Hi everyone,

I hope you are all doing well.

My summer is going to be pretty hectic, so I probably won't be able to stick to my usual schedule… I'll try to publish, but it's probably going to be irregular. Sorry for that!

Also, this chapter is rated M. You have been warned.

Have a nice day,

Perhentian

oOoOoOo

Chapter 31 - December 1995 - January 1996

Draco Malfoy pushed away his mother's hands, who was adjusting for the third time the collar of his robes. Narcissa took a step back, looking at him from top to bottom.

"Every year you become an even more magnificent young man, my son," Narcissa said.

"Mother," Draco sighed moodily.

He was no longer ten years old by Merlin. He did not need his mother to dress properly for Christmas eve. And was she really unable to trust him for once? Unless… there was a real reason for his mother to be so picky tonight, and Draco froze at that thought.

"Will he be here mother?" he asked.

He cursed himself internally when he realized that his voice had wavered slightly. But he could not think of the Dark Lord without feeling intrinsically both terrified and awed.

"No, he won't be here Draco," his mother answered. "According to your father the Dark Lord will be quite busy with personal projects for the next few days. I would not have asked you to come home for the holidays otherwise..."

His mother's tone was very much under control, but Draco noticed the glimpse of worry that had passed in her eyes at the mention of the Dark Lord, and his room suddenly seemed too big, too silent, too threatening. Even here he no longer felt safe from the outside world.

"Do you..." Draco began before stopping suddenly.

His mother's eyes seemed to pierce him and he saw her features soften very slightly.

"Yes, my Draco? Tell me what's bothering you. Please."

"Do you think he'll win, mother?" Draco asked in a low voice.

His mother's posture became deadly serious, before she walked a few steps inside his room, no doubt reflecting on what she was going to answer.

"He's going to win Draco," she finally said. "I have spoken to him only a few times, but there is no doubt that the Dark Lord has come back from the dead even more powerful than he had been before. There is no match for his power today."

Draco stayed silent. That was what he had been thinking, and he was mostly glad to know that the Dark Lord was going to restore the wizards to their former glory, but he could not help but think about those Gryffindor idiots. Potter, the Mudblood, the Weasleys, and all the others... None of them had ever say or done anything hurtful, or even just mocking, to him or any of the Slytherins. They had even accepted Slytherins in their club without any issue. Draco was not sure if they had premeditated it or not, but a good part of the school would probably rally behind them if asked. And they had not used one ounce of violence to achieve that.

"Draco? Are you feeling well?" his mother asked.

"Of course mother."

"Don't feel stressed. It's only us, your father and Bella this evening."

Draco nodded. It did not help much to think about Potter and his group anyway. As unbelievably competent as they were for wizards of their age, they were not match for the Dark Lord.

oOoOoOo

"Are you really going to visit the places with Voldemort, Hermione?" Ron asked.

Hermione closed the book she was distractedly reading and leaned over to Ron. It was Christmas' night, after the long meal at Grimmauld Place, and the four friends were all in Harry's room, not yet ready to go to sleep.

"We're just going to have a look from afar," she answered. "It should allow us to only break in the most promising ones after that."

"Will we really be able to?" Harry wondered. "If they are protected by wards put up by the founders, they could prove too difficult to bypass. Like Hogwarts' ones. Or the one on Slytherin Castle's library."

"Neither of them are really too difficult," Ginny said. "Voldemort has managed to sneak into Hogwarts, several times, and now that Hermione has explained to me about the Fidelius on Slytherin Castle's library, I should be able find a way around this type of wards also. I'm not saying it will be fast, but we should be fine."

"By Merlin, you've became an accomplished burglar my dear sister," Ron commented with feigned fatalism.

"You should be proud of it," Ginny answered. "At least if one day you end up in Azkaban for some stupid reason I should be able to get you out of it."

Ron laughed, as Harry shook his head.

"Fine, fine," he said. "I'll take your word on the subject of infiltration. I'm glad we have some good news for once. And from my side, I have another news. I've talked with Death recently."

The other three turned sharply towards him.

"Have you seriously re-contacted Death?" Ron asked. "On your own?"

"Thanks for your faith in me," Harry said sarcastically.

But his smile belied his tone.

"So, how catastrophic was it?" Ron asked.

"Well," Harry began, "It depends which time."

