Just then, the bells chimed signalling dinner was ready. Hermione swallowed the retort that she had been about to make and settled for a glare as Finn stood, offering her his arm with an apologetic smile on his face.
"Draco told me about that while you were dressing," he said, as they swept out of the room. "He was tickled pink. A flaming spear?"
Hermione glanced up at him, but calmed her features when she saw the mischievous grin on his face. She smiled back at him as they entered the dining room, the candlelight softening his features. The floral arrangements were full of bright pink cabbage roses and cobalt blue irises, and she felt a tinge of sadness at the inadvertent reminder of Kerrie Beth and Prianka.
"It seemed the only way I was going to get a word in edgewise," she replied, nodding at him when he pulled out her chair.
"I will keep that in mind later this evening," Finn quipped as the Dark Lord took his seat on Hermione's left. She was relieved when Finn once again took the seat next to her after pushing in her chair, and looked up, slightly startled when Lucius took the seat across from her, after ensuring Narcissa was settled in the seat to his left. She pierced an olive with her fork, bringing it to her lips as she looked down the table to see who occupied his usual seat at the other end of the table and was surprised to see Aldrich sitting at the opposing head. She hummed in confusion and Finn looked up from his crudite to see her watching his father.
"It's because of our betrothal," he murmured, intuning her puzzled expression. "Although it is already common knowledge, there is to be a formal announcement tonight. My parents are co-hosting this dinner with the Dark Lord."
Hermione lifted a celery stalk to her lips as she pondered his words, taking the time she spent chewing to glance at the occupants of the table. Along with the typical guests, there were a few witches and wizards she did not recognize, and now she assumed they were members of Finn's extended family. The low tones of multiple conversations filled the room as she watched Everlid enthusiastically hold court next to Aldrich, and she flinched as she felt a phantom headache begin. She heard Finn start to chuckle beside her and she smiled, bumping him with her shoulder.
"Not a word," she warned, her smile growing wider.
"My lips are sealed," he replied, pantomiming zipping his lips closed.
Dinner began cheerfully, Hermione far enough removed from Everlid that she was not required to join in her incessant conversation, save for an occasional nod or smile. She was deep in heated conversation with the Dark Lord and Lucius regarding Dementors when the doors creaked open. Startled, she looked up to see who was joining them so far into the meal. Her face darkened as she took in Regulus, his lithe form leaning on the doorway almost casually, and her forehead wrinkled in confusion when she saw the bruise rimming his left eye. She hadn't seen him after the funeral, she realized, although he had returned with the others at the end of the battle. He didn't appear to have taken the time to change his robes, the embroidery on his sleeves indicating their choice as mourning attire. He walked fully into the room, his dark robes seeming to absorb the candle light, stepping aside and gesturing for someone behind him to enter the room.
Hermione couldn't hold back her gasp as Augusta Longbottom strode imperiously into the room behind him, her customary hat, although no longer sporting the moth eaten vulture, in its usual place on her head. The matron of house Longbottom rarely left her Manor, her position in society perilous at best, thanks to Neville's antics, and Hermione hadn't had much chance to interact with the witch. Augusta glared at the room at large, her eyes meeting Hermione's for a long moment before she abruptly turned and walked to the Dark Lord, who himself looked unaffected by her sudden appearance.
"Augusta," he intoned, lifting his hand for her to grasp.
"My Lord," she rasped, her voice weakened by age and years of stress. "I apologize for my tardiness, I suffered from an episode after the events of this afternoon."
Shocked murmurs filled the room at her daring to bring up the reminder of the battle that her grandson had no doubt orchestrated, and Hermione found herself hiding a smile at the familiar fire the witch showed. While she could not boast an acquaintance with the elder Gryffindor, she had come to enjoy her spirit and the unapologetic boldness with which she interacted with everyone she met, including Voldemort.
"Indeed," the Dark Lord replied, nodding to Augusta who began to make her way to her place, slightly above the midpoint of the table. "The uninhibited actions of the young always seem to strike their targets more deeply when they lack the experience to understand how far reaching the consequences can be, don't you think?"
Augusta stiffened in her chair at the implications of his words, nodding once as Voldemort reached for his wine, eyes cutting to where Regulus still hovered in the doorway.
"Find your place, Master Black," he said sharply, "the next course is about to begin."
Regulus slipped silently to his own place next to Luna, the blonde witch pulling him into an animated conversation with Bellatrix quickly, not seeming to notice the annoyance on his face. Hermione turned wondering eyes to Finn, and she smiled when she felt his hand creep into hers. He squeezed once before releasing her to pick up his spoon, aromatic bowls of butternut soup appearing before them.
