The Lost Horcrux

The Rebirth of the House of Black

Disclaimers: Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse (including rape) on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, villainising the Weasleys and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history and the HP real-life timeline.

***

There had been many times over the past five years that Hermione had considered ending her life. She looked back on them all with shame now, not to mention a sense of cold dread, considering the incredible way things had turned out, but there it was. She couldn't change it anymore than she could erase the horrors she'd endured. But she'd come to think of it all as her toll, showing the courage and endurance to survive The Dark World Order and her marriage to Ron, all to make her strong enough to have Harry come back to her, for them to become powerful equals and finally embrace their love for one another, and to share a wonderful future of marriage and family.

It was the universe's way of rewarding her and, in her mind, there was no better prize to be had.

But, despite Hermione believing that ideas of suicide were a thing confined to her past, this evening she found her mind back on the trail of how she might die. She had always been a stubborn, bossy sort, and if she could have any control in the details of her death she wasn't going to be denied by anyone. Warriors of old dreamed of going down in battle, Captains of going down with their sinking ships.

And now, Hermione Potter had her own idea of the perfect way to die ... and there was a going down involved with that, too.

For she was in the throes of excruciating ecstasy and, if it led to her death, she really wouldn't have had much to complain about in the slightest. For she had all her favourite things happening at once. She was in the grand library of her palace, there were books all around and ... which she was finding maddeningly arousing ... many of them were under her. She was writhing around in pleasure on top of them, crumpling their pages in the grip of her vice-like fists, because her husband's face was buried between her thighs, the index fingers of his hands moving alternately in and out of each of her soaking holes, while his tongue worked its magic just above this manual labour. The filthy keening sounds Hermione was making were the thing that drove him the most wild ... he'd told her so several times ... so Hermione stopped fighting to hold them back and just groaned louder in time with her grinding hips, all the while thinking to herself that there were certainly worse ways to die.

The noise was such that it was probably why neither Harry nor Hermione heard the door open.

"Lady Hermione ... are you okay? I heard you making some very funny noises so I thought I'd better check to see if you were alright. What are you doing to her, Master Harry? I don't think she likes it, whatever it is."

Harry and Hermione rolled off the table and flew apart, fitfully embarrassed. Hermione flicked an Accio at her knickers, which she had to cast a Repairing Charm on ... due to Harry tearing them in his eagerness to get them off her ... before she could clothe herself. The buttons on her blouse could have gone anywhere, so she just pinned the two sides together in her fist for now, as she glowered at Harry in their crouched positions.

"I thought you magically locked the door!" she hissed.

"Why would there be a lock on the door to the library," Harry quirked. "I thought you cast a Privacy Charm."

"No, I thought you did!"

"Wow, that's a lot of spells I've not cast," Harry grinned.

"I thought you did it non-verbally," Hermione breathed crossly. "You know how you like to show off."