Chapter 7

Absolution or Forgiveness?

Harry groaned when he opened his eyes that evening. His body ached all over. Pulling himself up he gave himself a quick once over. He didn't look too bad, overall. Nothing that would add any new scars to his already vast collection. Though Emily had really put him through the ringer earlier that day.

When Harry had told Emily that she could try and take what she wanted from him, the plan had been to really wear the girl out. Harry knew that Emily loved to fight. Even if Emily didn't really understand that about herself yet. He figured that she'd get in her fair share of spells and the two of them could walk away satisfied. He'd be happy for the practice, and Emily would soothe a bit of that ache of hers to bring pain.

For almost an hour, Emily tried various ways to disarm him or bind him. It really was an almost impossible feat for the girl, whose arsenal mostly resided in maiming and killing. Even when she did manage to remove his wand from his grip, he would manage to get it back seconds later. At that point, she started taking the duel seriously. It finally clicked in her mind that Harry had no intention of letting her harm him. She would really have to take what she wanted.

Things ramped up, after that. The more firepower she pulled out, the more vicious Harry got himself. Finally, after three cracked ribs, and a laceration to her back, Emily managed to get his leg with a stream of magical fire. The kind that didn't go out very easily, even after being doused with water. Harry was forced to vanish part of the leg of his pants, but even that didn't remove all the flames. The green embers on his leg did eventually die out after some seconds, but Harry couldn't pay them much mind, he had to focus on the woman making her way to him with quick strides. Her wand was no longer in her hand, but he was wary all the same.

"Let me see it." She demanded when she reached him.

"Why? It's not like you're really capable of healing it." Harry allowed himself to sink down and sit on the sand, but as he put his wand to his leg, ready to heal it, her slim hand stopped him.

"You told me to take what I wanted, Harry. I earned this, now let me see it."

Harry, now understanding where she was coming from, pulled back and watched her intently. In truth, he was curious to see how she'd act. Back when she'd been torturing that werewolf, she had look of concentration on her face. He wondered just where the enjoyment came in.

Emily stretched his leg out, so the burned flesh was sitting in her lap. She gently traced her fingers over the agitated flesh, something that Harry found both painful and satisfying. If she were to run her fingers along any other part of him like that, Harry was curious how long it would take for desire to start coursing through his veins.

"I found out I enjoyed burning people... maybe a little over a year ago." Harry's ears perked up as she began explaining her actions. "It's painful, you see. But unlike a cut, the pain of a burn doesn't fade quickly. You could even say it gets worse. It's the perfect tool for a girl like me. Even the smell of burning flesh excites me now." At this, she lowered her face to his leg and Harry could only assume she was taking in the scent.

"It's barely even a first-degree burn, Emily. I can't imagine that this takes any of the edge off for you." He spoke honestly, wondering if she was holding back. Was she exercising control over her need for more or was she simply taking a moment to soak in her small victory.

She laughed, and Harry watched as her tongue darted out of her mouth, not to wet her dry lips, but to run across his reddened flesh. Another act that made him hiss in pain, but also caused twisting coil of desire to pulse from his groin. If he allowed her to indulge much further, he might find himself in waters he was not prepared to tread. Temptations of the body aside, there were too many issues in Harry's head for him to welcome her into his bed, or vice versa.

"Remember how I said you were different, Harry? It's not about how badly I get to hurt you. Why would someone destroy something precious to them? No, destruction is only fun when you do it to something that doesn't matter, something inconsequential. Things like the kinds of people that are truly worthless in this world."

Something clicked in Harry's mind as everything he knew about Voldemort started linking together in a crazy idea. An insane but possible reason for what made Voldemort tick. He could finally get a glimpse the human being inside the monster now. Or at least, he had a theory. After the death of Moaning Myrtle, an act she had not been ready to commit, Emily must have undergone a change. She had already made the decision to prey on muggleborns with the baslisk, so it was reasonable to assume she took things to the next level. She embodied the ideals of her ancestor, seeking to cleanse the magical world of the unworthy. But she couldn't adopt the same view as Salazar Slytherin, for wasn't she herself unworthy? Her and her tainted bloodline.

