Chapter Seventy: The End Justifies the Means
The end started back where it had all begun.
"You better tell that brat Potter to not tell me it's wrong again," Snape said, stirring a cauldron feverishly, "it's jade green! Sprinkling with the luminescence of a thousand star filled lily pads! The soul of a benevolent goddess, intelligent and powerful, funny and snide, perfect and–"
"Yes, yes, Severus, Lily was your true one and only love," Remus said, rolling his eyes from his lotus position on the dungeon floor.
"Do you want a yoga mat, professor?" Hermione asked, handing a sprig of rosemary to Snape, who didn't thank her with words, but with a thin lipped nod so fast it was almost invisible, Snape's highest honor. It was good to be home.
"My arse is sore enough that it no longer matters anymore," Remus said.
"And whose fault is that, Lupin?" Snape snapped, "I told you to use the–" he stopped himself at once, shooting a look at Hermione.
She pretended like she hadn't understood for everyone's dignity.
"I heard Potter is no longer a pot addict," Snape covered, "good. Not that I care, but Remus–I mean Lupin, the hairy beast, was getting worried."
"Was he?" Hermione said, pretending like she had no idea that Snape and Lupin were so attached at the groin now that they were practically married. Did the two of them really think no one knew? Fred and George had found out within two minutes of the first shag and spread it far and wide, as their new roles as the gossipingest wizards in all of Europe.
"I'm never worried about Harry," Remus said, hands palm up on his crossed legs, "you, on the other hand, are a dumpster fire."
"A what?" Snape said, "Rem-Lupin, you know I hate when you say these strange Muggle sayings. It makes you sound as simple minded as Lockhart."
"You love it," Hermione disagreed, "just admit it."
Snape dropped the rosemary sprig. You Have Your Mother's Eyes went hunter green.
"Oh, you dunderhead!" he moaned, "absolute idiot girl! Now it's ruined! Totally–"
"Just add some daisy petals to offset," Riddle said from behind Hermione. She tensed.
"You're still here," she said carefully, not turning around.
"Where else would I be?" Riddle asked, joining them at the cauldron. He started rummaging through Snape's nearby stock of dried flowers, found a daisy, and held it out.
"I knew a daisy would work," Snape snarled, "potions wasn't even your best subject, no need to be a show-off little shit like you always were in your last year here. God you were insufferable to teach!"
"You really were," Remus said, eyes closed. He was wearing fine brocade robes cut flatteringly today, instead of his usual psychedelic monstrosity. Shame. Hermione had gotten used to them. "You were always correcting me in the most subtly snide way when I'd fill in for Defense Against the Dark Arts. You thought you were so slick, like only you would notice what a little shite head you were being, but–"
"Lupin," Snape said loudly, for Remus had uncrossed his legs, stood, and clenched his fists, teeth bared, as if in a dream. Lupin blinked. "Remember the gift card!" Snape said, even louder. He widened his dark eyes. It was weirdly touching when Hermione realized Snape and Lupin had gone so far down the rabbit hole of a relationship that they now had a secret coded language.
"I did enjoy the gift card to Madam Malkins," Lupin sighed, "thank you, Tom. That was a thoughtful apology gift basket."
"And he did that before the soul restoration," Snape murmured to no one, "even more impressive."
"Not really," Hermione said, for now that she realized that aside was for her benefit she was aggravated, "it just shows what a good little psychopath he was."
"True," Riddle said, "I was excellent at manipulation. I'm afraid I remember exactly how to do it still. But I do feel rather shite about doing it. Improvement?"
"Yes," Hermione said grudgingly. She turned to look at him. "Ron really gave you permission."
It wasn't a question. Riddle caught that at once.
"You found the stone?"
"It wasn't easy," Hermione said, "well, I suppose it was."
"Aha!" Snape said loudly, "perfect!" He frantically started ladling the potion into heart shaped jars. It sparkled the exact color of Harry's eyes.
"Yours would be kind of a greenish amber," Riddle told Hermione. "But I wouldn't put it in a heart shaped bottle."
"A book shaped bottle," Lupin suggested, "Severus, this batch turned out perfect!"