"Wait, you did this several times?" Ginny exclaimed.

Harry seemed to deflate slightly and it made Hermione giggle. It was reassuring to know that Ginny was somehow still able to have some control over Harry's recklessness. At least a little.

"I wanted to have something to share before talking to you about it," Harry explained. "Something more relevant than 'I summoned Death, she made fun of me, and I had to let her go when she started to become truly unbearable'."

"This Master of Death thing is the worst case of false advertising I've ever seen," Ron commented.

"Don't remind me," Harry sighed with a smile. "But I proved to her that I could be pretty unbearable too."

Hermione suddenly wanted to hit her head against a wall.

"Harry..." she pleaded. "Please tell me you did not do anything immeasurably stupid. Like trying to out-annoy Death."

And, of course, Harry ran his hand nervously through his hair, and Ginny and Ron burst out laughing when they noticed Hermione's glare. Frankly, they had no survival instinct. None of them, and Harry even less than the other two.

"Don't look at me like that Hermione," Harry said. "My plan worked perfectly in the end!"

"Did you really had a plan?" Hermione asked in a voice she tried to make cold.

This only resulted in Ron and Ginny laughing again, before Harry answered Hermione's question.

"I summoned Death every day at different times. Some days I even summoned her several times. It took three weeks for us to find a common ground."

"A common ground? How so?" Ginny asked.

"It must be said that for every time I summoned her, her way to get her freedom back was to explain to me how horribly some people have died. Mostly people I knew."

Ginny grimaced.

"After three weeks of this I ended up telling her ironically that if she was so set in telling me horror stories, I could at least offer her some tea to pass the time," Harry said. "She then admitted that she was quite partial to tea since the Tea Act and the Boston Tea Party had set the foundations of the American Revolution."

"Excuse me?" Ron cut in. "Are you suggesting you got a history lesson from Death?"

"The most interesting history lesson I've ever had," Harry confirmed. "Since then we have tea together once or twice a week and she tells me about the most unusual deaths in history."

"It's the most bizarre hobby I've ever heard of," Ginny commented.

And Hermione was not absolutely sure that spending time with Death would have a good influence on Harry.

"Not a single remark from you, Hermione, you're spending Christmas with Voldemort," Harry pointed out as if he had read her thoughts. "And anyway, what's important is that I have finally learnt something useful."

"Really?" Ron asked.

"I'm immortal. I can die only if I decide to. Because I am the Master of Death, and I cannot die while I am the Master of Death. And that also proves that Death had tried to scam me when she brought us back in time: the first thing she had offered me was to make me immortal, when I already was…"

Hermione, Ron and Ginny all looked taken aback.

"So no one can kill you then?" Ginny said. "I'm surprised you did not immediately rush to kill Voldemort."

"I'd lie if I say I did not thought about it," Harry admitted. "But we still need him, don't we? And if I attack him, even if I win in the end, I doubt he will cooperate with us. And on top of that, as long... as long as we do not know what to do with the Horcrux inside me it is useless to try to kill him. I can decide to die and take the Horcrux with me, but it will leave you alone to face Voldemort, and all the new ways he had probably set up to prevent his death..."

"I am still looking for a way to remove the Horcrux inside you without killing you Harry," Hermione said. "But I have not managed to adapt Njörd's ritual enough for the moment..."

Harry sighed resignedly, and Hermione felt bad for him. She knew he was starting to think that as soon as they would not need Voldemort anymore, he would need to die to make sure they could defeat him. Again.

"Honestly," Ginny said, "sometimes you're an idiot, Harry. You always see the bad side of things. You're immortal and the Horcrux cannot die either, so what? It's not worse than the previous situation. It's even better when you look at the right things. You cannot die unless you wish to. It means that if Voldemort does not cooperate a minimum with us, you could always reduce him to a wraith if needed. It's not like he could win against you if you're immortal. And in the meantime, I'll try to help Hermione with this adaptation of the Njörd's ritual, while Ron and you are dealing with the political part. We'll all find a way to solve this."

oOoOoOo

Hermione glanced discreetly at Voldemort. He was as always immersed in some books, scrolls of parchment spread on his huge desk. When she had returned after the Christmas celebrations they had as planned toured the world for a few days to visit the most obvious places on her list together.

