Chapter Thirty

"You can't ignore them forever," Thorfinn reminded in a gentle tone that night after their strange and motley assortment of family and supporters had shared a strained and silent dinner and Hermione had shut the door to the Hollyhocks Room with more force than necessary.

One would think there would've been loads of things to discuss over the meal. Questions asked, information shared, solutions plotted.

But none of that occurred. And that wasn't solely Hermione's fault. They could've carried on conversation despite the chilly looks she was giving her adoptive parents. She could've told them about Professor McGonagall's possibly mad-sounding scheme, even as Lucius and Narcissa watched Dolohov's body with Salazar Slytherin's spirit inhabiting it lifting a fork like any normal person as though the image had frozen them solid.

But such talks were going to require all of them. With their wits about them, with no voices left unheard because of wounded pride or mangled emotions. That was not something they could manage until Hermione's pain could subside enough to let her listen to the Grangers' explanation, nor when the Malfoys were so overcome by shock they could barely form words—a state with which clearly neither of the dignified and eloquent couple was accustomed.

And, by some unspoken mutual agreement, everyone at the table seemed to recognize that. The poor Squib housekeeper had not known what to make of the gathering—fortunately, she also had not recognized the three new guests at the table—but had picked up on the awkward tension choking the air and had been quick to finish up her nightly duties and excuse herself from the house.

Hermione wrenched back the covers and threw herself face down on the bed. For several heartbeats, she didn't move from that position. For several heartbeats, Thorfinn merely watched her lay like that from where he stood by the door, his arms crossed over his chest and his mouth tugged to one side in a thoughtful expression.

After letting out a long, miserable groan, she turned her head, resting her cheek against the smooth, cool sheet. "I know I can't, and . . . despite all evidence to the contrary, I don't want to ignore them 'forever.' Just for now; a day or two until I know my temper's in control enough that I'll not just let them talk, but I'll let myself listen."

He snickered, the mirthful sound followed by his footfalls as he started across the floor toward the bed. "It's startling how self-aware you can be." That foul beast Crookshanks was off on his own exploring his new environment and little Salazar had taken a shine to the other Salazar and so Hermione had agreed to let the possessed wizard serpent-sit for the night.

Everyone seemed of the mind that she'd had a rather long, stressful, revealing, day, and a quiet night alone with her betrothed might be in order.

"I'm not always," she admitted, helpfully lifting limbs at the right moments to assist him as he started undressing her without moving her too much. "It seems the more wounded my pride or feelings, the deeper I think about my own reactions and motivations. Even that is only 'usually' though—sometimes I lose it, just like anyone else."

When she was stripped down, he settled on the mattress beside her. Odd how that she was completely without shame at being naked in front of him, and laying on her stomach, no less, not exactly the most flattering position. Hermione Granger was quite confident in herself, but the urge to cover oneself was ingrained and their relationship was still relatively new.

She put that out of her mind, it was hardly important in comparison to all the other things she was trying to avoid thinking on until she was ready. She wasn't certain what her emotional state was right now. So much had happened so quickly—and that was even weighing it against everything that had happened in the last month of her life—she just wanted to forget all of it for a few blessed hours, but even for how worn out she was, Hermione didn't believe she was tired enough to sleep just yet.

Thorfinn rubbed his hands together, warming his palms before spreading them across her shoulder blades. He considered the moan she uttered a reward, feeling her bunched muscles begin to loosen beneath his touch, already.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

She folded her arms under her head and sighed. "About which part, specifically?"

He shrugged, working the tips of his fingers down along her spine and then smoothing his thumbs across the back of her hips. "Any of it? All of it?"

"Gah, there's so much. I don't think I can."

Nodding with a thoughtful frown, he leaned a little closer, adding a bit more pressure to his ministrations. "Well, then, what did you look so deep in thought over when I caught up with you at the castle?"

"Okay, I guess that won't be too hard to talk about. I mean, it's a bit . . . odd, but it's not exactly a secret. Not from you or the others, anyway." She was unconsciously moving under his hands, pressing herself more firmly beneath his touch. "Professor McGonagall had an idea. A plan, actually, for what to do about Father's situation."

"Doesn't like a Founder possessing the body of a Death Eater, does she?"

She laughed in spite of herself. "Considering the Founder in question is one she probably loathed before all this and the Death Eater in question would probably murder all of us for bringing to light what he would see as a despoilment of 'Salazar Slytherin's proud legacy'? I'd say she's not pleased by this turn of events."

Thorfinn snorted a chuckle at that.

"Well, she suggested that we . . . find him a new host body."

His hands stilled just as they were moving lower from her hips. "Professor Minerva McGonagall suggested this?"

Letting out a sigh, Hermione nodded against her arm. "Helena and I were sitting right there for it."

"I . . . um . . . I . . . well . . . ." Thorfinn Rowle had never been quite so without the ability to form a coherent sentence that he was genuinely shocked to hear himself sputtering out single syllable words without meaning or context.

