Pygmalion

By: Colubrina

Fandom: harry potter

Summary: When Tom Riddle walked through a doorway one fall afternoon everything changed and he found himself in a world wholly unprepared for him. "Something about you makes my brain itch," Hermione Granger said. "As if an earthquake had shifted everything sharply two feet to the left and then back again and it didn't all fit back quite right." Tomione. AU. COMPLETE.

Status: Completed

Fic type: Books/Harry Potter

Pairings/Main char.: [Tom R. Jr., Hermione G.] Draco M., Theodore N.

Published: 2015-05-14

Last updated: 2016-11-26

Words count: 178,316

Chapters count: 57

Converted using www.FF2EBOOK.com
Date: 2020-06-22

1. Chapter 1

When he stepped out into the corridor he knew something was wrong.

It was different. That suit of armor had moved. That portrait was not the same. The very air felt somehow changed. It wasn't until the Slytherin common room wouldn't open at his command, wasn't until a student he didn't recognize looked at him and asked, with a snort so rude he almost drew his wand on the boy right there, whether it was historical dress up day, that he began to figure it out.

"I think," he said slowly, "I need to go see Dippet."

The boy eyed him with an open, mocking disdain that no one had dared show him for years. "See whom?" he asked.

"Headmaster Dippet."

That earned him a roll of the eyes. "You mean Dumbledore?"

"Of course."

Of course it would have to be Dumbledore. Whatever had happened was bad – very bad – and in a terrible world it made sense that Dumbledore would be the Headmaster of his beloved Hogwarts. When Dumbledore saw him, saw him standing politely in the Headmaster's office with his hands clasped behind his back and his warmest smile on his face, the man faltered for a moment.

"Tom Riddle," he said.

The Headmaster didn't sound happy. "I always wondered what had happened to you," he added.

Tom looked at the man, significantly older now, and the last piece of the mystery took shape before him. Not that he would admit he knew anything, of course. He smiled again, just a confused and lost boy. "I'm not sure what's going on, sir," he said. "I'd been studying and I stepped out into the corridor and I was here. What's happened to Headmaster Dippet, sir?"

"Yes," Dumbledore said, rather obviously musing even as his eyes twinkled in that disingenuous way he'd always had. "Dippet was rather fond of you."

Tom waited. There was nothing, after all, that he could really say to that. He'd worked hard to cultivate Dippet and it had been successful. It had always been with everyone except the man he stood before now. This one, cursed man had always seen through him and now he seemed to have far too much power.

At last, Dumbledore said, "In the fall of 1944, your seventh year at Hogwarts, you simply disappeared one day. Your friends were distressed, no small expense was spared looking for you, but your body was never found."

"It's the fall of 1944 now," Tom said, his voice low. "Or it was this morning."

"Perhaps for you," Dumbledore conceded. "I'm afraid, however, that for the rest of us this morning was a lovely September day in 1997."

"Fifty-three years," Tom said, controlling the rage that threatened to consume him. He'd laid all his plans. He'd built a following. He'd been ready to put everything into motion and now it was all gone. All wasted. He was nothing but a friendless, parentless seventeen-year-old boy at the mercy of this man yet again. It was untenable. He would have said it was unbearable but, clearly, he would have to bear it just as he'd borne the orphanage, just as he'd born this man's unrelenting dislike and suspicion.

Dumbledore twinkled again and Tom kept his warm but confused smiled in place and waited for whatever surely infuriating solution the old man would come up with for this dilemma when a bushy-haired girl in Gryffindor colors pushed open the door and snapped, "Why is there another bedroom in the Head suite? Malfoy has been complaining about it since he got up and it is bad enough to have to live with that… person… but his endless whinging is too much."

"Excellent news," Dumbledore said and the girl stopped. Tom suspected she'd had a fairly long torrent of whinging of her own to do about this Malfoy – not Abraxas, surely – and was a tad peeved to be cut off. "Miss Granger, meet Tom Riddle. He's popped in from the past and it would seem the castle has prepared a place for him."

"In the Head dorm?" Miss Granger asked. "Why? And what am I supposed to do about it?"

Tom found himself amused she didn't seem at all fazed someone had traveled from the past to her time but was just demanding to know why he was her problem.

"Well," Dumbledore said genially, "he was Head Boy in his own time before he disappeared. Perhaps the castle felt he would be most comfortable in a familiar surrounding as he adjusted? Certainly we can't just throw him to the wolves of Slytherin unprepared, however much he may be a member of their noble House."

"Great," the girl muttered. "Another Slytherin."

"You did assure me, Miss Granger," Dumblefore said, "when I offered you the Head Girl position that you could handle Mr. Malfoy. I'm sure Mr. Riddle will also be fine in your capable hands. Would you be so good as to show him to what seems to be his room, soothe Mr. Malfoy's ruffled feathers, and then take Mr. Riddle to see Professor Snape? I believe his open office hours are after lunch. I'll let him know he'll need to have a schedule set up for our newest student."

Tom Riddle found himself shown out the door and he and this Miss Granger stared at one another in mutual displeasure.

"Old coot," she said. "Like I have time to babysit another Slytherin."

"I can promise you, I'm no happier about this than you are," Tom said. "Lead on, Miss Granger. Once you show me to this Professor Snape's office I won't be in need of any more of your babysitting."

Back at the Head's dormitory she waved her hand toward one door. "The new room," she said. "Yours, I assume."

Tom Riddle took the information that the castle had moved him forward in time and prepared a room for him and put it into a box in his head labeled 'things to think about later.' For now he watched this relentlessly efficient girl as she pulled out a pot and asked if he'd like a cup of tea.

"Tea?" he asked in disbelief. Only the British would think tea was a solution to time traveling.

"Tea," she confirmed. "You appear to be out of, well, time and thus probably feeling a bit disjointed and when I'm out of sorts I find tea helps. If nothing else, it will give us something to do in the hour before lunch. You might have questions about this era, after all." She eyed his clothes but forbore to say anything.

He eyed her short skirt in return. Fashions had, indeed, changed.

She quickly heated the water with a twirl of her wand and set out two cups, a small pitcher of milk, and what he assumed must be a sugar bowl on a tray and brought it to the table in the small Head common room.

"Charmed," Tom said as he sat on one of the uncomfortable, hardback chairs. If he were going to stay here he'd have to track down better seats.

"Milk?" she asked as she poured for him.

"Please," he said, then shook his head when she picked up the sugar bowl. She took her own tea black and, after handing him his cup, sat down opposite him.

He was considering what to ask her – he would, after all, be a fool to not take advantage of a girl who'd openly offered him information – when the door flew open and a pointier version of Abraxas Malfoy sauntered into the room, a somewhat unattractive brunette clinging to his arm.

"You finally found a boy who'd talk to you?" the girl asked, eyeing Miss Granger with a sneer. Tom glanced over at his babysitter to see how she'd respond but she seemed utterly unfazed by the girl's taunt. She just watched the pair cross the room and go into what must be Malfoy's room, slamming the door behind them.

"Time for Malfoy's nooner," Miss Granger said with a roll of her eyes. She pulled out her wand and cast a quick, wordless, silencing charm. At Tom's politely inquiring expression she said, "Pansy's a screamer. I'm sparing us both her pleas to Merlin and Salazar and her shrieking of Malfoy's name."

"Why doesn't he just do the spell himself?" Tom asked. "Not capable?"

The Granger girl snorted. "He's perfectly capable. He just can't be bothered. Sparing us the sound of his girlfriend's faked orgasms would involve wasting time on courtesy toward the lesser orders and that's not in Malfoy's playbook." She took a sip of her tea. "You're in Slytherin too, though, so maybe now that you've joined our merry band of mutual loathing he'll start making an effort."

Tom found himself unexpectedly charmed by her casual contempt for the Malfoy boy, probably because it so perfectly mirrored the way he'd always felt about Abraxas. This girl had managed to charm and amuse him, all within less than an hour and certainly without trying. He began to be intrigued by her as well.

"What amuses me most," she continued, "is that Pansy – that's the girl – seems to actually think he's going to marry her after graduation when anyone with half a brain knows his parents'll have him engaged to someone far more demure before they've even got the Hogwarts diploma back from the framer's shop."

"Still aristocrats, then," Tom half murmured, half asked.

"Oh yes," she said. "And spoiled rotten too. You'd think by the time you were seventeen you'd have stopped threatening to tattle to your parents every time something doesn't go your way but not our Malfoy. 'My father will hear about this' comes out of his mouth at least once a week." She shrugged and took another sip of her tea. "Daddy's the head of the board of governors for the school so he's got influence to spare. It's sickening really."

"And do your parents have plans to have you similarly married off?" Tom asked, making a mental note that this iteration of the Malfoy line might not be worth cultivating. Then again, aristocrats; influence was always useful.

The girl laughed. "Hardly. I'm Muggle-born," she said. She saw his quickly concealed grimace and rolled her eyes. "You too, huh? Well, you are in Slytherin. You might want to hide that little bias, though. Outside the walls of your House, no one at school openly admits to blood prejudice anymore. It reeks of Grindelwald and no one wants to be associated with that loon, not even decades later." She grinned at him. "Especially not when the man who defeated him is our illustrious Headmaster. Equality is the public face of things these days."

"I'm sorry," he said with perfect charm and utter insincerity.

She laughed again. "No you're not, but it's okay. I'm not exactly wounded by what a bunch of has-beens think of me."

Tom Riddle sipped from his tea and studied the girl in front of him. Muggle-born. Head Girl. Not especially deferential to either aristocrats or headmasters and with a hint that she understood the social forces that drove the wizarding world better than some and certainly, he suspected, better than the girl whose sexual enthusiasms she'd silenced. She was lying as well, at least a little, though he wasn't exactly sure what about. She was very intriguing indeed. He was still considering what to ask when the door opened again and this time a boy with messy hair stumbled in the room.

Tom Riddle made a note that he'd have to get his suitemates to change that password. This was ridiculous.

"Hermione," the newcomer said without pausing to greet her, "do you know where my Potions lab notebook is? I can't find it and you know Snape'll have my head if I don't turn it in today."

Miss Granger – Hermione Granger – sighed.

"Harry, it's in your bag." The boy began pulling things out of his knapsack with obvious frustration and she sighed again. "Not that bag. Your Quidditch bag. You shoved it in after our last class and said you'd do it later, that you had to get to the pitch. Don't you remember?"

He grinned at her. "Why should I remember when I've got you to do it for me."

Tom Riddle wondered if this Harry saw the way the girl's shoulders tensed at that casual admission. A weakness, then, and one she tried to hide. Those were always good to know.

"Harry," she said. "This is Tom Riddle. He's had some kind of time traveling issue and Dumbledore's shoved him in with me and Malfoy for now. Tom, Harry Potter."

Tom stood and thrust his hand out to the boy who gave him a happy, carefree smile and shook it. "Welcome! Have to pity anyone who has to live with Malfoy. Don't let that rotter get you down."

"What happened to your forehead?" Tom asked, sitting back down. The boy had a jagged scar, partially hidden by his unkempt hair, that looked like a bolt of lightening across his skin.

"Merlin," the boy said. "All anyone ever wants to know about is the damn scar."

"He fell off a broom," Hermione said from her seat at the table, sounding amused. "Youngest Seeker in a century – they bent the rules to let him play as a first year – but when he was a tot he fell off his broom right onto a rock."

Harry huffed in embarrassment. "I was three. My parents shouldn't have even let me have that broom."

"Your father's a bit of a menace," Hermione agreed. "Go find your Quidditch bag, Harry, and get your notebook. Ron's already copied my results so you can just copy off him."

"Thanks, Hermione," the boy – this 'Harry' – said as he loped back towards the door. "You're the best."

And then he was gone.

"You let him copy your work?" Tom asked.

The girl sighed. "He's my best friend, and so sweet, but he's…. he'd do anything for his friends and it's trivial enough. Snape'll mark him down anyway, even if his work is a mirror of mine. The man's so biased against him that Harry stopped trying years ago. He got a decent enough mark on his O.W.L. so I know he's… Snape's just a dick, is all."

"And he's the one I'm to see about my schedule?" Tom asked.

"Head of Slytherin," she confirmed. "Mostly, I think, because no one else wanted the job. He knows his stuff, though. If you can put up with the attitude you can learn a lot." She drank the last of her tea. "I'm glad he doesn't score the exams, though."

Tom finished his tea as well and stood up. "Miss Granger," he began.

She cut him off. "Hermione, really. If you call me Miss Granger I'll feel like you're a professor."

"Hermione, then," he said. "Maybe we could go for a walk and you could tell me what the other people in our year are like. Malfoy's a spoiled aristocrat, Potter's an athlete who copies your homework. Who are the rest of the players?"

He regretted the word choice instantly because she looked at him with an odd tilt to her head. "Why don't you tell me what you're like, Tom Riddle," she said.

"I'm wholly unremarkable," he demurred.

"Something about you makes my brain itch," she said. "As if an earthquake had shifted everything sharply two feet to the left and then back again and it didn't all fit back quite right. Somehow, I don't think you're unremarkable at all."

. . . . . . . . . .

A/N – And so we begin. Time travel. Tomione. Head Boy/Head Girl. Rather massively AU. I've probably got about 30K more words already written for this but future chapters rather badly need editing and work so know there is more coming but don't expect a fast update. Plus, I'm getting ready for Misti-Con all this week.

2. Chapter 2

Tom walked though the castle and then along some of the outdoor paths with this girl who'd been assigned to him as his baby sitter. They didn't even speak until they were far away from the castle no one could hear them. "So," he said at last, "tell me about my Housemates."

She pointed to a tall pale boy with dark hair who seemed to be arguing with a much darker skinned boy. "Those two, along with Malfoy, are the smart ones in your year." She eyed him. "Along with you, I suspect, though I'm sure you'll forgive me if I wait to see proof. Theodore Nott is the tall one."

Tom nodded as he watched the argument wind down. Thoros Nott's son. Or grandson. He wondered if Thoros were still alive. He'd planned, of course, to outlive all his contemporaries and never age but it was still a bit surreal to have had dinner with the boy the night before and study his descendent today.

"Blaise Zabini is the one hitting him."

The two boys were, indeed, shoving at each other, Tom saw, but it seemed to be more good-natured than truly violent. "What are they like," he asked her.

She shrugged. "I don't know Zabini well. His mother's a bit of a celebrity on the continent. She's on husband number seven now, I think."

Tom Riddle looked at her and she laughed. "She's got a knack for marrying wealthy men shortly before they die. Zabini's a little touchy about the subject; don't bring it up unless you want to see him react and, fair warning, he's sent people to the infirmary before."

"A bit of a black widow?" Tom asked.

Hermione Granger shook her head. "I don't think so. I don't know, of course, but I get the impression she's got a bit of a reputation among men of a certain class. Sort of a 'when you know you're at the end, marry Elora Zabini and she'll make the last six months of your life the best ones you've ever had' thing."

Tom Riddle immediately discounted her 'I don't know'. This girl's observation had the ring of truth; she had insight into Malfoy, into the girl Malfoy was probably still screwing back in his room, and now into this boy she admitted she barely knew. He was starting to think getting dumped in her lap had been rather fortuitous. "Why don't you know this Zabini well?" he asked.

She settled down on a stone half wall and crossed her arms. "Slytherin." At his polite look she said, "They – you – still embrace the old ideas of blood purity so I'm pretty much officially anathema. Zabini's a bit of a zealot on the matter."

"How about the other one? Nott?"

"Theo?"

Tom noted she used the boy's first name.

"In public I think he'd be the first to sneer at me – have to maintain appearances and all - but he doesn't really care."

"Are you two…?" He trailed off and she looked at him first in confusion and then with a slowly growing displeasure.

"No," she said. "Not at all. What an idea. No, we've been… I'll call it study partners for a few years."

He eyed her. Thoros would no more have studied with a Mudblood than he would have slit his own throat. "Study partners like Malfoy and that girl?" he asked with a bit of a smirk, enjoying the horrified look she quickly suppressed. She really didn't like the idea of being involved with Nott.

"Hardly," she said. "We got paired in Defense a while back and had to shoot curses at one another and neither of us could land anything so we met after class to keep going because there was no way we could accept a tie, and, well, we got into the habit of trying to best one another." She regarded him and then asked, abruptly, "Do you have your wand?"

Tom pulled it from his robes and brandished it with a contemptuous sneer though, in fairness, it was a reasonable question as he'd arrived with the clothes on his back, the ring on his hand, and nothing else. If his wand hadn't been in his pocket when he'd done his little bit of time travel he probably wouldn't have had it.

He allowed himself a moment to wonder what had happened to his diary.

She stood up and, with a jerk of her head indicating he should follow her, led him behind a long ruined outbuilding. "Can I trust you?" she asked.

Tom snorted but did her the unusual courtesy of not openly lying to her.

She drew her own wand and tapped it against her hand and regarded him as if she were taking his measure, as if she weren't sure he wasn't anything more than a usually clever boy. He felt a smile curve his lips upward. This was a new time filled with people who had no idea what he as capable of and the suspicion that had settled around his shoulders after the incident with that Myrtle girl would be long forgotten.

He could be wholly unremarkable if he wanted. He could be just a clever boy. He could fool them all.

"Theo and I still duel in secret," she was saying, "but after a couple of years we've both gotten pretty good and codified it a bit. Rules are straightforward. Nothing lethal. Nothing you can't heal if you land it on the other person; getting caught would be bad and if we had to go to the infirmary we'd get caught, understand?"

Tom nodded.

"You don't tell anyone. Not anyone," she continued before asking him, "Want to try it?"

He could be wholly unremarkable. Or, he thought, he could give in to the urge to show this girl what he could really do. Assess him as merely clever, would she? Even limiting himself to non-lethal curses so many things were left open to him, things this good girl, even with her measuring eyes, couldn't possibly know. He wanted to do this; he wanted to let himself off his self-imposed leash, even partially. Based on the smile spreading over her face she could tell he liked the idea of dueling. "Five minute limit," she said.

He nodded and then, before she'd said go, launched a nasty cutting curse toward her. She blocked it and responded with something he'd never heard before. He went voiceless and so did she. They spun and dueled and cursed in utter silence and when their five minutes were up he stood, panting, and looked at her with sharply increased interest. He hadn't landed a single thing.

Neither had she, of course, but still. How had that just happened? He wanted her, wanted to collect her, wanted to... what a find she was and her wretched blood status just made her that much more interesting, that much rarer. A Mudblood who could, well, not beat him certainly, but match him. He wouldn't have believed that was even possible. She should be crumpled and bleeding into the trampled grass at their feet

"So," she said, also breathing hard, "that's how I know Theodore Nott." She sheathed her wand and looked at him, still assessing. "You're good."

She didn't say anything about how everything he'd thrown at her was beyond illegal.

"So are you," he admitted. He put his wand away slowly and narrowed his eyes. "Most of what you did wasn't in the curriculum, I'm guessing. Not unless things have changed a lot in fifty years. What's Hogwart's Head Girl doing having illicit duels where no one can see her?"

She pulled her hair out of the braid it had half escaped from and pulled it back into a sloppy knot of some sort. She seemed to be thinking of what to say; he expected explaining why she liked dueling – why she liked dueling with what had unmistakably been Dark magic – was tricky. She'd said he made her brain itch; he suspected she wanted to figure him out and throwing that kind of power at him and seeing how he'd respond had answered questions she'd had.

She didn't realize, of course, she'd answered questions he hadn't known he had. She was, he thought, shockingly naïve to openly admit to a near stranger she knew even half of what she'd just revealed. Not that he cared she was doing Dark magic. If anything, it made her more interesting. But if he collected this girl – when he collected this girl - he'd need to teach her to be more careful.

"I like to be challenged," she said at last. "I like to try new things. And I learned a lot of things before I even knew they were supposed to be out of bounds. I… most people like you who grew up with magic around them every day have an understanding of what it does, you know? Magic does this and not that. But I didn't know it did anything until I was eleven so I kept stumbling over limits of what I wasn't supposed to be able to do without knowing it." She shrugged. "We have a pretty great Defense teacher, of course. An old, retired Auror named Moody. He's a bit paranoid – well, more than a bit - and goes way beyond the official Ministry curriculum so we have a bit of fun with that and some of the things Theo and I use we learned from him. Not all of course. I'm pretty good at research." Her hair tucked up she gave him a bit of a guilty look. "I'm sure Moody'd be officially horrified to know what we do back here but he'd probably also be a bit pleased. He mutters 'constant vigilance' like an old woman saying the rosary and he'd see this as good practice."

"Who else?" he asked, resisting the urge to tell her he'd no more grown up around magic than she had. At her look he elaborated. "Who else do you duel like this with?" Who else, he thought to himself, had this kind of power, this kind of skill?

"Just Neville," she said. "Neville Longbottom. He's in my House. His parents are these incredible Aurors, just renowned, and his grandmother mostly raised him because they're always working and she's this hilariously fierce and outrageous old lady who'll tell you that color looks bad on you and you should lose some weight without batting an eye. But he's so good." She grinned. "Pureblood and aristocratic as hell but you'd never know it to meet him. He's the awkward guy who stands up for any little kid who's getting picked on and laughs at his own failings with so much humor you can't even get angry at him that he's forgotten the damn password to the common room again."

"And he's as good as you are?"

"Maybe better," she said and shoved up her sleeve. There was a scar on the inside of her arm that looked like a series of knife cuts, almost like a word had been carved into her. "He landed that on me and we never could get it healed properly. Poor guy feels so guilty every time he sees it." She grinned. "He taught it to me and I lobbed it at you just now."

"I thought you said nothing you couldn't heal," Tom said, eyebrows raised.

She was smirking at him. "I might have cheated." She started walking back towards the castle. "C'mon. It's almost time for lunch. Besides, I knew you'd probably be able to block it by that point."

"You were analyzing me? Mid-duel?" And she'd cheated. Cheated without hesitation or compunction. She just looked at him with that smirk on her face. Tom Riddle made the decision right there that blood status couldn't be a factor in recruitment this time around because he had to have this witch.

. . . . . . . . . .

She dropped him off at the Slytherin table for lunch. "Try to contain your obvious disdain, Crabbe," she said to a thick-featured boy who sneered at her. "People tell me you're the cunning House so try to live up to that reputation, assuming you can." She turned to Theodore Nott. "Nott, meet Tom Riddle," she said. "He got dumped here from the past in some bizarre time traveling problem and he's a Slytherin. Dumbledore's decided to house him in the Head dorms but he's still your problem after today."

"Why's he your problem today?" the boy she'd called Crabbe asked. "Shouldn't Malfoy be showing him around instead of Mudblood filth like you?"

"Five points for language," she said. Tom watched how her spine stiffened almost imperceptibly even though her smug expression never faltered. "And are you really stupid enough to ask why no one picked Malfoy to do work? He'd just have the poor boy sitting around while he and Parkinson 'studied' in private."

Theodore Nott coughed into a napkin. "When do you need him back, Granger?"

"Malfoy?" she asked. "Is never too soon?"

Tom Riddle smothered a laugh.

"No," Nott said. "This one."

"After lunch," she said. "I'm supposed to take him to Snape to get his schedule."

"I'll return him to you," Nott said. "Don't come back to this table."

She rolled her eyes and walked off as Riddle sat calmly down next to Theodore Nott and began filling a plate. "So," he said. "I don't suppose you have a dueling club in this era. I'd hate to get out of practice."

Nott narrowed his eyes and looked toward where Hermione Granger was surely settling in at her own House's table. Tom didn't follow the other boy's gaze; he just poured himself a glass of water and introduced himself to the boy who'd insulted the girl he meant to recruit and listened to the idiot fulminate about blood purity.

He wondered what he could use to agitate the masses and rally a circle to follow him and push him into power because, obviously, blood purity as an issue wasn't going to work in this era, not if he wanted the girl.

Well, he was sure he would figure it out. He always did.

. . . . . . . . . . .

Professor Snape regarded Tom Riddle over a beak-like nose and through a veil of greasy black hair. Looking back at the man Tom already missed Horace Slughorn. The man had been a sycophant, yes, but he'd had good personal hygiene at the very least.

"Time travel," the man sneered as if Tom had somehow made his story up for the sole purpose of annoying the Head of Slytherin. "And our dear Headmaster has decided to house you with Mr. Malfoy and Miss Granger." He glowered at Hermione. "I'm sure Miss Granger has been most useful telling you everything she knows about everything."

"She's been very helpful," Tom said. "I'm most grateful for her assistance. It's a bit of a shock to walk through a doorway and be over fifty years in the future. I'm not sure what I would have done today without her help."

"Well, Miss Granger, it looks like you've made a friend. That's a bit of a first, isn't it?"

"I'm just doing the job Headmaster Dumbledore asked me to do, sir," she replied, "Though I thank you for your concern about my social life."

"I'm sure," the man said before looking down at papers on his desk. "Well, Mr. Riddle, I had to dredge through dusty records that were badly organized to find your O.W.L. results and determine what classes you belong it and it looks like this schedule should suit your needs." He handed a sheet of paper over and Riddle looked at it and nodded. It was almost identical to the schedule he'd had the day before, fifty-three years in the past. "You will, I am sorry to say, have to take a number of classes with Miss Granger as advanced classes consist of all the houses combined. There simply aren't enough students capable of doing N.E.W.T. level work in Potions or Arithmancy to justify separate sections."

"I'm sure Miss Granger will continue to be a great help to me as I adjust," Tom said.

"I'm sure," Snape said and Riddle wondered if anyone had ever told the man the axiom about catching more flies with honey than hate filled sneers. It would seem not. "Here is the Potions book for this year," the man said, passing over a text, "and here is an address to which you can write to get an appropriate wardrobe. Hogwarts has an account with them for our indigent students."

Tom smiled his pleasant, ingratiating smile while he considered severing this man's head from his neck.

"Go," the man said. "I will see you both in Potions in two hours, assuming some fortunate happenstance hasn't rescued me from that unhappy fate."

Tom nodded submissively and held the door for Hermione as they left the man's office

"Laying it on a bit thick, weren't you?" she said once the door had closed behind them. "Not sure what you would have done? Really?"

"You weren't joking about his attitude problems," Tom said, ignoring her mockery.

"No," Hermione agreed. "And I'm done with you, I think. You're on your own now that you have a schedule and a way to get some modern clothes."

Tom smiled his poison smile again and she sighed.

"Hey," she said, "Don't let the man's crack about poverty get under your skin. He's a dick and only shites like Malfoy care about class like that."

Tom's smile softened into something somewhat more genuine as he regarded the stunningly innocent girl – almost woman – in front of him. So speaks the voice of upper middle class privilege, he thought, after being sheltered in a wizarding school that has, I suspect, deliberately kept you ignorant of the remnants of blood status prejudice in the outside world. Crabbe might have been an idiot but Tom was quite sure the boy reflected the views of more of society than Hermione wanted to admit.

Not that he cared what people thought. He'd move the pawns however he wanted them.

"I'll see you back in our dorm, Hermione," he said and she gave him a friendly smile as she walked away.

She was powerful, clever, confident, and unless he was very much mistaken, she was also pushing down resentment at being the good little Mudblood. He licked his lips as he watched her move further and further away from him, her skirt swinging around her arse.

Now to figure out Theodore Nott's weaknesses and find a way to meet this aristocratic, bumbling Neville Longbottom who'd scarred up the girl's arm.

. . . . . . . . . .

A/N – Tomione. Because, yeah. Blame Brightki and dulce de leche go and ShayaLonnie. They enable me.

3. Chapter 3

Ron Weasley took his Defense essay back from Hermione and squinted at the corrections she'd made. "Are you sure?" he asked.

She just looked at him and he sighed.

"Tell me about this guy you got dumped on you," Ron said. "Two Slytherins up there; that has to be the worst. Is he as bad as Malfoy?"

Hermione leaned back in the couch in the Gryffindor common room and considered what to say. "He's nothing like Malfoy," she said at last. "He's like cut crystal or something; he makes Malfoy look like some kind of plastic copy of what it means to be Slytherin."

Ron's eyes widened. "He's worse?" he asked in obvious disbelief.

"He's subtle," she said dryly. "He's smart but he doesn't rub your nose in it like Malfoy does –"

"Or like you do," Ron said.

"You want me to proofread your essays?" Hermione asked. "Because I do have other things I could be doing."

"Sorry," Ron muttered. "What else?"

Hermione thought about the curses Tom Riddle had launched at her. She'd had to really work to fight him off, work harder than she ever had before. Neville had gotten to her because she'd made a mistake and he'd been afraid to really push ever since. Theo wanted to beat her but was careful about not using things too Dark lest she rat him out and ruin his future. This Tom Riddle, though, had barely skirted the bounds of 'nothing lethal' and she was piqued he knew things she didn't.

More, she was fascinated he knew things she didn't. Where had he learned all those spells?

If she were to touch all his sharp edges, how much, she wondered, would she bleed?

"I get the feeling he's a pretty powerful wizard," she said at last. "And he's polite, so polite he could be planning to knife you in your sleep and you wouldn't be able to tell from the way he talks to you."

"Sounds like a real charmer," Ron said with a snort, shoving his essay back into his bag. "And you have to share a dorm with the both of them. That's not fair to you."

Hermione shrugged. "When has Dumbledore ever been fair? He can hand this problem off to me and go back to whatever his current research project is. I'm sure he's got some new article on yet another use for dragon's blood or some such coming out in a journal that's more important than actually managing the school."

"Snippy," Ron said with a frown. "Dumbledore's a great man, you know. You'd not be liking the world if he hadn't defeated Grindelwald."

Hermione closed her eyes for a moment before gathering up her bag. "Yeah, I hear that a lot. Thanks for reminding me."

"Hey," Ron said as she stood up. "That wasn't what I meant."

"I'm sure," Hermione said. "I think I'll go back to my nearly private tower and work on my Arithmancy. McGonagall assures me I'll need a good N.E.W.T. score in it to get an internship in any field next year, especially when I'm competing against people like Nott."

She ran into Riddle in the hall and he fell into step beside her. "Something wrong?" he asked.

She glanced at him. "You ever just want to tell someone to bugger off?"

"Yes," he said, "but I've found that doesn't accomplish nearly as much as a quick dose of agonizing pain."

She laughed at that.

"What happened?"

"Oh," she sighed and jerked her bag back up to her shoulder. "Some people just forget to say thank you. I can't tell if it's because on some level they think it's my job to wait on them and help them out all the time or because –"

"They're just rude arseholes?" he interrupted her.

"Yeah."

"Manners," Tom said offering her his arm with a formal flourish, "Manners are important."

She made a bit of a self-conscious grimace at the extended arm but when he resolutely held it in place she put her hand on his arm and let her escort her back to their dorm. Outside the door he stopped at said, "I had fun dueling you, Hermione. We should do it again."

She ducked her head a little. "I promise not to cheat next time."

"Oh," he said, "don't promise that. I'd be so disappointed."

. . . . . . . . . .

Tom slid into the routine of the school, attending classes and 'studying' with Hermione Granger at night while he asked her seemingly idle questions about students and teachers. Draco Malfoy had sneered at him at first and, cornering him over breakfast one morning, had finally asked why he was wasting his time with filth. Tom smile started benignly and slowly hardened until the blond squirmed under his gaze. "Miss Granger has been very helpful to me," he said once the blond had looked away. "Maybe you'd like to join our study sessions?"

Malfoy had muttered something about being busy but he'd shown up the next night, sneering at Hermione and doing the equivalent of baring his throat to Tom.

Coward, Tom had thought with disgust. You didn't even try to stand up to me.

Hermione, however, had hissed, "Malfoy? Really Tom? What are you trying to do?"

He'd wrapped an arm around her, one she'd rapidly shrugged off, and said, "I'm just trying to make friends, Hermione."

She'd snorted but hadn't made any further objections to the growth of their study group.

Theodore Nott was the next person to join. He sat next to Tom one morning and, while reaching for some toast, said, "I think you probably knew my father when you were in your own time. Thoros."

Tom nodded. "I did," he said. "It's strange, though, to think that the boy I was planning mischief with just a few weeks ago now has a son my age."

