Categories > Books > Harry Potter > The Afterlife and Times of Myrtle Potter
Chapter 14: Myrtle's Story
Harry stumbled up the steps as fast as his shattered bones would allow, past Voldemort's battered and broken body, and found Dementors floating over the prone forms of Hermione and Ron.
"No!" Harry screamed. He threw his hands straight out in front of him and the nearest dementor, the one hovering over Ron, burst into flame and began to writhe in apparent agony. Harry turned his glare to the other Dementor who quickly dove over the battlements and away from the wall.
Harry ran to his two best friends. "Oh no, oh no, oh please by all that's holy, no!"
Neither Ron nor Hermione were there anymore. Their essences, their souls, everything that made them special, unique, was gone.
"Oh, what a pity. I would have liked to have killed the dirt vein myself."
It just wasn't fair. Couldn't that miserable snake shite just fucking die already?
Dobby appeared between Harry and the Dark Lord again.
"You shall not harm Harry Potter!"
"Harm him? You pathetic little vermin, I've destroyed him! Just look."
And Dobby did.
Harry Potter was seated on the cold stone deck of the rampart, one knee bent, his splinted leg straight. He was cradling Hermione's unresponsive head against his chest, rocking it gently back and forth. With tear-filled eyes, he looked up to Voldemort and simply said, "Kill me."
Myrtle saw that Harry was crushed; drowning in grief for the loss of those he loved more than his own life. He was begging to die. The little ghost didn't even pause to think as she phased into the stone deck, then came up beneath and then into Hermione's body. If she could possess her soulless husk, make Harry believe he hadn't actually lost her. Maybe, just maybe, he would fight for his life, and hers.
As Riddle began to gloat she became aware of her body, nearly overcome with the senses of a breathing flesh and blood body after fifty years, and she croaked out "no!"
Harry's disbelieving voice, trembled with hope. "Hermione?" he asked, begging for a miracle.
She saw Harry for the first time through living eyes and whispered, "On three, hit him with a flame hex. Ready . . . one, two, three!"
Driven by and for the love of a girl who was gone, Harry had beaten the latest Dark Lord
Myrtle saw the vacant expressions in the faces of all the Kissed and it pained her to know she couldn't just stay in Hermione's body. It wasn't her life, it wasn't her body. She had to give it back. But give it back to whom? When she left this body there would be no one to live in it; it would be just another soulless shell. Surely it wouldn't matter if she just, well, 'visited' a bit longer? She could eat again! Maybe she could finally actually experience the joy's of physical intimacy - Goddess knows she'd been watching other people enjoying each other for fifty years; hadn't she earned a turn? Five decades of study and observation convinced Myrtle that she'd be a phenomenal lover. As things stood at the moment she was a sixty-five year old virgin for goddess's sake!
She walked with Harry. It felt good to walk, to feel solid ground beneath her feet again. It was a joy to breathe in and out, to feel the pulse points in her body, to feel warm. That had been the worst thing about her non-corporeal form - she couldn't really feel as a ghost.
Harry was speaking with a healer, asking about the dementor-kissed patients. Another rediscovered feeling came over her, fatigue. When was the last time this body had rested? She recognized the Weasley girl even with her shorn head and thought her idea of taking care of the Kissed was a good one. She noticed a comfy looking stuffed chair in a corner. Maybe someone had brought it in so that visitors would have a comfortable wait as their loved ones were tended to. She sat, sinking into the soft cushions and decided to 'rest her eyes' for just a little while.
It was late afternoon when she woke up.
Myrtle surveyed the room through Hermione's eyes and thought, "This is as good a time as any, I suppose. Goddess knows I'll hate leaving this body but . . ."
The spirit of Myrtle Frisbee concentrated on phasing out of her host's body. It had been easy to leave the inferi; she'd just had to will herself away. She closed Hermione's eyes and concentrated on flowing out, willing herself to become just a phantom again - and found that she couldn't. When she had been 'driving' the inferi, she'd been aware of certain contact points, arms, legs, feet and hands; however, from the moment she had entered the dementor-kissed shell that had been Hermione Granger, she'd incorporated all of the girl's senses. It had been like moving into a beautifully appointed and fully furnished home, and now she was locked in. It wasn't that she didn't want to leave, she wasn't able to!
For some inexplicable reason Myrtle's soul was trapped in Hermione Granger's body.
She looked around in a panic for Harry but couldn't see him. She accidentally bumped into Healer Jones. "Have you seen Harry?"
