibly hard to enchant something that took information from different sources at the same time in a practical way.

“Hermione, do you prefer gold, silver or pearls for jewellery?” Voldemort asked her, interrupting her thoughts.

“Erm, I don’t really have a preference,” she replied.

He studied her critically from head to toe. “Gold then.”

Fifteen minutes later they were out of the store. The clerk promised the dress would be finished the very next day.

“Are we going straight to Viktor’s parents?” Hermione asked as Voldemort set off down the busy street.

“No, we will stop by the flat first. And I need to buy flowers. Viktor always brings flowers when he has been away for a while,” he scoffed.

“That’s sweet of him,” Hermione said, frowning at his scorn.

Voldemort didn’t respond. Glancing at him, she saw that he had that faraway look in his eyes. Probably communicating with Viktor then. Voldemort had had that look on his face quite a lot the last few days. Viktor wanted to be the one in control when they went to his parents, but for whatever reason, Voldemort refused.

Viktor’s flat looked how Hermione remembered it. The hallway was filled with pictures from different Quidditch matches, but none of them of Viktor. The door to the bedroom stood open, and the bed had the same navy blue covers as it had had when Hermione had made her sexual debut on it. The memory made her smile. He had been so considerate and yet so passionate.

The hallway opened up to the living room; a black leather sofa was facing the fireplace and was surrounded by bookshelves. Different trophies stood between the books, and on the far wall, Viktor had hung all his old brooms. He polished them more often than he did any of the trophies.

Voldemort went up to the bookcase and opened a wooden box. When he spun around again, he was holding a ring in his hand.

Hermione stared at it in disbelief. “Is that an engagement ring?”

“It’s been in the Krum family for generations.”

“And?”

“You will wear it.”

“Why on earth would I do that?”

“Because it will make people think we are engaged.”

“Yes, I got that. Why on earth would you propose to me?”

“Why not?”

Hermione crossed her arms. “If you want me to wear that ring, you are planning something. I refuse to go along with it unknowingly.”

Voldemort sighed. “Fine. Vasilka is a very … intuitive witch. If we come here and don’t meet with her, she will know something is off. But if we do go there, it’s possible she will know something is going on, too. This will distract her.”

“Why not just let Viktor be the one in charge,” she objected.

“Viktor can’t act to save his life; she will instantly know something is amiss.”

Alas, he was probably correct. 

“So why risk coming to this Quidditch gala in the first place? You could just claim that you are sick and can’t come.”

Voldemort snorted. “If I pretended to be sick, Vasilka would instantly be here. No, this is the least dangerous way.”

“Proposing to me?”

He shrugged. “Vasilka liked you, and she knows how Viktor feels about you. She has been encouraging him to try and get you back. And since you love him as well …”

He gave her a challenging look.

“Of course I love him,” Hermione said, straightening her back. “I just don’t think marriage is the best course of action as long as you live in his body.”

“It’s just a ring,” Voldemort said with a predatory smile. “It’s common for young couples to have long engagements.”

Hermione watched the ring, trying to find a way she could refuse. “If it’s an old pureblood ring, doesn’t it have all kinds of enchantments on it?”

“It has an Infidelity Charm, but that shouldn’t be a problem for you,” he purred.

“What kind?” she asked, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“Not anything that will cause permanent damage to anyone.”

“And what happens if I refuse?”

Voldemort shrugged. “Then I guess I will just have to kill both Vasilka and Stanislav.”

“Viktor would never let you do it!” Hermione objected.

Voldemort smiled condescendingly.

Could she risk it? There were many ways to kill someone and who knew if Viktor would be able to stop Voldemort forever. And it was just a ring. Which would explain to her friends why she was staying so long in Bulgaria.

Ron would be so jealous when he read about it. The thought gave her some dark satisfaction.

Voldemort crossed his arms, and she took a deep breath, closing her eyes. Maybe there was another benefit as well. Maybe she could use this to try and help Viktor.

“Very well,” she finally said. “But I want Viktor to be the one to put it on.”

If there were anything dangerous about the ring, he would tell her.

Voldemort rolled his eyes, and a second later, Viktor was there.

“Her-my-none, are you sure?” he asked softly, taking her hand.

“Of course. I love you; this is probably in our future anyway,” she mumbled.

Her heart almost broke when she saw how Viktor’s face shone with happiness. She was horrible for using him this way. But she couldn’t show any guilt. Instead, she stepped closer and kissed him.

He kissed her back with a passion. If there were any time Viktor would be overflowing with love, it was probably now. Thus, she decided to intensify it.

She let out a moan and pulled him closer towards her. The sofa was just behind her, so it only took a few steps to pull him down on it. Once he was seated, she climbed up in his lap and started to feel the familiar pulse of arousal hum in her body.

Viktor knew where she wanted to be kissed. He trailed kisses down the left side of her neck, and his hot breath gave her goosebumps all over. She could feel him harden underneath her and slowly began to move against him as she opened her blouse and threw it on the floor.

He pulled off his shirt as well and helped her remove her bra.

“Gods, you are so beautiful,” he mumbled and kissed her breast.

It sent tingles straight down to her clit, and she started to grind harder against his lap. With a groan he pulled her against his chest and turned them to the side, so he was on top of her. It made it easier for them to wriggle out of their trousers.

His hand went down between her legs, and with a few well-aimed strokes, she was soaking.

“Please fuck me already,” she gasped and tried to wrap her leg around his hip.

He chuckled. “As you wish.”

With one stroke, he entered her. No matter how many times they had sex, Hermione was always taken by surprise by his girth. It made her feel deliciously full and sent waves of pleasure through her body.

She met his strokes, dragging her fingers over his back, biting his shoulder. He moved his hand down between them and started to tease her clit with fast fingers. All that searching for Snitches had clearly helped him find small things and capture them. He was firm, toeing the line of giving her too much stimulation but never crossing it.

She moaned loudly, losing herself in just the feeling. There was nothing else in the world that mattered. Just her, Viktor and the pleasure.

Too soon, she was pushed over the edge, crying out in ecstasy. He followed her, whispering something in Bulgarian as he came. She didn’t need to understand the words to know what he meant.

Reality came back to her, crushing her completely.

“I love you, too,” she whispered, blinking away tears.

Viktor deserved someone who meant those words to their fullest extent.

“Excellent, then we are in agreement.”

Voldemort pulled out of her, got off her and reached for the ring that lay forgotten on the table.

She scrambled for her clothes, but before she reached them, he had taken her hand and forced the ring onto her ring finger.

“Now, if you excuse me, I have some flowers to buy.”

With a wave of his wand, he was dressed and out of the flat before she could blink. She stared after him. That was not the reaction she had expected. Clearly the love hadn’t flushed him out of Viktor’s body, but … had he seemed scared?

***

Voldemort had to get away from her. He felt sick of emotions, like his whole body was about to explode from within. How could this feeling make anyone happy ?

Viktor had mercifully fallen asleep, so Voldemort didn’t have to hear his thoughts. It was just him in his head. He needed to get his body under control.

He put a Notice-Me-Not Charm over himself, so he wouldn’t have to deal with Viktor’s crazy fans. He much preferred having people fear him. Then, they at least left him alone.

Alas, it was too soon for that. He was not strong enough yet. Once he was alone in his body, he would make them fear him again. He would use Viktor’s fame to get himself into the position he wanted to be in. The gala would help him do that. Even Hermione’s fame would help him.

He had no intention of letting her get out of the engagement. Oh, it would be a long engagement, but there was only one way it would end. With marriage.

He focused on those goals as his body slowly stopped trembling with emotions.

This reminded him of the first time he had got drunk. He had been fifteen, and everything had been hilarious and scary at the same time.

Not that he was scared now. No, of course not.

Just … unused to the new body and the side effects of it. The racing heart, the feeling of lightness in his limbs.

After a few minutes, he was in control of his body again and able to go to the flower shop. He bought Vasilka’s favourite, hyacinths, and had to smile at a child watching him with wide eyes. Why anyone got children was beyond him.

When he came back into the flat, Hermione was just stepping out of the shower.

“Oh,” she mumbled, pulling her towel tighter around herself.

He rolled his eyes. “I saw you naked less than half an hour ago, no need to pretend to be modest now.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I know this relationship is screwed up in many ways, but Viktor is still the one I choose to show my body to, not you.”

He arched an eyebrow, and slowly let his eyes wander over her body. “How is that bite mark scarring? Do you long for another one?”

She was beautiful when she was angry. He could feel her magical energy tremble as she clenched her yaw. He yearned for her to attack him. There were so many things he wanted to do to that petite body of hers.

Alas, she spun around on her heels and marched into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

He took a step after her but forced himself to stop. He wanted to remind her who she was dealing with, but they didn’t have time. He couldn’t afford Vasilka to suspect that anything was amiss. She was a clever witch and experienced enough in the Dark Arts.

By the time Hermione came back out, he had calmed down enough to be fully in control again.

“Do try to cheer yourself up,” he said, studying her closely. “Engagements are supposed to make you happy.”

“I will be happy when we get there,” Hermione promised.

“I could assist you in achieving another orgasm. That always cheers you up,” he proposed sweetly.

“No, thank you,” she said stiffly, crossing her arms. “It’s clear enough from your appearance alone that we just had sex.”

He stepped in front of the mirror in the hallway. His hair was messy, and his lips still looked full from kissing. Yes, Vasilka would definitely pick up on that.

“Also,” Hermione continued, stepping up behind him. “If you pull down your collar a little bit …” she trailed off as she folded down the turtleneck Viktor usually wore. 

The shadow of a love bite was visible on his neck, probably from the night before.

“Perhaps you should put on something that shows off your love bites,” he purred.

A faint blush crept up on her face as she snorted. “I don’t believe I own anything that has such a low neckline.”

“Ah, clearly that needs to be rectified.”

Snorting again, she shook her head. It seemed he had managed to get her in a better mood.

He took her hand and Apparated them both to the Krum residence outside of Sofia. Viktor had bought his parents a house when he got on the Bulgarian Quidditch team. It was three stories in an all-magic suburb, hidden from Muggles. Yet, the building was ordinary enough that it could just as well have been in a Muggle community. Unlike many of its neighbouring buildings, which clearly were supported by magic.

The garden, however, was full of magical plants. Stanislav Krum had been a gardener all his life, and even retired, he couldn’t stop tending to his plants. Big Moly flowers with its characteristic black stem and white flowers grew all around the house. Two great Wiggentrees grew on each side of the house, and he could see Bowtruckles jumping from twig to twig.

Holding Hermione’s hand, they walked up to the house and knocked before he opened the door.

“Mother?” he called in Bulgarian. “Father? We are here.”

“ Skŭpi moĭ! ” Vasilka came out from the kitchen, embracing him and kissing his cheek.

Vasilka was still very attractive, despite having aged more than twenty years since he last saw her. She was still standing proud, her hair in an elegant knot at the back of her head, dressed impeccably in tailored, navy robes. Clearly, she was pleased to be living more comfortably than she had before Viktor’s fame.

“And Her-mi-nini, how wonderful to see you again!” Vasilka said in broken English as she embraced her as well.

“Hello Mrs Krum, lovely seeing you again.”

“Call me Vasilka, dear,” the older woman insisted. “Come, come, you must be hungry.”

They came into the kitchen at the same time as Stanislav came in from the back. Unlike his wife, he did not seem to have changed his style. Even though his robes were well made, the hem was covered in dirt as were his hands. Then again, he had never minded their modest background, unlike his pureblood wife.

“Viktor!” he greeted cheerfully and hugged them both. “Hermo-nie, good of you to be back.”

Voldemort had studied many of Viktor’s memories to know exactly how to act and talk to the couple.

“I brought you these, Mother,” he said, pulling out the flowers from inside his robe.

“You spoil me, skŭpi mo ĭ ,” she chirped but pointed towards the empty vase that was already standing ready on the set table.

“Hermo-nie, how have you been?” Stanislav asked. “We read about that terrible war in the newspapers. You must be happy it is over.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Hermione answered, looking a bit uncomfortable. “It was … a hard struggle.”

“Awful, just awful,” Vasilka said in sympathy. “We were so glad when Viktor told us you were okay and that dyavol was gone.”

Vasilka must still not know who he was. He had used a fake name when they were spending time together. He was excellent at telling when other people were lying, but there was nothing suspicious about the way Vasilka talked about him.

“Yes, I don’t know how we managed to survive, but we did,” Hermione said, brushing her hair from her face.

Stanislav gasped when he noticed Hermione’s hand. “Is that …?”

Hermione smiled and looked down at her hand. Voldemort took it gently and intertwined their fingers. 

“Yes, Father.”

“What?” Vasilka asked, going around the table. 

When she saw the ring, she squealed.

“Her-mo-ninny has agreed to be my wife,” Voldemort said proudly.

What followed were several minutes of hugs, kisses and annoying squealing. Stanislav even shed a few tears. It was loathsome, but Voldemort was surprised to see how well Hermione concealed her true feelings about it. Apparently, she was quite adept in the art of lying as well. He had underestimated her.

“Oh, we plan on having a long engagement,” Hermione said after they had finally sat down to eat. “I mean, the situation in Britain is still … tense. I don’t want to occupy my friends and family with a wedding amid the rebuilding.”

“Surely they would like something to celebrate?” Stanislav objected.

“We won’t stress them, Father,” Voldemort said. “We are young; we don’t need to hurry.”

Mr Krum looked like he wanted to say something more, but Vasilka sent him a look to drop the subject. Voldemort knew what the problem was, Stanislav was old-fashioned and did not support a witch and wizard living together before marriage. Vasilka was more liberal.

“Will you join Viktor here, Her-mi-on?” Vasilka asked instead.

“Maybe,” Hermione answered after a slight hesitation. “Things are so uncertain in the United Kingdom right now; we don’t want to make any hasty decisions. All we know is that we want to be together.”

She took Voldemort’s hand and smiled at him. He could see that her smile was strained but doubted Viktor’s parents would. However, to distract from her expression, he took her hand and kissed the back of it.

“My future is not set in stone either,” he said.

“What do you mean?” Stanislav asked, surprised.

“I’m not certain I will go back to play in the league when the season starts again,” he said.

The older couple gasped in shock.

“You won’t play Quidditch anymore?” Stanislav said, switching to Bulgarian. “Because of her?”

“No, it has nothing to do with her,” Voldemort said, switching languages as well. “I just haven’t felt the same passion for it.”

“Viktor, has something happened?” Vasilka asked, also changing to Bulgarian. “You are a bird born without wings. Flying is who you are.”

“And I can fly outside of Quidditch as well,” Voldemort said, trying not to sound as annoyed as he was. “The new trainer is a nightmare.”

“Why not change teams then? Agents are still sending owls here, trying to find you to draft you for their teams,” Stanislav suggested.

“I couldn’t do that to my teammates!” 

It was exactly what Viktor would have said in that situation. The boy was too loyal.

“Why not make them change trainers again? You are the star of the team. Surely, they will do what you want by now?” Vasilka pressed.

“I haven’t made up my mind yet. I just wanted you to know that I’m considering other options. End of story.”

They all fell silent. If Voldemort had been himself, he would have said a lot more to scare them into compliance, but Viktor was a man of few words.

Finally, Hermione cleared her throat, clearly uncomfortable with them arguing in Bulgarian. 

“This stew is very delicious; what is it?”

Vasilka gave her a forced smile and switched back to English. 

“It’s veal, dear. My mother’s recipe.”

The rest of dinner was strained, but Hermione took charge of the conversation and asked Vasilka and Stanislav about their lives since the last time she had visited. That led Stanislav to talk about the latest additions to his garden, and once dinner was over, he took Hermione out to show her.

Voldemort was about to join them when Vasilka stopped him with a stern look. He mentally sighed. Viktor would never go against one of those looks.

“Let me help you wash up, Mother,” he said instead, directing the dishes to the sink with his wand.

“Thank you, dear.” She looked out the window until Hermione was out of sight. “Is she with child?”

“What? No, of course not!” Voldemort scoffed.

“Well, what am I to think? You come here, engaged, and talking about quitting Quidditch and acting … strange . Something has happened.”

Voldemort massaged his forehead, debating which lie would be the most plausible.

“I went to Britain,” he finally said. 

Some version of the truth was usually the best one in the end. 

“To fight in the war.”

Vasilka gasped. “Viktor! You could have died.”

“So could she,” he said softly. “I didn’t hear from her for almost a year. Didn’t know if she was dead or alive. When I found out the last battle was approaching, I had to go. If something had happened to her and I hadn’t been there, I never would have been able to forgive myself.”

Vasilka sighed, shaking her head. “I wish you would have told me before leaving.”

“I’m sorry, Mother,” he muttered the same way Viktor would have. “But what I saw there … Quidditch doesn’t seem as important anymore.”

She came up to him and hugged him hard. Curiously, she didn’t feel the same way she had when he had known her. It took him a moment to realise what it was. She didn’t have the aura of the Dark Arts around her anymore. Had she abandoned all of it? Whatever for?

“Don’t make any decisions you will regret,” she finally said when she withdrew. “There is nothing wrong, doing what we love. No matter how ‘unimportant’.”

He smiled at her. 

Oh, he would most definitely do what he loved soon enough.

Chapter 8: Gala Surprises

 

Hermione lay awake that night, her thumb stroking over the engagement ring. She had been so hopeful the sex earlier that day would have hurt Voldemort more. It had definitely shaken him. He had fled the room once it was over. How could she use that? Viktor had only been around for a little while after Voldemort had gone to sleep hours ago, but Viktor hadn’t said anything about it.

Was her hypothesis wrong? Was Voldemort no longer hurt by the power of love as he had been in his old body?

She wished Viktor had been awake longer. Sex had become her best remedy for insomnia. If she were to do a good job at that blasted gala tomorrow, she needed to sleep at least a few hours. It was already three o’clock in the morning.

After another half an hour of twisting and turning, she finally decided to take matters into her own hands. She didn’t need Viktor to give her a climax after all; she had managed for years on her own.

She turned her back to him. As quietly as possible, she withdrew her wand from underneath her pillow and cast a non-verbal vibrating spell.

The tip of her wand started to buzz, and she brought it between her legs, against her clit. She moved it around with slow, circular motions, all her thoughts fading away as heat filled her. This was just what she needed.

An arm came around her waist. 

“Need help with that?” he asked huskily.

She smiled, happy he was awake again. 

“Well, if you are offering.”

He chuckled and kissed her shoulder, moving his hand down between her legs and stroking her slit as he gathered her wetness and trailed it up to her clitoris, lubricating it.

She moaned when he started to roll the clitoris hood between his fingers, stimulating the sensitive bundle of nerves just the way she liked it.

His cock was starting to rise against her backside, and she started to lazily move her hips back against him. The action caused him to groan, and he let go of her clit for a moment to lift her leg over his. Then he moved his hand back between her opening.

She moved her vibrating wand back against her clitoris as he began to pump two fingers into her. She shuddered with pleasure, pushing her arse harder against his groin.

“If you insist,” he growled and replaced his fingers with his cock.

He pushed into her with a lot more force than usual. It made her gasp in pleasure.

“You like that?” he asked, withdrawing and pushing in hard again.

“Yes,” she gasped.

He rolled her to her stomach with him on top of her. Then, he brought her hips up, so he could stand on his knees between them.

“You will do well to hold onto something then.”

When he pushed into her next, he managed to hit her g-spot hard.

“Fuck,” she groaned, feeling the pleasure all the way down to her toes as she grabbed onto the headboard.

“I intend to,” he growled and started to fuck her hard.

If he hadn’t held such an iron grip on her hips, she wasn’t sure she would have been able to keep them up. She strained her arms, so she wouldn’t hit her head against the wall.

He whispered something she couldn’t make out, and all of a sudden, her wand flew up, sticking itself to her belly, the tip landing right on top of her clitoris.

She let out a gasp in shock and had to press her head down against the bed for support. Every thought had disappeared from her head. The only thing in the world was the vibrating tip against her clitoris and the cock fucking her hard.

The orgasm washed over her like a stormy sea drowning a fishing boat. She was dimly aware of a body collapsing on top of her as her wand stopped vibrating.

“I knew it was only a matter of time, Hermione,” Voldemort chuckled in her ear as she drifted off to sleep.

***

It was well past nine when Hermione woke up the next morning. Getting out of bed, she winced at how sore her thighs were. Grimacing, she pulled on Viktor's housecoat and followed the smell of coffee into the kitchen.

Of course Voldemort was there, reading the newspaper at the small table. 

"Morning."

"Yeah," she mumbled, searching the cupboard for a cup.

"Slept well?"

She poured coffee into the mug and glanced over at him. He was looking way too chipper, and he was not a morning person. 

"Why?"

She sat down opposite him and winced again.

"Feeling sore?" he asked innocently.

She sighed. "Yes, I had sex."

"I know; I was there."

"We have been over this; just because you inhabit the body—”

"You wound me, Hermione,” he said, playing hurt. "I was the only one there."

"What?"

"Viktor was asleep. I asked if I could be of assistance, and you said yes."

Hermione stared at him, dumbfounded.

"No …" 

She tried to remember everything that had been said the night before. She had been sure it was Viktor.

Although, Viktor was never that rough. And he wasn’t that much of a talker when they had sex. Also, he never really used magic when they were intimate.

She had been so tired and … she hadn’t had her guard up. She hadn’t looked at him. If she had looked at him, she would have known. Why hadn’t she looked?

“I need to talk with Viktor,” she finally said.

Voldemort laughed. “Oh, he doesn’t want to talk with you. This is truly a good morning.”

Hermione rose. “Viktor, please, I thought he was you.”

“Did you really?” Voldemort purred.

“Of course!”

“Are you saying that I tricked you?”

Hermione hesitated, going over everything he had said. 

“I … well …”

“You enjoyed yourself immensely.”

Hermione pressed her hands against her face, rubbing her eyes. 

“Well, I just like sex. It’s a fantastic way to help retain memory after studying and to help with anxiety. Viktor knows that. He is the one who showed me how great sex could be, and I refuse to be ashamed of it.”

He chuckled. 

“Oh, I am in no way shaming you, Hermione. I would be more than happy to show you how much power you can truly gain from sex. Viktor is adept for his age, but why settle for the student when you could have the master?”

Hermione snorted and lowered her hands, finally finding a weak point in his argument. 

“You have never had sex with someone you actually love.”

Voldemort rolled his eyes.

