Chapter 10
Hermione woke up in an unfamiliar dark room. Panic struck, and she sucked in a deep breath, her heart rate picking up. Then the arms around her tightened, and Harry whispered in her ear. "I'm here, you're safe. I've got you."
Harry's voice cut through her panic, and she looked around, taking in what little details she could about the room in the dim moonlight let in by the large windows. Hermione didn't know how long she had been asleep or even where she was, but she relaxed anyway, safe in Harry's embrace.
Everything that had happened replayed slowly in her head. The fight with her parents, her fears for her future. Then, walking for ages in a fog of confusion and scattered planning. Only to find Harry waiting for her at the Leaky Cauldron.
Hermione turned in his arms and pressed her face into his chest. Her fingers curled into his shirt as if to pull him even closer. A part of her couldn't believe she'd left her parents' house. But a bigger part was grateful to be here with Harry.
She wondered if the Malfoys would be showing up, and a part of her cringed at the thought. "Where are we?" She whispered softly against Harry's chest.
"In my room."
Hermione couldn't help but smile at that reply that told her exactly nothing of what she wanted to know. "Okay… but where?" She persisted, not moving away from Harry.
He was quiet for a moment, and Hermione almost moved back to see his face, but his answer stopped her. "A property I own. It's…" He trailed off for a moment before one shoulder moved in a small shrug. "It's a safe house."
A safe house? Why would he need a safe house? Wanting to see his face when he answered, she pulled back to look at him in the dim darkness. "What do you mean by a safe house? Why do you need a safe house?"
"Doesn't everyone?" His face was perfectly serious as he asked the question.
"No, generally people don't need safe houses."
Harry shrugged. "Well, I have one."
"Why?"
He gave her a cheeky grin. "For safety."
"Are the Malfoys here?"
Harry shook his head. "No, even they don't know the location of this house."
That was interesting. Maybe he didn't trust them as much as she thought. "Why not? Do you think you need protection from them?"
Harry was quiet for a long time, staring at her until she thought he wasn't going to answer. When he answered, his voice was lower, a bit rough. "Anyone can be compromised, . It's important to have somewhere you can go that's hidden."
Hermione didn't say anything for a long while, turning his words over in her head. He told her before that he didn't agree with Voldemort, but this house was more than just words — it was proof of the depth of his divide from Voldemort, and she couldn't help but be reassured by it.
When she didn't speak for a long time, Harry continued. "No one knows about this house but me… and now you. It's protected by a fidelius charm."
Hermione sucked in a breath. A fidelius charm was a tricky piece of magic to hide something completely in the soul of a secret keeper. "Are you the secret keeper?"
"Yes." Harry curled closer to her, their noses almost touching. "I want to give you the location too, that way if you ever need it — if you're ever in need somewhere to go — to hide— for any reason— you can come here, Hermione. This can be your safe place." He moved forward until his lips brushed her ear. "Number 12 Orchard Lane."
The secret settled into her magic.
"That sounds like you expect something very bad to happen," Hermione whispered to him, her stomach feeling heavy.
Harry brushed her curls back away from her face. "It's better to be prepared for the worst."
Hermione looked at him in the darkness. The moon and stars cast dim beams of light through the window that barely penetrated the darkness, casting his face into shadow. She wondered what the worst scenario would be for Harry or if he'd tell her if she asked. Probably not.
"Maybe it won't be the worst— maybe everything will turn out well," Hermione told him softly.
"Well?" Harry asked, his lips lifting.
Hermione felt a little silly, but it still had to be said — yes, there were bad things in the world, but there were happily ever afters too, and those happened too. "Happily. Maybe everything will work out like its supposed, and then you can be happy."
Harry watched her, his thumb tracing a line along her arm, making her nerves vibrate. When he finally spoke, his voice was very low. "Would you be part of this happiness?"
Hermione shifted slightly under his touch, warmth pooling low in her belly. "I'm yours, aren't I?" She said, her voice husky. "And you're mine. So, of course, it would be us together."
"Us," Harry repeated quietly as if he was tasting the word.
"Yes," Hermione said, wanting to lean closer and nuzzle the tempting corner where his neck met his shoulder.
Harry must have been thinking the same thing because he leaned forward, kissing the side of her neck. "You shouldn't make promises lightly. I'll hold you to them."
Hermione would have replied to him, but he kissed her neck again, even lower. And all the air went out of her lungs. She melted against him, her hand fisting in his shirt.
"Hermione?"
She tried to respond coherently, but it was mostly a squeak that made her flush in the darkness.
"That contraceptive potion… "
Oh, warm hand was braced against her back, pushing her breasts against his chest.
"Did you take it?"
"Yes."
His hand slid upward to tangle in her hair. The soft tug on her curls sent chills through her body. "Have you ever?" The question was oblique, but Hermione knew exactly what Harry was asking.
Had she ever had sex.
"No." She whispered, staring at him, and licked her lips. "I've only done things with you…. That day when we were arguing about Occlumency, and you kissed me— that was my first kiss."
Harry went very still. Only their breathing broke the silence. "That was your first kiss?"
Hermione nodded, feeling exposed. Harry had been with other girls, but she had no experience beyond him. Another thing they weren't equals on.
"Hermione." He said quietly, softly. "Can we try that kiss again?"
"We don't— you don't— I mean— I just wanted you to know." She said not even really sure what she was trying to say. All she knew was that vulnerability was suddenly choking her.
"Thank you for telling me." He said, his hand urging her head upward. "I'm sorry I took your first kiss from you that way, Hermione." His voice was so soft her skin prickled. "Let me make it up to you— let me try again."
"It's okay, though. I loved all your kisses." She admitted. "Even if that first one was unexpected."
She saw his lips curve up in the darkness. The night had deepened while they spoke, and the moon shone brighter, allowing her to see the green gleam of his eyes.
"Then let me do this one right." He murmured. "Let's have our first kiss again. May I, Hermione?"
Hermione wanted to squirm in his hold, so many feelings were shooting through her body, it was like she was plugged into an electric socket. "Yes." She finally got out scratchily, her throat tight.
Harry's head lowered so slowly, and his soft lips pressed against hers so carefully as if she was so fragile she might shatter into a million pieces. The pressure lingered, his lips pressing so sweetly against hers. His hand cupped her jaw, urging her to open her mouth.
His tongue came into her mouth slowly, each nerve ending set afire with sensation. He licked the inside of her mouth, and she moaned against him, her hands twisting in his shirt.
He didn't take it further, though, his tongue caressing her, impossibly gentle, impossibly slow. She was the one who tried to get him to kiss her as he had before— harder, hungrier, but he resisted. His hand tightened in her hair to keep her still while he loved her with his tongue.
When he broke away, they were both panting. "There." He said quietly. "That's how it should have been."
Hermione nodded, her lips tingling where his had been. She wanted more so badly that she ached, and a shudder went through her body. She licked her lips and asked him the same question in return. "Have you ever?"
Harry shook his head slowly. "No, I haven't." He leaned forward and gave her another light kiss. "We can be each other's first."
It was strangely reassuring to hear that he hadn't done this either— that they'd figure it out slowly together. The jealous part of her that she hadn't known existed until Pike taunted her about Daphne was even more relieved.
Harry must have mistaken her silence because he frowned. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to do, Hermione—"
"But I want to."
