frostbittenfuror-blog

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The god was disappointed. The clinic had nothing. Only the wounded soldiers. As he examined them, all he could gather was that something was awry. It was as though they had encountered wild beasts, and it was bizarre, seeing how there were no areas where such a creature could reside. However, what he could decipher was that they were doomed men. Whatever marked them eventually would make them a pawn of their own demise. He had to hide a smile. It pleased him. He knew if his brother knew, this could be averted, and thus was glad he did not know. Perhaps Thor was too busy with that other woman to notice. Regardless, it was time for him to leave. He had the information he needed. He simply needed to move along. As he left the tent, a light guised him into the figure of a soldier, all Loki needed was to make it from the quarantine zone. The uneasy protection was too simple for hint to break, and he wanted to see the monstrosities of Midgard for himself. The outer limits were in shambles. Cityscape was ruined, and what appeared to be some form of Hel's machinations drew breath on the land. They were not too difficult of a creature to destroy. They aimed a gun, he aimed a well-placed enchanted blade. Occasionally one would find a hallucination in his place, only to have their skull frozen in seconds. Blue skin hued through his normally pallid flesh. Gentle etchings of his true nature. Without a sign of remorse, Light once again glimmered as the god displayed his true form. Armored to the very brim, gold cascaded through the black leather. Green decorated the coat darkly, and the gold embroidery shined in the bleak outcast of the city. His eyes focused on the nearby police station. A simple start. If anything had records, he was certain their bastion of order would be the first. His boots broke the eerie silence as he approached the building, entering its grand doors. Soon, he was sure he would understand everything.

To the Town of Raccoon City Rode a Stranger One Fine Day

Another job, another mission. It was all a never ending cycle for Sherry Birkin. She finally understood why Leon had grown course and thick through out the years. Seeing the things you saw as an agent made you become bitter. But, for her, she tried to keep herself positive. With every negative there always had to be a positive right?. 

  Sherry was atleast a few blocks from the drop off point of where she was going to do some sneaking around and figure out how this break out had occured. Lucky for her, zombies hadn’t noticed her yet and so she could snipe a few before they noticed. Making her way through the dead city she searched for anything that was out of the norm or that could tell her anything about this break out.   “Maybe check out the police station” she thought outloud to herself, She then looked around and noticed that she was clear and could walk. She was going to head to the police department.  

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To the Town of Raccoon City Rode a Stranger One Fine Day

It was a quiet day. Silence was filled in the City. Or so the Jotun would have preferred. The city was filled with their ilk, but he had learned a fair deal of things relating to their ways of war. Their methods. Their ways of war, but in particular, he found their willingness to alter themselves using their sciences to be most fascinating. He kept a neutral expression on his face as he solemnly took a small piece of ice cream from the dish. Midgardians had bizarre foods, that was certain. He could not deny that their food wasn't entirely disgusting, but a fair slew of them he was certain was an attempt to poison him. He was simply fortunate to convince the restaurant that he was an important federal inspector. Truly laughable, but today was not a day for laughter. It seemed Midgard suffered. What little that was left of the world was vastly decreased due to some kind of plague. It intrigued the frost giant. It was a rather peculiar situation but all that was the topic was some sort of virus. He was glad. Someone obviously had performed the work he needed done. Perhaps there weren't too many incompetent members of mankind if they had already prepared themselves for a new rule. The only matter would be how to glimmer their eyes to their true king. It would have to wait though. He needed more information. There was a federal established clinic in the passing street, and he knew that if anything, there had to be answers to this malady that had hit earth there. It would be where he had to start.

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My heart is cold, and my weapons are washed in blood.