“What we did last night—what Viktor and I do sometimes—is just sex. It’s nice, great even. I like it as much as the next witch. But then there are those sex acts where your very souls touch each other, and for a moment, the only thing in the world that exists is you and that person, and you just know, without a doubt, that they love you and that there is still something good in the world. And that is something no power trip in the world can come close to.”

He laughed and rose from the chair, stepping closer to her. 

“Is that a challenge, Miss Granger?”

“No, just a fact,” she stated, crossing her arms.

He was only a few inches away from her, his dark eyes staring down at her, a predatory smile on his lips. 

“You are young, Hermione. I can do things with you that you wouldn’t be able to imagine in your worst nightmare and I could make you like them. Crave them.”

His hand came up to her neck, tracing the outline of it while keeping his gaze locked with hers.

“Ah, there it is,” he whispered. “That insatiable curiosity. You want to know.”

“No,” she lied.

He just smiled and grasped her neck, hard, pressing a kiss against her lips. Before she knew what she should do, he had let go of her.

“Liar,” he teased before leaving the kitchen.

When she heard the door to the bathroom close, she finally sank down on the kitchen chair.

“Fuck,” she whispered.

***

Hermione managed to avoid Voldemort for most of the day. She took a long shower, spent a couple of hours straightening her hair to get it into a neat bun, and then managed to convince him to let her go down to the Muggle beauty store she had seen the day before. She very much needed to get away from him for a little while.

When she came back, two hours before they were supposed to leave for the gala, she almost didn’t recognise herself.

Her eyes had never looked so big and bright as they did with the brown smokey eyeshadow. Her skin looked flawless, and the red lipstick she was wearing made her look (Dare she say it?) sexy. They had also rearranged her hair to make it fall around her face in corkscrew curls that in no way resembled her normal curls.

Voldemort’s eyebrows were almost at his hairline when he saw her.

“What magic did you use to make your skin glow?” he asked, studying her face and neck closely.

“I believe it’s called highlighter,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Muggles invent amazing things all the time.”

“Oh yes, I remember the first atom bomb vividly,” he snorted. “Your dress has arrived.”

He led her into the bedroom where a beautiful, red gown hung.

“I think I can manage dressing on my own,” she said when he made no motion to leave the room.

“There is no reason to be modest, my dear,” he purred, tilting his head. “The dress has hard to reach buttons. I will assist you.”

She considered fighting him. However, there were many struggles to come. If she were to win the war, she would need to pick her battles better to conserve her strength. What did it matter if he saw her half naked, when he had already seen and felt everything there was to see?

“Fine,” she muttered and turned her back to him as she stripped down to her underwear.

The fabric of the dress barely weighed anything. She had never felt anything like it. It was like mist but solid. When she pulled it on, it felt like feathers stroking her body.

“Perfect,” Voldemort said softly as he came up behind her.

The dress had an open back with a see-through red shawl going around her shoulders. Tiny buttons hidden beneath the shawl kept it from falling off. The sleeves were short and covered by the shawl as well. The skirt was quite narrow, but a slit on either side of her legs helped her move around. She had never felt more beautiful. 

“I also got you these,” Voldemort said, summoning a box with jewellery from the nightstand.

The gold earrings were shaped as willow leaves, hanging down from their stems. The matching bracelet was a gold willow’s leaf that wrapped itself around her wrist.

“Stunning,” he purred. “Of course, most people will probably focus on this.”

He tilted her hand and stroked the engagement ring.

“I don’t doubt it,” she muttered.

“What should our engagement story be like?” he asked.

“You mean it’s not romantic to tell people you proposed so Viktor’s mother wouldn’t suspect something was amiss?” she asked and pulled her hand back.

He chuckled. “I doubt people would expect anything romantic from either you or Viktor. Many will no doubt think the same thing Vasilka thought that you are pregnant.”

“If Rita Skeeter wrote about it, she would claim I tricked Viktor by getting pregnant. And her twist would be that it was Harry’s child—Oh fuck!”

“Have you forgotten to tell me something about your relationship with Potter?” he asked in disbelief.

“What?! No, of course not. But I must write to them. They can’t find out that I’m engaged from the newspapers.”

She got her bag, scrambled around for a piece of parchment and a quill and quickly scribbled down.

Hi Ginny (and the boys)!

I have so much I want to tell you, but there’s one important thing I need to get off my chest right away.

Viktor proposed. I accepted.

So much has happened, and we don’t plan to rush down the aisle or anything, but after everything that we have been through, I just want to be happy. Viktor really does make me happy.

It was a spur of the moment thing, and I am so excited to tell you all about it, but for now, I’m just making sure you hear it from me first and not some Rita Skeeter wannabe.

I will write to you again soon!

Love,

Hermione

***

The crowd outside of the Quidditch gala was enormous. People from all around the world came to this event and so did their fans. Voldemort would have had no problems talking to many different reporters, showing off Hermione on his arm, but that would be too out of character for Viktor. Instead, he simply stopped and nodded toward the photographers from the biggest newspapers so they could take their picture, before leading her up the stairs to the building.

This year, the event was held in an old cathedral that had been abandoned by the Muggles for a century. It was often used by the Bulgarian Magical Ministry to impress their guests, just like now.

Candles floated high up in the ceiling, casting a warm light against the mosaic windows. Where the altar used to be, a drinking fountain stood. It had the shape of a giant silver broom with a deep-purple liquid erupting from its tip.

Behind it, a string quintet played on broom-shaped instruments. The dinner was also served in different Quidditch related props. Every goblet looked like a trophy, and the main course had peas enchanted to fly around the plate like balls, being chased by pieces of meat, which of course, were shaped like brooms.

Voldemort was not impressed. All the magic in the world, and this was what people wasted their time on? Luckily, he could use Viktor’s introverted nature to take a walk to stretch his legs in between each course. It gave him the opportunity to talk to people he needed to talk to more privately. And of course he had to introduce his new fiancée to everyone. Thus, Hermione got to stand and look pretty, which he could see she found dreadfully boring and annoying, especially when most didn’t bother to talk to her, just about her. Most of them even spoke solely in Bulgarian or another foreign language, but some spoke in English.

“Viktor!”

A tall, thin man in navy robes came up to them. Judging by his red face and glossy eyes, he already had a lot to drink.

“Wolfgang,” Voldemort greeted him. “How are you?”

Wolfgang gave him an awkward, one-armed hug. “Fantastic, abs-abselouly … absolutely fantastic,” he slurred. “Damn, who is this?”

He had finally spotted Hermione.

“Daaaaamn, Viktor, I know why you haven’t been to practices,” Wolfgang whistled. “Care to lend me her when you are done?”

Voldemort could feel Hermione taking a deep breath, probably to hex the man, but he decided to not cause a scene. Instead, he pressed down her wand hand, took Wolfgang’s arm in his other hand and led them both into an alcove, out of sight from everyone.

“You will not speak to my fiancée like that,” Voldemort said in a low voice to Wolfgang as he pinned him against the wall.

Wolfgang didn’t even have the decency to become frightened.

“Pfff, it was just a joke, Viktor.”

Voldemort wanted to inflict endless pain onto the disgusting man, but that wouldn’t be in character for Viktor.

Hermione, however, had enough. 

“ Teskitus!”

Wolfgang’s face constricted in pain.

“If you ever speak about me, or any woman, like that again, the pain you feel now will be like a wet dream in comparison,” she growled.

Wolfgang stared down at her in fear as tears started leaking from his eyes.

“Get out of my sight,” she hissed.

Voldemort let go of Wolfgang, and the man limped away as fast as he could.

“Ugh, men,” Hermione spat.

“Where did you learn that curse?” Voldemort asked, impressed by her ruthlessness. 

That curse could leave permanent damage to the testicles if the subject didn’t seek medical help in time.

“I read about it,” she answered, shaking her head.

“And practised it?”

She shrugged. “Some men just deserve it.”

She had never looked as attractive as she did at that moment. He leaned down and kissed her. He could feel her surprise, but after only a moment, her hand came up around his neck. She was kissing him back with passion, pushing him against the wall. Their fun was cut short, however, when someone close by let out a high laughter. Hermione jumped away, looking around.

“Fuck,” she muttered.

“Gladly,” he answered.

She blushed and just shook her head before stepping out of the alcove and moving into the sea of people again. Voldemort started to follow her but was soon stopped by Quidditch players who wanted to talk to him. He felt torn. The only reason he came to this event was because he knew he could use these influential people in the future, and therefore, he needed to mingle as much as possible. 

However, a part of him desperately wanted to follow Hermione, take her away from this party and ravage her. Not that she was likely to agree to that. Thus, the strategist in him reminded him to focus on the bigger picture. Hermione wouldn’t go anywhere, but these people would. He had to take the opportunity to mingle with the powerful and influential people at this event. 

Sighing, he turned his attention to the people around him. Time for “Viktor” to start networking.

Chapter 9: The Hangover

 

Hermione knew she shouldn’t be drinking. Just like she shouldn’t have kissed Voldemort. Or had sex with him.

But she needed to get away from these feelings deep inside her. The burning in her loin. Which was a silly metaphor, and she did not know why it felt so painfully accurate.

Three glasses of wine later found her swaying to the music in a corner of the massive ballroom, watching the others dance. It was beautiful; she loved string music. When she closed her eyes, it was like she wasn’t even there, just floating in the music.

“Hermione.”

She jumped when she heard Voldemort next to her.

“Yes?” she said, sighing.

“Would you care for a dance?”

He held out his hand.

“Do we have to?” she whined.

“Yes. Take my hand. Now.”

People would think it was weird if she didn’t dance with her supposed fiancé. They couldn’t have that. He led her out to the dance floor and placed a hand on the small of her back, forcing her close to his body.

“How long do we have to stay here?” she asked as they began to dance.

“Until I have talked to everyone I need to talk to,” he replied simply.

“Talk about what?”

“I need to give some explanation as to why Viktor will not be joining his team this year,” Voldemort explained.

He was a much better dancer than Viktor ever was. Hermione was adequate at dancing, but she had never experienced a partner like this. He was in complete control over their movements, and once again, she felt like she was floating to the music. She let herself get lost in it again.

“Don’t drink too much,” he said when the music temporarily stopped.

She scowled as he kissed her forehead and left her by the fountain again. Bloody ‘Lord over nothing, not even his own body’ Voldemort didn’t decide how much she would drink. 

That was why, when midnight came around, Hermione was on her fifth glass.

All night Voldemort alternated between letting her stand in a corner like a wallflower and dragging her around, exchanging pleasantries and showing off her ring to different people she didn’t recognise. She had just stood by his side, drinking as he talked in languages she didn’t understand. It had been dreadfully boring.

“Are you even capable of walking?” he muttered as they finally left the gala.

“Obviously,” she said, gesturing at her feet that were very much still in contact with the ground.

Seemingly not convinced, Voldemort held a steady grip around her waist as they made their way to the Apparition point.

“Why did you want to talk to everyone?” she asked when they landed in the flat.

“You never know what connection can be useful in the future,” he answered, shrugging off his cape. “I was surprised how you handled Wolfgang.”

“He deserved it,” she said dismissively and went into the kitchen to get some crisps.

“Oh, I agree. A very fitting punishment. One I would never expect the best friend of Harry Potter would deliver.”

“What does Harry have to do with it?”

She found a bag in the cupboard and sighed happily as she opened it. Salty goodness.

“That boy doesn’t have a cruel bone in his body. Nor does he understand when cruelty is necessary.”

“That’s why he has me,” Hermione said, her mouth full of crisps.

He regarded her intently. “Interesting.”

How could crisps be this divine? She should always be eating them.

“Do you enjoy it?”

“It’s amazing,” she moaned, licking the salt off her fingers.

He laughed. “Not the crisps. The curses.”

“Oh … well, that depends, doesn’t it? I mean, does it feel good to see the horror in someone’s eyes when you curse them after they have treated you like shit?”

“Yes, it feels very good,” he responded and stole a couple of crisps from her.

“Yeah. But when it’s just Death Eaters who are killing people and you fight back, it’s just another spell.”

“Which curse have you used the most?” he asked, helping himself to more crisps.

“Probably Birds. They are so beautiful and non-threatening. Until they attack.”

She giggled as she remembered the time she had sent them after Ron and Lavender. Merlin, Ron could be such an inconsiderate, selfish prick sometimes. He would be so jealous when he saw that she was engaged to Viktor. 

Hell, even if he knew she was engaged to Voldemort, he would still be jealous. Probably say something insensitive, just like when she had been together with Viktor the first time.

When Viktor had appeared in the Chambers of Secrets, Ron had been convinced that Viktor was working for Voldemort. He had gone to attack Viktor, and Hermione had knocked Ron unconscious. Viktor had not been behaving like himself, and with the battle raging on in the castle, Hermione had been forced to leave Viktor, promising to come back for him.

Modifying Ron’s memory had been easy. All Ron remembered was them getting the Basilisk teeth and saving the day. Hermione had gone back to the Chamber after the battle was over. By that time, Voldemort had been in control of Viktor’s body and forced her to make an oath not to tell anyone about him.

“It’s a rush to see the fear in their eyes,” Voldemort said in a low voice, bringing her back to the present. “When they realise who is in power.”

“Yes, people have always underestimated me,” Hermione scoffed. “I had the highest grades in our year, and yet, they were surprised that I could use that knowledge. Just because I’m Muggle-born and a woman.”

“I see your power,” Voldemort said with a smile. “Few have I met that rival it.”

She met his gaze, and suddenly, the almost empty bag of crisps wasn’t interesting anymore. In his eyes, she recognised something that she had always hungered for. Always wished for.

Acceptance .

Before she knew it, she straddled his lap and kissed him like her life depended on it. He answered with just as much passion. His hands were on her back, cold against her hot skin.

Suddenly, Voldemort pushed her off him, as if she had burned him. She landed on her tailbone, grunting in surprise and pain, as Voldemort clutched his chest and aimed his wand at her with a shaky hand.

“W-what did you do to me?” he stuttered, his eyes wild with fear.

“I didn’t do anything!” she squeaked, raising her hands in surrender.

Voldemort opened his mouth, but only a moan of pain erupted, and he sank down to his knees. The wand fell to the floor, and he let out a muffled cry, bending over, his whole body shaking.

Hermione stared at him with her mouth agape, unsure what to do. After a few seconds, she decided that it was probably best to, at least, nudge his wand out of reach with her foot. Then she realised she had a wand of her own and quickly drew it, casting a diagnostic spell to see if he had been poisoned or something.

Nothing came up, and by the time she was done, the shaking stopped. Instead she heard small sobs.

“What’s wrong?” she finally asked, putting a tentative hand on his back.

“I thought you loved me Her-mo-ninny,” Viktor’s muffled voice came.

Hermione’s mouth fell open. “Viktor?”

He slowly sat up, tears streaming down his face. “Why would you kiss him ?”

Her mind was working hard through the alcohol. “Where did he go?”

Viktor looked even more hurt. “You only want him now?”

“No, no, of course not, but… is he still there? Inside you?”

Viktor paused, frowning for a few seconds. “I … I can’t hear him.”

Could her plan have worked even though she hadn’t intended it to? She had thought love could drive Voldemort out, but it hadn’t worked. Had a broken heart done it instead?

“Are you sure? Is it like when he is asleep?”

“No.” Viktor closed his eyes. “I can’t feel him at all.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Is he gone?”

“I haven’t felt like this since before … everything,” he said, astoundment clear on his face. “It feels like it’s just me inside my head. What did you do?”

Hermione was about to respond but then decided against it. “We have to see if it’s permanent first. How are you feeling?”

“I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s so quiet.”

“Quiet is good.”

She didn’t dare hope that Voldemort was truly gone. Maybe the emotions had been too much for him, and he was just knocked unconscious. Maybe it was a trick.

They sat on the floor for a few minutes more, Hermione carefully studying Viktor. His eyes were unfocused, and he had a frown on his face. Like he was searching inwards for something.

“I can’t find his memories,” he finally said. “I can’t feel him at all.”

“Okay,” she said and carefully gripped his hands. “I don’t dare to hope that he is gone forever, so we will wait and see what happens. Maybe we should just go to bed? It’s getting very late.”

Viktor drew a deep breath and nodded.

As she stood up, her head started to spin, reminding her of all the alcohol she had drunken earlier. Now that the immediate danger seemed to be over, going to bed was all she could do before passing out cold.

***

When Viktor opened his eyes and saw that the morning light was shining through the window, his heart soared. It had been months since he was last allowed to wake up by himself.

It had been months since he was last alone in his head.

Just like the night before, he tried to search for the other presence in his body that he had become painfully used to. There was still no trace of him. Before, Viktor had been able to glide into Voldemort’s memories even when the man himself had been passed out. Now there was nothing.

Had Hermione saved him?

Viktor rolled to his side and watched the sleeping witch by his side. Her makeup was smeared, and her hair had sprung free from its containment.

His heart twitched painfully. When Hermione had fucked Voldemort, Viktor had been hurt. He could understand the mistake (even though he felt like Hermione should be able to tell them apart), but he had needed time to think before forgiving her.

However, something in Voldemort’s way of thinking about her had changed. Viktor had felt it. Up until that point, Voldemort had been interested in Hermione because she was useful for him. But yesterday, Voldemort had begun seeing her in a new light. Not as just a tool but as an ally.

Someone worth seducing for more than just a temporary commitment.

Viktor hadn’t thought Hermione would fall for Voldemort’s charm though. But then she had.

She had willingly kissed him, and Viktor’s heart had broken because he knew he would never be able to compete with Voldemort.

Everything Viktor had going for him, Voldemort had tenfold.

The fame, the brains, the sexual experience.

The darkness.

Many would assume Hermione was as good as they came, but Viktor knew better. He loved that side of her, too.

And now Voldemort had become obsessed with expanding that side of her.

Imagine Viktor’s surprise when instead of having to witness the woman he loved having sex with someone else, that someone else disappeared.

Had she planned it somehow?

She was a brilliant witch. If anyone could fool Voldemort, it would be her.

A small light of hope lit in his heart. Maybe he hadn’t lost her.

A tapping noise on the window got him out of the bed. Bulbas, his parents’ owl, was holding a letter for him. He quickly let it in, so it wouldn’t wake Hermione.

“You want some seeds?” he asked in a low voice as he untied the letter.

The barn owl jumped closer to him and pushed its head against his hand.

“Wait here,” he said with a chuckle and went to grab the bag of seeds from the kitchen.

When he came back, a second, much smaller owl had joined Bulbas and was hooting and zooming around happily. It was holding a letter for Hermione. Before he could tell it to pipe down, Hermione sat up. The owl flew over to her, landing in her lap.

“Merlin, Pig, please be quieter,” she groaned but still rubbed the head of the owl.

“Good morning,” Viktor greeted her, giving Bulbas some more seeds before the owl took off. “Does Pig want some as well?”

“I’m sure he does,” Hermione grumbled and untied the letter from Pig’s leg.

The moment the owl was free of its burden, it flew to the window sill where Viktor scattered some seeds.

Ripping open his letter, he saw that it was from his mother.

“Mother will come by this afternoon with cake,” he said with a sigh. “Apparently she didn’t think she celebrated the engagement enough the other day.”

It was so typical of his mother to just invite herself to his home. If she wanted something, she made sure it happened. There was no use arguing. The only way to deny her was to avoid her completely, and you could only do it for so long. She could be very insistent. It annoyed him, but growing up, it was thanks to her that he had got all the opportunities to play Quidditch in the right teams, with the right agents watching.

“Well, it’s not like we have anything planned,” Hermione said, looking up at him. “As long as he is still missing?”

“I can’t feel him,” Viktor confirmed.

Hermione studied him. “I guess we will have to do some tests then.”

“Anything,” he agreed. “Is the letter from your friends?”

“Yes,” she said, looking down at it again. “Ginny has a lot of questions. But that’s a later problem. I desperately need some coffee.”

“Allow me,” he said and went to the kitchen.

A few minutes later, Hermione went after him, dressed.

“I need to look up a few things,” she said as he handed her the coffee. “This is not just some standard medical exam. Maybe we could screen for magic or do some Legilimency … but I’m not very good at that.”

“There is a magical bookshop downtown. We have time to go there before my mother arrives. Though, I don’t know how many books will be in English.”

Hermione seemed to wake up more by the mere mention of the bookshop than from the coffee. 

“I’m sure we can find ways to translate it if necessary!”

Several hours later, they returned home with two full bags of books as well as a handy translating scroll. All she had to do was place the scroll on top of the page she was reading, and it would translate it to English. It was in no way a perfect translation, just word for word, but it would give her the gist.

“Look for anything relating to possession, mind control or maybe even detecting dark magic in people,” she ordered Viktor as they sat down to read.

They got a few hours of reading done before a knock on the door was heard.

“That would be Mum,” Viktor sighed and got up to open the door. “Hide the books, please.”

Hermione quickly put the books back in their bags and kicked the bags under the table right before Vasilka entered, carrying a plate with a glass lid over it. Inside, there was some form of creamy cake.

“Hello dear,” Vasilka said, giving Hermione a kiss on the cheek, placing the cake on the table and looking around the kitchen. “How was the gala?”

“It was nice,” Hermione answered. “I enjoy dancing.”

“Ah, yes, Viktor always complained about those dance classes he attended, but look how useful they turned out to be!”

“Mother,” Viktor sighed in the doorway.

Vasilka smiled at him and checked him out from head to toe. 

“You seemed relieved it’s over? You were so tense last time I saw you.”

“Yes, I’m glad it’s over this time,” Viktor agreed, not meeting his mother’s gaze.

“I saw pictures in the papers,” Vasilka noted, starting to set the table. 

Hermione rushed to help her.

“I don’t know why they are so focused on me,” Viktor muttered.

“Because you are exceptional, skŭpi mo ĭ ,” Vasilka answered with a smile. “You seemed to be enjoying yourself. Talking with a lot of people. What did you and the president talk about?”

Viktor crossed his arms and shrugged. “He was trying to get me to stay on the team.”

“I see,” Vasilka said in a tone, which sounded like she didn’t believe him at all.

“Do you want coffee?” Hermione quickly interjected. “Or tea?”

“Tea is fine, dear,” Vasilka said, turning her attention to Hermione instead. “You managed to stay clear of most of the photographers?”

It was more of a statement than a question, but Hermione answered, “Yes, I stay away from the media as much as I can.”

“Understandable.”

Vasilka put some napkins next to the plates and finally sat down at the table. As she did, her foot knocked over one of the book bags Hermione had tried to hide.