"He went to the ministry, I believe."
She found the nearest fireplace in Professor Flitwick's office and nearly fell over into the atrium of the Ministry of Magic. She saw the information booth and asked about Harry.
"Harry Potter?" a passing intern asked.
"Yes" she said, breathless. "Have you seen him?"
"Yes, Miss. He was talking with Judge Vance, the Chief Warlock - I saw them go out for dinner together, but the judge came back alone."
"Any idea where the judge goes for dinner?"
"I'm just guessing mind you, but I'm thinking Diagon Alley?"
She thanked the young man and headed for the floo connection to the Leaky Cauldron.
She managed to step out of the fireplace in the popular pub a little more gracefully than she had before and was immediately cheered and toasted by a large crowd of patrons.
"Lads," the voice was that of Tom the barman. "I give you Miss Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her age - or of any age if it comes to that!"
"Hear, hear!" A tall glass of something amber, effervescent, and cool was pressed into her hands.
"Oh my," she thought as she held her first drink. She gave it an experimental sip, and found it delicious.
"Longbow Cider - your favorite, Miss Granger." Tom winked.
She asked if anyone had seen Harry, but no one had. "Funny though . . . There was a young man, looked summat like our Harry, but he didn't wear glasses and his hair was long. He tipped a few and headed into the Alley."
She 'tipped a few' herself and, properly fortified, went in search of her raven haired quarry.
As she stepped through the entrance to Diagon Alley, the noise nearly pushed her back out again. The party was in full swing; there seemed to be a continuous bombardment of fireworks whizzing overhead, and the potent potables flowed like water from every shop and ground floor apartment.
"Hermione?" asked a slightly out of focus voice.
"Um, no, sorry, I just look a little like her . . ." It wasn't exactly a lie; she looked exactly like Hermione, but she just wasn't.
"Oh, sorry, um, here . . ." The slurred face grinned as he handed her a bottle of something.
"Um, thanks," she said, but didn't drink it. "What is it?"
The fuzzy lad, Seamus, looked thoughtful for a moment then shrugged his shoulders and said "Tis' green!" before fumbling away.
She wasn't that drunk that she would try some strange potable in a green bottle. It just didn't sound safe. She binned the bottle and went in search of more cider.
She had just scored her third tall glass of chilled Woodpecker Cider when she turned and nearly collided with Harry.
"Har-"
Harry shushed his bushy haired best friend and said, "Nope, sorry. You've got the wrong guy. I just look a bit like him, I've been told."
"Thas' okay. Someone said I look just like that Granger girl. S' funny innit?" she said with a conspiratorial wink.
His eyes seemed slightly out of focus. Rowena's Healing Jewel may have fixed his eyesight but it could still be fogged by alcohol.
"Um, why don't we get away from all this noise and find out who we are?"
"Sounds great to me."
They passed out of Diagon Alley and stumbled, mostly from trying to support each other, through the Leaky Cauldron.
"Steady on there, now there's a happy couple. Have a drink. Here's to youth and romance and all that goes with it - drink up, drink up. . ."
They stumbled out the door onto the equally raucous London street and one of them, they weren't quite sure, stuck out his or her wand - or maybe it was each other's wands? - and anyway the Knight Bus banged into existence, screeching to a halt sideways at the entrance to the cauldron.
"Ernie, are you okay t' drive?"
"Course I am. Haven't touched a drop - but not too many other folks are abstainin' just now. Takin' your life in your hands t' be on the road tonight!"
Harry gave Stan Shunpike the address and they almost made it to their seats without stumbling. The world was spinning like floo travel, and Myrtle wasn't sure if it was because of all the alcohol they'd consumed or Ernie's driving.
"Firs' stop, Grim Old Place!" the conductor called out.
This was surprising to Myrtle because she felt as though they were still moving.
The young couple stepped carefully off the steps, trying to appear composed and sober. When the brunette stumbled on the cobblestone street and fell against Harry, they both snorted in the beginnings of a snorting, chortling jag.
"Number Twelve Grimauld Place!" Harry called out and the townhouse appeared, elbowing numbers ten and thirteen out of the way as it settled itself comfortably between them. It took three tries before they could make it to the top of the four steps and the landing. They burst through the front door and nearly knocked over the little old man who was standing just behind the door. They were about to apologize when the man faded from sight and the mirth descended upon them anew.