He could feel it near. After an unpleasant venture through the bleak darkness of space, something familiar had reached his grasp. The planet was familiar to him. Perhaps it was a misjudgement in his punishment, perhaps another trick and a mischievous scheme that brought the Jotun back from his sentence in Asgard to this place, but regardless, the god had little to keep him from entering this realm. Certainly his brother would find him here, but not after he had settled and the seeds had been sown.  It was unlike Thor's glamorous return. there were no lights, no weather abnormalities, nothing that noted an Asgardian's descent. The ice giant knew better than to attract attention to his return. His opening was not with lights or pleasant celebration or the cracking of the world. It was a tear. A single tree, amongst countless of it's brethren,  buried in a field of similarity. It was the perfect place to snake back into Midgard. It was just as poetic. It was as if he was ripping outwards from an old shell. Always a good omen. First a deep blue hand gripped the bark, the skin turning back to a gentle pallid tone. The midgardian air was a pleasantry after such a long sojourn in the empty void. He did not think it, but perhaps this realm had some worth. The inhabitants would need to be altered, however. An arm creeped through, and then another hand, then a head. His green eyes pierced the scenery. Someone important lived here, judging by their land and overall elegance in the construction. A smile edged onto the god's face. Certainly, he found the first step to his new ascension. He examined himself. He still wore the same coat and arms that he had last worn, yet upon his face remained the scars of his last punishment. His mouth, newly unbound by the accursed thread his brother had placed upon him. The fury in his eyes spiraled as he recalled the memory. He would have to repay dear Thor in kind. A covering flash of light guised Loki in a new set of garments. A suit. Pinstripe, with elongated tails. It would suffice until he could find a way to Alter the hearts of men again. And there it was. A distance away. The lodging. He only hoped the man in it was as easily swayed as their kin normally were.

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( xDDD ahahahaha I ship this!)

(As you should.)

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Sherry, Sherry Birkin.

I see. I shall remember your name, Sherry Birkin. Know this, A god is watching you. Quite closely.

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I spose. Alright. You may gain my trust.

I assure you, you won't regret it, dear Lady...I'm afraid I'm at a loss. A woman of such beauty is hard to come by in your world. What, pray tell, is your name?

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You're the god of Mischeif. So there is a possibility

Mischief? Me? Why, mischief does not include lying. What would I be without honesty?

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Truuue~

Indeed. Would I ever lie to you?

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Loki, you are sexy.

When am I not?

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I cant send fanmail but I notice that too about Immortal. I was the one who tracked her IP and she denied that she sent hate to my friend. It's really sad. We had all proof too.

Truly? This false god was at war once before? My, this truly is a poor situation. Your evidence sounds most...intriguing. Perhaps I had been mistakenly lead in the greatest of your 'gods.'Most interesting.

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Hey, this nosy mortal would like to know: What's with you and immortalcorrupter? You seem to be greatly at odds with each other.

I suppose I could answer you, drow.There is nothing. Truth be told, I simply stumbled upon the false god and mused over it. Debated. Waited. Thought it would become an interesting creature. It turns that not even the most ambitious of your ilk is capable of ascending to our level.That is to say, you presume I have an agenda. That would be saying you have one when delivering the killing blow to your hunted prey.There is no malice in my actions. Simply a lack of understanding. I heard this was the best there was, and I find your god to be lacking. It is merely that simple.

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Oh, how petty are the "gods."

My dear Midgardians, It seems that the false god strikes once more. Truly unable to ascend to such a level of greatness, the spider climbs up on the backs of true men to appear greater to its foes. Unfortunately such tricks are not beyond my grasp, and even so I, Loki, can easily dissuade this mirage. First, let us look at 74's image of Jake Muller, shall we?

Quite the looker, isn't he? Clearly from his mother's side. Now, Let us behold this Wesker's variant.

Seems oddly familiar, does it not? Perhaps the use of your midgardian photoshoppe will be of use here.

Fascinating. Overlapping them shows quite the striking difference, does it not? No? I thought not. Quite ill boding, false god. Your tricks are paper thin. Perhaps your followers should convert to a true god. Damnation is quite painful.

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Frail Midgardian.

It appears a self-proclaimed god is no match for a true one.

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ROBOTS OR DINOSAURS?

Bilgesnipes

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Hail Midgardians.