“Oh, have you been shopping?” Vasilka asked.

Hermione got down on her knees and tried to grab the books to put them away, but Vasilka was quicker. She snatched a few of the books right in front of Hermione’s hand and put them on the table.

“Soul Searching,” she started to read the titles out loud. “Power of the Mind. Magical philosophy and how it applies to the way we understand magic.”

She looked up at them with a raised eyebrow. “A little light reading for a lazy Sunday?”

Viktor took the books from her hand and placed them on the shelf over the sink, turning the readable side towards the wall. “Just a side-project, Mother.”

“Here is your tea,” Hermione quickly interjected, placing the cup in front of Vasilka and pouring from the kettle.

“Thank you,” Vasilka answered, still watching Viktor carefully.

Viktor was looking at everything but his mother. Hermione poured some tea for him as well and gave him the mug, so he would have something to do.

“This looks delicious,” Hermione said and gestured towards the cake when she couldn’t take the silence anymore. “Have you made it?”

Vasilka laughed. “No, of course not, I do not wish to make you sick.”

“I know what you mean. I’m a terrible baker,” Hermione snorted and sat down. “And cook for that matter.”

Vasilka cut them all a slice of the cake.

“There is a wonderful Muggle bakery in Krasno Selo. They made this,” Vasilka said.

Hermione wasn’t really in the mood for sweets but ate some slowly to be polite. Viktor ate his piece quickly, probably so he wouldn’t have to speak.

“It’s very sweet,” Hermione commented and took another bite. The cream made it easy to swallow down at least.

Viktor was already getting himself another piece.

“Maybe I put too much sugar in the cream,” Vasilka commented.

Viktor froze with the slicer in the cake. “What? You said you bought it?”

“Yes, dear, I bought the cake. I just added the cream. I needed to put the Veritaserum somewhere.”

Hermione dropped her spoon, cream splashing onto the table and her shirt.

“Expelliarmus!” Vasilka said, and both Viktor and Hermione’s wands flew into her hand.

“Mother!” Viktor growled, banging his fist on the table. “I have told you not to meddle in my business.”

“Please, Viktor,” Vasilka told him, looking much more serious than she had just a moment ago. “I could see right away that something was wrong.”

She pointed her wand at Hermione. “Are you blackmailing my son into marrying you?”

“No!” Hermione cried.

“Are you controlling him by magical means?”

“No, never!”

“Mother, Hermione hasn’t done anything but help me,” Viktor interjected.

“Then tell me what’s wrong,” Vasilka demanded.

“I can’t; he will kill you,” Viktor exclaimed, clearly trying to resist the Veritaserum.

Vasilka looked as if her worst fears had come true. She pressed a hand to her mouth and closed her eyes for a few seconds.

“He has found you then,” she finally said. “Your father.”

“You know who my father is?” Viktor asked in disbelief.

Vasilka took a deep breath. 

“Yes, of course. But I thought he was dead. I never saw him again after the ritual. He tried to erase my memory of him, but … I know how to protect myself.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Viktor asked hoarsely.

Vasilka gave him a joyless smile. 

“What was there to tell? That I made some foolish choices as a young woman and had a lover other than my husband? He was so happy when I found myself with child and … I wanted you to have a safe and stable home. A father you could rely on. I gave you that instead. The man who sired you was … is a very dangerous wizard. Powerful and dangerous.”

Hermione suddenly had a sinking suspicion. “What did he call himself when you met him?”

Vasilka looked confused for a moment, then understanding dawned on her. “Alaric Mersvoluko. I should have known it was a false name.”

“Yes, he loves giving himself new names,” Hermione remarked with a shake of her head.

Vasilka took a deep breath. “What is he after?”

Viktor was just shaking his head, trying to fight the urge of the potion. 

“I can’t tell you. If he comes back, he will kill you.”

“I can help you, Viktor,” Vasilka pleaded.

“I have help,” Viktor said, gesturing at Hermione.

Vasilka looked between the two of them, the frustration and fear clear in her eyes as they landed on Hermione.

“Do you love my son?” she finally asked.

“Yes,” Hermione said without even having time to think.

It was the truth, after all. Just not the full one. But Vasilka hadn’t asked about that.

“Are you helping him?” Vasilka asked.

“Yes, I’m trying to.”

She rose. “Very well then. I will let you handle this on your own.”

She went up to Viktor and gave him a long hug, but she angled her face so that she could see Hermione over Viktor’s shoulder. She mouthed something that Hermione thought meant “let me help”. Then, as she withdrew, she made a gesture with her hand that Hermione as a Muggle-born couldn’t misinterpreted. She took her fist to her ear and stretched out her thumb and her pinkie.

How a pureblood witch knew the gesture for “call me” Hermione didn’t know. It seemed Vasilka was full of surprises today. Maybe Hermione should contact her without Viktor knowing? Perhaps she remembered details of the ritual that Voldemort hadn’t been as forthcoming with.

Once Vasilka left, Viktor slumped in the chair opposite from Hermione, putting his head in his hands for a moment.

“She always tries to put her nose in my business,” Viktor finally sighed.

“I guess she is just worried about you.”

Viktor snorted. “A normal Mum doesn’t feed Veritaserum to her child when they are hiding something.”

She arched her eyebrow. “Has she done this before?”

“Yes,” Viktor muttered. “I was bullied when I first started Durmstrang. Didn’t want to tell her, so she made me drink it, and I told her everything. Afterwards, she showed me a couple nasty jinxes to protect myself. I suspect she also bribed or blackmailed Karkaroff to take me under his wing.”

“That’s … something .”

“You could say that. What did your mum do when you were bullied?”

Hermione shrugged. “As far as I know, she only owled the school and asked them to do something. Didn’t help at all.”

A part of Hermione wished that her mum had been able to teach her some jinxes, too. Maybe it would have been easier for her if she had known a way to defend herself from the start.

She began clearing the table manually to distract herself from the pain that always came when she thought about her parents. She hoped she would see them again one day. At least they were still safe from this madness. If Voldemort came back, she was afraid of what he would do to Vasilka.

After several minutes, Viktor looked up at her again. “Are you still affected by the Veritaserum?”

She shook her head. “No. You?”

“No. But it was true, what you said? That you love me?” he said hopefully.

“Yes, of course,” Hermione replied, debating if this would be a good time to talk about her conflicting feelings. But her answer made him look so relieved, and she found herself staying quiet. She didn’t want to cause him more pain right now.

Turning around to finish washing the dishes, she missed when Viktor froze in fear. Then, he blinked, and there was someone else there.

He lifted his wand and walked up to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. Hermione turned her head towards him. When she saw those eyes, she immediately reached for her wand.

“ Stupify! ” he said softly before her hand had even touched the wand.

Chapter 10: The Feeling of Being Utterly Fucked

 

When Hermione woke up, she immediately reached for her wand. Or tried to at least. Her hands would only move an inch as they were tied over her head. She tried to move her legs, but something was holding them down as well.

She was lying on the bed in Viktor’s bedroom, and it was dark outside, the streetlight shining in through the window and illuminating the figure sitting in the armchair in the corner of the room.

As she locked eyes with Voldemort, his lips curled into a cold and cruel smile that sent a shiver of fear down her body.

“Good, you are awake,” he said softly and got up.

Even though she knew it was completely useless, she tried to get her hands free, her instinct to flee kicking into high gear. Voldemort chuckled as he got closer.

“I’m afraid you won’t be getting out of this bed until you have told me everything I want to know.”

He sat down next to her, putting a hand on her right upper thigh. That was when she realised she was only wearing her underwear.

“You have been keeping things from me, Miss Granger,” he said in a low voice as he slowly stroked her thigh.

Her heart was beating rapidly, but she took a deep breath and tried to push down her fear.

“Did you ever expect me not to?” she asked, trying to sound braver than she was.

His hand stopped over the bite mark on her upper thigh, and he pressed his nails into it, hard. A surprised hiss of pain escaped her.

“I expect full transparency from my pets,” he said in a dangerous tone. “And when they misbehave, they need to be punished.”

His fingernails dug even harder into her skin, and she had to bite her lip not to cry out again. His gaze never left hers.

“I’m not your pet,” she growled.

He finally let go and stood up again.

“Oh, but you are. And you should be very happy about that. If you were just another Mudblood, I would extract the information from you with nothing but pain. But considering your past experience dealing with torture, the amount of pain needed would destroy that useable brain of yours.”

Taking up his wand, he started to stroke her belly with it.

“Don’t you want to know how I know that?” he purred.

“You will tell me regardless,” she muttered.

He chuckled. “Bella was one of the best torturers I have ever met. And yet, you managed to lie to her about that sword. I saw it all in her mind. But that’s not the issue, I enjoy a challenge. There are many ways to get someone to talk. They just need the right motivation.”

Too late Hermione realised that he wasn’t just stroking her belly, he was drawing a rune on it.

“What are you doing?” she asked, fear more evident in her voice.

“ Insidiae! ” he whispered. 

The rune flashed on her skin before sinking down into her body. Heat flushed through her. She had never heard of any spell like that one.

“I have examined all the conversations you and Viktor have had,” he continued and picked up a small knife from the nightstand. “It is very clear that you have been planning to get rid of me.”

She snorted in disbelief. Did he really believe she hadn’t been trying to find a way to get rid of him?

“Something to confess already?” he asked sweetly.

“No.”

“Good. The fun is just starting.”

With the knife, he cut a shallow wound at the swell of her left breast. He gathered a few droplets of blood from the wound with his wand. The droplets flew into the air and down into a mug. A puff of red smoke rose from the mug, and he brought it to her lips. She tried to close her mouth and turn her face, but he just grabbed her nose, making it impossible for her to breathe without opening her mouth. Once she had to inhale, he poured the liquid into her mouth and pressed it closed until she had to swallow. The liquid tasted very sweet.

“What is this?” she coughed when he finally let her breathe again.

He just watched her, waiting. It took less than a minute before the effects started to sink in. The first thing she noticed was that her body relaxed and started to feel very warm. It reminded her a bit of being drunk. Her thoughts were not as loud as usual, and even though she knew she was in danger, it didn’t bother her as much anymore.

“What is this?” she asked again, trying to fight through the haze.

“There are many ways to get around truth potions. But all of them require a sharp mind. This will make it almost impossible for you to come up with lies in the first place, because your thoughts will be focused on something completely different.”

He smiled and put his hand on her thigh again, and this time, it was like his hand was starting a fire underneath her skin. A fire that travelled straight to her clit.

“A lust potion?” she asked, trying to find a way through the fog in her brain.

“A very special lust potion. Let me demonstrate. Crucio! ”

She screamed from the pain, but it only lasted for a second. Once he let go of the spell, it was like the magic was still there, pleasuring her with an intense heat that took her breath away. Her entire body, especially her nipples and clitoris, were all throbbing with need.

“No matter what spell I cast, you will feel pleasure from it,” Voldemort purred, spreading her legs so he could sit on his knees between them. “But you will be unable to come until I release the rune I put on you. And I won’t do that until you have told me everything I want to know.”

He ripped off her knickers and threw them on the floor. She shivered as the cold air of the room caressed her heated sex. Then, when he pushed two fingers into her dripping cunt, she moaned in pleasure. He pumped his fingers into her roughly, and she could feel the orgasm building fast. When he flicked her clitoris, she reached the top and …

Nothing.

She was on the brink of the orgasm, the intensity in her body high, but nothing happened.

“Frustrating, isn’t it?” he chuckled, withdrawing his fingers. “Now, let’s begin. Crucio! ”

Just as the last time, the pain was intense for just a few seconds, then it left her feeling hotter and hornier than she had ever been in her entire life. She clenched her muscles, trying to relieve some of the pressure inside her, but it did little to help her.

“What do you know about what happened to me?” he asked.

Hermione tried to think of some reasonable, plausible explanation, but the pleasure was so distracting. If she just breathed, maybe it would calm down.

Voldemort, however, had no intention of letting her body calm down. He vanished her bra, grabbed her right breast painfully and tapped it with his wand. A black clamp appeared around it, biting into the soft flesh of her nipple. He repeated the action on the other nipple and conjured a chain between them. When he pulled on the chain, he pulled on both her nipples, making her wince of pain that quickly transformed into pleasure.

“What happened to me?” he asked again.

She just shook her head.

He tapped the chain. “ Mico! ”

A flash of electricity shot straight into her nipples, knocking the air from her lungs, fizzling out through her body. It had felt like a thousand needles flashed through her before gathering in her sex.

“I’m just getting started, Hermione,” he purred. “What happened to me?”

She closed her eyes and tried taking some steadying breaths. How could she even get out of this situation?

“Fuck!” she yelled when a white flash of pain cut through her inner thigh.

She looked up and saw Voldemort holding a white flame at the end of his wand. When he got her gaze, he lowered it onto her skin again, right next to the last one. She tried to pull her leg away, but he held it locked down. 

“I can write my entire name here,” he said, running his fingers over the two lines he had made.

Even though it hurt, it just helped to intensify the pleasure even more. It felt as if she held a dam inside her with water trying to push through it, but it wouldn’t break. She realised she wanted him to fuck her. Despite the situation, she was desperate for a good pounding right now.

“Would you like my name written on your thigh, Hermione?” he asked, stroking his way up and down her thigh.

“No,” she growled through her teeth.

“Tell me what I want to know, then.”

She could feel her resolve weakening. He would just keep going. Was there nothing she could do to stop him? If only he would let up for a minute, maybe she could actually think.

But he wouldn’t. She knew that for certain.

“I’m not sure what happened,” she finally said.

Voldemort smiled. 

“Now we are getting somewhere. Very well, what is your theory?”

“I don’t know,” she tried.

“Oh, I think you do.”

She kept her mouth shut, once again trying to come up with a reasonable lie, but her mind kept moving to the intense pleasure in her sex. She wanted him to fuck her. Just pound into her until she passed out.

“Maybe this will help remind you,” Voldemort said, picking up something else from the nightstand.

She recognised it as a vibrator and felt her cunt contract with need. Yes, she very much wanted that. Anything to fill her up.

He tapped it with his wand, and she could hear it start to vibrate. Then, he moved it to her sex and rubbed it against her opening. She tried to grind against it, wanting him to push it inside her. 

Hard.

But he didn’t press it into her cunt. Instead, she felt him go lower, aiming the tip against her anus.

She gasped in shock as the tip sank into her. Never before had she experienced a feeling like that. But it was friction, and she desperately needed friction.

He pushed it all the way in and muttered a spell to keep it in place. The vibration was strong enough to pulse to her clitoris, and the need to come increased even more but didn’t break through the dam inside of her.

Despite her sluggish, lust-filled brain, panic started to sip through. How long could she go on before going insane? The pleasure was so intense; she needed to come. Needed it to be over.

He tapped the chain connected to her breasts again. This time she let out a yelp, her back arching from the strength of it, making her clench around the toy in her arse and strengthening the feel of the vibrations.

“Please,” she moaned.

“Please, what?” he asked.

“Please fuck me!”

He chuckled, running both his hands up her thighs.

“Gladly. Once you tell me what I want to know.”

Her gaze was wild as she met his, trying to will him to touch her more. She couldn’t take it anymore. Her whole body felt like it was connected to her clitoris, and everything her skin touched just increased the feelings. Even the sensation of the bed underneath her was too much.

“I will find out sooner or later, Hermione,” Voldemort said, his hands wandering up her hips to her waist. “Do yourself a favour and just tell me.”

She wanted to grab him and kiss him. Hump him. Push him down onto the bed and ride him.

But there was no way for her to move. She was stuck between a dam and a roaring waterfall, and the damn dam wouldn’t burst.

“How did you hurt me?” he asked again.

“Love,” she finally choked. “He can feel it, but you can’t handle the emotion. And it broke his heart to see me kiss you. You couldn’t handle that pain. But I didn’t mean to. I was just trying to see if love would force you out of his body.”

Tears streamed down her eyes. Because she didn’t care that she was damning the whole world by telling him her plan. She didn’t care if it made him stronger and able to come back to power. All she cared about was getting his cock inside her and him breaking the spell on her, so she could orgasm.

His hands moved up, over her breasts, and he removed the clamps on her nipples. The blood rushing back to them had her groaning.

“Was this your plan from the start?”

“No, I didn’t have a plan,” she sobbed. “I just came to see if I could save Viktor somehow. The idea came to me when Viktor confessed that he still loved me. I thought his feelings would be enough.”

Voldemort lay down on top of her, his hand coming up to her face, stroking her tears away. 

“You manipulated his feelings?”

“I didn’t want to,” she cried.

“But you did.”

“To free him from you!”

“You don’t love him.”

“Not like that.”

She was a horrible person. She didn’t care.

Voldemort laughed, and with a swish of his wand, he was naked as well and pushed his cock inside her. Before she even realised her legs were free, she had wrapped them around his waist so he could sink even deeper inside her.

“Please,” she moaned. “Please let me come.”

“Soon, my pet. Lord Voldemort shows mercy to those who please him.”

The feeling inside of her was too much. She couldn’t think. The only thing that existed was his body and his cock moving inside her. Starting to break through the dam inside her.

She barely noticed his wand tip against the side of her belly. The orgasm was so close now. Just one more push, and it would come. It would all be over.

“Who is your Master, Hermione?” Voldemort purred into her ear.

It took her a few seconds to even realise that he was speaking to her. Once she did, she knew what answer he was looking for right away.

“You are, my Lord,” she whispered desperately. “Please, my Lord.”

“Come for me, pet,” he said.

The dam broke. An orgasm like she had never experienced enveloped her body. She was babbling, but she didn’t know what she was saying. All she knew was that the tension was finally leaving her body.

It was exquisite.

Everything became white, and she felt like she was floating on a river of pleasure. Time was meaningless.

When she became aware of her surroundings again, she was still tied up and could feel Voldemort’s body next to her, his hand on her belly.

“Fuck,” she whispered. 

The fog in her brain lifted, and she saw everything in a new light.

Her body was so sore. Her shoulders were stiff; her wrists were sore from the rope biting into her skin. Her nipples throbbed in pain as did her thigh where he had burned her. She could feel her sex still pulsing from the orgasm and the sticky wetness from their releases coating her thighs. 

And the toy was still vibrating inside her arse.

“Can you please release me,” she asked, her voice raw. Had she been screaming? She didn’t recall.

He just continued to stroke her belly, his eyes unfocused.

“Voldemort?” she asked, a little louder.

Still no reaction. Was he occupied with Viktor or was he waiting for her to do or say something else?

Sighing, she tried again. 

“My Lord?” she asked, trying to keep the sarcasm from her voice.

Voldemort blinked and finally refocused his gaze at her. “Yes, pet?”

“Would you, please, release me?”

“But you are so much more manageable tied up.”

She grimaced. He wouldn’t release her until he wanted to.

“Could you, at least, remove the vibrator then?”

He smirked. “Why don’t you choose? Would you rather be untied or have the toy removed? And no, if you are untied, you will not be allowed to remove it yourself.”

She looked at him in disbelief. Was he joking or was this some other twisted punishment?

“And how long will it take before I’m allowed to do the other thing?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.

“Depends on how our discussion goes.”

Hermione was about to ask what else he wanted to discuss when the vibrator inside her increased, and she felt like she needed to use the loo.

“Just remove the stupid vibrator,” she hissed.

While getting her hands free would be comforting, she doubted he would let her get far. Probably not even off the bed considering he was still on it. Thus it was all about choosing the lesser evil. Which seemed to be what her life had become all about. Trying to pick the lesser evil.

Voldemort chuckled, and with a wave of his hand, the vibrator slid out of her and turned off.

“Merlin,” she groaned and squeezed her eyes shut. 

She had not expected the movement to feel as pleasant as it did. Her entire lower region was still tender, and despite the discomfort, she felt a stab of pleasure. Opening her eyes again, she saw that Voldemort was eyeing her body with a thoughtful expression.

“What?” she asked.

“You keep surprising me, Hermione Granger. Many people have tried to seduce me to get the upper hand. You are the first who succeeded. However brief your victory lasted.”

“I didn’t try to seduce you,” she corrected. “I was just sleeping with Viktor.”

“And you slept with him to get to me. My, what will he say when he realises what a cold-hearted strategist you really are?”

Hermione’s first instinct was to beg him not to tell Viktor. She couldn’t stand to see him hurt as much as he had when she broke his heart by kissing Voldemort willingly.

Then she realised that neither could Voldemort.

“That would break his heart,” she stated.

He laughed. “Do you feel no remorse?”

“What did it feel like for you the last time his heart broke?” she asked, ignoring the squeezing of her own heart. 

Poor Viktor, he deserved so much better than her.

Voldemort moved on top of her again, his hand around her neck, pressing warningly.

“He is not here right now,” Voldemort said coldly. “He can’t protect you.”

“I’m just saying that his emotions clearly affect you,” she said quickly. “If he thought I had just used him, he would be crushed.”

Voldemort’s thumb slowly stroked the side of her neck, over her pulse point. 

“It is true that his emotions are … uncomfortable. But not to the extent you seem to be thinking. I merely shielded my consciousness behind my Occlumency until the storm of emotions passed, so to speak. If he were to find out about your treason, I would just have to wait it out.”

It was probably more than that, but clearly it hadn’t vanquished him as Hermione had hoped. She would need to come up with another plan and that meant staying with him. But what about Viktor?

“I’m just saying that both of us would benefit from keeping Viktor from this. You can shield some things from him, right?”

“I can,” he concurred, sliding his hand up to her cheek.

“Keep this from him then. We can tell him … I don’t know, maybe that I was working on a plan, and it failed, and to punish me, you won’t let us be together. Or something.”

“How fascinating your ability to spin a lie in seconds is,” he murmured, his fingers caressing her face “How you ever became the best friend of someone like Potter baffles me. Unless you have kept this side of you from him as well?”

She grimaced. “I thought the ability to lie would be something you approved of?”

“I do. When that ability isn’t used against me. But you wouldn’t be so stupid as to do that again, now would you?” His voice was deadly smooth.

“No, my Lord,” she said through clenched teeth.

He smiled. “I do enjoy how fast you pick things up, pet.”

His hand moved from her face to her arm and up to her wrist. He tapped the magical bindings, and they disappeared. With a groan, Hermione pulled down her stiff arms, and tried to rub the soreness out of them.

“Just one more thing,” he continued as he finally let go of her and sat up. “You are mine now, not his. I will not share you with him anymore.”