"Mischief?" the Nott boy looked over at him. "Interesting word choice."

Tom smiled. Thoros, it would appear, had been telling tales to this son of his and the son was intrigued. All Tom said, however, was, "Well, things change."

"There is a truism, however," Nott said, "that the more things change the more they stay the same."

Tom gazed at Theodore Nott over their toast and tea and waited for the other boy to look away. He didn't, just smiled back with a slow, toothy smile. "I usually go over Potions and Arithmancy with Hermione Granger at night in our little common room," Tom said. "Maybe you'd like to come to?" He waited a single beat before adding, "Unless you have an issue with that."

Theodore brought his glass to his mouth and took a sip, still not looking away. "Granger's a talented witch," he said. "I'm surprised she's got the time to do her own work, however, what with dragging Potter and Weasley behind her and picking up Malfoy's slack."

"She does seem to let people take advantage of her," Tom agreed. "Some day she might start to get resentful of that."

"When that happens the world better look out," Theodore said. "In the meanwhile, I'd love to come and get the benefit of her insights into Arithmancy, however. Yours too. Only a fool turns down an offer that could benefit him out of some antiquated prejudice. Or scruples."

And so Theodore Nott joined them. He and Hermione never openly acknowledged their history of extra-curricular dueling but the presence of the lanky dark-haired boy seemed to make her relax. Tom watched them together and confirmed that they had zero romantic feelings for one another but that they worked together with the casual respect borne of long familiarity with one another's strengths.

He noted his pleasure that Hermione didn't seem to have interest in anyone with clinical detachment.

. . . . . . . . . .

One night, after several shots of a purloined bottle of firewhiskey, Hermione Granger tilted her head and looked at Tom curiously. "I wonder what's different," she said,

"Could you be any less clear, Granger?" Malfoy drawled.

She tossed an annoyed look at the blond. "Well, pointy and pale, go whinge to your father that you can't follow me."

"Sod off," he suggested and poured himself another shot.

"As much as I hate to be classed with Malfoy," Theo said, "I'm also not sure what you mean."

"Tom here," she said, waving a hand toward the boy. "He fell into the future. Was he supposed to run off and marry some nice girl and have children that now don't exist? Die tragically in a carriage accident that resulted in the driver slowly becoming an alcoholic out of guilt and now, having not killed anyone, that driver is instead a file clerk at the Ministry."

"A fate worse than death," Tom said. "I hope to never run into that file clerk."

Theo was now looking speculatively at Tom as well, a much darker glint in his eyes than the idle one in Hermione's. "Yes," he said. "I wonder what he would have accomplished in our past if he'd lived his life in proper fashion, not skipping years."

"Clearly, I'd be running the world," Tom said, taking a very small sip of his own glass. "Or off in a cottage with a bunch of kids."

"Or dead in a carriage accident," Draco Malfoy said, throwing back his shot and reaching for the bottle to pour himself another one.

"I vote for running the world," Theo said.

Hermione leaned her head back against the side of the couch she was sitting on. "Well, no time like the present to run the world. Going to start a political career, Tom? Work your way up to Minister of Magic?"

"Maybe," he said. "Do you think I should, Hermione?"

He watched her though his lashes as she pondered the question, giving it more thought than he had expected her to. "You," she said at last, "are manipulative, brilliant and you have only a passing interest in the truth." She began to grin at him, clearly becoming charmed by the idea he'd set before her. "Politics is clearly the place you belong."

"Brilliant?" he asked her. "You flatter me."

She just took another drink and rolled her eyes. "Don't dig for more compliments, Tom."

"You ought to watch your mouth, Mudblood," Draco Malfoy said, watching Tom out the corner of his eyes.

Theo groaned and tossed back a drink and stood. "That's it. I'm leaving. I don't want to get blood on these pants. Draco, it's one thing to toss your idiotic insults around in public but in private could you at least try to keep up?"

"What do you mean," the blond blustered.

Theo glanced at Hermione, who was ignoring the minor confrontation, and said, "No one who matters cares about that shite anymore, Draco."

"Who matters?" Draco asked.

"The people in this room," Tom said, toying with his glass. "The clever. The powerful." He looked from Hermione to Draco. "The connected, assuming they live long enough and are clever enough for those connections to be useful."

Theo tipped his head to Tom and said, "Later," and Tom nodded, a quiet dismissal even Draco recognized.

"I'm going to go read," Draco said and, standing up, started toward his door.

"I think you're forgetting something," Tom said quietly.

Draco spun on his heel and looked at the pair still sitting near the bottle. "What?" he demanded.

"An apology to the lady for your rudeness, of course," Tom said. "Courtesy, Draco. It's what separates us from the masses." He took a sip. "You really shouldn't even insult the lowest worm but one would hope a Malfoy would be smart enough to recognize it's a bad idea to antagonize a predator."

"Granger isn't a bloody predator," Draco Malfoy said.

"You're wrong," Tom said, "or you will be, but I wasn't referring to her." He looked at Draco over the rim of his glass while he took another sip and, after a long moment, the boy muttered a sullen apology, laced with an excuse about too much alcohol, and slunk away.

"I'm surprised his insults don't bother you more," Tom observed, leaning back in the worn couch after Malfoy had disappeared off into his room.

"Oh, well," Hermione shrugged. "That's our Malfoy. He just goes for the laziest insult he can come up with. He goes after Ron for being poor, any girl who doesn't look like she has an eating disorder for being fat, and me for being a Mudblood. Usually. Sometimes he prefers to attack my hair." She raised a hand to her wild curls and fluffed them in a parody of empty-headed feminine vanity. "It's hard to take him seriously."

"Your hair?" Tom said, tossing a contemptuous expression at Malfoy's closed door. "He doesn't like your hair?"

Hermione laughed. "Well, it is a bit much."

Tom shook his head. "Your hair is your best feature," he said quietly. "You've managed to make the rest of you look like the rule-abiding good girl everyone thinks you are. Hogwarts Head Girl with her regulation length skirt that she never rolls or hems, her sensible flat shoes and her neatly ironed blouse. Everything about you says you're studious and responsible and trustworthy except that hair."

"What do you mean," she asked, nearly mesmerized.

"Your hair, Hermione Granger," he said, "tells the rest of them to fuck off. Your hair does what it wants and looks amazing. Your hair is wild and uncontrolled and, sometimes, when you're dueling, it nearly sparks with the power you've got within you." He reached out and took one riotous curl in his fingers and turned it back and forth. "Some day I hope you'll let the rest of yourself be as free as this hair." He released her hair and smiled at her and watched her throat bob as she swallowed.

"No one's ever put it quite like that before," she said at last.

Tom shrugged. "It's easy to miss the steel at your core. Everyone just sees the good friend who does the homework and locates the missing books, the good Head who makes sure everything gets done despite Malfoy's tendency to drip his lazy privilege on the floor and his expectation you'll always come after him and mop it up." He stood up. "I'm going to bed." At his door he turned back to look at her, still sitting on the couch he'd just vacated, one hand at that hair of hers. "It's okay to tell people 'no', you know. It's okay to go after what you want."

He closed his door behind him with a soft click and stood, listening, as she crossed the room and stood on the other side of the barrier between them for several long minutes before she walked away and to her own room.

. . . . . . . . . .

The next person on Tom's list to consider acquiring was Neville Longbottom. Powerful, at least according to Hermione Granger. He watched the boy – man, he supposed, albeit barely - from afar. He was friendly, cheerful, a bad dresser, and clumsy. He moved like someone who'd suddenly grown a foot and lost 20 pounds and wasn't sure how to navigate the world in this new body. In Gryffindor, the land where everyone was expected to be an athlete, he suffered eye rolls and unkind mutterings from his Housemates because of that. It didn't help that he seemed to be chronically unable to remember things and was constantly forgetting the password to his common room, the homework assignment, or where he'd left his bag.

If Hermione hadn't told him Neville was her other dueling partner he'd never have given the man a second look. But this clumsy, forgetful goof had, apparently, landed a curse on Hermione that neither of them had been able to heal and, assuming she played even halfway fair when she dueled him, Hermione Granger knew how to heal quite a few very nasty curses.

He was watching Longbottom one morning when Theodore Nott slipped onto the bench next to him. "Who are you studying today?" he asked. "Which of the innocent Gryffindors are you watching to discover the fissures in the bedrock of his soul in order to tap your little chisel and make him yours with a few casual words?

"The ginger," Tom lied easily, putting away – at least for now – Theodore Nott's open acknowledgement of his manipulative side.

"Weasley?" Theo snorted in disdain. "He's so brittle you'd break him. The youngest boy in a family of talents, he's the one who's never been good enough, never quite measured up and while the girl is embarrassed by their poverty he's absolutely humiliated by it." Theo shifted on the bench and reached to get a pitcher of juice. "You can always tell what a person's main insecurity is by what Draco uses to go after them, you know. He's a right prat, that one, but he's got a sixth sense for sniffing out weaknesses."

"Granger doesn't seem that bothered by his name calling," Tom said, eyes still on Longbottom.

Theo stopped what he was doing and turned to squint at Tom. "Is that a joke?"

Tom looked back.

"She hates it," Theo said. "She used to bury herself in the library to try to learn everything she could about wizarding culture. I think the swot's actually memorized Hogwarts: A History. She works ten times as hard as everyone else so no one can ever tell her she's not as good because of her birth." He snorted at Tom's expression. "Why do you think she throws herself against me and Neville both with the dueling? She has to be the best, always. She has to prove she's better than a pair of, well, 'inbred aristocrats' is what she's called us when she's in a snit."

Theo laughed at the twitch he saw on Tom's cheek. "So enamored of her you missed that, huh?" He looked back toward the Gryffindor table. "No, the one you want isn't Weasley. It's the boy next to him. Neville Longbottom. Connections. Power." Theo pulled some toast onto his plate. "And ridiculed because he's a disorganized mess."

"I'll keep that in mind," Tom said, taking the pitcher from Theo and filling his own glass. "Thank you."

"I live to serve," Theo said dryly.

"As long as you get power in the end?" Tom asked, his voice just as dry.

"Well, we all have the little fissures in our souls," Theo said. "I just happen to know what mine are."

. . . . . . . . . .

Tom had Hermione tell him the Gryffindor passwords, a secret she divulged with a slight cock of an eyebrow but no other comment, and he waited for the right opportunity and the day he found Neville Longbottom standing outside the portrait that barred the way to his own dorm, fumbling to remember the password, he just said it under his breath.

The boy froze and looked at him. Tom smiled back and Neville, eyes narrowed, turned to the Fat Lady in the frame and repeated the phrase.

"About time," the woman grumbled, and swung open.

Neville didn't go through, however. He just looked at Tom. "How did you know that?" he asked at last.

"I know a lot of things," Tom said as he eyed the boy he was considering acquiring.

"You're Hermione's friend. That time traveler," Neville said.

Tom laughed, a warm sound no one ever realized was practiced. "I'd like to think I'm her friend but I suspect I'm more in the way of her project: get the boy out of time to fit into the present. I'm a bit of a square peg in your round holes."

Neville thrust out his hand and Tom took it. "Neville Longbottom," he said. "Any friend of Hermione's and all that. And thanks. I was starting to worry I'd never remember it and I'd have to wait for someone to let me in and I'd rather not deal with another week of razzing about how I can barely remember my own name. How can I pay you back?"

"Are you coming in or not?" the Fat Lady grumbled but both boys ignored her.

"Duel me?" Tom asked. "For fun, of course. Granger's busy, my work's all done, and I'm bored."

Neville began to grin. "You really want to?" he asked. "I'm pretty good, despite the password stuff."

Tom grinned back. "You think you can take me?"

"See you in five," Neville said. "I have to drop my stuff off back in my room."

"Where?" Tom asked.

Neville looked at him. "If someone's been telling stories, you already know where."

They grinned at one another, two boys circling like wolves. They continued circling when they met behind the old, broken building and launched curses at one another for five minutes. When they sat down at the end of their five minutes and Tom repaired some slices he'd gotten into Neville's shirt they both began to laugh.

"I can see why Hermione's been talking," Neville said after he put his wand away. "You must keep her on her toes."

"She's good," Tom admitted. He looked at the other boy who was, it would seem, a keeper. "So are you."

Neville shrugged. "At some things." He picked at a cuticle. "Not so much at others, as you noticed."

Tom snorted. "The password bullshite? Just write them down."

"It's against the rules," Neville said.

"So?" Tom Riddle looked at the boy sitting next to him; honestly, people and their concern for rules. It was baffling to him. "Don't get caught. Don't let yourself look and feel like an idiot when a simple thing like keeping notes will solve the problem."

Neville sighed. "I just… you know what Aurors are, right?" Tom nodded and the other boy continued. "Well, my parents are, uh, the best. Like, really the best and all I ever hear when I was little was how I had to live up to them. And I don't. Not at all. And it's worse because what they do, it's not just tracking down Dark wizards and Dark magic, you know, but that's the core of it all and the shite I'm good at - like this dueling - that's what they try to stomp out. Transfiguration? I'm worthless at it, can't turn a bird to a cup to save my life. Give me a dark curse, though, and I've got it." He huffed out a tired little sigh. "Can't exactly get a N.E.W.T. in illegal curses though. And I'm great at applying ideas across disciplines. I could bore you for hours about how you can transfigure growing conditions in a greenhouse but no one cares about transfiguring dirt into a different kind of dirt."

"Why would you want to turn a bird into a cup?" Tom asked with an exaggerated role of his eyes, one that fairly honestly reflected his inner exasperation; who wept over shite like transfiguration when he could master Dark curses with ease? "I've never quite understood the point of some of the classroom assignments. Just go buy a cup, for Merlin's sake. But adapting like that? That's brilliant." He stood up and brushed some non-existent debris from his trousers. "It's too bad your family doesn't appreciate what you can do; I think it's impressive as hell. You need to join our study group. You and Theo would get along like a house on fire. He's got some bee in his bonnet about using Arithmancy in conjunction with Runes to change spell-work." He held out a hand to help Neville up. "And Granger probably would like another Gryffindor. She's stuck with three Slytherins right now and I think she's feeling a little outnumbered."

Neville laughed as he got up. "You make it sound like I'm a pet you're getting her." He eyed the other boy. "That would be great, though. Thanks for the invite." He sighed "Sorry to dump on you, I didn't mean to."

You are a pet I'm getting her, Tom thought. A pet for her, a follower for myself. Be grateful you're so talented; given that your parents are such perfect Aurors your natural classification should have been target.

"Eh," was all he said. "Happens a lot. I think I've got 'confess to me' on my forehead or something. No big deal. Your neuroses are safe with me."

. . . . . . . . . . . .

A/N – Big, fluffy, sociopathic hugs to you all. A reminder (you know, shameless please for attention) that I'm on tumblr at colubrina dot tumblr dot c o m.

4. Chapter 4

C'mere." Tom had been sitting on the couch watching Hermione write her essay for almost an hour. She'd nearly stabbed at the parchment with her quill and several times had had to stop and charm ink spatters away.

"I'm busy," she snapped not even glancing up from the table.

"Stop being busy and come here," he said, voice low in their common room. She looked up and glared at him but he narrowed his eyes at her and with a sigh she put the quill down and stomped over to him. "Sit," he ordered, and pointed to the floor.

"What?" she sounded outraged. "I'm not going to –"

"Sit," he said again, cutting her off. "You're tense as hell for some reason and I'm going to rub your shoulders and then you can go back and finish torturing that essay into submission."

"Oh." She turned at sat down, her back to him, flushing more than a little, and he lifted her hair out of the way, using a series of sticking charms to tuck it up on the top of her head. He ran his fingers along the back of her neck and she shivered; he saw goose pimples rise on her arms at his touch and smiled. He began to slowly rub and knead the tops of her shoulders and she made a slight sound and settled into his hands.

After a few minutes he stopped and ran his hands down and rested them on her arms. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing," she muttered.

"You're a shite liar," Tom said. "I can't even see your face and I can tell you're hiding something. Let's try again. What's wrong?"

She leaned her head against his knee. "It's just… you know how Ron is. It's stupid, but he already didn't like that I was up here living with Malfoy and it's not like anything would ever ever have happened between me and pale and pointy but, well, now you're here too and Theo's up here all the time. He's just… he accused me of 'consorting with the enemy.'"

"I didn't realize he thought I was your enemy," Tom said, running a thumb along the side of her neck she'd exposed when she leaned against him.

"You aren't, don't be stupid. It's because you're in Slytherin. It's Quidditch," she muttered, "it just makes House rivalries worse."

"So… no cross house dating allowed?" he asked, thumb still sliding up and down the cords of her neck. "That's unfortunate."

"It's… it happens all the time. Ron's just being an arse."

"Dog in the manger, I bet," Tom said softly. "Does he want you for himself?"

"Only when someone else does," she said, almost purring under his hand as a cat might while being stroked. "He was the same way in fourth year. We had a big tournament, students from other schools here, and the champion for one of the other schools asked me to the Yule Ball. Ron got very nasty that I wasn't available."

She started to move as if she were going to stand up and he put his hand back on her shoulder, holding her in place. "I want you for myself, Hermione," Tom said. "I don't want you available to Ron Weasley."

"I'm not," she said, and he smiled inwardly to hear how breathless she sounded. "Available, that is."

"You're not available to me?" he asked, leaning down so his lips were at her ear. "I do wish you'd reconsider that." He slid his hand around so it rested on her throat. "Let me know when you do."

"And you'll be waiting for me?" Hermione turned the words into a casual sneer, the quiver in her voice mostly hidden.

He smiled at her, letting his lips brush against the tip of her earlobe and feeling her nervous swallowing under his hand. "No promises," he said. "I've had several girls tell me, in language that left little to the imagination, their opinion of my appearance and things they might enjoy doing to and with me because I am so very easy to look at. The change in social mores over fifty years has been dramatic; no girl I knew would have even admitting to knowing about things I've been casually propositioned with. I might, Hermione, decide I'd rather not wait for you."

"Oh." Her voice sounded a bit more shaky as she pushed his hand away from her throat and stood up.

"Hermione," Tom said.

She turned to look at him.

"When you want me enough to risk complete and utter rejection, let me know." He smiled. "You know where I live, after all."

He cast a silent finite at the sticking charms he'd used to hold her hair up and watched it all come tumbling down around her shoulders. He looked forward to seeing it in such wanton disarray when she was a little more horizontal.

. . . . . . . . . .

Ron Weasley cornered him in the courtyard one afternoon. He glowered and fumed and Tom regarded the boy with patient disdain, finally asking, "Can I help you?" when it seemed like this might take longer than he was willing to give it.

"You can stay away from Hermione," Ron half snapped, half growled. "I don't know what you said to her yesterday but she's all flustered and girly and that's not like her so I know you did something."

Tom leaned his head back along the stone wall he was sitting against and looked up at Ron. Funny, he thought. Weasley should be in a physically dominant position, looking down at me like that, but he still postures like a dog that knows he's at the bottom of the pack. "I live in the same dorm as Hermione," Tom said pleasantly. "We have a study group together. I'm afraid staying away from her wouldn't really be an option even I wanted to."

"She's my girl, Riddle, and you need to leave her alone," Weasley said, his face nearly as red as his hair. "No study dates. No back rubs. Leave. Her. Alone."

Tom idly examined the boy. It was a shame, really, that he'd have to be this blunt this soon but he didn't want anyone else taking his toy. "Ron," he said, voice so low the git had to lean down to hear him, "let me explain how this will go. I'll use small words to make sure you understand me. You'll slowly distance yourself from Hermione. No big falling out. No fight. Nothing to make her cry or upset her. You'll just have less and less time for her. You certainly won't touch her or take her down to Hogsmeade. Let me encourage you, even, to find another girl to slobber on."

"Why would I do that?" Ron asked with a snort.

"Because if you don't I'll make you wish you were dead," Tom said, the timbre of his voice unchanging. He set down the book he'd been reading and reached up into Weasley's mind and, finding the emotions he wanted, pushed at it. The boy staggered, his face going white as he braced himself against the wall. "I've been doing some reading into Muggle neurological research," Tom said while Ron Weasley shuddered and shook in front of him. "It turns out there are ways to stimulate and condition fear in the brain. Fascinating stuff, really, especially when combined with legilimancy. I would imagine that after today you'll find me absolutely terrifying. It'll be an unreasonable, piss-in-your-pants type of fear."

Tom looked back down and let the connection between them drop. "Stay away from Hermione and do what I tell you and we can avoid repeating this encounter. I'll let her come to me in her own time – I may even avail myself of some of the many offers your liberated modern girls have made me while I wait – but she's mine and I'll not have the likes of you sullying her or upsetting her."

"You're a monster," Weasley said, backing away from him.

Tom Riddle looked back up and smiled. "Let's keep this little talk just between us, shall we?" he said and Ron Weasley nearly broke into a run to get away as fast as he could.

. . . . . . . . . .

"Start dueling with Malfoy," Tom ordered Theo. "Get him up to snuff by graduation. He can stop spending every lunch hour plunging his cock into that stupid girl of his and actually learn something useful."

Theo nodded.

. . . . . . . . . .

Tom slipped an arm around Hermione and, when she didn't shrug it off, pulled her more closely against him. "What's the matter?" he asked.

"How do you always know when something's wrong?" she said, not quite answering.

"I pay attention," he said. "You snapped at Malfoy this morning when, for once, he hadn't done anything to deserve it. You picked at breakfast and then, when all your little Gryffindor chums ran off and left you, you dragged yourself out here to this isolated tree with a book you told me once you find dull." He turned and buried his face in her hair and inhaled. "And you aren't shoving me away."

"You aren't being a prat," she pointed out.

"No games today?" he said.

"You're the one who plays them," she said, but she leaned her head up more snugly against his shoulder and he took that as agreement that, today at least, she was his.

"You're fun to play with," he said, taking the hand that wasn't holding her against him and settling it into her lap. She took it and twined her fingers in and out through his. "You can keep up," he said.

"Today I can't," she said.

"Therefore, today no games," he agreed. "But you still need to tell me what's wrong."

She shifted against him and he was briefly concerned she was going to try and pull away but she just arranged herself differently and said, "It's Family Day."

"What?" Tom had no idea what she was talking about but he could hear the capital letters in her voice. He supposed he should have paid more attention to announcements but they were usually so banal he'd stopped.

"Stupid Quidditch," she muttered. "They have a Family Day every fall. Parents come and there's a big fuss made and everyone walks around with their varying family members and there'll be a big table with a banquet outdoors and a bonfire and it's just fun times for all."

"But not you," he said softly, "Because your parents are Muggles."

"They can't even see the castle, much less come to visit. None of the Muggle-borns like this stupid event. Dumbledore encourages wizarding families to 'adopt' one of us for the day as if we were stray dogs or something." She sniffled. "I prefer to just… stay out of the way."

"I don't blame you," he said.

"No one warned you, huh?" she said. "Would any of your family even still be living?"

Tom thought of his father, dead at his hands, and suppressed a snort. "No," he said. "My mother died when I was an infant and I grew up in a Muggle orphanage. No family left."

"I'm so sorry," she said, turning to look at him and, Tom realized in utter shock, that she actually was sorry. "I'm such an utter arse, whinging to you about how my parents can't come to Family Day when yours are… I'm so sorry, Tom. I should have thought before I opened my mouth and –"

"It's fine," he said, cutting her off. "Hermione. Really. It's fine."

She put her hands on each side of his face and was searching his eyes. "Well," she said. "We have to make today happy for you. Stupid Family Day, leaving us both out. What do you want to do?"

Ravish you, he thought, but something tells me that's not actually on the table. Try to understand why you care my childhood was shite. Try to understand why I just told you about that wretched orphanage when I never tell anyone that. He settled on, "Want to be bad?"

She looked wary. "How bad?"

"Just a little bad," he grinned. "Tree climbing kind of bad. Being irresponsible kind of bad. Playing total hooky from making even the slightest appearance at this ridiculous event of Dumbledore's kind of bad."

A tiny grin tugged at her mouth. "I'm supposed to do some introduction thing with Malfoy as Head Girl welcoming them all to Hogwarts."

"Skip it," Tom ordered. "Let Malfoy do it alone. It'll be good practice for him."

"You're so bossy," she complained but her grin was definitely getting bigger.

"I'm trying to corrupt you," he said. "Is it working?"

"It's a terrible event," she said and he licked his lips knowing he had her. "And making the Muggle-born Head Girl do the introduction is even kind of cruel."

"You shouldn't countenance their cruelty," Tom said, leaning forward into the hands she still had on his face until his nose brushed against hers. "They don't get to be cruel to you. No one gets to be cruel to you, Hermione."

"Not even you?"

"Well," he pulled her hands away from his face and brushed his lips against hers. "I might make an exception for myself. But I'll kill anyone else who even upsets you."

"Tom," she had her hands gripping his as she left her lips right near his, "Don't be ridiculous. You can't kill someone just because he upset me."

"You'd be surprised at what I can do," he said, pulling back and smiling at her. "But not today. Today we run away and climb trees and I corrupt you just enough that you don't go and pretend to enjoy this Family Day nonsense but instead dine on chocolates up in the branches with me."

He stood up and, reaching a hand down, pulled her up with him. She had her book in her other hand and he tweaked it out of her fingers and tossed it away.

"Tom," she hissed, "that's a library book."

"Bad, remember?" he said. "And it's a dull book." He drew her up against him. "I'm bossy, right? Try getting used to doing what I tell you to. Leave the book."

She nearly whimpered as she looked at the book lying on the grass but she let him tug her away.

. . . . . . . . . .

There was an awkward pause when Hermione was introduced to make her welcome speech and no one appeared. Draco Malfoy, looking put out, stepped forward and stumbled his way through a clearly improvised talk.

Ron and Harry, whose parents were catching up and not imposing themselves on the teenagers, laughed as the prat they disliked turned an increasingly dull shade of red as he made his way through inviting everyone to stay for dinner after the Quidditch game.

"Where's Hermione?" Harry asked. "It's not like her to be late to something."

"Harry," Ron said, looking around to see if anyone was listening in, "do you think she's off with that Riddle?"

Harry shrugged. "Wasn't my turn to watch her," he quipped.

"I'm serious," Ron muttered, swallowing. "There's something wrong with that one. He's… I don't trust him," Ron finally said. "I don't think Hermione should be hanging around him."

Harry gave Ron a funny look. "You know, just because she isn't interested in you doesn't mean the other guy is somehow evil. Krum wasn't the worthless prat you decided he was after the Yule Ball either. She's a big girl and she's perfectly capable of figuring out who she likes."

"I don't think so," Ron said, struggling against the fear that burned in his brain. "He's being careful to only show her his charming side but, Harry, he's bonkers."

Harry snorted dismissively. "Green's not a good colour on you, Ron."

. . . . . . . . . .

"Where were you?" Professor McGonagall snapped as Hermione planted her feet and tried to remember not to shuffle or look down. Tom had spent much of the afternoon pointing out body language that made people look weak and she was going to put that information to use now.

"I was with Tom Riddle," she said, meeting the woman's eyes and not shifting or fidgeting. "Neither of us have any family to visit and it makes the day very uncomfortable for us both."

"You had responsibilities," McGonagall said. "Frankly, I'm shocked at you."

"I'm sure Draco Malfoy acquitted the Head responsibilities admirably," Hermione said. "However, while I'm here I'd like to set up a time to talk about how this day can be adjusted in the future to make it less exclusionary."

"I beg your pardon?" McGonagall looked over the edge of her glasses from where she sat at her desk.

Hermione controlled her urge to apologize. 'Don't back down,' Tom had said. 'Don't show weakness. Put the old bat on the defensive by pointing out what a shite thing they tried to get you to do, all while being utterly reasonable and offering to help them improve things in the future. And be so respectful she can't complain about a bloody thing you say. Manners and courtesy throw people off.'

"Yes, ma'am," Hermione said. "Family Day is discriminatory against Muggle-borns because our families can't attend." She smiled as ingratiatingly as she could. "Orphans as well. Tom was fairly distraught, actually. I'd like to try to find a way we could set things up in the future so students without families able to attend don't feel quite so left out."

McGonagall narrowed her eyes at the school's Head Girl, who stood before her in her unrolled skirt and sensible shoes and who had never said boo to anyone in seven years. Hermione knew she'd compensated for prefects who'd slacked off and she'd compensated for Malfoy's tendency to do as little as possible while taking as much credit as he could. She was responsible and mature and somehow she'd spent the best afternoon she could remember chasing after Tom Riddle as he dragged her up trees, into the kitchens for forbidden snacks, and behind an old tower where he'd kissed the sides of her mouth with light brushes of his lips.

He might not have played games but he wouldn't cross an arbitrary line he'd drawn in his mind. He really was going to make her come to him for more than the almost innocent nuzzling he'd done today. He really was going to make her not just consent but seek him out and she had a bad feeling that the longer she waited to do it the more he'd make her suffer. She tried to ignore the way her stomach fluttered and her nerves tingled and the way she could feel her pulse pound at the idea of Tom Riddle making her suffer because she was Hermione Granger, damn it, not the mewling plaything of a dangerous boy.

"I don't think you're left out," McGonagall said at last. "We've always encouraged our Muggle-born students to join a wizarding family for the day."

Hermione kept her smile on her face. "I'm afraid that most of us don't find that to be exactly satisfactory, ma'am. It's a bit like telling us we're only valuable if we're taken in by a proper family." She paused and then added, "I'm sure that's not what you intend, of course, and I'd love to work with you and some other Muggle-born students to find a better solution."

"I suggest you use your time to study for N.E.W.T. exams, Miss Granger, rather than try to reconfigure a day that almost all students and families find wholly satisfactory." McGonagall pushed her seat back and stood up. She gestured toward the door and said, "I will overlook your dereliction of duty this one time, Miss Granger, but do not let it happen again."

Hermione nodded, keeping her eyes on the woman's face. "Am I dismissed, ma'am?"

"Yes." McGonagall nearly snapped the words out. "That will be all."

"Yes, ma'am," Hermione said. She almost sagged against the wall when she exited the woman's office. She'd done it. She'd played hooky all day and gotten not so much as a single point taken. Tom Riddle was a genius.

When she got back to their dorm he was waiting for her, unreadable smile on his handsome face. "No detention, I take it?" he asked as she flung herself into his arms and inhaled the scent of him.

"No," she said. "Merlin, Tom, I thought I was going to shake myself into bits facing her down after deliberately skipping that opening speech but you were right. She was so thrown off when I suggested changing the whole day and called it discriminatory and exclusionary… she couldn't get me out of her office fast enough."

"I told you," he said, and tugged her over so he could sit down. "I know what I'm doing, Hermione."

. . . . . . . . . .

"Where were you?" Malfoy demanded as he threw himself down and slung a leg over the arm of the increasingly battered couch in their common space. "I had to open the damn Family Day all by myself."

"She was with me," Tom said, fingers still tangled in Hermione's hair. "We decided to play hooky today." He was sitting in one of the armchairs he'd managed to commandeer for the space and Hermione was sitting at his feet, her knees drawn up and her arms wrapped them while he toyed with her curls.

"You can't just decide to not do your Head responsibilities," Draco Malfoy said with a petulant frown as Hermione raised an eyebrow. "You can't. I wanted to spend time with my parents and cousins and you weren't around so I had to make that damn speech welcoming everyone. I wasn't even prepared, Granger. I had to just make shite up on the spot and I sounded like an idiot."

Tom shrugged. "Next time be prepared."

"She was prepared," the boy insisted. "I know she was. She's always prepared."

Hermione turned her face away from Draco to cover her obvious flinch.

"Pity you couldn't just shake off those Head responsibilities," Tom said and Draco flushed, the color obvious on his pale skin. "Don't be an arse, Draco Malfoy and, as Theo's said before, try to keep up."

Draco glared at the couple until, under Tom's coldly challenging gaze, he backed down. "I guess Family Day has to sort of suck for you," he muttered.

"You think?" Hermione asked.