So, it was only natural that blood purity could only ever play second fiddle to Voldemort's dogma. Something she would preach to her followers, but never truly put much stock in. Because what truly made one worthy, was power. Harry remembered the words he heard at the young age of eleven.

"There is no good or evil, Harry Potter. There is only power, and those too weak to take it."

Dumbledore had told Harry that Emily only looked out for herself, and at one point, Emily had admitted that Dumbledore himself had been worthy in her eyes. She wanted nothing more than for the man to take her in as his own daughter. But the man's betrayal years before had turned her against him completely. In her eyes, he would never be worthy again.

Emily had gone throughout her young, and then her adult life, seeking a peer. Someone she could deem worthy. But when all she could ever find left her disappointed, she began to see everyone as lesser beings. Just as people had made her feel when she was younger. And the older she got, the higher her expectations rose for those she surrounded herself with. It eventually got to the point where even her most emphatic followers were just another tool to be discarded.

Harry had his doubts as to whether he'd pass Emily's standard should he have encountered her a few more years down the timeline. For now, pushing her around in magic was difficult, but doable. Another five years, however, and Harry doubted that he'd be able to best her without seriously harming her, if not killing her. A decade later, and he couldn't even be sure if he'd walk away alive. She would only ever keep getting stronger, while Harry knew that he'd hit a ceiling eventually. He was not there yet, but it would come far sooner than hers ever would.

But Emily's life was firmly on another track now. She finally had someone she respected and acknowledged. A person she looked up to. But like everything else in Harry's life, things were never within his control. Because now he had to deal with this particular teenager's raging libido, and he really found himself coming up short.

He had resorted to dealing with it the only way he ever dealt with things beyond his control. Which was head on confrontation. But while it seemed to be effective, it also had him seated in the sand as the crazy witch in front of him was licking and touching him in ways that were inappropriate in his time, much less in the current era.

"Fun with you Harry, is getting the opportunity. The chance. My ribs and my back are killing me right now, but it's a pain that feels... intimate. Something that we've shared with each other. I know you enjoyed it too. Perhaps not hurting me, no, but I know you loved the fight."

Harry wasn't about to lie to her. Not about something so blatantly true. He did love the fight. To test his mettle against her. It gave him a simple and pure sense of satisfaction knowing that he was stronger than Emily Riddle. And the few times that she told him so, nearly made him preen smugly.

"It was a fun workout." Even the words sounded weak to his ears, but he didn't want to sexualize whatever this was to her any further. She was pushing that envelop far enough for the both of them. She made one final shove as she reached one of her hands over to cup him through his trousers. His unwanted excitement hadn't faded from when she started licking him, and he did his best to remain passive as she thumbed him over his pants. How did she manage to look so unperturbed when she was being so damn forward? The stones on this girl...

"Patch me up and take us back, Harry." With one last touch, she turned so her back was facing him. Now, with things suddenly much less awkward, Harry knitted together the skin from the laceration on her back. He even mended her ribs without her having to turn around. When she smiled at him and held out her arm, Harry carefully took hold of her and apparated them back to their home.

"I'm going to bed." And with that, she made to leave the sitting room. For a moment, Harry wondered if she was really going to leave things hanging in the air like that, but when she stopped at the entrance, he knew she had other ideas. "The door won't be locked."

Harry went to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. Slowly, he sunk himself down in a chair to ponder what he should do about Emily. She really wasn't going to take no for an answer, that was clear as day. He had high hopes that when he told her that he'd killed a girl in cold blood, she'd give him space. Hoped that she'd understand why he held her at arm's length. But she practically seemed to ignore his story or at least the repercussions it had on him.

Harry sighed. What more could he do? She knew that he had trouble touching her. So why did she expect a visit from him? Though, that was probably going too far. Rightly speaking, he doubted she held any such expectations. Dreams and desires, sure, but she wouldn't expect it of him.

He had two options really. He could give in or keep fighting. Leaning back in his chair, Harry allowed himself to imagine giving in to her desires. His mind brought up the image of her body from before dawn this morning. What had been the words she used? His for the taking.