She and Harry laughed themselves out and found that they were nose to nose. She was backed up against the wall, while he had a hand on either side of her head, leaning in toward her flushed face. She cupped his hands in her own and whispered a brief incantation that had two effects: first, it neutralized the alcohol in their blood and second, it made him feel very warm and very welcome. Myrtle knew she could easily get lost in those deep emerald green eyes as they gravitated toward each other.
Their lips touched, soft and moist. She plastered her soft warm body against his and pressed her lips tightly against his. She felt the tip of his tongue touch her lips seeking entry, and she parted her lips slightly so that he could touch her teeth with the tip of his tongue. She opened herself up further and soon they were tongue wrestling as she worked the buttons on his shirt. She made an exasperated "humph!" as the buttons frustrated her.
"To hell with patience!" she groused and simply pulled the shirt open, popping half his buttons in her impatience to feel skin.
She loved the feel of his hand in her hair, the other caressing her back and side. But she wanted those hands somewhere else just now. She pulled her shirttail out of her skirt and directed his hand under the fabric, placing it on the underside of her sheer bra.
"I don't think-" he started to say. She stopped him with a quick passionate kiss.
"Don't think, feel," she insisted as she brought his other hand down to rest on her other breast, and then proceeded to try to find his tonsils.
She pulled back just long enough to say, "Bedroom, now!"
Harry looked into Hermione's dark brown eyes, searching for something, or perhaps someone. Her eye's looked back and recognized saw so many emotions reflected in them, pleading, need, lust yes but something deeper. In a moment of magically induced clarity he saw it - saw that he was looking at his future and providence was not going to be denied. He argued for just a moment with his conscience then picked her up and nearly ran to the second floor master where he placed her gently down on the king-sized mattress. Neither one saw the door close silently behind them. Nor did either one of them register that the room was lit by the soft light of the Ever-Lit candles. They only had eyes, lips, fingertips and tongues for each other.
"I love you Herm - mumph," he said as she kissed him roundly.
"I will always love you Harry," she countered.
She was lying atop him, her head over his left shoulder breathing heavily against his neck while his hand roamed over her back, coming to rest on her bum. She thrust her hips against him, eliciting an impressive response as Harry's member rose to the occasion.
They both groaned at the sensations. Harry found the button and zipper on the side of her skirt and was able unfasten and unzip it, which allowed him to push the skirt over her knickers-clad bum. The sensible cotton briefs were soft to his touch and he massaged her nicely rounded buttocks for a while as she continued to grind against him. She groaned again as he slipped his fingers under the elastic waistband to caress her warm, pliant skin.
"Don't move my love," she insisted as she rolled off him so that she could divest herself of her skirt and knickers. She snuggled up to his side so that she could trace his hardness through his trousers. She unbuttoned and unzipped the interfering garment then tugged at the sides of his boxers and slacks. He got the hint and bowed slightly up so that she could clear his bum and free his rather impressive erection from its durance vile.
They were more than a little impatient, so the concept of unlacing shoes escaped them. Oh well, all she really needed to do was to pull him over her - his legs could stay together, hers needed room to spread.
With one smooth movement she slid her leg over his recumbent form and straddled his waist. She had to rise up as high as she could on her knees to place the tip of his member at her warm, wet entrance. She pushed back, welcoming the sting of her first penetration, welcoming him into her inner folds. They both groaned as they bottomed out, pubic bones touching.
She realized that this was what she had been existing for from the time she first saw him: to join their hearts, their bodies, and especially their magic. She squeezed his length with the muscles of her abdomen as she rose up, then came crashing down on him again and again and again.
Harry felt the familiar pressure building from the base of his erection and grabbed her hips. He held her slightly up as he took the initiative and began pistoning from below. The rhythm of their smack, smack, smacking and his animalistic grunts harmonized with her continuously rising keening wail until they both exploded in a mutual, magical orgasm that literally rocked their world.
The simultaneous release of hormones, adoration, and soul-binding enchantments overwhelmed them, and she leaned forward to sprawl comfortably over him. Her head rested on his chest while her legs still straddled his. Comfortably and obscenely lying there with the tip of Harry's erection still snug within her, she sighed and drifted off to sleep.
She woke the next morning to the delicious feeling of Harry, still sleeping mind you, slowly penetrating her, stroking a few inches in and out; moving purely by instinct.
"Oh Medb, let us wake every morning like this!"
