Kyle Virex
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A Godfather's Gambit #6
🕑 Added 2025-07-20 14:30:02 +0000 UTCThe silence that followed was thick enough to cut with a bloody knife. Hermione stood there, still gripping that damn parchment like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to reality, while Harry sat on the altar looking like he'd rather be anywhere else in the world. Celeste, meanwhile, was stretching like a cat in the sun, completely unbothered by the fact that she was stark naked and had just... well, let's not go there again.
"Right then," Celeste said, breaking the awkward quiet atmosphere. She padded over to where her clothes had been discarded earlier, and try as he might, Harry could not help but stare. "That was quite the workout. I haven't felt magic that intense in ages."
Hermione's cheeks burned. Workout. As if what they'd just done was some sort of casual exercise routine. She cleared her throat, trying to find her voice. "So... the ritual. You sure it actually worked?"
"Oh, it worked alright," Celeste chuckled, gathering all the clothes in her arms but making no move to put them on. "I could feel the darkness in Master Harry's soul recoiling during the... climax. I’m sure you felt something too, Miss Granger. We definitely weakened whatever's in there, but it's going to take a lot more sessions to completely destroy it."
Hermione felt her stomach drop. Many more times of... this. More of standing there, chanting, trying not to watch while her best friend shagged random women for the sake of dark magic rituals. Christ, when had her life become this mental?
"Speaking of which," Celeste continued, "we should probably take a look at that locket you mentioned. The one with the Horcrux."
Harry's face went pale. "Right. Yeah, that thing." He slid off the altar, still completely naked, and Hermione quickly averted her eyes. "It's upstairs. In my room."
"I'll come with you," Celeste said. "I want to examine it properly."
"Right now?" Harry asked.
"No time like the present, Master."
God, that title. Hermione still couldn't wrap her head around it. Harry Potter, the boy who lived and her best friend, being called "Master" by this otherworldly woman. It was surreal.
A few minutes later, they were all in Harry's bedroom. Hermione had taken the opportunity to splash cold water on her face and try to get her head on straight, but it wasn't working. Every time she looked at Harry, she kept remembering... things. Things she definitely shouldn't be remembering.
The locket sat on Harry's nightstand, looking innocuous enough. Just a simple golden pendant on a chain. But Hermione knew better. She could feel the malevolent presence radiating from it, and she couldn’t help but shiver. The images it had shown her were still fresh in her mind, and she vehemently pushed those thoughts away.
Celeste approached it cautiously, her expression shifting from confidence to utter seriousness. "Hell," she muttered, stopping a few feet away. "That thing is absolutely vile."
"You can feel it too?" Hermione asked.
"Feel it? I can practically taste the corruption from here." Celeste's face twisted with disgust. "It's like... like rotting flesh and despair had a baby and decided to make jewelry out of it."
Harry grimaced. "Yeah, it's pretty horrible. We've been carrying it around for months, trying to figure out how to destroy it."
Celeste circled the locket, keeping her distance. "The magic holding it together is incredibly complex. Dark, twisted, but undeniably powerful. Whoever created this knew what they were doing."
"You-Know-Who," Hermione said quietly. "He made it to house a piece of his soul."
"Ah, the Dark Lord you mentioned." Celeste nodded. "I can sense his magical signature all over this thing. It's like his essence is woven into the very fabric of the locket."
"Can you destroy it?" Harry asked hopefully.
Celeste shook her head. "Not easily. The enchantments protecting it are layered upon layers. It would take something incredibly powerful to break through them all. And then there is the Horcrux itself."
"Like what?" Hermione pressed.
"Well..." Celeste hesitated. "The killing curse would probably do it. If directed at the locket itself, it might be enough to shatter the magical matrix holding the soul fragment."
"No." Hermione said sharply. "Absolutely not."
"Hermione's right," Harry said quickly. "I can't cast that curse. I won't."
Celeste raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And why not?"
"Because it's an Unforgivable Curse," Hermione snapped. "It's illegal, immoral, and—"
"And potentially the only way to destroy this thing," Celeste interrupted smoothly. "Sometimes, Miss Granger, doing what's necessary isn't the same as doing what's easy."