He didn't seem to hear her protest. "We can do as much or as little as you want — you control it— you want to stop, we—"
"Harry." Hermione interrupted, getting closer so they were nose to nose. "I want you. I made a bloody contraceptive potion because I want you. If you don't want to —" He lunged forward, cutting her off by pressing his lips to hers again, and she laughed against his mouth. "I guess this means you want me?"
"So much it feels like I'm dying." He muttered against her. "I'll do this right, Hermione, I promise— I'll—" His voice was lost against her skin as he trailed kisses from her lips along her jawline.
His hands went to her shirt and hesitated again. "Are you sure—"
In answer, she grasped the edge of her shirt and pulled it off, throwing it off the bed.
They both froze for a moment, and her heart pounded so hard it hurt her ribs. Embarrassment crawled over her in a red-hot wave, and she felt her nipples tighten, knowing he was looking down at her naked chest.
His hand came up slowly between them to cup her breast, and his skin was so hot— she thought she felt hot, but it was nothing compared to feeling his skin against her so intimately. The rough pad of his thumb slid across the top of her breast, leaving a trail of fire behind.
"You're so beautiful, Hermione." He whispered to her, and his hand slid further around her back, following the line of her bra. She arched her back, allowing him easier access as he unhooked her bra.
Her entire body vibrated as he slowly slipped it off, leaving her breasts bare between them. His head dipped before he hesitated. "Can I…"
Her lungs felt compressed, and she couldn't inhale, but a yes managed to escape her lips. His hot breath caressed her skin, and she inhaled shakily, trying to brace herself, but it was useless. The moment his mouth touched her nipple, a cry escaped her lips, and he jerked back.
"Did I hurt you?" Harry asked hoarsely. His hands were stretched out on either side of her, fisted into the bed sheets. When she didn't answer right away, he tensed. "Hermione?"
"No— it felt good— really, really good."
Harry relaxed slightly and pulled back to yank his shirt over his head. The moon lovingly highlighted the muscles of his lean frame. Then his hands went to the snap of his trousers, and all the air escaped her.
He must have noticed her frozen state, because he stopped his trousers pushed low on his waist, the deep V leading to his groin temptingly covered up. "Are we still okay?"
Hermione nodded vehemently, hoping he didn't want a verbal response because her throat was completely closed up at the thought that she was about to see him completely naked.
Harry grinned at her boldly and shoved down his trousers, letting her get her first glimpse of what had been pressing against her all this time. He was hard, thick, and long — maybe too long because she didn't see the practicality of how this would work if he was supposed to put that inside her.
Then Harry's hands went to her own trousers, making her suck in a shuddering breath. The snap of him opening the top button was loud in the quiet room and seemed to punctuate their heavy breathing.
When his hands went to her zipper, Hermione grabbed his wrists with shaking hands. What if he didn't like what he saw? What if she was ugly to him?
Harry's hands moved away from her zipper, and he leaned down until he was covering her on the bed— blotting out the world until it was just his leaned muscled body above her. His body heat radiated from him, and a trickle of sweat went between her breasts. His quidditch hardened muscles made her hands twitch to stroke him. He was so fit, and she just wasn't.
"You're beautiful, Hermione." He told as if he had been reading her mind, leaning down to press his lips against hers sweetly. Conviction resonated in his voice. "So beautiful."
Then she realized he had been. She hadn't been blocking him — she didn't even think she had the mental strength to put up a barrier right now. "It's rude to read my mind when I can barely think."
"I'm sorry." He said repentantly. "But it's still the truth. I want you so much it's like a monster clawing inside me." He brushed his lips against hers again. "Take off your trousers, Hermione."
It felt like the hardest thing she'd ever done— looking into his eyes while her hands slid down to her hips and hooked into her trousers and panties in one go, pulling them off. He sat up to help her, yanking them off her legs and throwing them somewhere in the room.
When his heavy weight settled between her legs, it was like an electric shock. Her thighs quivered around his hips, and she became so wet she was worried he could feel it pressed against her as he was. Harry was tense above her, his muscles like stone as his hips pushed into hers. He wasn't penetrating her yet, but his length rubbed against her.
The pressure of him against her so intimately was like a magnet pulling up her hips in response and making sharp tingling sensations shoot through her body. It was addictive, those tingles; she couldn't stop her hips from grinding upward, seeking more from him.
His hips moved against hers, and his cock slid between the lips of her pussy, brushing against her clit with every sliding movement. The intensity kept building, twisting her tighter and tighter the longer it went on— and the sounds— THE SOUNDS. She hadn't thought of sex in terms of sounds, but every time she heard the wet glide of his cock against her, shivers went up her spine.
Harry was panting above her, and she was struggling to breathe beneath them. The sensations were too much and not enough at the same time. She felt so vulnerable having her legs spread with his heavy weight pressing her down, his cock rubbing against her just where she needed it. But at the same time, she needed so much more.
More and more. She didn't even realize she was demanding that of him until he answered her.
"You want more?"
"Yes!" The word was sharp and needy. There had to be more.
He moved against her again, adjusting himself lower and rubbing the tip of his cock at her entrance. Then he pushed forward slightly, and she realized maybe that was too much more. His name escaped her with a soundless whimper. "Harry."
His hips were up, and he was barely penetrating her, but it felt like something was going to tear down there. Her hands went to his shoulders, pushing him back. "Wait, wait, wait."
He froze above her with the tip of him barely inside her. Tremors ran through his body. "Okay." The word was almost strangled in his throat. "What's— what's wrong?"
Hermione tried to shift under him to make it hurt less, but it was like he was pinning her to the bed with his cock. "It hurts." She muttered, her face turning redder. She wanted him to go back to doing that other thing when he was sliding against her. She'd been so close. "You're too big."
Harry huffed out a breathless groan. "Fuck." He paused. "Do you trust me?"
That was a bizarre question to ask while his cock was pressed against her, almost splitting her apart. Her fingernails dug into his shoulder in response. "Yes…"
He leaned over, the bed reaching for the side, and the feeling of pressure went away as he moved. He brought his wand between them. "I can make sure you don't feel any pain." His wand pressed lightly between her breasts. "With the imperious."
"What?" She could barely string two thoughts together, and he was going to cast an unforgivable on her?
The wand pressed down lightly into her chest, and he leaned closer to her, pressing their bodies back together. His cock slid along her entrance. "I can make you feel no pain. You just have to agree."
She would be mental for even considering it— "Yes." The answer slipped out without her permission. Okay, so she was completely mental.
Harry didn't give her time to reconsider her agreement, the spell coming immediately afterward. "Imperio."
His magic hit her like a wave of heat, burning through her body. It actually felt good, like she was on the downward slope of a roller coaster, all her nerve endings standing at attention for whatever command Harry gave.
His head bent toward her. "I want you to feel only pleasure. No pain."
Only pleasure.
No pain.
The words echoed inside her, expanding and contracting like they were reshaping her insides. Then Harry was moving, pressing his cock into her again, hard and hot. He felt just as big as he had the first time, but now there wasn't any pain — no uncomfortable stretching sensation as he pressed deeper inside her.
No pain.
His cock glided deeper and deeper, and it seemed like there was no end to him. She could feel him pressing upward, her lower belly feeling pressure as his hips pushed against hers. The fullness made her feel like she was choking; he was hitting parts deep inside that made her toes curl.
Only pleasure.
"Oh fuck, love." He groaned as their hips met.
Her heart skipped a beat at the endearment. She tried to breathe, but her skin felt too tight— everything was too tight and too full. Her nerves were twisting and tingling as he came over her.