They had made love yet again that morning; then, as she was alone in the shower she was overcome by guilt and shame. Myrtle was deceiving the man she loved, and it was breaking her heart. She collapsed in tears. She was sitting on the shower floor, crying when Harry found her. She could have told him the truth then, but she let herself be soothed and calmed by him and made love to him again.
Later that morning they were introduced to Meacham, and soon began experiencing life as a couple, starting with exploring Harry's house. Myrtle was thrilled to find the attic studio, and had to redirect Harry's curiosity about her dance lessons. Hermione didn't dance.
They had made love twice that afternoon - once in a guest bedroom and once in the library. Who would have thought Harry had it in him to satisfy her bibliophile urges?
It was a perfect day until they stepped outside and it was waiting for them.
The lone Dementor.
Harry didn't recognize it at first, but Myrtle did. It was the same soul sucking demon that had taken Hermione. Now it wanted her.
Then that first trip to Gringotts, and the revelation that she and Harry were mate-bonded, which was as good as married in Goblin society. Harry had begun to call her 'Mrs. Potter,' and he became Mrs. Potter's mister.
That afternoon they were in Madame Malkin's he had proposed out of the blue, and Myrtle became enmeshed even more deeply in the lie. She could have said no - she should have said no - but there was no denying the pleading in his eyes. Of course she had said yes.
She almost told him that evening, as they cuddled on the library couch. Instead, she gave into her sexual urges several times that night.
She had met Hermione's parents the next day and was a little saddened that they didn't know they'd lost their little girl. Once or twice she'd almost confided in Mrs. Granger, she of the discerning eye.
"Lemon in your tea, dear?" she'd asked. "Haven't you always preferred milk?"
"Outside in, dear," Mrs. Granger had admonished. "The outside fork for your salad."
At the end of the day (which didn't come until the next day) she'd been treated like a true daughter, something that she hadn't experienced in her original short lifetime.
They had just returned from the Grangers and settled into the couch for a nice little read and nap, when she'd been visited by Cliodna.
Harry had gone to sleep and Myrtle had rested her head on the comfy couch pillows when Cliodna, the spirit of the Goddess of the afterlife had come to her.
"Myrtle Frisbee," the Goddess had said, not unkindly, "you must forego your deception."
Myrtle looked around to make sure she was still in her library and that Harry was still asleep with his head in her lap.
"He is receiving a visitor of his own now, and you must choose."
"What must I choose Goddess?" she asked, more than a little frightened.
"You must choose the manner in which you will break this good man's heart."
Harry sat up screaming.
Harry had known, from the time their magic combined on that first night, that he wasn't really with Hermione, and he had just replaced the engagement ring on Myrtle's finger.
"I've been waiting for you to admit it for the past few days now, I needed you to be honest with me and now I know I was right. I've come to love you, really love you, Mrs. Potter - Mrs. Myrtle Potter," he smiled weakly. "But she's out there and if there's anything I can do to help her I've got to try. Please understand" he entreated as a single tear traced down his cheek.
Myrtle sobbed and nodded her head to show she understood. He removed the Potter and Black family rings and placed them in her hands.
"Meacham," he called silently.
"Yes, sir?" He appeared, like usual, out of thin air.
"Meacham, can you take dictation?"
"Yes sir," he replied, and produced a quill and parchment.
"I, Harry James Potter, being of sound mind and body, do bestow upon my Mate-bonded spouse, Hermione Jane Potter, all my worldly goods and titles in the event of my untimely demise. If I am not dead, but found to be no longer capable of handling my own affairs my bondmate, no, my wife shall hold from this day forth full power of attorney to carry on in my stead. This I vow on my magic and my life."
Myrtle's eyes grew wide at this. "Why?"
"Because I know what I must do, Mrs. Potter luv" he said with a sad smile, "and I want you well looked after."
"Harry, you're alarming your wife," she said, nervously. "What are you thinking of doing now?"
"That dementor; the one that's been following us?" he asked.
"It's the same one that kissed Hermione," she answered.
He nodded. "Somehow Hermione is still there, and I'm going in after her. One way or another, we're going to be together and you will have the life that was stolen from you so long ago."
"Harry, no!" She shrieked as he pointed his wand and said, "Stupefy."
He laid her prone form gently on the couch and kissed her goodbye. Harry went out of the library, through the kitchen, out the carriage house and into the alley where he knew a Dementor waited for him.
_____ooo000ooo_____
Author's note, as always a big 'Thanx' to my beloved beta Great Writer Sarah who returned this in record time. I suspect time-turner usage.