He got off the bed, stretched and left the room. Hermione curled up to her side and closed her eyes, letting exhaustion pull her under again, away from the horrors that had become her reality.

***

Voldemort had examined every memory of what Viktor had been up to for the past twelve or so hours the moment he woke up. Viktor had tried to fight him, but in the end, Voldemort had prevailed, and Viktor had fallen unconscious. Once he realised what Vasilka knew, he had gone after her only to find an empty house.

Thus he had decided to deal with Hermione first. It was laughable that she had thought love could kill him when it had failed every other time.

Though, it was concerning that Viktor’s emotional state could hurt him. Voldemort would have to prioritise the split more. It would have been nice to use Viktor’s network more to build himself a new platform, but Voldemort had built himself up from nothing before, he could do it again.

At least he had Hermione, she was a very powerful ally to exploit. He was positive he could convince her to work with him once Viktor was gone. She was more cutthroat than he had first given her credit, he could use that.

Once he was certain she was asleep again, he went back to Vasilka’s house. There were a few lights coming from the windows, but he couldn’t find any source of life coming from inside. Was it possible that Vasilka had fled with her husband? Or were they hiding?

With a little work, he managed to undo the security wards from the house and went inside.

“Hello? Mother?” he called in his best Viktor impression.

No answer.

The cloaks were gone from the hangers next to the door, but other than that, everything appeared normal.

Going into the kitchen, he found a note left on the table. Strangely, it was written in English, but it was Vasilka’s handwriting.

Just taking care of a few things, I will come back. Ice 0359485559032.

It had to be written in some sort of code. At least the last sentence. Voldemort closed his eyes and tried to find that number in Viktor’s memory but to no avail.

He pocketed the note and considered his options. Vasilka would come back, so he could just wait. He wasn’t worried she would be able to hurt him since he was inside her son’s body, but she had always been resourceful. She would definitely be a bother.

It was possible to track someone down, but that could very well lead him into a trap.

Waiting was probably for the best then. He was a very patient wizard.

Chapter 11: Bruised, Battered and Very Sleepy

 

The next morning when Hermione woke up, it was from the pain in her body. Her muscles ached and spasmed slightly. She felt incredibly sore, and the new wounds on the inside of her leg throbbed and itched.

Voldemort lay next to her, still asleep. The morning light slowly crept in through the windows. 

Biting her lip to not wince out loud, she started to get up from bed. However, before she was even sitting upright, a hand grabbed her arm.

“Where are you going?” Voldemort asked, a warning in his voice.

“To the bloody loo,” she hissed back and tried to get out of his strong grip.

“And do what?”

“What you are supposed to do in the loo. Or did ‘my lord’ prefer to wake up to a golden shower?” she asked sarcastically.

He sat up as well but let go of her arm. “No, he does not. Do you want something for the pain?”

She narrowed her eyes. “And what would you demand in return?”

“That I apply it,” he said with a hint of a smile.

Hermione would have suspected a stronger demand. “Fine, whatever, but I need to use the loo first.”

“Of course.” He made a gesture towards the door.

When she came back a few minutes later, she wanted nothing more than to just crawl into bed and go to sleep again, but Voldemort was already sitting on the bed in a bathrobe with a jar in his hand.

“Where is my wand?” she asked as she went back into bed, lying down on her stomach.

“You will get it back once I’m sure you won’t try and do anything stupid with it.”

The ointment was cool on her back and smelled of eucalyptus. He started on her shoulders, and she let out a surprised groan when it sank into her muscles, relieving most of the tension in them.

“What is that?” she asked as he worked his way down her back.

“One of my own inventions,” he replied.

“You would make a fortune if you sold it,” she muttered.

He chuckled. “Alas, most healers are too skittish to use dark concoctions.”

She turned her head to glance at him over her shoulder. “You are using more Dark Arts on me?”

“Yes. But no need to worry, this only negates the effects of other dark magic. Sometimes you have to fight fire with fire.”

“What other side-effects does it have?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.

“No negative ones,” he said as he reached her lower back and bum. “When the magical residue from the Cruciatus Curse starts to disappear, you will feel light as a feather, relief and a bit of ecstasy if you are lucky.”

“So, you are basically drugging me. Again.”

He laughed and smeared more ointment on her hips. “Would you rather be in pain for several days?”

“I would rather you didn’t torture me in the first place,” she growled.

He leaned closer, his hands stroking the sides of her body, getting so close she could feel his breath on her ear. 

“Then don’t work against me.”

She forced down a shudder and lay back down again. There was no reasoning with him.

When his fingers moved in between her arse cheeks, she almost jumped, but Voldemort held one hand on her back, holding her down.

“I’m not going to fuck you,” he said lightly. “Unless you want me to.”

“No, thank you,” she said through gritted teeth.

There was no denying that the ointment relieved the tension there, too. She couldn’t help but blush into the pillow as she thought about the reason why her arse was sore. Who would have thought it could be so pleasurable to have a vibrator up your butt?

His hands trailed down to her thighs over the open wound. She bit back a hiss of pain as the ointment made the area burn. Would she be able to remove the scar once she got her wand back? Probably not. Voldemort would see to that.

As the ointment sank into her legs, the twitching subsided, and Hermione started to feel the relief he had been talking about. She could easily fall asleep again. Hopefully, Voldemort would let her do that once he was done. It almost felt like she was floating in a sea of nothingness.

“Turn over,” he said after applying ointment to her ankles.

Not even opening her eyes, she did. Maybe she could fall asleep right away?

His hands were on her collarbones, rubbing her with small circular motions up to her neck and down her chest.

“You wouldn’t happen to know where Vasilka was going?” he asked just as she was dozing off.

“Vasilka is gone?” she asked, opening one eye.

“Yes.”

“Erm, no, I haven’t talked to her except for when Viktor has been there,” she answered truthfully, remembering the sign Vasilka had made behind Viktor’s back asking Hermione to call her. 

But there was no reason to add that confusing gesture to him when she herself didn’t understand what it meant. Call how, whereto? Besides, it wasn’t like Voldemort, who had shunned all things Muggle, would understand it any better. 

“And you have no inkling whatsoever?”

“No. But Viktor said he didn’t want to tell her anything because he didn’t think she would be safe if she knew about you. Maybe she went into hiding?”

Had that been why Vasilka had asked her to call? But Hermione didn’t have a telephone, much less Vasilka’s phone number.

“Yes, I gathered as much,” Voldemort replied dryly. “If she contacts you, you will tell me about it. Otherwise I won’t be as merciful next time.”

Before she could stop herself, she snorted.

Voldemort arched an eyebrow, magic tingling from his palms. “Do you have anything to say?”

“No— Ah!” 

She winced in pain when he reached her breasts. The ointment left behind a burning sensation this time, and she tried to swat away his hands.

“It will fade in a moment,” he told her, capturing her hands, holding them.

She watched as the red and bruised skin faded into its normal hue, leaving a tingling sensation there as well.

Voldemort let go of her hands and reached for more ointment. “How difficult will you be from hereon?”

“Depends on how difficult you are,” she muttered.

He gave her a warning look, and she turned her head to the side. She was too tired to fight.

“Do we still have a common goal?”

“What?” she asked and looked at him again, confused.

“Do you still want to free Viktor?”

“Of course!”

He watched her sceptically. 

“Because it seems you are willing to hurt him if it will give you the upper hand. How can I be certain you don’t think his death is a sacrifice you are willing to make if it kills me?”

His hands had moved down her belly and to her hips, rubbing her skin harder and harder. She put her elbows on the mattress and lifted her upper body towards him.

“Because then I would already be back in England, finding a way to tell people that you are still alive so they can kill you,” she said angrily. “If I didn’t care about him, I would just leave.”

He tilted his head to the side and held her gaze for a few seconds. She could feel his presence stroke against her mind. Not pushing into it, just sweeping over it.

“Good,” he finally said, his hands continuing onto her thighs. “Lay down again, this will hurt for a few seconds.”

“What do you— FUCK!” she yelled when he spread the ointment against her sex, his hands tingling with magic again.

The burning was even more intense than it had been on her nipples. She tried to close her legs, but he was sitting between them, holding down her right thigh with his free hand. His fingers stroke over her labia, clitoris and into the vaginal opening. It was a very intense feeling, and she had to bite down onto her lip.

“There we are,” he said cheerfully and withdrew his hand. “How do you feel?”

The burning subsided quickly, leaving the same tingling sensation as on the rest of her body. Although, it now stimulated her clitoris in a way that was a bit too nice. But she would not tell him that.

“Better. Can I go back to sleep?” she asked, her eyelids starting to feel heavy again.

“Of course,” he said with a smile and leaned down, giving her a soft kiss. “Sleep for a bit. I need to buy some supplies, and then, we will return to the cottage.”

He got up from the bed and pulled the covers over her again. Before he even left the room, she was asleep.

***

Voldemort was almost done with his last purchases when Viktor woke up again. All of a sudden, he got a splitting headache and had to wrestle for control.

“Sir, are you alright?” the clerk on the other side of the desk asked with a worried expression.

“Yes,” Voldemort gritted through clenched teeth.

He snatched the potion ingredients from the desk and put down a few coins.

“Keep the change,” he muttered and hurried out of the store before the clerk could ask anything else.

Once outside the door, he tried to Apparate, but Viktor blocked his attempts with his fury.

How could you do this to her? Viktor screamed in his head.

What did you expect would happen? Voldemort scowled. She paid for her betrayal, and so will you.

A very unfamiliar feeling forced its way into Voldemort’s body. It was as if something hard was pushing against his chest, and he stumbled into an alley behind some bushes.

It was hard to breathe, and he was struck by a deep urge to curl into a ball and hide his head. But he was Lord Voldemort and he would not be controlled by the feelings of a boy. Instead, he closed his eyes and focused on what Viktor was thinking rather than feeling.

This is all my fault. I should never have accepted her help. I should have sent her away, Obliviating her myself.

Voldemort rolled his eyes. Guilt. Such a useless emotion to feel. Although … It was exploitable.

Yes, it is all your fault. If you had surrendered this body to me, she would have been safe.

It was laughably easy to hide some of the memories from Hermione’s punishment when Viktor was trying so hard not to look at them.

After taking a few deep breaths, he could push out most of Viktor’s emotions and walk back to the flat. He had got everything he needed for the cottage. He was eager to hurry the process to get rid of Viktor. Now that Hermione was engaged to him, it would be a lot harder for her to get away from him once Viktor was gone.

He made his way back to the flat and found Hermione sitting in the kitchen, wrapped in a navy blue bathrobe. The smell of coffee was strong, coming from the big mug she held between her hands.

When she saw him, she sighed and put down the cup on the table. Her expression was wary, and she had dark circles under her eyes.

“You’re back,” she noted dispassionately.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

She shrugged. “I was kind of hoping you would have had an accident somewhere on your way back. Been trampled by a horde of angry centaurs, or eaten by wolves, or something.”

“Fantasising about my death, are we?” he said, amused.

“Can you blame me?” she retorted.

He came up to the table and placed his bags there. Then he leaned down towards her, stroking her face with his fingers before grasping her chin.

“There are far more pleasurable things to fantasise about,” he said softly. “And far worse punishments than the one you received yesterday if you try to destroy me again.”

Leave her alone , Viktor begged in his head, but he wasn’t able to take back control.

It made Voldemort smile.

She straightened her back and stood her ground.

“I’m aware. But you are the one who needs me.”

He tilted his head to the side and studied her closely. She wanted to appear fearless, but he could still see a hint of fear in her eyes. Not as much as she should feel, though.

However, something was stopping him from teaching her another lesson about fear. It must simply be because Viktor was awake this time around. No matter, he didn’t need to always use fear to show who was in control. 

“I think you will find that you need me for a number of things, too,” he said softly, letting his hand move from her chin and down her neck.

He stroked the skin that was visible of her chest, working his way down to where the bathrobe was tied. She continued to stare at him, not stopping him as he untied the belt.

The bathrobe fell open. She was only wearing a pair of knickers underneath, and judging by the intake of his breath, he found that very pleasing.

Her pupils dilated slightly as his hand lightly touched her skin. Despite everything that had happened last night, she still got aroused. Her pulse was quickening as well, sending a slight flush over her chest.

Still, she did not look away or stand back. Instead, she was stubbornly standing her ground.

He realised he was actually happy she hadn’t broken. It would take a while to seduce her to see his way, but it would be worth it.

“Get dressed,” he finally said, letting his hand fall to his side. “We are going back to the cottage.”

A twinge of disappointment was visible on her face before he turned around and walked towards the living room. She would be begging him to touch her soon enough.

Chapter 12: Ritual, Interrupted

 

Once they were back at the cottage, Voldemort pulled out the Pensieve again before taking a few memories from the cabinet.

“No time to waste,” he said when he noticed Hermione’s questioning look. “Viktor’s continued interference bores me. Thus, it’s time for you to focus on what I am actually keeping you alive to do.”

Sighing, she went up next to him and the Pensieve. He grabbed her hand, and after a dizzying moment, they arrived in an old stone house of some kind. The lack of windows and the grey stone staircase made her think they were in a basement. At the farthest end of the room, big wine casks covered that side of the wall. The whole room was being lit by torches hanging on the walls, illuminating the big ritual circle being drawn on the floor by an unfamiliar man.

She turned around but could see no one else in the room. Either the man drawing the runes around the circle was Voldemort, or he was invisible somewhere. She guessed it was the former.

“What runes are you writing?” she asked, going up to the man sitting on the floor.

Present day Voldemort followed her. 

“A lot. The one I’m working on there is the one to tether my soul to the surrogate. There is a lot of Arithmancy behind it.”

He pointed at different parts of the runes and explained the calculation going into the shapes. Hermione was begrudgingly impressed. She was very good at Arithmancy, but not close to his level. The design was even beautifully drawn.

“Is it blood you are using to draw it?” she asked, noticing the silver bowl standing on the floor next to him.

“Yes, that would be the blood of the Matagot Maledictus mixed with my own,” he answered.

“Makes sense, I guess,” she muttered, inspecting the room again. “Where are we? Did the location and time matter?”

“We are underneath an old, deserted monastery in Italy. The ritual starts when the blood moon rises,” he explained.

Hermione was about to ask something else but was caught off guard when quick steps were heard.

A young Vasilka came down the stairs, dressed only in a blue robe. Hermione could see symbols written over her face and neck. She looked very eager.

“Only fifteen minutes left now,” she said with a smile.

Past Voldemort looked up and smiled at her. “Yes, can you feel the potion starting to take effect?”

Vasilka’s eyes roamed over Voldemort’s body. “Very much so.”

Keeping his eye contact, she slowly untied her robe and let it fall to the floor. She was naked underneath, and her body was also covered in symbols and runes.

Hermione felt redness creep up her cheeks. Vasilka was very sexy, with big breasts and curvy hips. Her long, straight, blond hair fell over her shoulders.

“Just fourteen more minutes, darling,” Voldemort purred, watching her with hunger in his eyes. “I have to finish this.”

Vasilka sat down on her robe, spreading her legs in Voldemort’s direction, and started to lazily stroke her sex. Voldemort chuckled and turned back to the runes. Hermione did her best to ignore the naked woman and focus on the runes.

“What potion did you take?” she asked, looking at present day Voldemort who was slowly circling the room.

“I created it based on the potion you take before creating a Horcrux. Like calls to like. I needed to make something that would call forth the pieces of the soul if their vessels were destroyed. The major difference is that the potion included the lungs of a Dementor.”

Hermione repressed a shudder. “For their soul sucking ability?”

“Exactly.”

“What did she think the potion included? What had you told her?”

“Vasilka wanted a child. She believed this would make her fertile. It did not.”

“How could she carry a child if she wasn’t fertile?”

Voldemort smiled at her. “Viktor isn’t a regular wizard. I created him by magic, and her body carried the foetus to term. It never needed her to be fertile, which is why she never had any more children after this.”

“The original potion said it needed a uterus,” Hermione considered slowly. “Did the ritual destroy hers in any way?”

“Interesting thought, but no, it did not. Her being a Dark witch gave her fertility problems, so it was already damaged,” Voldemort said. “I believe that is why Viktor was born with some … physical defects.”

She noted a hint of displeasure in his voice.

“Viktor is beautiful,” she stated firmly.

“Beauty is only an illusion,” he stated and turned to the runes on the floor again. “Shall we continue?”

He went over every rune in detail and answered every question Hermione had. When the fourteen minutes had passed, memory Voldemort called Vasilka into the circle with him. He embraced her, and she kissed him passionately.

Hermione, feeling very embarrassed by having to witness this, looked at the floor. Therefore, she noticed when Vasilka stretched out her foot to the side and dragged her toe over one line of one of the runes. It was so quick that she would have missed it otherwise. She wasn’t even sure if it was an accident or not.

She moved around the couple and looked closer at the rune. It was the rune Berkana, looking a lot like a B. However, after Vasilka had smudged the bottom part of the rune, it could now be mistaken for the rune Raido, looking like an R. Did it have any implications on the ritual?

Voldemort, noticing where she was looking, hissed behind her. The memory froze before them, and Voldemort started to inspect every rune on Vasilika’s body.

“She changed the ritual,” Hermione concluded over the way Voldemort’s shoulders tensed in anger.

“She adjusted it,” Voldemort hissed. “Putting her own genes into the mix after all. That explains why Viktor won’t obey me.”

“What else did she change?” he whispered, and the memory sprung to life again.

The couple before them sunk down into the middle of the circle, Vasilka straddling his lap, grabbing his erect cock.

“We have to wait until the runes lit up,” young Voldemort reminded her.

“I know,” Vasilka responded breathlessly, kissing him again.

Hermione couldn’t help but notice that the way he kissed her differed from the way he kissed Vasilka. He was a lot more demanding with Hermione. Here he acted more like … a lover.

The runes started glowing red. Memory Voldemort grabbed onto Vasilka’s hips and moved her down on his cock. Both groaned when he entered her, Vasilka throwing her head back in pleasure as she started to ride him. She was almost aggressive in her movement, pushing down on him hard.

Present day Voldemort was keeping a close eye on how she moved her hands and feet.

“Good, she hasn’t managed to change any of the runes on me,” he remarked. “I sealed them.”

“With what?”

Hermione’s eyes kept going back to Vasilka. She was a force to be reckoned with, clearly knowing exactly what she wanted and going for it. At one point, she even grabbed Voldemort’s left hand, pushing it against her breast to make him play with her nipple. Hermione could be vocal about her needs, but she had never acted like this.

“She is using you,” Hermione realised out loud.

Voldemort turned abruptly towards her.

“What?”

“She is taking what she wants from this.”

“She thinks she is,” he said with a condescending smile. “She agreed to do this, because she wanted a child. I let her believe I did this for her.”

“But she must have thought something was up or she wouldn’t have changed the runes,” Hermione pointed out.

“Yes, I’m sure she thought it would benefit her,” Voldemort mused.

“Was it only a child she thought she would get out of this or something more?”

“From this particular act, she just wanted the child. But we had other projects we worked on together as well.”

“What projects?”

He gave her a cruel smile. “Nothing you need to know.”

Several things made all of a sudden sense to Hermione. Vasilka had been dabbling with the Dark Arts enough that it had caused her infertility. Clearly, she knew enough about the Dark Arts to recognise and change the symbols in this ritual. If she had worked together with Voldemort, she must have done harmful things.

It did not at all correlate to the image Hermione had of Vasilka. The Krums didn’t have anything against Muggles or Muggle-borns, and Vasilka was full of love for both her husband (even though she had clearly cheated on him) and Viktor.

The couple on the floor was moaning loudly by now, Vasilka was riding him hard, making Voldemort fumble as he picked up a silver knife and cut a deep wound against his collarbone.

“Drink now,” he groaned. “I’m close.”

Vasilka didn’t need to be told twice. She latched onto him and started sucking the blood from him.

“ Oblator animarum! ” he panted and arched his back as he came, hard.

The pentagram beneath them lit up in a silvery flash so strong it blinded Hermione for a few seconds. When she could see again, the couple were both lying on the ground, breathing hard. The runes on Vasilka’s body were glowing faintly while the ones on Voldemort had disappeared.

Present day Voldemort put a hand on her shoulder, and a second later, they were back in the cottage.

Hermione immediately grabbed her notebook and started writing down what she had seen. Voldemort opened the cupboard, brought a few books to the table and started making notes of his own.

“Why did you choose her to do all this with?” Hermione finally asked after thirty minutes of writing.

Voldemort put down his quill. “She is a powerful witch, strong enough to go through with it.”

“There are many powerful witches all over the world,” she pointed out. “Why her?”

“She is a descendant of Mora,” he finally said.

“I thought Mora was an old Slavic goddess?” Hermione objected.

He snorted. “Muggles will either kill what they don’t understand or think it’s the work of gods. No, Mora was a very powerful witch. She beat death so many times people believed she was truly immortal.”

Hermione mentally rolled her eyes. It made perfect sense why Voldemort would have picked Vasilka.

“I take it she did die in the end?” she noted dryly.

“Most likely,” Voldemort answered. “I traced her bloodline, and by all accounts, she passed at the age of 430. A remarkable feat.”

“I thought the oldest witch was 198,” she said, remembering the class of History of Magic from her third year at Hogwarts.

“Hogwarts was never much for showing the remarkable accomplishments from practicians of the Dark Arts,” he said, snorting.

She sighed and picked up her quill again when her entire arm started to cramp. It sent a spasm up her arm, and she let out a hiss and tried to shake it off.

“Hold it still, or it will only get worse,” Voldemort said, getting up and moving around the table. He put one hand around her wrist and the other just below her elbow before squeezing hard.

She bit down on her lower lip to keep herself from panicking from being restrained again. Thankfully, the painful cramp soon began to fade.

“You can let go now,” she grumbled and tried to pull her arm back.

He kept his tight grip on it. “Not yet or it will start up again. I can still feel the lingering magic.”

“I thought the cream you put on me was supposed to help against this?” she growled.

“The Cruciatus Curse acts in a fascinating way. It affects the whole body and will flare up for days afterwards. But it’s not the curse itself that causes these flares. It’s your own magic reacting to it, even though it’s gone.”

“Why didn’t it happen when Bellatrix tortured me, then?” she asked, confused.

Voldemort smiled. “I imagine your knife wound would have masked most of the other symptoms. And while Bellatrix was powerful, she was not close to my level of mastery.”

“So this will keep happening?”

