A/N: Thank you all so much for your reviews, favorites and follows after last chapter! Huge thank you to lanamarymack for alpha/beta reading this chapter!
Please let me know what you thought of chapter sixty-seven and be on the lookout for sixty-eight soon!
During her months studying under Augustus Dassault, Hermione had quickly realized just how exacting a task master he really was. He did not accept tardiness or laziness or defeatism. Hermione, who had been exceptional at Charms for so long, was being truly challenged for the first time in her life and it was difficult not to get things right on the first try. But, with Master Dassault's unwavering belief that she could do anything she set her mind to, Hermione wouldn't dare dream of giving up so easily.
Plus, she knew that it would disappoint her father as well. Failure, then, was simply not an option and driven from her mind.
Just because he was hard on her did not mean that Master Dassault was not an outstanding professor. He did not scorn her myriad questions, like Professor Snape had. He could listen to her talk through her theories for an entire lesson, his careful questions leading her down the path of knowledge until she had figured it out for herself. And, when it was something he truly cared about, he would passionately explain what he knew, leaving Hermione breathless and on her seat.
She simply couldn't remember the last time that she'd enjoyed learning so much.
It seemed that Dassault was pleased with her as well. He told her as much one afternoon after their lesson, over tea, while they waited for one of her family members to come collect her (a new over-reaction to Bernie approaching her at Yule, but they wouldn't hear otherwise).
"I don't remember teaching someone with such an aptitude for curses since Orion was getting his mastery," the grey-haired Charms master mused, looking her over.
Hermione colored at the suggestion that she was skilled at such dark magic. That in itself felt like a curse, to have that kind of affinity. She didn't want to think of herself as a dark witch, but maybe there was more of that in her blood than she was ready to accept. She thought of how easily she'd jinxed Marietta Edgecomb without a second thought and how she... didn't exactly feel bad about it either.
He must have seen something in her face, then, because Dassault was quick to reassure her. "I hope you know I didn't mean anything by it," he said, before pouring a bit more milk in his tea. "It's not as if you are expected to do something heinous just because you are good at it. If anything, you have the makings of an excellent cursebreaker."
"Oh?" Hermione asked, swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat. "I haven't really considered anything after my mastery. Everything seems too uncertain at the moment."
"Of course," he said, giving her a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. She and Augustus didn't spend their time talking about the brewing war. "If you have an intimate understanding of curses, you understand how they can be unwoven."
The fireplace flared green before they could discuss it more and Hermione was delighted to see Rabastan stepping through the flames. "Rabastan," she greeted him warmly, wondering what luck had been bestowed on her to have a bit of time with her future husband.
Master Dassault stood to his full height, though he didn't reach Rabastan's height in his old age. Still, it seemed like the old French wizard was looking down on him. "So, you are the betrothed, then," he said, with a smile on his face that belied the fact that he was sizing Rabastan up.
Rabastan returned his unfriendly look with a smile of his own. "And you must be the Charms Master," he answered.
"You don't look like much of a Lestrange," Master Dassault said, cocking his head to one side.
"That's curious. Most people say I remind them of my grandfather, Raginulf," Rabastan said, sound bemused. "But I can promise you that I am a Lestrange in all the ways that it counts."
"Hmm," her elderly teacher made a noise of displeasure. "Lestranges are unpleasant and cruel — it's the old Norman blood. I understand that they claim relation to that opportunist, Henry Beauclerc."
Hermione raised an eyebrow and turned to look at Rabastan. "Really?" she asked, sounding amused. "I didn't realize that I was marrying into royalty."
Rabastan rolled his eyes. "No one in my family believes that lie," he said, equally amused. "The Lestranges do hail from Normandy, though. Not my biggest fan, Master Dasault?"
Her Charms Master looked a little bit embarrassed to have been wrong. "Hermione is an extremely gifted witch," he explained. "I worry that marriage might... snuff out her desire to continue with the magical arts."
Her betrothed wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her tight into his side — until they were a united front. "Make no mistake, I know what a remarkable witch I have," he promised. "I would never dream of stopping Hermione from her studies, unless it was something that she wanted."
"You really don't begrudge her for pursuing a Mastery?" he asked.
"Of course not. I don't think Orion would consent to the marriage if I did," Rabastan explained. "Don't forget, I have my own Mastery in Arithmancy."
"Yes, I understand that you are the brains to your elder brother's brawn," Dassault said with a sneer, obviously not having the highest of opinions about Rodolphus either.
"I'm no slouch with a wand, either," Rabastsan promised, smirking at the older wizard. "Lestrange, remember?"
Dassault gave him a long hard look, before turning back to his apprentice. "If he is the wizard that you want, then I suppose you have my blessing," he said, completely serious, as though it was something that she was waiting for.