"My thoughts exactly until she elaborated a bit."

He climbed to his feet, merely staring down at her bare form as he tried to collect his thoughts. Slipping out of his robes, he lay down on his stomach beside her, his weight propped up on his elbows.

She smiled at him and he returned the bright expression, blue eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Go on then," he said with a nod. "Elaborate for me."

For a few heartbeats, Hermione only stared into his eyes, smiling at him like some lovestruck idiot, she was sure. She really was falling hard for him, wasn't she? Of course, he didn't make it much of a challenge. He wasn't perfect, she understood that. He was still the man who'd set Hagrid's hut ablaze and tried to kill her, Harry, and Ron in that Muggle café after Bill and Fleur's wedding. She recognized that those acts had been committed while their true memories had been locked away from them, when neither of them understood who they were or knew anything of their true past.

But the violent and careless nature that had led him to burning her friend's home on a whim, that had probably viewed a 'subdue and capture' order as 'only Potter matters, the others are disposable,' was still in him. Still part of him.

Yet, she knew now he was layered, complicated, just as anyone else. Those traits . . . perhaps they were all that was left of him when his real self had been locked away from him. It made her wonder, really, how much had she changed since remembering their past? Had she simply not noticed? Was that why intellect had always been so important to her, because it was what she'd clung to as her 'personality', just as he had with his volatility?

After a few seconds of the two of them staring at each other in silence like a pair of morons, his smile melted down to a curious, mirthful smirk. "Whatever is going on in that unfathomably large brain of yours?" he asked.

"Just thinking what messes we were without even realizing before we found each other," she said, opting for honesty.

"As I recall, I found you and you fought tooth and nail."

She nudged his elbow with her shoulder. "Before we remembered ourselves, I mean. And that 'fighting' wasn't all me, that was Dumbledore's interference."

He leaned down, nipping at her arm and then rolled onto his back, folding his hands behind his head. "Now, back to this business about McGonagall's plan."

"Yes." Hermione cleared her throat, turning on her side toward him. Reaching out, she started trailing her fingertips over his chest. "Though I'm not sure how I feel about having a discussion that involves both my father and Antonin Dolohov while we're naked in bed."

Grinning, he pointedly tipped down his chin to watch her hand moving lower over his abdomen now. "Let's have this discussion quick, then, so we can move onto more pleasant matters."

"All right. She didn't mean simply putting the Horcrux on someone else. Chances are Dolohov was in a wounded state, anyway, for my father's will to take hold so easily. However, she thinks if perhaps if we can find someone who's, say, no longer in use of their body—"

"Are we looking for a fresh corpse?" he asked, his brows lifted, but not sounding as wholly disturbed by the idea as one might expect. But then, Death Eater.

"No, she means one of the poor fellows in St. Mungo's incurable wing. Not . . . ." She still recalled Neville's parents in the Janus Thickey Ward. Long term, but with hope for small improvements over time. They were looking for someone with a definitive, permanent condition. "The Muggle term would be brain-dead. Someone who's body is still capable of function, but for whatever reason—usually traumatic injury—their mind is gone with no hope of returning. She thinks if we find one such person, who has no living relatives to miss them . . . ." She shrugged, her voice trailing off.

"I get it. Do you feel bad about taking someone's body like that?"

She frowned. There was a time she'd have found this a ghastly notion, even as she told herself, pragmatically, there was nothing actually 'wrong' in it, not if they went about it all as carefully and thoughtfully as they were intending.

"I'm not thrilled by the idea," she answered after a moment's consideration, "but I do believe if we cast predictive charms to reveal whether the person truly has no chance of recovering themselves, so we know for certain we're not actually stealing their chance at life, then it isn't a terrible option. And if we do it right, timing-wise, I mean, we can get my father a host body that won't be missed, and we can subdue Dolohov before we remove the Horcrux. Deliver him to the Ministry, and reveal that he'd been holding the Grangers, but we managed to get the drop on him and retrieve my parents unharmed."

"Sounds like you ladies really have this all planned out."

"We do have one condition."

His brows drew upward. "We?"

"Professor McGonagall and me . . . and Helena, too, actually."

"Which is?"

Her movements stalled, just as she neared the trail of golden hair below his navel. "That whomever we end up choosing, we find out whatever we can about them and hold a proper service for them. Even if they're never coming back, it's right we should pay some form of tribute for what their absence is permitting possible for us."

He curled a hand over hers, dragging her fingers lower and then let go again. "Don't think anyone will object to that."

"We'll see." Her gaze on his, she stroked down his length to find him already hard.

When a half-smile curved her lips, he asked, "Moving onto other matters now, are we?"

"Why don't you have a check?" She was feeling a bit bold, but this was exactly what she needed right now and they both knew it.

Pulling herself up, she moved over him. He watched her face as she settled across his hips, waiting for him to comply. Her fingers wrapped him still, holding him behind her. She stroked him slow and gentle as she watched his face right back.

