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Disclaimer: As usual all Harry Potter Characters Belong to JK Rowling. All credit for the plot goes to Karen Moning. I DO NOT take credit for anything that does not belong to me.


Chapter 9


Who was this woman with Godric?


Salazar removed his hand from the screen. She was gone, but for a moment there, he had her. She was vibrant and young, so very, very young in comparison to himself and beyond that she was an enigma. She had been concealed by shadows that he couldn’t seem to penetrate. His curiosity had spurred his decision to try and contact her in hopes that he might learn something about her that could be used in the days to come to get rid of her faster.


Most muggles now a days are so concerned about possible internet viruses and identity theft, and so oblivious to the true risks of plugging themselves into the World Wide Web, wiring themselves to any and everything that might be out there, hungry, waiting.  They worried about cons and killers, sexual molesters enticing their children.  While at the same time they had no notion of how thoroughly they could be violated, probed, and coerced by a skilled powerful dark wizard across a phone line.  Not even his pupil and his stupid death eaters saw the true potential of what they could accomplish if they were to use the muggle inventions against the muggles themselves.


Within the last few years younger generation wizards have begun to use some of the muggles inventions, such as the internet. Salazar was excited about that because it meant new and more inventive ways in which he was able to gather more power. Being able to coerce the younger generations without any one being the wiser, it was a wondrous possibility.


Unfortunately, he had not been able to get very far with this woman. The moment he’d pressed at her, he had encountered some sort of barrier. Flipping open Roman’s file, which contained the assassin’s thorough evaluation of his target, including photos, current and previous addresses, vehicle registration, birth certificate, passport, lines of credit, available funds, and other pertinent facts, he studied her picture again.


Her file supplied her most vital information: twenty-four, 5’6”, 135 lbs., brown eyes, brown hair, and a witch. It mentioned that she had studied at Hogwarts School of magic. She was a lovely woman. He had no doubt about the reasons in which Godric wanted her.

 The highlander would be as fascinated by her stubbornness as Salazar now was. He and the Highlander weren’t quite as different as the condescending bastard liked to believe. Closing the file, he picked up the phone from the corner of his desk, and punched in a series of numbers.


“Eve, Change in plans. The mirror is still the main priority but I want the girl brought in alive.”


Salazar didn’t even want for her to respond before hanging the phone back up. He would enjoy cracking the girl open and studying her. He had not been intrigued by a woman for a very long time. The best part would be that he planned do it all while the Gryffindor watched from his powerless perch high up on his study wall




Hermione lay on the hotel bed staring at the off white spackled ceiling. After turning off her computer, she had laid down on the bed in hopes of catching a quick nap before the room service arrived, but sleep was nowhere to be found. No matter how tired her body was, or how much she desired to fall asleep, she couldn’t help thinking about the different ways in which that archaic Highlander would come out of the bathroom.


Would it be kilt clad and somewhat modest, in a towel and semi modest, or in your face nude and on the predatory prowl? She had decided on in your face nude, but she had been wrong.


Godric came out of the bathroom and placed his thigh sheath and jeweled blade on the writing desk next to her lap top, wearing two towels: one around his waist and the other wrapped turban-style around his head. It was barely better than being completely nude. In fact, it only made Hermione want to peel those towels away.


I really have got to get a hold of myself, Hermione thought to herself.


As if reading her mind, he ducked his head and tossed the first towel off his head, sponging the excess water from his hair. Righting himself, he tossed his hair back over his shoulders. Tiny drops of water slid down his tattooed chest creating a thin channel of water to drift down his chest to his stomach.


She moistened her lips, wondering what on earth was wrong with her. She’d never had such an intense reaction to a man before. She had only to look at him to get all shaky-feeling inside. It wasn’t as if she had never dated a great looking man before. While she had appreciated those good looking men, her body just never quite kicked in. It never really had with any of the guys she had dated in the past.


However, despite the fact that her brain wanted nothing to do with this man, her body wanted to do everything with him that was possible to do between a man and a woman. Her body had done more than kicked in; it had been set on fire and was currently burning out of control for a man who called a mirror “home”. This was not good.


“Did ye nay send for food, lass?”


Hermione sat up fully on the bed trying to refocus her thoughts.


“Yes, but it won’t be here for a little while yet. Look, I have been thinking, we need a plan.”


“My plan is to bed you.”


“No, I mean, a plan that might actually work.” She bared her teeth in a cool masquerade of a smile getting up off the bed and moving to stand closer to the window.


“Ah, that would be to cross this room right now and kiss you until you start begging for me-“


“Not going to happen either,” she said hastily.


Crap, how in the world had he moved that fast?


One instant he was across the room, the space of two beds separating them; the next, one big hand was cupping her chin, tipping her head back, the other hot and possessive on her waist. The man was lethally fast, which was great when it comes to protection from everyone but him.