"A betrothal of one of the sacred Twenty Eight appears to be something even Aunt Auggie couldn't resist," he remarked casually as she took a sip of her soup.
Choking, Hermione brought her napkin to her lips, flushing red at the heads that immediately swiveled in her direction. Bowing her head demurely, she waited until she was sure they had returned to their meals and conversations before looking back at Finn.
"Aunt Auggie?" She questioned, a giggle threatening to escape her lips.
Sitting quite primly in his chair, Finn cut mischievous eyes at her and nodded.
"My father's eldest sister. That damned bird terrified me as a child, I'll have you know. It used to be her familiar, if you can believe that. Terrorized the elves. It even had it's own place at the dinner table. Further up than Neville's, now that I think about it."
"She was a frequent guest at your home?" She inquired, curious as to the witch's willingness to socialize with the Rowles, given what happened to her son.
"Father was neutral in the First War," Finn revealed, wincing slightly as he glanced at the Dark Lord. Voldemort gave no indication that he had heard the remark, engaged in conversation with Lucius once more, and Finn breathed a sigh of relief before continuing.
"Newly married when he was suddenly made Head of House Rowle and shortly after an expectant father, he had too much responsibility to even consider joining the ranks. His neutrality was of course in name only, as he was quite generous with his funding. However, it served to save him from any uncomfortable questions in the aftermath, and allowed him to maintain his relationship with his beloved older sister. I think he paved the way for her to be able to sit in this room with her head high, actually. Reminded her of the need for balance in the Dark Lord's ranks, of the importance of a level headed witch to balance out the impulsivity that Dark magics can inspire."
Hermione felt her head spin as she took in this new information. She had grown accustomed to Augusta's occasional presence at public events, prior to this evening, and she felt a wave of surprise wash over her at the complexity of Pureblood culture. A memory jumped out at her and she smiled, looking over at Finn.
"Neville was in your home often as a child?" She asked innocently, and felt alarm flood through her at the dark look that crossed his face. Concerned, she placed a hand on his arm, and waited for him to calm.
"They were guests often, as were we. We had a weekly dinner at Aunt's Manor, and she joined mother weekly for tea. Neville and I would play together during those boring afternoons in the gardens before I left for Hogwarts," he smiled sadly, a wistful look on his face. "He lit up there, like it was the only place he felt safe."
"Safe?" Hermione questioned, setting down her napkin.
"His life was...rough. An only child, like me, but Aunt never socialized much. Her traditional beliefs and age didn't endear her to the parents of Neville's peers, and she couldn't bear the shame of a potential squib as her grandson. His father was brilliant, and she has held that measuring stick proudly over his head his entire life."
She felt an unwelcome rush of sadness for the friendless boy she met on the train, and the memory once again struck her. She couldn't help herself asking, "What did he call your father?"
Finn laughed, memories dancing in his eyes.
"He couldn't manage Aldrich, too many syllables. Called him Uncle Algie. Father pretended that he hated it, but he never corrected him."
Hermione giggled, picking up her spoon again and Finn looked at her questioningly.
"Would've saved us all loads of trouble if he hadn't bounced, hmm?"
Later that evening, Hermione laughter echoed over the other conversations in the room as she shielded her plate from Finn's fork, guarding her dark chocolate torte aggressively. She snagged a bite and slipped it into her mouth, moaning obnoxiously at the flavors melting over her tongue.
"It's so good, Finn," she teased, warmth flooding her stomach along with the sweet flavor of the torte at the predatory look the entered his eyes at the sound. "You should've savored yours a bit more, hmm?"
The wizard groaned, setting down his fork and accepting defeat.
"Minx," he growled as she took another bite, moaning in exaggerated ecstasy at the sensation.
Taking pity on him, she scooped up the last bite and offered it to him, a giggle escaping her lips again at the joy that filled his face. He closed his lips over it, and she slid the fork from his mouth, her own watering when he groaned in enjoyment. She laid the fork on the table and he caught her hand in his, bringing it to his lips to lick the chocolate smeared on her finger before placing a gentle kiss on the inside of her wrist. Her face heated as her pulse began to race, and from the smirk on his lips when his eyes met hers, she knew he could feel the blood pounding in her slim wrist. Her neck heated as he kissed her again, and she felt the cool of the goblin silver pressing against her skin as she struggled to breathe. Her mind fogged as she leaned toward him, focusing only on his bright blue eyes, clouded with lust.