Hermione suppressed a giggle. "Thank you, Master Dassault," she demurred. "Your blessing means a lot. You'll come to the wedding, then?"
"I wouldn't miss it," he answered, smiling broadly, now that his interrogation was out of the way.
"I hate to cut this short, but I've promised to see you home safely," Rabastan said, not looking particularly sorry to whisk her away.
Hermione nodded and promised to have her assigned reading done prior to her next lesson, before she let Rabastan lead her to the fireplace. But, when they walked through the green flames, they did not end up at Grimmauld Place, but rather Lestrange Manor.
"What are we doing here?" she asked.
Rabastan led her into the back garden. "At Yule, you said you were feeling useless, not searching for the horcruxes. And, I got to thinking, that even if we had a horcrux, we have no way to destroy them yet," he explained.
It was chilly outside, but Rabastan wordlessly covered her with a warming charm that settled around her like a loving embrace. The grounds were blanketed with a fresh layer of untouched snow. They walked further and further away from the house, until they were in the middle of a clearing.
"The book that I leant you had one sure way to destroy horcruxes," he explained. "Fiendfyre."
Immediately, fear welled up in her stomach. "I—I can't," she said, brown eyes wide when she looked at her betrothed.
Rabastan gave her a reassuring smile. "You won't know if you don't try it," he replied, giving her hand a squeeze. "But, Hermione, you are going to be a Charms Mistress. I know you have the capability to master this charm, too."
Hermione took a deep breath and remembered the way that Master Dassault had referenced her aptitude for curses. She had a natural ability and surely that would extend to the fiendfyre curse? Even her wand — with its dragon heartstring core — was friendly to dark magic. This casting should be trivial, but...
She knew that conjuring fiendfyre was only half of the battle. Controlling such a dangerous cursed fire was another matter entirely and that was without the unknown element that the horcruxes would bring to the equation. "What if I lose control?" she whispered to Rabastan, her fingers tightening around her familiar vinewood wand.
He gave her one of those crooked grins — the ones that made him look so boyish and lively. "I don't think that you will lose control," he assured her. "But, if you do, that's why I am here."
"Are you sure we shouldn't just ask my father to cast it? Surely it would be trivial for him," she asked, biting her lower lip, looking for any reason not to try.
"Orion isn't the one who needs to do this, Hermione," he told her, not breaking his gaze. "Just try it. I know you can do it."
Taking a deep breath, Hermione turned to face the clearing. She raised her wand and tried not to notice how white her knuckles had gone around her wand as she made the jaunty zig-zag motion and said the incantation to call forth the fire.
She gasped, feeling the heat roiling off of the massive flare up that engulfed the clearing, quickly melting the newly fallen snow. The flames spiraled around like a vortex, before they took the shape of a lion — no, a chimera that pounced playfully after a field mouse, frightened from its nest. Fear once again threatened to overwhelm her as she watched her curse seek out any living creature with one aim in mind — to destroy.
Her fear began to spiral out of control and feed into the instability of the curse. The flames were growing larger and more dangerous and Salazar, why couldn't she turn it off? This was it, she was going to die and she was going to bring Rabastan with her!
Only, Rabastan was cool and practiced beside her. He said the counter-curse the moment that her thoughts really got away from her, ending the curse as easily as turning out the lights.
Hermione could hear the sound of herself, struggling to get air into her lungs. Rabastan wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close to his body, so she could hear the steady beat of his heart under her ear. When she had calmed down, he pulled her back so that he could see her face again.
"You did it," he whispered, cupping her cheek lovingly. There was no hiding the excitement that sparkled in his light green eyes. "On the first try, Hermione! It was even developed enough to have corporeal beasts."
"But, it got away from me," she said, worried.
"You were in excellent control from the beginning. What happened?" he wondered.
"I started to get worried about the... the power. The intent of the spell," she admitted.
"Just keep control over your emotions and you will be golden," he said, with a grin. "The magic feeds off of you, so whatever you give it is what it will give back. Don't worry, you did brilliantly. Try it again?"
Hermione didn't want to, but she knew that she had to try again, to remind herself that she was capable. Otherwise, the worry that she wasn't good enough would haunt her and set her up for failure the next time she tried it. And the next time... well, the next time, it might need to count for something..
"Fiendfyre," she said, trying to keep herself as dispassionate as possible. She stared into the wild flames, watching them grow until she could identify all manner of beasts — a snake slithering across the ground and a dragon breathing fire into the air. She embraced the heat that poured off of the flames, letting it stave off the cold temperature. Before long, she realized that she was filled with a different emotion.
Pride. She'd done that — she'd mastered fiendfyre in her very first attempt ever and she'd done a damn good job at it. She was powerful and capable. She could feel the swell of magical power building up inside of her, her pulse racing and her body thrumming at the intoxicating feeling. She felt like she could conquer anything.