Hermione felt her temper flare. "There has to be another way. There's always another way."
"Is there?" Celeste challenged. "How long have you been trying to destroy this locket? Months, you said? How many other methods have you tried?"
"That's not the point—"
"It's exactly the point." Celeste's voice was calm but firm. "You're letting your moral high ground get in the way of actually solving the problem. From what I’ve understood so far, this locket contains a piece of the most evil wizard in recent history. It's not some innocent trinket that deserves protection."
"Using vile magic to fight vile magic doesn't make it right," Hermione argued. "It makes us no better than him."
"Does it?" Celeste tilted her head. "Or does it make you practical? Sometimes the world isn't black and white, Miss Granger. Sometimes you have to get your hands dirty to do what needs to be done."
Harry stood there, looking lost as the two women faced off. He could see both sides, really. Hermione's unwavering moral compass versus Celeste's pragmatic approach. Both had merit, but they were fundamentally incompatible.
"I..." Harry started, then stopped. What could he say? That he agreed with Hermione but was secretly wondering if Celeste might be right? That the thought of casting the killing curse made him sick, but so did the idea of carrying around a piece of Voldemort's soul indefinitely? His mind flashed back to when he’d tried to cast the Cruciatus on Bellatrix, failing spectacularly, and his expression soured.
"Look," he said finally, "maybe we should just... table this for now. Think about it. There might be other options we haven't considered yet."
Celeste shrugged. "Fair enough. But don't take too long to decide. Every day that locket exists is another day the influence of that piece of his soul grows stronger."
Hermione stared at the locket, her jaw clenched, while Harry rubbed his temples and tried to process everything.
"I should go," Celeste said suddenly. "I believe you two have things to discuss, and I have matters to attend to."
She moved toward the door. "Oh, and Master? Next time we do the ritual, we should take time to properly get into the thick of things. I’m sure you’d love it even more if we prepare properly."
With a parting wink, she was gone, leaving Harry and Hermione alone in the room.
The silence stretched on, and boy was it uncomfortable. Harry was still naked, having forgotten to put clothes on in all the excitement, and Hermione was determinedly looking anywhere but at him.
"So," Harry said finally, his voice cracking slightly.
"So," Hermione echoed.
More silence.
"That was..." Harry started.
"Weird," Hermione finished. "Really, really weird. You already said it."
"… Yeah."
Harry shifted awkwardly, suddenly very aware of his state of undress. "I should probably..."
"Put some bloody clothes on, for God's sake," Hermione burst out, her face flaming red. "I'm trying to have a serious conversation here, and you're just... standing there like that."
"Right, sorry." Harry scrambled for his clothes, pulling on boxers and a t-shirt with fumbling fingers. "Better?"
"Much," Hermione said, though she still wasn't looking directly at him.
Harry sat down on the edge of his bed, carefully avoiding the locket. "Hermione, about what happened down there—"
"We don't have to talk about it," she said quickly.
"Don't we? I mean, it's going to happen again. Multiple times, apparently. We should probably... I don't know, set some ground rules or something."
Hermione finally looked at him, her expression conflicted. "Ground rules?"
"Yeah, like... boundaries. Things we're okay with, things we're not. I don't want this to make things weird between us."
Too late for that, Hermione thought, but she nodded anyway. "Okay. Ground rules."
But neither of them seemed to know where to start. How do you set boundaries for something like this? How do you navigate the strange territory between friendship and... whatever this was?
"I felt it," Hermione said suddenly. "The magic. During the ritual. It was..." She struggled for words. "It was unlike anything I've ever experienced."
Harry nodded. "It was intense. Almost overwhelming."
"And the way it responded to what you and Celeste were doing... it was like the magic was feeding off your connection. Your... physical connection."
They both fell silent again.
"I'm sorry," Harry said finally. "I know this is mental. I know it's not fair to ask you to be part of this."
"You're not asking," Hermione pointed out. "I'm choosing. There's a difference."
"Is there? Because sometimes I wonder if you're just doing this because you feel obligated. Because you think you have to save me."
Hermione considered what he had just said. Was she doing this out of obligation? Or was there something else driving her? Something she wasn't ready to acknowledge, even to herself?