“There are ways to speed up the recovery and calm your magic. If I hadn’t rubbed the cream on you, this would have been much worse. There are also potions you can bathe in that will quicken your recovery.”

She arched her eyebrow and looked up at his face. 

“And what would be the payment for these potions? Or are you just mentioning it out of the kindness of your heart?”

He smirked, his pupils dilating, and he looked at her with a playful expression.

“So suspicious. All I would ask is that you admit that even now, with the lingering pain going through your body, my touch still arouses you.”

His voice was deep and smooth, making the hairs at the back of her neck rise, and she realised two very frightening things at the same time.

One, he was right.

Two, she wanted to lose herself in that pleasure again.

It betrayed everything she stood for. She should try and get away from him. Never let him touch her again. But she just didn’t have the willpower to do any of that. Was this what an addiction was like?

“Yes,” she whispered.

She could feel the victory radiate from him. He finally removed his hands from her arm and got up from the bench.

“I will prepare the bath,” he said and disappeared into the bathroom.

Hermione’s head sank down on the table, a few tears escaping her closed eyes. Was this what rock bottom felt like?

Her thoughts were interrupted when pain once again started shooting through her right wrist. She grasped it with her left arm and clenched her teeth, focusing on her breathing until it passed.

“The bath is ready.”

Still clutching her wrist, she went into the bathroom. The room was already steamy from the hot water and smelled of something minty and fresh.

“Do you need help undressing?” Voldemort purred.

“Not really,” she muttered and quickly pulled off her t-shirt, trousers and underwear, just leaving them in a heap on the floor. Normally, she would have wanted to fold them, but she did not feel like parading naked in front of Voldemort right now.

She sat down in the tub and stifled a sigh of relief. Whatever potion was in the water, she could feel it seeping into her skin, calming down her body.

“Better?” Voldemort asked, conjuring a chair and sitting down next to the tub.

“Yes,” she said, sighing. “What’s in it?”

“Some standard healing ingredients like mugwort and propolis mixed with some less common things.”

She frowned at him. “Dark magic stuff?”

“Not by themselves, but using them is often frowned upon.”

She felt a shiver go down her spine. “Does this contain unicorn blood?”

He chuckled. 

“No, that is not very effective unless you drink it. It contains a few drops of Phoenix tears mixed with dragon blood. The healing properties in the tears remove the corrosive elements of the dragon blood.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “Where did you get the Phoenix tears from?”

Voldemort smiled and withdrew a familiar bottle of tears she had got from Fawkes.

“I found this. Dumbledore’s bird, I presume?”

She tried to snatch the bottle back, but he was quicker, and it disappeared from his hand in a poof of magic.

“I think it's better I hold onto it. It’s hard to come by, after all, and who knows when you might need it next.”

“Have you stolen anything else from me?” she asked, her teeth clenched.

He leaned over the edge of the tub and rolled up his sleeve. “I did find another interesting thing in your bag.”

He flicked his wrist, and a piece of parchment appeared in his hand.

“You went through some length to conceal this from me when you got here.”

Her heart started speeding up when she realised that it was the parchment that she had shown him when she came to the cottage.

“Warding with blood is considered Dark Arts,” he continued. “But easily broken once you have said blood.”

He unrolled the scroll, showing her what she had written there before she first got to the cottage.

This better work.

Was he going to punish her again? Her heart was beating hard in her chest. And in her loins.

Voldemort smiled as if he could sense her fear. He put his hand on her shoulder and stroked her skin up to her neck, leaving his fingers against her pulse. Then he chuckled to himself and withdrew his hand.

“I guess it did work. You may not have had a plan when you came here, but you are remarkably adept at thinking on your feet. And you have proven very useful. Thus, I will leave you to your bath.”

Hermione watched him leave, and not until the door was closed did she allow herself to breathe again. The water did wonders for her aching muscles. She needed to just be alone, figure out her thoughts and relax.

However, she had never been a very relaxed person. No matter where she was, there were always a million thoughts in her head. Going over what she had learnt, what she could have missed, what her next strategy should be.

Voldemort was putting her in positions she had never been in before. Teaching her things she had never dreamed of knowing.

And yet, somehow, her mind kept coming back to sex, no matter how many other things she felt she should be thinking about instead.

She had never experienced anything like the pleasure he had forced upon her. She could still feel it, and not just as the painful cramping of her muscles, but inside her. Pulsing.

All it would take was her calling for him, and she could drag him into the bath with her and fuck him again.

She groaned and sank deeper into the tub, putting her head under the water, staying there until it felt like her lungs were exploding.

Not even that stopped the thoughts, it just made her think of breath play and how that would definitely be something Voldemort would do.

Her head broke through the surface of the water, and she took a deep breath. Frustrated, she started to touch herself. She didn’t need him; she could satisfy her own needs.

Her sex was still sore and sensitive, and thus, very little stimulation was needed. She thrusted three fingers inside, using the palm of her hand to rub her clitoris at the same time.

The climax was a far cry from what she had felt the day before, but it did help her relax a little more.

She closed her eyes for a second. She could feel her heartbeat in her sex and she focused on just that feeling, the post orgasmic state of her body. This was the closest to meditation she had ever come. Whenever she had been stressing over a test in school, masturbation had been her most used tool to force herself to relax. She had only tried it because she had read that masturbating could help improve your memory. When it also had helped her sleep, Hermione had decided to keep it as a daily routine.

She must have started to doze off, because she woke up abruptly when something in her mind clicked. She tried to push herself up, but her wet hands slipped on the tub, and she fell back into the water. The water went up her nose and mouth as she gasped in surprise before managing to get her head above the surface again. She sat up, coughing up water and blowing her nose.

“Bloody hell,” she hissed at herself once she got in control of her breathing again.

“What are you doing?” Voldemort asked, opening the door with a slam.

“I must have nodded off,” she muttered, groaning as she got out of the tub.

“I see.”

He took a hold of her arm and helped her get out. When her feet were firmly on the floor, he summoned a towel, which wrapped her up. With another wave of his wand, the water started draining out from the tub.

“Sleeping in the tub is generally not a good idea,” he remarked.

“I was trying to relax,” she spat back. “Anyway, I think I know what changing the runes could mean.”

She went through the open door back to the kitchen table and her notes.

“Go on,” he urged, following her.

“You always forget about a mother’s love,” Hermione stated, her gaze on the pages of the book. “She made changes to protect her son.”

“So? Unlike Potter’s mum, she didn’t sacrifice anything, she agreed to do the ritual.”

Hermione found the right passage and held it up to him. “She did sacrifice something: her uterus. The possibility of life.”

“My version of the ritual didn’t require using up a uterus, just the presence of one,” Voldemort reminded her, but she could see his mind was going over it as well.

“Exactly. But that was what she changed. She willingly sacrificed it to Viktor, so he would be safe. She gave up a piece of herself, literally. So this body is not just a clone of you, it is hers as well. But not a clone, her actual son. DNA and everything.”

She could see his mind working fast, piecing it together.

“Love,” he finally scoffed. “How beneath a Dark Arts practitioner to utilise.”

“It’s powerful magic,” Hermione argued.

“I wonder how Vasilka found out how to utilise it,” Voldemort mused. “Very little research is being done on the subject. The Department of Mysteries has a division dedicated to it. But it would be very hard to get access to it. We need to talk to Vasilka.”

“I doubt she would tell you anything,” Hermione remarked, feeling even more worried for Vasilka’s wellbeing.

“I hold her son’s fate as leverage; she will talk. We just need to find her.”

“You don’t have any clue to her whereabouts?” Hermione asked. 

He withdrew a note from inside his robes. 

“I went to look for her at the house, and this was all I found.”

Oh, so this was what Vasilka had meant when she had made the “call me” sign. She must have wanted to speak to her alone.

“This means something to you,” Voldemort remarked and grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. “I thought we were over the secrets, Hermione. Do you need another lesson, perhaps?”

Why did her sex start to throb? Something was horribly wrong with her.

“No,” she said quickly. “It just clicked. Vasilka signalled that she wanted me to call her, but I didn’t know how or why.”

She could feel him forcing his way into her mind and showed him the sign Vasilka had given her. And also, how confused she had been by it. After a minute, he withdrew from her mind but kept his hard grip around her chin.

“Very well, you will call her and pretend like I’m not there. But if I get even the slightest inclination that you are trying to double cross me again, Hermione, our last lesson will feel like a breeze in comparison. Is that understood?”

Her mouth had never felt drier. Her heart was beating hard in her chest. She tried telling herself that it was only from fear. 

“Yes … my Lord.”

Chapter 13: Women Helping Women, That’s Called Witchinghood

They had to go to the nearest Muggle village to get a hold of a payphone. Voldemort stood in the doorway of the small booth, the side of his body brushing against her back. He had given her instructions on what she should say and what information she should try to get.

It felt almost nostalgic to put the coins into the phone and hear the connecting tone. But she pushed it away, as well as the longing for her parents it brought.

Vasilka picked up after just the second tone. “Yes?”

“Hello Mrs Krum, it’s Hermione.”

“Oh, hello my dear, thank you for calling me,” Vasilka said with a hint of relief in her voice.

“Yes, I just found your phone number. Where are you?”

“I’m travelling at the moment,” she said vaguely. “How is my boy doing?”

“He seems okay, but I’m worried about what his father is making him do.”

“What is Voldemort making him do?” Vasilka’s voice was full of worry.

“You know Voldemort is the father?” Hermione asked in surprise.

“Yes, I have been gathering information ever since you told me he had made contact again. What is he after? I thought he died in the battle at Hogwarts.”

Hermione glanced at Voldemort who just made a gesture for her to move on.

“He sort of died,” Hermione began slowly. “His body was defeated at least. Now he wants Viktor to get him a new one.”

“Ebasi!” Vasilka cursed. “How does he make contact?”

“They share a … mental connection. And he can hurt Viktor mentally if he doesn’t do what he wants.”

“My poor boy.” Vasilka’s voice was full of sorrow. “That explains the books you bought. Are you trying to break the connection?”

“Yes, but we don’t fully understand how the connection came to be in the first place. Do you have any ideas?”

Vasilka was quiet for so long that Hermione for a second wondered if the connection had broken. 

“Hello?”

“I believe I have an idea. I would have to speak with another … expert in the field.”

“Perhaps we could speak with this expert together?” Hermione suggested. “We could come to you.”

“No, this expert does not take kindly to strangers,” Vasilka said. “Call me again this time tomorrow, and I might have some answers for you.”

Next to her, Voldemort was quickly writing a note and handed it to her. 

Ask about the expert.

“Who is this expert?” Hermione asked, thinking fast. “If they are dangerous, wouldn’t it be good for someone to know where you are?”

Voldemort gave her an approving nod.

Vasilka hesitated. “No, if something happened to me, I would not want you two to come and try to save me.”

“Will you at least tell me what country this expert is in? Maybe we could request help from the local law enforcement?”

Vasilka snorted. “This person has bribed half the country; law enforcement would not be of use against her. Just call me back tomorrow.”

With that, Vasilka hung up. Hermione sighed and hung up as well.

“Well handled,” Voldemort said.

“I guess we just have to wait for tomorrow then?”

“No need, I am fairly certain who she is referring to. There are only a handful of female Dark Arts practitioners that have such leverage over local law enforcement. Do you remember Katja?”

“The witch that cut you open? Yes, that is hard to forget,” Hermione said, shuddering at the memory of the witch that operated on Voldemort.

“Katja is also the one that introduced me and Vasilka to perform this ritual to begin with,” Voldemort said dryly.

“So, she ran a dating service as well as a nightmare hospital?”

“For the right price, Katja will run anything.”

He took her arm and Apparated them both into a dark alley of an unfamiliar city. She could hear cars running so they must be in an area with Muggles. The smog in the air told her it was a rather big city.

Voldemort pulled out his wand and drew a figure over the concrete wall next to them. The wall began to shimmer and became more transparent until they were looking into a tavern. There weren’t many people in it, just a handful drinking coffee, reading newspapers or conversing in low voices. She couldn’t understand the language they were speaking, but it sounded like Russian.

No one paid them any more interest than a glance, and Voldemort stepped right through the transparent wall, and went up to the long wooden desk. A beautiful, young man with dark blond hair and bright blue eyes greeted him. Hermione couldn’t understand the words being spoken, but she understood the gist based on the way the man reacted.

His friendly smile dropped, and a fearful expression grew on his face when Voldemort mentioned Katja’s name. He mumbled something and then took a step back when Voldemort leaned closer to him over the desk. The young man’s hands were shaking when he finally wrote something down on a piece of paper and handed it to Voldemort.

Satisfied, Voldemort came back to her, tucking the paper into his pocket.

“Next destination.”

He took her arm and Apparated them both. However, this time when they landed, he let out a small groan and had to lean on her for a second.

“What’s the matter?” Hermione asked, looking around for what could have hurt him. 

“I need to get this body under control,” he growled as he straightened.

Their new location was on a mountain side. She could see the forest spread out for miles below them. The lack of a road told her this was not an area Muggles visited often. There was only a small walking path leading down the mountain, but it had a good landing platform for brooms and other flying transportation devices.

The house behind must have been carved into the mountain, but it looked more like it had been a regular mansion that somehow was transformed into stone and had fused with the mountain. There were even petrified shingles on the towers sticking out of either side of the doorway, which were also made from stone.

On either side of the door were two huge Wampuses, six-legged mountain lions that Hermione had only ever read about. Both were staring at them, their intelligent eyes carefully watching every move they made. Voldemort walked closer to them, seemingly fearless. 

“Good morning. I seek an audience with Katja. Tell her Voldemort has come to show her how our last experiment panned out.”

The Wampus to the right held eye contact with him for several seconds before nodding and letting out a loud roar that had Hermione jump back. Only when the Wampuses laid down on the ground again did she dare to go up to Voldemort.

“I have read that they can perform Legilimency, but I’ve never heard of any human working with Wampuses,” she said in awe.

“There are many things you are not taught at Hogwarts,” Voldemort said smugly. “Magical animals were always Katja’s true love. She brought these two up and somehow made them loyal to her. A fascinating feat. I was always more fond of working with snakes.”

“So I know,” Hermione said dryly, vividly remembering the yellow eyes of his old pet.

It didn’t take long before the doors opened and a house-elf in a yellow and purple dress beckoned them forward. Hermione gaped at it.

“Doctor Katja welcomes you in,” it squeaked, disappearing into the darker interior.

The two Wampuses let out a low growl of warning as they passed before the door slammed shut. Their message was clear. They would tear them to pieces if they tried to harm their mistress.

The inside was not as stoney as the exterior had been. Long, red carpets covered the cold floor, and a chandelier of magical light hung from the high ceiling. On either side of them were corridors that seemed to stretch endlessly, and in front of them, were staircases that led both up and down. The little house-elf beckoned them to follow it downstairs.

“Does she have free house-elves working for her?” Hermione whispered as they followed it.

“Yes, magical beings have always been easily swayed by her,” Voldemort answered, rolling his eyes. 

The staircase led them into another corridor, which opened up into daylight. A grand garden grew here even though they were still inside the mountain. The ceiling seemed to have the same illusion as Hogwarts’ Great Hall, which looked like the sky above. But under this fake sky, a whole garden was thriving. Birds flew in the air and chirped in the trees. Many colourful fishes swam in a huge pond, and she even saw a few woodland creatures before they disappeared behind the trees.

In the middle of all this, someone had laid down a red and white picnic blanket. Katja was sitting on it, feeding birds from her hand. She looked exactly as she had in Voldemort’s memory, not having aged a day. As they walked closer, the birds took off from around Katja, and she turned her attention to them.

“Well, isn’t this fascinating,” Katja said and made a gesture for them to sit. “I could feel your magical signature, Voldemort, but it is all intermixed with your offspring’s. He is not a perfect clone.”

“No,” Voldemort answered, sounding slightly annoyed. “It appears his mother messed with the ritual and that had … unforeseen consequences.”

They both sat down on the picnic blanket. Hermione felt very out of place. Here she was with two powerful practitioners of the Dark Arts, who had centuries of knowledge combined, discussing a highly dangerous ritual. What could she really bring to the conversation?

Then again, what could she learn from this talk? These were theories and knowledge she would never have found at Hogwarts and probably not at any other school. She should really try to make the most out of it.

Just the magical transformation of this place alone was a thing of wonder. There were creatures here she had only read about.

A big cat-creature silently approached her. The size of it as well as the long hair from its ears led her to suspect this was a Kneazel. She carefully held out her open hand, letting it sniff her. Kneazles were shy creatures, so she felt honoured when the cat buffed its head against her hand, demanding scratches. She smilingly complied.

“Mira likes you,” Katja commented, arching her eyebrows in surprise. “She rarely greets my visitors. Who are you?”

Before she had time to reply, Voldemort did it for her. “This is Hermione Granger. My fiancée and assistant in sorting out this mess of a body.”

Katja’s eyebrow rose even higher. “Fiancée? And you love this man?”

Hermione snorted. “No.”

Katja cocked her head. “Is he blackmailing you, then?”

“What on earth makes you jump to that conclusion?” Voldemort asked quickly.

“I doubt it is because of your power; that is very dampened. And everyone thinks you are dead, so it can’t be for your station in society. So, if not for love, then it must be because of something you are holding over her head.”

“Her reasons are not why we are here today,” Voldemort said, clearly annoyed. “You were the one that gave me the idea for this ritual as well as introduced me to Vasilka, therefore, I hope you will help me sort it out.”

Katja leaned back on the blanket, seemingly amused. “My services do not come with a warranty. I gave you what you paid for; if you or someone else then fucks it up, that is of no concern to me.”

“True, but I know you are itching for a chance to examine this body. It is a new type of existence. Who knows what you could learn and then sell to the next one that requires your services.”

Her smile broadened, but she shifted her gaze to Hermione. “You are his fiancée/assistant. Is the body as interesting as he makes it out to be?”

Hermione could feel a blush creeping up her cheeks. When she glanced at Voldemort, he was looking at her intently. 

“It is quite interesting. One moment he is Viktor and another he is him.”

“Oh, so you don’t have full control,” Katja said with glee. “Now I understand your desperation. Are you trying to kick out the other soul or make yourself a new body again?”

“Right now, I’m trying to get a hold of Vasilka to find out what she changed in the ritual. And she is on her way here.”

Katja’s smile disappeared, and all of a sudden, the temperature in the cave dropped several degrees. Even the animals around them tensed. The Kneazel next to Hermione arched its back.

“I do not sell out my customers to each other, Voldemort.”

“I’m not asking you to. I merely want to talk to her. Our goals align. She wants to free her son, and I want to be free of him. This would be neutral ground to meet. By all means, you can take our wands and be there for the entire conversation.”

Now it was Hermione’s turn to look at him in disbelief. She was certain he wanted revenge for Vasilka messing up the ritual. But perhaps he was just that desperate to get out of this situation that he would forgo his own vengefulness.

Then again, maybe he was just planning on taking his revenge afterwards, when he had what he wanted from Vasilka. That was what Hermione would do.

Merlin, did she just compare herself to Voldemort?

Katja was contemplating the request, studying both of them closely. After a few moments, her eyes locked on Hermione.

“Once Vasilka comes here, I will allow your fiancée to meet her and convince her to talk to you,” she finally said.

It must be a test. Hermione just wasn’t sure what type of test it was, or for whom.

Voldemort turned to her, also studying her.

“Or do you have any reason not to trust this woman who you want to share the rest of your life with?” Katja asked innocently.

“No, that will work. I know Hermione has her priorities in order.”

His stare was intense, and Hermione felt a shiver go through her body, her last punishment still fresh in her mind.

“Marvellous,” Katja said and rose from the blanket with a catlike grace. “Let’s go and wait for our guest then.”

Hermione got up, too, but when Voldemort rose, Katja held up a hand. “You can stay here and keep Mira company in the meantime.”

Reluctantly, he sat back down again. “Very well, take good care of my fiancée. I want her back in the same state as now.”

Katja grinned wickedly at him before hooking arms with Hermione, leading her back the same way they came.

Even though she didn’t see Katja cast any spell, Hermione felt a shift of magical energy as they left the cave. When she glanced behind her, she could see the shimmer of some sort of force field at the opening, locking Voldemort in the cave. The knowledge filled her with satisfaction.

“Hermione Granger,” Katja mused as they walked, “now we can talk openly, why would such a young, powerful woman bind herself to someone like him?”

That was a very good question. How honest should she be? This was the first person she had ever met that knew the truth about Voldemort, and it was very tempting to just talk about it with another human.

“I was doing it to help Viktor,” Hermione finally said. “He is still in there, and he deserves to be free.”

Katja huffed. “So you are tying yourself to a very dark wizard to free another wizard? My dear, you should never sell your freedom for someone else.”

“I’m also trying to protect my other friends,” Hermione said. “I’m best friends with Harry Potter. He and Voldemort have been enemies for years. If I’m with Voldemort, I can hopefully stop him from going after Harry again.”

“Ah, so you are selling yourself for two men, yes, of course, then it makes sense.” Katja rolled her eyes. “This is the thing I loathe about society. Women are expected to give everything of themselves for the betterment of wizards. We take care of their household and their children, so they can go on and make great things. Why should it be your job to give them easier lives?”

“Because I love them,” Hermione replied, feeling very uncomfortable.

“Love is just an illusion to hide the cage they put you in,” Katja said harshly.

“Love is one of the greatest magic there is,” Hermione argued. “Harry’s mum died for him, leaving a great protection around him, making it impossible for Voldemort to even touch him for years.”

“So her life was worth a few years of comfort for this boy? What about her comfort?”

“What mother wouldn’t make that sacrifice though?”

“Yes, because women are taught from when they were babies to look after and care for others. It’s all a lie to keep us contained. Domesticated. We can be so much more than that.”

“Well, maybe I can do more staying with Voldemort. He has already taught me so much these past few weeks, more than I think I learned during a whole year at Hogwarts. Knowledge is power,” Hermione said, aggravated about Katja’s questioning. 

“That is my point. If you are going to marry him, do it for your own gain! Do it because he gives you something of value. Not to save other men. They can sort out their own life. You don’t need to do that for them.”

Hermione was flabbergasted. Before she could think about what to say, the house-elf from earlier appeared in front of them in the corridor.

“Doctor, you have another guest,” she squeaked.

Katja nodded to him. “Thank you, Gerry. I will show her in myself.”