"As always," Snape said, tossing his clean hair. It bounced around. No matter how many years it had been, it was still alarming.
The door to the dungeon banged open.
"Ah!" Dudley Dursley said, "there you two are! You're late." He came inside, enormously muscular and tall, and carrying boxing gloves. "Tom," he nodded at Riddle,
"Hermione."
"I'm sore," Remus whined at once, "my arse hurts."
"My abs hurt," Snape said fast.
"What abs?" Dudley said brutally, crossing his large arms. "Quitters don't prosper."
"I'm intelligent," Snape said, "I don't need to be muscular."
"I'm Headmaster," Remus wheedled, "I need to read books with my free time."
"You both need to be able to walk up a flight of stairs without getting winded," Dudley said.
"Wow," Hermione said, "good comeback. Have you been hanging out with Harry more?"
Dudley smiled. "Yes, actually. Thanks for that. Does Stebbins have me in the books for next week? I meant to tell you we've really progressed in our relationship. Dad even apologized to us both a few months ago for being a shite dad and uncle."
"I knew you and Harry had a real breakthrough when you told him–" Hermione cut herself off. "Sorry, I'm breaking patient confidentiality!"
"No no," Dudley said, "I brought it up. But I am using you for free therapy right now. Sorry!"
"Well I see you two are busy," Lupin said, making to flee the classroom, "Severus and I will just–"
"You can shag later," Dudley said, "sweat now. Er–"
"Different kind of sweat," Riddle said, looking wildly amused.
"Shag?" Snape said loudly, eyes darting from witness to witness. He was fingering his wand like he was about to obliviate them all, "what do you mean, shag? I've been practicing celibacy since the love of my life–"
"Ew, yuck," Remus chimed in unconvincingly, "Snivellus and I? Pur-lease! Like I would betray the memory of my best mates by shagging their worst enemy!"
"I like women," Snape added desperately, "only women! With jade green eyes!"
Dudley sighed. "don't bother, chaps. Don't think you'll wave your little sticks and it will go away. Fred Weasley told me ages ago while we were having a pint at The Broomsticks."
"That little shit!" Remus said explosively, punching a fist onto the table, "I knew I liked George better!"
"George is the one who told me," Riddle said, "he owled me and told me that even though we are mortal enemies everyone should be laughing about it together."
"I told you those dunderheads were trouble," Snape seethed to Remus, "maybe, if we convinced Kingsley to make murder legal again–"
"Everyone knows," Hermione said, "everyone. Even Hagrid. Even the house elves. Even Ron's family ghoul. Let it go, guys. Love is love and all that."
"Urgh," Riddle said, and god help her, Riddle shuddering at treacly sentiments still made Hermione want to jump his bones even more.
"Fine," Remus said, "I'm a Gryffindor. I'll admit it." He grabbed Snape and they started snogging.
"I didn't say do it in front of me!" Hermione shrieked, covering her eyes.
There was a loud squelching noise. Hermione looked from between her fingers. Dudley had pried them apart.
"Hey!" Remus said.
"That's my man!" Snape said louder.
"If you're not in my studio in boxing gear in five minutes I'm siccing my dad on you," Dudley threatened.
Snape and Remus positively sprinted out of the classroom.
"See you next week, Hermione," Dudley said over his shoulder.
The door closed behind them. Hermione turned off the cauldron, praying Riddle would finally give her her fondest wish and spontaneously drop dead.
"Is this the same classroom we had potions with Bowers?" Riddle asked.
"No," Hermione said, "I mean, maybe. It's certainly decorated differently." Nearby, a spider web so big one of Aragog's relatives had claimed it as a summer home wafted in the dungeon breeze.
"What happened to her?" Riddle asked, "When I was catching up with Rutherford and Logan they told me someone named Slughorn took over seventh year in our world but she never existed at all here. Rutherford doesn't know why she left Hogwarts, either."
"What?" Hermione said, "really? She didn't exist here? Or she just didn't teach here?"
"Exist," Riddle said, "almost like…"
They looked at each other.