Waving her wand, she ended the spell before casting the counter-curse at the flames before they could venture any further than she allowed them to.
Rabastan let out a whoop of delight, pulling her into a hug again. His lips slanted against hers. They fit together perfectly, like they had been made for one another. Magic was still coursing through her body when she deepened the kiss, her tongue sliding along his bottom lip. She moaned, unbidden, at the way lust seemed to ignite in her body. She wanted — no, needed — Rabastan more than she ever had.
Her fingers dug into the sleeves of his shirt. She held on tight, side-along apparating them to his room up at the manor before he could even realize what she was up to.
They landed on his bed, with Hermione pressed against his side. Rabastan broke the kiss with a noise of confusion, slowly blinking as he gained his bearings. He pulled her closer to him, staring into her eyes with wonder. "Hermione—"
But, she couldn't tolerate words at the moment, her need for him burning too hot. Her greedy fingers found the edge of his shirt and slid up underneath it, her cold fingers soaking in his warmth. She smoothed her hands against his stomach, catching on the ridges of muscle underneath. She wanted to see him laid bare — completely — seeing as they'd never actually taken the time to properly bed one another. Faster than she knew she could, she loosed each individual button and pushed the fabric back off his shoulders.
"Salazar," he whispered, his own hands shaking as he attempted to find the fastenings of her complicated robes. He grew frustrated after a moment and when he could not figure it out, he used his wand to divest her of the dress, dropping his wand to the side of the bed when he was done.
Hermione hissed at the feeling of the air on her bare skin. Looking to sap some of his warmth, she arched forward like a cat, until they were pressed together completely. His skin felt hot enough to sear her, but she basked in it, kissing him once again.
She could kiss him like this forever, lazy and desultory, her tongue sliding against his in a practiced pirouette. She sighed, a shiver racing up her spine when he kissed down the side of her jaw to her neck, finding the place where her pulse was pounding, sucking against her skin until her body was throbbing with the need for more.
"Rabastan—" she moaned, her hands finding a hold in his hair, not wanting him to let up for one second. Gods, had she ever felt such emptiness until she had known him? "Please, I need..."
Rabastan knew exactly what she needed. His fingers found the edge of her knickers and pushed them aside, his fingers gliding through the liquid heat of her center. He groaned into her skin, a finger sinking inside of her. "Gods," he whispered against her skin.
Hermione knew that she could not wait a moment longer, and neither could he if the hard press against her leg was anything to judge by. Following his lead, she impatiently divested him of his trousers and the rest of her clothes, until they were both laid bare to one another's eyes.
Finding a perch on his waist, Hermione rocked against him, losing her mind in the feel of his cock nudging against the pearl at the top of her sex. "Please," she begged again, though she didn't know exactly what it was that she was asking for. "I want—"
He reached between them to give her what they both wanted, hissing as he slowly entered her, moving forward inch by inch, until they were completely joined with one another.
"Yes," she gasped, her eyes slamming shut so that she could do nothing but feel him inside of her. Experimentally, she rocked her hips against his, and nearly crumbled at the stretch — the push and pull of their bodies.
The dark flame that had been ignited in her the moment that she succeeded in conjuring the fiendfyre had flared to life and she worried that she just might burn up from the inside. Only Rabastan could anchor her — his hands on her waist, encouraging her hips to rock back and forth, his cock inside her, finding an angle that made her toes curl with pleasure.
He increased the pace, his hips meeting her when he pulled her against him, like he couldn't possibly get close enough. She could feel the press of each individual fingertip and wondered if he was going to leave bruises, too desperate to give her even an inch. But she found that she couldn't care in that moment, because in the next moment, she was tumbling off the edge of completion.
Overcome with waves of pleasure radiating through every inch of her body, Hermione cried out his name before collapsing against his chest, unable to do anything but feel her orgasm wash over her. He did not stop, chasing his own ultimate satisfaction. Hermione kissed him, half-drunk with bliss, he finally faltered, his thrusts growing more erratic until he groaned, finding his own release.
They kissed and kissed again, until Hermione could barely keep her eyes open a second longer. With a soft moan, she slid off of him, tucking her body into his side, her head pressed to his chest so she could listen to his heart beat hammer away. "I love you, Rabastan," she confessed, unsure of what she would do without this wizard by her side.
He pulled her even closer. "Love you, too, witch," he said.
She could hear the smile in his voice and it made her heart tighten further. "How long until I have to be home?" she asked, wondering how much leeway her protective family had given her.
"Until after dinner," he said. "I'll ask the House Elves to serve us here." He pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder.
Hermione tightened her arms around him in a hug and kissed the skin just above his heart. She knew that they still had so much to do, but for now, she was content to soak up every minute of time she could get with Rabastan. The tough work could wait until tomorrow.