"I'd never thought about it," he said. "You could have hung out with my family. Lupin likes you. Sirius adores you."

"Who?" Tom asked.

"Sirius Black and Remus Lupin," Hermione said at the same time Draco said, "Some of my cousins."

"Explain," Tom ordered, curious how any cousins of Draco Malfoy's would know or like his little Mudblood favorite.

Draco sighed. "Sirius is my mother's cousin," he began, "and he's kind of officially persona non grata but he shows up to everything anyway, mostly because he knows itgets everyone fucked off."

"He's Harry's godfather," Hermione said, a response Tom found much more helpful. "He and Harry's dad were friends at school – best friends."

"Sirius made the unforgivable mistake of being sorted into Gryffindor," Draco said with a hint of his habitual sneer. "I'm surprised he wasn't blown off the family tree for that alone."

"Why was he?" Tom asked. "Blown off the tree, I mean."

Draco snorted. "It's forgivable to be a Gryffindor, albeit barely. It's forgivable to be gay though, again, barely. But marrying a werewolf? Beyond the bloody pale." He shrugged. "Anyway, you could have attached yourself to them. They would have been happy to see you and you could have heard Sirius twitting his brother about princess Drusilla over at Beauxbatons."

Tom made one of those noises that sounded politely inquiring.

"Regulus Black didn't want his precious only daughter contaminated by the riff-raff here at Hogwarts," Hermione said, her voice neutral.

"Riff-raff like you?" Tom asked.

"Got it in one," she said.

Tom pulled on one of her curls and she made a muttered 'ouch – watch it' sound and he released his grip, patting her lightly in apology. She leaned back against him, almost rubbing her cheek against the inside of his knee, and he looked down at her with pleasure. Some day I'll have this Drusilla prone before you, he thought. Her father can hope the so-called riff-raff finds the girl pleasing. I'll make you a queen, love, just as soon as you admit you belong to me, just as soon as you take me as yours.

"Regulus is a prick," Draco said, slouching back. "Thank Merlin the girl hates me or our parents would have us married at 18 and I'd be stuck seeing even more of him." He smirked at Tom. "How do you feel about marrying the snottiest member of the pureblood aristocracy to ever grind a dainty, stiletto-clad foot over the toes of anyone who crosses her?"

"Is she hot?" Tom asked, smirking inwardly as Hermione tensed against him.

"All the Blacks are," Draco said. "Dark hair, pale skin, dark eyes, full lips, and likely to poison you in your sleep."

"I think I like her already," Tom said. "You'll have to introduce us."

Hermione stood up. "I'm going to bed," she announced.

Tom caught her hand and kissed her fingertips. "Thank you for spending the day with me," he said, tugging at her until she sighed and looked back at him. Once he'd caught her glance he held it. "You know where I am when you decide you want me," he said too softly for Draco to hear. She swallowed and pulled her hand away.

"I'm sure you'll be more than happy with pureblooded Drusilla Black," she muttered. He shook his head, very slightly, and she backed away.

Once she was behind her door Draco looked at Tom. "You're going to make her mental," he observed. "Is there a reason you're playing her insecurities quite so hard?"

Tom let his eyes linger on Hermione's closed door. "She needs to decide to take the things she wants," he said.

. . . . . . . . . .

He caught her getting ready to sneak out after everyone had left and even Malfoy had closed himself away. He reached a hand out to block her as she slunk across their common room, startling her so much she made a choked eeep sound before she swore at him under her breath.

"What are you doing," she hissed at him.

"Apparently keeping you from violating curfew," he said with amusement. "You wanted to get caught by Dumbledore's staff patrols tonight? Especially after you went toe to toe with McGonagall?"

"No," she admitted, "but... my book. I have to go back and get my book."

Tom sighed and pulled the stupid volume out of a pocket and handed it to her. She looked down at it with annoyingly transparent wonder. "You picked it up," she said, then flushed. "Obviously."

"I did," he said. "Deliver yourself to me in thanks?"

"We're playing games again, then," she said as she planted the tiniest kiss on his cheek.

He caught her with both hands gripping the curve of her lower back and held her against him. "Obviously," he said. "Games or no, Hermione, you can trust me to take care of you."

She pulled away, straining against his hands until he released her. "Thanks for picking up the book," she said.

"You can trust me," he said again, mostly because he was rather amused that he was being wholly honest.

"I bet you say that to all the girls," she quipped as she backed away, book shaking in her grip.

"Oh, I say it to everyone, one way or another," he agreed. "Oddly enough, I just happen to mean it with you."

. . . . . . . . . .

A/N – Tomione. Because there's no redemption arc.

5. Chapter 5

"Tell me about Grindelwald," Tom said.

They were all sitting around the small table in the Head common room. Hermione was slouched in her seat, her head down over an Arithmancy text she'd smuggled out of the library, but Theo and Draco were watching Tom silently cast and extinguish a small flame in the center of the table over and over.

"Wasn't he more your time?" Draco asked.

Tom shrugged. "The definitive battle between him and our illustrious Headmaster did not happen until after I walked through that doorway and, at the time, I was interested in other things besides would be Dark Lords on the continent."

"He advocated ruling over Muggles," Draco said. "Claimed it was for 'the greater good', that because wizards are inherently stronger it was our obligation to take over.

"He was no fan of Muggle-borns either," Theo drawled, leaning back and looking at Hermione. She continued to ignore the conversation.

"Can you blame him?" Draco asked. "It's as if your cat gave birth to a person. Muggle-borns are just peculiar."

Hermione glanced up at him at that.

He smirked at the scowl on her face. "You can't deny that Muggles are barely more than animals, Hermione. No magic. No power. They're helpless little things. And Muggle-borns are freaks of nature."

"I'm not going to grace that with a response," she said, and returned to her book.

"It's what everyone thinks, though," Theo said with a shrug. When she peered at him through her lashes he added, an uneasy glance at Tom, "I mean, I don't, but you know most people do. You're a little freak."

"But she's our little freak," Draco added maliciously.

"Sod off," Hermione said. "Or, if you want me to curse you so you can't sit for a week, keep this crap up. Only arseholes like you believe that stuff anymore."

Theo leaned forward. "Hermione, I can't tell if you're being stupid or naïve here. This is what people think. Even your friends. Haven't you ever noticed that your co-called mate Weasley thinks it's your job to proofread his schoolwork? When was the last time he didn't want you to do something for him? So what if he's pleasant about it? That's still not friendship; that's treating a servant well." He shrugged. "I'd bet even Potter's mother has to put up with that attitude. And, sure, people know she's powerful. They know you're powerful. That makes you, at best, their token friend. See, they say to themselves, I'm not bothered by all Muggle-borns; I like Hermione Granger, or Lily Potter. It's just that most of them make me uncomfortable."

"What did Grindelwald want to do with the Muggle-borns?" Tom asked. "Since even in this enlightened modern time they seem to still be oddities and outcasts."

"I am not an outcast," Hermione muttered, "or an oddity."

Theo shrugged and ignored her. "Damned if I know but slavery seems like the most likely thing."

"That's gross," Hermione said, finally giving up and joining the conversation by slamming her book closed and smacking it down on the table so hard Tom's flame jumped and sputtered. "You can't own people."

"Don't be ridiculous," Tom said, still casting that fire over and over. "You know your history better than that. Slavery has existed at some point in probably every human culture. I'd say absolutely every but you'd track down some obscure group of rain forest dwellers just to prove me wrong."

"That's not what I mean," she said. "I mean it's wrong."

Tom sighed. "Look, if you want to argue with me about it, say it's inefficient, or impractical. Don't haul out some tired moral absolute to bolster your argument. You can do better than that."

Hermione glared at him and he just raised his brows at her with a smug look that clearly infuriated her.

"I wouldn't mind a Muggle-born slave," Draco said, eying her with a leer. "That would be fun."

"And I wouldn't mind an inbred twit as my slave," Hermione snapped back. "Since apparently we've just brushed the moral objections to slavery aside."

"You really want Draco as a toy?" Tom asked, sounding somewhat interested. "We could do that. When did you say your birthday was?"

Hermione threw her hands up in the air in a dramatic, exasperated gesture that made Theo laugh.

"Well," Draco said, "getting back to Grindelwald, I rather see his point. We should run the world. We're better than other people."

"We being?" Tom asked.

"Purebloods, of course," Draco said.

Tom snorted. "Your argument is as specious as Hermione's. Show me how purebloods are better. Hermione's probably a stronger magic user than you are. I'm a half-blood and I'm sitting here playing with fire –"

"Fire," Draco said. "Big deal."

"It's not fire," Hermione said, watching the blond with a nasty glint in her eye. "It's fiendfyre. Seem like a big deal now?"

Draco swallowed and stared at the flame dancing above the table. When you looked closely you could see screaming faces appear and disappear and hands reaching outward as though they wanted to grab anything within their reach and pull it into the fire. "How?" Draco asked, fascinated and covetous and scared at the same time.

"You just reach into the part of your soul that already lives in hell," Tom said with an idle shrug. Theo made a noise and Tom smiled. "We all have that part of ourselves. The part of you that wants to own a Muggle-born slave, Draco, is not thinking of treating her well, I suspect. You have rapine on your mind, not kindness. The part of you that wants to put your hands around the neck of the person who irritated you at lunch and just squeeze, the part of you that wants to curse the teacher who told you your work wasn't up to scratch, the part of you that hates, you just reach into that part."

"How do you control it?" Theo asked.

"You just do," Tom said. "You have to be able to acknowledge your darkest urges and still be stronger." He eyed the pair. "I could teach you."

"If you teach them, you'll teach me as well," Hermione said.

"What's the cost?" Theo asked.

"You know what the cost is," Tom said.

. . . . . . . . . .

As they walked back to the Slytherin dorm, Draco looked at Theo and said, "Well, that was interesting. Fiendfyre."

Theo snorted. "Well, you can call it interesting if you want to. I, however, already took him up on his offer." He frowned for a moment. "Well, it's never been quite this explicit before but I'm perfectly happy to make it official."

"He's a fucking half-blood," Draco said.

Theo shrugged. "I wouldn't exactly go spreading that around if I were you. Unlike you, I have an older father from him time that I can ask questions of. And I did. And I learned a lot of very interesting things about our new friend Riddle."

"Like what?" Draco asked. "And I have a hard time believing your father would follow a half-blood, Theo. A really hard time."

"I don't think he knew about that," Theo admitted. "Like I said, don't mention that. What my father did tell me was that Riddle's a direct descent of Slytherin. He told me he used to use crucio's on people who crossed him," Theo said. "He told me he had plans to take over all of wizarding Britain and put his followers in positions of nearly absolute power." He looked at Draco speculatively. "I don't know about you, Draco, but I am more than willing to be in the second tier of a system that grants me that much power and I don't care whether the leader was birthed by a bleeding cat, as you put it. I'm not stupid enough to toss away something I want because I'm overly fastidious about where it came from."

"I'm already in the top tier," Draco said dismissively. "Or I will be."

"Don't kid yourself," Theo said. "You'll be a politician and nothing more. You'll be trading favors and negotiating and compromising. You want that Muggle slave? You won't get her as a politician in the Ministry."

Draco narrowed his eyes and regarded his lifelong friend. Theo smirked and gazed back. "Go ahead, Draco. Be nothing but your father's successor. Don't take power. Don't get anything because you earned it. Don't ever be your own man. That's fine. But I prefer to take things for myself."

"Like Granger?" Draco asked.

"Merlin, no," Theo said, making a face. "She's not my type and I think Riddle already has a lead around her pretty neck even if she doesn't realize it yet." He shrugged. "I prefer my women a little more manipulative and openly power-hungry. Granger's ridiculous naïveté doesn't appeal to me, even if she does have enough magical power running under her skin for three witches. Not to mention, I find her physically just awful. I like her just fine but, no."

Draco looked at him. "Really?" He asked.

"Really," Theo said. They had reached the doorway to the Slytherin and Theo hesitated in the corridor instead of giving the password. "So," he said, "are you going to do it?"

"Give over total allegiance to a half-blood in exchange for the promise of absolute power?" Draco asked. "Do you really even have to ask?"

"Your constant harping on the half-blood thing suggests that I do."

"Well, maybe you should think more about the absolute power bit," Draco said. "That fiendfyre. Holy fuck."

"Dark magic," Theo said.

"I'm a Malfoy," Draco said. "Do you really think I give a fuck about how Dark magic is?"

Theodore Nott laughed and gave the password to their dormitory. "Hey Draco," he said before he stepped away into the common room. "I happen to know Granger's a hell of a lot better at Dark magic than you are."

Draco gaped at him before the door closed and the blond turned to walk back to the Head common room and make a formal nod to Tom Riddle. He suspected he was going to have to make one to Granger too, if not today than eventually. That grated a bit. He'd get over it, however. He was already making nice to the little Mudblood, after all, because Riddle could be one scary bastard when he looked at you with that level, almost soulless gaze. It wasn't much a stretch to imagine him using the Cruciatus curse; it wasn't much of a stretch imagining him using it on someone who vexed him about Granger. As he walked back to his own dorm Draco vowed it wouldn't be him who felt the pain of that particular curse. Not over Granger. Never.

. . . . . . . . . .

"What's going on with you and Riddle?" Harry asked as Hermione chewed on the end of her quill, leaving it a raggedy, soggy mess. She was spread out at a table in the Gryffindor common room, books taking up most of the space, and finishing up an essay for Arithmancy.

"Why would anything be going on?" she said after a flurried addition of a sentence and an annoyed wrinkle of her nose at some thought that wasn't coming out clearly. She was only half paying attention to him and experience suggested this was the best time to get her to answer questions about anything other than schoolwork. The only time, for example, that Harry had ever gotten her to admit the Mudblood name calling from the more openly prejudiced students bothered her had been when she'd been so immersed in a Potions essay she hadn't censored herself.

His mother was the same way; she brushed off the slurs and it had been years before Harry noticed how her shoulders tightened whenever the subject arose. He'd heard her say, after perhaps one too many drinks, that having to constantly prove herself again and again made her tired, that she was sick of being the only Muggle-born most people knew. "Sometimes," she'd said, "I wonder if my sister was right and I am just a little freak."

Harry pushed away the thoughts about his mother and shrugged at Hermione. "You two are together all the time, he's organized a study group almost wholly around your interests, and, for some reason, Ron's scared shiteless of him."

"Ron is?" she looked up at that.

"I think Riddle warned him off, told him he'd staked some kind of claim to you or something and anyone who interfered would regret it. Ron wouldn't talk about it; he just got kind of white when I asked, so whatever Riddle said it must have been pretty brutal." Harry tried not to be too obvious about how he was studying her for her reaction to that news.

"Typical," she muttered, looking back down. "Bossy, interfering git."

Harry watched her shake a clot out of her quill before going back to writing. He'd expected her to react to the revelation that her not-quite-boyfriend seemed to have threatened Ron with a bit more irritation. Instead she looked, if anything, rather pleased. "You don't mind?"

She bit her lip as she wrote another sentence. "I'd wondered why Ron hadn't been pestering me to proofread his work lately," she said. "I sat down one day and thought about when was the last time Ron had a conversation with me that didn't involve him asking for a favor or complaining I wasn't being helpful enough and, well, it had kind of been a while."

Harry flinched. "We can be pretty bad about that," he said. "I'm sorry if I –"

She flicked her eyes up very quickly and caught his guilty expression before looking back down. "I never said anything," she said. "I need to stand up for myself more. Not your fault."

"Not Ron's either," Harry said.

"Yeah," Hermione agreed, blowing on ink on her parchment, "but you've never decided you had the right to complain I was up there with Tom or out with Viktor Krum instead of doing your homework."

"He tread on Riddle's toes, huh?"

"I guess. Not a good idea," Hermione said, eyes skimming over her essay now as she searched for errors.

"So there is something going on?"

She shook her head. "Not sure. He's…." Harry watched her sigh and put the essay away and gather her thoughts. Whatever she'd tell him now would be a little more carefully edited he suspected. "Have you ever had someone be nice to you – really, really nice to you - but kind of a prat to everyone else?"

"Not really," Harry said.

She sighed. "He's… it's like he likes me because I'm this strong and powerful witch rather than because I'm good at finding punctuation mistakes and he simultaneously wants to kind of push me into being stronger while protecting me from anyone who'd look at me wrong. It's the… it's a contradiction but it's intoxicating, Harry. The way he looks at me, like I'm some kind of treasure he never thought to find, wasn't even looking for, like he wants to own every part of me."

"So what's the problem?" Harry asked.

Hermione closed her eyes for a moment and rubbed at her face, leaving a streak of black ink on one side of her nose. Finally she said, "I'm not sure if I want to be owned, is all."

Harry reached out and took her hand, laced his fingers through hers. "You are a treasure, 'Mione, and anyone smart enough to see that can't be a total prat, even if he has scared the piss out of Ron."

"Best friends forever?" Hermione asked, squeezing his hand with her own.

"Of course," Harry said. "Ever since you stuck your head in my compartment on the train when we were eleven and demanded to know if I'd seen Neville's toad."

Hermione laughed. "I was such a horror, wasn't I? Didn't I try to make you demonstrate all the spells in the first year textbook and take your chocolate frog away with a lecture on healthy teeth?"

"You did," Harry said. "But I somehow forgave your chocolate thievery."

"Dark chocolate's better anyway," Hermione said. "I might do murder for dark chocolate."

Harry laughed. "Lavender's happy, you know," he said, "because once Ron stopped sniffing around you he finally gave in to her repeat overture."

"Eww," Hermione said. "Are they still the champions of the inappropriate public display?"

"Yep," Harry said.

"I've never been so happy to live with Malfoy instead of back in the House dorm," Hermione said, pulling her hand back and starting to pack up her things. "He's even stopped with the endless Pansy visits. I think Tom told him to cut it out, that no one wanted to hear her faked screeching every day."

"Nice," Harry said. "I like him more and more. Don't suppose he'd explain 'no one wants to see that' to Ron and LavLav, do you?"

. . . . . . . . . .

Greg Goyle and Vincent Crabbe were not intelligent boys. Thuggish, petty bullies, they'd followed Draco for years, laughing at the way their leader could reduce most people to tears with a few words. They didn't have the wit for verbal cruelty, nor the magical skill for hexes that wouldn't get detected, so they relied on their fists and their feet. They tripped and they hit and they shoved and most students just stayed away from them.

"Why not use a hex?" Tom Riddle asked them one day after they shoved a fifth year Ravenclaw into the wall. "You're wizards, aren't you?"

"Like what?" Greg Goyle demanded. "A jelly-leg jinx?" He snorted.

Tom's eyes glinted in the torchlight of the hall. "I could show you some things," he offered.

Greg and Vincent looked at one another until Vincent nodded. "Like what?" the boy demanded.

The old laundry room was a good place to show them some simple curses, nasty things, but easy enough to execute. If Hermione had tossed one of these at him Tom would have laughed at her, but he kept it basic for this pair. Everyone, he thought to himself, has to start somewhere.

"Learn those," he said, "and then I'll show you some more."

"Where did you learn this?" Greg demanded. "Not class."

"No," Tom agreed, "not class."

. . . . . . . . . .

Tom enjoyed Hermione's fumbling avoidance of him at first. He recognized the combination of fascination, yearning, and fear she was nearly sweating out her pores because he'd seen it so many times in his first round of recruits. They – she – wanted what he had to offer but were wary of him. Everyone in the past who had felt that way had eventually slithered into his nest; Thoros had even pushed his own son toward his former 'friend.'

Tom rather liked Theo; he liked him far more, certainly, than he'd ever liked Thoros. This generation of Notts was far less idealistic and not hobbled by unthinking prejudice and that made Theo far more useful.

Hermione, however, was proving to be rather annoyingly stronger-willed than his first round of Death Eaters. She stared at him, she bit her lip, and then she just buried her head down in her books. She would only really interact with him during their 'study group' sessions. She didn't do what he wanted, didn't show up at his door and tell him she was taking him for herself. While he was willing to wait for her, at least in theory, he was starting to get irritated. He was starting to get impatient and he was starting to miss the feel of her hand in his and the feel of her mouth against his, even just the kisses he'd permitted himself on Family Day, kisses so light and innocent they barely deserved the name.

He wanted to bloody well plunder her, to own her, to take every part of her for himself and the idea that he might have played her wrong, that she might have responded better to a slow seduction than a dare infuriated him. If he'd gone the other way he'd have the taste of her in his mouth rather than this building sense of impotence.

Of course, he also wouldn't know whether she had the spine to face him down and, as much as he intended to possess her, body and soul, there was no point in owning a weak mouse. If he'd wanted some idiot girl who'd shiver whenever he got angry and cower away from him when he dropped the mask he could have taken anyone; it wasn't like anyone would tell him no. He didn't want that. He wanted this one. Powerful – so powerful – and brave and with a reckless streak of defiance he could feed and nurture and know she would bloody well blossom into someone anyone would fear to cross.

Just… when was the damn witch going to knock on his damn door?

The longer she stayed away the more he calmed himself by debating whether he'd prefer her to show up defiant and demanding or repentant and begging.

Both would probably be too much to hope for.

He saw her eyes flash when he held a door for Pansy Parkinson, however, and that encouraged him to stoke the fires of her jealousy a little bit more. Not with Pansy – he couldn't even manage to fake attraction to Draco's shrill leavings even though he suspected the girl had a bit more than Draco knew going on underneath her carefully curated image – but Weasley's little sister he could manage and when Hermione was out in the courtyard doing some of her endless reading he sat down with the ginger girl and began flirting with her.

He touched her shoulder. He touched her knee. He leaned in toward her. He laughed at something she said. He watched Hermione get more and more riled and finally offered this girl – Ginny? Jenny? – his arm and coaxed her to go for a walk with him.

He could feel Hermione's glare.

It was thoroughly awful, of course. Tom loathed touching most people but he'd memorized the body language you needed to use to build intimacy and establish trust and he hauled it all out and touched and flirted until he was out of Hermione's sight. Then he dropped the girl's arm and said, "Have you ever considered Draco Malfoy as a potential partner? I think the Parkinson girl's on the verge of leaving him."

Ginny - Jenny? - laughed and said, "Was that what this was all about? Malfoy's a prat but I didn't realize he'd sunk to the level of sending his friends to scout out prospects for him."

"He doesn't know," Tom said, amused she assumed he and Malfoy were friends, "but if he stopped bringing Parkinson around the Head dorm because he started seeing you I'd consider scouting you, as you put it, well worth my time."

She laughed again.

Tom hoped Hermione could hear.

. . . . . . . . . .

A/N – And so the myriad seductions continue…

6. Chapter 6

Hermione stewed before she knocked on his door. She fumed and rationalized and tried to read a book until she realized that she was reading the same handful of words over and over again and that it was the book Tom had both tossed away from her and then fetched and that she was actually sniffing it to see if it smelled at all like him.

At that point she knew she'd lost. She'd absolutely and utterly lost and Tom had won and he was right. She was going to show up at his door and risk him patting her on the cheek and telling her he was so sorry but she'd taken too long and he'd decided Ginny was the girl for him.

She still stood outside his door for a long, silent minute before she raised her hand and knocked on the wood. He waited long enough to answer she began to be afraid he was actually in there with Ginny, that she'd somehow missed that, and that this was going to be far more humiliating than she'd feared. At last, however, he opened the door and stood, blocking her view of the room as he smirked down at her. "Hermione," he said. "What can I do for you?"

"Can I come in?" she asked. He raised his brows but stepped aside to let her pass. She managed to mostly hide the way she quickly scanned the room for Ginny and almost hid her sigh of relief that the other girl wasn't there. Based on the way Tom let out a chuckle darkly behind her, however, he knew what she'd been doing.

Damn him.

She turned and studied him. From the perfectly waved hair to the shined shoes he was the picture of the ideal schoolboy. Sincere. Trustworthy. Such a good student that he was considered a prodigy even in this time when he'd had to adjust to fifty years worth of changes in the curriculum.

She was pretty sure he was trouble and not tree-climbing, skiving-off-your-welcoming-speech trouble. She was pretty sure he was dangerous trouble. She was pretty sure she didn't care.

"You can't be with Ginny," she said abruptly.

His eyelashes fluttered ever so slightly and his lips curved up in a mocking smile. "Oh?" he asked in a voice so cool she could feel herself shiver, could feel goose pimples rise up on her arms, and she had to consciously keep her hands from shaking.

He wasn't planning on making this easy. Just… damn him.

"No," she said.

"And why not," he asked, taking a step toward her so he stood right at the edge of her personal space, so she itched to either step backward to get away from him or forward to be in his arms and she wasn't sure which was the right choice, and she knew – knew the way she knew that she'd get him in the end but that he planned to make this as uncomfortable as possible – that he was standing right at that exact distance on purpose. He was annoyed she'd had to see him nearly fling himself at another girl to realize he was hers, he was amused she was struggling to hold it together right now, and he was cruel enough to decide he was going to enjoy that amusement.

"Because you're mine," she said, her voice as flat as she could make it.

"Is that so?" He reached a hand out and ran his thumb over her lips, tracing the shape of her mouth. She could feel herself start to bloody pant at his touch and when he dropped his hand back to his side its absence felt like a slap. "Not so as I've noticed,"

"You are," she said helplessly.

He laughed. "What if I don't want to be?"

"Doesn't matter," she said. "You just are." This time she was the one who reached her hand out, let her fingers glide across his mouth, all the while not letting her eyes waver from his. His pupils dilated as she touched him and she could feel that mouth curve up into a mocking smile as he took a step backward, out of her reach.

Point for me, she thought.

He crossed his arms and leaned up against his door. "How badly do you want me?" he asked. "Because I might be tired of waiting for you."

"You aren't," she said with a shake of her head. "You're just trying to… trying to make this difficult."

He smiled, a cold smile that never reached his eyes. It wasn't the smile he'd shared with her when he'd tugged her up into trees on Family Day. It wasn't the smile he'd flashed at her when she'd almost broken through his defenses while dueling. No, this was Tom wanting something, something he planned to force her to do, and savoring the thought. "It didn't have to be difficult," he said. "You could have been available when I first suggested it."

"It's not been that long," she muttered, starting to feel more than a little annoyed that he'd expected her to just drop everything to rush headlong into his arms the moment he'd decided he wanted her. She'd barely known him. She barely knew him but she knew enough to know he wasn't talking about holding hands and safe kisses behind broken down stone walls and he wasn't planning on being a nice boyfriend at school, the one she'd leave behind to go work in the Ministry in some earnest and sincere job where people would always leave their extra files on her desk because Hermione would get it done. You could count on Hermione. No, he was talking about bloody well owning her heart and her soul. He was planning on having her cleave to him in some kind of nearly Biblical your-people-are-my-people-and-I-forsake-everyone-but-you kind of way.

If she did this, she'd never be working that safe desk job.

It wasn't unreasonable of her to want to take some time to think about that.

"Patience not my best quality," he said with a shrug, still leaning up against that door, blocking her way out.

"What is?" she asked, taking a step forward so now she was the one at the edge of his personal space. He raised his brows in that mocking way so she clarified with a roll of her eyes. "Your best quality, Tom. What's your best quality?"

"Getting people to do what I want," he said so quietly that, even as close as she was, she could only just hear him. "As you well know."

"And what do you want me to do?" she said, taking another tiny step toward him. Their bodies were almost touching now and she could barely stand it.

"Beg me," he said. "I want you to beg me."

She didn't answer at first, just took her hands and ran them over his crossed arms, admiring them and focusing on just the feel of him rather than on what she knew was his implacable demand. When she looked back up at his face she knew her mouth was not quite closed and he could read every bit of the nervousness she was trying to hide in just the way her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. "Did I ever tell you about the time I ran away from Ron because he was busy playing find the tonsils in our common room with Lavender Brown," she asked.

Tom shook his head but he also uncrossed his arms and slid his hands down her back in a slow glide that felt like fire. When he rested them, just cupping her arse, she had to suppress the whimper that tried to escape her. "I'd run off to cry," she said, "and it was my bad luck that the pair of them decided to retreat to the same room I'd hidden myself in to continue on." Tom was moving his fingers in a slow circle and it was all she could do to keep focused. "Do you know what I did?" she asked.

"Ran away again?" he said, voice cold and mocking even as he kept moving those fingers. "Cried some more?"

"Cursed him," she said, though the breathlessness of her voice somewhat undercut the point she was trying to make that she wasn't some pushover. "He still has the scars."

Tom's eyes narrowed now as he pulled her up against him and she could feel him pressing into her, hard and eager, and he might have her but, she thought, she had him as well. "A lovely story," he said, bending down so his lips were doing that thing he did where he didn't quite let them brush against her ear and she felt like she was melting against him and turning into a helpless puddle just held in place by his hands and his voice. "I'm still waiting for you to beg, however."

"Why would I do that?" she asked, chin braced against him, jaw clenched against the low laugh he nearly whispered into her ear. "I'm not a puppy whinging for a biscuit."

"How badly do you want me, Hermione?" was all he asked.

She gave up, as she'd known she would from the moment she'd knocked on his door. Gave up, knowing she was just handing herself over to him to do with as he wished. "Tom," she whispered, "please."

"I like 'please'," he said, nearly growling. "I like the sound of 'please' on your lips more than you can possibly know." She pushed herself up and grabbed at his mouth with her own, parting her lips instantly under his probing tongue as he let go of her arse to fist his hands in her hair and begin to devour her as if she were the antidote to a toxin coursing through his system.

She pulled away from him to say, her own voice as cool as she could make it, "Does this mean you've agreed to my request that you stay away from Ginny?"

"Ask me nicely again and maybe I will," he said, mouth at her neck where he was alternating biting and kissing her. "Maybe I plan to just snog you senseless and then leave you to go track her down."

She stiffened in his arms and, clearly recognizing he'd gone too far, Tom Riddle murmured against her, "Hermione."

"You're mine," she said, her voice low and fierce and belying the tears that were starting to sting behind the corners of her eyes.

"I am," he agreed, "but you're mine as well and you'll do as I say and right now, Miss Granger, I want to hear you ask me nicely one more time."

She felt herself shudder at that, horrified by how her body responded to that rough order even as she tipped her head back to give him easier access to her throat and choked out, "Tom, please."

"Please what," he whispered, his lips against her skin, his breath hot at the base of her throat. "You'll have to be more specific."

"Please… me," she managed to say. "You're for me. Not for Ginny. Me."

"Yes," he said, agreeing at last, "and you're for me: powerful, brilliant, beautiful you." He turned his attention back to her lips and she was clutching at him, pulling him back across the floor with her towards his narrow mattress. "Did you really curse him?" he asked as she stumbled back when her legs hit his bed frame and sat down with a smothered obscenity.

Hermione Granger looked at him as she sat next to her, far more gracefully, and pulled her onto his lap, his erection prodding into her as a constant reminder that no matter how cool he was keeping his voice he was as aroused as she was. "I did," she said, brushing her own lips against his ear this time. "And if I ever catch you with another woman you'll wish I did something as benign as birds that attack by the time I'm done with you." She paused. "And her."

He snorted but his hands gripped her tighter, obviously pleased by the threat. "You've never managed to so much as land a curse on me. You're going to need to get better to accomplish that."

"Maybe I haven't been properly motivated to slaughter you," she said. "Betray me and I'll rip you limb from limb."

"That feeling," he said, lowering her down to the mattress, "is, I assure you, mutual."

When he slid his hand under her skirt, trailing his fingers along her thigh as he reached toward her knickers, she stiffened. He stopped instantly. "No?" he asked, hand stilled on her leg.

"I just… I've… you're…" she stumbled, feeling more and more like an awkward, undesirable idiot with every muttered word. Moments ago she'd felt powerful and now she… just shite. Why had he had to notice she was uncomfortable? Why did he have to always notice everything?

He pulled his arm back up, and, as much as she half-wished he hadn't she was also relieved. She began to mumble an apology and he put his fingers over her mouth. "I told you that you could trust me," he said very quietly.

"I'm probably the only one who can," she muttered, her face still burning. Why couldn't she be poised and confident when she was sprawled out on this bed instead of being suddenly nervous and ruining everything?