He stared down at her with lustful intensity. He lowered his mouth slowly, lazily, never breaking eye contact with her, his gaze almost daring her to turn away. Up close, he was beyond gorgeous. Those green eyes shimmered with golden depths and were framed by thick dark lashes. His skin was tawny-velvet, darkly stubbled.  His lips were sensual, pink and firm, and curved in the hint of a smile.


“Tell me not to kiss you, Hermione. Tell me right now and best ye make me believe ye,” he warned softly, a breath away from her lips.


“Don’t kiss me.” She wet her lips.


“Nay, try again,” he said flatly.


“Don’t kiss me.” She swayed toward his body, a magnet to steel.


“Try again,” he hissed. “Best ‘ware, lass, ‘tis your last chance.”


Hermione took a deep breath. “Don’t,” another deep breath, “kiss me?”


He laughed a cocky, rich purr of a sound. Darn it, she thought dismally, as he lowered his sexy dark head toward hers, even she’d heard the wrong punctuation there.


Even though she knew it was coming, Hermione wasn’t prepared for Godric Gryffindor’s kiss. Nothing could have prepared her for the mind-blowing, sizzling intensity of it. This was no gentle brush of a kiss like the one he had given her in the lobby. This kiss was the real deal. Intense and demanding, it was every bit as raw and unapologetically carnal as it was seductive.


Gripping a fistful of her long silky curls he drew her closer to his body. He cupped her cheek with one big hand and pressured the corner of her lips with his thumb, nudging them apart. The moment she yielded, he sealed his lips over hers, opening wider, deepening the kiss, taking complete possession of her mouth, obliterating any lingering protest she might have thought to make.


It was a dominant kiss, an expert kiss, the kiss of a man who knew he was a man, liked being one, and knew exactly what he was doing. This was nothing like the kisses she had once shared with Ron back in their Hogwarts school days, or any other kisses she had experienced since the two of them broke up and she headed to college.


This was a man who was one hundred percent okay with lust, who suffered no hesitation or inhibitions. It was exactly the kind of kiss, she realized dimly, for which she’d always been waiting for. Up till now, she had not been able to define exactly what it was that had been missing from her past relationships, and what she’d been holding out for all her life.


She was struck by the sudden realization that the problem with her past boyfriends was that they’d been just that – boyfriends, with the emphasis on “boy”. Godric was a man, a formidable force to be reckoned with sexually. She was, quite simply, out of her league with him.


She was struck by another sudden realization then: that she was going to be very, very lucky if she managed to walk out of that hotel room, at whatever point in the future they departed, the same way she had walked in. A virgin, though she’d never admit it to any of her friends. Nobody was a virgin anymore, and peer pressure could get intense if people thought you were.


Personally, she felt that it wasn’t anyone else’s business whether or not she was still a virgin. Only her own, and whoever that lucky man was that she chose to share it with. Her mother might liberally encourage baby having, but she also encouraged a healthy degree of self-respect.


Pick carefully, Hermione dear. There are plenty of fish in the sea to choose from.


She shivered with pleasure as he sucked her lower lip into his mouth, nipped it, then closed his mouth hard over hers, plunging deep. His kissed like a man who hadn’t had the luxury in- oh, maybe a thousand years or so- exploiting it for all it was worth, savoring all the subtle, sensual variations.  Luring one moment, assaulting the next, and it made her crazy. He kissed like he wanted to devour her, maybe crawl inside her skin.


He kissed so thoroughly and possessively that she wasn’t Hermione anymore, she was a woman and he was a man, and she existed because he was kissing her and if he stopped, she might stop being. She had no idea how they ended up on the floor.


One moment she was in his arms, being kissed senseless- literally, apparently- and the next she was flat on her back beneath his still shower-damp, big powerful body, her sweater covered chest pressed up against his bare chest.


Dazedly, she wondered what in the world she thought she was doing, even as she buried her fingers in the wet tangle of his hair. More kisses, soft and slow, hot and hard. She was drowning in man, in the taste and scent and feel of him. Her hands slipped of their own accord down the thick column of his neck, over the muscled ridges of his shoulders.


She barely noticed when he shifted position so that his legs were straddling hers, until she felt the weight of his body press down on her body. His lips trailing away from her lips pressing feather light kisses across her jaw, making his way down to her neck causing a distant part of her mind to begin sounding a clamorous alarm.

With each little nip of his teeth that inner alarm grew fainter and fainter. With each kiss he pressed to her neck Hermione s slipped irresistibly deeper into his seductive spell. When he rucked her sweater up to her ribs and began tracing a path from the edge of her jeans to edge of her bra, the alarm had pretty much disappeared.  Slowly, lingeringly, he caressed her waist as if committing the subtle shape of each dip and turn to memory, causing her whimpered.


Everywhere he was touching her, she felt as if a low-voltage electrical current was pulsing beneath her skin, jolting each nerve ending to delicious, tingling awareness. When he began scattering kisses on her shoulder, she raked her nails down his arms.


Hermione noted that the faint alarm had started to sound again in the back of her mind, but he was kissing her so heatedly, so passionately, that she refused to give it any thought, until she was abruptly sucking air like a fish out of water.


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