Just then Voldemort pushed his chair back and stood, and Hermione jumped at the sound of the chair legs scraping against the stone floors. Realizing what a scandalous position she was in, face flushed and straining toward her intended, she leaned back, grasping her goblet of wine and taking a deep sip to clear her head.
"We are gathered here tonight to celebrate the joining of two of my most faithful. Thorfinn," the Dark Lord gestured to Finn as his parents stood, Aldrich stoic and Everlid beaming, "it is with great pleasure that I see you seated at my side. Your actions both on and off the battlefield are a credit both to your house and your fellow Death Eaters. You have proven yourself a loyal member of my followers, and it is with great faith in your continued ability to excel that I bestow upon you my greatest treasure."
Finn stood, grasping the hand that the Dark Lord extended to him, nodding once before returning to his seat. His parents remained standing as Voldemort continued.
"Hermione," he began, his face softening as he looked down at her, and she felt his approval radiating from him. She gasped as Lucius, Narcissa, and Severus stood from the table, tears filling her eyes as she realized they were standing up for her now as family. "My Lutea. Words cannot express the gratitude I have felt for the wisdom I had that day in accepting your offering, as pitiful as it seemed at the time. In the three years since you have come to join me, I have watched you bloom with pride, and I have come to cherish you more than any other."
Hermione rushed from her seat and embraced Voldemort, burying her head in his chest. He pressed his hand to her neck and held her for a moment while the Malfoys and Severus retook their seats before releasing her gently. She wiped her eyes as she retook her own seat, Finn grasping her hand tightly in his. Voldemort cleared his throat against the murmurs running up and down the table before raising his gaze to meet Aldrich's. Hermione turned to face the Rowles, wincing at the glare Bellatrix sent her way. Making a mental note to remain far away from the jealous witch for a few days, she let a smile cross her face as she remembered Voldemort's words. Cherished.
"Hermione," the wizard began, the candlelight reflecting in his blue eyes, so like his sons. "Parents strive to provide their children with the best of everything, to give them every advantage to create a life better than their own. That desire makes those choices that are outside of their control that much more difficult to reconcile. As children outgrow their need for our approval, it can be a trying transition. Thorfinn has been a blessing in that regard." He smiled at his son, the lines around his eyes crinkling, pride evident in his expression.
"However, the one thing I still wished for my son is that he would achieve a marriage to a witch who is more beautiful, more powerful, and more compassionate than his mother, who has been a steadfast example of these qualities his whole life. In truth, I had begun to despair of him ever finding such a woman, and had begun to prepare my heart for it's inevitable disappointment. In this union to you, I can rest assured that he has achieved every dream I have ever held for him, and that he will live a life as charmed as mine as been."
Hermione rose from her chair, cheeks pink with emotion as she made her way to where Aldrich was standing. He surprised her with an embrace, and she felt her eyes dampen again as he pressed his lips to the top of her head. Everlid snagged her arm as Aldrich released her, and tucked her into her side as she began to speak, her love for her son radiating across her face.
"Thorfinn, you have been a gift to us from the moment I first felt you flutter within me. My sweet boy, eager to please, has grown into a man who is just as eager to defend those you love. I'm unsure which incantation was used, but I would swear you matured overnight, and I have often wished for just one more night snuggled with you in my arms by the fire. That is not to say we are not proud of all you have accomplished, Farbjoor, and your mischievous antics have certainly brought us joy, even when it was at the expense of a family heirloom...or three."
Chuckles filled the room as Finn laughed, clearly understanding the reference. When the group quieted, Everlid continued.
"These past years have been trying ones, however you have never faltered in your duties, be they to your Lord or your family. We give this union our full blessing, and welcome Hermione gladly into the protection of the House of Rowle."
Everlid embraced Hermione as the air sparkled with magic, the ancient power of a sacred Pureblood family settling over her skin like fairy dust. Her necklace thrummed with it, and Hermione knew the betrothal was complete. Releasing her future mother in law, she was caught off guard by a crowd of people waiting to greet her, aunts and uncles, cousins and nephews, pleased to welcome her into the family. Finn had just joined her, recapturing her hand when Voldemort signaled that they adjourn to the sitting room, and Hermione caught the intense stare of Augusta Longbottom, still seated amongst the bustle of movement. She felt a chill race down her spine as their eyes met again, the elder witch's hazel eyes shrewd in their appraisal. She slipped free of Finn's grip and made her way to the Matriarch, unable to break her gaze. Stopping beside her chair, Hermione blinked, suddenly unsure of what to do next.