Harry was panting above her like he'd run a marathon, his muscles flexing as he held himself still buried inside her. "Does it hurt?"
Hermione shook her head. She felt too full, but it didn't hurt.
Then his hips moved back, pulling him back out of her in a slow, torturous glide that stroked all her nerve endings. With that first penetration, he'd made room for himself inside her, and as he withdrew, she felt empty.
"Again," Harry said as he pushed back inside her, opening her up on his cock again.
Yes, she wanted him inside her again. And again. He pulled out again, the head of his cock nuzzling her pussy before he pushed in, a slow glide that twisted her insides until he hit that spot deep inside that made her toes curl, and her nails dig into his shoulders. She ached, and the only sweet relief that came was when he surged inside her, but it wasn't enough — she needed more.
"Again," Her lips shaped the word in . Don't stop.
The muscles of his stomach were thrown into relief as he moved against her, his cock pushing inside her faster now, both of them reaching for that sweet relief that seemed just out of reach. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly, wrapping her arms around him as stars exploded behind her closed lids each time he hit that certain spot inside her. He withdrew slowly, then surged forward, spreading her again, surging deep inside her again.
The curse clutched at her, filtering everything she pleasure, Harry's command wrapped around her so tightly, nothing but pleasurecouldseep through.
A smacking sound echoed lewdly through the room as their hips met roughly and rhythmically. The bed springs creaked beneath them, punctuating the slaps of their skin, adding another layer to the sound of their lovemaking.
Hermione had known Harry was bigger than her — taller than her. But feeling it was a different thing as she lay beneath him as he moved inside her. He cupped her breasts, and chills went through her body at the rough glide of his Quidditch roughened hands as he caressed her, squeezing her breasts as his cock moved inside her.
He leaned down, kissing her, sucking away her air. His tongue moved against hers, stroking and fucking her mouth just like he was moving between her legs. He braced one hand by her head and grabbed her leg with the other. He pulled her leg higher on his hip, changing the angle of his penetration and making her keen into his kiss.
The smacks of their hips meeting echoed, and she grunted when he hit deep. It was too much and not enough, she was almost at the peak, she just needed — she just needed—
"Hermione." He said hoarsely, his hips still moving against hers, twisting her tighter and tighter each time he bottomed out. "I need you to come."
"Wha—" But his spell clutched at her, making her shudder.
Come.
His magic pulled at her nerves, yanking at them, and she screamed as she spasmed under him. Pleasure rolled through her like a tsunami, wave after wave that made every nerve spark and twist inside her as she clutched at him.
She heard Harry cursing, but it was from a distance, all her focus on the pleasure that was so intense it felt like it was burning her away. When she felt warmth spreading inside her, she knew he was coming while she squeezed him. He froze deep inside her for a long moment, twitching inside her as he filled her with his come.
Then Harry rolled, keeping her half on him as he collapsed next to her. Her skin felt oversensitive, and the tips of her fingers and toes tingled.
She rested her head against his sweaty chest, resisting the strange urge to lick him. Maybe she'd try that later. Now she knew why Padma liked sex so much. Although she thought she only wanted to do it with Harry. "I liked that."
Harry's chest jerked, and she looked up at him as he laughed breathlessly. "Yeah, I did too."
They smiled at each other for a long moment in perfect harmony. Hermione reached up, cupping his cheek. "I —I love you, Harry."
The smile slid off his face, and the green of his eyes darkened. The moment was gone as a chill rushed between them. His hand came up to cover hers, keeping it pressed against his cheek. "Do you? Even though there are parts of me you don't like? I'm the same person who teaches torture. I'm the same person who thinks killing is a perfectly reasonable solution to many, many problems."
Hermione didn't hesitate, holding tight to him. "Yes, I love all of you. I don't like killing— and I don't like torture — but I love you, and I accept those parts of you too."
A bitter edge crept into his voice, and his hand pressed even harder on hers as if trying to trap her against him. "I think you deserve better than I could ever be."
"There's no one better for me than you— because I love you." Hermione leaned up to press her lips against his.
Harry paused for a moment as if savoring her declaration before he warned, "I'm not going to let you go."
Hermione smiled against his lips. "Good, because I don't want you to."
Harry rolled her back under him, cradling her face with both hands. They inhaled and exhaled in sync as they stared at each other. Harry pressed his lips to hers softly and said in a hushed tone as if confessing a grave sin. "I love you, too, Hermione."
Her breath caught, and her heart fluttered as she saw the truth of it in his deep green eyes.
Harry loved her.
The aftermath of her first time was a memory Hermione planned to wipe from existence at the earliest opportunity. She was sure she could figure out a minor memory charm to get rid of it. Clean up had been hideously embarrassing—with Harry hovering as though she might break, and her trying very hard not to behave as though she might.
There had been blood, and when Harry took away the imperious, soreness descended on her in a wave that had made her cringe and almost ask for it back. Harry had catered to her with his usual intensity, though, cleaning her despite her embarrassed protests and pulling out fresh linens from the wardrobe before vanishing the stained ones.
He had watched her every move and brought her a pain potion immediately when she winced. Then he found her comfortable pajamas when she realized she hadn't packed any. She spent the rest of the next morning in bed, only getting up to change and use the bathroom.
Harry's house elf, Mutton, had brought them breakfast in bed and cleared away the trays once they were done. Afterward, Harry cuddled back up to her, his hand lightly stroking her arm as he spooned her. His caress was soothing, and Hermione let her eyes drift closed again.
It had been a tumultuous thirty-six hours. She didn't regret her choices, though. From standing up to her parents and making her own choices, to making love to Harry. But still, it was a lot to process. She felt a little unmoored in the aftermath, as if all her anchors were stripped away except one.
Harry.
His chin rested against her hair, his breath warm and steady behind her. He shifted slightly, his arm wrapping around her waist and tightening as if he sensed her thoughts.
Hermione made sure her mental shields were up; no sense in letting him get into her head as easily as he had last night.
"How are you feeling?" He murmured, probably still worried about how sore she had been.
"I'm good," She reassured him, patting his arm.
He nuzzled the curve of her neck. "What are you thinking about?"
Hermione shrugged one shoulder. "Just about life. How it feels like I've lost things I thought were important — how I've stepped off the path I've been walking my entire life."
Her words settled between them with a thoughtful silence as they lay in bed. Beyond the bed, the windows facing west showed a gray sky with streaks of white clouds stretched too thin across the view. The bed they lay in was large, but the room they were in was even larger— almost three times the size of her old bedroom at her parents' house.
Finally, Harry broke the silence. "Our path is together now."
"Yes." Hermione agreed, then hesitated. "I just don't know what happens next."
Harry kissed the crown of her head. "I have a plan."
"Are you going to tell me this plan?"
"Oh, you know. Destroy all our enemies and take over Britain."
Harry said it almost flippantly, but somehow Hermione thought he wasn't joking. "Are you going to let me help?"
"Of course. I couldn't do it without you." Harry assured her.
"It doesn't feel that way sometimes." She felt like he was tying a blindfold over her, leading her along. It made her wonder what he didn't want her to see — or what he didn't want her to know.
Harry's arms tightened possessively around her waist. He was quiet, and Hermione could almost feel him carefully choosing his words. "That's fair." He paused again. "I … know I'm…" He trailed off again before finishing. "I just want to protect you."
"I think that's not the whole reason." Hermione contradicted softly. She knew it was a big part of why he kept her in the dark, but there were too many things unsaid for that to be all of it. "I think some part of you is still afraid I won't accept all of you— or everything you're going to have to do for your plan to work."