So Harry's known all along. Why did he play along? Stay tuned!
N!
Harry stumbled up the steps as fast as his shattered bones would allow, past Voldemort's battered and broken body, and found Dementors floating over the prone forms of Hermione and Ron.
"No!" Harry screamed. He threw his hands straight out in front of him and the nearest dementor, the one hovering over Ron, burst into flame and began to writhe in apparent agony. Harry turned his glare to the other Dementor who quickly dove over the battlements and away from the wall.
Harry ran to his two best friends. "Oh no, oh no, oh please by all that's holy, no!"
Neither Ron nor Hermione were there anymore. Their essences, their souls, everything that made them special, unique, was gone.
"Oh, what a pity. I would have liked to have killed the dirt vein myself."
It just wasn't fair. Couldn't that miserable snake shite just fucking die already?
Dobby appeared between Harry and the Dark Lord again.
"You shall not harm Harry Potter!"
"Harm him? You pathetic little vermin, I've destroyed him! Just look."
And Dobby did.
Harry Potter was seated on the cold stone deck of the rampart, one knee bent, his splinted leg straight. He was cradling Hermione's unresponsive head against his chest, rocking it gently back and forth. With tear-filled eyes, he looked up to Voldemort and simply said, "Kill me."
Myrtle saw that Harry was crushed; drowning in grief for the loss of those he loved more than his own life. He was begging to die. The little ghost didn't even pause to think as she phased into the stone deck, then came up beneath and then into Hermione's body. If she could possess her soulless husk, make Harry believe he hadn't actually lost her. Maybe, just maybe, he would fight for his life, and hers.
As Riddle began to gloat she became aware of her body, nearly overcome with the senses of a breathing flesh and blood body after fifty years, and she croaked out "no!"
Harry's disbelieving voice, trembled with hope. "Hermione?" he asked, begging for a miracle.
She saw Harry for the first time through living eyes and whispered, "On three, hit him with a flame hex. Ready . . . one, two, three!"
Driven by and for the love of a girl who was gone, Harry had beaten the latest Dark Lord
Myrtle saw the vacant expressions in the faces of all the Kissed and it pained her to know she couldn't just stay in Hermione's body. It wasn't her life, it wasn't her body. She had to give it back. But give it back to whom? When she left this body there would be no one to live in it; it would be just another soulless shell. Surely it wouldn't matter if she just, well, 'visited' a bit longer? She could eat again! Maybe she could finally actually experience the joy's of physical intimacy - Goddess knows she'd been watching other people enjoying each other for fifty years; hadn't she earned a turn? Five decades of study and observation convinced Myrtle that she'd be a phenomenal lover. As things stood at the moment she was a sixty-five year old virgin for goddess's sake!
She walked with Harry. It felt good to walk, to feel solid ground beneath her feet again. It was a joy to breathe in and out, to feel the pulse points in her body, to feel warm. That had been the worst thing about her non-corporeal form - she couldn't really feel as a ghost.
Harry was speaking with a healer, asking about the dementor-kissed patients. Another rediscovered feeling came over her, fatigue. When was the last time this body had rested? She recognized the Weasley girl even with her shorn head and thought her idea of taking care of the Kissed was a good one. She noticed a comfy looking stuffed chair in a corner. Maybe someone had brought it in so that visitors would have a comfortable wait as their loved ones were tended to. She sat, sinking into the soft cushions and decided to 'rest her eyes' for just a little while.
It was late afternoon when she woke up.
Myrtle surveyed the room through Hermione's eyes and thought, "This is as good a time as any, I suppose. Goddess knows I'll hate leaving this body but . . ."
The spirit of Myrtle Frisbee concentrated on phasing out of her host's body. It had been easy to leave the inferi; she'd just had to will herself away. She closed Hermione's eyes and concentrated on flowing out, willing herself to become just a phantom again - and found that she couldn't. When she had been 'driving' the inferi, she'd been aware of certain contact points, arms, legs, feet and hands; however, from the moment she had entered the dementor-kissed shell that had been Hermione Granger, she'd incorporated all of the girl's senses. It had been like moving into a beautifully appointed and fully furnished home, and now she was locked in. It wasn't that she didn't want to leave, she wasn't able to!
For some inexplicable reason Myrtle's soul was trapped in Hermione Granger's body.
She looked around in a panic for Harry but couldn't see him. She accidentally bumped into Healer Jones. "Have you seen Harry?"
"He went to the ministry, I believe."