"True," he said and she closed her eyes only to feel his lips, gentle now, brushing along her hairline. "I haven't either, you know," he said. "You're the only one in more ways than one, Hermione."

She kept her eyes closed as he tightened his grip on he with one arm and used the other hand to stroke her hair. "I've got you," he murmured against her. "I do, I really do. You were so brave, you know, coming in here to make demands of me like that, knowing I'd not be easy about it. No one else would have dared to do it."

She burrowed her head into him and stopped controlling her shaking. The last ten minutes or so had been more than rough. Tom Riddle was, if nothing else, brilliant at making sure people knew he was in charge and their lives would go better if they simply did what he asked. She hadn't and he actually liked her. More, she was fairly sure she owned him the same way he owned her and he'd still made sure she'd suffered for crossing him.

What, she wondered, did this boy – this man – do to people he didn't like who got in his way?

Did she really want to know?

Was she going to have a choice?

"My brave girl," he kept whispering against her as he ran his hand over and over her hair. "You're so beautiful, my Hermione. So very, very beautiful. So powerful, so strong. So bloody bold. You're a wonder. And you marched in here and demanded what you wanted when I'd told you it wasn't a guarantee and I am so… you're just mine. Mine. No one else's. Not now. Not ever. And I take care of what's mine."

"Why is it easier to shoot deadly curses at Theodore Nott than admit I want you," she whispered against him, pushing away her concern about exactly how much he was capable of.

"Just is," Tom said. "Trust me, admitting to myself I wanted you was harder than a lot of fairly unpleasant things I've done."

Hermione picked up her head and squinted at him. "Why do I think 'fairly unpleasant' is an understatement?" she asked.

"Because you're not an idiot?" he said in a tone that sounded pleased and fond and amused all at once. "We can talk about my assorted sins when you really want to know about them. How about right now I just hold on to you and we think about how remarkable you are?"

Hermione snorted.

"I admit," Tom said, hands still running over her hair again and again as she slowly stopped trembling against him, "I didn't think I'd have to actually throw myself quite so blatantly at that stupid girl to get you to make a move. I'd be a little more peeved with you if it hadn't worked out so well for me."

A tiny smile began to creep onto Hermione's face. "You were faking?" she demanded in what would have sounded like outrage if she didn't seem so relieved at the same time.

"Of course I was," he said, leaning in so his forehead rested against hers. "No sensible person would want that Weasley bint when he could have you."

"You are an utter, impossible brat," she said, trying to hit him in the arm.

He kissed her nose when she couldn't get a good angle. "I travel through time to get to you and you think the impossible thing is that I manipulated you into mustering up the courage to do what you wanted to do anyway?"

"You're a jerk," she muttered.

He brushed his lips against hers. "Yes. But I'm your jerk. And you are very much mine." He paused before asking, "So you cursed the Weasley boy for kissing some other girl instead of you?"

"With canaries," she confirmed. "They have very pointy beaks and peck harder than you'd think."

Tom Riddle began to laugh. "You really are so perfect I can hardly believe it."

. . . . . . . . . .

"Stay," Tom said. Hermione searched his face but it wasn't a command, it was just a request. "Tonight. Every night. Stay with me," he said.

"Dumbledore would have kittens," she said.

"So?" Tom asked. "Do you want to?"

"Not to -" she began.

He shook his head. "I just want you here," he said. He ran a thumb over her cheekbones. She was still blotchy from earlier and he ran his fingers over her skin as she studied his expression. "Your choice," he said softly, "but don't let school regulations or that old fool dictate to you."

"Because only you get to do that?" she said with a bit of a shaky grin.

He laughed and shoved at her. "You make me sound like some kind of tyrant."

"You aren't?" she asked, getting up. Watching disappointment creep over his face she added, "I'm not sleeping in my uniform."

"Ah," he said. "And I'm not quite a tyrant, you know. Not to you, anyway."

"Everyone else?" she said, her hand on his doorknob.

He shrugged. "Not yet," he said. "Give me time."

When she got back she hovered in the doorway, unsure what she should do, until he wrapped a hand around her wrist and tugged her back to the bed he'd transfigured to be larger. "Don't do a finite," he recommended, "or it'll return to its normal size and one of us will end up on the floor."

"I think I can remember that," she said as she nestled up against him awkward again as he ran a hand over her bare shoulder. She'd put on tank top and a pair of pajama pants she'd borrowed from Harry at some point and never returned and it struck her only now that maybe it was weird to wear them to bed with another man.

The etiquette of what to wear to sleep with whatever Tom was to her was unclear; he'd opted for only some pajama bottoms and she was oddly discomfited by that and wished she had something girly she could have put on, something sexier than what she had. He, however, liked the bare skin of her shoulders based on the way he trailed the tips of his fingers over her skin and bent down to drop a line of kisses along her back where the shirt ended. She found herself grateful that he didn't mention her obvious nerves other than to say, "I won't be offended if you decide you'd be more comfortable back in your own room." He just pulled her down and cradled her against him, shifting until he'd found some position, feet entwined with hers and one hand resting on her exposed shoulder, that he settled into. She lay there and felt the heat of his body pressed along her spine and listened to the steady, calm rhythm of his breathing. She was almost asleep when he said, "You're mine now."

"Yes," she said in the darkness. "I suppose I am, though I wish you'd stop harping on it."

"I'll take care of you," he said.

"I don't need that much watching over," she said, waking up a bit and pushing back.

"You do," he said. "You will."

. . . . . . . . . . .

A/N – Thank you, as always, for reading and sharing your thoughts. With summer upon us I no longer have time to respond to everything and write but I do really appreciate your words.

A couple wonderful Tomiones I am reading right now: Academic Arrangements by dulce-de-leche-go and Star Splinters by ibuzoo. Both are fabulous AUs and about as different in tone as they could be. Both are linked off my favorite fic list.

7. Chapter 7

When she finally landed a curse on him – a rather nasty burn that hurt – Hermione didn't even break stride. Tom watched her just double up her shield, toss another curse at him to distract him, and watch to see what he'd throw at her next. He laughed with delight and, spinning, hurled a slicing curse disguised with a child's hex towards her ankles.

"Oh, please," she said, speaking for the first time since they'd started. "You can do better than that."

She reflected it back at him and he sidestepped it, pretended to stumble, and clutched at his arm here she'd hit him seeing if he could get her to falter via sympathy for his injury.

She didn't even lower her wand. "Do you concede?" she taunted him and with a snarl he sprang up from his crouch and shot the nastiest curse he'd thrown at her yet. She danced to the side and said, "You have fifteen more seconds, Tom, and then I'm pretty sure I'm the clear winner."

He physically threw his body at her and knocked her to the ground, wand at her throat. "Do you concede," he asked.

"Only if you do," she whispered and he felt the sharp point of wood at his neck. They lay there, breathing hard, until the timer she'd set dinged and dissolved and he rolled off her and reached over to brush her hair out of her face.

"Dream girl," he said fondly. "Going to patch me up now?"

She pulled herself up and looked at his arm. "Ouch," she said. "That has to hurt."

He snorted. "I don't think it was supposed to tickle, no."

She rolled his sleeve away from the burn with care and then transfigured some of the grass into a bowl and washcloth, filled the bowl with water from the tip of her wand, and used the cloth to begin cleaning the wound.

"Not just going to use magic?" he asked.

"It'll scar less if I clean it up first," she said, not rising to the obvious bait. "I assumed you wanted to stay pretty for your fan club of adoring girls. Let me know if I'm wrong."

He watched her and controlled his flinching as she tended to the wound she'd inflicted, finally healing it and repairing the torn fabric of his sleeve. "The only fan club I care about is you," he said.

She snorted at that. "How about your little minions?" she asked.

"Do they count as fans?" he asked as she squatted back and looked at him.

"They do admire you," she hedged and he laughed.

"Thank you," he said, catching her fingers and kissing them. "I'm good as new."

"First time I ever hit you," she said with satisfaction. "So we're at, what would that be, one to nothing?"

He tugged on a curl. "You don't really think I ever lose at anything, do you?" he asked.

"One to nothing, Tom," she repeated.

"True," he agreed. "I'm just playing a longer game than you are." He stood up and reached a hand down to her. She took it and let him pull her up; he kept a grip on her until she began to flush at which point he released her and smiled. Her flush deepened and she turned away from him to cast a finite on her healing supplies and turned the bowl and cloth back into broken bits of grass floating in a puddle of bloody water. He reached down and scooped up the small snake that had appeared, as they tended to do around him.

"Where'd you come from, little guy?" Hermione said, nearly cooing. "You should be more careful, you could have gotten stepped on."

"Not afraid?" Tom asked her.

"Of a little snake like that?" Hermione's look was about as patronizing as a look could be.

"No," Tom said, "that I can talk to them."

Her hand, which had been sliding her wand away, visibly trembled for a moment before she stilled it. "Parselmouth," she said. "I didn't realize. That's pretty rare, isn't it?"

"Yes," he said, watching her as the snake curled around his wrist and hissed at him.

"Not really a language, is it?" she continued. "Not like French or Russian. It's just plain magic."

"That's right," he agreed. "Hereditary, usually, and historically associated with Dark wizards."

"Oh." She took a step toward him and put a finger on the back of the little snake. "What's he saying?"

"Beetles," Tom said, still watching her and waiting to see what she'd do. "He wants to know if I can find some. It's usually about food or sun with snakes. They're fairly simple creatures, really." She lifted her eyes to his and he put one finger at her lips. "Don't tell," he said.

"Dark wizard," she whispered and he nodded. "That's why Dumbledore hates you." She sounded as if a piece of a puzzle she'd been looking for had finally appeared.

"Does he?" Tom kept his finger at her mouth, feeling her breathe. "Do you? Plan to run now?"

He watched her gather her bravado like a cloak and say, "He does, I think, but you're the one who got hit by an illegal curse today. Some Dark wizard you are; can't even fight off a schoolgirl."

"Well," he shrugged, "she happens to be a pretty phenomenal schoolgirl."

"What do you want?" she asked.

"To rule the world," he said. "Of course."

She nodded. "Of course," she said. "Put the snake down, Tom, and come back to school. Maybe conquest can wait until after we graduate?"

He stepped away from her and lowered his hand to the ground and let the snake slide away with a whispered hiss of where he'd seen food. When he straightened up she was watching him, a tight smile on her face. He held his arm out, "Shall we? I'm sure you're about to burst with the need to tell Theo you hit me."

She hesitated but when she set her hand on his arm he smiled down at her with a hint of genuine warmth no one but her ever saw.

"Beetles and sun, huh?" was all she said as they walked away. "Sound like boring conversationalists."

. . . . . . . . . .

Hermione took off on some sort of excursion and, because Tom felt out of sorts with her gone, he snarled at Malfoy over lunch.

"Don't take it out on me that Granger got permission to go into London with Potter," the boy retorted. "I haven't done anything." He paled a bit when he realized who he'd snapped at but Tom just collected himself and apologized for his temper rather then punishing the idiot. Draco was still feeling out exactly when he was supposed to be an obedient follower and when he could act like a school chum. It was a tricky balancing act, Tom knew, and necessary lest Dumbledore get a little aware of his plans and start making moves to stop him.

Damned old fool.

Graciousness, Tom reminded himself, never lost you anything, after all, and seeming to be irrational could. Still, he wished she hadn't wandered off. What could she possibly want in London?

. . . . . . . . . .

Greg Goyle hadn't really believed that Tom Riddle – the compelling, aristocratic mystery from the past who was slowly collecting selected students as his – meant to include Mudbloods.

Well, one Mudblood.

Yes, she was bright. There was no denying that. And Greg knew she and Theo had some kind of secret but he'd never pursued it. If Theo wanted to dip his wick into filth in some broom closet on the sly, well, that wasn't his problem. But screwing the girl in secret was one thing, assuming that was what Theo was doing. It was still unthinkable to invite her into any kind of society that was meant for people who mattered so when Tom Riddle reminded Theo and Draco over breakfast that tonight was their 'study group' Greg made the mistake of asking, with a sneer, where the Mudblood went when they kicked her out of the Head dorm for their meetings.

Theo froze. He actually froze, his hand halfway to the marmalade. Draco seemed less affected by the casual slur in that he was still capable of movement based on the way he turned his head to look at Tom Riddle.

Tom kept buttering his toast, his hand never faltering as he said, "You'll meet me in the old laundry room before lunch, Goyle." He glanced up at Draco and Theo. "You'll be there too."

Greg Goyle learned quite a bit that day. He learned that Tom Riddle knew how to muffle a room so agonized screams couldn't pass through the walls. He learned that after the first few seconds of a Cruciatus Curse you couldn't make any sound at all. He learned that Draco and Theo had no intentions of even trying to save him but instead stood watching him, pale and unmoving, while Tom Riddle delivered a lecture in a voice that never wavered or became agitated.

"You are never to refer to Miss Granger as a Mudblood again," he said. "I suggest you eliminate the word from your vocabulary, as regrettable as it is for someone with as few words as you to lose even one, lest you mistakenly use it again. She is mine and you will treat her with the utmost respect. Am I being quite clear?"

The curse stopped and Greg lay on the floor gasping. He couldn't quite believe he wasn't dead. He looked up at Tom Riddle as blood ran from his nose and something, though whether it was blood or vomit he wasn't sure, dribbled from his mouth. "Am I being clear?" Tom repeated.

"Yes," Greg struggled to say.

"Yes, my Lord," Tom corrected

Greg gulped and tasted the vomit in his mouth. So that's what it was. "Yes, my Lord," he said.

Tom Riddle smiled and it was the cruelest expression Greg Goyle, a boy who'd cheerfully bullied his way through his first six years of school, had ever seen. "Thank me," Tom said, his voice so soft it was almost a caress.

"Thank you," Greg said, closing his eyes and feeling the cold stone against his cheek. He wasn't sure whether he was thanking the boy for hurting him or for stopping. There was an expectant air to the silence after he spoke and, feeling a tear trickle down his cheek he added, "my Lord."

"Much better," Tom said. "I suggest you owl Theo's father and ask for… advice… in our dealings going forward. I'll give you the world to grind beneath your vicious feet, Goyle, but I'll give it to you on my terms."

"Yes, sir," Greg said, eyes still closed. He heard Tom Riddle snap out a command to Theo and Draco to follow him and heard their footsteps as they walked out, heard the door shut behind them. Only then did he curl up into a ball and begin to sob.

. . . . . . . . . .

"Ugh," Draco muttered. He crumpled the offending note the morning post had brought into a ball and tossed it toward the bin.

Tom Riddle looked up.

"I've been summoned home," Draco said. "It's time to go visit dotty Aunt Bella again."

"Who?" Tom asked.

"My Aunt Bellatrix," Draco slouched in his seat and sighed. "My mother's sister. She's a few bats short of a full belfry, if you follow me, and she's been in St. Mungo's for years. I get hauled to go visit her every few months and we all pretend she's not psychotic while chatting over tea and biscuits."

"Sounds lovely," Hermione said. "Tell her I said hello."

Draco snickered. "She'd start to rave at that. She's got a thing about Muggle-borns. Thinks you're all out to steal her magic or something."

"That doesn't even make sense," Tom said. "You can't steal magic anymore than you can steal that someone's good at sums."

"I said she was psychotic, not clever," Draco said with a snort.

. . . . . . . . . .

A/N – Summer is here; warm days, vacation, children asking me what they should do because, of course, the woman who does your laundry is where you go when you need ideas for a good time.

Still not sure what happened to Peter Pettigrew in this AU. James Potter is off being married and working as an Auror and Remus and Sirius are off being married to each other but Peter remains a mystery to me.

I got sucked into another quasi-Tomione AU with Tom Riddle, Abraxas Malfoy, and Hermione all in a triad. Blame the anon on tumblr (best way to reach me over the summer as my phone and don't like each other). 10K so far but I'm going to wait until it's done to start posting. There's poetry.

As always, I appreciate people who take the time to share their thoughts with me so very much. That you take the time to leave a review gives me the motivation and energy to write instead of drinking sweet tea by the slip-n-slide.

8. Chapter 8

Draco returned from his family trip to visit his aunt laden down with cakes from his indulgent mother, admonitions from his father to get good N.E.W.T. scores and a small book wrapped in brown paper. "I have something for you," Draco said, handing the book to Tom. "Apparently it was yours back in the day and my grandfather snagged it and kept it away from prying hands."

Tom took the small package with a curious expression that became, for a brief moment, almost hungry as he held it. Draco was still talking and didn't notice the shift but Hermione did and narrowed her eyes as she witnessed another mystery to be unraveled. "My grandfather must have mentioned you before he died," Draco was saying, "because as soon as I said your name my father said he had something of yours I should return to you." He paused. "He also suggested I cultivate you."

Tom shrugged. "Abraxas and I knew each other."

"How well?" Hermione asked, watching him.

Tom slipped the book into his bag and said, without looking at her, "As well as Theo, I suppose."

Hermione made a satisfied noise and regarded Draco with amusement. "Not as well as Draco?" she asked.

Tom looked up at her and flashed her the tiniest of smiles. "I guess not, no. It was a long time ago."

"Not for you," she said, reaching into the cake box and smirking at Draco as if daring him to stop her. He didn't.

"The boy I knew is grown and dead," Tom said. "Whatever we would have done together didn't happen."

"You'll have to do it with his grandson instead," Hermione said.

"Indeed," Tom said. "And with you."

. . . . . . . . . .

Hermione sometimes just stared at Tom Riddle. She watched him as he collected his followers, one at a time. Theodore Nott, certainly. Draco Malfoy, yes. But also Greg Goyle, one of Slytherin's more aggravating blood purists, a boy who'd suddenly stopped insulting her or sneering at her. Also Neville Longbottom, who began to act a little more at home within his own skin as he spent more time at their study sessions, more time being admired, even – or perhaps especially – begrudgingly, for his dueling skills.

Knowing Tom liked her hair she'd started wearing it down, indulging in something akin to feminine vanity because he'd look at her with raw, male appreciation in his eyes when she did. That expression on Victor Krum's face had made her nervous. On Cormac McLaggan's it had made her want to take a shower. On Tom it made her hungry. It made her stomach flutter and her nerves tingle and he knew, damn him. He knew the way he always knew everything and it made him just smile at her, that slow and dangerous smile, and she'd just end up melting even more.

She told herself she didn't care what he did to her.

That was a lie, though, and she knew it every time she'd go to tie her hair back into a practical braid and then just not.

She knew it every time he'd see her watching him and smile, that warm smile he turned on no one but her, and then cross the room to her. She knew it when she felt smug pleasure that he'd leave the fawning girls of his fan club behind, leave them mid-sentence, to wrap his hands around the back of her neck and brush her forehead with his lips, his thumbs at her jaw. She knew it when he kissed her and she knew it when he smirked at her and she knew it when she woke up next to him after another chaste night and he had his hand splayed across her lower back.

He was danger in the most alluring package she'd ever seen, not because he'd hurt her, but because she might be the only person he wouldn't.

. . . . . . . . . .

Draco Malfoy tried not to stare at Hermione as she padded out of Tom Riddle's room one morning. Her hair was tucked up into an unusually unflattering pile on the top of her head and she was wearing pajama bottoms that dragged on the floor and a tank top that, he couldn't help but notice, showed off breasts that were a lot more spectacular than he'd ever realized.

"You're sleeping with Tom now?" he asked as she made herself a cup of tea.

She looked back at him, rumpled and amused. "Yes," she said simply.

Draco blinked a few times as he wondered how long this had gone on, how long he'd somehow missed it. "Isn't that against the rules?" was all he could come up with.

"Probably," she acknowledged. "Do you plan to run off to Dumbledore and complain?"

Draco glanced nervously at Tom Riddle's door. Tom had sat in on his last dueling practice with Theo and hadn't been especially impressed. There had been words. There had been a vicious cutting curse Tom had left Theo to heal. There had been, on Draco's part, the realization that he needed to get better and as quickly as possible.

It occurred to Draco, as he stood there, that staring at the breasts of Tom Riddle's girl was probably a really bad idea and he yanked his eyes back to her face. The way she was smirking at him suggested she'd followed his train of thought. "Do you want some tea while I'm making some?" was all she said, however.

"That'd be great, thanks," Draco said. "And, no, no complaining. You do what you want."

"I will, thanks," she said as she poured magically heated water into a pot and he watched her.

"Good morning."

Draco tensed as Tom came up behind him. The boy – man - smirked before moving to Hermione and wrapping his arms around her. The pair of them seemed to luxuriate in one another with a raw intimacy that made Draco uncomfortable before Tom brushed his lips across her cheek and, stepping back, said, "Can I have a cup too?"

"Of course." Draco looked away as Tom Riddle ran his hand over his girlfriend's arse with what his mother would have called vulgar familiarity.

"Love," Tom was saying, "Do you think you could find the time to help our Draco out with dueling. He doesn't seem to be picking things up from Theo with what I'd consider acceptable speed."

Old, careless habits and a lifetime of ingrained contempt brought a sneer to Draco's face he couldn't quite control quickly enough and Tom saw it but rather than getting angry he just snickered and Draco flushed. "She can't be that good," Draco muttered even as he was relieved he was just being mocked rather than hurt.

Tom smiled. "I can't hit her," he said, "though, in fairness, she restricts me to things I know I can heal which takes my best tools off the table." He paused. "She also cheats."

"Only with you," Hermione said, handing him a cup of tea. "And only because it's the only way I have a chance to hit you. I'd play by the rules with Malfoy." She looked him over and Draco could hear the casual dismissal in those words. She didn't think he was very good; he wasn't worth cheating for. That stung.

Draco muttered thanks as she passed him his cup before picking up her own and, leaning back against their small counter area, looking him over. "I'm free after lunch," she said. "Tom, will you be there?"

"I leave him, as our favorite Headmaster likes to say, in your capable hands," Tom said.

Hermione shot him a look of utter irritation that made Tom laugh. "Your problems are not necessarily mine, Tom," she said.

"But you know you want to hurl curses at the boy," Tom coaxed, "And you know how I like you to do as I say. You'll make both of us happy and get to make Malfoy bleed in the process."

"You know, she might not hit me," Draco muttered.

Both of them looked at him and laughed and he blanched.

. . . . . . . . . .

Tom got more and more tense as he watched – stared at - Hermione laughing with Harry Potter. She and the boy were seated together outdoors at a table and Tom managed to contain his territorial urges, albeit barely, until Potter pulled a jumper from his bag and tossed it over to her and she shrugged into it. Then he crossed over and sat next to them, the hand he wrapped in Hermione's hair gripping tightly enough that she flinched and moved closer to him to loosen the tension.

That was fine. He was fine with her moving closer to him and away from Potter. "What the hell is your problem?" she hissed and he just leaned his chin on her shoulder and made steady eye contact with the other boy.

Potter, who was, as it turned out, not an idiot, quietly excused himself. "I'll see you later, Hermione," he said. "Riddle," he added with a quick nod and then he was gone.

Before Hermione could even say anything Tom put his hand on her chin and turned her face to his. "Take the jumper off," he said, voice low. "Take it off now and he lives."

"Let go of me," Hermione said, her voice as low as his. When he narrowed his eyes she snapped, "I can't take the damn thing off until you do, you… damn it, Tom. You're demanding I do something and making it physically impossible for me to do it at the same time."

He let go immediately but kept glaring at her as she pulled the jumper off and shoved it into her bag. "Give me yours," she said holding a hand out. He gaped at her. "I'm cold," she said, sounding, to his surprise, furious with him. People didn't get angry with him or, if they did, they certainly didn't show it. "Harry – my best friend – offered me his and since you are apparently going to storm over here and act like a possessive caveman you can bloody well hand over yours so I'm not shivering while I ring the peal over your head I plan to ring right now."

"Friend?" he said, still angry but starting to realize, with some discomfort, he was going to have to apologize to the fuming witch in front of him if he had any intention of keeping her.

"Purely platonic," she said. "Now hand over the jumper."

He pulled it off and passed it to her. Once she'd tugged it over her own hair, muttering grouchy things about how now her hair was utterly destroyed for the day, she focused back on him, narrowed eyes letting him know she was still angry. The sight of her wrapped up in his own clothes rather than those of some other man soothed his nerves and he ran his hands possessively up and down her arms even though the gesture seemed to make her nearly spit at him.

"I am not something you own," she finally snarled. "You do not get to do things like this."

"You're mine," he said stubbornly.

"And I'm still a person and I still have friends." She nearly quivered with frustration and shrugged his hands off her with irritation. "Harry and I… he's my best friend and I come with Harry and you have to accept that."

"You're mine," he said again. "The thought of you kissing him makes me – "

She cut him off with a disgusted grimace so instant and visceral he knew it was genuine.

"Platonic," he said, echoing her, and then sighed. "I'm an idiot, aren't I?"

She exhaled heavily and, if her glare softened a bit, it was still there.

"I'm sorry," he said at last.

"I'm sorry you were jealous," she conceded. "Though after your little stunt with Ginny that time you deserve it. More than deserve it. It just didn't occur to me you might… it's Harry."

She sounded so utterly repulsed by the idea he began to laugh. He caught her chin again with his hand, more gently this time, and lowered his mouth to hers. He kept his lips soft and undemanding until she made a soft whimpering sound and then he slid his hand from her chin back into her hair and caught it in his fist again. She moaned a little at that and Tom began to wish they weren't out in the courtyard, a wish that got stronger when she opened her mouth and began to kiss him back with fervency that suggested the hand in her hair was not at all unwelcome to her

Still, they were in a public space so Tom reluctantly pulled away from her. "Tonight," he whispered in her ear. "We'll start this again tonight without the need to stop. And I am sorry."

She nodded and stood up, a little shakily, and said, "I'm going to go track Harry down and return his jumper. Will you promise not to overreact like that again?"

"Harry's not a threat, no need to be jealous. Got it," Tom said and she left.

He looked across the courtyard to see Blaise Zabini giving him a look of contemptuous disdain. He would have dismissed it if the boy didn't look away from him toward Hermione, his expression changing to one of loathing as he watched her walk away, her bag swinging from her shoulder, her hand trying to smooth her hair into something less out of control.

Well. Apparently someone didn't approve of his love life. Wasn't that interesting. He could almost see the patterns arranging themselves for him and if the final picture wasn't clear yet he knew it would be soon.

He doubted Blaise Zabini would like it.

. . . . . . . . . .

A/N – Rapid updates! I hope you enjoy the various ways they all stare at one another and the return of a certain book.

Some quick answers to questions/comments from reviews:

Is the Basilisk still in the chamber of secrets – Yes.

As long as Hermione remains an individual and not completely under anyone's thumb – I don't do Victim!Hermione. Don't read it, don't write it, not interested in it. She may not be quite as cunning or, well, sociopathic as Tom but she's not anyone's doormat.

9. Chapter 9

When Draco met Hermione to practice dueling she was leaning up against the fallen stone wall waiting for him.

"Malfoy," she said with an expression somewhere between a smirk and a sigh. "Shall we?"

He nodded. Being sent to a girl he'd casually despised for years for remedial dueling lessons was humiliating enough; there was no need to drag this out. "Rules?" he asked.

She squinted at him. "Same as what you have with Theo, I assume," she said. "Five minute limit, nothing lethal, nothing you can't heal." She shrugged. "We can add no unforgiveables if you like."

"You and Riddle use unforgiveables?" he asked, trying not to let his jaw drop open. Who exactly was this good girl?

"I've never landed one," she admitted, "but I've tried."

"Has he?" Draco asked. "Landed one, I mean?"

"Not on me," Hermione said, obviously amused. "You might know better than I about other people."

Draco thought about Greg Goyle and shuddered.

"Right," Hermione said. "Shall we then?"

He nodded and she cast a timer and nodded her own head, a minute version of a formal bow. Draco could feel his ire rising; the bitch wasn't even offering him the full traditional courtesy he expected in a formal duel. He made a mocking, full bow and, as he straightened, threw a burning hex at her feet.

She snorted - actually snorted - as she blocked it and leaned back up against the wall as she pointed her wand at him. She blocked everything he tried without moving and, in between insulting children's hexes, cursed him with a series of small cutting curses that sliced into his arm with painful, short strokes. He looked down and snarled. She was cutting a word into his arm. P U R was already legible and, while he was distracted, the E started to appear. He could barely block her. Couldn't land anything on her. She wasn't even trying and he could feel something in him break and he just gave up "I yield," he muttered, and threw his wand down at her feet.

"Tom's right," Hermione said, eyeing him. "You aren't very good."

Draco sank down into a squat and buried his face in his hands, trying to keep from crying. His arm hurt, blood was coming up in a slow ooze, she sounded utterly contemptuous and dismissive and he didn't know how to do this. "You and Theo are the same," he said bitterly. "You just attack and don't explain. Where did you even fucking learn any of that?"

"Books," she said, and he heard her sigh and when he looked up she was holding his wand out to him, an expression of guarded sympathy on her face. "We tried to one up each other so we both found every hex we could." He took the wand and then her hand as she helped him up. "Theo had a dreadful advantage, you know. I'd do almost anything to get my hands on the books in his family library."

"I think his father would have a heart attack before he'd let you in the front door," Draco said, frowning.

"Because I'm a Mudblood?" she asked and watched him flinch.

"Pretty much," he muttered.

"If Tom told him to," she said, her tone laced with the result of years of resentment at the causal slights she'd endured, "he'd kiss the hem of my fucking dress and thank both of us for the privilege."

Draco nodded and looked down at his arm. "Could you heal this?" he asked. "I don't know how."

She made a quick, sharp gesture with her wand and he watched the skin knit and heal. A spray of water and the blood was washed away.

"Thanks," he said, then, "You're not wrong about Riddle." He paused to study his arm, free of any blemish now. "I don't think you know how very right you are."

Hermione shrugged. "Do you want me to show you how?" she asked, her voice almost subdued. Draco suspected for all her bravado in announcing Theo's father would bow to her, she was not quite comfortable with how true that was.

"I'd love it," he said.

She turned away from him and transfigured some grass to a large blobby thing.

"What the hell is that?" Draco stared at the work, which, while impressive enough, was confusing and a little disgusting.

"Target," she said. "If I just block all your attempts you'll never know if you've got it."

She spent the next hour teaching him a variety of slicing hexes. They were vicious, efficient, and, contrary to Draco's initial assumption, fully legal. "Medical texts," she said with a grin. "Lots of things you heal by incising curses out of the body. Just turn that precision to - "

"To cutting a damn word in my arm," he said, more impressed than he wanted to admit.

"I was being a little showy," she admitted.

"Wanted to rub my nose in how much of an arse I've been for years?" he asked, casting another practice hex at the blob.

"Can you blame me?" she asked.

"No," he admitted. He turned and stuck a hand out to her. "Friends?" he asked.

She looked at the offered hand a little warily. "Not enemies?" she suggested. "Friendly?" and he sighed.

"I'll take it," Draco said.

She took his hand and he brought hers to his lips and kissed the back of it. She narrowed her eyes.

"Mark of respect to a woman of equal or higher station," he said softly. At her continued look of suspicion he released her hand and added, "It's not a flirtation thing. I'm not stupid enough to hit on Riddle's girlfriend."

"He'd probably kill you," she agreed a little nervously.

"Just respect," Draco said, thinking there was no 'probably' about it. "Genuine, impressed respect."

She smiled at that, a little tremulously perhaps, and asked, "Want to learn one more?"

He nodded.

"You can't use this one in a duel with any of us," she said. "It's lethal." She made him practice the incantation and wand movement separately until she was sure he had each one perfect before pointing at the blob and telling him to put it together.

"Collabor," he said and watched in stunned amazement as the entire thing collapsed in on itself. "Bloody hell," he breathed out. "That was incredible."

"I know," she said as she set about cleaning up. "It's one of my favorites."

Draco looked at her. How, he wondered, had he never seen this woman. "Just... damn," he said.

. . . . . . . . . .