His mind didn't even allow a fleeting moment of pleasure, because as soon as he imagined lowering himself on top of her, another image superimposed itself in his mind. She was still naked and beautiful, but now the light was gone from her eyes. Blood covered his bed, seeping from the back of her head and tears made tracks down her face. Thin fingers were wrapped around her throat, his fingers, and he was squeezing, crushing really. Not even willing to leave the dead girl alone to rest in p-

He jerked upright in the chair, clearing his mind quickly. No, sex with Emily Riddle wasn't going to happen. Harry shook his head, what was going on with him? What was he even thinking? Why had he even bothered fantasizing?

"Wow, I need to get laid." It was the only defense he could come up with. The only thing that remotely seemed to be a reasonable explanation for the urges he now felt for Emily Riddle. Honestly speaking, the girl wasn't even his type.

Harry cast his mind back to his past, a time that would probably never exist in this new timeline and remembered the only woman he'd ever been with. Ginny Weasley had been a spitfire. Harry supposed he could admit that as far as body type went, Ginny and Emily shared many similarities. Both women were slim and pale. Both had brown eyes, though Ginny's were lighter, more honeyed. Emily's brown eyes were deeper and darker, a shade above chocolate. Even when they shined with magic, they weren't really lighter, just brighter.

But Ginny's body had been almost entirely covered with freckles. Something she claimed she hated, but Harry had always found them attractive. He secretly thought that she learned to appreciate them eventually during their time together. Emily was completely the opposite. She didn't have any blemishes whatsoever. At least, none that he'd seen. It was all pale, smooth skin. As though it had never seen the sun.

The differences in their hair didn't even need mentioning. But the clearest difference between the two women were in their personalities and attitudes. Ginny was kind. Emily was all snark. Ginny loved to laugh. Emily loved to laugh at the expense of others. Ginny would kiss and touch him in ways that made all of his pain go away. Emily wanted to touch him in ways that would hurt and burn.

But there were similarities too. Both Ginny and Emily would lash out at him if they thought he was being a prat. They both didn't like being told what to do. Though Ginny would give in far sooner than Emily would in most circumstances. They both had dry lips that always seemed to need their tongue or his to keep wet. Harry stopped his train of thought. No, he'd never kissed Emily to wet her lips. He'd only ever recently even thought about it.

Slowly Harry stood and placed his empty glass in the sink. Emily had the right idea. A nap was most certainly in order. He needed the embrace of sleep to chase all of these thoughts away. Though if he were being honest, lying down in general sounded like a good idea. He was way too sore to keep moving around. As he made his way to his room, he noticed a strange noise making its way through the house. Approaching the home's two bedrooms, the sounds became clearer, and Harry could only groan.

"Come on," he muttered. "If you're gonna be doing that, put up a privacy charm or something." But if she were to do that, then he was sure it would defeat the purpose of her being so loud. Just another temptation from the girl. Throwing up a privacy charm for the young girl, Harry entered his room and enjoyed a few hours of slumber, oblivious to his problems. And oblivious to the problems brewing in the rest of the house.


Emily ceased her loud, breathy moans when she felt the privacy charm envelop her room. Really, what was the point of putting on a show after the audience has left. But the disappointment that flooded her body was strong enough that she completely abandoned her activity altogether. Sure, her fingers could scratch the itch, but the itch was coming back faster and faster each day. Emily was beginning to think she was going to have to simply bear with it until she broke Harry's resolve.

Of course, she had never expected that he had such a huge hang up. Never would she have pegged Harry Gaunt as a killer. To be completely fair, she wasn't even sure if she bought the story about him killing a girl. That just seemed so... hard to swallow. But it was a reasonable explanation for his issues, so Emily was willing to accept it. The only problem was how to move him past it.

The idea was foreign to Emily. Even the accidental death of Myrtle did not weigh heavily on her conscience. She didn't want the girl dead, of course. And if she could have gone back, she would have certainly done things differently. But Emily was far more put out by the fact that she caused such a great upset in her own life than she was about Myrtle's death.