Scotland, England, Wales, Ireland, France, Spain, Italy, Germany, Norway, Austria, Hungary, Albania, Greece, Ukraine, Russia, South Africa, Zimbabwe, Ethiopia, Iran, Uzbekistan, India, Tibet, China, Japan, Mexico, Peru, Bolivia, Brazil.

It was just a first glimpse of the different places, to prioritize between them based on quick analyses. A whirlwind of dozens of different magics and different cultures, a dizzying amount of knowledge more or less accessible, and Hermione nearly felt high from the thrill. During her first life, she had always remained in the limits of the law, visiting the ancient wizarding places only when she had permission, permissions which were often extremely cumbersome to obtain.

But the past few days Voldemort and her had completely ignored the law. And just like when they had explored the Norfolk to track Njörd, Hermione had realized that there was an incredible amount of fascinating places she had never visited before. An incredible amount of fascinating knowledge to explore. Voldemort had more than once made fun of her amazement, and especially of her stupid tendency – according to him – to have previously complied with the law.

Voldemort had told her that he would not have the time to properly visit the places with her afterwards. And in truth, the endeavour would probably take weeks if not months, with a fairly low chance of success, a time that Voldemort would probably rather spend furthering his own agenda. Meaning they probably would not see each other again soon, and Hermione could not help but feel disappointed and somehow hollow. Because there was nothing more fascinating than traveling the world with Lord Voldemort.

He was infuriating, and she had to restrain herself several times a day from just trying to send him an Avada Kedavra – she had tried the Cruciatus curse once, but he had simply sidestepped it –, but he knew so much about magic that it should not even be possible. And when it was just the two of them, he even shared, and it felt as if a whole new world of possibilities were suddenly opening just in front of Hermione.

In exchange of having to take care of everything from her side, Hermione had taken the opportunity to ask him to remove the curse on the Defence Against the Dark Arts position. It was nothing huge, but it was still an action that should positively impact generations of students.

Still, as she knew she was not going to see him often after the holidays, Hermione had stayed at Slytherin Castle even after they had finished their world tour. Even if she was not really needing his help anymore. She would need to leave at some point, she knew it, but for now she was still there, and Voldemort had made no comment about her prolonged presence.

Perhaps because it was New Year's Eve, she could not help but find it somehow cheerless that Voldemort had planned to spend his birthday completely alone. Even though he probably did not care about it at all, seeming to spend this evening as any of the others, reading books and learning about rare magics he had not yet learnt about.

By Merlin, he was even worse than she was, and Hermione suddenly somehow understood why Harry, Ron and Ginny sometimes tried to get her out of a book. With a wand gesture, Hermione conjured a bottle of wine, served two glasses, and levitated one until Voldemort finally looked at her with surprise.

"Happy birthday," she said in a neutral tone.

She knew after all that he hated his birthday. As expected the dark wizard's gaze became scornful, but he still took the glass, examining the wine.

"I hope this bottle does not come from my cellar," Voldemort said coldly.

"Of course not," Hermione answered, rolling her eyes. "I would not try my luck with anything stored in this castle. I kind of like being alive, you know."

Voldemort tasted the wine, before finally starting to slowly drink it, and Hermione smiled happily. At least now this evening would be a little different from the others.

"I even have a gift," Hermione said.

"And here I thought I had just heard you saying you liked being alive…" Voldemort commented, glaring at her.

Sometimes he was so predictable.

"Even if I'm talking about the original version of Ptolemy's Methodology?" Hermione said with laughter in her eyes.

Voldemort seemed divided between exasperation and interest, and Hermione levitated the book just in front of him. It was one of the jewels of her Norfolk's library, a priceless book, but she had to admit that she knew it by heart now. Voldemort glared at her one last time, before grabbing it carefully and opening it.

"Don't worry, I wasn't expecting a thank you," Hermione said ironically.

Voldemort did not even bother to answer her, but after reading a few pages he left his desk and came to sit by the fire, pouring himself another glass of wine – and replenishing hers –. Then they ended up sharing the couch when Voldemort asked her a few sharp questions about what he was reading, and he gradually invaded her space, until they were so close that their shoulders touched regularly and that their arms brushed against each other.

After breaking the vow, they had always met with Harry, Ron and Ginny, interrupting the intimacy they had been developing half against their will during early fall, and when Hermione had come to the castle for the winter holiday, they had voluntarily put some distance between them.