Tom picked up one of the pamphlets Hermione had spread out in front of her on their little table. "'So You Want to be an Auror'," he read and began to laugh. "You do, I hope, realize your remarkable skill with the Imperius Curse would not be considered a career plus at the Ministry."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm not that good; I've yet to hit you," she said.

"If you did you'd likely find I'm rather resistant to being compelled to do anything," he said. "You made nice work of Draco, however."

The blond in question, who was making himself a cup of tea at the Head dorm kitchenette, muttered something that was probably rude under his breath.

"Who knew he could sing," Tom added. After Hermione had taken Draco under her wing and started to teach him what she knew rather than give into the urge to just abuse him Tom had started to attend their dueling sessions. Draco did not care for unforgivables; no one had made him endure a crucio but he sometimes felt he might prefer that to the imperius.

"Am I allowed to tell you both to sod off?" Draco asked.

Tom ignored him and picked up another one of Hermione's career choice handouts. "'The Route to being a Healer'," he said. "Well, you'd be quite good at that though they might be suspicious at just how good you are at healing Dark curses."

"Practice makes perfect," she snapped.

"Exactly," Tom said with a little smile. "Draco, would you make me a cup while you're at it?"

The boy grumbled but pulled down another cup and pulled a tea bag out of a box.

"'Are You Right for Retail?'," Tom read. "No, Hermione, you aren't. Completely aside from how you aren't going to get a job at all, you'd be terrible at retail. You'd never be able to resist cursing some idiot shopper who demanded to know where the designer cauldrons were." He began to gather up all the little pamphlets as she squawked in outrage. "These are a waste of paper. You'll travel with me, not do any of this nonsense."

Hermione tried to grab at one of them that touted the wonders of a life spent in animal husbandry and Tom twitched it out of her reach. "Stop being so autocratic," she said. "And what do you mean I'm going to travel with you? This is the first I've heard of this plan."

Tom regarded her with amusement. As if she wouldn't do what she was told. "Love," he said patiently, "you don't want to do any of these things. You want to learn as much as you can about the way magic works."

Hermione regarded him warily.

"You don't think I mean for us to go sit on some beach somewhere?" he asked, holding the glossy, folded bits of parchment out for Draco to take. "No, Hermione. We'll be rooting about in old archives and the like. We'll be learning things." He put a finger on her chin, tipping her face up toward him, "And you'll love every moment of it."

"And how do you plan to fund this little adventure?" Hermione demanded.

Tom rolled his eyes at that. "Draco?" he asked.

"More galleons than you could spend in a lifetime," the boy said, exaggerated disdain dripping out of his pursed, aristocratic lips even as he took the pamphlets from Draco and binned them, hiding a bit of a grin at her distress. "Theo and I both. And that's just in our personal vaults. Stop being so gauche as to worry about money, Granger. It makes you sound like a peasant."

"You're the one making the tea," she muttered as he handed her and Tom each a cup.

Tom laughed as he leaned forward to kiss her hair. "That he is, and serving it to you. So you'll be coming along?"

"Do I have a choice?" she said, catching his hand in hers.

He squeezed her fingers. "Not really," he admitted. "You'd never forgive yourself for giving up a chance to do research like this on someone else's knut. Trust me, Hermione. I won't steer you wrong."

"Trust you," she muttered. "Trust the Parselmouth Dark Lord."

He kept his hand wrapped reassuringly around her fingers. "Exactly," he said.

. . . . . . . . . .

They were sitting on the couch in the tiny common room when Pansy's voice, never quiet, pushed through the closed door. "I don't understand what he's doing with that Mudblood."

It was loud and it was clearly meant to be heard.

"She's trash, Draco. You tell me he's some kind of fantastical leader, that your bloody grandfather practically worshipped him, that we're lucky to have him here, but all I see is some queer boy fawning on a filthy bit of Mudblood trash."

Draco raised his voice for the first time and they could both hear him snap, "Don't call her that, you fool," and then what sounded like a slap. Then the silencing charm went up.

Tom reached over to Hermione and took her hand. She'd stiffened during the exchange and all he could manage to grab was two of her fingers but he took those and he squeezed them. "She's quite the bitch, isn't she?" he said conversationally.

Hermione forced a wan smile onto her face. "Never thought I'd hear Draco Malfoy defending me," she said.

"Contrary to initial impressions," Tom said, still holding her fingers, "Malfoy's not an idiot and can, in time, manage to learn new things."

"Is this what I reap from your slowly growing cabal?" Hermione asked. "Forced respect despite my less than ideal blood status?"

"Among other things," Tom said.

Draco's door opened and Pansy pushed through the room, ignoring the couple on the couch, and slamming the door to the hall behind her with sufficient vigor to make her unhappiness known to anyone in that wing of the castle.

"Well," Draco Malfoy said, following after her as far as the middle of the room. "It would appear I'm single again." He rubbed at his face. "Also, Granger, you and Pansy now have something in common."

Tom looked at him expectantly.

"We've both hit him," Hermione said.

"You were better at it," Draco said. "That stung a bit but you nearly broke my nose."

Tom began to laugh.

"He deserved it," Hermione protested through the laughter as Draco flung himself down into the soft chair and stretched his legs out in front of him. "He managed to get a hippogryff sentenced to death – "

"It did attack me."

"- and then he gloated about it."

"Who was stupid enough to bring a hippogryff around students?" Tom asked though his laughter.

"Hagrid," Hermione said. "Care of Magical Creatures."

Tom was now laughing so hard he could barely breathe. "Please tell me," he choked out, "that you got the thing killed and dear old Hagrid was sad."

"Merlin," Hermione snapped, yanking her fingers away from him, "You're as bad as he is."

"Oh, Hermione," Tom was still gasping. "I'm so much worse. So much worse."

. . . . . . . . . .

Pansy knew she'd left her bag and, even as she braced herself against the desk in the classroom, the old wood scarred with a jagged burn mark where a spell had gone awry, as awry as her idiotic plan, even as she blinked back hot tears she knew she'd have to go back and get it.

Wasn't the just the most humiliating part of the whole thing? It was bad enough to have put all her proverbial eggs in Draco Malfoy's basket. Bad enough to have him finally end what passed for their relationship over her jealousy of the frizzy Granger girl. But to have to go crawling back to get her books? That was unspeakable.

She walked over to the window and looked out the tiny glazed squares at the world and wondered if her accio charm was good enough to fetch the thing. Probably not. She'd never been the kind of student Draco was. Granger was. "Average," she muttered to herself, echoing the words she'd overheard her mother say when she was twelve. "She's average. Not pretty. Not clever. Not smart. And we aren't rich enough to make her a catch."

"Teach her to flirt," the woman her mother had been having tea with had advised. "Teach her to wrap the boys around her finger and one of them will be lack-witted enough to not notice she's all artifice until it's too late."

Pansy had backed away. She'd hated her mother ever since but she'd learned. She could laugh and smile and walk in heels that required charms just to stay balanced. And she'd thought she had him, damn it. She'd faked her way through his inept sexual fumblings and she'd thought if she could just land Draco Malfoy she'd have proved her mother wrong and shown she wasn't average at all.

She blew hot breath onto the window and took her finger and began tracing out a rough sketch of a flower. "Trite drawing for a trite girl," she muttered and was smearing the heel of her hand across the condensation when the door opened.

She spun around to see Hermione Granger standing there, Pansy's leather bag in her hand.

"Just drop it," Pansy said with a sneer. "I'll see if I can manage to decontaminate it from your Mudblood touch. If not, I'll send you the bill."

Granger, however, didn't drop the bag and storm off in a huff, just shut the door behind her and stood against it. "You okay?" she asked. "That sounded pretty rough."

Pansy turned her back on the girl. "Why do you care?" she muttered.

"Don't," Granger said. "Just being civil. Were manners not a thing in your household?"

"Go away, Granger," Pansy said.

"Shite," Granger said, "You're not okay. That fucking Malfoy." Pansy could hear the girl cross the room and suddenly she was pushing a transfigured handkerchief into her hand and Pansy's already fragile grip on her tear ducts gave way and she was actually crying in front of this girl.

And she'd thought having to go back and get her bag would be the most humiliating part of the day.

"Would you go away," she said again, trying to dry her eyes without smearing her mascara. Waterproof charms only did so much.

"Do you want me to kill him?" Granger was asking. "Or have Tom do it? I doubt he'd mind, really."

Pansy huffed out a snort. "I don't think it matters now. I'm already damaged goods and everybody knows it."

She could see Granger gape at her. "I'm not your biggest fan, Parkinson, but you're hardly damaged just because you dated Malfoy," the girl said. "And, I mean, after him anyone would have to be an improvement."

"You're an idiot," Pansy said. "Stupid Muggle-born. You don't know anything about how the world really works. I'm a pureblood-fucking-aristocrat." She could hear her voice rising. "All I'm good for is getting married."

"Merlin, that's horseshite," Granger snapped back at her. "Get a job."

Pansy began to laugh. "You are so naïve it's almost funny. Doing what? Filing papers for Theo? Writing a society column for the Prophet? Maybe you think I should consider doing potions prep work in some alchemists firm. It isn't like your Muggle world. I'll never get a job that's meant to be anything more that some little position a girl takes on her way to getting a husband. That's how it works." She sneered again. "It's how it'll work for you too, just wait and see. Except your options are even more limited than mine because while people may not actually hang out signs that read 'no Muggle-borns need apply' they might as well."

"What about McGonagall?" Hermione Granger said, still arguing. "What about Pomfrey."

"Oh yes, go be a school teacher, or a Healer, as long as you only work with students or women. Don't expect to do anything really interesting or challenging. You're an assistant to the men who really know what they're doing." Pansy looked at the handkerchief in her hand. "Nice transformation work, by the way. Mine always seem a bit scratchy."

"But –"

"Stop being an idiot," Pansy snapped. "The choices are marriage, low-level, miserable job, or poverty. And marriage was the best one I had and I blew it."

"He was never going to marry you," Hermione said softly. "He was using you."

"I was planning on getting pregnant right before graduation," Pansy said. "I'm not an idiot."

The look Hermione gave her suggested she wasn't wholly in agreement with that.

"Okay," Pansy said, "if you're so smart what do you suggest?"

Hermione began to smile. "Pansy Parkinson," she said. "How do you feel about ruling the world?"

Pansy narrowed her eyes. "Explain," she said. And, oh, Hermione Granger did. An hour later, when Theo showed up having been sent by Riddle to fetch Hermione back under the guise of concern, the two women had pulled out a parchment and were drawing up a schedule of something neither let Theo see.

"I came to walk you back," he said.

"I'm fine," Hermione said. "Walk Pansy back."

"Pansy?" Theo cocked his brows up at the sound of the woman's first name.

"Hermione and I are very close friends, didn't you know that?" Pansy asked with a smirk.

"She's going to teach me how to walk in heels," Hermione said.

"And she's going to teach me how to cast Dark magic hexes and have them work."

Theo looked from Hermione to Pansy and back again. "I'm suddenly terrified."

"As well you should be," Hermione said. "Be a dear and walk her back to the dungeons."

"Can't," Theo said apologetically. "I was told to walk you back up."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Fine, walk me back up and then walk her down to the dungeons."

"That," Theo said, "I can do."

"She'll be joining our study group," Hermione added as they left the classroom. She'd refused to take Theo's proffered arm, thus neatly forcing him to escort Pansy.

"Have you asked Riddle about that?" Theo asked.

Pansy nearly laughed at the look she gave him. "Last time I checked I didn't need to ask my boyfriend permission to have a friend over."

"I know," Theo said, sounding trapped, "but, well, it's Riddle."

Hermione stopped walking and gave the lanky boy a long, measuring look. "Maybe you have to ask for permission to breathe but I do not. And, yes, it's Tom Riddle, the Dark Lord who will give me anything I ask for."

Theo threw a nervous look at Pansy.

"She knows," Hermione said. "And she's joining us."

"Draco's going to choke on that," Theo said.

Hermione and Pansy exchanged a look. "Today has just gotten so much better," Pansy said.

. . . . . . . . . .

A/N – Thank for all the lovely reviews. Your energy pushes me forward.

Are there any other hermione/tom r fanfics like this one that you would recommend? – Aca-demic Arrangements is fluffy delights. I don't know if it's at all like this but I love it.

I'm "colubrina" on tumblr and pinterest, which I would say is linked out from my profile but ff has decided we are no longer allowed to link to most external sites.

10. Chapter 10

Tom had always known he was physically attractive; he catalogued that as coldly as he did all his other attributes. People, he knew, were more likely to trust attractive fellows. It was irrational but expecting most of the idiots in the world to be even vaguely intelligent was a fool's errand and he wasn't a fool. The dark curls, the lashes, the smiles: he knew, from tedious experience, that these attracted girls. He could charm nearly any woman into nearly anything.

Pity they'd all always been so uninteresting to him.

"You could get any girl in this place," Abraxas had complained once, "And all you care about is magic. Your beauty's a damn waste."

He'd eyed the man with disdain. Abraxas Malfoy hadn't had any problems getting women and, as far as Tom had been able to determine, absolutely no standards. The blond would – and did - tumble any bit of fluff that crossed his path.

The very thought of Abraxas' low standards made Tom grimace, even now as he looked at the woman in his own bed. This one, he thought, this one was different. He wasn't sure why but this one was real. This one was a person.

This one, he thought, leaning down to fist his hands in her hair and kiss her, was for keeping.

She rolled toward him and made that little half-nervous, half-aroused sound she made whenever he held onto her tightly and he could feel himself stir in response to the way she became more frantic when he tightened his grip on her curls. He pulled his mouth away from hers and brushed the tip of his nose across hers as he murmured, "Good morning, love."

She reached up and tugged him down onto her and he gave in to her wordless demands and returned to kissing her. They did this, and nothing but this, and he wanted so much more from her, things he'd never wanted with any woman, but kept himself in check.

Control. Control was always important.

She broke their kiss to say, panting a bit, "Please, Tom."

He exhaled sharply at the minute plea. She knew him, this one, and he could feel the way she pressed herself against him with even more longing after the words than before. Loosening his grip on her a bit, he turned his attention to her neck and began to graze his teeth along her skin. He laughed when she shivered at the contact.

. . . . . . . . . .

Tom Riddle studied Harry Potter from afar and decided, since he was certainly not going to challenge the boy to any kind of pick-up Quidditch, that the best way to gain his trust was to confide in him about Hermione.

Well, pretend to confide.

Since Hermione was the reason he wasn't just planning on ignoring the boy's existence Tom supposed that was fitting. At least she had the sense to not insist he adopt Weasley as well. He adored her, and would do many things for her, but there were limits to how many pets she could have. Neville, at least, had Dark arts talents to spare. Potter, as far as he could tell, was just athletic and a tad socially inept. Weasley wasn't even athletic; Tom had almost choked laughing when Hermione had admitted she'd cheated to get him on the Quidditch team.

"I just confounded the other guy for a moment," she'd said as Tom had doubled over. "Besides, he was a jerk and tried to paw me at last year's Yule Ball so he ended up deserving it."

"Tried to do what?" Tom had asked and Hermione had hastily changed the subject. Tom had asked Draco to get him the lout's name and filed it away for future reference.

Now he sat next to Potter in the library with an apologetic grin and rummaged though his bag until he found a quill and began to write that day's pointless essay. They sat, each doing homework, until Tom said, "Can I ask you something?"

Harry Potter looked up and said, voice wary, "Yes."

"Is Hermione always insane and difficult to reason with or is it just me that brings that out in her?"

Potter's eyes widened and he let out a strangled sound that might have been a laugh before he shoved his hand over his mouth. After he regained control of himself he said, "No, she's always been like that."

Tom slouched down in his seat and muttered, "Great."

"So… are you two a thing?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," Riddle said, cringing a bit at the slangy word. Adopting modern phrases was necessary but they still felt distasteful in his mouth. "She skipped Family Day to hang out with me but she's pissed off at me about some Hyppogryff thing and Pansy Parkinson of all things." He jabbed at his paper with his quill. "And she huffs."

"She huffs at you?" Potter sounded amused and Tom Riddle muttered under his breath about women being inexplicable.

"I'm crazy about the stupid witch and she won't even talk to me today." He jabbed at the paper again contemplating how much simpler life would be if you could just openly tell people they should decide whether to become your follower or die. It wasn't that manipulating people was hard – Harry Potter had, for example, clearly already decided that he was trustworthy and a good fellow for no other reason than he was claiming to have girl problems – but sometimes it was just tiresome. And now he had to turn Hermione's little friend into an actual, blooded follower to make sure he stayed. Well, all things in good time. "How did you two meet?" he asked.

Potter laughed. "She was dragging Neville around on the train on the way to school our first year helping him look for his toad and she got into it with me about whether or not I could do magic already. She made me try to demonstrate every spell in the book. I thought she was the most aggravating person I'd ever met."

"And you became friends after that?" Tom put what he hoped was just the right amount of dubious encouragement into his voice.

Harry smiled, thinking, it would seem, of that day. "She could do them, you see," he said simply. "She's brilliant."

Tom looked at Harry in surprise and returned to his essay, in unexpected harmony with the other man at the table.

. . . . . . . . . .

"I just wish you'd asked," Tom said, obviously annoyed, as Hermione propped her feet in his lap while reviewing her Advanced Runes notes. They'd been arguing about Pansy for a while and it had reached the stage where they were going in circles and she wasn't even giving his complaints her full attention any longer. When she didn't respond at all this time he added, "I mean it, Hermione. This isn't a social club. You can't just go inviting all your girlfriends to join up."

She snorted at that. "Parkinson and I have hated each other for years. She's hardly a girlfriend."

"Then why?" Tom demanded, shoving her feet off him.

Hermione put her feet back onto his lap with a determined thunk that made him almost flinch.

"Could you be careful where you slam those?" he muttered.

"She's vicious," Hermione said. "And comes from a powerful, connected family even if they aren't filthy rich like the Malfoys, and, while I realize you grew up in nineteen-the-dark-ages, you have a tendency to overlook women in favor of morons like Crabbe and Goyle and you need to get over that if you really want to take over the world."

Tom made an annoyed noise.

"Tom," Hermione said. "Would you trust me? A year from now you'll be thanking me on bended knee for recruiting her."

. . . . . . . . . .

Theo sighed as he met Pansy Parkinson and walked her out to their hidden dueling area. Really? He thought to himself. Hermione's little project is really my problem? Why?

. . . . . . . . . .

Hermione stomped into the Head Common Room, her feet making squishing sounds on the hardwood floor. She sat down on the couch and pulled her shoes off, wrinkling her nose and dropped them, each with a wet plop, onto the floor.

"Did you go wading in the lake or something?" Tom asked, glancing up from a book.

"No," she said, almost growling at him. "Did you know there's one girl's toilet in this school that is almost totally worthless?"

Tom set his book down and leaned back and eyed his girlfriend. What, he wondered, had gotten her so riled. "No," he said, drawing the word out. "Am I supposed to be keeping track of the plumbing in the girl's lavs?"

Hermione continued as if he hadn't spoken. "It's haunted," she said. "Haunted. And by the most unbelievably irritating ghost. She whines. She complains. She feels sorry for herself." Hermione glared at Tom. "She moans."

"You moan," Tom said.

"Not while flooding the toilet again out of pure spite," Hermione said. "I just wanted to look at something and the wretched girl decided I was making fun of her and the bloody pipes burst again." She waved a hand at her shoes and cast a wandless drying charm; Tom noted her increased comfort and skill with wandless magic but didn't say anything. "I don't know why they don't just banish that stupid Myrtle," Hermione said, busying herself with her shoes and not looking up at Tom.

"Myrtle?" he asked.

"Moaning Myrtle," Hermione confirmed. "Seven years now that bathroom's been out of service."

"More like fifty-three or four," Tom said. Hermione turned slowly to look at him. "She died when I was a student," he said. "She was, I'm sad to say, as unpleasant in life as she is, it would seem, in death."

"How did she die?" Hermione asked.

Riddle laughed. "Is this your idea of subtlety?" he asked her. "Because if it is you need to get better at it."

Hermione flushed and asked, "Well, did you kill her?"

Tom tilted his head to the side and said, "Ready to hear about my sins, are you?" She didn't respond and after a pause he said, tone serious, "The incident was blamed on Rubeus Hagrid, your somewhat eccentric professor. He's always had a thing for monsters and apparently he let one into the castle and it killed the girl." He shrugged. "Death by magical creature."

"Apparently?"

"They snapped his wand," Tom said. "He's been forbidden to do magic. Far be it for me to question the decisions of the then authorities." He paused. "Did you like the wall decorations in that toilet, love?"

Hermione hadn't taken her eyes off of Tom. "They're very pretty," she said.

"I'll tell you if you ever really want to know," he said and she nodded but didn't ask and, after a moment, he looked back at his book. So, he thought, head down, she knew about Myrtle and had a pretty good idea about the Chamber; she'd been busy. He wondered how long it would be until Hermione really wanted to hear how that wretched Myrtle had died and what her death had wrought.

. . . . . . . . . .

Tom liked to lay with the flat of his hand under the worn tank top Hermione wore to bed. He would press it up her spine and feel her skin beneath his still fingers. Just having her there was restful and after she slept he would listen to her breathe and feel her warmth and wait for the moment, which always came, when she turned and burrowed herself into him.

For reasons she'd never quite made clear – though ones he was perfectly capable of figuring out and had opted not to pursue – after the incident with Potter and his jumper she'd stopped wearing the flannel pajama bottoms that had always been too big on her and had begun to appear in his room in silky knickers instead. He suspected she'd bought them via owl order just for him, a thought more than a little exciting, and he'd run his fingers along the edge of the fabric and each night she relaxed a little more into his touch until the night he trailed his fingers over the fabric and she gasped and he did it again and she pressed herself against him. He ran his tongue over the edge of her ear and tugged on the lobe with his teeth before, with fingers pressed lightly against the dampening patch on those silky knickers, he whispered, "Beg me, Hermione."

Just the whispered command made her whimper and he watched her open her mouth and then press her lips together as she swallowed hard. He nuzzled her with his nose, pushing the endlessly wild curls away from her neck, and then running his tongue over her skin, tasting the salt of her, and said between licks, "You know I love to hear you beg me. Do it, Hermione. Tell me you want me."

"Please," she said, closing her eyes and he propped himself up on an elbow and looked at her face.

"Please what?" he said.

She shuddered and pressed herself into his hand. "Tom, please," she said again, finally stammering out, "Touch me, please."

He ran his fingers over the silk again and she let out a mewling noise he'd never heard from her before but decided at once he had to hear again. "Like this?" he asked.

"Yes," she choked out and, when he pulled his hand away the way she added an almost instant, "Please" made him nearly burn with the desire to just have her right there. He stroked her though the fabric again and coaxed that mewling sound and closed his own eyes and fought for self-control.

When he took his hand away she whimpered again and he said, voice as steady as he could make it, "Take your knickers off for me."

She didn't even hesitate, just pulled them down and when she'd gotten them to her knees his patience gave out and he yanked them the rest of the way off and flung them off the bed and ran his hand, for the first time, over the perfect wonder of her. She watched him with lust and self-consciousness fighting for dominance on her face and he pushed her legs apart and just looked at her. He reached on finger out to touch her in almost reverent awe and she made that amazing mewling sound again and he began to experiment. If he touched her this way she made that sound. A different angle produced a different sound. Soon he had her pulled as wide as he could with his thumbs and was lapping at her and she was making a keening noise and he looked up and began to say, "Beg me," again but he barely got the first sound out when she began babbling out a series of 'please's and 'Tom's with increasing urgency and he buried his face back into her. He'd always been a quick study and this proved to be no different as he sucked and licked and flicked his tongue back and forth all to the sound of her pleading until that pleading was replaced with a sharp gasp and he could feel her whole body tense beneath him.

He propped himself up on his elbows and looked at her, self-satisfaction warring with raw lust. She was still breathing hard as she looked back at him and said, her voice far more confident – to the point of being smug - than he'd heard her yet in bed, "Please."

He wet his lips and said, "Really?"

"Are you going to make me ask twice?" she said and with that he had his own pajama bottoms off and had positioned himself over her, erection bobbing.

Still. "Ask me again," he said.

She smiled. "Please," she said, and he did. She tensed when he first entered her and he had to remind himself that this probably hurt, at least a little, or felt weird and alien or something other than the utter heaven it felt like to him, and he stopped and brushed her hair away from her face.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Give me a second," she said and he nodded and held himself above her as she let her body relax around him. After a moment she lifted her arms up and put her hands on his shoulders and pulled him down to her and began to rock her hips against him. He let her set the pace until he could barely stand it.

"Hermione," he muttered. "I don't know if I can – "

She dug her nails into his skin and he realized he was thrusting into her as hard as he could and that she had her eyes closed and he was done, gasping her name out as he came into her and collapsed down on her, sweat soaked body pressed into that tank top she still had on.

She turned her face and captured his mouth with her own and he mumbled something about how he had her all over him and she either didn't care or didn't hear him because she just sucked on his lip and ran her tongue around his until he could feel himself start to harden again.

He pulled back and looked at her. Her mouth was swollen and her eyes were bright and she said, teasing, "Again?"

He huffed out a delighted laugh. "Ask nicely?" he suggested.

Her lips curled up in a grin. "Please, Tom," she said. "Again?"

"I think," he said, "that I could do that." He reached a hand up under her tank top and flicked his fingers over a nipple. She gasped and he smirked. "Look, new toys."

She lay her head back as he pushed the shirt up and began to explore the sounds he could get her to make when he teased her this way. This time, he thought, he'd have more staying power and could probably get her to beg him again.

He was right on both counts.

. . . . . . . . . .

A/N – Thank you, lovely people, for following along on this and sharing your sweet comments with me. Reviews, as Pagan Ianthe has said, are the fuel that powers the fanfic writer's soul.

I am colubrina on tumblr, and it is much easier to answer questions there than here because and my phone hate one another

11. Chapter 11

Pansy's cursing had become more and more perfunctory until she just sagged against the tree that was behind her and said, pushing her hair out her eyes with her wandless hand, "Give up, Granger. I'm not like you and Theo and the rest of them. I'm not good at this. I'm just average."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Oh, really?"

Pansy didn't bother to respond, just lowered her head and stared at the ground, beaten. Taking over the world had sounded great until she'd discovered it came with classes – a lot of classes - on Dark Magic. She'd spent hours with Theo and while he'd been surprisingly patient and attentive, especially compared to what she was used to from Draco, she hadn't gotten any better. She studied the spells and practiced the incantations but she just couldn't get it to work. Theo would pet her hair and tell her it didn't matter, she should see how bad Greg and Vince were, but it did matter and she knew it. She couldn't do this, not the way frizzy-haired Granger could.

"Pansy," Hermione said, "Try pretending I'm Draco. I know you'd love to hurt him."

That pulled a tiny smile to Pansy's face.

"Shoot everything you have at me," Hermione said, "Shoot everything you want to shoot at him at me."

"What if I hit you?" Pansy said. "Riddle –"

"Tom will be thrilled if you hit me," Hermione said with a laugh. "Trust me on this one."

Pansy doubted that. "He can be a little insane when it comes to you and other people."

"He's got a bit of a possessive streak – "

"A bit?" Granger apparently went in for understatement. It was common knowledge in the 'study group' that Tom had threatened to kill Harry Potter because Hermione had borrowed the git's jumper. Draco and Theo both made a point of not touching her.

"- and can be over-protective but a lot of that's because he gets jealous at anything." Hermione shrugged. "He won't see you that way."

"Because there's no way a girl could be a rival?" Pansy was starting to feel annoyed. It wasn't like Granger was her type, but if she'd set her sights on the Muggle-born she would have been able to seduce her as easily as she'd gotten Draco. More so, probably. Granger was shockingly naïve in some ways. Pansy assumed that came from having no friends other than Potter and that Weasley boy.

"He is from the 1940s," Hermione said. She dropped her voice. "But, then, you like them a bit overly prickish, don't you? Nothing else explains Draco. You knew he was using you but you let him do it. He knew sleeping with him ruined your prospects but he didn't care as long as he got what he wanted. He didn't even bother to get you off and you still can't muster up even a little outrage." Pansy had straightened up and her knuckles were going white around her wand at the taunts. "He only wanted you for your pussy and you knew it and now you can't even get angry enough about that to –"

And with that Pansy began to shoot curses at Hermione, one after the other. "Fuck you," Pansy said. "You stupid, stupid bitch. You don't know anything." Hermione spun and blocked and laughed at Pansy as she got more and more furious and reached more deeply into the Dark spells she'd been learning until suddenly the timer went off and Hermione flung herself at the raging girl and hugged her. Pansy stood in that embrace, shocked.

"You did it!" Hermione said, "Look!"

She held out her arm where a line of blood was welling up from the skin.

"Shite," Pansy said, turning white. She'd hit her. She hadn't… well, she'd meant to while she was doing it. She'd wanted to kill her. She'd been so angry at the knife twisting about Draco, mostly because it was right, but now that she was standing here all she could think was what she said: "Riddle is going to kill me."

Hermione laughed again. "Are you kidding? He might actually be so happy he hugs you himself and you know how weird he is about touching people."

Pansy began to smile. "He really is weird about that." She paused and added, "I'm sorry I called you a bitch."

Hermione shrugged as she scooped up her bag. "I did kind of goad you," she said, "and it worked. Let's go show this off."

When they walked into the Head common room, Hermione's arm ostentatiously slung around Pansy's shoulder to show off the shallow cut, Tom grew visibly furious at the line of blood on Hermione's arm. "Who did this," he demanded. He'd pulled his body off the couch and was running a thumb over her arm, smearing the line of blood over her skin.

"Stop," she said. "Relax. It's fine. It was during a duel and it was Pansy."

Tom looked up her at that and Pansy could feel herself bristle at the doubt in his eyes. "Pansy?" he said. "How?"

"She fired off two cruciatus curses around a sectrumsempra and, while I was shielding against those, got just a garden variety cutting curse in through a crack," Hermione said, pride evident in her voice.

"Nice," said Tom, obviously assessing her anew. "No one else can do that, you know."

"No one?" Pansy nearly squeaked, cursing herself for that giveaway.

"Neville once," Tom admitted.

"I wasn't paying proper attention," Hermione muttered. "Hardly counts."

"Counts," Tom said and she made disgruntled noises but didn't argue.

"Not Draco?" Pansy asked.

Hermione began to snicker as Tom ran a hand over her arm and healed the cut. "You leave him in the proverbial dust," Hermione said then, leaning into Tom she added with a smug, self-satisfied air, "I told you to trust me, oh Dark Lord of mine."

He kissed her temple. "That you did, Dark Lady of mine, that you did."

Pansy looked at them both, a pair of happy, budding despots, and said, "I think this calls for a celebration. I happen to know Draco has some 18-year barrel aged firewhiskey under his bed if either of you can get past his wards."

Tom smirked at her. "Hermione," he said, "You get the glasses."

. . . . . . . . .

Tom traced his fingers in one slow circle after another around the witch's breast. She wasn't fully awake and made a series of sleepy coos under his stroking hand but didn't so much as open her eyes until he ran his thumb over her nipple. Then she made a tiny squeak and he smiled. "Hi there," he murmured. "Someone was tired this afternoon."

"Dealing with Pansy can be exhausting, plus firewhiskey. What happened to my sunspot?" she grumbled, twisting herself toward him. "It was all warm."

"Set, I think," he said, flicking her nipple again and listening to her gasp. "You're like a lazy cat with patches of sun."

"I'm awake now," she said. "Did we miss dinner?"

"Have the kitchen send some up in a bit," he suggested, the heel of his hand now sliding back and forth across her hard flesh. "One of the perks of being Head Girl, after all." He watched her bite her lip and felt her squirm at his side and, when he tweaked her nipple she let forth another involuntary gasp.

"Please," she whispered and he felt himself stiffen at the small plea.

"Please what?" he said, sliding his hand down her skin, feeling her stomach under his fingers before he stopped. "Tell me exactly what you want and maybe I'll be nice enough to do it." He expected her to just tell him, didn't expect her to freeze next to him and he watched her face as it closed down and he quickly pulled her into a tight hug. "Too much?" he asked and she nodded.