Normally your Midgardian affairs would not concern me, but it has come to my attention that there has been a fair deal of dishonor amongst your rabble. I am certain you're wondering why I would even bother taking even the slightest concern in your petty squabblings, but you must understand first and foremost. I am Loki, wordsmith of Asgard. The silver tongue is a gift and one I cannot help but find is gravely misused by the rolling slugs in your gullet. Naturally, your gift of speech is not akin to my own, but on ocassion I do enjoy reading some of your Midgardian odysseys. My personal favorite happens to be about the boy who lived. So you must understand when I found this lovely...scripture I was surprised to find that it sounded quite a fair lot like this epic tale. Now, at first, I must admit I was suspicious, so naturally I scryed using your feeble Microsoft Word to determine just what, if anything, was so similar. So before you all, I present you Laurielove's Completing Business, circa  November 2012 and  Immortalcorrupter's Nocturne, circa April 2013. The Strike-through is Laurielove's, the underline is ImmortalCorrupter's. Normal text is naturally shared between the two.

----

It had been a long day.

As she made her way down the corridor of the Department of Magical Law, heading home, Hermione's mind was focussed on a cool glass of Sauvignon Blanc and a soak in a hot bath. She picked up her pace, desperate to escape the draining oppression of the Ministry.

'Hermione!'

She was halted in her tracks by the all too familiar voice of Kingsley. A dull leaden knot tightened in her stomach. Even she could not ignore the Minister for Magic; his footsteps were approaching. She turned, unable to greet him with anything remotely like a smile.

'Do you have a moment?' he inquired.

'Not really.'

'This is important. Someone's just arrived whom I'm very keen for you to see. It's about that new law controlling dark artefacts; I know you want it finalised as soon as possible. This person can help with that.' He had taken her elbow in his hand and was trying to guide her back along the corridor to his office; she resisted.

'Kingsley, can't it wait until Monday? I promised myself I wouldn't work late tonight.'

'Oh, it won't take a moment.' He was practically pulling her now. She found herself walking with him. Bugger, this was the wrong direction; she was supposed to be heading out of the office.

'This man has many artefacts which are exactly of the kind we need to monitor. Due to his past, he has agreed to us regulating them, but there are one or two issues which we can't agree on. I need you to speak to him. I didn't realise he was coming, I'm afraid. He gave me no notice – typical, I suppose.'

They approached his office and Shacklebolt held the door open for her. 'Kingsley, I don't think I have the focus right now to –' She stopped dead.

Standing in Kingsley's office was Lucius Malfoy.

'What's he doing here?'

'What's she doing here?'

She and Malfoy voiced their surprised indignation simultaneously.

'Malfoy, Hermione … let's remember that the war's over. We all have to work together now.'

'No, we don't,' she declared, turning on her heels and pacing out.

Kingsley held her back before she could go. 'Hermione. It won't be long. I just want you to sort through a few things.'

'Let me go, Kingsley,' she hissed under her breath.

'Just for a few minutes, Hermione,' he insisted, eyeing her with steely determination.

'If she doesn't go, I will.'

She looked over her shoulder at the man who had just spoken and that old bubbling hatred and loathing rose up in her again. His voice itself sent a shiver creeping through her.

'I'm afraid that isn't an option, Malfoy.' Shacklebolt now turned his attention on the ex-Death Eater. 'As you well know.'

'Really, this is intolerable. I did not realise that I would have to enter into dialogue with a Mu-' Malfoy stopped himself, but Hermione's stomach still heaved. Malfoy cast his eyes indignantly up and down her body. She felt her cheeks flushing. '- with ... that.'

'You will mind your language, Malfoy. Azkaban is only ever one or two words away,' warned Shacklebolt.

Malfoy inhaled sharply and raised his head, looking down his nose dismissively at her. She may as well have been that twelve-year-old Muggle-born in Flourish and Blotts again. But Hermione was not deterred. The wrath rose in her and she glared back at him with as much ferocity as she had felt all those years ago.

'Why don't we all sit down?' The Minister walked cautiously into the middle of the room and pulled out a chair, looking back at Hermione with a certain imploring optimism.

Going home would not come any sooner if she refused. She huffed loudly and sat heavily in the chair.

Shacklebolt indicated a seat for Malfoy. 'Mr Malfoy, please.'

Malfoy sneered. 'Enough of your faux conviviality, Shacklebolt.' But he too sat down, flicking up his robes behind him to reveal long legs in dark trousers. Hermione stared determinedly at the floor.