Emily realized that she really could not empathize with what Harry was feeling. He was far too much of a bleeding heart. He cared too much about others. This, in her opinion, was his greatest weakness. But at the same time, she didn't dare fault him for that. It was that caring side of him that placed him by her in the first place. He could wax poetry for a fortnight about how family had obligations to each other, but in the end, the rest of her family was quick to abandon her or use her for their own purposes. What did Harry want from her? Just for her to be a good girl. And frustratingly nothing else.

That was really the crux of everything. He seemed to think that it was possible for her to be good. And deep down, she supposed that it was. But that would require to throw away everything she craved. Could she do it? Maybe. Did she want to? Definitely not. Would she do it for him? She was scared to try.

What if, after becoming the good person Harry wanted her to be, he considered his job done. What if he chose to walk away when all was said and done. She couldn't help but laugh, he wouldn't dare be so foolish. If he knew her as well as he claimed, then he'd never truly leave her alone. He would know that the sinful cravings would eventually call her to return to her previous habits.

Recalling his physical reaction to when she had licked his leg, and even how he'd swelled under her gentle caress, Emily knew that Harry wasn't broken in that regard. He was certainly fully functional. So, what was the issue. While Emily couldn't understand his emotions, she could make an attempt to understand his situation.

"What if, during one of our fights, I'd accidentally killed Harry." She mused out loud. The fantasy of him asking her to kill him was enticing, because the act was the ultimate form of submission to her. A stroke to her ego. But the idea of him laying before her, a corpse, made her nauseous. Perhaps, when Harry looked at her, he too became nauseous, remembering what he'd done. But that required some similarity between her and the girl, or it meant the means of the girl's death was just that terrible.

"How did he do it?" Emily whispered softly. He had told her that he'd done it painfully. But Emily doubted that meant it was slow. While she could give Harry the benefit of the doubt when he claimed to be a killer, she wasn't stupid enough to grant him the title of torturer. Despite what he might think about himself, she knew he didn't have what it took. She would know, after all. Therefore, it had to be a quick death.

"But not the killing curse. Thats too impersonal. Avada Kedavra wouldn't leave such scars on him." So, what else. Further pondering and she was sure that he couldn't have done it with magic. No, if it had been with magic, then it would have been too fast. He had to have done it with his hands or a knife.

"A knife." For a while Emily entertained that possibility. Longer than she should have, before she realized that she was projecting. Harry did not have her fascination with blood and pain. Once again, if he were to draw blood, then she was sure the girl's death would've been as painless as he could have made it.

"Perhaps it was his fists?" That image lasted for only a moment, but she discarded it quickly. She couldn't see Harry pummeling a woman to death. Was it possible? Sure. But she really couldn't envision it. Getting up, she walked to the home's singular bathroom, not bothering to clothe herself. If Harry got another eyeful, she doubted it would hurt her goals in the long run.

"How would I have done it." Emily stared at her body in the mirror, imagining there were two of herself. Just how would she commit the act without a wand. Taking her hands she ran them softly over her face, gently ghosting them over her eyes, around her nose, pausing them at her lips. Did Harry smother her? It wouldn't necessarily be a painful death, though Emily knew that asphyxiation was uncomfortable. Animals would thrash about wildly in their last moments before succumbing. She'd asphyxiated several cats at Wool's Orphanage. Not because she enjoyed hurting animals, of course. No, she had done it to punish one of the other children. One who thought she could steal from Emily. With a sigh, Emily shook her head. She was getting sidetracked. No, Harry said horrific. Dying that way was too peaceful to be horrific.

Her hands drifted further downwards, past her chin, to rest on her neck. Something about this... called to her. As though deep inside her bones, she knew that this would have been the way Harry would kill. He seemed like a choker.

Crossing her arms and wrapping her hands around her own neck, she squeezed. It didn't seem too painful, and she could still breath. She needed a bit more pressure. She tightened her grip like a vice and her following breath was constricted and painful. She didn't let up, keeping the pressure steady as her body slowly burned through what little oxygen it had. It was only when darkness began clouding her vision that she released her grip. She took a few moments to breath deeply.

"No, still not painful enough." It was certainly a more painful asphyxiation, but it still didn't seem graphic enough. In all honesty, there was... almost a buzz that came with the loss of air. It had been somewhat enjoyable. She continued, trailing her hands down the rest of her body, but no other parts of the body seemed to fit the bill. Turning her body to the side, she ran her eyes down the back of her body, but still, nothing came to mind.