"I'm sorry," she muttered, turning away so he could also see a mane of hair. "I'm so stupid, it's just –"

"No," he said, running a hand in small circles over her back. "No apologizing. I pushed too hard." He nuzzled her with his nose until she looked at him again. "I'm a bossy git, after all. You know that."

She lay in his arms for a few moments and he waited for her to curve herself back into him and relax again. After she did she said, voice a little scared, "You aren't, though."

"Aren't what?" he asked, hands still rubbing her back.

"Aren't bossy," she said. "You… you definitely try to get me to talk…you have a thing about begging, but you never actually tell me to do anything."

Tom stopped moving his hand and tried to control his breathing. "What would you do if I did?"

Hermione's voice had a touch of the bravado she pulled on when she was nervous. "In bed or out?"

"In," Tom said, his own voice started to get ragged, "definitely in."

"Why don't you find out?" Hermione burrowed herself deeper into his shoulder.

Tom groaned at even the hint of the possibility of what she was holding out to him. He took her hand and placed it over the hard cock that was bloody well throbbing as it pushed against the fly of his trousers and said, "This. This is what even the thought of…." He swallowed and reassembled his composure, a composure the witch quivering next to him seemed to manage to take apart with disturbing ease. "Are you sure?"

She shrugged and he pulled himself away from her and sat up. Looking down at the rumpled woman who'd rolled over to her side and had nerves and doubt and, Merlin help him, raw lust all shifting on her face he said, "Then suck my cock." When she didn't move reached down and took two of her fingers into his and squeezed them in the little reassuring gesture that had become theirs. She smiled at him then and so he added, his voice the cold tone she'd never heard before but that Theo and Draco would have both recognized, "Now, Hermione."

He released her fingers and shifted to the edge of the bed and began to remove his trousers and pants, kicking them across the room once he had them off. He sprawled his legs and pointed to the floor at his feet with a quick, snapped gesture that had her scrambling to obey him. When she was there, kneeling on the floor her hands shoving her hair back, too nervous to remember sticking charms, she said, voice shaking, "I don't know how. I've never –"

"Then I suggest you figure it out," he said, keeping his voice cool even as his blood pounded more in his veins at her admission she was his, just his, no matter how many boys had tried to grope her at school dances, even as he pulled two of her fingers back into his hand and gently held on to them.

Just his.

She lowered her mouth to his cock, taking him into her and he forced his hands to stay relaxed instead of grabbing at her hair as she slid her lips up and down his shaft, slowly at first, then with greater suction and more speed. She first tried tracing her tongue along him within her mouth and then twirling it around and he couldn't control a groan. She did it again and he hissed out a breath. "Like that, Hermione," he heard himself say and then she was taking him as deeply into her mouth as she could. He felt the tip of his cock push against what must be the back of her throat and she was moving her head up and down and she was so goddamn warm and her tongue – fucking Merlin her tongue – was doing something he couldn't even name and he couldn't stand it anymore. Could not stand it. Her lips her tight around him and her mouth and he looked down and she was just there, kneeling between his feet, her mouth on him and the visual of her that way was too much. His witch, at his feet, his cock in her mouth and he let himself let his self control go at last and fisted his hands in her hair and yanked her head to him even more firmly. She whimpered a bit at how rough he was but didn't fight back and he was thrusting into her mouth, holding her against him, until he came, breathing hard and looking down at her. She tugged her head back, almost asking if he'd let her go, and he released her at that silent request. She slid herself off him and he could see her swallow.

Could see her swallow. Just… Merlin.

He reached a hand down and she took it and he settled back onto the bed, her at his side, and he brushed his lips across her temple. "Well," he asked, "how did you like being told what to do?"

He wasn't sure what he expected her answer to be. Didn't expect her to take his hand and press it up against her knickers where he could feel how wet she was even through the satin. Didn't expect to feel her pulse pounding against the fingers she was holding to herself.

"You liked it, I'm guessing," he said with some awe because he wouldn't have thought this could have gotten any better and yet it had.

"I feel like I shouldn't," she said. "I feel like… like there's something wrong with me but when you… I could just feel all my nerves start to tingle and my body just… yeah," she finally settled on.

He pulled his hand away from her knickers – though that was something that clearly needed tending to once he'd reassured her – and ran a thumb over her mouth. "I don't think there's anything wrong with you," he said. "We're just playing. What would you do if I started telling you what to do outside our room?"

She snorted. "Assuming you weren't using the serious voice, I'd tell you to bugger off."

"The serious voice?" He narrowed his eyes.

She shrugged, self-conscious again. "You have a tone you use when you aren't… when you mean it. I think of it as your 'dark wizard' voice."

"My 'dark wizard voice'," Tom said, amused at that.

"Right," she said, ignoring that amusement, "but assuming you weren't using that tone, I'd tell you where you could shove your orders."

"So… why worry about what we do for fun?" he asked. "You know I'd never hurt you, not really. You know you can trust me." He reached his hand back towards her knickers. "Your turn?" he asked.

"Please," she whispered and he laughed quietly as he began to get her off while murmuring into her ear the whole while how incredible she'd been, how much he'd loved watching her suck him off, how much he adored her.

"I adore you," he was saying as she shuddered against his twirling fingers. "I adore you my perfect, perfect Hermione."

. . . . . . . . .

A/N – I don't know. I got nothing. It's warm out and I'm 1300 words behind my writing goal for the day.

12. Chapter 12

"There's chess in the Slytherin common room tonight," Draco said to Theo over dinner.

"Can't," he said, not really paying attention to the man as he poked at the shepherd's pie sitting in the middle of the table. "This?" he asked. "Again?"

"It's good," Draco said, "and why not?"

"Dueling," Theo said shortly. "Blaise, pass me the salad. I am so sick of this crap."

Blaise Zabini passed the bowl down with a muttered comment about rabbits that earned him a glare and a strenuously polite 'Thank you'.

"With whom?" Draco asked. "Was it supposed to be me because if so I need to go tell them to take me off the roster. We're playing for my 18-year fire whiskey and – "

"Not you," Theo said. "Pansy."

"Pansy?" Draco put his fork down and stared at Theo as the man pushed most of the salad out of the communal bowl onto his plate. "As in my ex-girlfriend Pansy? Why?" He rubbed between his eyes with a sigh. "Riddle, right? Man, I'm sorry. She's barely fucking competent at regular class work. Teaching her… stuff… must be brutal."

But Theo shook his head, still barely paying attention to Draco. "She's good," he said. "She's gotten really good. She managed to hit Granger once."

"I'm sorry, what?" Draco said.

Theo glanced over at him, amused. "She's good, Draco. She's vicious and cunning and she keeps me on my toes." He looked back at the center of the table, searching for the salad dressing. "She's a shiteload better than you are, that's for damn sure."

"Pansy?" Draco said again in obvious disbelief.

"Yes, Draco," the girl in question said, sliding in next to him on the bench. "Me. Close your mouth or you'll catch flies." She smiled at Theo. "I've been doing some reading," she said.

Draco gaped at her a little more.

Theo looked at her with obvious pleasure. "Nothing you can't heal, remember?"

"What if I know you could heal it?" she asked.

"I am so fucked," Theo said but Draco noticed he was trying to hide a grin as he snapped, "Zabini, pass the dressing down too, you wanker."

. . . . . . . . . .

They had somehow come together as a group and were all walking down toward the lake, scarves wrapped around them to hold off the fall chill. Tom surveyed his people, some confirmed and some that he was still considering. Hermione had her head close to Harry Potter's and was gesturing with enough vehemence he knew she was arguing about one of her assorted pet causes. That airy-fairy Luna Lovegood was picking grasses and weaving them into a complex crown; even from where he was he could tell she was tying runic knot patterns into them. This sort of thing, of course, was why he was thinking about her as a potential recruit despite her apparent dottiness. Neville Longbottom and Draco Malfoy were posturing at one another - no surprise there - and Ginny Weasley seemed to be goading them by flirting outrageously with first one and then the other. Pansy seemed stiff as she moved, like she wasn't sure she was really welcome, and she had her arms wrapped around herself and wasn't talking to anyone. Crabbe and Goyle, boys he still considered to be remarkably stupid but whose loyalty had been easy enough to capture after a few object lessons in cruelty and obedience, slouched behind the rest of his clever lackeys and potential recruits, uncomfortable and there only because he'd commanded it.

Theodore Nott walked easily at his side. The lanky boy was watching Hermione and Potter and, when Potter gave her an exasperated shove and she laughed and slung an arm around her shoulder, he said with his voice neutral, "You give her a long leash."

Tom glanced over at Theo and snorted. He raised his voice and called, "Hermione!"

She turned and looked back and him and, pulling herself away from Potter, worked her way back through the group to his side. "What?" she asked him.

"Just wanted a kiss," he said, putting his hands on her face and bending down to brush his lips across hers before capturing her mouth for a brief moment.

When he released her she smiled up at him, transparent happiness suffusing her face. "You are such a pain in my arse," she said.

He laughed and swatted her on that arse. "Run back to play with Potter. I'll reclaim you when we get settled."

After she'd trotted back to Harry Potter's side, presumably to continue her argument about whatever it was they were discussing, Theo said, voice dry, "She comes when she's called, I see."

"Why wouldn't she?" Tom said. "She belongs to me. Don't ever mistake that fact just because, as you put it, the leash is long."

Theo nodded. When he spoke again he'd mastered his voice with the kind of careful control you hear in people who are very nervous. "Granger and I have never been friends, but you can't duel someone for years and not end up knowing them pretty well. I'd be… if you were just using her for some reason of your own and planned to toss her aside when you were done I'd have to – "

"You'll have to do nothing." Tom cut him off. He looked over at the girl, her hair catching the glints of the light, and said, "As I said, she belongs to me, understood?"

Theo swallowed hard but, to his credit, Tom thought, didn't break stride.

"Don't ever question me again," Tom said. "I'll overlook it this one time because you were concerned for Hermione."

"My apologies," Theo said.

When they all reached a flat area they flopped down in the dying grass and pulled assorted purloined treats from pockets. When everyone was done adding to the communal pile they had flasks of alcohol, bags of sweets, and something green and crunchy that Luna insisted was delicious but which no one else would eat because it looked too much like dried leaves.

Tom stretched him legs out in front on him and leaned back on his hands as the first flask was passed around and asked, "What do you all plan to do after graduation?"

Draco Malfoy answered first. Of course, he'd been told to ahead of time. "Politics, I assume," he said, taking a swig and passing the flask in his hand on. "Family business, so to speak."

"That and being utter prats," Ginny Weasley said.

"No need to repeat what I said," Draco said with a smirk. "I think they all understood me the first time.

Harry Potter laughed and then, at Ginny's scowl, muttered, "What? It was funny. Merlin. I can't do anything right around you."

"What about you?" she challenged him. "What do you plan to do after you leave?"

"Dunno," he said. "I'm sure my dad and mum would want me to be an Auror but there doesn't seem much point. There hasn't been a real Dark wizard since Grindelwald and I don't really want to train for years just to go scare little old ladies who cast some spell that was legal when they learned it and isn't any more." He sighed. "But what else am I supposed to do, Gin? Open a shop like your brothers? I don't really have much of a purpose, you know?"

"You good enough to be an Auror?" Tom asked. Hermione had settled herself with her head in his lap and was sucking on a candy quill and the visual was distracting enough he was able to keep his voice unconcerned and idle with no effort.

Harry Potter shrugged. "Only at Defense, really, but my dad's a bit of a whiz and my mum's brilliant so I'd have an in."

"Seems a bit unfair," Tom commented.

Neville snorted. "At least Harry's decent enough to be able to do the work. I'm barely competent and they'd let me in the program. You know the old joke about the Auror application process, right? 'Who's your dad? How's he doing?'"

"Don't belittle yourself," Hermione ordered without lifting her head. "They'd be lucky to have you."

"They wouldn't exactly appreciate my strengths, 'Mione," he said. "I'd rather not go through my entire adult life being the guy who makes everyone sigh with resignation when he gets assigned to their project."

"So what will you do?" Luna asked.

Neville looked uncomfortable. "I don't know. I can't exactly see myself being the bad guy but what else am I supposed to do with what I'm good at?"

"Garden?" she asked. "Not that there are bad guys," she added. "It's all perspective."

Tom looked at Luna and was charmed by her take on good and bad. He wondered how bad someone would have to be before she decided that this couldn't be deemed good from any angle.

"Go be bad, Neville," Draco said. "Assuming you can be bad in a sweater vest which, personally, I doubt."

"Fuck off," Neville muttered before he turned to Luna. "What about you?"

"Oh," she said. "I'm going to travel. I want to locate magics no one's seen before. We're very limited and linear in the way we think in Britain." She took the flask that continued to make its way around the group and swallowed a substantial amount of whiskey. "No reason to stay. Ministry's corrupt. Minister Fudge is a vampire in the pay of the French Inferi." She handed the flask to Vincent Crabbe who snatched it from her as quickly as he could and gave her a look that was half sneering, half nervous.

"Is Minister Fudge really a vampire?" Greg Goyle asked, looking over at Tom for confirmation.

"Oh yes," Luna said cheerfully. "It's why he's so pale and thin and carries that pint of blood around with him everywhere. Daddy told me."

Tom shook his head at Goyle with a subtle roll of his eyes and the other boy relaxed.

"What about you, love," Tom asked Hermione "Any plans?"

She took the candy quill out of her mouth. "I was going to go get a nice job at the Ministry and work my way up, but – "

"You'd only get so high," Draco said with a snort. "You aren't my favorite person, Granger, but, take my advice: stay out of politics."

"Yeah," Hermione said. "I hate to admit you're right but… I talked to McGonagall and she kind of pussyfooted her way around my questions but she finally admitted no Muggle-born had ever been more than what amounted to a glorified secretary."

Tom's fingers curled into the dirt behind him at the worn resignation in her voice.

"You could be the first," Harry Potter said, his voice filled with the kind of cheerful encouragement people tended to use with unathletic children who wanted to do youth Quidditch.

Hermione looked at him from her place on Tom's lap. "I think Tom and I might travel," she said. "He wants to go look at some old archives and, well, you know how I like books. Any excuse to get to nose around in old libraries and such."

"I am free from the burden of earning a living," Theo said, "and my father is pushing me to travel too. 'Broaden your horizons' was I believe the phrase he used though 'Stay out of the manor so I don't need to be discreet about my paid companions' was probably what he meant." He jabbed at Pansy who was sitting near him but not actually touching. "You should come with me, Pans."

She smiled tightly. "I suppose," she said. "It's not like I'm good for anything."

Hermione picked up a clump of dirty that was near her fingers and tossed it toward the other girl. "Bitch," Pansy muttered as the clod hit her knee.

"You coming with us?" Tom asked Theo, ignoring the Hermione and Pansy byplay.

Theo laughed, a practiced sound as he played out the script Tom had laid out ahead of time. "If you'll have me. Traveling about with friends sounds like more fun than just wandering the continent alone."

"We need a club," Draco said. "The travelers or something and we'll all go bum around together for a while. Merlin knows I'm perfectly happy to avoid currying favor with the powers that be in the Wizengamot for a few more years. Neville, you should come with us and skive off your grand plans to open a landscaping business, or whatever you're going to do."

"You are one of the powers that be," Ginny said to Draco.

"And I'd love to have you curry favor with me," he said with a leer.

"Is that what we're calling sex these days?" Luna asked. "I can't keep up with popular slang."

Vincent Crabbe nearly choked on the sweet he was eating.

"I am not having sex with Draco Malfoy," Ginny snapped.

"Why not?" Luna asked. She seemed mostly interested in something she saw behind Vincent Crabbe's head but, despite her vague expression, she added, "He's certainly pretty enough and I think he wants to have sex with you."

"He's Malfoy," Ginny hissed.

Draco looked offended. "You do realize most girls consider me a catch, right?"

Ginny just rolled her eyes and snatched an as-yet-untouched flask from the pile in the center of their circle, uncorked, and took a swig. She started coughing almost immediately. "What the hell is that?" she demanded. "Who brought this?"

"Family recipe," Greg Goyle said. "It's a bit strong."

"Your travel club needs a name," Luna said, looking back at Tom. "The Ones Who Devour Libraries?"

Tom laughed. "I like devouring," he admitted. "I plan to devour everything life has to offer once I'm out of school."

. . . . . . . . . .

Hermione ran her fingers over Tom's ring. They'd curled up on his bed to nominally study but she'd long since finished the entire curriculum and Tom had always been a prodigy. Classes bored both of them. "Where'd you get this?" she asked. "It's got a weird feel to it, like it's just simmering with magic."

"You can tell that?" he asked, somewhat surprised. She made one of her rude little snorts and he grinned. "Of course you can." He rubbed a cheek against her hair and pondered how much to tell her. At last he said, one hand loosely on his wand in case he needed to obliviate her, "It's a horcrux."

She sat for a moment, still running her hand over his ring, and then said, "I don't think I know that term."

He nodded. "It's not something you learn in school, especially not in a school Dumbledore runs."

"What is it," she persisted and he used one arm to hold her more tightly to him in what appeared to be affection as he kept the other on his wand. She wasn't fooled. "Something you don't want me to know about it would seem," she said rather wryly.

He sighed. "It's a piece of my soul."

"What?" she turned her head to look at him, twisting in his grip and he sighed again.

"I split my soul," he said, "and put part of it in the ring. It's… it's a way to get immortality. I can't be killed because I've tucked parts of my soul away from my mortal self."

"Oh." She turned back around and lay her head back against his shoulder, letting him keep the tight grip on her. "That's not all or you wouldn't still be holding onto me as if you might need to defend yourself against me at any moment."

Tom leaned his forehead against her. It wasn't that he was ashamed of anything he'd done. He'd wanted immortality and the cost had been acceptable. He wanted power as well and didn't plan to spend too much time – or any – wringing his hands and bemoaning that people would die for him to get it. He just didn't want the cost to include losing this witch and it wouldn't be unreasonable for her to decide what he'd done – what he was going to do – wasn't something she was willing to condone. Not giving a damn about other people and their quaint moral scruples wasn't the same thing as being ignorant of them, and he felt the unpleasant stirrings of worry in his soul.

"You have to kill someone to make a horcrux," he said, keeping his tone level. "It's Dark magic – Dumbledore would say the darkest there is – and even though you're not exactly unfamiliar with Dark magic I'm a little concerned about your reaction."

He waited for her to try to pull away, to even tense in his arms, but she didn't. She seemed to be considering what he'd said and, after moments that felt very long, she asked, "Who?"

He blinked a few times. Her responses were so rarely what he expected. "My father," he said.

"I thought you were raised in an orphanage," she protested then seemed to put it together. "Oh," she said. "Abandoned." Tom flinched at the hint of pity in her voice.

"He left my mother as well," he said, walling away her sympathy. "Turned out she'd used a love potion and when she stopped feeding it to him, well, gone."

"Even though there was a baby," Hermione murmured. "Oh, Tom, I'm so sorry."

"Well," he said, feeling the taste of the old, familiar bitterness in his mouth. "Who wants a half-blood wizard? One conceived through a lie, no less. She even named me after him and he still didn't care." He lowered his face to her hair and swallowed. "Dumbledore would be happy to tell you that anyone conceived the way I was is incapable of love. That I am a monster from birth because Merope Riddle tricked a man into loving her using magic."

Hermione huffed out with disgust. "Dumbledore," she said. "As if your mother were the only woman to ever trick a man and then try to hold him with a baby." She twisted, even in his grip, and lifted a hand to his cheek. "Being ambitious doesn't make you incapable of love, Tom. Being a murderer doesn't make you incapable of love." She turned back around. "Dumbledore's such an arsehole." There was a long pause until she said, "You can take your hand off your wand, you know."

Tom slowly loosened his grip and, releasing his wand, wrapped his other arm around her as well. "I find you very confusing," he said. "Announcing Dumbledore was an arse was not the reaction I expected."

"How many?" she asked.

"Two," he admitted, not bothering to pretend he hadn't followed her along the path of her thoughts.

"Did it hurt?"

"Me?" he asked and at her nod he almost laughed. "No," he said quietly. "It didn't hurt me at all. Dark magic doesn't hurt the magician. It feels… glorious. Ecstatic. You know that, you've been using Dark curses for years."

"Not that dark," she said, her fingers back on his ring.

"Dark enough that you know what it feels like," he said. "And the darker it gets the better it is. It's… it's bending the rules of the universe to your will. It's intoxication and it's euphoria and it's all tied up in this one moment when you make reality just submit to you. Death is supposed to be the one thing that's inevitable and it's not, not for me." He tightened his hands on her. "It doesn't have to be for you."

"Murder," she said. "I…" she shook her head. "I can't."

"You will," he said. "You all will." He stopped for a moment. "Maybe not you. But I mean to tie all of you to me with death, you know. People who've killed to be part of a group can't even leave because that would be admitting they made a mistake. Loyalty tests and chains in one act."

"Sometimes you scare me," Hermione said, fingers still going back and forth across the horcrux on his hand. He waited for her to ask whom he'd killed for the other one, what it was, but she didn't. She didn't ask and didn't move to leave. She's hovering, he thought. She wants an excuse to stay, a reason to forgive murder, or at least to justify it.

"We're going to fight a war," he said, "or I am. I want power; I don't think I've ever hidden that from you. War's the game of kings and that's what I mean to be."

"A king?" she asked, scorn in her voice.

"Not that title," he conceded. "But does the naming really matter? Kings, Ministers – they all send people they've never met to die for a goal the victims rarely understand. Hell, what they're told is usually a lie anyway. You think their hands are any cleaner than mine? At least I looked at the people who died for me; at least I did it myself."

"No," Hermione said, drawing the word out, "But they're doing it –"

"If you say 'for the greater good' I'll laugh," Tom warned her. "They're doing it for power. For economics. For resources. Oil or water or gold or access to the sea or even because they think the other side is made up of some kind of disgusting, vile subhuman; there's any number of reasons people go to war but no one – and I mean no one – has ever started a war for 'the greater good'." He kissed the side of her neck. "Wasn't that Grindelwald's motto? We'll oppress and control the Muggles for the greater good?"

"It was," she said. "Tom," she hesitated and he waited for her. The silence stretched out until at last she said, "In the past, when you were there, what did you know about Grindelwald?"

"Why?"

"Have you ever tried to read about his time in Britain?" she asked and this time it was Tom who hesitated.

"No," he said at last, "why?"

"It's been scrubbed," she said.

"What?" he asked.

"The history," she said impatiently, shifting to face him now, on one of her tears where anything that go between her and what she was interested in would get trampled on. Tom felt a moment of relief that she was setting aside – again – just how dark he was. The more she pushed away any worries she had about his past, present and future the more he would begin to seem inevitable to her. "There are no details," she was going on. "He had allies in Britain, he had to. He was here for years, but there's nothing – nothing – in the histories. He fled Britain after he murdered someone whose name is totally missing from any published account and then, years later, he let Dumbledore near enough to duel him."

"That doesn't seem that suspicious – " Tom began but she shook her head.

"They had to know each other," she said. "There's no way a man that brilliant, that powerful, would have been stupid enough to let Dumbledore challenge him to single combat if they hadn't had a history. But there's nothing. As far as the history books are concerned they met for the first time when they fought."

"And you don't believe it," Tom said, amused.

"It's too clean," she said. "If they'd met one another, worked together at some point, that would be mentioned. 'Albus Dumbledore, who had known Grindelwald from their time together at the Ministry blah blah blah' but there's nothing." She turned back in his arms and settled against his chest again. "There was something but the old coot wears his mantle of unblemished virtue like he's some kind of religious saint." She huffed out an exasperated sound. "And he has the nerve to judge you."

"You don't like him," Tom said. "Why?"

"No reason," she admitted. "I just don't trust him. I never have. All those twinkles and those lemon drops and how calmly he uses students to manage any problems, all the whole saying it's to build maturity and independence or some bullshite like that." She laced her fingers through Tom's. "He gives me the creeps in a way I can't quite name but I think he'd be happy to play your game of kings. I think he'd use children if he thought it would help his side win."

Tom tightened his fingers around hers. "I'm going to win, Hermione."

She exhaled and he heard her whisper, "And I'm going to help you, aren't I?"

"I'd prefer that," he said.

. . . . . . . . . .

A/N – Well, here we go. I hope y'all still enjoy this weird little AU. Your reviews are my meat and drink, the star to my wandering ship, the… well, you get the idea.

13. Chapter 13

Draco skulked about for several days, sullen and unpleasant to be around, before Tom finally decided he'd had enough and suggested the boy either solve his problem or let it go. "This is worse than the daily treats we used to get of your ex shrieking out your name," Tom said.

"Pansy's the problem," Draco muttered. "Or the lack of Pansy. Who am I supposed to take to the Yule Ball?"

Tom rubbed his forehead and took a deep breath. "Are you telling me I've been putting up with your scowling bullshite because you're upset you can't get a date to a school dance?" he demanded. He rubbed at his head some more and considered that he'd been far too lenient with this whinging boy; once they were out of school and he didn't have to worry about Dumbledore breathing down his neck that would change.

"It's a big fucking deal," Draco muttered. "It's our last year and people will assume I'm one step away from proposing. It's easy for you. Granger will come whenever you snap your fingers at her but I'm unfortunately single and hell will freeze before I ask someone like Daphne Greengrass. She's quite possibly the stupidest woman I've ever met and she makes my cousin Dru seem like a sweetheart and –"

Tom pulled out his wand and leveled it at Draco. "Go ask Ginevra Weasley before I make you wish you could erase the last week and start again."

"The blood traitor?" Draco began to pout before he looked closely at Tom. "Oh, of course. Is that, uh, an order?"

Tom just stared at him until Draco began to back away. When the boy had fled the Head Common Room Tom put his wand away with a groan. People had been so much more respectful of his time in 1944. Merlin. He wondered what the dress code was for this event. In 1944 it would have been formal but now it was nearly impossible to guess. He liked the shorter skirts of this era. He'd enjoyed – if been somewhat taken aback by - the lewd suggestions girls had made before he'd become publicly linked with Hermione. But the manners of this era left something to be desired. "Honestly," he muttered, "I was raised in an orphanage and I'd not whinge about things like that boy does. Whatever happened to having the good breeding to not wear your heart on your sleeve?"

. . . . . . . . . .

As soon as Draco stopped moping – Ginny Weasley having accepted his invitation to the Ball with a caustic reminder that she was not going to sleep with him just because they were going to a dance together so he could just kiss that dream goodbye – Hermione started and Tom began to feel like he was living in some kind of nightmare. "What is it?" he demanded after what felt like an eternity of feminine drooping but was, he had to admit, really only one afternoon. "Did you get a 'not your best work' on an essay or something?"

She flopped down onto their couch and crossed her arms and glared at him and he found himself rubbing his face again. "Also," he said, "before we get into whatever has you so inexplicably moody, could you tell me what the dress code is for this Ball? And what colour flowers I should get you? I'd assume black tie and white flowers because you're not married, but I overheard some daft Ravenclaw talking about matching her flowers to her date's vest and I cannot even fathom the tastelessness of that so I'm going to need some guidance here."

He looked over at Hermione who was blinking at him with what seemed to be confusion. "You're planning on taking me to the Ball?" she asked.

It was his turn to be confused. "I sleep with you every night," he pointed out. "I adore you. You belong to me. Of course I'm going to escort you to any social event that requires a partner." He watched a look of relief dance across her face and began to be irritated with her, with this modern era, with all the subtle cultural expectations he got wrong. He hated being wrong. He eased down onto the couch next to her and leaned over so his mouth was at her neck. "Was I supposed to ask?" he breathed against her skin, "when you know I'd kill anyone else you even considered attending with?"

"Tom," she muttered, "I just… yes," she said at last, "you were supposed to ask."

He nipped her earlobe with his teeth and took her wrists and held them tightly between his hands. She made one of those little gasps that told him this was something to pursue in more detail later; now he just held on more tightly as he whispered in her ear, "Will you accompany me to the Yule Ball, Miss Granger? I would be honored to be at your side for the evening."

"I… yes," she said.

"You'll dance every dance with me," he continued, letting his lips brush against her neck and then the line of her tensed jaw. "You know how I don't like seeing other men touch you."

"Harry," she said helplessly.

"One dance," Tom agreed.

"And I have to open the Ball with Malfoy," she said and then winced as his grip on her wrists briefly tightened. He released them and began to gently rub them as she said, "It's tradition; the Heads of school always start the first dance."

"I'll remind him that if he touches you inappropriately he'll spend the rest of the night spitting up blood," Tom said, bringing one of her wrists to his mouth to kiss in apology, then the other.

"I'm not a thing you own," Hermione said. "You really need to remember that."

"You want Malfoy groping you?" Tom asked, still stroking her wrists lightly with his fingertips as she sighed and shook her head. "One dance with Malfoy. One with Potter. The rest of the night by my side. And what colour flowers do I get you?"

"White is fine," she said. "And you can't go wrong with black tie though some people will have some creative interpretations of that."

Tom's expression conveyed his opinion of people who interpreted black tie 'creatively'.

Hermione frowned at him and then asked, her voice a little tentative, "Tom, what are you doing over Yule break?"

"Staying here," he said, his tone light. "I'm not even sure if the orphanage I grew up in is still in existence and, given it was a Muggle institution, I doubt they'd quite understand having me show up again now if it were."

"You plan on being alone for Yule and Christmas?" Hermione asked, turning her hands so she caught his fingers in a tight grip. "And your birthday?"

"It will be fine," he said. "It won't be different than any other year."

She tucked herself against his side and said, "There's still one more day to sign up to stay and my parents have gone on a trip to Australia anyway. I'll stay with you."

"Australia?" Tom turned his head to look at her.

"I guess they've always wanted to go," she said with a shrug that just let her nestle herself more firmly against his side. "So I can stay here with you and we'll have the dorm to ourselves and we can spend the holidays with the other stragglers and see whether I can finally manage to Imperius you."

He felt the last remnants of his irritation drain away as he nuzzled the side of her head. "I'm not sure why you're so damn hard to get with that curse," she continued and he inhaled the scent of her hair and her lotion and considered that this would be the first holiday season he'd ever spent with someone whose company he enjoyed.

"I'm very resistant to being controlled," he said.

She pulled away and looked at him and he watched the slow smile spread across her face. It was Hermione at her most dangerous, her most desirable. "Yes," she said, "that's right. You aren't the slightest bit controllable."

Tom reached a hand out and grabbed her chin and she just smirked at him as he began to smile back.

. . . . . . . . . .

Pansy showed up the afternoon of the Yule Ball with a sack in one hand, a garment bag draped over her arm, and a pair of shoes dangling from her fingertips. Draco gaped at her. "Who are you going with?" he demanded. At his tone she began to sashay across the worn hardwood floor, and her only answer was a smirk she tossed over her shoulder before opening the door to Hermione's room. The way the door slammed behind her and a silencing charm went up made it clear she had no intention of answering him.

"Women," Draco muttered.

"Get used to her," Tom said without looking up from the text he'd been studying all afternoon. "She's coming along with us after graduation."

Draco almost managed to contain his horror at that. "She is?" he asked. "Really? Pansy?"

Tom flicked his gaze up at that. "Is that a problem?" he asked.

Draco held his hands out in front of him. "No, my Lord," he muttered. "I'll just be in my room working on an essay if that's – "

"Just go," Tom said with a sigh returning to his book. He needed to share this with Hermione; the further you went back into the archives the more interesting the spell books got but also the less precise. It reminded him of a jam recipe he'd read once that directed the cook to 'stir until jam has a jam-like consistency.' The entire book was filled with assumptions the reader knew things that no one taught anymore; the notes were little more than things meant to nudge your memory instead of being explicit instructions.

It meant experimenting with these spells would be dangerous.

It meant it would be fun.