"Walk with me, child," Augusta commanded, her voice sharp and low.
Hermione nodded, waiting for the witch to rise from her chair, acknowledging the well wishes of the others as they filed past her and out of the room. Once she had risen, she tucked her arm in the older woman's, and they slowly made their way out of the room.
"Congratulations," Augusta began, a few minutes into their walk.
"Thank you, Lady Longbottom," Hermione replied politely, wondering why the woman had wished to speak to her privately. Certainly she could've shared her well wishes with the rest of the family?
When no further conversation appeared forthcoming, she settled herself into the witch's sedate pace and prayed they would reach the sitting room by midnight. She let her mind wander over the stories Neville had told them about his upbringing over the years, snippets of what was clear, in hindsight, to be a lonely childhood, with no friends and an immense feeling of failure.
She wondered how the woman felt when Neville's alliances were made clear that day that he had brazenly attacked the Daily Prophet in broad daylight. He had left an eerie image of a scarlet Phoenix hovering over the wreckage of the newspaper office, a bold affront to the Dark Mark, even going so far as having Colin tag along with his beloved camera so that posters of the destruction could be wallpapered up and down Diagon Alley; leaving no doubt that the once bumbling, forgetful little boy had grown into a vengeful wizard. Had she been relieved, to see the power he wielded, finally living up to the legacy of his parents, as perverted as his choice of outlet may have been? Dismayed by the lives he took with his rage, leveling the stories tall publishing house in moments? Or was she once again simply embarrassed by his actions, thinking only of the shame he brought upon the noble name of Longbottom, and by not so distant extension, Rowle?
Lost as she was in her internal ramblings, she was surprised when she stepped onto plush carpeting and looked up to find the pair in the library, a low fire crackling in the hearth. Turning to Augusta, she opened her mouth to speak, and startled when the witch snapped out her wand and spelled the door shut. The elder witch removed her hat, placing it on the credenza, her silver hair glimmering in the low light.
"Augusta?" Hermione began, fingers sliding down the side of her dress to the hidden pocket in her gown where she had tucked her wand. Her heart was racing in her chest as the woman stepped toward her, but she knew she showed no outward signs of distress. While her mind was hastily speeding through her usual assessments, nearest exit, nearby potential weapons, risks the witch may pose she remained still, her fingers closing around her wand while she waited for Augusta's next move.
Augusta reached a wrinkled hand towards her, and Hermione slipped the wand out of her pocket without a visible movement.
"This was commissioned for my great grandmother," she said, her fingers slipping over the cool opal stones of her betrothal necklace. "She was a gifted potioneer as well. I always admired it as a child."
Hermione relaxed, chiding herself for her overactive imagination. She slipped her wand back into her pocket as she smiled at Augusta, raising her hand to cover the other woman's.
"And now it graces the neck of a Mudblood," Augusta continued, her face betraying no emotion at all, as though she had merely commented on the color of her robes or remarked on the meal they had just shared.
Hermione's hand fell as she looked at Augusta, trying to puzzle out what she was thinking.
The witch calmly walked to the low bar beside the transfiguration texts, pouring herself a glass of sherry. She took a measured sip, a smile gracing her lips at the taste, before turning back to Hermione.
"I used to think that there was no further shame that could be heaped upon my head. My Wathrop, killed in a duel over a 'gentlemans' disagreement, the little half blood whore he fancied himself in love with never even sparing a glance at his fallen body. Next, my darling Frank, married to a witch of my own choosing, swayed into a fight he had no place in for the love of that same woman, ending up with his brains pickled, doodling his days away like a simpleton. Finally Neville, my last hope for the future of the family, preferring flowers and dirt to the honor of his name, although I can appreciate the irony that he has managed to drag our name into the mud he so enjoyed playing in as a child."
She took a step closer to Hermione, her words passionate but her eyes strangely flat. A shadow danced in the corner of the room, and Hermione's eyes followed it, her mind whirling with the new information. A log popped in the fireplace and she jumped, her eyes darting back the the witch before her. Augusta smiled, the expression garish against the deadness of her eyes.
"All of this I could bear, with the grace of a Rowle, I thought, because surely this was the end. Surely there was no further humiliation that could exist in this world for me. Aldrich was rising high, my little poppet having grown into a strong man, powerful in this new world that is being built around us. Working in the Wizengamot, helping to legislate this dynasty. The future of our family seemed secure in Thorfinn, a warrior fitting the legacy of our House. However, then came you. The traitorous little Mudblood who craved the approval of her superiors and studied the mannerisms of a proper woman in order to trick everyone into believing she belonged. That she mattered. I can honor our shared Gryffindor heritage, respect your not insignificant magical power, but I find I cannot bear the shame of the tarnishing of the House of Rowle."