Kingsley cleared his throat. 'Right. Now, Malfoy, all dark artefacts in your possession are accounted for, and we have been asking you to come in to discuss the workings of a new law which regulates their use while retaining them in private hands.'

'I am not foolish enough to abuse my family's more - injurious - heirlooms, Minister, despite what you may think.'

'That's good to know, but we need to ensure that remains the case. Therefore, Miss Granger has suggested a new statute to the law. This statute will require a Ministry-cast tracking charm on all such artefacts.'

Malfoy tutted and muttered under his breath, 'It would be Miss Granger, wouldn't it? Interfering chit.'

'I beg your pardon?' she countered.

Malfoy looked at her and cocked an eyebrow but offered no more.

'What was that you said about me, Malfoy?' she tried again, the anger ill-concealed in her cutting tone.

He leaned into her, his eyes cold, his lip curled disdainfully. 'I said – Miss Granger – that it does not surprise me that you would come up with such a pedantic, inflexible and obstructive piece of tedious legislation. I would expect no more.'

'So you would prefer dark objects to remain in entirely unregulated hands into the future, would you? I would expect no more, Mister Malfoy.'

She almost stood to walk out. Dealing with intractable Death Eaters had hardly been on the agenda this evening. But a knock at the door prevented her escape. Rosemary Blenkinsop, the Minister's PA, appeared behind it.

'Minister Shacklebolt, the Prime Minister is on the phone. Apparently there's some trouble brewing due to the approaching Solstice. He needs to speak to you.'

Shacklebolt tutted. 'Now?'

'Yes, sir. It is the Prime Minister, sir.'

Shacklebolt rose with clear annoyance from his chair, mumbling, 'Why can't he send an owl like any other civilised human being? Bloody telephone; I hate the damned thing. Look, you two, excuse me. You'll have to continue this without me. Do try not to kill each other.' And he paced out, shutting the door behind him.

They sat in silence, neither looking at the other, both determined not to break first.

Minutes passed. Hermione was almost bursting. She could just leave but that would make life harder for her on Monday. They really should just hammer it out now. She dared glance at him. He was staring fixedly at a small china dragon on Shacklebolt's desk.

'This is ridiculous. Let's just get this over and done with.'

Malfoy at last flicked his eyes to her. They almost ignited with gleeful victory; she had cracked first. His mouth turned up at the corners.

'Get what over and done with exactly?'

'The details of this law. Essentially, you keep your artefacts, however dodgy, and we monitor them. If you use them, we find out and you go to Azkaban. Simple. What's the problem?'

'I thought you were supposed to be clever, Miss Granger.'

She rolled her eyes. 'Oh, here we go again.'

'You should know that certain magical objects, particularly those associated with the darker fringes of our culture, require a regular – airing, shall we say – or else their evil becomes more concentrated. If I do not use certain items in a very controlled, mild and harmless way, they will become, over time, ever more dangerous. But, according to your new law, that would mean I would be returned to prison. It is ludicrous.'

'We cannot allow any infractions of the law. It must be strictly adhered to.'

'I thought you'd say that.'

Hermione could stand his supercilious arrogance no more. She stood up, determined to force sense into him and then leave. 'Mr Malfoy, you must understand that you only narrowly avoided a return to Azkaban after the war. Any hint of a retreat towards the shadows of your past and I would see you back behind bars with the utmost glee.'

He too stood up suddenly and took a pace towards her; he seemed much taller than she remembered and she swayed back at his sheer presence.

'The utmost glee? What a wicked little tongue you have on you, Miss Granger. Perhaps you are not the mediocrely ponderous bureaucrat I took you to be.'

'I mean it. After the war I hoped never to see you again. I thought you'd rot in that prison for the rest of your days. I still see no remorse or regret in you whatsoever. You were only saved by your family, Mr Malfoy, your family who now, I understand, want very little to do with you. And who can blame them? Sad, bitter and lonely, Malfoy.'

He stepped in again, his nostrils flaring. She feared she had gone too far. Her cutting words had taken her aback but she held her ground.