“Of course, Doctor.” With a snap of her fingers, Gerry disappeared again

“Do you pay your house-elf a salary?” Hermione asked before Katja could resume their conversation from earlier.

“I would if she wanted one,” Katja said with a shrug. “But all she wants is good wine, a nice bed and the occasional vacation to see her extended family.”

“I wish more would treat their elves with that respect,” Hermione muttered.

“Yes, the wizarding world is quite awful in general.”

They reached the entrance again, and the doors swung open, revealing Vasilka. Her eyes widened in surprise as she saw Hermione standing here.

“Welcome, Vasilka, it has been a while,” Katja greeted her.

“Thank you for seeing me, Doctor,” Vasilka said, bowing her head in respect before looking up at Hermione. “How did you know of this place?”

“Come, let’s have this discussion in a more comfortable space.”

Katja led them into the corridor on the left this time, which opened up into a sitting area that reminded Hermione of Gryffindor’s common room. Red drapes hung from the rock walls, and a big red carpet with intricate Persian design lay under the plush sofa and armchairs. An ebony table stood between the furniture, and on top of it, a teapot was already steaming with a sweet-smelling tea, in a dark porcelain set. Katja served them both a cup. 

“To answer your earlier question, Hermione came here with your son and his father. His father was very adamant on speaking with you, but as you know, I never side with a customer. Therefore, I will let it be up to you if you wish to speak with him. Hermione is simply here to explain the situation.”

“Is Viktor okay?” Vasilka asked, worry deepening the wrinkles on her forehead.

“Yes and no,” Hermione began carefully. “I have been trying to save him from his father ever since I found out about it. The mental connection I was talking about… well, it’s a bit more than that. Ever since Voldemort died, his soul has been sharing Viktor’s body.”

As Hermione explained, Vasilka’s face became whiter and whiter, and silent tears started to run down her cheeks.

“My poor boy,” Vasilka whispered as Hermione finished. “My poor, poor boy.”

“Voldemort wants to be the one fully in control of the body,” Hermione said. “And he thinks the reason he doesn’t have it yet is because you changed something in the ritual.”

“Yes, I knew he wanted to make a clone of himself. But I decided to put some of myself into the child, so he would have a will of his own,” Vasilka confessed. “My husband and I had tried for a child for so long, and because of my dabbles with the Dark Arts, we couldn’t. Katja said it was the only way for me to have a child.”

“The Dark Arts always have a price,” Katja said solemnly.

“Yes, and I knew I would never be able to carry a child again after the ritual. It was my only chance, and I made sure it would be in my favour. But it was selfish. When Viktor was born, he was so weak and deformed. I used all the knowledge I had to make him as strong as possible. And I’m willing to do whatever it takes to help my son.” Vasilka turned towards Katja. “Please, Doctor. Name your price. If you help my son gain control over his body, I will gladly pay for it.”

Katja leaned back in the armchair, a calculating look on her face. “Now this is a dilemma for me. Voldemort wants full control over the body, too, and just like you, he is willing to pay handsomely for it.”

More tears started to flow down Vasilka’s cheeks.

Hermione cleared her throat. “Is there a way to split them up into two bodies? If Voldemort could create one clone, can’t he make another and switch to that body?”

“Creating new life is one of the most difficult magical feats you can ever do. The best way to do it is to use the natural way, but I doubt Voldemort or Viktor will want to wait to be born anew and go through all the stages of childhood again,” Katja explained. “And that is not even taking into account that we would need a willing woman to use up her uterus for this purpose.”

Vasilka covered her face in her hands, shaking silently. Hermione looked at Katja who was just sitting there, silently observing the two while drinking her tea.

After a moment, the sadness of Vasilka became too much for Hermione to bear without doing anything, and she went over to her and hugged her. She just wanted to fix the problem, for everyone. She did have a uterus, after all. She could offer it up.

But Katja’s words from earlier rang in her ears. Why should she sacrifice her future to fix a problem other people created by their own selfish choices? Sure, she wanted to help, but that would mean not having biological children of her own in the future. And what would it mean for her if she did it? Voldemort would still be around. She would have to be his guardian to make sure he didn’t cause more harm.

Harry had been willing to sacrifice everything to defeat Voldemort once and for all. And it still hadn’t worked. Maybe sacrificing yourself wasn’t the way to deal with him.

That was when an idea hit her. A very dark, dangerous idea. The kind of idea that would lead you into the Forbidden Forest and throw your most hated teacher into doom.

A teacher that happened to be a woman.

“From what I have read, the woman doesn’t have to be willing. She doesn’t even have to be alive,” Hermione said.

Both Vasilka and Katja looked at her in surprise.

“I do not make deals with non-willing participants,” Katja said.

Hermione arched an eyebrow in disbelief. “But you made a deal with Voldemort, knowing he was a killer?”

Katja shrugged. “What my clients do once they leave my facilities is up to them. But I do not help them commit acts on unwilling people.”

Hermione crossed her arms. “But it was through your help that Viktor, a very unwilling participant, is now in this position.”

“Viktor wasn’t alive when my deal was struck. Voldemort and Vasilka both wanted knowledge. I gave them the knowledge I had, but they did it on their own, without my involvement. Every living person has their own free will and is responsible for their own actions.”

“Even if it affects other people?”

“Yes, of course, and then they take the consequences of that action.”

“How utterly convenient for your business,” Hermione remarked.

Katja shrugged, showing no hint of shame whatsoever. “What can I say? The only one you can ever rely on is yourself. I made sure I could take care of myself and the animals in my care.”

Hermione opened her mouth to argue some more about how Katja seemed to embody the very things she hated about society, but Vasilka grasped her hand, stopping her.

“So give me some knowledge, then. In theory, if we had a uterus outside of a body that someone had donated, could we split Voldemort and Viktor into two bodies?”

“Since this has never been done before, I could not offer any guarantees that my knowledge would grant success,” Katja warned.

“I would still happily pay for that knowledge. What would your price be?” Vasilka asked.

Katja leaned back in the chair, thinking for a moment. “I have a Firedrake that I have nursed back to health. She is now ready to find a new habitat. But it requires quite a bit of scouting to find a suitable one and then she needs someone to stay with her to make sure she is safe until she’s settled in. All in all, a year of your time. That is my price.”

“I will do it,” Vasilka promised.

“Perfect. And with Hermione here, we can do the unbreakable vow right away,” Katja said.

Hermione was still annoyed by Katja but agreed to be the binder in the ritual. As she held her wand over their clasped hands, Hermione couldn’t help but focus on Katja. It didn’t quite make sense to her why Katja was so willing to help animals but not people. Was she just one of those environmentalist nuts who didn’t care about killing people if it freed a few animals? Hermione hadn’t met any in the magical community yet, but she had read about them in the Muggle world.

A spark of magic travelled through her body and out her wand as the vow was completed and Katja stood up with a satisfied grin on her face. 

“It is true that to make a clone, you would just need a uterus. The uterus would make it, so you would have two bodies of Viktor’s. But to transfer only one of the souls into it? That would be the hard part. My best bet would be to use you, Vasilka, as the anchor again. You are the reason why Viktor exists. You ‘created’ him. If you can find a way for you to anchor only Viktor’s soul into the new body, you have a bigger chance of actually succeeding.”

“She has to carry him again?” Hermione asked, frowning.

Katja shrugged. “Carry, anchor, whatever way you can think of. But Vasilka has to be a part of the ritual to attract only Viktor’s soul into the other body. I can see no way of doing it the other way around. Voldemort made that clone for his soul, it is already anchored there. To transfer him would be impossible.”

“There is also a problem of having two Viktor’s walking around in the world,” Hermione said hesitantly.

“That could be fixed with altering surgery,” Katja said. “They would still look somewhat alike, but at least then, you could pass them off as cousins or something.”

“And it would be a later problem,” Vasilka said. “First we need to split them.”

“Voldemort will probably have an idea on how to do it,” Vasilka said. “We should talk to him.”

“Before we do,” Hermione said, a smile creeping onto her face. “I have some stipulations we should impose on him.”

 

Chapter 14: Heavy is the Arse

 

Voldemort was a patient man. He could wait for years to execute a plan to perfection. However, before his latest almost demise, he had at least been alone with his thoughts. Waiting while having to listen to Viktor’s guilty mutterings was going to drive him insane.

Now Mum is here, too. Will we destroy her life as we have destroyed Hermione’s? This is not fair on either of them.

Voldemort put up his Occlumency walls against Viktor. It took more of his strength than he cared to admit. But since he was alone for the moment, he could spare it. When Katja was in the room, he could not.

Though, the animals in this cavern worked for her, so he did have to be careful.

He had always felt like it was a waste of potential. Hiding away in a remote location, focusing on rescuing and caring for magical beings and animals. The knowledge she had collected from those creatures allowed her to strengthen the bodies of wizardkind. If she had wanted, she could have created an army of enhanced followers. But no, she only performed surgeries on paying customers and then used the money to help even more animals. 

Such a waste.

The women took a long time to talk. It worried him. Hermione was still young, but she was bright and ruthless. Even though his influence over her was strong, he was convinced she would betray him if she found a way to do so. And Vasilka was definitely out to kill him once she secured her son. With Katja, they might actually have a chance to do so.

He did not look kindly on Katja for demanding that Hermione speak for him. That could not go unpunished. 

The longer they took, the more time he had to investigate the magic in the cave. Katja was brilliant with bodies but not as skilled with her protection wards. Or at least, not as skilled as he was. Without magic, this cave could be in much trouble. However, there was no way to do it safely in a way that ensured Katja was there when it happened. Thus, he would have to settle for punishing her without her knowing it was he who did it. And it was so easy to punish people who had weak creatures they cared about.

He smiled at the Kneazle that was eyeing him suspiciously from up a tree as he walked around, using his magical sense to feel his way around the cave. Some parts of the cave were sturdier than others, especially in the back. She hadn’t carved out as much of the mountain there. Close to the entrance of the cave, there was a small waterfall that went down into a pond. The water had to go somewhere from there.

Sitting down by the edge of the pond, he closed his eyes and reached into the water with his magical consciousness. It didn’t take him long to find an underwater cave system that went deep into the mountain before turning into a lake down in the valley.

He silently scoffed. This was almost too easy. Erosion could be such an invisible problem if one wasn’t careful. Especially if there were other, plausibly natural, factors to speed up the process. Like an unexpected avalanche next spring, pushing a lot of water into that trickle of a waterfall.

With a push of his magic, he eroded the cave system underneath where he was sitting. It would take years before it ever became a serious problem. However, he just had an inkling that this winter would have more snow than expected. And that this spring, an unfortunate avalanche would just happen to flood that waterfall, spraying more water into the cave and underneath it, causing a massive cave in.

Voldemort opened his eyes again, very pleased with his revenge plan.

What were you doing? Viktor asked suspiciously. I could feel you working our magic.

I was merely sensing what wards are in place if we need to get out of here in a haste , Voldemort lied smoothly. Katja is a dangerous woman, after all. So you better stay quiet if you want me to bring Hermione and your mother with me if I have to leave.

Viktor retreated into his own thoughts, and Voldemort sat, watching the water fall into the pond as the animals moved around behind him. 

After almost an hour had passed, the women finally returned with Vasilka in tow.

Since both Katja and Vasilka knew better than to let their emotions and thoughts show on their face, Voldemort studied Hermione. She didn’t look victorious, like she had figured out a way to get rid of him. Instead, her face was hard-set and determined. Whatever they had talked about, Hermione was now looking to convince him about it, which probably meant the outcome was not what he wished.

Well, he could be convincing, too. He just needed to make sure Hermione didn’t get backup from the other two.

“We have come to an accord,” Hermione said. “I have a plan on how to make this happen. You get to keep that body, and Viktor gets a new one.”

“Marvellous,” Voldemort answered. “Then let us begin.”

“Not so fast. Katja has confirmed that a split will not be possible without Vasilka’s involvement, and needless to say, she will not help unless you make some promises.”

Voldemort looked at Vasilka coolly. “Oh? So the return of her son is not enough of a prize?”

“Not if it will lead to him having an ‘unfortunate accident’ after the split is complete,” Hermione answered.

Vasilka just stared at him, trying to keep her face hard, but he could see a sliver of desperation in her eyes.

“And what would these promises entail?” he asked.

“Obviously, you will not harm anyone in the Krum family or interfere in their lives. Viktor gets his life back, and you undergo a bit of altering surgery to look less like him. You will get a new identity and be just a cousin of Viktor.”

Voldemort laughed.

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “What’s so funny?”

“Viktor would not be able to handle the changes I have made to his life,” he scoffed. “Things have been put in motion that would lead to his death if I weren’t there to control it.”

“What sort of things?” Hermione crossed her arms.

“I have entered agreements with some less than forgiving people. If Viktor does not deliver, they will kill him. And without my expertise, he will not be able to deliver.”

It was more or less true; he did not dare lie completely with a traitor in his body. Viktor might be able to deliver with help, but Voldemort would not share what needed to be done.

Hermione crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing as she studied his face for a lie. He held her gaze with a curved eyebrow. With practice, she might have a chance with Legilimency, but she was delusional if she thought she could read his expression.

In the end, it was Vasilka who caved first. 

“I do not doubt this,” she said, her voice breaking slightly. “Very well, Viktor will come with us, and you can stay. But you will never bother us again.”

Hermione sighed in annoyance. No doubt she had hoped that Viktor would release her from their engagement. That was not going to happen. He still had a need for her.

“Fine, but then you must also promise to never go back to the United Kingdom without me,” Hermione added. “Viktor’s life is in Bulgaria. If you are to have it, you can stay there.”

“And I presume you will be the one to oversee me, as my wife?” Voldemort asked, cocking an eyebrow, provoking her.

To his surprise, Hermione calmly folded her arms in front of her. “Yes, which is why you will also make an Unbreakable Vow to neither torture nor kill me.”

“What would you classify as torture? It is a very subjective thing, after all. Some people would claim that merely talking to someone is torture.”

“Torture would be hurting me with the purpose of punishing or correcting my behaviour.”

He realised that Hermione had already decided to stay with him before this talk began. She must have discussed her wording before with the other women.

“I would never agree to such an easily broken Unbreakable Vow. You could claim to be hurt by me saying that your duel stance is wrong. No, I think not.”

“There are other, less deadly vows,” Vasilika stated. “Perhaps a blood oath instead?”

Hermione tilted her head, but he could see that she already knew Vasilika would suggest this. 

“Yes, I can deal with that.”

Oh, she was infuriating when she knew she had the upper hand. He wanted to press her against the wall and show her exactly what he thought of that idea. Wipe that smirk off her face and make her beg for Lord Voldemort’s mercy. 

Behind Hermione, Katja twirled her wand between her fingers in warning. She clearly recognised his rage when she saw it. He considered triggering the collapse of the cave right there and then to show her what happened when you crossed Lord Voldemort.

But then he would never get rid of the bloody voice in his head. Long term revenge would have to do. He took a deep breath, clenching his wand hand.

“Very well. Once I am the lone inhabitant of this body, I shall make a blood oath on all the things you just required. But not before.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “How do I know you will keep your word?”

Voldemort swiftly brought up his wand and took enjoyment in seeing her take a step back. “I swear on my wand that I will make a blood oath once Viktor is gone.”

“From your body,” Katja insisted.

Voldemort rolled his eyes. Perhaps if the first avalanche didn’t work, he would add a few more.

“From my body,” he added.

The air cracked with magic as the oath took effect.

Vasilka sighed in relief. “Viktor, we will get you out of there.”

Viktor didn’t dare take over and be confronted with his mother’s worry. He stayed with his shame in the back of Voldemort’s mind.

“Now, explain to me how we are to do this,” Voldemort said, putting his wand back in his holster.

“The first step is to break into Azkaban,” Hermione said.

“What on earth for?” Voldemort asked.

Hermione’s face broke into a smile that sent a shock of arousal down to his groin. It was a smile full of promise of pain and darkness.

“There is a uterus there no one will use.”

 

***

 

They decided to split their efforts. Vasilka would gather the ingredients that Katja couldn’t sell them, while Hermione and Voldemort returned to the cottage to plan a break-in. At least that was what Voldemort told the meddlesome women they would be doing. However, the moment he and Hermione were alone, he intended to remind his fiancée whom she was dealing with.

As they entered the cottage, Voldemort grasped her hand and moved her to sit on the sofa. He sat down on the table in front of her, caging her with his long legs. Before he said anything, Hermione sighed, clearly exasperated.

“Whatever threat you have been thinking about, you can save it and we can get down to planning instead.”

“Now why would you assume I was planning on threatening you?” he asked silky.

Hermione stared at him. “Because about fifty percent of our conversations are threats. If we are to be married and all that, won’t that become repetitive quite quickly?”

He scoffed. “You give me too little credit, I am very imaginative in my threats.”

She pressed her lips together for a moment. “I don’t doubt it. But once this is done, you will have to swear not to torture me again, so your threats will be empty.”

He summoned his wand between his fingers and slowly stroked the wood. “So you mean I should take the opportunity while I still have it?”

No, you can’t! Viktor shouted in his mind. 

Voldemort ignored him.

He could see a flicker of fear in Hermione’s eyes, but she didn’t look away. 

“We told Vasilka we would have the uterus in two days. Don’t you think we should spend that time planning?”

Voldemort smirked. “I have broken into Azkaban several times. It’s surprisingly easy. We will just need a non-magical boat.”

“I thought no one had broken out of Azkaban before Sirius Black?” Hermione said, frowning.

“I didn’t break anyone out the first few times,” he replied with a shrug. “I have everything we need. Except the boat, but that will be easy enough to steal in some Muggle fishing village. Thus, I have plenty of time to talk to you about what our life will be like once the voice is gone from my head.”

He leaned closer to her, and she instinctively leaned back. He studied her closely. There was still so much fighting spirit in her. Even when she was scared, she was still thinking, calculating her options. It made both his chest and his groin heat up.

“I want to continue to study,” she said suddenly.

He arched his eyebrows.

“I will need to know the language of the school I go to though,” she continued. “If we are staying in Bulgaria, I will need to learn Bulgarian.”

He leaned back again, surprised she had already given their future some thought.

“And I don’t want you to go after Muggle-borns,” she continued, emboldened by his silence. “I mean, if you marry me, ‘Viktor’ couldn’t possibly be against Muggle-borns.”

“Don’t make assumptions about what my political objectives are,” he scoffed. 

“What are your objectives, then?” Hermione asked, suspicion clear in her eyes.

“When you are in power, you can achieve many things,” he said with a smile. “I never cared one way or the other about Muggle-borns, but the people in power in Britain did. So, I aligned myself with my fellow Slytherins so I could get the power I needed to gain immortality. And that’s what I will do again.”

“So all you want is to become immortal?” Hermione asked in disbelief.

Voldemort smirked. “That’s all I have ever wanted, Hermione. But, once you are immortal, you have to have some way to spend your time. However, to that end, I think going back to school is an excellent idea for you. There is a seat of higher education in Vienna that has done some groundbreaking research in recent years thanks to a more pragmatic approach to the Dark Arts. You being there would actually be an advantage for me.”

She seemed conflicted about that, but she nodded slowly. 

“German is probably faster for me to learn than Bulgarian. Will we still live here?”

She made a gesture at the cottage.

“Merlin, no,” he scoffed. “This is only a safehouse. Once I’m convinced you are no longer a threat to me, we can find somewhere to live.”

“And what about how much of a threat you are to me?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

He put his hand on her knee and slowly stroked halfway up her thigh. 

“Don’t you feel safe with the oath you will have me swear?”

Hermione’s eyes travelled to where his hand rested on her leg, but she didn’t try to remove it. 

“I’m sure you think you can find a way around it, just as you have found a way to work around Viktor’s protection.”

“Viktor might be a meddlesome voice in my brain, but what protection do you think he has given you?”

Hermione’s gaze met his again. 

“Love. I know Viktor loves me, and that love has protected me. Even when he hasn’t been there.”

Voldemort got the feeling like she was trying to convey some deeper meaning, but the idea of love was just ludicrous to begin with.

“Have you already forgotten what happened two days ago?” he asked in disbelief.

His hand slid to the inside of her thigh where the scars were just beginning to heal. Hermione winced in discomfort. 

“Of course not. I know there are ways to overcome those types of protections, too. But at least it stopped you from killing Harry the first time.”

“Viktor is not dying for you,” Voldemort mocked her. “He is merely leaving.”

Hermione kept looking at him intensely for a few seconds, but then she sighed and looked away.

“Fine. We can work out the details of the rest of our lives once we are alone, no threats necessary. Can we now go over how to break into Azkaban? You may have done it before, but I certainly haven’t, and I would like to know every step.”

Voldemort withdrew his hand, feeling victorious that she was being so pragmatic about this. That certainly bode well for the future. 

“Very well.”

***

Hermione was not happy bringing Voldemort back to Great Britain, but the only other person she knew that had ever broken out of Azkaban was dead. Thus, Voldemort was the only one she had. Saltwater hit her face as she propelled the small, wooden boat with her wand. It was freezing out here in the ocean, but Voldemort had assured her the best way into Azkaban was from this angle.

Voldemort sat in front of her, his hand up in the air, feeling for the wards that would mean they couldn’t use their magic anymore. She hoped she would be able to go on for a bit longer. They could barely make out the silhouette of the prison due to the lights shining from it, so it would still be a long way to row.

It was the middle of the night. They had decided that the best time to strike was a few hours before dawn. They would use the darkness to sneak inside since they couldn’t use any magical disguises.

“Now,” Voldemort said softly. “We are almost at the wards.”

Hermione withdrew her wand from the water and instead took to the oars.

“Are you sure you can do this?” she asked again. “What if they changed the wards?”

“I’m counting on them having changed the wards,” he said with a hint of annoyance in his voice. “Now be quiet, noises carry over water.”

Hermione rolled her eyes but began rowing. She was not very strong though, so after just minutes, she was panting. Luckily, she only needed to get Voldemort to the wards so he could manipulate them.

“Stop,” he said, just as Hermione’s arms gave way.

She tried to make them stop shaking as she watched Voldemort move his hand in the air. There was a very low hum coming from around them. Even with the limited training he had given her, she could feel it around her. It was strong magic, making the hairs at the back of her neck stand. Even though Voldemort seemed very confident at their ability to sneak into Azkaban unseen, she kept coming up with scenarios that would see them fail. Just like she had always done when Ron, Harry and she had done illegal stuff. Voldemort may have much more experience and magical knowledge than Harry and Ron, but he was also too sure of himself, just like Harry. And that always led to problems that could have been prevented.