She found the nearest fireplace in Professor Flitwick's office and nearly fell over into the atrium of the Ministry of Magic. She saw the information booth and asked about Harry.
"Harry Potter?" a passing intern asked.
"Yes" she said, breathless. "Have you seen him?"
"Yes, Miss. He was talking with Judge Vance, the Chief Warlock - I saw them go out for dinner together, but the judge came back alone."
"Any idea where the judge goes for dinner?"
"I'm just guessing mind you, but I'm thinking Diagon Alley?"
She thanked the young man and headed for the floo connection to the Leaky Cauldron.
She managed to step out of the fireplace in the popular pub a little more gracefully than she had before and was immediately cheered and toasted by a large crowd of patrons.
"Lads," the voice was that of Tom the barman. "I give you Miss Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her age - or of any age if it comes to that!"
"Hear, hear!" A tall glass of something amber, effervescent, and cool was pressed into her hands.
"Oh my," she thought as she held her first drink. She gave it an experimental sip, and found it delicious.
"Longbow Cider - your favorite, Miss Granger." Tom winked.
She asked if anyone had seen Harry, but no one had. "Funny though . . . There was a young man, looked summat like our Harry, but he didn't wear glasses and his hair was long. He tipped a few and headed into the Alley."
She 'tipped a few' herself and, properly fortified, went in search of her raven haired quarry.
As she stepped through the entrance to Diagon Alley, the noise nearly pushed her back out again. The party was in full swing; there seemed to be a continuous bombardment of fireworks whizzing overhead, and the potent potables flowed like water from every shop and ground floor apartment.
"Hermione?" asked a slightly out of focus voice.
"Um, no, sorry, I just look a little like her . . ." It wasn't exactly a lie; she looked exactly like Hermione, but she just wasn't.
"Oh, sorry, um, here . . ." The slurred face grinned as he handed her a bottle of something.
"Um, thanks," she said, but didn't drink it. "What is it?"
The fuzzy lad, Seamus, looked thoughtful for a moment then shrugged his shoulders and said "Tis' green!" before fumbling away.
She wasn't that drunk that she would try some strange potable in a green bottle. It just didn't sound safe. She binned the bottle and went in search of more cider.
She had just scored her third tall glass of chilled Woodpecker Cider when she turned and nearly collided with Harry.
"Har-"
Harry shushed his bushy haired best friend and said, "Nope, sorry. You've got the wrong guy. I just look a bit like him, I've been told."
"Thas' okay. Someone said I look just like that Granger girl. S' funny innit?" she said with a conspiratorial wink.
His eyes seemed slightly out of focus. Rowena's Healing Jewel may have fixed his eyesight but it could still be fogged by alcohol.
"Um, why don't we get away from all this noise and find out who we are?"
"Sounds great to me."
They passed out of Diagon Alley and stumbled, mostly from trying to support each other, through the Leaky Cauldron.
"Steady on there, now there's a happy couple. Have a drink. Here's to youth and romance and all that goes with it - drink up, drink up. . ."
They stumbled out the door onto the equally raucous London street and one of them, they weren't quite sure, stuck out his or her wand - or maybe it was each other's wands? - and anyway the Knight Bus banged into existence, screeching to a halt sideways at the entrance to the cauldron.
"Ernie, are you okay t' drive?"
"Course I am. Haven't touched a drop - but not too many other folks are abstainin' just now. Takin' your life in your hands t' be on the road tonight!"
Harry gave Stan Shunpike the address and they almost made it to their seats without stumbling. The world was spinning like floo travel, and Myrtle wasn't sure if it was because of all the alcohol they'd consumed or Ernie's driving.
"Firs' stop, Grim Old Place!" the conductor called out.
This was surprising to Myrtle because she felt as though they were still moving.
The young couple stepped carefully off the steps, trying to appear composed and sober. When the brunette stumbled on the cobblestone street and fell against Harry, they both snorted in the beginnings of a snorting, chortling jag.
"Number Twelve Grimauld Place!" Harry called out and the townhouse appeared, elbowing numbers ten and thirteen out of the way as it settled itself comfortably between them. It took three tries before they could make it to the top of the four steps and the landing. They burst through the front door and nearly knocked over the little old man who was standing just behind the door. They were about to apologize when the man faded from sight and the mirth descended upon them anew.