"No," Hermione said, voice hushed. "You don't think…?"
"She wore a rhodonite stone," Riddle said suddenly, "do you remember? A ring."
"Aeternus Lapideus," Hermione said, voice hushed, "for four hundred year time travel."
"She couldn't have been," Riddle said, "could she?"
"No," Hermione said, rattled, "it's a coincidence. Maybe she just was like, on the run. Witness protection. Had a false name."
"Maybe," Riddle frowned, "and maybe we should research this."
"Together?" Hermione asked.
"Why not?" Riddle shrugged, "I go to Oxford now too." He smiled, "it's got that magical hidden library, doesn't it?"
"So who is Slughorn?" Hermione asked, "I've never heard of him, either."
"Potions master," Riddle said, "he's still alive, in both words. Retired. Lazy. Selfish. Never helped either side yet came out ahead. You know the type."
"Slytherin, then?" Hermione said archly.
"You know it," Riddle said.
"What a hero," Hermione said sarcastically.
"Slughorn told him about the horcruxes," Riddle told her.
"But not you?" Hermione asked.
"No," Riddle said, "I never met him."
"You already had made some before he started seventh year in your world," Hermione said, "so who taught you, then?"
There was a long pause.
"Well?" Hermione demanded.
"Bowers," Riddle said at last, "she even gave me a book."
"Great," Hermione groused, "we are going to spend ages researching her together, aren't we?"
"Don't look so glum," Riddle said, "I'm an excellent research partner." Idly, he picked up a jar of You Have Your Mother's Eyes. "Not a book," he told her, "a lion. Your potion for your eye color should be in a jar shaped like a lion."
"You've still murdered people," Hermione said.
"I know," Riddle said, "why are you saying that?"
"So did I," Hermione said.
"We've been over this," Riddle said, "did you really have a choice?"
"Yes," Hermione said.
"Oh sure," Riddle said, you could've let yourself die. Let your friends die. Right? That would've been better. More noble. You think your friends you saved instead of letting yourself get murdered would've appreciated that? You think Harry would have preferred you let yourself die for no reason?"
Hermione sat down abruptly. it was her old desk, her favorite spot in Bower's classroom, she was sure of it. A complete coincidence, but…
"You okay?" Riddle asked. He hovered on her left.
"No," Hermione said, "because you're the only one who said the right thing." She put her head in her hands, her heart racing. It had always sounded like everyone else was making sense. But only Riddle had penetrated past the layer of guilt and self loathing. There was logically knowing you had to commit murder for good reasons and really, honestly, believing it.
"Hermione?" Riddle said. He sounded nervous. He sounded like the lie, the boy she'd met that first day in potions who talked to her about Jane Austen and smiled and called her Miss Granger. his sleeves were even rolled up.
"Right,'' Hermione said, looking up. She grabbed Riddle by the lapel on his old man banker's suit.
"What are you–"
Their mouths smashed together painfully.
This was where it had begun, so this was where it should end.
Riddle pulled away from her, eyes wide. He never looked like that. It was all wrong.
"No," Hermione said, "you're dressed wrong. You look wrong. You should be smug right now, like you knew all along you'd get me to do this, while you're wearing some hideous pureblood robe-set."
Riddle blinked. A smile toyed on his mouth now. It wasn't quite the nasty little smile it would've been even a few weeks ago, but it was nasty enough.
"Better," Hermione said.
"My uniform, then?" Riddle said, pulling out his wand.
"Yes," Hermione said, who cared if she lost her dignity? Had she had it in years? Had she ever had it?
With a wave of his wand, Riddle was back in his Slytherin uniform, prefect badge on his robes. he waved his wand again, and Hermione changed back to her Gryffindor uniform as well, and not the nineties version, oh no, it was the monstrosity from nineteen forty-two with bobby socks and pleats and fell past her knees.
"Perfect," Hermione said, and she yanked Riddle to her by his robes again.
"I'm still the man you hate," Riddle said through the tonguing.