'You are a venomous little bitch when you choose, aren't you?'

'Well, now seems as good a time as any, Malfoy. After all the insults and abuse you delighted in hurling at me, it's the least I can do.'

“I thought that little B.S.A.A. puppet had taken care of you, Albert Wesker. So you’ve managed to evade the fires of a Volcano? Admirable, but sad.” She shifts. “The world has moved on—“

“—there are new players in the field.”

His face twisted and he took yet another step intotowards her. She stood her ground. 'My

“My, my. It seems I have underestimated you. The Mudblood can bite after all.'Such hypocritical words from the female who tried to do the same as I. And you failed.”

She moved without thinking. A strength borne of sudden rage poured through her arm and she raised it to strike him. But he was too fast for her, too experienced— and with lightning reflexes, he blocked it and grabbed her wrist in strong fingers. She triedShe hissed. Tried very well—and yet in vain to tug out of release herself from his hold and. It elicited a twisted smile of satisfaction from Malfoy. 'Clawshim. “Claws in, you hellcat.'.”

She felt the tears brimming but held them back. Instead, she She set about pounding himattempting to claw at his face with her other hand, but he caught hold of that too and she was rendered immobile in his grip. Her body was tight and hot with a crazed fury but still, he held her fast, his height and dominance too much for her. Hermione glared with burning hatred, determined to recover her control by willpower alonesheer aura not something she actually felt like resisting against.

'Never again, Malfoy. Never again.'

This was madness.

Dead man living. The one who came before. Surreal.

She met his eyes. The sunglasses had fallen in their brief struggle. They were wide and remarkably bright, lit with a crystal grey flame which not unlike lava, fire—she’d caused so much destruction. Seen such fire, and now, it was in his eyes.  They seemed to sear her in their intensity.

The sneer had gone and he was staring back intoat her with what could only be described as blinding clarity. The dull heaving of her belly was now replaced with a writhing, twisting ache which would not be banished.

'No,' he said, his voice low and reclusive, almost private. 'Never again.'

And, still gripping her wrists tight, he bent his head towards her. She stared, paralysedparalyzed, all fight gone, horrified and enthralled at the same time.

What was going on?

Closer.

Never againShe’d died too.

His lips pressed hard onto hers. The ache in her belly leapt high and bright. Reason was gone. She met his lips and pushed back onto them. He tasted good. So good. Of dark cherries and marsala, wine…and death. He wasn'twasn’t holding her arms anymore but she only knew it because she was now free to curl them around his neck and pull him closer. Malfoy'sHis hands had risen to her head which he now held hard, very hard, turning it to focus on her mouth even more. He was kissingKissing her with aan almost painful certainty.

His lips, hard and searching, forced hers open and his tongue was inside her mouth. Pureblood bigot. Supremacist hater. Death Eater.Damn megalomaniac. Tyrant. Sociopath, just like her. Inside her mouth. But so goodexquisite.

His tongue danced and dipped around hers and she gave it to him. She adored him for it. Malfoy's, in that moment. Wesker’s breath came hard through his nose now; her mouth was too sweet to part from for an instant. Her lips were wide open, inviting more, bruised and swollen and craving, her tongue aching from that almost desperate dance of desirewant.

All in that moment.

And she was being moved, back to the deskbed, back to lie upon it. She pushed herself up enough to fumble at his robessuit and push themthe coat from his shoulders. Underneath he wore a silken black shirt. Italian. She needed to see him; she needed to reveal him. He sensed her urgency and together they tore buttons from his shirt and consigned itthe garment to the floor. The most perfect pale, sculpted torso loomed before her, like hewn maple. Her hands met it first, warm, smooth, and then her mouth followed and she licked, tasting him –— as sweet as his mouth – a— long, slow lick which caused him to throw his head back and hiss with delicious torment.

Neither could wait. He tore her shirtthat blue dress of hers open, revealing the dark satin of her bra encasing thethrew away that scarlet scarf. Red. It was unnecessary. It wasn’t her. Revealing twin spheres of plump flesh, but then his hands were down, liftingsmoothing over her skirtflesh, skittering over the lacy tops of her stockings, ripping off her knickers in malicious hasteher thighs with intent.