When Hermione felt him flinch behind her, she turned in his arms, facing him. He had a blank look on his face, but his arms were tense around her. "This isn't going to work if you don't trust me completely, Harry."
"I do trust you completely." He protested, pulling the covers up higher on her from where they had been dislodged.
"No, you don't, or you'd realize there's nothing that could make me turn away from you."
He looked at her contemplatively for a moment before dropping a bomb in the conversation. "What if I killed Lyla's family?"
The words literally took her breath away. That day, so many weeks ago, came vividly to her mind — when she'd asked him point-blank if he'd killed Lyla's family, and what had his response been?
Bloody hell, Hermione. Is that what you think of me?
Knowing him better now, she could see the evasiveness in that reply. Hermione stared at him, her breath trapped in her chest, searching for any hint of truth. Harry's face was completely shuttered, too carefully blank as though he'd shoved all his emotions behind lock and key.
No, he couldn't have — he wouldn't have. "Harry." She finally managed to pull some air into her lungs. "Why would you even say that?"
"Because it's a line." He said flatly. "You can't say there's nothing that wouldn't turn you away from me when there is— there's always a line that makes someone step back and decide you're a monster."
"Did you?"
He hesitated, and she braced herself. "No." He answered finally, and she exhaled in relief. Hermione didn't want to wrestle with the thought of what she might have done if he had killed Lyla's family. She didn't want to look too closely at the part of herself that said maybe Harry was more important than any moral line. Then, Harry continued his voice flat. "But I would have if I needed to — if the alternative was worse. I have killed people, and I have hurt innocent people." He admitted in a dark voice.
Hermione's throat tightened. She had suspected that already, but it was different hearing him state it so bluntly. She couldn't say she would have accepted his confession before she had gotten to know him. Or even at the beginning of their association. But now it was different— everything she'd learned about herself since then made it different. Each step she'd taken away from her ideals and towards Harry made it different. Harry made her different. To the person she was now, she felt like she could accept even the most terrible of acts - if it was Harry.
"This is how my life is— and this — the war — it's not over until Voldemort is dead." He continued. "And I won't — I can't live with the fear of you waking up one morning and realizing you've made a mistake. You said you loved me—"
"And I do." She interrupted him. "You're still deciding for me — still trying to put me on some pedestal, Harry — and I'm not as good as you try to make me. After what happened with the Order, I had to convince myself all day not to ask you to get rid of them for me — I can barely stand to look at them. She took in a shaky breath. "When I saw you torturing Ron — I asked you to stop, but it didn't change how I felt about you—"
"I stopped, but I let Draco torture him instead," Harry admitted.
Hermione stared at him for a moment before a laugh escaped. "You're terrible at keeping promises."
"I kept my promise. I did not hurt or maim him in anyway even if he didn't remember it."
Hermione looked at him wryly. "The spirit of the promise then."
"I'm being honest with you like you wanted." He pressed.
"And it's not scaring me off— is it?" She asked.
That made him still. "No." He admitted softly, staring at her. "It's not."
He looked so vulnerable in that moment, Hermione couldn't help but lean forward and kiss him. The push and pull between them seemed to go three steps forward and two steps back. She wondered what it would take to get him to have utter faith in her — because she really did have that much faith in him. Her tongue slid against his, and her lower stomach tightened as she remembered how it felt to have him moving inside her.
"I love you, Harry. I love you. All of you — even the dark parts." She whispered against his lips.
He pressed against her until she was flat beneath, and she felt him hard against her.
He broke the kiss slowly and leaned his forehead against hers. "How sore are you?"
Hermione shivered at the dark intent in his voice. "Not that sore."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, just take it slowly."
Harry gave a soft, suggestive laugh, pulling at the nightshirt he had given her. "You mean take you slowly."
Hermione shivered as he settled between her legs, her thighs cradling his hips. "Yes, take me slowly."
Harry's green eyes darkened with a possessive heat that made her breath catch. He lowered his head to kiss a hot path from the corner of her mouth down along her jawline before reaching her neck and stopping to suck hard.
She moaned at the sensation, and he pulled away, panting. "You're sure?" He asked, obviously still worried.
Hermione nodded reassuringly, tangling her fingers in his hair. "Make love to me, Harry."
His response was a soft hum against her skin as his hands began to roam her body, pulling off his shirt that she had worn to bed after their first time.
Heat flared between them just as intensely as the first time — even hotter now that they knew exactly how good it felt when they came together. Their bodies slid against each other, hands roving and caressing as they tried to commit each other's bodies to memory.
Hermione arched her hips against his in an invitation that made Harry groan.
He grasped his cock, adjusting his angle as he pushed inside her wet heat with excruciating slowness that had Hermione squirming beneath him. The stretch was still there and a dull ache beneath the pleasure, but she ignored it completely by focusing on Harry and how he made her feel.
The initial tenderness of his thrusts quickly gave way to their need. The gnawing ache that twisted inside them as they came together, hips meeting as he thrust deep inside her, over and over in a now familiar rhythm.
"Fuck, Hermione." He muttered against her, his head lowering to suckle on her nipple.
Fuck was right. He hadn't done that the first time, and each time his tongue brushed against her nipple was like lightning streaking through her.
The mid-morning light laid everything bare between them — no shadows to hide in as they moved together. The light highlighted the red flush that streaked down his body and the way his abdomen tightened each time he thrust inside her. She could see his face clearly as he made love to her, and it was a revelation that made her ache. The fierce concentration, the pleasure, and beneath it all, protectiveness that had him watching her back just as intensely, making sure she was with him as the pleasure rolled through them.
Hermione closed her eyes as the sensation got to be too much, her blood on fire as he moved over her, but Harry nipped her chin. "Look at me." He commanded.
When her eyes met his, his pace quickened, his cock moving inside her, penetrating her with desperate quickness. His fierce green gaze captured hers, making sure she stayed with him through the intensity of the moment.
She wrapped her legs around him as the pleasure crested. "I love you." She gasped as the first shudders of orgasmic pleasure rolled through her.
He kissed her, stealing her air, and his hips drove into hers urgently before he followed her over the edge with a hoarse cry. His body shuddered as he spilled inside her.
"I love you." He said, finally, his voice muffled against her neck. "I trust you."
After taking another nap, they threw out the idea of going on the Thames and instead stayed at Harry's safe house, which happened to have a training room with the enchanted construct they needed to test unforgivables already set up.
The training room was a long, rectangular room with wards already installed to protect the structure from stray spells. On the east wall were various training paraphernalia, including dummies and other items Hermione didn't recognize.
Harry had placed the enchanted silver mirror on the west end while positioning them in the middle of the room. Harry stood behind her in the center of the long, rectangular room, his hand on her wrist, guiding the motion she was making with her wand. "The mirror is enchanted to detect the power behind a spell, and it will glow blue if the power wasn't sufficient and red if the spell had sufficient power."
Hermione stared at the large silver mirror, which reflected a slightly cloudy image of them standing before it. "What if I can't kill someone?"
"The unforgivables are not just called unforgivable because of what they do, but because of the animus you need to accomplish them. You have to tap into your darkness to give them fuel. But there are other spells that accomplish the same thing with much less effort." Harry leaned lower, his other hand coming up to give a light caress under her neck. "Like a well-placed cutting curse. If you don't want to —"
"I do." Hermione interrupted, knowing she needed to try.
Harry nodded and stepped back from her. "Alright, give it a go."