“There we go,” Voldemort said smugly as he sat down by the oars. “The wards have accepted us.”

“How do you do that?” Hermione asked, both annoyed and amazed by his mastery over magic.

“I merely convince it that our magical signatures are allowed to be here, just like countless guards,” he said, rowing with a lot more speed than she had managed.

Well, Viktor had always been a very athletic person; it made sense his body was strong. Hermione kept massaging her sore arms.

It took almost half an hour until they came to shore. By then, even Voldemort was breathing more heavily. Together, they pulled the boat up on the tiny, stone beach. Hermione winced at the sound of the wood scraping against the stone, but Voldemort didn’t seem to pay it any mind. He navigated both of them in the darkness. Clearly, he had been here before, taking the same route. Before long, they reached the wall of the prison that had a long line of small windows with bars in front of them. Voldemort opened his backpack and procured a small blow torch.

Hermione shook her head in disbelief. When Voldemort had told her that the way into Azkaban was using Muggle equipment, she had once again been shocked over how much wizards underestimated Muggles. It was amazing that Azkaban didn’t have more escapees. Then again, there used to be more than just bars to keep the people here locked up. Thankfully, the dementors were gone, making this slightly easier.

They had discussed their plan at length. The window they were breaking into led to a storage room. From there, they would wait until the guards patrolled past their door and then follow them at a distance, thus not risking running into them.

Their goal was located on the second floor, the place where the “less dangerous” convicts were held. Security was much laxer there. On the other floors, there were multiple guard patrols even at night, but not on the second floor. Hermione still didn’t know how Voldemort knew that. He had just smiled at her when she asked. Then again, she hadn’t told him how she knew what cell the witch they were looking for was stored in.

“Catch it,” Voldemort whispered as he was almost through the bars at the window.

Hermione held the middle of the bars as tightly as she could, but the sudden weight on her already exhausted arms almost made her drop it. Only Voldemort’s grip prevented it from slipping into the room.

He gave her an annoyed glare.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

He just shook his head and helped her lower the bars to the ground. Then he carefully slid through the window into the room beneath it. Voldemort held out his hands for the bars, and Hermione struggled to pick it up and give it to him. They wanted the bars to be on the inside of the room, so it looked like someone had removed it from inside the prison. It would be less suspicious that way.

After Hermione also got in the storage room, she kept a look out for guards patrolling, while Voldemort prepared their exit. The window was almost two metres up on the wall, so if they wanted to leave the same way they came in, they would need a ladder of sorts. Luckily, the storage room contained plenty of boxes that Voldemort could stack.

Hermione’s heart started to speed up when she heard footsteps coming from the corridor. If they got caught, it would be very hard to explain what they were doing here. And explaining was not their backup plan. They would fight their way out of there if needed. However, since that would lead to casualties, Hermione had demanded it be their backup plan.

Voldemort came closer, putting his ear to the door next to her. He didn’t look worried at all. Instead, his jaw was clenched in determination.

The guards walked by the room, and Voldemort sank down on his knees, retrieving his lockpicks. Was there anything that man couldn’t do? Except being a decent human being of course.

Mere seconds later, they were out of the storage room, following the sound and light of the guards. Hermione kept her eyes mostly on the uneven stone floors. There was just enough light coming from the guard’s lantern that she could make out the worst cracks. Voldemort held her hand as they walked. It was the quickest way to communicate wordlessly. Every time he paused, he pulled her hand so she would also stop.

Once they were on the second floor, however, Hermione needed to focus on the cell doors. Unlike the cell Sirius had described, these allowed their inhabitants some privacy. The doors were solid metal, except for a tiny barred window at shoulder height. The rooms inside were also more humane than Sirius’s had been.

Every door had a number carved into it, and Hermione felt her anticipation spike when they finally reached the one they were looking for. Cell 297.

She peaked in through the window. Moonlight shone in on the sleeping prisoner. She looked much different from when Hermione last saw her. Her grey hair was long and unkept; her face was hollowed out, and her skin saggy from losing weight fast. But even in prison, Dolores Umbridge had managed to spew out her pink evil. There was a pink quilt on her bed as well as a pink tablecloth running down the desk in the corner.

Clearly, prison was too good for the hag. Luckily, Hermione was here to remedy that.

 

***

 

Voldemort couldn’t help but admire the dark smile that spread over Hermione’s lips when they reached the right cell. He was very much looking forward to seeing how far she would go in this endeavour.

With a last check to make sure the guards were out of sight, he used his lockpicks to open the cell door. It had come in handy a lot in his youth, as well as in his adulthood, when magic couldn’t be relied on.

The door swung open with a low creak that didn’t disturb the sleeping woman in the bed. He smiled. He was looking forward to this in more ways than one. It had been too long since he felt this in control over life, and he was curious to see how far and dark Hermione would take it.

To that effect, he withdrew the syringe from his backpack and gave it to her without a word. It contained a medication Snape had once developed that would make Umbridge much more docile for a few hours. They needed her to be quiet and not struggling as they led her out of here. Though, she did not look as heavy as Hermione had told him she was. Then again, Azkaban tended to be a slimming experience.

Delightfully, Hermione didn’t seem to have any hesitation about drugging Umbridge. In fact, she swiftly took the syringe and all but stabbed the woman in the throat. Umbridge awoke with a gasp, and Hermione slapped her hand over the other woman’s mouth before she could make another sound.

Voldemort wished he could see Hermione’s face. Her body language was hard and precise. It showed no form of mercy or regret for what they were about to do. But he would get the opportunity to study her once the real work started.

It took only seconds for Umbridge's eyes to become glassy and her body relaxed. Hermione slowly removed her hand, and the woman gave out a girly little giggle.

“Merlin, I have not missed that,” Hermione muttered, putting her hand over Umbridge’s mouth again. “Give me the ball gag.”

Once it was in place, Hermione let go of the woman and stood up, tilting her head.

“If not for how incriminating it would be, I think I would have liked a picture of this.” 

The malice was clear in her voice as she studied the drugged, gagged woman.

He wondered what on earth Umbridge had done to her to spike such hatred. She had never shown that level of hatred for him.

You are lucky , Viktor’s voice whispered . If she hated you like that, she would have purged you long ago.

Voldemort sighed, annoyed that Viktor was bothering to make his presence known again. The man had thankfully been quiet more often than not since Voldemort had tortured Hermione. The only emotion he felt from him was a sense of hopelessness and shame, and Voldemort hated being subjugated to such a feeling.

“With the Pensieve, you can relive this memory whenever you want,” Voldemort promised Hermione. “Now we just need to be quiet until the guards pass a second time. Should be in about ten minutes.”

Umbridge was happy to just lie in bed while they waited. Drool kept running out of the corners of her mouth, but it did stifle the giggles that sometimes shook her body. After a while, he put the covers over her so she wouldn’t be visible if someone looked into the room.

When it was just one minute until the guards were to pass them again, he moved Hermione into the corner behind the door and pulled his dark grey cloak over them both. They were by no means invisible, but the shadows would obscure them as long as no one went inside the room. If someone did go inside, he would kill them, and they would have to fight their way out. 

However, that would be messy since both Viktor and Hermione were recognisable, and the chance of someone seeing them and getting away were fairly high. He wanted them to be able to come back to Great Britain in due time. Hermione might have made him promise not to go back to Great Britain alone, but give it a few years together, and he was confident she would come around to his way of thinking. Her pragmatism and willingness to compromise were promising. He was patient.

You don’t know Hermione. You won’t be able to break her , Viktor muttered with no conviction behind his words.

I don’t need to break her; I just need time , Voldemort responded. And you will not be there to stop me.

He could feel Viktor’s hopelessness in his silence. He knew as well as Voldemort that Hermione would soon be out of Viktor’s life. At least the original Viktor. Publicly, Viktor Krum and Hermione Granger would have a happy, private wedding and live a very long life together.

Voldemort couldn’t wait until he had her all to himself. Just feeling her warm body against his gave him ideas of things to do with her. One of her hands was on his chest as she strained to listen. Her breathing was controlled, but her heartbeat elevated. His left hand was at the small of her back, the right hand gripping a dagger inside his cloak, just in case.

It didn’t seem to trouble her to be close to him again. He would have to test how far she would go once they were alone. Some people took longer to get over torture than others. She seemed to be accustomed to it though. At least there was one thing he could thank Potter for: putting her in constant danger.

As if she could feel him studying her, she glanced at him.

“What?” she whispered.

“You are very beautiful right now,” he purred.

She flushed, but her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “So what?”

“Nothing, just admiring you as we wait,” he whispered, pressing himself closer to her.

“Okay …”

Faint footsteps approached them, and he pressed a finger against her lips. She tensed, her breathing quickening. But the footsteps just walked past the cell door, not even pausing. Once they were gone, they sprang to action. Together, they pulled Umbridge to her feet. She followed without resisting but moved as if she was drunk. She leaned heavily on him, and he was disgusted to note that it had been a while since her last shower. Hermione held a much too tight grip of Umbridge´s arm, which made him smile. 

Unnecessary violence against a defenceless victim? How utterly wicked.

Walking in the dark had Umbridge stumbling a lot, and every unnecessary scrape against the stone had him tensing and listening intensively for noises of guards. But as he had expected, this floor was not as heavily guarded as that of his former followers. Priorities had to be made in a prison, and Umbridge was not dangerous in any interesting way. After just three minutes, they were back in the room they had entered through. Getting her out of the window took longer though.

“I regret taking the rear profusely,” Voldemort muttered as he moved Umbridge towards the narrow window, angling her so they could force her out of it. 

Hermione snorted. “Just picture what you will get out of this if you need motivation.”

“Believe me, I am,” he said, pushing Umbridge’s heavy arse.

When they finally made it into the boat, Voldemort smiled. 

Finally, the fun could begin. 

Chapter 15: Ritual, Uninterrupted

 

Hermione probably shouldn’t be as excited as she was. She tried to calm herself by thinking about how this would help Voldemort. But it was just so satisfying seeing Dolores Umbridge gagged and chained in a basement.

Voldemort was already at the cauldron, boiling three separate potions and pastes, which all had to be ready at the same time for their potency to be at their peak. Hermione had prepared the ingredients and lined them up, but now there were several hours before the next ingredient needed to be harvested.

Umbridge’s uterus.

The drug they had given her at Azkaban was still in effect, making her giggle, drool and stare at the ceiling. It was more humane than she deserved. The terror she had spread, torturing children for daring to speak the truth and refusing to teach them anything of use for a whole school year! If it hadn’t been for Harry and she, they would have been helpless at their O.W.L.s.

“Will she become lucid before the surgery?” she asked, walking up to Voldemort.

“Probably. Do you wish her not to be?”

Hermione looked at the drooling fool. 

“I want to talk to her beforehand. I want her to be aware of exactly why she is here. That if  she had been a better human being, she would not be in this situation.”

He didn’t look up from the cauldron, but he smiled. 

“Let us hope she becomes lucid then. The surgery will be performed in five hours and twenty-three minutes.”

“Very well. What should I do until then?”

His hands never stopped stirring, but she could see him frowning as he thought about it. 

“You may as well get a few hours of sleep. You must be exhausted.”

Hermione shrugged. “I’m used to going long without sleep.”

“Regardless, there is nothing to be done right now, except stirring and adding things. Which I would rather do myself.”

She completely understood the need to control every single part of an important project. She had never trusted anyone to help with her school projects either. And she was tired. Thus, she conjured up a bedroll and lay down in the darkest corner of the room. Even if she couldn’t sleep, just lying down and closing her eyes for a while would be nice.

However, she must have been more tired than she thought, because she didn’t remember falling asleep. The thing that woke her were muffled shrieks.

She sat up and saw Umbridge struggling against her restraints.

Voldemort was no longer stirring. Instead, he was sitting next to the cauldron in a conjured up armchair. When she got up, he looked over to her, a smirk on his face.

“I think now is your chance to talk to her,” he purred. “Just don’t untie her.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

Hermione had never experienced a feeling like the one she had as she walked up to Umbridge. It was almost like walking up to a teacher, knowing you would finally get the grade you deserved. But darker, hungrier.

When Umbridge saw her, she froze. Her eyes went wide in shock that quickly turned to fear. It satisfied Hermione immensely.

With a flick of her wand, the ball gag disappeared, and Umbridge gasped.

“You!” she exclaimed. “What is this? Why are you here? Why am I not in Azkaban?”

“You broke out,” Hermione replied calmly. “At least, that’s what the newspaper will write. As to why you are here, that is only because of your own actions.”

She took a step closer. 

“I have met many evil and incompetent people in my life. But you are by far the worst. You are a coward who only dares to bully people you think are powerless. You tortured me and my friends for an entire school year just to prevent us from learning anything. At least Voldemort always waited until the end of the year before trying to kill us.”

Behind her, she could hear Voldemort chuckle.

“M-my intention was always to protect Hogwarts as an institution—” Umbridge stuttered.

“Protect?” Hermione interrupted. “The only thing you and Fudge were trying to protect was your own power! It was more convenient for you to pretend Voldemort wasn’t back, so you tried to silence those that knew. And once he was back and in control, you were more than happy to stay and help ship Muggle-borns to Azkaban. What’s walking over a few hundred dead bodies if it gives you a promotion, huh?”

Fury had taken control of her, and her whole body was shaking.

“If you had ever shown an ounce of human decency, you would not be here. You see, I had to pick who to sacrifice to prevent my friends from getting hurt again, and it was not even hard. You add no value to this world.”

“S-sacrifice?” Umbridge's face had gone completely white.

“Yes. So instead of rotting away in Azkaban, we will make use of you.”

“We?”

Hermione felt Voldemort walk up behind her. He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her on the top of her head.

“Yes, we,” he purred.

Umbridge blinked in confusion. “Viktor Krum? What is going on?”

“Even if I explained it to you, I doubt very much you would understand,” Hermione said coldly. “I just want you to spend the rest of your very short life contemplating that if you had shown any kindness in your life, you would not be here. If you had been anything but a false, sycophantic toad, I would not have picked you. Think about that.”

Hermione stuffed the ball gag into her mouth again and let Voldemort lead her back to the armchair. She was still shaking with anger but felt a deep satisfaction of finally showing Umbridge where her horrible life choices had led her.

“You are extraordinary,” Voldemort said softly, stroking her hair.

Hermione was momentarily snapped out of her anger at his unexpected words. Did he sound … proud?

“Yes, well, she had it coming,” she said.

“Undoubtedly,” he purred. “I’m glad I was there to witness it.”

“Why?”

“Your fury is intoxicating,” he stated.

“Like I said, it was deserved.”

His hand travelled down her back slowly, giving her goosebumps. The tension in her body shifted, the anger giving way for another kind of heat. Watching that had clearly aroused him. She should be disturbed by that, surely? So why was she turning in his lap to straddle him?

Her body seemed to have a will of its own, because the next moment, she was attacking his lips, trying to devour. His hands moved onto her hips, pulling her closer, letting her feel his hardness.

Heat spread through her body, intensifying in her sex. Before she dropped her wand to the floor, she made their clothes disappear. Voldemort let out a groan of delighted surprise before helping her lift her hips. She reached between them and moved his cock to her opening before grinding down.

The sweet pain of his girth only heightened the intensity in her body. She began fucking him, fast and hard, grabbing onto his shoulders, sinking her nails into his shirt. She no longer felt like herself; instead, she was just rage and lust, driven by a need for some sort of release.

It didn’t matter that it was Voldemort she was fucking. It didn’t matter what he had done to her, or if this complicated their future, all that mattered was her using him to get what she craved.

She bit into his lower lip so hard she drew blood. Voldemort laughed, digging his fingers harder into her hips, forcing her down even harder onto him.

She tilted her hips so she could grind her clitoris against his pubic bone with every stroke. It sent lightening through her body, and she clenched her muscles in anticipation of the orgasm she could feel was close.

Voldemort swore, and she knew he was close. But she was closer. With another thrust, she came over the edge, giving out a howl that didn’t even sound human.

She didn’t know if Voldemort came. She didn’t care. Her mind felt blissfully empty.

 

***

 

Voldemort would very much have liked to prolong the pleasure of having Hermione fully surrendering herself to him. Alas, he was on a deadline.

He lifted Hermione off his lap and placed her in the chair before summoning his robes back. Hermione stayed, her eyes still closed. As if she wasn’t ready to join reality again quite yet.

The cauldron’s content turned white just as he poured in the ounce of blood from a Matagot Maledictus. At least Katja was pragmatic enough to know the value of her beloved pets. Hermione had been pleased to find out that they were going to spend some time tracking down the people who had been trafficking unicorns once this was completed. He was unsure if she was aware that the only reason Katja wanted the traffickers alive was to use them in her experiments. Maybe she wouldn’t care though. Hermione, too, seemed to have a soft spot for animals. And a ruthless spot for the people that took advantage of them.

A ruthlessness that would soon be pushed to its limits. 

He glanced over towards Umbridge as he stirred the potion clockwise. It was one thing to plan a murder, another to go through with it. Would she be able to look as they cut Umbridge open? As the blood started to run and Umbridge began to scream and plead for her life? Or would she feel the intoxication that came when you held absolute power over someone else’s life? He had seen traces of it as she talked to the toad-like woman. Why else would she feel the need to fuck him afterwards.

He had hopes for their future together. Maybe she wouldn’t be able to look in Umbridge's eyes as death claimed the woman, but she would one day. He would make sure of it. Perhaps when she saw what the traffickers were doing to the unicorns. Such a shame their deaths weren't hers to claim.

I have ruined her life , Viktor whimpered in the back of his mind.

You never saw her full potential , Voldemort answered. She has always had darkness inside her. Now it will flourish.

Viktor sank back into quietness. He seemed to be growing weaker and weaker.

After about half an hour of counting every stir, Vasilka returned with the final ingredients. The dark rings around her eyes showed that she hadn’t been sleeping. She was also limping slightly and there was a gash in her right leg’s trousers. She must indeed be desperate to get her son back.

“Are we on schedule?” she asked, dumping a basket of glittering roots on the bench.

He nodded as Hermione got up from the armchair, staring at Vasilka’s leg. 

“What happened to you? Are you bleeding?”

“No need to worry, I merely had to fight for the Sheeba root,” she answered. “I will not be returning to Ankara anytime soon.”

“I hope you didn’t lead anyone back here,” Voldemort said coolly.

Vasilka scowled at him. “And risk my son’s life? Never.”

Which meant she had killed the ones sent after her. Voldemort filed away that information for later. Her creating more enemies could benefit him. He wasn’t breaking any agreements if other people found her.

“Excellent. Who wants the honour of retrieving the uterus?” he asked, looking at Hermione.

She flinched but then took a deep breath, crossing her arms. 

“I have very little experience with medical procedures. I wouldn’t want to ruin the organ by stabbing it by accident.”

It was a very valid point.

“What an excellent learning opportunity for you to observe then,” he purred and walked over to Umbridge, drawing his wand. 

“ Petrificus Totalus! ”

Umbridge’s muffled screams silenced immediately.

“We would not want her to move and ruin things either,” he explained to Hermione as she slowly approached.

As he performed the surgery, he kept glancing up at her. Hermione’s face became paler and paler as the blood started flowing from Umbridge, but she didn’t look away. Once the organ was removed, he rose.

“I will give you the decision on whether you want her to die slowly by bleeding out or to kill her straight away. I know what I would choose,” he said, smiling at her.

He had expected her to wallow over that choice until it was too late, but to his great pleasure, Hermione immediately withdrew her wand.

“ Avada Kedavra! ”

The flash of green quickly ended Umbridge’s life, and Hermione did not look very shaken about it.

“I see you have done that before,” he commented as he walked to the cauldron.

Hermione’s lips thinned. “I did fight in a war.”

He just smiled and checked his watch. He had to do this right by the second.

“Start on the circle, Vasilka,” he ordered.

Exactly eight hours after starting on the potion, he dropped the uterus into it. He then took a different knife and slit his wrist in a way which would give him a steady blood flow without becoming dizzy from losing too much blood. It had taken many years of experimenting before he learnt exactly how to do it right. Luckily, the world was full of bleedable people.

With every drop, he used his wand to stir the cauldron, chanting under his breath.

“ One into two, I will split from you. Two bodies, two souls, separated at the core. Let us be whole. ”

Magic was more about intent than words, but for complex magic such as this, he preferred to make his intent clear verbally.

The potion turned from red to silver, and the air filled with the smell of iron.

“It is time,” he said.

Vasilka stepped up so she was in position. Voldemort drank the content of the smallest cauldron: a slimy, green potion that tasted like something fermented. He forced his body to keep it down, but it was a struggle. Especially when he leaned down and drew runes on the floor with the red paste in the second cauldron. It was not as many runes as last time, luckily, but he still had to act quickly. He only had a few minutes until the full moon rose.

Silver mist started to rise from the big cauldron when Voldemort was finished with the final rune. He quickly pulled off his robe and stepped into it, naked. He looked at Vasilka, trying to see if there were any signs of deceit on her face. She met his eyes, and he could see the desperation. She would see this through.

He lowered himself into the hot water.

 

***

 

Hermione saw nothing as mist filled the room, but she could feel the powerful magic at work. It washed over her senses in waves as Vasilka began to chant. She was the conduit that would lead Viktor’s soul out of the body and into the clone. Hermione was just waiting to see that everything went well, which unfortunately meant she needed to just stand there and let her thoughts wander to the woman she had killed.

She should feel guilty for it. Shouldn’t she?

She had taken lives before, but only in a fight. 

Never in cold blood. 

This had definitely been in cold blood. And the only thing she felt was… satisfaction. And coldness.

Was this just because she had been with Voldemort for too long? Or was it just someone she was? Ron had always said she was ruthless and scary. Maybe Voldemort had just helped her embrace that side of her.

Now she would and learn as much from him as possible. The whole world had opened up before her in a way. If Voldemort hadn’t come back, she would have gone back to Hogwarts and probably ended up at the Ministry, trying to change things from within. No doubt having to work ten times as hard to get the same recognition as some “pure-blooded” wizard. Now, she had power. It was an exhilarating feeling. She could be … anything .

Vasilka was panting, both hands in the cauldron as she kept muttering the same phrase over and over. Hermione could feel the powerful magic in the air. It gave her goosebumps and made her nose tingle. She jumped back when a loud crack was heard, like a giant bone breaking. Hermione held her breath, but Vasilka kept chanting as if it was supposed to happen. So she exhaled again. 