'Yes,'“Yes,” she mumbledbreathed, not hesitating. He was already too slow. It had to be. She wanted it to be.

They wanted it to be.

His hands moved to his own buttons. It didn'tdidn’t take long for him to be revealed. Her eyes could not leave it. Something so private and potent. Was this evil? How could something so beautiful be evil? And she wanted it inside her. She wanted it inside her so much she threw her head back and cried outbared her teeth in frustration that she was still denied.

In answer he gripped her knee and pushed it to the side, pulled her other leg around his waist and, holding himself, he dragged in breaths through his nose in agonised preparation; he was ready. Those cat-like pupils slitting, dilating, and slitting again. Watching her.

'Now“Now. Watch it. Watch it and feel it.'.”

She turned her head down to where he was poised.

And he was in her.

Full. Hard, and full.

Fuck, he filled her. It hurt. As if to reinforce the pain, he pulled out and drove in again, as deep as before, no, deeper. It hurt again. She loved that hurt.

 Her head fell back and her eyes closed as she gloried in the completion of cock.

'Look – at – me.'

Hermione“Look. At. Me.”

She tore her eyes open and half sat up, forcing herself to focus, wanting to, but already lost in the most glorious fucking.

She met his eyes and he dropped them to stare down as his cockhe reappeared from within her.

'Look.“Look. I have you, Granger. I'll. I’ll take you and I'llI’ll shake and I won'twon’t let you forget. Look.' His cock emerged.” Emerged, thick and hard and glistening in her pleasure.

'In“In again.'.”

MalfoyWesker paused, an eyebrow cocked. 'What?'“What?”

'Into“Into me again. Please.'Now.”

'Please? “Are you asking? Are you begging me, Miss Granger?'?”

'Yes. Please. Please. Fuck me. Fuck me, oh fuck me, fuck me.' She was almost weeping. Her need for that perfect cock, sitting perched, poised, straining yet restrained, was overwhelming.

“Yes. Do it.” Her need for him to fill her emptiness again was toxic.

There was poison.

He smirked, just a little smirk this time, but enough for a jolt of raw anticipation to surge through her. She sobbed.

'Touch“Touch yourself,',” he stated.

She didn'tdidn’t hesitate. Her hand came down and she dragged over her clit, rubbing and circling it hard.

He smirkedlooked down at the sight and his voice now teased. 'Hungry girl. Don't“Don’t come now. Oh no. That'sThat’s my prerogative. I shallwill be the one to rip you out of yourself.'.”

And with that he was back inside her completely. Her back buckled and she grunted with the sheer unexpected force of it.

MalfoyHe leaned over her, his beautiful, terrible face –— she could say that now –— so close again. 'GoodBeautiful and terrible, just like herself. “Good? Say it. Is it good? Good to be fucked by the very man you hate?'thought a fool?’”

She clenched around him and noticed his face flinch with his own pleasure. 'Beyond “Beyond good. Beyond perfect,',” she answered.

'I'm“I’m going to move in you now. I'mI’m going to fucktake you so hard and true that you will forget all before and all after. Do you understand?'?”

Hermione nodded.

MalfoyShe just felt.

He pulled out again, so slowly that her cuntsex gripped onto him until the last moment, so reluctant to let him go. But this time he was back immediately and then it began, the retreat and the push forward, that relentless cycle of anticipation and fruition, of cock and cunt meeting and inhabiting.

He was so big that she was stretched with each push. But she lay back now and lost herself to him. He moved with power and conviction but neglected nothing. One hand still held her hip hard, preventing her body from moving away from him, even under his incessant thrusting, but the other rose to her breast and pulled it from the bra. His, fingers toyed and flicked a nipple, gently at first, but with growing sinister accuracy. But each pinch and tug and twist only reinforced her utter joy. Pleasure was curling and stretching in her, ready for release, ready to hurtle its way through.

He leaned down again. 'I“I told you to look at me. Open your eyes.'.”

She did. He was mere inches away. 'I“I want you to come first. I want to see you and hear you and feel you come around me.'.”