She and Harry laughed themselves out and found that they were nose to nose. She was backed up against the wall, while he had a hand on either side of her head, leaning in toward her flushed face. She cupped his hands in her own and whispered a brief incantation that had two effects: first, it neutralized the alcohol in their blood and second, it made him feel very warm and very welcome. Myrtle knew she could easily get lost in those deep emerald green eyes as they gravitated toward each other.
Their lips touched, soft and moist. She plastered her soft warm body against his and pressed her lips tightly against his. She felt the tip of his tongue touch her lips seeking entry, and she parted her lips slightly so that he could touch her teeth with the tip of his tongue. She opened herself up further and soon they were tongue wrestling as she worked the buttons on his shirt. She made an exasperated "humph!" as the buttons frustrated her.
"To hell with patience!" she groused and simply pulled the shirt open, popping half his buttons in her impatience to feel skin.
She loved the feel of his hand in her hair, the other caressing her back and side. But she wanted those hands somewhere else just now. She pulled her shirttail out of her skirt and directed his hand under the fabric, placing it on the underside of her sheer bra.
"I don't think-" he started to say. She stopped him with a quick passionate kiss.
"Don't think, feel," she insisted as she brought his other hand down to rest on her other breast, and then proceeded to try to find his tonsils.
She pulled back just long enough to say, "Bedroom, now!"
Harry looked into Hermione's dark brown eyes, searching for something, or perhaps someone. Her eye's looked back and recognized saw so many emotions reflected in them, pleading, need, lust yes but something deeper. In a moment of magically induced clarity he saw it - saw that he was looking at his future and providence was not going to be denied. He argued for just a moment with his conscience then picked her up and nearly ran to the second floor master where he placed her gently down on the king-sized mattress. Neither one saw the door close silently behind them. Nor did either one of them register that the room was lit by the soft light of the Ever-Lit candles. They only had eyes, lips, fingertips and tongues for each other.
"I love you Herm - mumph," he said as she kissed him roundly.
"I will always love you Harry," she countered.
She was lying atop him, her head over his left shoulder breathing heavily against his neck while his hand roamed over her back, coming to rest on her bum. She thrust her hips against him, eliciting an impressive response as Harry's member rose to the occasion.
They both groaned at the sensations. Harry found the button and zipper on the side of her skirt and was able unfasten and unzip it, which allowed him to push the skirt over her knickers-clad bum. The sensible cotton briefs were soft to his touch and he massaged her nicely rounded buttocks for a while as she continued to grind against him. She groaned again as he slipped his fingers under the elastic waistband to caress her warm, pliant skin.
"Don't move my love," she insisted as she rolled off him so that she could divest herself of her skirt and knickers. She snuggled up to his side so that she could trace his hardness through his trousers. She unbuttoned and unzipped the interfering garment then tugged at the sides of his boxers and slacks. He got the hint and bowed slightly up so that she could clear his bum and free his rather impressive erection from its durance vile.
They were more than a little impatient, so the concept of unlacing shoes escaped them. Oh well, all she really needed to do was to pull him over her - his legs could stay together, hers needed room to spread.
With one smooth movement she slid her leg over his recumbent form and straddled his waist. She had to rise up as high as she could on her knees to place the tip of his member at her warm, wet entrance. She pushed back, welcoming the sting of her first penetration, welcoming him into her inner folds. They both groaned as they bottomed out, pubic bones touching.
She realized that this was what she had been existing for from the time she first saw him: to join their hearts, their bodies, and especially their magic. She squeezed his length with the muscles of her abdomen as she rose up, then came crashing down on him again and again and again.
Harry felt the familiar pressure building from the base of his erection and grabbed her hips. He held her slightly up as he took the initiative and began pistoning from below. The rhythm of their smack, smack, smacking and his animalistic grunts harmonized with her continuously rising keening wail until they both exploded in a mutual, magical orgasm that literally rocked their world.
The simultaneous release of hormones, adoration, and soul-binding enchantments overwhelmed them, and she leaned forward to sprawl comfortably over him. Her head rested on his chest while her legs still straddled his. Comfortably and obscenely lying there with the tip of Harry's erection still snug within her, she sighed and drifted off to sleep.
She woke the next morning to the delicious feeling of Harry, still sleeping mind you, slowly penetrating her, stroking a few inches in and out; moving purely by instinct.
"Oh Medb, let us wake every morning like this!"
They had made love yet again that morning; then, as she was alone in the shower she was overcome by guilt and shame. Myrtle was deceiving the man she loved, and it was breaking her heart. She collapsed in tears. She was sitting on the shower floor, crying when Harry found her. She could have told him the truth then, but she let herself be soothed and calmed by him and made love to him again.