"Augusta," Hermione began, her wand once agin firm in her grasp as she stepped away from the witch, backing into a bookshelf. She cursed internally at the position she found herself in, trapped against the priceless tomes. She knew the elderly witch was unwell, had heard the whispers of the destruction she left behind her during one of her mysterious 'episodes', and wondered, not for the first time, if the witch was deranged or merely suffering a magical form of dementia.
"This union has been blessed by Our Lord himself, and as such will serve to lift the name of Rowle, not diminish it. I only strive to bring further honor to your House, and I apologise if my heritage brings you distress." The words were like acid on her tongue, bitterness creeping into her heart as she begged forgiveness for something she could not control.
"I am pleased that the Dark Lord has seen fit to grant such a gift to our House," Augusta said, her voice now without feeling, as though she were repeating words she had learned by memory, rather than felt to be true. "A gift whose loss will be mourned deeply, I am sure."
Alarm filled Hermione at her words, and she lifted her wand, hesitating only because the threat had not been clearly stated and she was still unsure as to Augusta's mental state. Sliding to the right slightly, closer to the door, she began to speak.
"Did you know I was Neville's first friend?" Her words caused the witch to pause, as she expected they might. "It's not common knowledge, for obvious reasons, but we met on the Hogwarts Express on the way to the castle. I was reading Hogwarts, A History alone in my compartment when he knocked on the door asking if I had seen his toad. He looked so lonely, and I was so eager for a friend, I volunteered to help him search. We travelled the length of the train, knocking on doors and talking about our hopes for the school year ahead.
"He was waylaid by Theo and Daphne, they had recognized him from a recent luncheon, and unwelcome as I was, I continued on my journey. I spent the remainder of the trip in the compartment with Harry and Ron, but we spent many nights together in the common room after that, two children who found they didn't quite fit in but had found an unlikely bond in a shared house. After the events at Halloween those nights were less frequent, but I do sometimes think fondly of the chubby faced boy missing his familiar."
"The same chubby face boy you left Petrified in your Common Room while you gallivanted through a forbidden wing of the castle in a desperate attempt at glory," the witch snapped, her eyes flashing. "For someone who claims to feel so shunned by our world you were quick to abandon the very friendship that would have granted you access to the world you now find yourself enjoying. Don't try to sway me with your nostalgia, Mudblood. I know who you really are."
Hermione's eyes hardened as she looked at Augusta, all thoughts of her delicate mental state erased by her hateful tone.
"You're quite right, Lady Longbottom, my apologies," she simpered, taking a step towards her. "I abhor weakness, you see, and Neville was simply reeking of it, even then."
Quicker than Hermione could follow, Augusta's wand flashed and she was pressed against the wall. Her hands were trapped behind her back, but she still had a firm grip on the hawthorn length. Her necklace was warm against her throat, and she swallowed against the heat.
"Such a bookish little slut, aren't you?" Augusta commented, her eyes back to their dead state, her voice much more menacing now that the emotion had left it once again. "Always striving to learn more, achieve more. It was only a matter of time before you reached for a book that wasn't meant for your dirty Mudblood hands, hmm? What a tragedy, struck down by a silly book on the very night of your betrothal, simply because you couldn't resist proving an old witch wrong about the blood bonds used in the betrothal rite."
"Blood bonds?" Hermione gasped, working to undo the magic holding her to the wall. Unlike the simple Sticking charm Severus had used earlier that day, this was a darker spell, layered much like a ward. She felt the first barrier shatter as she watched Augusta peruse the shelves, intent on a particular book.
"Yes, I would imagine they would have enacted it after you've finished bickering over your bride price," Augusta replied, selecting an ancient leather bound book from among a collection of Grimiores. "Binding you and your familial magic to the House of Rowle. Like requires like, however, and you see now why I simply cannot allow this to move forward."
"My familial magic," Hermione breathed, realizing in that moment what Augusta had not. Although she had no traditional familial magic, she had been accepted by Voldemort as his Ward, and as such her body thrummed now with magics not only her own, but of the noble House of Salazar Slytherin himself. The second and third layers of the binding magic broke in quick succession and feeling sweat break out over her brow, she wondered how long they had been in the library. Surely by now someone would be looking for the pair?