Hermione sucked in a deep breath. "Avada Kedavra!" The green spell shot out and hit the silver construct, which absorbed it and flashed blue. A part of her felt relieved at the blue glow as if she could point to it and say, 'see I'm just not like that.'
"What are you thinking of when you cast?" Harry asked.
Hermione grimaced. She hadn't been thinking of anything specific—she hated to admit it, but while she might have hesitated to ask Harry to get rid of the Order after what had happened to her, she had never once considered doing it herself. She only wanted them gone from her life. "I don't know. I don't think I can do it."
"Close your eyes," Harry ordered.
Hermione closed her eyes obediently. She heard Harry moving closer to her.
"Who do you fear the most?" He asked.
That was easy, she licked her lips. "He who must not be named."
"Voldemort," Harry said the name, each syllable sending a shiver through her. "He's tall. He'd tower over you, and his skin is so pale he looks like a corpse." Harry stepped right behind her, menace seeming to radiate from him. "You can see the blue of his veins under his skin like tracks of poison, carrying his blood." His breath shifted her hair slightly, and she shivered again. "And his eyes… they're so dark they're black until they flash with crimson red…. Now imagine him standing before you."
Hermione's hand tightened on the wand as Harry built up Voldemort's image in her mind.
"The fingers of his hands are unnaturally long and sharp — almost like claws." Harry leaned even closer, almost whispering in her ear. "And you know who he has in his grasp?"
"Who?" She asked, trying not to let her voice shake.
"Luna." The name struck fear in her heart and made her stomach tighten in rebellion. "She's scared, she's crying, and she needs you to help her. You only have one chance, Hermione. Just one - or he's going to kill her." Harry paused, and his voice hardened. "Now open your eyes and save her."
The image Harry described overlaid with Hermione's memory of Luna's scared face when she had seen Pike during the confrontation in the dark forest. Fear surged inside Hermione, and anger so intense that she hadn't known she was capable of it. "Avada Kedavra!"
The green spell arrowed into the silver construct, and it flared bright red, as if a comet had briefly lit up the room, bathing their faces in its glow.
The silence of the aftermath lingered heavy and quiet. She was capable. She'd just needed the right motivation, just like Harry had said. Harry placed his hands on her shoulders as if trying to brace her in the aftermath.
"The killing curse really is the easiest unforgivable." He said, finally. "Only a bare second of intent….and your enemy is gone."
Hermione remained frozen in the aftermath. She didn't feel triumphant as the red glow faded slowly. Instead, she felt so intensely sad that her eyes stung. She tried to blink away the feeling, but it was useless, and a small tear streaked down her face.
"Hermione?" Harry asked questioningly.
She turned around and threw her arms around him, burying her face in his neck and breathing in his scent deeply. Had Voldemort trained Harry that way? Actually used someone against him to force him into doing things?
She remembered how shocked she had been when Harry had offered to let her take her hurt out on him. It was like whiplash, sometimes, bouncing between the two sides of Harry— the part that was so soft and protective with her— so achingly sweet that she sometimes managed to forget how much an influence Voldemort must have had on him growing up until he pulled out emotional manipulation as a training method to remind her.
Hermione squeezed him tighter; she hated Voldemort for all the hurt Harry had endured— for everything he'd experienced that made him so cold — that made him so easily see the darkness in everyone. Even her.
Harry's arms wrapped around her just as tightly as her hold, and he rocked her gently. "Everyone has their breaking point, Hermione." He told her softly, probably thinking she was upset that she cast the spell accurately. "It doesn't make you a monster."
Maybe a small part of Hermione was upset to find out so conclusively that she could kill. But she was more upset to think of what Harry had endured growing up, to connect his ruthless nature to its source — Voldemort.
"Talk to me, Hermione." He ordered softly.
"I'm okay, I just… it was a lot." She said, finally.
Harry pulled back to search her face, his own guarded as he watched her. "That's normal." He said. "The first time is always the hardest."
"Was it hard for you?" Who was it that you felt you had to protect? Who did you kill?
She thought he saw all the questions in her eyes, but he chose to answer the only one she voiced.
"Yes." He let the answer stand there alone, not explaining himself.
Hermione exhaled softly, relaxing against him.
Harry held her for a moment before saying firmly. "We're done for today. No more unforgivables."
She wouldn't have asked for that, but relief washed through her strongly at his words. The training room atmosphere felt heavy in the wake of her realization about herself and Harry. Perhaps Harry could sense it, too, because he immediately led her away from the training room.
There was a low snap, and Mutton appeared before them in the corridor dressed in his black and silver livery. "Did Harry or Missus want or need anything?"
Harry gave him a small smile, "No, Mutton, we're fine."
The house elf looked disgruntled as he nodded and disappeared again. Harry turned towards Hermione with a raised eyebrow. "We're going to have to start thinking up things for Mutton to do, or he's going to be put out with me."
Hermione gave a small smile at that, not really sure how she felt about Harry having a house elf. She wondered how much Harry paid Mutton.
At her silence, Harry changed the subject, "It's Christmas break, why don't we go have some fun instead?" He suggested. "We can go shopping in Diagon Alley? Maybe find some books?"
Hermione perked up at that, distracted. "Books?"
Harry grinned down at her. "I thought that might intrigue you. And you know I haven't even shown you the whole house…. You know, I have a library room?"
Hermione sprang back from him almost a foot. "You have a library room, and you brought me here first!"
Harry laughed. "Well, I needed a reward for afterward… and I figured…"
Hermione smiled and tugged on his hand. "Come show me right now."
"Yes, ma'am." Harry smiled as he followed her out, both of them eager to walk away from the heavy atmosphere of the training room.
The library at Harry's house kept Hermione occupied the rest of the day, and they didn't make it to Diagon Alley until the following day. The wizarding shops there glittered with Christmas lights, green wreaths, and red ribbons adorning each storefront. Enchantments glimmered in most display windows — some showing tiny Santas licking ice cream or little reindeer playing Quidditch.
Hermione had a green scarf Harry had given her tucked up under her shin, her breath fogging as she laughed at Harry's expression in the doorway of Flourish and Blott's.
"It would be easier if I just bought the store for you." He said, contemplatively looking at her stack of purchases.
Hermione laughed. "It's not that many."
Harry huffed under the weight of her purchases, but she saw his smile before he hid it.
They wandered through more shops, browsing mostly, although Harry had spent a good deal of time looking at the brooms in the Quidditch supplies store. Hermione had avoided both Harry's and the shopkeeper's eyes when she picked up some extra contraceptive potions from the small apothecary shop tucked between larger businesses.
As the day slowly darkened, the crowds had thinned. They'd been having so much fun together that they'd quite lost track of time.
That carefree feeling changed as they passed between two shops, just a few meters from the main road. An uneasy silence descended as the Christmas music faded. Next to her, Harry shifted, his wand dropping into his hand with a predatory alertness that said he, too, felt the shift in the air.
"We should head back to the main road, " He murmured at her side.
Hermione's eyes were wide as she glanced around, trying to spot what made her so uneasy. "Agreed." She nodded.
They turned around, and a man stepped out of the shadows. He was short and balding with dirty gray robes that looked too thin for winter. His eyes were wet and darting with a sharp edge of maliciousness when they viewed her and Harry.
"Harry." The man said breathily. "The master wondered where you've been. He visited Lucius, and you weren't there." His watery blue eyes darted to Hermione, and Harry backed up into her, pushing her towards the wall.