Later that morning they were introduced to Meacham, and soon began experiencing life as a couple, starting with exploring Harry's house. Myrtle was thrilled to find the attic studio, and had to redirect Harry's curiosity about her dance lessons. Hermione didn't dance.
They had made love twice that afternoon - once in a guest bedroom and once in the library. Who would have thought Harry had it in him to satisfy her bibliophile urges?
It was a perfect day until they stepped outside and it was waiting for them.
The lone Dementor.
Harry didn't recognize it at first, but Myrtle did. It was the same soul sucking demon that had taken Hermione. Now it wanted her.
Then that first trip to Gringotts, and the revelation that she and Harry were mate-bonded, which was as good as married in Goblin society. Harry had begun to call her 'Mrs. Potter,' and he became Mrs. Potter's mister.
That afternoon they were in Madame Malkin's he had proposed out of the blue, and Myrtle became enmeshed even more deeply in the lie. She could have said no - she should have said no - but there was no denying the pleading in his eyes. Of course she had said yes.
She almost told him that evening, as they cuddled on the library couch. Instead, she gave into her sexual urges several times that night.
She had met Hermione's parents the next day and was a little saddened that they didn't know they'd lost their little girl. Once or twice she'd almost confided in Mrs. Granger, she of the discerning eye.
"Lemon in your tea, dear?" she'd asked. "Haven't you always preferred milk?"
"Outside in, dear," Mrs. Granger had admonished. "The outside fork for your salad."
At the end of the day (which didn't come until the next day) she'd been treated like a true daughter, something that she hadn't experienced in her original short lifetime.
They had just returned from the Grangers and settled into the couch for a nice little read and nap, when she'd been visited by Cliodna.
Harry had gone to sleep and Myrtle had rested her head on the comfy couch pillows when Cliodna, the spirit of the Goddess of the afterlife had come to her.
"Myrtle Frisbee," the Goddess had said, not unkindly, "you must forego your deception."
Myrtle looked around to make sure she was still in her library and that Harry was still asleep with his head in her lap.
"He is receiving a visitor of his own now, and you must choose."
"What must I choose Goddess?" she asked, more than a little frightened.
"You must choose the manner in which you will break this good man's heart."
Harry sat up screaming.
Harry had known, from the time their magic combined on that first night, that he wasn't really with Hermione, and he had just replaced the engagement ring on Myrtle's finger.
"I've been waiting for you to admit it for the past few days now, I needed you to be honest with me and now I know I was right. I've come to love you, really love you, Mrs. Potter - Mrs. Myrtle Potter," he smiled weakly. "But she's out there and if there's anything I can do to help her I've got to try. Please understand" he entreated as a single tear traced down his cheek.
Myrtle sobbed and nodded her head to show she understood. He removed the Potter and Black family rings and placed them in her hands.
"Meacham," he called silently.
"Yes, sir?" He appeared, like usual, out of thin air.
"Meacham, can you take dictation?"
"Yes sir," he replied, and produced a quill and parchment.
"I, Harry James Potter, being of sound mind and body, do bestow upon my Mate-bonded spouse, Hermione Jane Potter, all my worldly goods and titles in the event of my untimely demise. If I am not dead, but found to be no longer capable of handling my own affairs my bondmate, no, my wife shall hold from this day forth full power of attorney to carry on in my stead. This I vow on my magic and my life."
Myrtle's eyes grew wide at this. "Why?"
"Because I know what I must do, Mrs. Potter luv" he said with a sad smile, "and I want you well looked after."
"Harry, you're alarming your wife," she said, nervously. "What are you thinking of doing now?"
"That dementor; the one that's been following us?" he asked.
"It's the same one that kissed Hermione," she answered.
He nodded. "Somehow Hermione is still there, and I'm going in after her. One way or another, we're going to be together and you will have the life that was stolen from you so long ago."
"Harry, no!" She shrieked as he pointed his wand and said, "Stupefy."
He laid her prone form gently on the couch and kissed her goodbye. Harry went out of the library, through the kitchen, out the carriage house and into the alley where he knew a Dementor waited for him.
_____ooo000ooo_____
Author's note, as always a big 'Thanx' to my beloved beta Great Writer Sarah who returned this in record time. I suspect time-turner usage.
So Harry's known all along. Why did he play along? Stay tuned!
N!
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