"I don't know," she admitted, her fists clenched. "Maybe. But does it matter? If it helps destroy the Horcrux, if it saves you, then maybe my motivations don't matter."
Harry looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time since the ritual ended. She looked tired, conflicted, and there was something in her eyes he couldn't quite identify. Something that made his chest tighten.
"They matter to me," he said quietly.
Hermione felt her heart skip a beat. The way he was looking at her, the tone of his voice... it was doing things to her that she really didn't want to think about right now, not when her emotions were so raw.
"We should talk about something else," she said abruptly. "The Horcrux hunt. Our plans going forward."
Harry blinked at the sudden change of topic but he didn’t object. "Right. Yeah, we should figure out our next move."
"We still need to find Godric Gryffindor's sword," Hermione said, falling back into familiar territory. "It's one of the few things that can destroy Horcruxes."
"Any ideas where it might be?"
Hermione bit her lip, thinking. "Last we heard, it was in the headmaster's office at Hogwarts. But with Snape in charge now..."
"Getting into Hogwarts would be suicide," Harry finished. "Not to mention we have no idea if the sword is even still there."
"There might be other places," Hermione mused. "The sword has a history of appearing when Gryffindors are in need. Maybe if we can figure out the pattern..."
"Or maybe we ask someone who knows more about it than we do," Harry suggested. "Luna's dad might have some ideas. Or maybe we could contact some of the other Order members."
"That's risky. We don't know who we can trust anymore."
Harry nodded grimly. The war had made paranoia a survival skill. Anyone could be under the Imperius Curse, anyone could be a spy. Trust was a luxury they couldn't afford.
"We might have a safehouse here," Hermione said, gesturing around the room. "This manor seems well-protected, and Celeste clearly has resources. But we can't just hole up here indefinitely."
"No," Harry agreed. "We need to be proactive. We need to find the remaining Horcruxes and destroy them before he gets too powerful."
"Which means we need to get out there. Do research, follow leads, take risks."
The thought of leaving their relative safety made both of them nervous, but they knew she was right. They couldn't win this war from the sidelines.
"There's something else," Hermione said, her voice hesitant. "About the ritual..."
Harry tensed. "What about it?"
"Celeste said we need six more women. Do you have any idea who they might be?"
Harry's face went red. "No. God, no. I don't exactly have a list of women willing to... you know."
"Right." Hermione felt a strange mixture of relief and disappointment. "Well, we'll figure it out. Maybe the magic will guide us to the right people."
"Maybe," Harry said, though he didn't sound convinced.
They sat in silence for a moment, both lost in their own thoughts. They were both feeling the pressure of everything they had to do, everything they were facing, and it felt overwhelming.
"Thank you," Harry said suddenly.
"For what?"
"For everything. For staying with me through all this madness. For being willing to do the ritual even though it's... complicated. For not giving up on me."
Hermione felt tears prick at her eyes. "You don't need to thank me, Harry. You're my best friend. I'd do anything for you."
Anything? a small voice in her head asked. Even if it means watching him with other women? Even if it means confronting feelings you've been trying to ignore? Or maybe… Her cheeks burned, and she didn’t finish that thought.
"I know," Harry said softly. "That's what makes it so hard. I hate that you have to go through this because of me."
"It's not because of you," Hermione said firmly. "It's because of him. Because of what he did to you. None of this is your fault."
Harry wanted to believe her, but the guilt was still there, gnawing at him. How many more people would get hurt because of the choices made the night his parents died? How many more friends would he drag into danger?
"I should go," Hermione said, standing up. "It's been a long day, and I need to think about... everything."
"Yeah, of course." Harry stood too, suddenly not wanting her to leave. "Hermione?"
"Yeah?"
"Are we okay? I mean, are we still... us?"
Hermione looked at him, this boy who had been her best friend for years, who she'd followed into danger more times than she could count, who she'd die for without hesitation. But things had changed today. She had changed, even if she wasn't ready to admit how.
"We're still us," she said finally. "Whatever that means now."
She left him standing there, closing the door softly behind her. Harry listened to her footsteps fade down the hall, and with a sigh, he sank back onto his bed, carefully avoiding the locket that still sat on his nightstand like a malevolent reminder of everything they had to face.
