NEW: Ars Magica: Aftermath (side fic for the Ars Magica arc)

[cthulhuchan]

Side fic for Ars Magica: Fiat Lux


Title: Ars Magica: Aftermath
Pairing: Hermione/Vincent
Characters: Hermione, Vincent, Blaise Zabini, Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, Narcissa Malfoy.
Genres: Drama, possibly a bit of angst
Rating: R/NC-17 -- I don't think it's quite that hardcore, but just in case.
Warnings: Adult Language, Sexual Situations, Character Death


Disclaimer: I wish I owned the characters. Harry would have relatives who cared for him and Snape would have some closure. Alas, Harry and Snape belong to J. K. Rowling, primarily, as well as Scholasitc and Warner Brothers.

Feedback: Feedback is good. Constructive Criticism is excellent. Adoration is always welcomed.



Hermione, Vincent, Pansy and Draco need to shut up. Really. I want to work on Bellum Umbrae. Damn it.



Ars Magica: Aftermath

He knew she was alive.

She has to be alive. She has to be alive.

The surge of magic that had risen from the dungeons in a flash flood of power tasted of her, like almonds and ginger.

She has to be alive. She has to be alive.

He had felt her will ripple outward, Death Eaters and traitors faltering before the force of her anger. Her voice had whispered in his mind, a clarion call. Courage. I will protect you. Fight.

She has to be alive. She has to be alive.

The faithful had heard it, wands flashing as voice after voice took up the cry, For Hogwarts!.

She has to be alive. She has to be alive.

He had seen first years, terrified eyes in determined faces, incanting simple spells in deadly unison. Seventh years battled it out between their parents and each other, while Hermione and Hogwarts poured seemingly endless streams of power and protection into them.

She has to be alive. She has to be alive.

With effort he carried Pansy Malfoy, beaten and bloody, but victorious against the vicious bitch who had led the Death Eaters into the castle, into the Hospital Wing. He tried not to wince as she dropped Narcissa's severed head, the trophy she had refused to part with, beside Draco Malfoy's bound form, leaving mother and son face-to-face, so to speak.

"Present for you, darling." she crooned, smiling slightly. "I hope you and mummy dearest enjoy your last time together. Aren't you going to give her a kiss?"

Pansy's mad, hysterical laughter echoed off of the walls until he whispered a sleep spell against her temple, and he prayed, prayed, prayed that his beloved was stronger than the girl he laid out on one of the few remaining hospital beds.

She has to be alive. She has to be alive.

He dodged Madam Pomphrey, searching, searching --

"She's not here, Vince." Blaise Zabini shook blood-stiffened hair out of dark eyes. "No one's seen her."

But he'd heard, they'd all heard her, and felt the tide of magic and will.

"Where --"

"The center of the labyrinth, that's where the keypoint of the wards is. She has to be there."

"Blaise --" fear crowded him.

"Go, Vince. Find Hermione. I've got to find Potter."

An order. Find Hermione. He could do that. Of course he could. The dungeons. Yes.

She has to be alive. She has to be alive.

He has loved her for as long as he can remember. A bushy-haired girl with over-large teeth looking for a toad had dared barge in to Malfoy's compartment and he had been lost. She was officious and fussy and slightly temperamental, but she had guts that made her wondrous in his eyes. There was no surprise at all when she was sorted into Gryffindor. Malfoy, whom his father had insisted he follow like a trained ape, spent the next years whining about the Mudblood bitch, but Vincent listened impassively, grinning inside every time she trounced the poncey little fuck on the academic field.

She has to be alive. She has to be alive.

He had been so jealous of Viktor Krum, fourth year, getting to squire her about, putting the Patil twins to shame. Fear had gripped him, acid claws raking his guts as Malfoy crowed about the danger she was in during the Second Task. He had wanted to kick his patron's effete, mama's-boy ass when Malfoy had maligned her to the Skeeter-bitch.

He'd wanked to visions of her on the dance floor, and fantasies of what she wasn't wearing under her formal robes.

She has to be alive. She has to be alive.

Sixth year, she'd actually started looking at him and seeing him, not nancy-boy-Malfoy's pet gorilla. She'd been one of the few who didn't assume that either his OWL results were a fluke -- Malfoy's less than stellar performance making the spoiled little bastard bruit it about that the only way Vincent Crabbe could have outscored him was by accident. No, when Snape had partnered them for Advanced Potions, for the first time she had seen him.

And smiled.

She has to be alive. She has to be alive.

Just before Christmas of sixth year, when one of Malfoy's plans had, astonishingly enough, succeeded, luring Granger into a generally unused part of the castle, he had seen the rage and defiance in her eyes. Naked and uncowed, she had done battle with her wits and limited magic and, when that failed, stoically withstood Malfoy's curses and taunts until Vincent couldn't take it any more and had punched the prissy fuck and promptly pounded his ass into the ground.

Sometimes it really felt good to get physical.

And wrong or not, then he'd had a good idea of what she looked like naked to toss off to.

She has to be alive. She has to be alive.