"Was he looking for me or were you, Pettigrew?" Harry said evenly.
Pettigrew flexed his shaky hands, his wand coming up to point at Harry. "You little brat, you think you're so much smarter than me — but I hear things — you think I'm not there, but I am — I am— and I've heard the whispers about your little friend—"
Harry yawned loudly. "This is why you've always irritated the dark lord: your stupidity, and the fact that you're a weak little no-account rat."
Pettigrew's face spasmed at the insults, an ugly sneer crossing his face. "What about when I tell him you're cavorting with a dirty little mudblood? What then, Potter?"
Hermione jerked at the insult, but Harry's hand tightened on her, keeping her still behind him.
"You think he'd believe you over me, Wormtail?"
"Then I'll just have to take her—"
He was cut off by Harry's laughter, sharp and cold. "You would have trouble taking on a first year in Hogwarts, and you think you can take her from me?"
Pettigrew's wand wavered, rage and fear tangling together on his sharp features. "You little bastard—"
"Ah uh— I believe you knew my parents, didn't you?"
Pettigrew's entire face spasmed, and the word came out with spittle. "Crucio!"
The spell slammed into Harry, making him grunt and fall to his knees. Hermione screamed behind him. Harry's body trembled as pain wracked him, but his face was twisted in a malicious sneer as he stared up at Pettigrew.
"You pathetic— " Harry began to grit out.
Hermione's world narrowed to just the two of them. The vicious hate in Pettigrew's face and the mask of malice Harry wore over his pain. A small part of her was screaming that something was going on here; she didn't understand. Why would Harry allow himself to be tortured by Pettigrew when she knew he could stop it? But a bigger part of her didn't care what Harry's reasons were.
Someone was hurting the man she loved — causing him pain — torturing him right in front of her! Rage rushed through her like molten lava. Her mouth was dry, and she swallowed several times as if she was about to choke. Her love was in pain— Harry, who'd always been so intensely focused on making sure she didn't feel pain. Her hand tightened on her wand, and she stepped forward.
Harry noticed her and lost his concentration, falling into a spasms of pain— "Hermione no—"
Pettigrew laughed at her, not recognizing her deadly intent. "You think you scare me, girl, any more than the dark lord's toy—"
"Avada Kedavra!" Hermione's spell hit Pettigrew square in the chest.
Pettigrew flew backward as if hit with a battering ram, slamming into the brick wall behind him. There was a wet sound as his head cracked against the brick, but he was already gone, his watery blue eyes staring vacantly upward.
Her ears seemed to close as she stared at Pettigrew's body, nausea rushing through her after the anger passed. She turned away, and then Harry was there as she was sick, holding back her hair.
Harry had his arm locked around her waist, keeping her from falling over, their packages forgotten on the ground.
"We have to leave Hermione." He said urgently.
She looked up at him numbly, not even certain how it had happened — they'd been shopping and then somehow she'd killed someone.
When she didn't move, he urged her to straighten up and then led her toward the opposite wall, bracing her while he picked up their purchases like they still mattered.
He looked either way in the alley and then at Pettigrew's body contemplatively. He raised his wand. "Sancru."
A purple flash of magic came from his wand, striking the body, and suddenly, black erupted beneath the skin, little pustules popping on the surface of the dead body.
Hermione turned away, gagging, but Harry grabbed her before she could go far. "Brace yourself."
Hermione didn't have time to ask any questions, much less actually brace herself before the crack of apparition split the air. Harry's grip was iron tight as she felt his apparition squeeze her.
They disappeared as small snowflakes began to fall, covering the body.
Harry took Hermione directly to Malfoy Manor. They appeared in front of an elaborate wrought iron gate with an ornate "M" on the front. Beyond the gate, Malfoy Manor loomed, rising out of the darkening night like a mausoleum.
Hermione backed away from him as soon as she caught her balance, her hand shaking. "Harry—"
He grabbed her hand tightly, trying to rein in the giddiness at the thought that she'd killed to protect him. He hadn't needed her intervention — and honestly, Pettigrew's death was going to create problems. But Hermione had murdered for him. The one thing she'd always been so adamantly against, and she'd done it for him.
She looked pale and fragile, her pupils blown wide as she stared at him. But all he could see was the vicious anger that had struck like lightning across her expression when she'd stepped in front of him. He'd known as soon as he saw her face that she was going to try to protect him.
What he really wanted to do was take her directly to bed and make love to her again. Heat rushed through his body at the thought.
Then she took a shaky breath and tugged on his tight hold, snapping him back to reality.
"I have to tell them what happened with Pettigrew, Hermione." He told her urgently, tamping down his wildly careening emotions. All his careful planning was in disarray now, but…
Hermione had killed for him.
Harry shook his head, trying to keep on track. He knew she probably just wanted to hide away—and definitely not face his family at this point — but he didn't have a choice; they needed to know immediately. "After I tell them what happened, we can go back to the safe house, okay?"
He didn't give her a chance to agree, trying to be gentle as he pulled her forward. When the wards recognized his connection to the family, the gate swung open before them, and they trudged down the snow-laden path.
The front door opened when they were still several meters away from the Manor, and Lucius stepped out, his wand in hand. He took them both in with an encompassing assessment before turning to Harry. "What happened?"
"Pettigrew is dead," Harry told him a tad too cheerfully. Lucius eyebrow raised at this tone, and his gaze darted to Hermione questioningly. Harry shook his head, silently telling him Hermione had nothing to do with Pettigrew's death. He wasn't telling anyone that Hermione had killed for him.
Lucius winced and stepped aside, "Inside, both of you."
They went up the steps, and the door shut behind them with a dull thud that made Hermione flinch. The ambient magic of the house rushed at them, bringing warm air to drive away the chill. The manor smelled of polished wood, with the faint ozone of old magic.
He glanced at Hermione, and she was staring forward blindly, not even processing the opulence around her.
Harry tugged her forward until they reached the stairs and encountered Narcissa Malfoy. She was dressed simply in a pale gray dress, her white-blond hair swept back with meticulous care, as if she were about to go out. She looked at him first and reached out to sweep an invisible piece of dust from his shoulder affectionately. "You're well?"
Harry met her gaze. "Yes." He could see the questions in her silver eyes about Hermione and reassured her silently.
Hermione was safe. Hermione was his.
Then he turned to Hermione, pulling her forward to introduce her to Narcissa. "I've brought a guest. Hermione Granger."
Hermione tensed as she was introduced to Narcissa, bracing for disapproval. Instead, Narcissa moved toward her with calm grace, stopping directly in front of her.
"I've heard so much about you, Miss Granger."
Narcissa glanced at him, and she was quick as always. He saw the acknowledgement in her eyes that she understood how important Hermione was to him. And understood that this unplanned introduction could only mean something dire had occurred to change their plans. "It seems we're meeting under less than ideal circumstances."
Lucius stepped toward his wife, taking her elbow to lead them all into the large drawing room to the left. "Peter Pettigrew is dead, my dear." He told his wife evenly.
Narcissa glanced back at Harry, confused but ready to support the change in plan. "You only did what you had to do, Harry."
Harry felt Hermione stiffen beside him and knew she was wondering if she should confess to being the one who killed Pettigrew. He squeezed her hand, silently urging her to keep quiet. There was no reason she had to confess to the Malfoys.
"Yes."He agreed with Narcissa, "I left him in Diagon Alley— I used the Sancru curse to muddy the trail a bit."