But tonight, with fire burning in the fireplace just next to them, the snow outside, the calm atmosphere they had favoured the last few days, and the still very present rush of magic from their visits, Hermione felt strangely at ease next to Voldemort. It was the opposite of their previous physical interactions. No rage on either side, no resentment or even any kind of competitiveness. It was like a moment out of time, and out of all logic.

Maybe it was the wine that finally toned town her objections, or perhaps it was his closeness, or even the realization that she really, strongly wanted him, but for the first time she was the one who turned towards him, and kissed him.

Voldemort seemed surprised at first, and she had the impression that he was considering rejecting her just because she had dared to do that, but then he finally kissed her back. Immediately the calm detachment with which Hermione had analysed the situation disappeared, and her thoughts were submerged by the sensation of his lips on hers.

Voldemort pressed her closer to him, and she absently heard something fall on the floor – perhaps the book she had previously placed on her lap –. She noticed that her hands had reached for the dark wizard's chest, clinging almost desperately to his probably overpriced robes as he intensified the kiss. Merlin she had missed it.

Then Voldemort stood up abruptly, dragging her with him, and she took the opportunity to move slightly away from him and breathe again as he seemed to pierce her soul with his red eyes.

"Come with me," he said.

It was not a request. Not really an order either. And it was so unhealthy, so immoral to accept. This man had not an ounce of humanity, and stood for all that Hermione's despised.

"But of course," she still agreed.

Because somehow, she had never felt as hopeful for the future as when she had been working with him, because he was such a genius that it was impossible for her not to feel drawn to him, and because she had wanted him for many months already, and their destiny was already so much intertwined with his that it would not even make a difference at this stage.

He wrapped his right arm around her and Apparated them immediately to one of the guest rooms of Slytherin Castle – although it was tastefully decorated in green and silver tones, Hermione was certain that Voldemort's own room would be so extensively warded he would not let anyone else enter there –.

"I will deny this has ever happened," Voldemort said.

Hermione laughed.

"I am pretty certain I will regret this too," she said. "That's one thing we are aligned on at least."

"Thanks Merlin I am not more aligned with the likes of you," Voldemort commented.

But she knew him enough to know that deep down, he did not care more about purebloods than about Muggleborns, that it was only a tactical choice he had made long ago, and that he probably respected Harry and even herself more than he had ever respected any of his pureblood Death Eaters, because the one thing he despise the most apart from death was incompetence.

She felt the hand he still had on her back slide down, and her dress went down with the movement.

"You are a psychopathic murderer," Hermione pointed out. "I should be the one thanking Merlin I am not more often aligned with you."

She placed her hands on Voldemort's shoulders, and with a push of her magic had his robes disappear, revealing the shirt and the trousers he wore underneath. Damn, he looked even better like that, as if he needed it…

"I'll rather say I am an ambitious man. See, at least we did not stay aligned for long."

Hermione's dress was now at her feet, and Voldemort then cancelled her glamor, leaving a body similar to what she would look like in a dozens of years. Voldemort pulled her closer to him, pressing her body against his. He radiated heat, and Hermione found herself thinking that she would have been less surprised if he had felt cold.

"Fortunately," Hermione commented. "I would have questioned my sanity otherwise."

Not that there was a lot of sanity left, with what she was currently doing. Hermione's hands were undoing Voldemort's shirt buttons, before she run out of patience, and opened it with magic. And then, finally, their skins were touching, and it felt amazing. She could even sense his magic running under his skin, and it was intoxicating. Life was unfair sometimes.

Then she felt herself falling backwards, crashing into a soft surface, and she realized that Voldemort had pushed her on the bed. She glared at him and he only smirked. The same satisfied smirk that always left Hermione hesitating between wanting to hit him and wanting to kiss him.

This time she just wrapped her legs around his to make him lose his balance and with the help of a push of magic on his back he was on top of her. The next moment she had her arms around his shoulders and she was kissing him.

"I would have imagined Gryffindor's know-it-all to be more prudish," Voldemort commented wryly.

"Were you expecting to have the opportunity to make fun of me? Perhaps I'll be the one making fun of you," Hermione answered.

"Really?" Voldemort challenged her.

Hermione only smirked as she ran her hands through his chest and brought him even closer. And the electric shock that ran through Hermione's body proved that she had waited this moment way to long for it to be healthy.