"Touch the book, read the words," Augusta muttered as she walked back across the room to Hermione. "Just giving her a gift. Touch the book, read the words."
Fear lept into Hermione's throat as she recognized the book in her arms. It was a book of dark curses that had been compiled in the late 1200s, Warded sharply against handling by any except those of the purest blood. All it would take is a simple brush of her fingertips against the binding and a Compulsion spell would force her to open it and read the incantation on the title page, activating a blood blistering curse that would kill her in seconds. She knew this, from rigourous testing, coveting the secrets the book held and refusing to be bested by a bigoted wizard long dead. None of her many test subjects had survived, no matter the various routes she had taken in an attempt to circumvent the curse.
Augusta had just reached Hermione, still muttering "Give a gift. Touch the book. Read the words," under her breath when three things happened simultaneously. The spell holding her to the wall finally shattered, allowing Hermione to cast a vicious Knockback Jinx at the older witch. Cast at such close range, and with the might of her raging Darkness behind it, the spell sent Augusta the full width of the library, where she crashed into a bookshelf and crumpled onto the floor. Then the library door burst open, revealing the Dark Lord and Finn, matching expressions of rage on their faces, wands drawn. Finally, Chlap popped into existence behind Augusta's fallen form. His head swiveled quickly, eyes widening when he spotted the Dark Lord striding into the library, and when he turned to see Hermione standing, wand in hand, he quickly popped back out again, before either wizard even noticed him.
"Hermione," Finn shouted, rushing to gather her into his arms. "What happened?" He ran his hands over her form, searching for wounds. "I saw you waiting for Augusta, and Regulus said he saw you walking out of the dining room together, but when you didn't appear in the sitting room we began to worry."
"This appears more than a casual concern, Finn," she remarked dryly, relaxing into his hold while Voldemort crossed the room to Augusta.
"Your necklace," he began, before brushing his hair out of his face, seemingly embarrassed.
"Has some sort of sexist tracking charm on it, to be activated if I ever find myself in distress?" Hermione snarked, having already suspected as such.
"Well, yes, but that's not-" Finn began before Hermione cut him off.
"As outdated and vile as I find the practice-don't even think about trying something like that with the rings, hmm?-I find am grateful for it tonight. I became distracted during our glacial walk and she led me right into what I'm presuming to be a trap of some sort," Hermione huffed, annoyed that she had almost been bested by a witch almost four times her age.
"What was the attempt?" the Dark Lord asked, using his boot to roll Augusta over onto her back. From her place across the room, Hermione could see a line of blood trickling down the side of her face, and her eyes were open, but unseeing.
"Shite," Hermione muttered, used to death, but even though Narcissa had never lectured on it, she knew it was considered bad form on the night one announced a formal betrothal.
"Indeed," Voldemort drawled, picking up the fallen witch's wand and casting priori incantatem under his breath. As he read the results he chuckled under his breath and waved impatiently for Hermione to answer his original question.
"She was upset that the House of Rowle was going to be sullied by a Mudblood. I believe she planned on using Omnis Advoca Vires et Artes to take care of that little problem, although I don't think she anticipated I'd be familiar with that particular bit of spellwork. She kept repeating 'Give the gift, touch the book, read the words' to herself."
"Probably how she got across the Wards," Lucius remarked, joining them in the library. He picked up the book from where it had landed on the floor, smirking when Hermione hissed at him when he held it out to her in jest. "They are set to activate whenever anyone crosses them who intends to harm you, but it would appear that she found a loophole that would still allow her to achieve her goal. By focusing on her intent to give you a gift, as it were, and not on the consequences of such actions, she could slip in, right under our noses."
Replacing the book on the shelf, he ran his eyes over Hermione, making sure she was alright. She smiled up at him in thanks, and he turned to Voldemort.
"If it pleases Our Lord, I will inform the others that poor Lady Longbottom has suffered another episode and is being escorted home. It would be such a comfort for her family to know she died in her bed, yes?" He asked, a conspiratorial smirk on his face.
"Quite right, Lucius," Voldemort replied, dismissing him, and Lucius bowed slightly before taking the glass of sherry from the bar, sniffing it as he left the room. Voldemort studied Augusta's body, appearing to be lost in thought. "Thorfinn, did you realize your Aunt held such strong beliefs?"
His grip tightened on Hermione as he realized the potential threat in the words.
"No, My Lord, although Alice was a Pureblood and these... circumstances have never presented themselves before," he replied delicately, tension building in his frame. "I admit I overlooked her as a potential threat, an error I am ashamed to admit."