He pulled her leg around him, deepening the angle of his thrusts. Oh fuck, that worked. Her body was so tight and hot and wet, so ready for pleasure,— that each rub along that sweet spot inside sent shards of sharp bliss shooting through her. Through them both.

'I“I can feel you. I can feel your body readying itself. You fit me perfectly, you bitch. How dare you? How dare you be the best fuck of my life?evoke such a reaction from me? How dare you make me want you and adore?Understand you and fuck you?'?”

'Lucius …'Two monsters.

“Wesker…” she moaned, barely aware she'dshe’d said it. He practically roaredgrowled, feral: a combination of triumph and despair. But still he moved, hard, fast, a blur of flesh. Malfoy's cock toreTore in and out of her, plunging deep, pistoning in and out of her hungry cunt.feeding that hunger. She met him thrust for thrust, rising up to meet every drive forward, craving the next.

And he brought her up, up to that next ledge. She clung to it, her body tight, dispossessed, expectant and shimmering. MalfoyHe fucked ever harder, each surge into her accompanied by the deepest groan of pleasure.

'Now, now, come, come, come for me, Hermione.'

Leaned down, lips against her ear. “Now, now. Let go.”

He surged along her gG-spot, embedding his cockso deep and hard in her, and she came. Her body knew pleasure tearing through it, robbing her of sense, denying her thought. She livedwanted to feel. And now she was feeling. It raced through her, back to feed off the flesh stretching her apart, and hurtled through yet again.

And when he could hold back no more, when pleasure at last let her body sag, Lucius moved again, focused on the pumping of his cock. He stared down, studying it, his brows creased. And then he froze, his mouth gaped, his grey eyes widened. He was comingthe Tyrant moved again, focused—he stilled. Came, harder than he could remember, bursting long and hot inside her, filling her, cramming her with all he had.

Only then did their movement cease.

She didn't want him to come out. She wanted to have him inside her always.

 Laid there, two fellow monsters. Silent.

But, slowly, the inevitability of their discoverywhat they had done pressed in on them. As he slackened, LuciusWesker pulled himself gently out of her and turned,sat up. Turned himself away.

Hermione She did the same. Both of them had to resort to a mending charm to tidy their clothesAnd finally spoke.

It was not a moment too soon. Only a few seconds after she had adjusted the last button, Shacklebolt was back in the room.

'Sorry about that. Ah, good, both still alive, I see.'

Hermione smiled and reached behind her, adjusting the dragon which had been knocked across the table in their coupling.

'Yes. I believe we have reached a satisfactory conclusion. Miss Granger has convinced me of the perspicacity of such a law. She has, however, compromised on one or two minor requirements. When it is necessary for me to make careful and sensible use of any artefacts, she will come to the Manor to witness it. That way, we shall all be happy, shall we not?'

He turned to her and met“Carla.”

“What?”

“Radames. Carla Radames. I’m not her.” She shook. “Not her. Never her.”

His expression was blank, back to its usual state. But he moved. Pulled her back.

“Carla.”

Laid back down.

“You are yourself. Your own person.” He had been manufactured. He was a hypocrite. But he spoke. “In the end, you are no Ada Wong. You are something different, something all your own and unique and terrible. Your flaws are your beauty.”

She closed her eyes again.

'Very happy,' agreed Hermione.

'Well, that's … splendid. Umm …' Shacklebolt was at a loss for words. Both Hermione and Lucius took the opportunity to leave.

'If you need anything else, Minister, you know where to find me,' drawled Lucius.

'Have a lovely weekend, Kingsley.' Hermione was out of the door before he could stop her.

When they found a quiet corner along the corridor, the war heroine and the Death Eater turned to each other.

'Did you mean that? About me coming to the Manor?'

'Do you doubt it?' He smiled at. Just laid there, back to his chest. He draped an arm over her. Not a smirk, not a sneer, a smile. Her insides leapt again.

'No.'

'Come to think of it … I had intended to give one of our treasures an airing early next week. Say … Monday?'

With a final cock of his eyebrow he turned and sauntered away from her.

She smiled after him. Next week could not come soon enough.

Just feeling.