According to Voldemort, the ritual wouldn’t take more than a few minutes.

Two identical heads broke the surface of the liquid in the cauldron. They were both covered in slimy liquid and gasping for air. Hermione took a few steps forward, but Vasilka was quicker and immediately pulled up the Viktor to the right.

“How do you feel, skŭpi mo ĭ ,” she asked breathlessly.

“I-I don’t know,” Viktor gasped. “I feel … strange.”

Voldemort pulled himself up from the cauldron. “It will pass.”

He was shaking but reached for the wand he had left next to the cauldron. With one swish, he was dry and dressed in robes again.

“Oh, much better,” he said, rolling the wand between his fingers. “Yes, now my magic flows as it should.”

He sank into the armchair he had conjured earlier and sighed contently.

Vasilka cleaned Viktor off for him and pulled a robe around him.

“So it worked?” Hermione asked, hesitating.

Voldemort rolled his neck before looking at her, smiling broadly.

“Indeed”, he said, purring. “I’m completely myself again.”

Chapter 16: Voldemort Viktorious, Hermione Victorious

Voldemort felt something akin to bliss. He was in complete control over every bit of his body for the first time since his defeat at Hogwarts. His magic came to him without any resistance, and there was no influx of thoughts from Viktor.

Viktor did not look as happy. He was still shaking in his mother’s arms.

“How are you feeling, Viktor?” Hermione asked carefully.

Viktor flinched and just shook his head. 

Voldemort smiled. Poor boy .

“He will be fine,” Vasilka said softly. “We will look after him until he gets back on his feet.”

“Where will you go?” Hermione asked.

Vasilka glanced at Voldemort. “I have several safe places for us to stay. You have my number if you need to get in contact with me. But first, I believe you were promised a blood oath?”

Hermione also turned towards Voldemort. “I believe I was.”

Voldemort felt the annoying tug of the magical oath he had sworn. 

“I will swear not to kill you or physically torture you for my own amusement.”

Hermione crossed her arms. “Or to correct my behaviour.”

“Very well,” he said with a sigh, but already seeing ways to circumvent such a vow.

Vasilka summoned a knife and held it out to him. He cut his left palm and held out the knife for Hermione to do the same. She didn’t even flinch as the knife cut into her hand, only a slight widening of her nostrils indicated that she felt any pain at all. She clearly wanted to show that she was woman enough for the task.

They gripped the other’s hand, and Voldemort could feel the magic in their blood connect.

“I swear not to kill you or physically torture you for my own amusement or to correct your behaviour,” he solemnly swore.

He felt a tug at his heart as the vow took effect. Hermione exhaled in relief and let go of his hand. A thin, red scar was all that was left on their hands, no blood in sight.

“We will be leaving now,” Vasilka said. “Best of luck with him, Her-mi-onee.”

She placed her arm around Viktor again, but before she could Apparate away, Hermione stepped up and placed a hand on Viktor’s arm.

“Have a good life, Viktor,” she said softly. “And don’t try to save me or come after me.”

Viktor looked at Hermione with agony and guilt in his eyes. 

“How can I just let you go with him?”

Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath. 

“Viktor … I don’t love you like that. Only as a friend. I thought I could banish him from you by reigniting your love for me since that was once his weakness. But it didn’t work, and I’m sorry.”

Viktor gaped in shock, speechless.

Hermione wiped a tear from her eye and stepped back again. She nodded to Vasilka who took the signal and Apparated away with her son.

“Well, that was cruel,” Voldemort noted with satisfaction.

“I only told him the truth so he wouldn’t come after me,” Hermione said with a sad tone in her voice, staring at the spot where they had disappeared.

“Ah, what a selfless hero you are,” he said dryly.

She turned towards him, snorting. 

“If he comes after us, I will have to try and save him again, and I am quite done trying to save reckless boys. No, better to break his heart.”

“Now there is the calculating girl who helped win a war,” he said, a warm feeling of victory in his chest.

He pulled her into his arms and enjoyed touching her without someone screaming in the back of his mind. Their lips touched, and he had never experienced a kiss as gratifying. His inside was cheering with him.

“Let’s go and rescue some unicorns, and then, the rest of our life can start,” he said with a purr.

 

***

 

It was a cold, foggy day, deep in a French forest. They had been tracking since they woke up that morning. Or rather, Voldemort had been tracking, and Hermione had been observing what he was doing. How he was doing it. He could pick up the magical signatures of residue spells. When she focused, the way he had taught her, she could sense it, too, but it was too overwhelming for her to pick out the individual signatures. It reminded her of wine tasting. She had observed people being able to pick out individual ingredients while she just smelt … wine. With time and hard work, she would strive to learn this, too. 

Thus, she was observing him, and she was picking up more than just his magic skills.

At first, she had thought it was an act. A way to manipulate her. It had been a week since he had got his body back, but he still touched her in a way that felt as loving as the way Viktor had touched her. But it would only happen when he wasn’t focused on it. When she had woken him up that morning, he had first smiled groggily towards her, a softness in his eyes that was never present when he was fully awake. Then he slipped back into business and began talking about how he would find the kidnappers today.

“So what will be the first thing to do once we have finished this task for Katja?” Hermione asked as she sat down on a rock next to him.

“First, we have a wedding to plan,” Voldemort said casually, his fingers tracing the air over the creek they had paused at.

“Why do you want to marry me so badly?” she asked, curious.

He lowered his hands and turned to look at her with a smile. The smile wasn’t exactly like Viktor’s, but neither was it the cold, ruthless smile Voldemort usually gave her. Something in him had changed after the ritual, she was certain of it. She just didn’t know what it meant. If it meant anything.

“Hermione. You are a remarkable young woman. Very few are capable of keeping up with me. Why wouldn’t I want to marry you?” 

There was a softness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. However, right now he was aware, so maybe it was just manipulation.

“I figured it had to do with keeping me under control, so that I don’t go back to Harry and tell him about you being alive,” she said, not able to hide her cynicism.

Voldemort sighed dramatically. “I am so tired of Potter. Not everything in this world revolves around that boy. I plan on living a long, exciting life far away from him. Let him think he won. I came away with the real prize.”

His hand curled around her chin, and he lifted her face closer to him so he could kiss her. She allowed it, feeling a pleasurable shiver go through her body.

“I am not a prize to be won though,” she objected once he let her go.

He chuckled. “No, you are so much more. That is why we shall marry.”

“Isn’t it custom for friends and family to be at the wedding?” Hermione asked. “Won’t people ask questions when Viktor’s parents aren’t there? Or my closest friends?”

“There used to be an old Bulgarian rite where wizards and witches travelled to a magical lake and said their vows under a waterfall. I thought we could do that. The marriage will be equally binding.”

“It will be strange if it happens this fast. People will think that we are just doing it because I’m pregnant,” Hermione remarked dryly.

He shrugged. “Let people think what they want. When there is no child in nine months and we stay married, people will know that it is not the case.”

“Or we could just wait a couple of years,” she countered. “It would be out of character for me to marry quickly, it might raise some questions from my friends. And it’s not like it will change our relationship either way.”

Voldemort studied her, and she frowned, wondering what he was looking for. Was her request so strange, or did he think she was still trying to defeat him somehow? She could do that even if they were married!

“I’m just thinking about what will be best long term,” she added, annoyed.

“You are, aren’t you?” Voldemort said and started to smile. “Very well, we can wait two years.”

She smiled back, celebrating the victory. “Now, where are these unicorn-nappers?”

They tracked for another half an hour until they started to hear voices farther away. Hermione couldn’t understand what they were saying, but she did hear the angry neigh of a horse.

Voldemort cast a Disillusionment Charm over them as they sneaked closer.

In a rocky glen, they saw half a dozen men in brown and grey robes talking. One of them was holding a silver rope, which was tied around the neck of an angry unicorn who was trying to break free by kicking at the men, but none came close to its hooves.

In a cage close to them, a small, golden unicorn foal lay, letting out pitiful little sounds.

“I will Apparate at the other end of the glen,” Voldemort whispered in her ear. “When they have their back turned, start attacking them. If I’m not finished with them by then.”

“Didn’t Katja want them alive?” Hermione reminded him.

Voldemort gave her a wolfish grin. “I will do my best.”

In the next moment, he Disapparated soundlessly and appeared again. The first man was unconscious before Hermione had time to blink, and another one had fallen before she raised her wand.

The men all turned in the direction of the damage, trying to shield themselves from the descending danger. None was looking her way, and she aimed at the back of the man closest to her.

He let out a yelp as he went down, struck by her Stunning Spell. The man next to him was covering behind the unicorn but saw his friend go down. He turned towards her in alarm and cast a red beam towards her at the same time as she sent a new Stunning Spell. His curse struck her just as she cast a Shielding Charm. However, the force of his spell knocked her off her feet, and she fell backwards, hitting her head on one of the rocks on the ground.

Blinding pain washed over her, and for a moment, she couldn’t see anything.

“Hermione!” Voldemort called out.

Her vision returned just as Voldemort rushed over to her, kneeling next to her. She was struck at the worry that shone from his face as he cast a Diagnostic Spell over her.

“Just a concussion,” he said, relief clear in his voice.

He pressed his wand against the temple of her head, and Hermione felt a tickling warmth rush through her as her head was healed.

“Did you get them?” she asked, sitting up, looking over at the stunned people in the field.

“Yes, of course. How are you feeling?”

He helped her up, and she rubbed the back of her head, her hair sticky from blood.

“Fine now. Wait, didn’t you even secure them?” she asked in shock as one of the men she had stunned started to move with very unrestrained hands.

Voldemort scowled in annoyance and cast another Stunning Spell at the man. 

“I was helping you.”

Hermione opened her mouth to argue how reckless that was, but then she stopped. Voldemort didn’t get worried about other people. He didn’t help others before having complete control over a situation.

At least he didn’t use to.

She stared at him as he scowled down at her. Could it be that Viktor’s feelings for her were still in that body? Voldemort had clearly been affected by Viktor’s emotions before the split, and it was not like emotions came only from the soul. The real question was if it would fade or not. And if she could influence it.

Deciding to test that theory, she got up and grabbed his neck, forcing his head down for a kiss. Perhaps it was surprise that made Voldemort allow it, but after just a few seconds, he growled into her mouth and pulled her closer to him, kissing her harder. One of his hands went down to her thigh and lifted her up so she had to hook her legs around his waist.

His kiss was just as demanding as it had been before the split, but there was a new passion to it. It sent flashes of heat through her body, and she grinded her sex against him, trying to get some friction.

More noises were heard from behind them, and Voldemort spun them around and raised his wand again.

“ Avada Kedavra! ” he growled, and a flash of green light erupted from his wand, hitting the other man she had stunned.

As she looked over his shoulder, she realised that none of the men he had stunned had started to stir yet.

“We need to work on your stuns, darling,” he purred and backed her up against one of the bigger rocks. “You have the power. Are you afraid of hurting them?”

“No,” she growled, not appreciating his patronising tone. “We weren’t supposed to kill them.”

Voldemort just shrugged. “One was already dead.”

He then attacked her mouth again, pressing her harder against the rock. Her trousers and knickers disappeared with a flick of his wand, and she tensed as the cold air stroked her bare legs.

His hand travelled up the outside of her leg and came up to her pussy.

“So wet, despite just witnessing a murder,” he chuckled against her lips. “What would—”

Hermione didn’t care to hear the rest of that statement so she bit his lower lip hard enough to draw blood. Voldemort just laughed and forced two fingers into her.

Both the cold and the position made her pussy so tense that she could clearly feel every inch of his fingers inside of her. But thanks to the lubrication, it didn’t hurt one bit, quite the opposite.

“So fucking tight”, he growled, pushing his own hardness against the inside of her leg. “What hole is the tightest, do you think?”

Before she had time to answer, he had withdrawn his fingers from her pussy and pressed them against her anus. She gasped, and one of his wet fingers went inside her. A shudder of pleasure went through her body as she was reminded of what it had felt like to be fucked by him with a vibrator up her arse.

She should probably be worried that it turned her on as much as it did, but she just couldn’t find the interest to care right now. She ripped open his robes instead.

“Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?” Hermione growled back at him, gripping his hard cock, making him groan.

“Only people with a death wish,” he hissed.

“So fuck me to death then,” she challenged.

With an angry growl, he spun her around and pushed her head against the rock. The harsh surface scratched her cheek, but before she had time to complain, he had pushed himself into her pussy. He then leaned down against her and bit her ear.

“I can be merciful”, he whispered. “I’m going to fuck you. But you are only allowed to come once my cock is in your arse. If you come before that … well, I will show you just how safe you are with that little oath you made me swear.”

Hermione felt a tremble of fear go through her, but she still smirked. He couldn’t kill her, and this was an important test for her to see how their relationship would be. Or something like that. To be fair, she mostly just wanted him to fuck her right now.

He started to fuck her at a ruthless pace. She tried to brace against the rock, but Voldemort caught her hands and held them behind her back with one hand as he started to twist her clit with his other.

Hermione could feel her pussy starting to tremble, but she took a deep breath and focused on the rough surface against her cheek instead. It helped, but only barely. His cock was hitting her g-spot and every hard thrust sent her that much closer to coming. But for whatever reason, she was determined not to fail. She was more disciplined than that. She was in control of her body, not the other way around.

However, Voldemort did make her work for it. He tortured her clit from the outside while hitting her g-spot from the inside, sending flashes of pleasure through her body. She bit her lip hard enough to pull blood and then he finally withdrew from her pussy. She held her breath as she waited for him to take her arse, but he just stood there.

“Beg for it,” he purred.

“What?” she hissed, trying to push her arse towards him, but he kept her down against the rock.

“Beg your Lord and Master to fuck you up the arse,” he demanded, slapping her arse cheek at the same time.

She was tempted to argue, but her whole body was like a knot of tension, ready to spill. If she didn’t come, she might combust. She tried rubbing her thighs together, but he used his free hand to pull her right leg up against the rock. His hard cock was so close, but she couldn’t rub against it.

“Please,” she finally hissed. “Fuck my arse, my Lord.”

“Gladly,” he purred in victory.

She felt the head of his cock against her backdoor and she tried to relax as he pushed into her. Inch by inch, he forced himself inside her, and Hermione could feel her heart pounding in her ears as she was finally allowed to release the tidal wave of pleasure.

He wasn’t even fully inside her when she came with a groan, her body going limp between him and the rock. Voldemort chuckled in her ear and pushed fully inside her.

“That’s a good girl,” he whispered.

Then he slowly started to fuck her arse and let go of her leg in favour of her clit again.

“This hole is still tighter,” he groaned in pleasure.

Hermione shuddered against the feeling of fullness.

“And when will I get to experience your arse, my Lord,” she asked with a grin.

He paused for a second, but then chuckled and started to fuck her harder again.

“Continue to be this obedient and we shall see when you get to pleasure your master,” he purred and kissed her neck.

He pushed three fingers into her pussy and used the palm of his hand to ground against her clitoris. Before long, Hermione felt another orgasm shudder through her, and Voldemort followed her, emptying himself inside her before pulling out.

With a flick of his wand, she was clothed again and he had repaired his robes.

Feeling more clearheaded, Hermione looked up into his eyes and smiled at the tenderness she could see in his face. There was also an arrogant triumph visible on his face, but Hermione could see something there that must be a residue of Viktor’s feelings for her.

One thing was for sure, she couldn’t wait until she got to a library and could research it properly.

Chapter 17: Epilogue

Hermione watched the last of her students leave the classroom and started to pack up her own things. The hamsters that had all been used in the Transfiguration class needed to be turned back to their furry selves again. Most of her students had succeeded, but she was worried about young Herr Hoffmann. He hadn’t been able to transfigure as much as the whiskers of the poor hamster. She would need to talk to Professor Meyer again. That man had been too lax with helping the weakest in the class.

“Erm, Hermione? Or should I say Professor Granger?”

Hermione looked up from the box of hamsters and let out a gasp of surprise.

“Neville?” she said happily and flicked her wrist so the box of hamsters went into the closet with her other supplies.

She hadn’t seen Neville in six years. He was no longer a scrawny boy but a tall, lanky man with a stubble of beard over his smiling face.

“What are you doing here?” she asked and hurried up to embrace him.

Neville hugged her back. “The Herbology professor asked me to come and help her with an infestation of mugworms. Then I heard you were doing an apprenticeship here and just had to come and say hello.”

“Of course! I’m glad you did,” she said. “Do you want to go out for a coffee? I am done for the day.”

“Yeah, that would be nice,” Neville said with a smile.

The little village of Bremlin was in many ways similar to Hogsmeade. It was only for witches and wizards and held many stores and cafés as well as a brewery. Students weren’t allowed during the weekdays, though, so it was nice and quiet at the café. It was still warm outside, so they could sit under a great oak tree and enjoy the nice autumn sun.

“... of course by then, the pumpkins were a lost cause and we had to burn them,” Neville explained the predicament with the mugworms.

Hermione snorted. “I’m glad good old fire still does the trick.”

“Yes,” Neville laughed. “So… how have you been?”

“Good,” Hermione said with a smile. “I’m working on my dissertation under Professor Meyer and helping him out in class. Though I will be relieved when it’s all done and I can focus on my own research. Teaching children is not for me.”

“Yeah, they can be a handful,” Neville answered with a laugh. “But it’s fun to see them grow. I have been an apprentice under Professor Sprout for three years now. I will take over when she retires next year.”

“Oh, that is perfect for you,” Hermione said. “You are after all the only one who has ever beat me in an Herbology exam.”

“That’s just because you were studying everything,” Neville dismissed. “I can’t imagine what you will be able to do now when you are focusing on one subject.”

“Technically, it’s three,” Hermione admitted. “Transfiguration, Arithmancy and Dark Arts.”

Neville’s eyebrows shot up. “You are using Dark Arts?”

“Studying it,” Hermione corrected. “It’s the only way to gain insights that will help us beat it, after all. In a controlled environment, under the right supervision.”

Neville nodded slowly. “I guess that makes sense. Oh, that’s right, I heard you got married. Congratulations!”

Hermione stroked the wedding band on her finger. Runes interwoven with diamonds, emeralds and rubies. She could feel the slight hum of magic running through it, the end result of a long and drawn out negotiation between her and her husband.

“Thank you,” she said. “Yes, we didn’t want to have a big affair. We have had enough attention to last us a lifetime.”

Neville gave her a look of sympathy. “Is that why you haven’t been back to Britain?”

Hermione sighed and looked away. “It just doesn’t feel like there is anything left for me there. Just a lot of bad memories.”

She had kept in touch with Ginny, but the letters had become fewer, and now she didn’t even remember who sent the last one. She had been very focused on her dissertation the last year. Perhaps she should write?

“I get that,” Neville said softly. “It was hard going back to Hogwarts at first. But that place is my home, and I’m just so grateful that we managed to defend it.”

Hermione smiled at him and then felt her wedding band heating around her finger. An indication that Voldemort had activated the Locator Spell on it. Just a moment later, she heard the sound of Apparition behind her.

“Hermione,” Voldemort said, coming up behind her. “I was wondering what was keeping you.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and looked up at her husband. “Just catching up with an old friend.”

Voldemort gave her a quick kiss and then turned his attention to Neville.

“Ah, yes, Neville Longbottom,” he said, reaching out to shake Neville’s hand. “You were in Hermione’s class.”

“Yes, it’s nice to see you again, Mr Krum,” Neville said, looking a bit intimidated.

“It’s actually Mr Granger now,” Voldemort said and sat down at the table. “But you can call me Viktor.”

Hermione reached out and took Voldemort’s hand on the table. “Yes, he felt it prudent to leave his flying days behind him.”

“Yeah, Ron mentioned something about that,” Neville said slowly.

Hermione smiled at the thought that Ron was still jealously keeping track of her and “Viktor”. Harry and Ginny had sent flowers to her after her wedding, but she hadn’t heard a peep from Ron.

“What do you do now?” Neville continued.

“I’m just helping my country the best way I can,” Voldemort answered, stroking Hermione’s thumb. “And making sure that Hermione remembers to eat and sleep.”

He took up her hand and kissed it, smiling at her.

Hermione scoffed. “You get just as swept up in projects as I do.”

“And you remind me to take a break,” he purred. “We are a good team like that.”

They really were. Voldemort pushed her in ways she hadn’t thought was possible. She had learned so much under his tutelage, about magic and herself. And he was hers, all to herself. The wedding ring he was carrying had the same Locator Spell as hers did, as well as a fidelity curse. It was only fair since her engagement ring had one.

“And if you excuse us, Neville, I have to whisk my wife away,” Voldemort continued and rose. “We have a dinner party to prepare for.”

“Was that today?” Hermione groaned.

Every other week, Voldemort dragged her along to some dinner with some influential people. It was good for pushing her own agenda of liberation of magical creatures, but it could be dreadfully boring to listen to rich people yap about their woes.

“Yes, the Prime Minister had to reschedule; I told you that this morning,” Voldemort said, rolling his eyes.

“Right,” Hermione muttered. It had been at the same time as the Professor had owled her about the change in her schedule for the day.

“Well, it was lovely to see you, Hermione,” Neville said.

“It was,” Hermione said, giving him a quick hug. “Say hi to everyone back at Hogwarts from me.”

Voldemort barely waited for her to step away from Neville before he Apparated them back to their house in the outskirts of Berlin.

“What was that boy doing here?” Voldemort asked, suspicion clear in his voice.

Hermione snorted and walked towards the bathroom. “Just helping a colleague at school. It was nice to see him.”

Voldemort trailed after her and then leaned against the door frame as she undressed for the shower.

“I see. I don’t recall you ever mentioning being that friendly with Neville.”

Hermione crossed her arms over her naked chest and turned towards him. 

“We were friends in school. You show more friendliness towards the women in parliament, but you never see me complain about that.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Jealous?”

She slowly approached him and placed a hand on his chest. “Why don’t you join me in the shower and I can show you just how jealous I am?”

With a satisfied smile, Voldemort quickly disrobed and followed her into the shower. Hermione mentally chuckled. 

No, she knew she had no reason to be jealous. After six years, she was certain that she was the only one Voldemort would ever feel anything for. All the research she had done on the subject of human emotions led her back to that one fact: Voldemort had inherited some of Viktor’s love for her.

He was all hers.

 

The End

Notes:

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