"Are you trying to ruin this?" Hermione sighed, "is this some sick sort of game, ruin my fun for you own–"
"I just wanted to be sure you weren't Rita Skeeter under polyjuice," Riddle said, "the woman has sent me a number of disturbing owls inquiring after the state of my genitals after Contessa–"
"What is a disturbing amount?" Hermione asked, intrigued against her will.
"At least seventeen," Riddle said, "you would think, when I wrote 'the candles match the quality of the pot of wax' she would've understood, but–"
"No one would understand that," Hermione said, realizing she was about to laugh with Riddle and not at him for once, "No one."
"But you?" Riddle tested.
"No," Hermione said, "that was gibberish."
"An analogy," Riddle said, exasperated, "the candles, you see, represent–"
"Are we fucking or not?" Hermione asked, exasperated.
"Are we?" Riddle asked, surprised, "I thought you were tormenting me for sport again."
"It is my favorite past time," Hermione said dryly.
"Is it?" Riddle said, "well, at least I'm your favorite for something–"
"No, you idiot," Hermione said, "my favorite past time is doing research with Ron and Harry in the library and solving a problem, but I can't have that, can I?"
"You can have it with me," Riddle said, "would you like that? We could solve a lot of problems together."
"Especially now," Hermione said without thinking, chewing on her bottom lip. Riddle had always been brilliant and creative and powerful. The pesky problem had been his lack of morals, remorse, and empathy. But now–
"Ron and Harry are ok with it," Riddle said, "right?"
"Okay is stretching the definition," Hermione said, picturing Ron's face and the thing his ghostly remains had told her, before she'd given the stone back to Nott. "But do they understand? Yes."
"Do you understand?" Riddle asked.
"No," Hermione said, "and I doubt I ever will. It's one of life's great mysteries, isn't it? Why do we feel attraction to some, and not others?"
"Destiny," Riddle said dramatically. Hermione quirked an eyebrow. "Or pheromones, whatever. Something like that. Genetic predisposition to a mate who would make us feel secure and propagate our line of–"
"Shut up," Hermione said, pushing Riddle onto the bench she'd first met him at. It even had the same wobbly back left leg. No one had upgraded it in a solid fifty-five years.
That was Hogwarts for you.
"No," Riddle said, "I like to talk during the act. Is that a problem?"
"Most likely," Hermione said, "but don't worry. I'll shut you up." She climbed into his lap. They were both older, and maybe wiser, but that was up for debate. Riddle's hands went at once to her hips, to her legs, to her arse.
"I knew you'd like to be in charge," he told her.
"I knew you'd hate that," Hermione said, pushing his robes off of him. What would've changed, had she fucked Riddle like this in his world one night, when Bowers—or whoever the fuck Bowers really was–was gone and no one was around to catch Everyone's Favorite Humble Orphan banging the new girl they all suspected was a mass murderer?
"You have a thought," Riddle said, "what is it?" He shoved her own robes off of her shoulders.
"You first," Hermione said, unraveling the knot in his tie and flinging it aside. It fell in You Have Your Mother's Eyes without either of them noticing.
"I was thinking I always wanted you in Gryffindor lions the first time," Riddle said.
"Likewise," Hermione said, voice clipped, "and you know. The reverse."
"Put that thing down, flip and reverse it," Riddle said solemnly, removing her shirt with a yank.
"Did you just–was that Missy Elliot?"
"I'm branching out," Riddle said, "expanding my knowledge base of current pop culture."
"Right," Hermione said slowly, "well, if you insist." She stood up, yanked off her knickers, and tore open Riddle's trousers without warning, "oh. Good."
"What the bloody hell—"
Hermione sat back in his lap, rubbing them together, and Riddle groaned, shutting his eyes and snapping them back open, his hands all over her, removing her bra, pinching and squeezing and caressing. Hermione stood back up, just a little.
"No!" Riddle choked, "I won't quote Missy Elliot anymore, come back–"
Hermione turned around, and sat back down, and Riddle cut himself off with a high pitched yelp. It was probably the least sexy noise she'd ever heard from one of her partners, but it did nothing to stop the overwhelming desire that had risen and consumed her.
"Five fucking years," Hermione said, moving her hips as Riddle guided her and Hermione felt him go inside of her.