"Dolohov's favorite," Lucius said thoughtfully, naming one of Voldemort's trusted followers. Sancru had been invented by Antonin Dolohov, and he heavily favored the curse as it caused extreme pain and eventual death. Within the ranks of the Death Eaters, Bellatrix and Dolohov had been jockeying for the position of the dark lord's favorite. Pettigrew turning up dead, bearing Dolohov's favorite curse, would only cause further distrust and infighting between the two. "That was good thinking, it will unsettle them, but —"
"It still means we need to adjust our plans." Narcissa finished with a fatalistic tone.
Harry kept an eye on Hermione as they conversed; she was too silent and too pale. He needed to get her home and help put Pettigrew's death in the right context for her. He was about to speed things up and leave when they all heard footsteps approaching the drawing room.
Draco appeared in the doorway and started to smile before noticing their faces and realizing this wasn't a social visit. He zeroed in on Harry. "What did you do?"
"Pettigrew is dead," Harry told him immediately. "It looks like you're getting your wish to speed things up."
Draco laughed, closing the remaining distance between them and giving Harry a hard hug with a slap on the back. "I knew you'd break— that rat fuck—"
It was ironic that Harry had been the one to counsel against killing Pettigrew to try to keep things stable for longer, yet Draco immediately thought he had done away with the man.
"Draco. Language." Narcissa snapped.
"Sorry, mother." He said unrepentantly, before turning to acknowledge Hermione. "Granger. I guess you're in it with us now."
They all turned toward Hermione, and for a moment, Harry was afraid it was all too much, too fast. But then she sucked in a breath, straightening her shoulders. It was obvious she still didn't understand what was happening — his fault really for keeping so much from her, but she still agreed that she was part of it. "Yes." She said with conviction.
All three Malfoys then turned to Harry. Despite his words, he could see that Narcissa and Lucius suspected that Hermione had killed Pettigrew, while Draco was wholly ready to believe Harry had finally done away with him. Either way, it didn't matter — they'd move forward with their plans now with Hermione as part of them. Harry nodded at the Malfoys.
Draco looked toward Lucius, seemingly following Harry's internal thoughts. "What does this mean for our timeline then? The dark lord might not even go to Scandinavia now— there's no point in waiting to get the next Horcrux."
Lucius agreed. "We need all of them sooner rather than later —" He turned toward Narcissa. "My dear—"
Narcissa held up a hand. "I already know what that means for my sister. She hasn't been family to me for a long time." She kept her gaze away from Draco and Harry as she said it.
Hermione caught Narcissa's tone and the way she avoided looking at Harry. She looked toward him with a quiet curiosity. Harry kept his face relaxed under her regard. Bellatrix had taught him and Draco Unforgivables—and she favored using people over magical constructs like the silver mirror. The horror of those lessons was something he would never share with Hermione. Narcissa had never forgiven her sister for what she had done.
Hermione was so eager to know things — she didn't realize yet how much you were changed by knowledge. Some things were better left unsaid.
Draco glanced at Hermione, then at Harry. "Have you told her everything yet?"
Harry almost laughed at the question. He never wanted Hermione to know everything. He didn't think he could handle it if she pitied him for what he had gone through. But she had to know enough to stand beside him. He shook his head at Draco. "I'm going to tell her when I get her back to my safe house. She's part of it now."
Narcissa stepped toward Hermione, resting her hand lightly on her shoulder. "Welcome to our family, Miss Granger."
Hermione swallowed hard, glancing at Narcissa's hand. "Thank you."
Harry's gaze softened as he looked at both women before he sucked in a quick breath, shaking it off. "I need to take Hermione home. I just wanted to let you know that things have changed, so you're prepared in case there are questions. Lucius — the aurors will find the body soon if they haven't already, you know —"
"I know." He said. "I'll be ready."
Harry caught Hermione's hand as Narcissa's fingers slipped from her shoulder. He nodded once to the Malfoys and led her from the drawing room.
At the threshold, he glanced back. His family stood beneath the great, ornate chandelier, watching him go—their loyalty absolute and unspoken.
Then his attention returned to Hermione at his side, pale and beautiful, her curls slightly disheveled. She'd looked so fierce when she'd stepped in front of him during the Crucio, but she was suffering in the aftermath.
They left Malfoy Manor together, boots crunching over stone, their breath fogging in small white clouds. At the gates, Harry turned and pulled her into his arms.
Part of Harry feared the conversation ahead. The rest of him—still marveling that she had killed for him—had no doubts at all.
Hermione had already chosen her path. He only needed to help her see that.
They apparated to the front of the safe house, and Harry led her directly to the sitting room. A large fire crackled in the hearth, but the room still felt cold to her.
She felt dazed and could barely process how fast everything was changing. She had killed someone, and now she was apparently colluding with the Malfoys and Harry.
Harry led her to an overstuffed armchair. "We're home," he said lightly, almost brightly. "Sit down, you have to be tired."
Hermione sat down unsteadily, looking up at him, while her hands clenched into the arms of the chair, as if she was afraid she would start floating off.
I killed someone.
Intellectually, she had known she might have to kill someone— even as far back as when she joined the order. But she'd imagined the act being done in some righteous endeavor — the reality had been dirtier, and righteousness hadn't even factored into her mind. There had only been blinding rage that the pathetic man had been hurting Harry.
Harry kicked off his boots and tossed his coat over another chair. He had a faint, satisfied smile on his face that made her chest ache. He looked pleased, reassured even.
"How can you look like that?" She asked him, proud that her voice was even as she stared at him.
Harry turned to her. "Like what?"
"Like this is a good day," she said, her voice sharp. "Like— like you're happy."
Harry paused studying her for a moment. He looked as if he were wrestling with a complex problem as he inspected her. Then he came towards her chair, kneeling in front of her. "It hurts you, doesn't it, to know you killed?"
Hermione swallowed hard. "It's just .. Difficult…"
Harry reached up to stroke her cheek. "And you did it for me. The one thing you've always been consistently against, and you didn't even hesitate— you didn't freeze — you killed him to protect me. Because you love me." He leaned forward, pressing his lips to hers in a quick kiss. "That's commitment, Hermione. To me. To us. To our future."
Her heart thudded painfully. "I feel guilty."
"You shouldn't. He was a terrible person who had done terrible things. You even joined an organization to fight people like him — he was the enemy, Hermione."
Hermione stood abruptly, walking past him toward a window, hugging herself as she stared out into the dark night. "How many people have you killed?"
"Enough to know the number means nothing. Some were worth less than squashing a pest. Others matter more than just adding to some tally."
Hermione shivered at the edge in his voice. "I—I didn't know I could feel that angry," she admitted, her words unsteady. "Even when we practiced the Killing Curse, it was never like that."
Harry moved in behind her, his body close, his arms sliding around her with deliberate possessiveness. "Don't be afraid of who you are," he murmured near her ear. "Or of your rage. It protected me." His grip tightened slightly. "And I adore it."
"I think I am afraid," Hermione said, shaking her head, her breath uneven. "Of myself. Of what I could do."
"Don't." Harry's voice was firm—unyielding. He pulled her around to face him, his hands steady, certain. "You can do anything you want. Anything. There are no rules that can constrain you." He leaned in, his mouth tracing slowly along her neck, lingering where it made her breath hitch. "And you know why, don't you?"
Her hands clutched at him instinctively, acutely aware of him pressed against her. She could practically hear him whispering it to her.
"Because I'm extraordinary," she whispered, red flooding her cheeks.