When she'd returned after Christmas, she'd been a different person. She'd been a sword of iron, sharp and strong. He'd feared for her, because iron did not bend like steel and could be shattered with a strong enough blow. Still, he'd seen determination in her eyes and if she flinched when touched, it grew less over time.

Ostracized by many of his Housemates, he had begun following her. Sometimes she would turn and see him, but she never seemed bothered by his stalking. Once, he followed her to a door he'd never seen before and waited for her to come back out. He'd waited on the floor for hours before she'd exited, flushed and sweaty in Muggle clothes that left little to his imagination. She'd stared at him for a moment and then smiled.

"You didn't have to wait out here for me, Vince, you could have come in."

There was an odd light in her eyes as she crossed the hall to loom over him.

"I didn't think I'd be welcome."

"Hmmmm." She smiled.

And kissed him.

She has to be alive. She has to be alive.

The next time he followed her to the randomly appearing door, he discovered that she was naked.

On purpose.

She has to be alive. She has to be alive.

After that, he became her bodyguard, much to the chagrin of her friends, who tolerated him because Hermione was smiling and laughing in a way she hadn't since before Christmas. When they met up with Malfoy and Goyle in the hallways he made it a habit to keep his wand out before stealing a kiss from lips that always seemed to taste of almonds and ginger. Malfoy would call him a traitor, but he found more and more of his Housemates gravitating toward him. Deaths occurred every day and many of their younger brethren were not so sure that they wanted anything to do with Malfoy's master.

It had only taken having the courage to openly love Hermoine to sway them.

She has to be alive. She has to be alive.

He ran down the steps to the dungeons, his feet leading him surely into the heart of the maze of corridors. He could feel Hermoine's magic, surging and restless, and was drawn to her, his magnetic north.

He found her kneeling on the floor in a drying pool of blood, some hers but most of it belonging to the mangled redhead on the floor. Not that he noticed, his eyes drawn to the rise and fall of her breasts as she panted heavily. She was alive.

"Hermione?" he half-wheezed, the run from the Hospital wing to the center of the dungeons not being an inconsiderable one.

"Vincent?" Strained brown eyes looked up, a thin cut on her cheek bleeding copiously. "You're all right?"

She's alive.

One moment they were staring at one another, the next they were together, writhing against a wall. Her hands fumbled with the closure of his trousers and he scrabbled beneath her skirts, tearing her panties in frantic need. She groaned into his mouth as her thighs locked around his hips and he sank into her, light exploding between them.

She was hot, and wet and tight, and ohmygodohmygodohmygodaliverealaliverealalive!

She's alive. She's alive.

When he slipped from her, missing the completeness of it even before her feet returned to the floor, he finally took in the carnage in the dungeons and the whiteness of his beloved's face.

He felt vaguely queasy about the fact they'd fucked desperately in the presence of Ronald Weasley's cooling remains and that Ginevra Weasley's hate-Dark eyes had taken in every thrust and pant and moan and plea. He pulled his wand from his arm sheath, intending to clean them both up. The battle was over, but the aftermath would take days. Hermione caught his hand, shaking her head.

"No. I want to feel you."

"Oh?"

Without speaking she drew her hand down her body, thrusting her fingers into the wetness their desperation left behind. Her hips rocked slightly against his as she pulled wetly-shining digits from between her thighs. She painted his lips with their come, and he pulled the teasing finger into his mouth laving it gently.

"Taste me," she whispered, leaning up. "Taste us."

This time the kiss was gentle, their combined flavors mingling on their tongues like ambrosia and comfort, and magic, their magic, surged together, cresting like orgasm. She pulled gently away. "Together, you see?"

Yes. He did see.

Together

She's alive. She's alive.

Comments

[joannindiw.livejournal.com]

By all the gods, I'm reading het, I'm reading *VINCE* and *Hermoine* and ... very, very, very good writing.

I hope there's more in this universe that you post to LJ (even though you're supposed to be working on something else...)

[mightierthan.livejournal.com]

By all the gods, I'm reading het, I'm reading *VINCE* and *Hermoine*...

There does seem to be something just plain *wrong* about it, but still right. I haven't written het in years but they were literally keeping me from sleeping.

And more het in the offing, as there a rather dark little plot bunny lurking in my head about Draco and Pansy (and Narcissa and Lucius, blast it all, and I hate Lucius) and a... erm... kind of chastity belt. And Voldemort.

Of course, somehow, one can never quite get away from moldyshorts.

*plot bunny abruptly gives birth to more plot bunnies and what is with the tentacles? They can do more than gnaw on your ankles when they've got tentacles.* I've just come up with a morbid jewelry idea to go with the whole thing.

*ponders*

Anyway, I'm glad you enjoyed it. :)

[joannindiw.livejournal.com]

O.O ....

....

well, if you write it, clearly, I'll read it.

My sympathies for the tentacles -- my plots sometimes kudzu and that's... just wrong. Though, generally in my case, the growth:Logic ratio becomes unbalanced and the poor thing dies on its own.

[cydah.livejournal.com]

het!! been years. but very well done. I love this insight into their relationship and love.