"Am I just... not imaginative enough?" She wondered what she was missing, but human bodies were delicate. Especially the brain. Harry could have killed that girl in a thousand different ways, and Emily could never really guess which one it was. Not a fast death, but not a slow one. Emily eyes trailed to the bruises slowly forming on her neck from her fingers. There was just something about that method that seemed... right. But it failed to check all the boxes from Harry's description.

After several minutes of various attempts to heal the marks on her neck, she gave up. She'd have Harry heal the bruises later. If he questioned her about the marks, and she was hoping that he did, she'd simply claim she was getting more inventive with her nightly activities. She was sure he'd shut up after she offered him a go. Worst case scenario, maybe he could work through some of that pain he carried around.

Hours later, she would wonder if that idea had been good or bad.


Harry never really drifted off to a deep sleep. Today, however was an exception, something he noted when he was roused by a loud knocking at his door. The windows were bright, it was clearly midday or possibly later.

"What?" he called out, wondering what Emily needed. Surely if she was hungry, she could have made herself a meal, right?

"I need to borrow you. Meet me in the bathroom."

Harry groaned. The bathroom? She wasn't even trying to be coy about it now, was she? Deciding to get up, Harry breezed right by the aforementioned room, intent on reaching the kitchen to prepare food. He didn't make it far before she called out to him.

"The bathroom, Harry. Are you suddenly deaf? Get your wand, I need help with a healing charm."

A healing charm... sure. But though it was unlikely, Harry wasn't about to risk anything, so he made his way to her. As a matter of decency, he knocked.

"I'm clothed, moron, now get in here. I assume you can heal bruises?"

Harry scoffed as he entered, keeping his eyes low, just in case she was toying with him. Fortunately, he saw pants and breathed a sigh of relief.

"Healing bruises is something you learn in fourth year, Emily. Yes, I and every other person, other than you, who fits that criterion, knows how to heal a bruise."

As she turned to face him, she tilted her neck up to the light. Deep purple hand marks wrapped around her neck. Immediately, Harry felt as though he'd been socked in the gut. What had happened? Had he assaulted her in his sleep? Did she just lie there and let him do it, again?

"What happened?"

Emily turned back to the mirror to look at the marks. "Well, it's not like you wanted to help me out today. So, I started getting a bit more inventive. I have to say, it was one hell of a rush." She looked to his reflection in the mirror as she slowly slid a finger over the ugly marks. "I'd be more than happy to let you have a go, if you're interested."

It was a flurry of motion that Harry would never have been able to describe. He just knew that he'd moved quick, and the next moment later he had her pinned against the wall.

"Never... do that to yourself again." His voice was almost a growl, and he found himself seething in anger. Emily, on the other hand, let out a single, breathy laugh and smiled.

"Forceful, I like it." Reaching her tongue out to drag it across her lips, she stretched her smile further, almost beaming at him.

He made to pull away from her, but she jerked him back. At some point, she'd hooked her fingers in the belt loops of his trousers. Finding himself flush against her, he froze. She tilted her head to the side and began to whisper.

"You know, Harry, I figured it out as soon as I looked at my neck. Thats how you did her in, wasn't it?"

In any other circumstance, he'd have been high tailing it away from her. But he was rooted to the spot, off balance, and he could only lower his head to her shoulder as the rest of his body weight leaned against her. If anything, he deserved to listen to her damn him. She had every right to do so.

"I figured as much. I'm sure there was more to it than that. But maybe not. Perhaps that's all it took to break you. You're just too good... for your own good. The cleaner the soul, the easier it is to dirty, Harry. And I'm sure you feel filthy."

Harry clenched his eyes shut. How could a person be so right, but at the same time... be so wrong. He did feel filthy, felt like a monster. But was he good? No, he could never be good again. He'd crossed a line, one that was never meant to be crossed. And the dead could not f-

"The dead cannot forgive you, Harry. And the living shouldn't dare to try." He felt her lips land on his temple. She kissed him softly, over and over. "But I," Another kiss. "I will always forgive you. No matter your sin, I always forgive you." He felt as she removed one hand holding him in place, sliding it up his body to grip him by the chin. She turned his head to kiss him on the lips.