He could hardly wait until the rest of the tedious students went home and he and Hermione could see what these did. He glanced up after tracing the lines of a beautifully complex runic incantation pattern and, when he looked out the window, he realized it had gotten dark and he'd best get ready for this event lest his lovely witch start using one of these interesting spells now, and in the general direction of his testicles. A quick shower, a quick shrug into the outfit he'd liberated from one of the school storerooms no one but him seemed to know existed, and he was back at the couch, a transfigured corsage lying on the table, book in his hand.

When Hermione emerged from her room, Pansy standing behind her like a proud mother, Tom felt his mouth curve up in a slow, appreciative smile. He understood now why they had taken so long to get ready; Pansy had somehow transformed his wild, modern witch into a siren from his own time. Her hair, that curly hair he adored, had been straightened and set into large, rolled curves that framed her face and gathered at the nape of her neck. Her dress surely had to be from his own era; the soft fabric drooped loosely at her neck before it pulled itself in against her and slithered along the lines of her body. It reminded him of nothing so much as what he'd seen the society wives wear at gatherings at Abraxas' house. She was a vision of everything he had grown up to believe was beautiful and unattainable and she made Pansy, standing behind her in something flouncey and modern, look common.

He was, he admitted, biased.

When she spun for him he caught a glimpse of her legs and realized she'd found a pair of seamed stockings and he inadvertently licked his lips. She saw the movement and her smile became downright smug.

"I'm rethinking the idea of letting you dance with Potter and Malfoy," Tom said as she glided toward him. "I'm not sure I want to let you leave this room."

She laughed and batted him on the arm. "Try to control your possessive streak and think of it more as showing me off."

"I'm not going to have spent all afternoon doing this to her hair only for you to skip the dancing part and go right to the sex," Pansy said matter-of-factly, "so cut this crap out." Tom looked over at her and she added, more politely, "my lord."

Tom sighed. "None of you respect me properly," he complained as he picked up the corsage and began to fasten it to Hermione's dress.

"We do," she reassured him, stopping his hand so she could look at the flowers. "We're just difficult. But we'd all follow you anywhere and you know it."

He flashed her a smile as she catalogued the flowers he'd selected.

"White lilacs," she said, "and lily-of-the-valley. It's beautiful."

"And grass," he said as he returned to putting it on her.

She snorted at that and leaned forward to whisper in his ear. "You wish."

"Want me to prove it?" he asked and she raised her sculpted eyebrows but also turned a dull shade of red.

"Maybe later," she muttered. "Afterward."

Draco loped out of his room and eyed both women. "You look nice," he said politely to Pansy. If his eyes widened a bit at the sight of Hermione he kept himself to, "You clean up well, Granger." He nodded to Tom and seemed to debate what to call him before settling on, "my lord."

"I understand you and Miss Granger open the dancing," Tom said.

Draco nodded.

"Put a hand wrong and you'll spend the rest of the night in the infirmary while Pomfrey works to staunch the internal bleeding. Am I quite clear?"

Pansy snickered as Draco nodded again, his jaw so tense his already angular face became more pointed than usual.

The door to the common room opened and Theo stuck his head in. "Are you ready, Pansy?" he asked. He glanced at Hermione, then at Tom, and said nothing.

"You're Pansy's date?" Draco asked in clear annoyance, his nerves over Tom's threat forgotten in the light of this far more ordinary adolescent aggravation. "Whatever happened to leaving your friends' exes alone?"

Theo snorted. "It's a small school, Draco, and there's not that many women in our class. I'm certainly not going to ask Daphne Greengrass; she can't find her way out of a paper bag. And you know Greg and Mills have their long-standing thing, and, well, I'm not exactly Tracey's type."

"I so love being your last resort," Pansy said.

Theo tossed a corsage over to her. "And you would have been my first choice even if there were dozens more witches in our House. " He smiled at her. "Hundreds more."

Pansy snatched the flowers out of the air and examined them. A single stargazer lily that had barely begun to open was surrounded by orange blossoms. She narrowed her eyes and Theo shrugged.

Draco looked from one of them to the other. "I'm going to go pick up Ginny," was all he said. "With your permission, of course," he added, looking at Tom.

"Go," Tom said.

Hermione watched Pansy attach the flowers to her dress before she gasped. "I almost forgot," she said, and accioed a flower from her room. She turned to Tom and carefully stuck the small black orchid on his lapel. "A boutonniere," she said. He brushed a finger over the inky petals and then offered her his arm.

"Shall we go?" he said.

. . . . . . . . . .

Tom had, of course, charmed the corsage to remain in stasis and when Hermione released it from her dress it was as perfect as when it had been attached. She brushed her fingers over the tiny individual florets of the lilac and said, "This really was beautiful, Tom. Is beautiful."

He came up behind her and set his black orchid on the shelf; she set her corsage next to it. "Mine wilted," he said with a laugh. "Someone forgot the charm."

"I almost forgot the flower," she said, turning around so she faced him. "Count yourself lucky you got it at all."

He let his eyes slide from her waved hair to her feet; she'd already kicked her heels off and was rising and falling on the balls of her feet as if trying to stretch them out. "They hurt?" he asked and when she nodded he knelt down and took one in his hands, began to rub the sole through the silk of her stocking. "You looked amazing," he said, thumbs kneading back and forth and back and forth across her arch and along her heel. "I'm sorry it hurt you."

"It was worth it," she said. "Finding the dress, letting Pansy wrestle my hair into submission, the shoes. Worth it to see your face when I walked out of my room, worth it to see your face all night."

"No other faces?" he asked.

She laughed. "Jealous, Tom?"

"Always," he said.

She set her foot back on the floor and squatted down, took his face in her hands. "You don't need to be," she said, running her thumbs over his cheeks.

He reached out and closed his hands around her wrists. "I can't bear the idea of you as not mine," he said.

She let him pull her wrists down, taking her hands away from his face, and sighed. "I'm not interested in anyone else. You terrorized Malfoy and Harry and some poor fourth year from Hufflepuff who just wanted to dance tonight. You need to stop."

"I don't like other men touching you," Tom said, pulling them both back to standing.

"He was fourteen, Tom," she said. "You need to relax. All this – " she yanked a hand away from his grip and waved it near her hair and then down along the vintage dress, " – was for you, to make you happy." She put her free hand back on his cheek. "Because I'm yours, right?"

"I don't understand," he admitted. "I would have been quite happy with you in any dress. Why go to so much trouble for me?"

She tugged her other hand free from his loosened grasp and wrapped her arms around him. "Because… just because. Hasn't anyone ever done anything more than the minimum for you just to make you happy?"

He sighed in her embrace and said, voice patient, "Grew up in an orphanage, remember?"

"Just…."

"1940s orphanages didn't exactly have the resources for extras," he said. "And there was rationing, Hermione, even if anyone had cared. Can we not talk about this, please?"

She tipped her head up and studied his face for a moment before she said, "You just go take over everything and I'll do these whole 'worrying about you' and 'making you happy' things, okay?"

He stepped back and looked her over. "I have an idea," he said and she tilted her head to the side and made a questioning face. He took her wrists again and slowly backed her up until she was braced against the wall before lifting her hands above her head and holding them against the stones. She inhaled sharply and he nodded. "Want to pursue that?" he asked in a low murmur, "Since you're so interested in making me happy?"

Hermione licked her lips and, before he could bend in toward her and brush his own lips against her skin she said, "After we take the dress off. It's actual vintage and was hard to find and I don't want it to get torn or anything."

Tom nodded and stepped away and watched her reach to her left side, slide the zipper down and then tug the dress off. She carefully hung the silk up in his closet and he watched her, admiring the perfect seams in her stockings. When she crossed back to him he tugged down her knickers and unhooked her bra, tossing it down before sliding his hands back along her arms and holding her wrists behind her, forcing her to press herself into him. "I like the stockings too," he said, "Leave them on for me?"

"I… I can do that," she said, a little breathless already.

"Perhaps we should revisit your objection to the grass in your corsage," Tom whispered against her neck. "You mentioned something about that not being accurate." He grazed his teeth along her skin. "I think, 'you wish' were your words." He tightened his grip on her wrists. "Am I remembering correctly?"

"You are," she said, and he watched her pulse flutter at the base of her throat. She swallowed as he ground into her and that pulse seemed to get even faster.

"I am what?" he asked, pushing harder.

"You are, my lord," she whispered.

He brushed his lips against her hairline. "That wasn't so hard, was it?" he asked before releasing her and stepping back. He saw the disappointment in her eyes before he spun her around, picked her up, and settled her on their bed. He straddled her and snapped his fingers above her head. She almost glared at him for that but lifted her arms up for him and he summoned a tie from a drawer to tie them down while he asked, voice quiet, "Too much?"

She shook her head. "I'll tell you," she said.

He nodded and leaned back to look at her. "You are a fantasy come to life," he said. "The hair, the stockings, tied down in our bed waiting for me to do whatever pleases me."

She swallowed and said, pulling at the knots holding her wrists a little, "What pleases you, my lord?"

Tom shuddered and pushed off his shoes and began tugging his trousers down as quickly as he could. "You do," he said hoarsely. "Merlin, Hermione, I've been watching you all night and now you're… I'm not going to be able to wait and – "

"Don't," she said.

He stopped and looked at her.

"Please don't wait," she amended before adding, mischief in her eyes, "my lord."

He threw his pants across the room and shirt still on, held himself above her for a moment before she murmured another 'please' and he gave in and thrust himself into her. "You're so wet," he groaned as she rocked her hips against him and he looked up to see her arms straining against the tie holding them down. That visual was his undoing and, having barely started, he finished and, collapsing against her, buried his face against her skin before reaching up to free her hands. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Oh," Hermione said, twisting to her side and propping herself up on one elbow. "You thought we were done?"

. . . . . . . . . .

A/N – It's ALL FLUFFY!

Since I assume no one wants to go looking up all the flowers in the corsages: white lilacs stand for youthful innocence, lily of the valley, sweetness and luck in love, and grass for submission. Flowers are symbols in this context and as a magic user Tom would be more than comfortable using symbolic communication. Plus, he's being obnoxious. The black orchid is a symbol of power and absolute authority. Orange blossoms are a traditional wedding flower.

You can see Hermione's hair on my pinterest board for this fic. There's also a Vogue cover from 1943 so you can get a feel for the style of dress if you are interested.

If you aren't reading Linen Rope by Brightki and you like a little BDSM Tomione, you should be.

The best way to ask me questions remains not the PM feature here, as my phone despises 's servers, but tumblr where my username is (shockingly) colubrina

14. Chapter 14

Theodore Nott arrived the next morning and plopped himself down onto their couch without asking permission. Tom, who was helping himself to some tea, raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything. Theo had the smug look of a man about to twist a knife and since he wasn't stupid enough to twist one in Tom's back – or Hermione's for that matter – Tom suspected he was about to see Draco roundly mocked for something or other.

He was right.

When Draco stumbled out of his room and muttered grouchy things about his head and the punch at the Ball Theo said, "I had a wonderful time last night. It's a shame that was our last Yule Ball." He turned toward Tom. "Did you have a pleasant evening, my lord?"

Tom flicked a glance at his own door. Hermione had yet to rise. After the way she'd wrung him dry the night before, however, he wasn't surprised. "I had a most satisfactory evening," he said. "Thank you for asking."

"I didn't," Draco groused. "Ginny meant it when she said no sex."

Theo shrugged and Tom could almost see the other boy getting coiling himself up in preparation to strike. "Well," he said, "Maybe Pansy's been telling tales."

"What does that mean?" Draco demanded, sore head forgotten.

Theo looked at his nails. "The lovely Pansy had her first orgasm with a partner last night."

Draco snorted. "That's hardly true."

"Oh yes," said Theo. "It is." He smiled at Draco. "Here's a hint, mate. She's not a screamer."

Draco made a minute, disgusted shake of his head. "Yes, she is."

Theo was still smiling. "No, sweetie. She isn't."

Draco blinked a few times and began to turn a dull shade of red.

"Well," said Theo, standing up as if to stretch. "Anyone want to walk down to breakfast with me?"

. . . . . . . . . .

Draco Malfoy flinched every time Hermione turned a page in her book; he was waiting for the paper to rip and the inevitable meltdown that would follow. Flip. Flip. Flip. "Granger," he said at last. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she snapped, fingers still tense on the innocent paper.

He looked at the title of the book. Well, maybe not quite innocent paper. Cameara Obscrura Blod Magick of the Early Middle Ages. Draco assumed Tom had slipped that into her reading pile; how he coaxed books out of the library remained a mystery but he seemed to have no problems liberating tomes that belonged under lock and key - as well as multiple layers of warding - and bringing them back to their common room.

Some of them bit. Or worse.

If Hermione tore the paper in the book she was reading Draco had no idea what would happen. Nothing good, he suspected. He carefully extricated the book from her hands and set it on the table. "Yeah," he said. "Nothing's wrong. Forgive me if I don't believe you. Want to try again?"

She snorted. "Why do you care?"

"It's not me, is it?" he asked because that would be bad. That would be very bad. She could be all pissed off, that was fine, but if he'd done it he really needed to make it better before Tom got back from whatever unspeakable thing he was off doing; teaching Crabbe and Goyle new tricks, most likely, or maybe pulling the wings off flies or some such. "I haven't done something to upset you, have I?"

She gave him an annoyed look. "I realize this is hard for you to wrap your little aristocratic brain around, pale and pointy, but the world doesn't revolve around you. My world doesn't revolve around you."

Draco made an audible sigh of relief which was a mistake because she heard him.

"Honestly, Malfoy," she said, "You've called me names for years. Why the sudden concern over whether I'm a happy bunny or not?"

He suspected telling her that being Tom Riddle's girlfriend had made her beyond untouchable to anyone in the know would just irritate her more so he dodged the question. "Shouldn't you be up with the other Gryffindor 'happy bunnies'," he asked. "Isn't your lot having some kind of a 'we're all about to leave on Yule break so let's get thoroughly pissed' party?"

The witch pulled another book out of that ridiculously ugly bag of hers and opened it ferociously. "They are," was all she said.

"So, you're sitting here reading about -" he squinted at the title "- basilisks because why?"

"I've found that the presence of the Head Girl tends to make people a little uncomfortable at these things," she said without looking up. "I'm sure you've had a similar experience as Head Boy at Slytherin parties."

"Not really," Draco said. He leaned back and studied her for a minute. "What happened?" he asked at last.

She shoved her book down into her lap and looked up at him and he really looked at her for what might have been the first time. She held her mouth with tight, forced cheer and her eyes glinted with what he guessed were unshed tears. "It's fine," she said. "I'm not really a very social person."

"Still," Draco pushed as the door to their suite opened and Tom loped in, "something must have happened."

Tom dropped his own bag at the wall and narrowed his eyes at the pair of them on the couch. "Yes, Hermione," he said. "What happened?"

"Nothing," she said. "It's fine. Malfoy here just has trouble believing not everyone's a party girl."

"It's Gryffidor party time," Draco said at the same time, "and she's sitting here reading and looking like she's about to burst from something instead of getting drunk with her Housemates."

Tom crossed over to them and Draco scrambled to get off the couch and back away so Tom could sit down. Tom took the girl's hand in his and said, voice implacable, "Tell me."

"Merlin," she muttered. "Ron just said something about how I'd deigned to grace them with my presence. You two are so… this is ridiculous. I'm not good at parties, that's all."

"Weasley made you feel unwelcome in your own House?" Tom asked, his voice level. "Okay. Was there anything else? Did Potter say anything?"

"Harry and Neville told him to sod off," Hermione said. Draco watched Tom's lips quirk upwards in a little smile; all of Tom's people knew not to upset Hermione it would seem. "But… I just have a lot of reading. You've snagged all these books and I thought –"

"What exactly did Ronniekins say?" Tom asked.

Draco watched, fascinated, as the pair of them engaged in some kind of wordless struggle. Hermione glared and Tom smiled beatifically and she narrowed her eyes and he brushed his lips across her fingers and then took two of her fingers in one hand and squeezed them and finally she sagged and muttered, "He said I was practically a Slytherin because I lived up here with you two and I shouldn't even be there."

"There," Tom said, "that wasn't so hard. Anything else?"

She sighed and said, "As I was leaving some 5th or 6th year made some comment about Slytherin sandwiches and, no, I don't know who it was so don't even ask."

Draco stiffened where he stood. "I would never –," he muttered, holding a hand out in front of him. "I wouldn't presume – "

Tom flicked a glance up at him, taking his eyes off Hermione for a mere moment. "Of course you wouldn't," he said. "Find out who said it."

Draco nodded but didn't move until Tom added, voice still pleasant, "Now, please," at which Draco skittered a little, nodded again, and took off. He glanced back into the room before the door closed behind him and saw Tom pulling Hermione onto his lap and murmuring something into her ear. She looked pleased with whatever he was telling her.

. . . . . . . . . .

Ron piled eggs and toast onto his plate. "Shitty timing for the Martin kid," he said.

Hermione, who'd joined them for this last breakfast before almost everyone went home on break, turned her head to look at him. "Who?" she asked.

"Fifth year," he said. "Doubt you know him. He fell off his broom, broke his arm in three places. Pomfrey fixed him up somewhat but I guess he'll be stuck in a cast for all of break. Something about weak bones and needing extra time for the Healing to work."

"That's too bad," Hermione murmured.

"Yeah," Ron said. "Poor kid. He may never get full use of it back, I guess." He shook his head. "Don't know what god he pissed off but I sure wouldn't want whoever it was mad at me."

"Pissed off a god?" Hermione asked.

"Just a saying," Ron said, reaching for the marmalade. "All the old gods, you know? Herne, Lugh, Morrigan. Merlin, Hermione. I mean, I know you're Muggle-born but I'd have thought you'd have figured some of the cultural stuff out by now."

Hermione's hand faltered a bit as she poured her juice. "Well," she said at last, "it's not like there's a class on wizarding customs or anything. I have had to kind of try to figure it out on my own."

"Well," Ron said, "let me give you a little advice."

Hermione put a polite smile on her face as she turned to look at the boy who'd been her friend for so many years. "Yes?" she said.

"Ditch Riddle. He's nothing but trouble." Ron picked up another slice of bread and didn't look at her as he said again, his voice low. "I mean it, Hermione. Get away from him while you still can. He's…" Ron shivered and looked like he was about to throw up. "Just… do yourself a favor, okay?"

"It's sweet of you to be concerned," she began, "but – "

"But nothing." Ron grabbed her hand and held on tightly. "Hermione," he said again, his face so pale he looked as if all the blood had sunk to his toes.

"Well," Tom Riddle said, coming up behind him. "This is cozy."

Ron dropped Hermione's hand and closed his eyes, his body shrinking into itself.

"I was going to walk down to the lake," Tom said. "The sun is out and it's cold but it's really very pleasant outside. I thought I'd ask you to come with me, love, but you seem to be engaged in a little tête-à-tête of your own."

She rolled her eyes and picked up her bags. "Could you try not to be so absurd?" she asked.

As they were walking away Tom glanced back at Ron Weasley, still huddled on the bench at the breakfast table. Tom reached up to touch his throat and, when Ron looked up at him, he drew his hand across his neck in what might have been an idle gesture, scratching an itch, and what might have been an explicit threat.

Ron began to dry heave.

. . . . . . . . . .

"I'll see you after break," Hermione said, throwing her arms around Harry. Tom watched this display with a calm, untroubled expression. Hermione had managed to grind into his brain that she was allowed to touch Harry. Harry was acceptable.

When she turned to Ron he could feel his shoulders tighten.

Ron looked over as the girl hugged him and, seeing Tom, stepped away from Hermione as quickly as he could. That Lavender Brown girl took his hand with a smug smile that irritated Tom even more than the hug had; did that silly bint think she'd somehow won something from Hermione? She tugged her ginger-haired fool after her into the train and Hermione waved after them.

"Friendly," Tom commented when she came back and leaned her head up against him.

"You're doing it again," she said, almost under her breath.

"I can't comment that you're friendly?" he asked.

She made a rude snort that ended when Draco came over and, picking up her hand, kissed the back, his lips just brushing the skin. "See you after break," he said with a nod to Tom. No one said 'my lord' in public but the words were there, swimming under the surface calm of his speech.

Riddle nodded back.

Ginny Weasley, who had been waiting for Draco, saw him kiss Hermione's hand. Her eyes narrowed and she turned and stomped onto the train. Draco sighed and muttered, "I guess I have to go deal with that now."

"Have a good holiday," Hermione said as he left.

Theo and Pansy just waved from across the platform.

"Did you anticipate that?" Tom asked. She shook her head.

When the train pulled away they both headed back to the castle, relieved to enjoy some time without the pressures of Tom's ever-increasing gang.

. . . . . . . . . .

Hermione handed Tom the box with the slight hesitation of someone who isn't sure her present is quite right. He looked at the narrow, rectangular box, made more curious by her body language than he was by the prospect of the gift itself. "I got it when I went into London with Harry a bit ago, when I found the dress," she said, the words coming so quickly after one another they nearly ran together. "I don't know… the provenance may be wrong and you may be angry that I… just open it already."

Tom looked at her. "Angry?" he asked, moving a little closer to her as he weighed the box in his hand. "Why would I be angry?"

She bit her lip. "Because I pulled your file and read your history." He began to smile as she went on. "And it took some doing, by the way. I had to break into three different offices to find it and it was protected with some nasty do-not-tamper wards I had to unravel."

Tom kissed her lightly at the side of her mouth as she stopped prattling on, amusement that she'd gone to so much trouble slightly stronger than the annoyance she'd done research on him. "Find out anything interesting?" he purred as he ran a hand down her arm and let it rest on her hip.

She shivered under his hand but it was the happy shiver that he enjoyed, not actual fear. Whatever she'd found out she didn't think he'd be that upset. "Last descendent of Salazar Slytherin," she whispered against his ear, nipping it with her teeth. "Brilliant. Four separate professors refer to you in your file as a 'prodigy'. But trouble does follow you wherever you go."

"It does," he agreed. "What does that have to do with this?"

"Just open it," she said, stepping back.

He pried the paper off, enjoying the way she's held it in place with warded sticking charms that required him to unravel them before he could open the box. Required, he noted, him to unravel them. This present literally could not have been opened by anyone else. Curious. When he lifted the lid off the box he pulled out a small gold locket; an S spelled out with emeralds graced the front. The inside was empty.

"The shopkeeper said he had purchased it from a Merope Gaunt," Hermione said. "She'd apparently claimed it had been handed down in her family for generations, that it had belonged to Salazar Slytherin himself. The man didn't believe her, bought it for the value of the gold and gems, but whether she was right about the history or not…Tom, it's your mother's locket." She paused. "Happy Birthday."

He closed his fingers around the piece of jewelry with an almost compulsive clutch of his hand and then looked away from it at the witch standing it front of him. She looked nervous and her 'happy birthday' had ended as a question, as if she really weren't sure he was happy with her gift.

"Hermione," he said. "This…" he closed his eyes and swallowed hard. "I can't tell you what this means to me."

"So, you like it?" she asked. "I wasn't sure if it wasn't too much, wasn't too, I don't know, personal or –"

He grabbed her face with his hands, the locket pressing into her cheek and kissed her frantically. He had to struggle to keep from breaking down. When he drew back she reached a hand up and pushed a lock of hair that had fallen down into his eyes back. He said, very quietly, "Thank you for this."

She nodded and then plucked the locket from his hand and said, "Turn around so I can fasten it for you. He mutely obeyed as she unhooked the chain, drew it around his neck and then, fumbling once with the clasp, closed it. When he turned back around he kissed her again, back in control, but when they broke apart he could tell by her look she'd seen more than he meant her to. More than he meant anyone to. She didn't humiliate him by wallowing in sentiment though, or telling him anything as pathetic as he could share his soft side with her. She just leaned into him and pressed her lips to his and he tasted the fire whiskey they'd smuggled into their room the week before and slowly he let his hands entangle in her hair and let himself be charmed she'd had to give herself a dose of liquid courage before admitting she'd done research on him.

"I didn't get you anything for your birthday," he said.

"Well, it was way back in September," she said. "We barely knew each other. It would have been weird."

"I didn't get you a Christmas present," he continued and she actually laughed at that.

"Well," she said, "I didn't get you one either. Even with encouraging the shop keeper to drop his price on this, I did rather go through my whole budget."

"'Encouraging'?" Tom asked.

She shrugged. "Did you know the Imperius can be done silently and wandlessly if you focus enough? Gives you one hell of a headache afterward though."

He tugged her over toward their bed. "I think I like it even more now," he said. "My little Dark magic witch."

"Don't suppose you'd say thank you with your mouth?" she teased.

"I think I could do that," he grinned at her. "If you wanted me to."

"I do," she grinned back. "I really do."

. . . . . . . . . .

A/N – I'm almost done with the whole of Book One, which goes through graduation. It worked out to 21 chapters. After that, Book Two, the traveling years. I'll keep them all in the same fic, though. Tidier that way.

Thank you for all your lovely responses. I heart you all, in a sociopathic, basilisk-loving kind of way.

15. Chapter 15

"Try distraction this time," Tom said as Hermione rubbed her head.

"I bloody well hate legilimancy and occlumency," she muttered.

"You have to know it," Tom said, his tone implacable. She made a face and he leaned in to kiss her forehead. "Keep me out and I'll rub your feet," he offered.

Hermione sighed. "I hate this," she muttered again as she tried one more time to block Tom's relentless assault on her mind.

. . . . . . . . . .

"So this one," Hermione said, marking a page in the book and handing it across the couch to Tom, "turns your lungs inside out."

Tom didn't look appropriately impressed so she huffed and crossed her arms. He skimmed the spell and handed the book back to her before he returned to rubbing her feet as he'd promised. "We can't practice it here, Hermione. That's what we're looking for. Things we can work on here."

"Most of these are lethal," she objected. "The whole book is lethal." She set it aside with a shrug and picked the next one up out of the pile. "We'll just have to take it with us, I guess."

Tom snorted. "We can't take the whole library, Hermione."

"We need a photocopier," she muttered. "I need to figure out a photocopier spell."

"Explain," Tom said, his thumbs working back and forth on her soles.

She shrugged and closed her eyes. "We make a visual copy of the spells we really want on another sheet of parchment, bind all those loose sheets up together and make - "

"A grimoire," he said. "Who knew you were such a traditionalist?"

"Well, I don't plan to copy it all out by hand," she muttered. "I'm not that old fashioned. I'll just figure out a way to use a spell to duplicate what I want." She made a frustrated noise. "Why do we have to leave all this behind. This school has the best library in Britain and once we graduate we can't access it."

"Can't access most of it now," Tom observed.

"You do not seem that bound by the restricted section restrictions," Hermione observed, poking her finger onto the book she'd set aside and ignoring the way it hissed at her. She and the book had already had a competition for dominance and the crumpled page on the floor that was still twitching had established her right to do as she pleased with the rest of the text.

"Rules are for lesser mortals," Tom said.

"You say 'mortals' like you are one," Hermione said, summoning the loose sheet of parchment with a sigh and, after opening the cover of the book, reattaching it with a quick spell. "Now be good or next time I won't give it back," she admonished and the book trembled a little and then settled down.

"Death is not something I wish to experience," Tom said. "This is true. You could be similarly invisible to the passing of time. If you wanted."

"A horcrux?" Hermione shook her head, her hands already on another book. "I've accepted you've done it, Tom. Don't ask me to do it as well."

He didn't respond, just continued his task as she pulled another book off her pile of unread tomes and began searching for more spells that interested her. After a few minutes she said, "This one turns your bowels to snakes."

"Poetic in the right circumstances," Tom said.

Hermione took one of her scraps of parchment and marked the page.

. . . . . . . . . .

"Hi kids, I'm home," Draco called out as he pushed the door to the common room open. When he poked his head through Hermione looked up from the couch where she was surrounded by a pile of books. This wasn't that unusual a sight and Draco would have thought nothing of it if it weren't for the way one of them was suspended in a column of flame.

"It was a bad book?" he asked, dropping his bag to the floor.

"Sometimes things require a reminder that they are, well, things," Hermione said before she stood up and stretched out her legs. "I take it the train's in?"

"Your peaceful holiday is over," Draco agreed. "Noise and patrol schedules and first year girls who want to know why that bathroom is always flooded."

"And earnest meetings with our Heads of House to plan out our futures," Hermione added with a grimace. "What do you think Snape will suggest for you?"

"I've already told him I plan to travel," Draco said. "My father agreed to loan me the castle in Wales and moved a tidy sum to my personal vault over the holiday. My meeting with Snape will be little more than 'Have a nice trip, you filthy rich bastard I despise.'"

Hermione grinned at him. "I thought Snape liked you."

"Snape kisses my arse because of my father," Draco corrected her somewhat sourly. "Just you wait, you'll see how tiresome that gets." He made his way to the couch, avoiding the burning book, and flopped down. "I take it you haven't mentioned your plans to McGonagall?"

"No," she admitted. "'Independent research into the Dark Arts' didn't seem like a good thing to write down on my form so I just put, 'Undecided.'"

"Probably a good choice," Draco said. "Head down to dinner?"

Hermione nodded and he held a hand out to her.

"You just planning on leaving that thing burning?" he asked at the door before they left.

"It needs to learn not to cross me," she said, "So yes."

. . . . . . . . . .

Whenever Hermione would wake in the middle of the night Tom would be awake. "I'm a light sleeper," he said. "You move and it wakes me up." She'd offered – once - to return to her own room but the look on his face ended that idea quickly. Sometimes he'd run his fingers through her hair and soothe her back into sleep. He'd brush kisses across her hairline at the back of her neck, undemanding affection that she'd luxuriate in until she'd turn to lay her cheek against his chest and drift back into darkness. The day she had her official career counseling meeting with McGonagall, though, she didn't fall back to sleep in his arms but lay there, her mind churning until he propped himself up on an elbow and looked down at her, restless in their dim room. "What happened?" he asked.

"I guess it's good we plan to travel," she said, her voice low. "I guess it's good I wasn't planning on trying to get that Ministry job after all."

"Oh?" he asked, running a finger along the curve of the top of her shirt.

"You were right," she said bitterly. "Options remain limited for a Muggle-born. She apologized, admitted it wasn't fair, but suggested I consider other choices, other fields besides politics."

Tom put a hand on her shoulder and lowered his head down to her ear. "You're going to win at politics, love. I'll make you a queen," he murmured. "People will pray for your smiles and fear your frowns and you'll be the only person who'll be able to move me to mercy."

"That should bother me," Hermione nearly whispered.

He tangled his fingers in her hair and tugged on it lightly as he pulled it away and dragged her head closer to his. "I'm going to do it anyway," he said, his voice hot on the back of her neck. "You might as well not waste any energy on being upset about it. These people, they think they can dismiss you for your birth when you're mine? They'll regret that."

"I don't belong to you," she said. "Not really. I know you like to say it but I don't."

"Wrong," he said, "but no matter. Come and be my love, Hermione, and we shall all the pleasures prove – "

She gasped as his fingers slipped down the curve of her back to rest right under the edge of her knickers. "I don't think you're talking about sitting around and smelling the roses in some idyllic field with sheep," she choked out.

"Sheep are messy and grass itches," he agreed. "I think I prefer the halls of power."

She turned in the bed until she was on her back and slid her own hand along his stomach, reaching her fingers down until she had them tangled in wiry curls. "A queen?" she said, her voice almost playful. "But I'm not one of the pure and I've been told that, as unfortunate as it is, a bit of an old boys network keeps them in power. Are you sure you wouldn't prefer Pansy?"

He took first one of her hands and then the other and pulled them above her head and held them there with one hand while running the other along her jaw. "I'd consider it if she were able to take you down," he said, matching her teasing tone, "but since all she can manage is a light scratch, rather like Neville – "

"I was careless with Neville," she protested as she pushed her wrists back up against his grip.

"- As I am not the slightest bit interested in her I'm afraid you'll have to do." He pushed her wrists down harder into the pillow and she whimpered. "None of that, queen of mine. I can almost hear your heart rate accelerate. I bet if I reached down and slipped a finger into you you'd be wet and ready for me, just from the idea of being mine, just from being pinned like this." He licked his lips as he looked down at her. "Should I?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"Tell me you'll be mine," he ordered as he slid his hand slowly along her curves, stopping to caress one hip, before slipping his hand into her knickers and laying his fingers lightly against her. She made a keening noise and thrust her hips up against his hand.