Hermione did not notice that he had moved in the least, but the next moment they were both naked, still pressed against each other, and a contented sigh escaped from both of them.

"Rest assured I hate you," Voldemort said.

"Please," Hermione scoffed. "I hate you at least as much as you hate me."

It was the last coherent exchange they had that night. After that there were only Voldemort's hands on Hermione's skin. On her face. On her chest. On her tights. And the feeling of warmth that emanated from the places he touched. And Hermione's hands on Voldemort's body. On his shoulders. On his chest. And on his hips. On that perfect body that she could finally explore.

There was not really any modesty between them, but a kind of reverence of a first time together all the same. A strange mixture between their feverish desire to finally taste each other and their curiosity pushing them to linger on the exploration of the body of the other.

Hermione's crazy hair, which had the immense advantage of allowing Voldemort to entangle his fingers to turn her head, allowing him to access her neck to bite the flesh there. Voldemort's back that allowed Hermione to get him closer to her, and the possibility to touch him as she wished. And on top of that the exhilarating and unhealthy feeling that she was with the most powerful man in the wizarding world.

Hermione tried to overturn Voldemort, to be on top of him, but he used her momentum to roll them both even further until he was once again above her, an annoyed look on his face. Hermione stifled a laugh at Voldemort's almost instinctive need to keep control of any situation, a laugh that turned into a moan when he slid one of his hands between her legs.

It had been years since she had made love to anyone, having neither the time nor the courage. Years that she did not feel her body ignite and the desire consume her, being preoccupied by the sources at all time. She did not remember that it was so intense though. Unless it had actually never been as intense. Because the fire she felt running through her veins as Voldemort touched her, she could not even describe it.

She wanted him. She wanted him as she had never wanted anyone. And she wanted him even more because it was an awful idea. She met Voldemort's eyes again, and she noticed with satisfaction a desire in them that was the mirror of hers. A desire so strong it threatened to consume both of them completely.

She moaned in frustration as he removed his hand, and again she saw that unbearable smirk on his lips, but for once she did not care. She just wanted him to finally make love to her, to prove to her that in this area too, he would be unfairly better than the others, because Merlin knew that if it was the case she was going to be even more irremediably damned than she already was.

And finally, finally she felt him moved between her legs, and she wrapped her arms around him so that he was even closer to her. But he did not let her this time, putting a little distance between them as he began to enter too slowly into her. Hermione tried to move, but he immediately stopped her with one hand on her hips as his smile became sly.

Ah. Perhaps he thought he was the only one to have power here. Maybe he thought that she was not aware that he wanted her just as much as she wanted him. So Hermione stopped completely, and smiled the exact same smile as Voldemort. It seemed to surprise him for a moment, enough for him to release his grip slightly, and Hermione again wrapped her legs around Voldemort and pulled.

He groaned and Hermione laughed, before he regained control and she was the one moaning, temporarily admitting her defeat – unled it was her victory? – as he finally moved at a satisfactory pace.

And by Merlin, Hermione almost wanted to cry. Because she had the impression that it had never been so good, that none of her lovers had ever been so talented, that she had never been so overwhelmed by pleasure.

Life truly was unfair.

oOoOoOo

Hermione rose slowly just minutes after they had finished, and with a swift movement of her hand was again clean and dressed. Lord Voldemort opened his eyes – even though she knew that even with his eyes closed he had always been on his guard – and they exchanged a glance that expressed so many things it was ultimately impossible to grasp what the other was thinking.

Then Voldemort moved his right hand slightly and a bracelet appeared right in front of Hermione.

"What is this?" Hermione asked.

"A way to communicate more easily than with the notebooks. My name is enough to open the communication."

Hermione grabbed the bracelet and examined it quickly. There were charms to convey audio and video, quite similar to the phones the Muggles would invent in a few years. She put the bracelet on her wrist, alongside the one that alerted her of any message in her notebook.

"I lowered the anti-Apparition ward for you," Voldemort said neutrally.

"Thank you," Hermione answered.

The next moment she was Apparating outside Salazar Slytherin Castle. Far from Voldemort. Far from what she had done. Far from this parenthesis, this strange moment out of time and out of place, that should never happen again.

oOoOoOo

AN: Next chapter… at some point in the future.