"Six, two months, and four days," Riddle said, "but who's counting?"
"You are still talking," Hermione said, "that's a problem."
"Shut me up," Riddle panted, and Hermione saw a flash of Phobos Malfoy in her mind, then he was gone, a pale ghost, a boy who she'd loved and cared for, but not enough to stamp out all thought of the demon who she was currently seducing with very little effort.
"Gladly," Hermione said, slowing her movements. Riddle gave a whining noise.
"I didn't tell you to slow down, did I? I said flip it and reverse it as a joke, but nowhere did I say make it as slow as a Hufflepuff trying to pass their N.E.W.T.S."
Hermione deliberately moved even slower, closing her eyes, grabbing the edge of the potions table for support.
"I'm going to lose it, you know! You better go faster, or–"
"Erectile dysfunction already?" Hermione said, eyes still closed. God Riddle was chatty. It was almost like he didn't want her to forget who was inside of her, something that would've been very easy to do with her faced away, eyes closed on top of it. "You seem to be lying about that, by the way."
Riddle was panting and thrusting back at her, "you're torturing me on purpose, aren't you? That's what this is?"
"Like you'd want it any other way," Hermione said, now stilling completely.
"Fucking hell!"
"Wash your mouth out with soap," Hermione said, "or I will." She started moving again. She wanted to get up, leave Riddle tormented and half crazed with lust, and prance away triumphantly but unfortunately for her, pheromones had taken over some time ago. Years, in fact.
"Yessss," Riddle said, the hiss drawing out.
"I swear to Merlin's saggy pants you better not be speaking to me in parseltongue," Hermione threatened.
"So what if I am?" Riddle panted, moving her hips on top of him, "fucking hell, even with you torturing me this is even better than I thought it would be."
"It's because I'm torturing you that you like it, you bloody sicko," Hermione said, standing up and disengaging.
"No," Riddle said, "I'll shut up, just come back, come on, don't–"
Hermione turned around, hosting herself back up onto the potions bench, spreading her thighs apart to give Riddle a rather cheeky view.
"Excellent," Riddle said, standing as well, "you're letting me be in charge. Let me show you what you've been missing." He grabbed her hips and pulled her closer and then they were moving together again, a sweaty mess of body parts and unrequited lust.
"Contessa was terrible," Riddle confided in her as Hermione watched him move inside her, feeling like she was dreaming and having a nightmare at the same time, "she either lay there and stared at the ceiling or tried to tie me up and gag me."
"The latter is looking very appealing to me too, to be fair," Hermione said, as Riddle's right hand crept from her left hip to where they were joined and started rubbing her, "oh!"
"I would like it if you did it," Riddle said, "but the only time I allowed it was because Kingsley got me drunk at a work party. She wandered off and tried to break into my safe and left me there."
"Poor you," Hermione said, eyes shutting, and Riddle bit her lip, "ow! what the hell was that–"
"Don't go thinking about any of them now instead of me," Riddle said, and it was definitely a threat, and it should've definitely disgusted her, but Hermione had started on the journey to making peace with the fact that she was as truly fucked up individual now, no matter how many psychology degrees she got.
"Or else what?" Hermione asked, licking her cut lip.
"Or else I'll stop," Riddle said, stilling his hand and his thrusts.
"You do that," Hermione said, "I can always find someone else."
"Like who?" Riddle asked, but he began moving again, whether because her threat had rattled him or because he couldn't quite help himself. Both amused Hermione in equal measure.
"Like I'd tell you that," Hermione said, thinking about Blaise now, and feeling something in her wrench, "you'd just kill them."
"I wouldn't!" Riddle said, hurt, "I mean, anymore. And if I did, I would feel bad about it at least now!"
"My hero," Hermione said, "God, why won't you shut up? How am I supposed to enjoy this if you keep reminding me how annoying you are?"
"You were supposed to make me shut up," Riddle reminded her, "you're failing."
Hermione kicked him with both of her legs and he fell over on the floor with a squawk.