"No matter how much you choke me."

Kiss.

"No matter how hard you beat me."

Kiss.

"No matter how often you kill me."

Kiss.

"You are always forgiven."

Harry wasn't sure which kiss of hers was the one he responded to. But he knew by the time her words faded from his ears, they were lip locked desperately. It didn't take long for her swing her legs up and lock them around his hips. All of his weight was suddenly supported by the wall, and he felt the force of his body press against her. She gasped, and Harry pulled them back, as well as pulling his lips from hers.

"No." Her voice was breathless. Grabbing the back of his head, she forced his lips against hers again. With one hand under her ass, and the other wrapped around her back, Harry kept her up as they kissed passionately. But the things she was doing to him made his knees weak, and he slowly lowered them both to the floor.

She wasted no time, pulling his shirt over his head, only allowing their lips to break contact for a moment. She re situated herself on him and began grinding her sex against his lap. This clearly wasn't enough for her however, as she raised her hips slightly, and put one of her hands in her pants. Harry didn't bother guessing what she was doing. Her breathing changed rapidly, and her kisses were suddenly out of pace and frantic.

Harry ran his hands up and down her sides, sometimes grasping her ass, other times stopping to fondle her chest. When one particular ministration had her gasping for breath and biting her bottom lip, Harry repeated it, again and again. A high pitch whining noise started in the back of her throat only to exit her mouth in a cry. Harry found the sound incredibly erotic.

"Please Harry. I need... let me do it."

Harry had absolutely no idea what she needed, but he was in no position to deny her anything she wanted at the moment. He nodded and she buried her face in the crook of his neck. A moment later he felt her teeth clamp down painfully on the tender, unmarred flesh there. He felt as she broke the skin and the blood started to flow. Her teeth were hot, unnaturally so, and in the back of his mind, he knew that she was using magic. But he didn't care enough to imagine why. An experience that should have been painful, somehow felt so good.

He watched as her arm vibrated even faster, and he knew she was growing closer. But this wasn't a case of inch by inch. She was closing in on her release with the speed of a runaway train, and with a quick clenching and relaxing of her jaw, she pulled back from him to scream out her release. As he watched his blood drip down her chin, he couldn't help but think that she looked euphoric. After her cry, approximately two breaths later, she collapsed against him.

Lazily, or perhaps with great effort, he couldn't be sure, she slowly pulled her face to his and kissed him slowly. Most of the blood that had been on her face had been smeared off on the other side of his neck, but he could still taste the coppery hint of it on her teeth.

"Take me to bed, Harry."

And he did so, not bothering to drop her off into her own room. She'd be extremely peeved at him if he were to do that after what had transpired between them. Once she was in his bed, asleep, Harry went back to the bathroom to clean up the mess. There wasn't too much blood on the floor, thankfully. Most of it was on him, after all. Casting a healing charm on his neck, he sighed as he felt the aching pain disappear.

After he cleaned up all evidence of their activity, he hopped in the shower. Though the room was clean, it didn't make him feel any cleaner. After all, he looked as though he'd been on the losing side of a vampire attack. Once his body was pristine again, he went to the mirror to look at his reflection. Even though their tryst had happened the better part of an hour ago, his lips were still swollen from her intense kisses. Running his hand against them, he caught sight of a peculiar mark above his shoulder blade. Turning to the side, and peering closer, he noticed a silver circle.

Curious, he summoned his glasses so he could the mark more clearly. It wasn't a circle, not really. It was a large silver bite mark. The image made him chuckle softly as he rubbed it gingerly. He shouldn't have expected anything less, really.

"Leave it to Emily Riddle to mark her favorite toy."

A/N: So, we have diverged. I think that much should be obvious to some of the long-time readers. I did this because as I was reading the original, I felt like things had happened far too quickly. I felt like I was missing out on the romance just to move the story in the direction that I had wanted. So, I decided that I was gonna hit the brakes. And if that means that this story gets stretched out into another trilogy, or if its just one giant book, then so be it.