Meanwhile, Hermione walked to her own room in a daze, her mind a jumbled mess of conflicting thoughts and emotions. The ritual had awakened something in her, something she'd been trying to suppress for months. Maybe years.
She'd always told herself that her feelings for Harry were purely platonic. That she cared about him as a friend, nothing more. But watching him today, seeing him in that state of vulnerability and passion, had shattered that comfortable lie.
The way he'd looked when he'd called her name during the ritual... the way his voice had broken with desperation and need... it had done things to her that she couldn't explain or rationalize away.
And the magic. God, the magic had been like nothing she'd ever experienced. Raw, primal, and intoxicating. It had flowed through her like liquid fire, amplifying every sensation, every emotion. She'd felt connected to Harry in a way that went beyond friendship, beyond anything she'd ever experienced.
But he was with Celeste. Well, not with her in the traditional sense, but he was participating in these rituals with her. And there would be six more women after her. Six more women who would touch him, kiss him, be intimate with him in ways that Hermione never could.
The thought made her stomach clench with something that felt suspiciously like jealousy.
She flopped down on her bed, staring at the ceiling. When had everything become so complicated? When had her feelings for her best friend become this tangled mess of desire and confusion?
And more importantly, what was she going to do about it?
Because one thing was clear: she couldn't keep pretending that what she felt for Harry was purely platonic. Not after today. Not after feeling the magic flow between them, connecting them in ways that went beyond words.
But she also couldn't act on these feelings. Not when he was dealing with the Horcrux, not when they were in the middle of a war, not when there were six more women lined up to help him in ways she never could.
So she'd do what she always did: she'd bury her feelings, focus on the mission, and pretend that her heart wasn't breaking a little bit more each day.
A soft knock on the door interrupted her thoughts, and Hermione frowned.
“Who is it?”
The door opened slowly, and Hermione’s eyes widened when she saw who it was.
“I believe it’s time we talked, Miss Granger,” Celeste said seriously, and Hermione gulped involuntarily.
She didn’t know why, but she had a feeling that she was woefully unprepared for whatever this woman wanted to talk about.
xXx
Bill looked like absolute hell—pale, shaking from exhaustion, and still bleeding from half a dozen cuts. The transformation had reversed about twenty minutes ago, leaving him looking more human but feeling like he'd been run over by a Hungarian Horntail.
Fleur practically flew out of the cottage when she saw them apparate onto the beach. Tonks was right behind her, her hair shifting from purple to pink.
"Mon Dieu, what 'appened?" Fleur's accent got thicker when she was scared, which was pretty much always these days. She reached for Bill, but he flinched away from her touch. Not intentionally, just... instinct.
"We'll explain inside," Kingsley said, looking like he'd aged about ten years in the past few hours. "Bill needs to sit down."
They managed to get everyone into the sitting room, though Bill kept as much distance as possible between himself and everyone else. He couldn't help it—his senses were still all over the place, and everything felt too intense. Too much.
Remus did most of the explaining. He laid it out plain and simple: the trap, Greyback, the bite, the whole bloody mess. Fleur's face went whiter with each detail, her hands pressed to her mouth like she was trying to keep from being sick.
“And given the circumstances... the full bite, the speed of the initial transformation... there's not much doubt."
Fleur didn't say anything for a long moment. She just stared at Bill, who was hunched over in his chair like he was trying to disappear into himself.
"We will figure zis out," she said finally, her voice steady. "We will manage. Remus and Tonks do it, non?"
Tonks barely suppressed a wince, and Remus was no better. The rift that had appeared in their relationship all those months ago had shown no signs of healing, and they both knew it was only the complications of the war that had not escalated matters between them.
"It's not that simple," Bill said quietly for the first time since they'd gotten back. "Remus was bitten as a child. He's had decades to learn control. I'm... this is different."
"Different 'ow?"
Bill couldn't answer that. Mostly because he didn't know. Everything felt wrong, like his skin didn't fit properly anymore. He could smell things he shouldn't be able to smell, and every emotion felt amplified tenfold.
Kingsley cleared his throat. "I should get back. Debrief the others." He paused at the door. "Bill, take some time. However much you need. The Order will manage."