"Are you trying to give me a concussion?" He groused to the dungeon ceiling, "that doesn't always lead to silence, in fact I might start babbling nonsense–"
Hermione straddled him and resumed, a third of her mind consumed with lust, a third with disgust at herself, and a third trying to figure out what exactly would get Riddle to shut up.
"Ergghnmm," Riddle said, and it was so reminiscent of Blaise she closed her eyes again briefly. No. She loved Blaise, and always would love Blaise, but they were wrong for each other and they both knew it. Riddle was wrong for her too, but if she fucked him for fun, what of it? Sometimes the itch needed to be scratched, and then it went away for good. On the other hand, sometimes you scratched an itch and it itched worse, no matter how much you scratched it.
"Oh, so I'm gonorrhea now?" Riddle snapped.
Hermione's eyes flew open.
"Were you reading my bloody mind?" she hissed, "with my eyes closed?"
"I had to figure out how to make this so good for you that you will stop thinking of the rat boy and the drunkard," Riddle said sulkily, "anyone would do the same. I do feel mildly gross about it. Is that good enough for you?"
"No," Hermione said, "and you're doing a shite job at making me not think about them. Why are we both still talking, for the love of Godric?"
"We're chatty," Riddle said, thrusting up in her, hitting something so good Hermione was in fact, rendered momentarily speechless, not that she'd ever tell him that. "It's one of our–aha! I did it!"
"You did not," Hermione wheezed out. It had taken some effort.
"How much effort?" Riddle asked slyly.
She slapped him. "I told you to stop reading my mind!"
"This is an abusive relationship," Riddle said, holding her still and moving upwards, Hermione biting that familiar spot on her tongue she'd grown not so fond of during her years of muttering, "I read that in all the books. I should break up with you."
"You liked it," Hermione said, "it's ah...kinky?"
"Yeah," Riddle said, "do it again."
Hermione sighed. "it's not as fun if you actually like it," she said.
"But also not an abusive relationship," Riddle said, digging his nails into her arse.
"We're not in a relationship," Hermione snapped, "we're just fucking."
"For now," Riddle said smugly, and Hermione slapped him again. He gave a gasping shudder and his eyes half rolled back. She'd finally shut him up.
"God you're sick," Hermione said, half amused, half fascinated.
"You're the one fucking me," Riddle said, his eyes opening to focus on her.
"You're the one getting off on getting slapped around," Hermione said, inching her hand around his throat, the crazy part of her screaming at her to keep going, fascinated at how much Riddle wanted.
"Don't judge me," Riddle said, "just because you're the only one who could subdue me if we got into a wand fight and that excites me–"
"Could I?" Hermione asked, stilling again. Riddle gasped again, and she fought a laugh. She'd figure it out. The great Tom Riddle, the darkest wizard of all time, wanted to be dominated. Wanted to be abused. Wanted to be punished.
"Yes yes, ten points to Gryffindor," Riddle said, still watching her, trying to force her to move, but not as hard as he could've if he wanted to. "I'm a sad little boy who wants to be punished. You've wanted to hurt me for years. So do it."
"Stop reading my mind!" Hermione said, hands tightening around his throat, and Riddle gave a whining sound. "and stop lying! We both know you'd beat me in a fight."
"You could beat me in a fight," Riddle disagreed, "a wand fight, that is. I mean, some of the time. If I gave it about eighty percent effort. But that's more than I can say for anyone else, eh?"
"What other fights are there?" Hermione asked suspiciously. Her hands loosened. Choking wasn't as fun. It made her feel like Darth Vader.
"Who?" Riddle demanded, "Who is Darth Vader? Another one of your paramours?"
Hermione sighed. "How is it you've developed a taste for terrible slang and rap lyrics and yet you cannot name a single mov–ahh!" for Riddle had flipped them over and started thrusting again, "what happened to wanting to be dominated?"
"Well, now I want to dominate you," Riddle said, "I'm moody. Sue me."
"Absolutely not," Hermione blustered. She dug her nails in. Riddle yelped, but in a way that indicated he was enjoying that, too.