He slid his hand between them, loving her sharp little intake of breath at the contact. Oh, she was definitely done talking. There was a twinge of disappointment, he supposed while working his fingers against her as she lifted herself, that they hadn't needed to do anything more to be ready for each other. But then he also supposed simply being naked in bed together might've been enough of a push for the two of them on a night like this.

Hermione guided him, slipping only the head into her and then held herself there, her gaze still on his face.

Thorfinn made a tutting sound as he rubbed a little faster, his free hand circling her to cup her arse with splayed fingers. "Don't be cruel," he murmured in that gravely pitch, sending a sweet shiver up her spine.

"But I'm so good at it," she answered in a breathless whisper, yet she found she couldn't wait, either.

Lowering herself onto him, she bit hard into her bottom lip to keep from moaning perhaps a little too loud at his entry. The bastard left his fingers right were they were so they were now wedged between their bodies, pressing more tightly against her still as she started rocking.

"You really just . . . ." She took a breath as she worked her body over his. "Don't want this to last very long tonight, do you?"

He answered with low, rumbling chuckle. "Just giving my future bride what she needs, aren't I?"

Shuddering, she rocked harder. "I haven't agreed to the honor the betrothal yet, remember?"

Holding her to him, he rolled them over. "Yeah," he answered, pausing, though she was not having any of that—she locked her ankles behind him and kept rocking her hips beneath him. "But I'm chipping away at that 'yet.'"

She cried out as he slammed his pelvis forward, driving into her fast and hard. The force of it, the delicious, mildly painful sensation, stilled her. Her limbs curled tighter around him, clinging helplessly as he withdrew and rocked forward at a steady rhythm. Every few strokes, he'd pause a moment and then thrust into her, the movement sharp, drawing a gasp from her each time.

Hermione hated as much as she loved how easily he made her come. She pressed her mouth against his shoulder, muffling an ecstatic scream. She hated as much as she loved the sound of his smug, self-satisfied laughter rumbling low against her ear.

Thorfinn wasn't far behind her. He couldn't hold back once he felt her body clench around him, warm and tight and sweetly familiar. He froze over her, glad for it as her orgasm ebbed enough that she was rocking beneath him in quick, shivery jerks while he spent himself.

When they settled against each other, catching their breath, she untangled her limbs from him. He rolled onto his back beside her, his eyes closed and a smile curving his lips.

"You really can't stop talking for long, can you?" he asked, humor edging his words.

"Like me to be quieter during sex, would you?"

"Quieter? Not at all. Maybe less chatty—those are two very different things."

They lay in silence for a few heartbeats before he sat up to grab the covers. In a single easy motion, he pulled the soft material over them as he dropped back down next to her.

A startled breath tore out of her. "Oh, no! Thorfinn, we forgot something."

His brows pinched together as he turned his head against the pillow to meet her gaze. "Hmm?"

"Not just now. The first time, too. I mean, at the inn and my house we remembered, but . . . ." She let out a sigh and shook her head. "We forgot to use a contraceptive charm."

Hermione sat up, unable to believe that either of them—never mind both of them, together—had been so stupid. "I . . . I've been so distracted by everything that's been going on it hadn't occurred to me I wasn't keeping track of my menstrual cycle. I—I can't even remember where I'm supposed to be on it right now."

She shook her head, reminding herself to breathe. "There's a chance I could be pregnant!"

His face fell, but the gleam in his eyes was anything but unhappy.

"Oh, shit." A surprised laugh burst out of him. "Just so we're clear," he tacked on hurriedly, "that was not part of my attempt to chip away at the word 'yet.'"

A frown pulled at the corners of her mouth. Of course she hadn't for a moment believed he'd let this slide on purpose. But she thought, well, honestly, that he would be upset by the possibility. That she would be upset by the possibility.

Strangely, even with all the madness that might befall them if they could bring her true parentage before the public eye, if something went wrong with her father's Horcrux, or Minerva's plan . . . there was a calmness in this. A bizarre certainty.

"I know," she said softly, taking a few breaths to collect herself.

Snuggling down against him, she rested her cheek against his chest. "I actually think that it . . . might somehow be okay if, well, if we are. But a bit of a nervous wreck about how we'd tell everyone else."

"It's late now." Thorfinn pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Tomorrow we'll have you checked out. We won't worry about telling anyone anything unless there's something to tell."

Nodding against him, she asked, "You're not upset by this? Really, honestly?"

A gentle laugh rumbled in his chest. "Really, honestly."

Hermione let her eyes drift closed on that thought. It could be nothing, just poor timing and her period was right around the corner, or . . . they could be expecting a child who would be half Thorfinn Rowle, half Hermione Granger/Sabina Slytherin.

Lulled by the steady thudding of his heart beneath her ear, she fell asleep wondering if they baby would have her wild brown hair and his mirthful blue eyes.