"That's right," Harry said, heat heavy in his voice. "My extraordinary witch, stop putting so many constraints on yourself —the fight is going to start now in earnest, Hermione— and I need you to embrace the part of you you're so determined to tie down under morality."
"You have to tell me everything now, Harry — no more hiding anything from me."
"Yes." He agreed.
Hermione jerked back; a part of her had still been expecting him to try to keep secrets from her. Apparently, all she had to do to get Harry to be completely up front with her was kill someone for him.
Harry led her back to the chair, gently pushing her to sit down. Then he took several steps backward, looking at her contemplatively. "I think the best place to start is by saying Voldemort is more powerful than you can imagine — he's managed to make himself functionally immortal."
Hermione remembered the word that had given her shivers. "Horcruxes?"
Harry's mouth curved in a quick, approving smile at her intelligence, then his lips flattened as he nodded. "Exactly. He used a dark ritual to sever pieces of his soul and anchor them in objects. As long as those objects—Horcruxes—remain intact, he cannot be killed."
Hermione felt sick. "How many?"
"Seven."
"Seven? Do you know—"
"I know what they are — the problem has been locating them. Two are still iffy— I had a plan for them, but we're going to have to speed up now because of Pettigrew's death. Voldemort is already paranoid — this is just going to tip him further over the edge."
"How did you find out what they are — how—" Why would Voldemort have told him? It would make sense to keep everything a secret…
There was a beat of silence as Harry stared at her. "Because I'm one of them."
The room seemed to tilt. Hermione's nails dug into the armchair. "That's not funny."
"I'm not joking."
Her pulse roared in her ears, "Harry — but you said objects — OBJECTS— objects are things, not people—"
Harry shrugged. "It was an accident when he was murdering my parents."
Hermione still couldn't process the information as she stared at him. "But it's just not possible— Dumbledore— " She paused. "He knew, didn't he — he's so focused on you—"
Harry nodded. "I think they strongly suspect."
Hermione collapsed back in the chair. "I can't believe it." She believed it.
Harry looked at her steadily, seriously. "There's a fragment of Voldemort's soul anchored in mine."
"Then how will we — what do we do? How do we fix this?"
Harry shrugged. "We haven't figured that out yet — but at least eliminating Voldemort and the rest of the Horcruxes gives us time to figure it out — and will give me control of his Death Eaters."
"Why would they follow you?"
Harry looked at her with a blank expression. "Because he's made it clear that I'm part of him — they would see me as his natural successor. I've already gained the loyalty of quite a few of them anyway— just not the older, more devoted crowd."
"No." She whispered. "No, no, no— I want to get rid of the Death Eaters—"
Harry moved toward her. "They wouldn't be his Death Eaters anymore, Hermione. They'd be ours — they'd follow our commands— we can remake the wizarding world." He knelt before her again, placing his hands on top of hers. "It's not pretty — but it's power— our power— you want more Muggleborn rights? Then fine, we make that happen. You want to be Minister of Magic? We can make that happen."
"What about the Malfoys— Lucius—"
"Lucius can't stand against me, and he wouldn't anyway — the Malfoys are loyal to me, not Voldemort."
"Why?"
Harry didn't answer right away. He remained kneeling before her, his thumbs tracing slow, steady circles over the backs of her hands. His expression sharpened as he stared at her, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
"Voldemort—" he began, then stopped before forcing himself to start again. "He enjoys punishment. Making people's nightmares real. Lucius was never very good at resisting the Imperius. Voldemort used it to make him cast the Cruciatus on Narcissa."
Hermione sucked in a sharp breath at the thought of the elegant Narcissa Malfoy writhing under the cruciatus curse.
Harry shifted uncomfortably, looking away from her. "I knew I couldn't stop it directly, or Voldemort would just do worse to her. So I killed someone instead as a diversion. It worked. Voldemort stopped punishing Lucius, and he's been much more careful since not to re-offend the dark lord."
Hermione reached out, softly stroking down his wavy black hair. "How old were you?"
"Ten."
Pain blossomed in her chest at the thought of him, so young, taking such an irrevocable action. This was why Harry viewed killing so easily.
"Lucius is smart — he realized the power I would wield earlier than most. That knowledge, combined with his gratitude for saving Narcissa, brought him to my side. We have had years to test each other's loyalty and trust me when I say the Malfoys are wholly loyal to me." His head dipped down. "Lucius… " His face softened as he said the next two names. "Narcissa and Draco… they are mine."
"Because you're a power."
Harry nodded slowly. "I'm an inevitability. Voldemort made sure of that when he told them I was part of him and tied himself to me irrevocably in their eyes. All that remains is to eliminate Voldemort and take his place."
Hermione pressed her palms to her eyes, trying to follow Harry and reorder the reality she thought she lived in. "You're talking about taking control of a people who've terrorized the wizarding world. Who've murdered and tortured and—"
"Without a leader, they will scatter and eventually reform. Crawl back under the cover of the ministry or pureblood lineage until they're powerful enough to do it again— this stops that Hermione— this puts us in charge. We will be the masters — the dark lord and lady — they will be our soldiers and act as we see fit." He moved closer to her, pulling her hands away from her eyes to look into her with fierce intensity. "You said you wanted to be by my side. You've killed for me. Now lead with me."
Hermione's breath hitched. "Like a coup."
"Yes." He leaned toward her. "I won't do this without you."
She laughed weakly, pushing into the chair to create some distance between them. "You already have — You've obviously been planning this for a while."
"Yes." He admitted. "But now I have you. Now our path is together, remember?"
"And if I say no? That I don't want to lead the bloody Death Eaters?" She asked quietly.
"Then we'll take a harder path. Eliminate them all. It's up to you now." He held out his hand, palm up between them. "But… think of what we could accomplish, Hermione. The laws we could pass — the world we could build together with them as our soldiers— carrying out our will. Rule beside me." The words were a demand, but his hand was a plea.
Her hand twitched—he had offered his hand to her so many times before that resisting the urge to take it was difficult. The gesture was familiar now, almost instinctive.
But this time, taking his hand meant stepping off the edge of her world and falling into his.
A dark lady.
It should sound laughable — but Harry was deadly serious. Hermione reached out, bypassing his hand and laying her hand against his heart. "Harry, I love you, but what you're talking about — reshaping our world with violence as the foundation — even if your intentions are good, power like that corrupts—"
"But you'd be there to stop it — to stop me if necessary." He said quickly, persuasively.
"You're asking me to be your conscience."
Harry grimaced as his hand dropped to her lap. "I know I don't think of things as I should sometimes — I'm not certain if it's because of how I was raised or the fact that a part of him is in me— it's a risk— and one I need you to help me manage. I would only trust you with this— I don't have your morals, Hermione, I need you." His voice lowered. "I love you. Please."
There was a fervent intensity in his green eyes as he stared at her. A lock of his hair had fallen forward, giving him a boyish look despite the fact that he was plotting to take over Magical Britain. He was right, though — hadn't she wanted to make things better for the muggleborns?
Standing by Harry, she could.
And he owned her heart — how could she walk away from him? She'd killed for him.
Hermione hesitated a beat longer. A very small voice inside her was insisting this wasn't right and perhaps she should give herself time to think away from Harry's influence. But it was a voice that was easy to ignore when she stared into his eyes.
She placed her hand in his, grasping his fingers tightly. "We do this together."
Harry gave a brilliant smile, leaning forward. "Together." He whispered before he pressed his lips against hers.