"You sick fuck," Hermione said, bringing her left knee up and squashing Riddle in the chest. He yelped, this time not with joy. Hopefully she broke a rib.
"You didn't," Riddle whined, "but we weren't done." He was lying on the floor half naked, most under their old potions bench.
"No," Hermione said, climbing on top of him again, "we weren't."
"Hermione fucked Riddle in the potions dungeon?" Harry said, pinching his brow. His glasses were already off and on the table so he didn't accidentally break them again in a capslocky rage.
"So Nick said," Dudley shrugged, "more tea?"
"Yeah, alright," Harry said, "where's Uncle Vernon?"
"He ate three of your brownies," Dudley said.
"Oh no," Harry said, not worried in the slightest. He looked out the window to the garden. "Ah. That explains why he's twerking in the radishes."
"Er, what?" Dudley said, peering his head round. "Oh god, what is he doing! He looks like he's having a seizure in his butt! Harry, haven't you gotten enough revenge on dad by now?"
"No," Harry said, "well, I guess so. He did help save the world. Is this revenge, though? Or a thank you?"
They watched as Percy Weasley wandered over from where he'd clearly been visiting the twins a few stops down the road and joined in.
"Jesus, my eyes!" Harry yelped.
"How can you even see?" Dudley asked suspiciously.
"Oh, that," Harry said, "Hermione fixed my eyesight ages ago. Told me it was ridiculous to wear glasses when she could fix it in a second. I told her it was like. My signature look. Y'know?"
"The most hideous glasses ever?" Dudley asked.
"Yup," Harry said, "a trademark, like. But then she played dirty and pointed out I might be fighting a dark witch and she pulls them off and smashes them and then I can't see." Harry sighed. "So I gave in."
"But you still wear glasses," Dudley said suspiciously, taking a brownie for himself clearly so he could block out the sight of his father twerking in the garden with Percy Weasley and Fleur Delacour, who had wandered over to eye Percy with a twinkle in her eye.
"Yeah," Harry shrugged, "I have a reputation to maintain."
Dudley snatched up the glasses and looked through, clearly confirming that they were glass only.
"Oh, Harry," Dudley said, "you look much cuter without them!"
"I know," Harry said, "I already beat them off with a stick. Kingsley pinched my arse again today at work. What if I was even hotter?"
Dudley nodded thoughtfully.
Fred and George had appeared with an early 90's boombox and a conjured disco ball to join the garden twerking.
"I didn't even eat a brownie I thought," Harry said, staring.
"Not yet," Dudley said, mouth full , "but wait till you hear about where Hermione fucked Riddle next."
"Next?" Harry said, "fuck no. Don't tell me. Please. I like my last shreds of sanity, even if everyone else has lost theirs."
"The Slytherin dungeons," Dudley said with relish, "the students are all gone for summer hols. Then they made their way up to the Gryffindor dorms. Then in every classroom, then in the Headmaster's office until Remus caught them and tried to kill Riddle."
"In front of the portraits?" Harry said, aghast.
"Then in the hospital wing," Dudley continued.
"In front of Lockhart?" Harry said, louder.
"Then on top of the Astronomy tower," Dudley said.
"In front of–hang on, who caught them there?"
"The Grey Lady," Dudley said, "I think she watched for a bit, first."
Harry shoved a brownie whole into his mouth. Who could blame him?
He averted his eyes from Vernon's enormous arse twerking and glanced out the other side of the Dursley's Hogsmeade cottage. He spotted a pair of Hogwarts students snogging against the building next door, an alley that led to nothing much, but was the sight of where one of them had first started to realize what was going on between them. One had black hair. One had hair that had maybe been struck by lightning. The boy grabbed the bad haired one by the arse.
Brownie exploded out of Harry's mouth onto the couch.
"I told you it was disgusting!" Dudley said.
"Ah god," Harry said, "if only I didn't sleep with my arse up in the air at the Burrow in front of her, we could've avoided all of this!"
"What?"
Author's Note: Finally, what you've all been waiting for! I detest writing sex scenes sooo...*grimace emoji*
If you can believe it (and I cannot) this story is over. Almost! Just an epilogue to go.