After he left, it was just the four of them. Tonks and Remus stood awkwardly, and Fleur kept looking at Bill with a frown. However, he wouldn't even look at her.
"Maybe we should let them talk," Remus suggested quietly to Tonks. "Give them some space."
Tonks glanced at him before squeezing Fleur's shoulder as she turned to head upstairs. "Take care."
Once they were alone, Fleur stepped towards Bill.
"Talk to me, William," she said.
"What's there to say?" Bill's voice was rough. "I'm a monster now. Everything's changed."
"You are not a monster." The anger in her voice surprised them both. "You are Bill. You are the man I married. Zat 'as not changed."
But even as she said it, Bill was pulling away. Not physically—he was already as far from her as he could get—but emotionally. She could feel it happening, her veela senses making her hyperaware of such sensations. Her frown grew deeper.
"William?"
"I can't," he said, and there was a hint of a growl in his voice. "I can't be near you."
"What do you mean?" Fleur’s brows furrowed.
That's when it got complicated. Bill couldn't explain what he was feeling because he didn't understand it himself. All he knew was that being near Fleur felt... wrong. Not because he cared for her less, but because he could sense her veela magic in ways he never had before. It was like having someone shine a bright light in your eyes when you'd been in the dark—overwhelming and painful.
"I can feel it," he said finally. "Your magic. It's too much."
Fleur blinked. "My magic? But... Remus, 'e does not—"
"I'm not Remus!" Bill snarled, and Fleur took a step back, her eyes wide and her heart thumping. "I don't know why it's different, okay? I just know that being near you makes me feel like I'm going to crawl out of my skin."
It was like a slap.
"I don’t understand," she said gravely, feeling him pull away even more. "I’m sorry if I—"
"Don't apologize," Bill cut her off, rubbing his face with his hands. "It's just... I need space. I need to figure out what's happening to me."
"We can figure it out together—"
"Can’t you understand, Fleur?" Bill growled again, glaring at her. "I need you to go. Please. Just... go."
Fleur stood there for a moment, looking conflicted. This wasn't how she'd imagined this. She'd thought they'd face it together. Instead, he was pushing her away before they'd even started.
"I can’t support you if you’re like this, William," she said quietly.
Bill's throat worked, but he couldn't get any words out.
Fleur left without another word, closing the door softly behind her. Bill heard her footsteps on the stairs, and he even heard her quiet conversation with Remus and Tonks in the hallway. He couldn't make out the words fully, but he could hear the confusion in her voice.
He buried his face in his hands. Three hours ago, he'd been Bill Weasley, curse-breaker, husband, a normal bloke with a normal life, or at least as normal as it could be in these situations. Now he was something else entirely, and he didn't know how to be that person. Didn't know if he even wanted to be.
Outside his door, Fleur was trying to keep her emotions in check as she explained to Remus and Tonks what had happened.
"'E cannot stand to be near me," she said. "I do not understand. You are fine with my presence, Remus. Why is 'e different?"
Remus sighed. "Every bite is different, Fleur. Every werewolf develops their own... quirks, I suppose. Some are more sensitive to certain types of magic. Some have trouble with crowds. Some can't stand the smell of silver."
"But what am I supposed to do?"
"You don't take it personally. This isn't about you. It's about him trying to figure out who he is now."
"But I am 'is wife—"
"I understand it’s a lot to take in," Remus said. "The first few weeks are the hardest. Everything feels wrong, everything hurts. I’m sure things will get better in no time. Don’t worry, I’ll be there to talk to him. I’ll help him understand what’s happening to him."
Fleur stared at him critically. "What if 'e never gets better? What if 'e can never stand to be near me again?"
"Then we'll figure something else out," Remus said. "Bill's stronger than he knows. He just needs time to find his footing."
Down the hall, behind his closed door, Bill was staring at the ceiling and wondering if his life would ever feel normal again.
Three days until the full moon. Three days to figure out how to live with what he'd become.
He had a feeling it was going to be a long three days.
Comments
yr45
Enjoying this so far + looking forward to more! Bill + Fleur situation especially interesting. Thanks for sharing.