"I am surprised you would open your fiance to such danger, Thorfinn," Voldemort mused, his eyes cutting to the book that now rested, quite innocently back amongst the other books. "One must wonder if she is at risk to fall victim to another such oversight."
Finn released his grip on Hermione's arm and took a step towards the wizard.
"My Lord, I-"
"Crucio," the Dark Lord drawled, almost lazily. Finn fell to the carpet, screaming in agony as his limbs thrashed, and Hermione huffed, spelling the door closed again and casting a silencing charm.
"We have guests, My Lord," she chided, her eyes never leaving Finn's body on the floor. After ten agonizing seconds, the curse was lifted, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She knew she couldn't speak up for the wizard, his rare underestimation of the threat posed by Augusta could have gotten her killed after all, but coupled with the guilt she knew he was experiencing a more thorough punishment wouldn't have been needed.
Finn pushed himself up from the floor, panting, and when he regained his feet, he approached Voldemort.
"Thank you, My Lord. I will endeavour to always keep Hermione's safety at the forefront of my mind," he winced as a spasm shook his body, but he didn't lift his head.
"You are forgiven, Master Rowle," Voldemort replied simply, turning his attention back to Hermione. "I will have this taken care of," he gestured to where Augusta's body still lay on the floor behind him before continuing, "if you wish to change before your negotiations this evening. I will inform Lucius and Aldrich to meet the pair of you in my office, in say, fifteen minutes? I will entertain our guests," he spoke the last as if pained, and Hermione couldn't help the giggle that escaped as she pictured Voldemort holding court in the sitting room.
"Thank you My Lord," she murmured, dipping into a slight curtsey, knowing the obsequience annoyed him.
"Ungrateful chit," he grumbled, but his eyes were amused. "Although there is still one thing, Lutea," he smirked, an eyebrow raised as he watched her cross the room, Finn shadowing her steps, still twitching slightly.
She glanced back at him, almost to the door. "My Lord?"
"I had hoped a mentally ill crone would be no match for you, my dear. Is love making you weak?"
Cursing under her breath, she stopped in her tracks, bowing her head.
"No, My Lord. I merely underestimated any danger she may pose."
"So it was a shared lapse in judgement then, hmm?" Voldemort mused before twitching the wand he still held in her direction.
She had a brief moment to groan aloud before the curse hit her, the non-verbal Crucio only slightly less intense than the one previously cast. He held it on her mere seconds, but it was enough to drive her to her knees. She didn't cry out though, and she couldn't resist the smirk of triumph she sent Finn's way at her relative composure.
"If that will be all, My Lord?" she asked, standing again, pleased that only the barest hint of a temor was audible in her voice.
"Impudent, too," he muttered, dismissing them with a wave of his hand.
Redressed, Hermione stood once again before her vanity, wondering if she should redo her hairstyle before meeting with Aldrich and Lucius while Finn lounged in Voldemort's chair by the fire. He was sipping a Firewhiskey, the Pepper Up and pain potions having mostly calmed the tremors in his limbs.
"I can't believe Aunt Auggie had it in her," he mused, twirling the glass and watching it glint in the fire's warm light.
"Prejudices runs deep, Finn," Hermione replied, deciding to leave her hair alone. It would look slightly out of place in comparison to the simple clothes she had changed into, but she enjoyed it so much she couldn't bear to take it down yet. She did remove the blossom, however, placing it in stasis as a memento of the evening's events. Turning to Finn, she offered her hand and helped to pull him to his feet, smiling when he took the opportunity to pull her into an embrace.
"We are betrothed," he murmured, pulling back to look into her eyes. "I believe the occasion calls for celebration, don't you?"
"Indeed, Master Rowle," she replied simply, her voice low with need.
He lowered his head to hers and captured her lips, kissing her softly before nipping her bottom lip. He growled when she deepened the kiss, pressing her body into his. She strained on her toes for more, desperate to lose herself in him after the teasing touches during dessert.
"I've wanted to do this all night," he said, settling the glass on the side table before digging his hands into her hair, pulling harshly. She cried out as her back arched backwards, Finn walking them forward so she was pressed against the desk. They lost themselves to the passionate kisses for several minutes before Hermione, still craving a deeper connection, slipped her hands under his robes and beneath his shirt, running her hands over the tight skin of his abdomen. She moaned again at the feel of the muscles rippling there, and his lips slid from hers to trail down her neck.
"Hermione," he groaned, tugging her head to the side to bite at her collarbones. "My father and Lucius are waiting for us."
"If we are going to be discussing deflowering me in return for the Manse, I demand a reward for keeping my hands to myself beforehand," she retorted, fingers curling so that she could rake her nails just under the waistband of his trousers.
Groaning again, he capitulated, his heart not in the fight. He lifted her onto the desk, and her lust soared, memories of the last time she was splayed across it's hard surface playing in the back of her mind. She removed her hands from his body unwillingly, wrapping them around his neck instead. Her fingers grasped the hair at the nape of his neck, savoring the silky feel of it, so different from her own curls. She tugged, suddenly impatient.
"Now that you have me, Master Rowle, what ever shall you do with me?"
Finn's blue eyes darkened to violet at her words, and he lifted her skirt to her waist, stepping to stand between her legs. He bent to kiss her again, once, before his lips traveled once again down her neck, reaching the valley between her breasts. He sucked once, and Hermione saw stars at the sensation. He turned his head slightly to the left and his tongue darted out, sliding under the satin of the blouse she had changed into, passing faintly over her nipple. The hands still tangled in his hair tightened, and he grinned up at her.
"Whatever my Lady desires," he teased, before undoing the top bottoms holding her shirt closed. He pressed her down onto the desktop, his eyes never leaving the blue lace bra he uncovered. "You are magnificent, Lioness," he breathed, before bending to cover her breasts in open mouthed kisses that left her gasping, grinding into him with mindless need.
The cool of the goblin silver at her throat was a welcome distraction from the sensations he was awakening in her, and suddenly she wanted him to feel as undone as she did. Reaching between them, she once again slipped her small hand into his trousers, throwing her head back when his lips closed over a sensitive spot under her breasts. Her hands had just closed around his length when he lifted his head, breath ragged.
"Tonight is for you, my Lady," he said, tugging her arm in an attempt to release him. She held right, however, and he groaned at the sensation. She teased her fingers up and down the satiny length, pleased to find that he was proportionately built. Her wandering was cut short, however, when he finally succeeded in freeing himself from her grip. He Stuck her hands to the desktop above her head, and her necklace warmed when he commanded, "Stay."
Warmth flooded her once again at the command, and another moan escaped her lips. She tugged once, futilely against the spellwork, and Finn smiled, pleased.
"Good girl," he growled, taking a step back and simply watching her. She whimpered at the loss of contact and he smiled, brushing a curl out of her face. "Such a pretty picture you present, Lioness. Almost as lovely as when you are on your knees."
"Perhaps you should give me a similar view, Master Rowle?" She gasped, pleased when it came out in a flirtatious tone, rather than the pleading one the voice in her head was screaming.
"As my Lady wishes," he smirked, lowering himself to his knees before her, using his hands to spread her knees wider. He kissed his way up her thighs, nipping her whenever she got too restless, and he had just reached her dripping core when she finally broke.
"Please Finn, please!"
"With pleasure," came the reply, as he Vanished her knickers, a blue satin that matched his eyes. She shivered at the cool air on her skin for only the barest of seconds before he dove into her, devouring her like a man starved. She thrashed on the wood, barely able to move as he licked and teased, bringing her to the brink before placing a hand on her lower abdomen, returning to his previous exploration of her inner thighs. He bit down hard on her hip, and she screamed his name, adding a desperate plea for more, please, more.
His fingers grazed along her folds and she stilled, desiring nothing more than his hands on her, in her, Voldemort's rules be damned. The necklace at her throat burned hot at the thought, and she shivered at the sensation. Finn looked up at her, a smirk on his face.
"Now, now, Lioness. Mustn't forget the rules."
She growled at him, and he laughed before retaking her in his mouth, and her growl turned into another scream, this time of blessed relief, her orgasm coming in waves as he sucked hard on her clit, his fingers thrusting into her lightly. He continued to lap at her folds as she came down, until she attempted to pull away, suddenly sensitive. He stood, running a hand over his glistening mouth, a pleased smile on his face. Releasing her arms, he lifted her up and stepped back to the chair he had been occupying while she dressed, cradling her now seemingly boneless body in his lap.
She waved a hand, lazily rebuttoning her blouse as she attempted to gather her wits about her. She was suddenly aware of the hard length pressing into her, sensitive without its protective layer of satin. Her lips curled in a predatory smirk as she twisted to him, hands trailing down his shirt.
"I'm afraid we are going to be quite late, Finn," she said, toying with a button. "But if you can manage to get me the bookshop in Tinworth I promise to make it up to you."
"Minx," he replied as he helped her to stand. "Come, let us find out just how many sheep that kitty is worth, hmm?"