"I'll be yours," she said, voice ragged. "Am yours. Queen, friend, toy, ally. For the love of Merlin, Tom, touch me, please."

"I was right," he said as he ran his fingers across her and she whimpered. "Such a good girl you were, Miss Granger, until I showed up. Regulation length skirts and everything done on time and no one ever had the slightest doubt you'd be a good little secretary for some pureblood who didn't have half your magical talent." He plunged two fingers into her. "Probably Theo since you can actually stand him. And now look at you. In my bed, begging me to touch you, planning on doing any number of naughty things with me after graduation."

"Tom, please," she said again as he resumed running his fingers over her in a pattern they both knew would result in her falling apart."

"You belong to me," he said and, her eyes closed, she nodded frantically as he kept his fingers moving. "You'll stop denying it, stop arguing," he said. "No more career counseling meetings. No more getting upset at petty rules and expectations that don't apply to you."

"Yes, no," she said, eyes still closed as she pushed herself against his hand. "Whatever you want, Tom. Yours, yours, yours, yours, yours." She gasped the last out in a ragged whimper as she stiffened against his hand and he pulled his hand up, released her wrists, and leaned back on his elbow again.

"Mine," he said with satisfaction as he tapped her lightly on the nose with a finger dripping in her own fluids.

She stuck a tongue out at him.

"Feel better?" he asked.

She huffed out a laugh. "Yeah," she admitted. "You're pretty good at getting me to stop wallowing." She grinned at him. "I was careless with Neville, you know. There's no way he could hit me again."

"I am aware," Tom said. "Why do you think I adore you the way I do?"

"My skill with proof-reading?" she asked.

"Yes, I'm sure that's it," he agreed and leaned down to brush his lips across hers. "It's hard to resist a girl who knows what to do with a semi-colon."

She reached her hands up and tangled them in his dark hair and tugged him closer. "I adore you too," she whispered against his mouth before she bit his lip hard enough to make him push her back down into the bed and thrust his tongue into her mouth.

"Minx," he said after a minute.

"Queen," she corrected him.

"Well," he said eyeing her. "We may come up with different titles. How does 'my Lady' suit you?"

"Since you're making your followers call you 'my Lord'?" she asked. He just looked at her and she began to smile. "Then I suppose it will suit just fine." There was a pause before she added, her tongue darting out to lick at her lips, "my Lord."

He exhaled and caught his fingers in her hair and held her. "You know how I like that," he whispered. "I like hearing you say that. Do it again."

"My Lord," she whispered.

. . . . . . . . . .

Ron muttered something under his breath and when Harry asked, a sharp edge to his voice, what Ron had said, the boy repeated himself. "I'm not surprised. It's not like you have time for any of your old friends now that you're a part of Riddle's gang."

Harry pushed his chair back from the table where both of them had been studying for their N.E.W.T.s. Or, rather, Harry had been studying and Ron had been doodling what looked like pygmy puffs on a list of 'things to know' McGonagall had passed out in their last Transfiguration class. Tom Riddle had made it clear he expected all of 'his people' to do well on their exams, a comment that would have seemed idle if he hadn't had the tip of his wand grinding into Vincent Crabbe's temple as he said it; Crabbe had whimpered as he tried to keep from passing out from whatever Tom had been doing to him to express his displeasure with the boy's latest marks. Harry had doubled his study time after that little demonstration and that had meant he'd had to tell Ron that, no, he didn't have time for a pick-up game of Quidditch that afternoon.

"We do have exams coming up in the spring," Harry said. "I don't think being friends with Riddle has anything to do with that."

"You aren't his friend," Ron said with a snort. "You're his fucking follower, just like the rest of them. His lapdog. Does he give you people biscuits when you're good and swats with rolled up newspapers when you're bad?"

"Don't be such an arse," Harry said. "Riddle's a bloody breath of fresh air. He doesn't act like I should be ashamed of my mother or be kissing the hem of Dumbledore's robes because he beat Grindelwald."

"Yeah," Ron said, "You two are so close you might be on a first name basis sometime in the next few years. Do you fetch for him, puppy dog?"

"Seriously," Harry said, "fuck off. Do you even hear yourself? I'm sorry, mate, if Hermione picked him over you but you weren't exactly that good to her. Riddle treats her like a fucking queen, in case you hadn't noticed. He doesn't ignore her for days and then ask her if he can copy her work like we both did for years. And he's been good for her; she actually sticks up for herself now and she's got an actual girlfriend."

"Parkinson," Ron said with disgust. "The slut of Slytherin. I noticed." He eyed Harry. "Have you noticed that all his little friends treat her like they're afraid to breathe on her wrong, like Riddle'll break their fingers if they touch her?"

Harry rolled his eyes.

"I'm not joking," Ron said. "Look for it, Harry. It's not normal, the way everyone's afraid of him, afraid of her because she's his girlfriend."

"Merlin," Harry said. "Get the fuck over your jealousy, Ron. You could come hang out with us sometime if you wanted to actually get to know the man, you know."

"I'd rather eat glass," Ron muttered.

"Whatever," Harry said. "I need to go over this information more. Get lost, Ron."

"Do you hear yourself," Ron said, echoing Harry's earlier words. "This isn't like you, Harry. It's like you're under a bloody spell or something."

Harry looked up one last time, an annoyed glare on his face. "Go away or shut the fuck up. I need to review this."

. . . . . . . . . . .

A/N - Tom references Marlowe, The Passionate Shepherd to his Love. But you knew that.

16. Chapter 16

A/N – This chapter contains approximately 5-10 seconds of non-consensual sexual contact.

. . . . . . . . . .

Tom looped the rope around her wrists, tucking his own fingers inside the binding to make sure it wasn't too snug even as he asked, "Is that good?"

Hermione nodded and licked her lips, the slight nervousness in her eyes the best intoxicant he'd ever found. She was leaning up against the headboard of his bed – their bed – and he'd stretched her arms up above her, looping the rope around a bracket set in the wall that had probably been meant to support a bookshelf though, with the way this castle had made a room just for him, maybe not. She'd already cast her clothes aside and they lay in a pile on the floor, the black lace of her knickers peeking out of her otherwise sedate wardrobe.

Tom smiled at her and then sprawled out in front of her, pushing her legs apart so he could see all of her spread before him. "Helpless in my bed," he murmured, "my poor little victim." He looked up at her. "Isn't that right?" When she didn't answer he sharpened his tone, put on the voice she'd called his 'dark lord' voice, and asked again. "Isn't that right, Hermione?"

He reached out and ran a finger over her, marveling at the way just that tone, just that hint of a threat, turned her on.

"Yes, my lord," she whispered.

He studied her, pushing her thighs even further apart and letting himself revel in the visual display. "Mine," he said, the tone rougher than he'd meant it to be, and she made a sound like she planned to disagree with him so he distracted her by running his tongue lightly over and around the pink folds arrayed before him. She gasped and tried to press herself more firmly against him but he pushed her back. "No," he snapped and, quivering, she tried to hold herself still as he teased her.

Flick. And touch. And tease. And she gasped and thrust her hips toward him. "I said to stay still," he said, sliding the edges of his thumbnails along her thighs. A voiceless curse turned the lines into shallow cuts in her skin and she gasped and pulled away from him.

"Stop it," she said, her voice shaking.

"You don't get to tell me what to do," Tom said, first slapping her on the inner thigh and then running his thumb nails over her again and leaving another shallow cut. "I'm the one in charge here."

"Tom," she said, struggling to close the legs he was still holding open. "Stop it."

He looked up at the sound of her using his name, planning first to reprimand her for that, but then his eyes widened. She was pulling on the ropes holding her hands, pulling so hard she'd managed to tighten the knots and he could see that the bonds were clearly too tight around her wrists, even from where he was lying at her thighs. He knelt up to loosen them and she shrank away from him.

"Hermione," he said, worried now.

"Let me go," she said, still pulling on the ropes and clearly too panicked to remember she could just release them using magic.

"Just calm down," he snapped as he tried to grab hold of her hands. "I can't undo the knots if you're yanking at them like that."

She was breathing quickly, nearly hysterical, and he had to cast a quick body bind just to get her to stop pulling on her wrists long enough for him to untie them. He struggled with the knots because she'd managed to get them so tight and finally just used the same delicate cutting spell he'd used on her to slice through the ropes.

Once he released her from the body bind and her hands were free Hermione scrambled across the room and out the door, her clothes left in a sad pile by his chair. Tom snatched up a pair of trousers and got them on in time to push his way out into their common room and see the door slam of Hermione's room slam behind her. Draco had been sitting on the couch reading some textbook or other but he'd stood and was staring after Hermione. When he turned to look at Tom it was clear he'd put two and two together and gotten what Tom considered to be five.

"What did you do?" Draco demanded in a low, furious voice. He moved toward Tom and Tom thought with irritation that this would have to be the moment when Draco finally grew a spine in that privileged soul of his and decide to stand up for someone other than himself. Could he have picked a less convenient time? "Tom Riddle, what did you do to her?" His voice got louder. "Just because she's your girlfriend doesn't give you the right – "

"Not now," Tom snarled and pushed Draco aside with a wandless, voiceless hex that had the blond back on the couch, his eyes wide. Hermione had locked and warded her door and Tom slammed his fist into it and then set to work dismantling the wards. When he opened the door she'd wrapped herself in a ratty robe and was rubbing at her wrists.

"Get out," she said, her voice angrier than he'd ever heard it.

"Hermione," Tom said, holding his hands out toward her. He had to fix this. No matter what, he had to fix this. "Let me talk to you."

"I said get out," she said again, and Tom felt the same hex he's used against Draco push him back out her door. She shut that door after him and the wards slammed back up but he could hear her voice, as loud as if she were standing next to him in the common room, "If you try to come in here again, I will set you on fire and let you work on 'stop' yourself."

Tom stalked back across the common room, stopping to glare at Draco. "I didn't do anything," he hissed before he slammed his own door, grabbed a book off his shelf and hurled it at the wall in frustration, transfiguring the volume to glass mid-flight so it would make a more satisfying crash.

. . . . . . . . . .

When Tom left his room the following morning the unpleasant sight of Draco and Hermione huddled up on the couch greeted him. The blond was handing her a mug of tea and she had her feet pulled up under her.

"Get away from her," Tom said automatically.

Hermione almost snarled at him. "You do not get to choose my friends and you do not get to dictate who sits with me, who makes me tea, or who touches me."

"Hermione," Tom said, his fists balling at his side and his eyes flashing in a way that would have cowed any sensible person. "We need to talk."

She cast an ostentatiously wandless time spell and looked at it. "Actually, it seems you need to leave for class. I suggest you get on that."

"Please," Tom forced out through gritted teeth but she'd turned away from him and was sipping at her tea.

"So," she said to Draco, "Tell me more about your library."

Draco looked nervously up at Tom but began to obediently recite the virtues of the Malfoy's private library. "We will talk later," Tom mouthed at Draco and the man gave him a minute nod. Satisfied his lackey was still at least mostly his lackey Tom left their common room. He didn't even permit himself the pleasure of even a slight increase in volume in the way he shut the door. No one needed to know he was upset.

He didn't see her again until after dinner when she tiredly agreed to go for a walk to the lake with him.

"You scared her," Draco had said when he'd cornered the man. In response to Tom's wordless but apparently obvious fear Draco had added, "She's still stupidly nuts about you for whatever reason but she's pretty freaked out by whatever happened."

"Thank you," Tom had said.

"My lord," Draco had said, the tone a little wry.

"Your lady too," Tom had observed.

"There is that," Draco had agreed, adding, "I would find it easier if you two weren't at odds."

"We won't be for long," Tom had said.

"I'm sorry," was the first thing Tom said once he and Hermione had walked far enough away from the castle no one would be able to hear them. "I really, really didn't know you were serious until… as soon as I understood, I stopped."

"You hurt me," she said. She wasn't even looking at him. Her arms were folded over her body and she was hunched over a little as if she were bracing herself against wind that wasn't there."

Tom swallowed and reached a hand out to her, then thought better of it and let it drop back to his side. "I didn't mean to," he said in a whisper.

"I told you to stop," she said. "I… I told you to stop and you didn't."

"I didn't realize you meant it," he said and now he wasn't the one looking at her. "I mean, you let me tie you up and you let me order you around and you let me make you call me 'my lord' and I thought –." He stopped talking, not sure what he was trying to say.

"I trusted you," Hermione was saying.

"It turns you on," Tom said in frustration. "How was I supposed to know it had stopped being fun? I thought… I thought you were just playing. Pretending. That it was more of the same. And I try to slice at you all the time, it's how we play when we duel." He'd stopped walking and was staring at his feet. "I thought it would be fun. I thought you'd like being… being pushed around that much more."

"I trusted you," she said again. "It's… I let you… and you hurt me. You hurt me and I told you to stop and you didn't."

Tom could feel the locket she'd gotten him where it lay against his skin and he could feel tears stinging behind his eyes. "How do I make this better," he asked her. "How do I… can I make it better?"

"I don't know," Hermione said and when he looked back at her he could see that she was still hunched over herself and he stepped closer to her, desperate to offer her comfort, and when she didn't move away he slowly wrapped his arms around her and held on to her. She let him shelter her and when he began to gently rub a hand up and down her back she sighed and unwound against him until she began to cry and he just stood there and patted her. "I don't want to do that anymore," Hermione said at last. "Can we be just normal?"

Tom tightened his grip on her. "Gentle?" he asked.

"No begging," she said. "No…no tying me up. No orders. Just…"

"I can do that," Tom said. "If you'll let me."

He transfigured a blade of grass to a handkerchief and wiped her eyes for her. She took it and sniffled into it as he ran a hand over her hair. His. She was his. He had no intention of letting her go. When she dropped the handkerchief, turning it back to a blade of grass as it fluttered to the ground, he leaned toward her and experimentally brushed his lips over the corner of her mouth. She returned the kiss, slowly at first, and then with just a touch more enthusiasm. "I'm sorry," he said again, his lips touching hers as he formed the words. "I never wanted to ever hurt you."

"You still did," she said, the words quiet as she lay them against his mouth.

. . . . . . . . . .

"I don't get this," Vincent Crabbe said as he tried yet again to master the spell Tom had assigned him. "It's bloody hard."

"Try it again," Greg said, rubbing at his forehead. "He's in a fucking mood today and I don't want to piss him off more if we can't do this."

. . . . . . . . . .

"I didn't rape her," Tom said to Draco. The man had pushed through his obvious fear to demand an explanation. "We just had a misunderstanding."

Draco didn't look like he quite believed that. "A 'misunderstanding'?" he asked, a hint of his well-known sneer in his voice. "You aren't supposed to have 'misunderstandings' that result in your girlfriend fleeing across the common room in the buff."

Tom's fingers twitched with the urge to reach for his wand and punish this idiot for daring to question him. Only the grim realization that Malfoy was defending Hermione –that he wanted his lackeys to defend her – kept him in check.

"She's not some filthy Muggle," Draco continued. "She's – "

"She's Hermione and she's fine," Tom said. "I'm well aware of the respect she's due. The respect I'll make everyone offer to her."

Draco looked like he wanted to say something else. It was Hermione who cut their bristling encounter off; she came out of her room, book bag in hand, and it was obvious she'd overheard their entire conversation.

"I'm fine, Draco," she said, putting one hand on his arm and looking at Tom as if daring him to object. He didn't. "Thank you for being so concerned."

"I am my lady's humble servant," Draco said, the words thrown more at Tom than at her.

"And I am going to class," the lady in question said. "Tom, will you walk me?"

He offered her his arm and escorted her out the door.

. . . . . . . . . .

Blaise watched Tom Riddle walk his wretched girlfriend to class. Just watching the man put his hands on her made Blaise want to throw up. Even if you had a thing for filth, you should have the decency not to flaunt your perversion. Some things were just beyond the pale.

. . . . . . . . . .

"Will you stay?" Tom asked. They'd been sitting in his room reviewing for N.E.W.T. exams and instead of the usual easy transition to cuddling in bed they'd sat, him on the bed, her in a chair, and both had been avoiding the question of what to do next.

Hermione looked uneasy and he added, "No sex, no pressure. Just… I miss you when... I miss you."

"I'll go get changed," she said and he nodded.

When she returned the negligees and silky knickers were gone, replaced by pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. She hovered in the doorway until he said, "Do you want to go over the 8th Principle of Arithmancy again?" Then she shook her head but joined him on the bed and he let the lights go. They lay in the dark, barely touching, until he reached an arm out and pulled her back against him. She let him move her – even shifted to nestle against him – but she didn't fit against him with the same unconscious ease he'd gotten used to.

He took one hand and pet at her hair, trying to find a way to make this go back to what it had been.

"Tell me about snakes," she said.

"What?" he asked.

"How did you first talk to snakes," she said. "Tell me about you, stuff about you when you were young."

Tom pressed his forehead against her hair and felt gratitude she'd found a way to make this easier. "The orphanage matron felt that brisk walks at the shore were good for our constitutions," he said, his voice quiet. "And when I was little I was sitting on the ground, trying to avoid her pushy insistence that I play games with the other children, and there was a small green snake and I picked it up and I just understood it."

"What did it say?" Hermione asked.

"'Put me down'," Tom said, amused at the memory. Hermione had settled against him as he spoke, more relaxed.

"Tell me more," she half-asked, half-ordered.

Tom told her what happy stories he could dredge up from the years he'd spent in institutional care and felt her body sag against him into sleep. "I'll make this right," he said, burying his face in her hair. "However long it takes, I'll make you trust me again."

. . . . . . . . . .

They'd been kissing for at least an hour and Tom had rigorously controlled himself. He wanted almost nothing more than to hold her down and thrust into her. Almost nothing. The one thing he wanted more was for her to want him back, to want that back.

He'd fucked it up. He'd had the perfect partner and he'd fucked it up. And he could make this work again but, he told himself as he didn't grab her hair and yank on it, as he didn't bite down on her lip, it was going to take time. It was going to take patience.

When she pulled her mouth away from his he propped himself on an elbow and looked at her. "Done?" he asked.

"Maybe we could," she stumbled around the words and Tom felt a prick of hope stirring as well as what felt like fond amusement at how bad she was at telling him what she wanted. He could hear himself say, in the privacy of his own head, "Tell me what you want and if you ask prettily enough maybe I'll do it."

Instead of voicing that, though, he put his hands at the waistband of her skirt and said, "Do you want to?"

"Do you?" she asked, her voice shaking a little. "I mean, if we don't…"

"Yes," he said softly. "I always want you."

He watched her throat convulse and then she nodded and he began to slip her skirt down. She took off her knickers on her own and began unbuttoning her blouse while he pulled off his own clothes. Once they were both stripped she splayed her fingers out against his stomach and he hovered, kneeling over her while she looked at him.

"You're so beautiful," she said at last. "You're just… perfect." She traced the lines of his stomach and hips, trailing her fingers down until they brushed against his cock.

He took her wrists in his hands, about to tell her to let him do the work, when he saw her eyes cloud with fear even as her breath caught. He let her go immediately. "I'm sorry," he said, cursing himself. "I didn't mean… I was… I'm sorry."

"It's stupid," she muttered, her face burning.

"It's not," he said, lacing his fingers through hers. "Can I?" He tipped his head down towards her and she nodded. He eased himself down the bed and pressed one cheek against her thigh and looked at her. Instead of splaying herself before him the way she usually did she was shy and he closed his eyes a moment before lowering his mouth to her and beginning to lap at her folds with gentle care. She was stiff under his probing tongue for a few long minutes and then she finally unwound and he felt her legs spread further apart first and then her hands reached up to twist in his hair. Finally she whimpered his name, a tiny sound but sweetness to hear, and he licked and suckled and flicked his tongue with increasing speed until the rhythm he'd found pushed her over the edge and she clutched at his hair and he felt her release beneath him.

He didn't think it had ever taken him that long to get her off.

He lifted his head and looked at her. "May I?" he asked.

"Yes," she said.

He pulled himself up her body and braced himself with one hand on either side of her head. When he pushed himself into her she closed her eyes and he found himself turning his head and looking steadily at the pillow next to her ear as he thrust into her again and again. When he came he rolled off of her immediately and gathered her into his arms. "Are you okay?" he asked.

She nodded but he wasn't sure she was telling the truth.

. . . . . . . . . .

A/N - Why? Because two people who have no access to decent information – or any information – about BDSM aren't going to get it right every time. And while realism may have no place in a fic about time traveling wizards I decided to point out why one has a safe word and why one has open conversations about things like this and what can happen when one doesn't.

17. Chapter 17

When Hermione lay next to him on the bed and started to suck his cock Tom closed his eyes and tried to focus on the sensation. This whole encounter just felt off, as if they were both going rather perfunctorily through the motions. He called up a memory of her kneeling at his feet while she did that and that was better. He reached down to grab her hair and then balled his hands up in fists. Damn it, he couldn't yank on her. They were being gentle. He was being gentle. After he'd messed everything up she'd agreed to give him a second chance on the condition they were normal.

He tried to focus on the feel of her mouth and the memory of her at his feet and pushed away his frustration that this wasn't working.

After a few minutes she pulled her mouth away with an audible pop and he opened his eyes. She looked more grim than anything else. "Should I be on top?" she asked.

Tom shrugged. "Sure," he said. "If you want."

She straddled him and he watched her lower herself down. She was tight – too tight - and she flinched a little as he entered her. "I could – " he began but she shook her head.

"I'm fine," she said.

Don't lie to me, he wanted to say but he just nodded. "If you say so," he said. She pushed herself up and down and he watched her and thought that this was probably most men's fantasy. Just lie here, he thought, and let her do the work. Her breasts bobbed up and down as she moved and she had closed her eyes and it really should be hot.

He hated it.

He could feel his cock start to actually wilt and he imagined holding her up against the wall and making her beg him to touch her and, with effort, got himself back on track. "You're so beautiful," he said, talking more to the image in his head than the woman pushing herself up and down on his cock, and she opened her eyes and looked at him, her lips moving into a sad smile.

"I'm glad you think so," she said.

Tom watched her for another moment and began to curse internally because he wanted to be the one fucking her. He wanted to hold her down, or up against that wall, and tease her until she melted and that wasn't what was happening. I could take this, he thought, if she were happy but she's not. She's wasn't; he could see her just shutting down.

"Hermione," he said. "Can we shift a little?"

"If you want," she said, lifting herself all the way off him. He nudged her onto her stomach, her cheek resting on the pillow and pushed her knees up. He reached a hand down to tease her but when she felt his fingers graze against her, she pulled forward a little. "Just finish," she said.

"I could stop," he offered, almost hoping she'd take him up on that offer.

"No," said. "It's okay."

Tom nodded even though she couldn't see him and positioned himself. He looked down at her arse and began to lift his hand to slap at her and then didn't. He was being gentle. He just slid into her and, holding onto her hips, pounded away while he thought about the sound of her voice – her now silent voice – begging him, whimpering his name, and with that fantasy on a loop he finally came. When he slipped out of her and went to return the favor she batted his hand away. "I don't think I'm really in the mood after all," she said. "Don't bother."

Hermione lay on her back and stared at the ceiling of Tom's room. He just lay next to her in silence and instead of pressing himself against her had positioned himself at the edge of their bed, on arm dangling toward the floor. They lay there for a few minutes until Hermione said with a sigh, "This isn't working."

Tom stiffened next to her.

"I just… it's not fun anymore," she muttered.

"The sex or us," Tom asked.

At that she turned her head. "The sex," she said. He let out a not-quite-masked sigh of relief.

"I liked it the other way better," he admitted, "But I don't want to…." He paused and seemed to try to gather his thoughts. "I like seeing you kneeling at my feet. I like being in control. I like… I like hitting you, as awful as that sounds, but – "

"Yeah." Hermione said. "I liked it that way too, but – "

"We can figure this out," Tom said, reaching a hand over the hold on to two of her fingers. "What did you like?"

He could almost feel her blush though he didn't turn to look at her, didn't try to make this even more uncomfortable than it already was.

"I like it when you make me talk," she said. "I mean, I hate it but… if I were making a list that would go on the plus side."

Tom nodded.

"Your turn," she said.

"I like making you nervous," he said. "I like it when you're not sure what I'm going to do, but you trust me anyway." He shifted so he was a little closer to her and she tucked one foot over his.

"I like it when you… when you tell me what to do," Hermione said. "I… I like just not being in control. I like it when you make me call you 'my lord' in bed."

He nodded; he knew that and loved that whenever she said the words out of bed she sounded sarcastic instead of respectful. The contrast amused him out of bed and turned him on in it. "I like seeing you tied up," Tom said after a moment. He could feel her flinch a little at that. "You don't like it?" he asked.

She hesitated. "That… when I couldn't get free when… when you hurt me that really scared me," she said at last. "We could try it again but – "

"Maybe if it looked like your hands were looped up in something," he asked, "but you could really pull them free anytime?"

She thought for a moment and then said, "I'm not sure how we'd get that to work but, yeah, I think that would be okay."

"We're smart people," Tom said. "We'll find something." He pressed his lips up against her hair and inhaled as she rolled herself still closer to him. "I want you to feel safe," he murmured.

"But nervous," she said, a tiny hint of teasing back in her voice.

He grinned. "Exactly," he said. "What else?"

She had to think for a moment and finally she said, "I didn't like it when you cut at me."

Tom nodded. "I won't do it again," he said. "Nothing we haven't agreed on ahead of time."

"It really hurt," she said, "and I wasn't expecting it and…" She trailed off the muttered, "It's stupid, I know, especially when I get worse cuts in dueling you all the time, but – "

"But not here," Tom said. "And that's fine." He propped himself up so he could lean down and kiss her forehead, then the edge of her hairline, and finally the tip of her nose. "And it's not stupid. I messed up and you got hurt." He laughed a little. "I'd kill anyone else who hurt you so I should probably be a little more careful myself."

"Not too careful," she said and he watched another blush steal over her cheeks.

"You," he said, "are having some kind of wicked thought." He leaned down and nipped at her ear very lightly with his teeth. "Tell me."

She mumbled something and he couldn't hear her so he knew it had to be good. He pushed his forehead up against the side of her head and waited and finally she said, only slightly more clearly, "I think I might like you to spank me."

Tom closed his eyes and inhaled. "I could do that," he said.

"If you wanted," she added.

He tried to control the way his cock had sprung to immediate attention. "I want," he said, his mouth right near her ear. "Trust me, Hermione, I want."

He could feel her shiver next to him and that did not help him push away thoughts of pulling her over his lap right now. "What else," he asked, working to keep his tone neutral. They had to have this conversation, they had to, and he couldn't let himself be distracted. "What else don't you like?"

"You tell me one," she said.

He frowned for a moment and then said, "I don't think I could insult you or… I wouldn't want to call you a whore or anything. You're mine." The last word was almost a growl. "I wouldn't own anything that wasn't… you'll be a queen. You're perfection, not some slag."

"Oh, good," she sounded relieved. "I wouldn't… I wouldn't like being belittled or… no." She nudged him with her foot. "And you don't own me."

He rolled his eyes. "I do, Hermione."

She made a disgruntled noise but didn't argue any more and they lay there, more entwined than they had been since what he'd started to think of as 'the incident' when she said, "I need a way to tell you to stop."

"Just say 'stop'," he said. "I will."

She shook her head. "You didn't, though. You thought I was begging or something. I don't… I don't want to risk that happening again. We need some kind of code we can use that means 'stop right now', something neither of us would ever say in bed."

"'Draco'?" Tom suggested.

Hermione snickered. "You are really mean," she said.

"'Basilisk'?"

She said the word a few times then shook her head. "Too many s sounds, too hard to say if I'm scared."

"'Otter'?" he asked at last. "It's your patronus, after all, and easy to say."

Hermione thought for a moment and then agreed. "'Otter'," she said.

"And I stop," he said. "Immediately, no questions asked."

She nodded and he pulled her into a tight hug. "We've got this," he said.

. . . . . . . . . . .

"There's something wrong with him," Ron said in frustration as he stood in front of Professor Dumbledore's desk. Just thinking about Riddle always made him want to quake in fear after what that bastard had done to him but Ron had gotten better at shoving those feelings down. He'd practiced sitting on his bed alone and thinking about Tom Riddle until just the thought of the nutter didn't make his heart rate accelerate and his breathing get shallow and all rational though flee his mind.

"Fucking arsehole," Ron had thought to himself. "Try to condition me to be afraid of you, will you."

Now he watched Dumbledore as the man steepled his fingers together and sighed. "Sit down, Mr. Weasley," the man said at last. "I think we need to have a talk."

Ron sat warily down in a nearby chair.

"When I first met Tom Riddle the matroness of his orphanage thought I was taking him away to a school for disturbed children," Dumbledore began. "She was most upset she had to take him back for summer holidays."

"I can imagine," Ron muttered.

Dumbledore ignored the interruption. "He was a good looking boy but he admitted to me – a mistake I'm sure he regrets – that he could make people do what he wanted. That he could make bad things happen to people who crossed him. Even," Dumbledore said, "that he could talk to snakes."

Ron's eyes widened. "But that's –"

"A rare talent," Dumbledore said smoothly, "and, while generally one associated with Dark wizards – which I'm quite sure he is – far less worrisome than the pleasure he seemed to take in being able to punish anyone who displeased him."

"You can say that again," Ron said.

Dumbledore nodded. "Just so. I suspect you've encountered his less charming side or you wouldn't be here." He sighed. "I saw children at his orphanage soil themselves as he walked past and smiled at them. He's struck me as a very troubled boy."

"Then why is he here?" Ron demanded. "He's pulled Harry and Hermione – even Neville – into his little circle of followers. He's evil and he's –"

"Charming," Dumbledore said. "And clever. And though I watched him in his own time, after that initial confession to me he never made another misstep. He was a prodigy – is a prodigy – and professors all liked the clever, charming boy who was so tragically an orphan. It made them feel good about themselves, you see, that they could teach so eager a student, could lift him out of his impoverished circumstances."

"So what do I do?" Ron asked.

"Very little, right now," Dumbledore said. "You can watch. You can wait. You can maintain your connection with Mr. Potter so he feels that he can trust you in case he ever wishes to share a confidence about Mr. Riddle's plans –"

"Plans?"

"Oh, I'm quite sure he has plans, Mr. Weasley. And I'd rather like to know what they are. Wouldn't you?"

. . . . . . . . . .

Tom made a face as Hermione tried to drape herself over his lap. "You're absolutely sure you want to do this," he asked as she shifted one way and he shifted another.

"Only if you do," she muttered, suddenly self-conscious again.

He rested one hand on her bared arse and inhaled as his fingers cupped the way it curved. "Oh, I do," he said, then flinched as she shifted again, pinning his hard cock uncomfortably against his thigh. "Just, hold on." He tried to roll her one way so he could free himself and she almost tumbled to the floor before he caught her and pulled her back more securely against his trousers. "Okay," he said.

"Okay," she repeated back.

He cleared his throat a moment before saying, "What was that, again?" in as close a replica of what she called his 'Dark Lord' voice as he could muster given his combination of nerves and arousal. Merlin, he hoped he didn't mess this up.

"My lord," she said, a tremor in her voice that sounded suspiciously like a giggle.

It brought a grin to his own face as he braced her with one hand and lifted the other, bringing it down on one arse cheek with a crack. She made a slight oofing noise and wriggled a bit on his lap.

"Say 'thank you'," he prompted her.

She inhaled at that and he wondered for a moment if he'd gone too far but she whispered, "Thank you, my lord." The tremor this time sounded a little less giggly, a little more nervous. His cock twitched at the sound and he raised his hand again and brought it down on the other cheek. He let his hand rest there while he waited for her to respond; she seemed to be considering the whole thing a little more analytically than he might like.

She twisted her head back to look at him. "You could hit a little harder," she said. "If you wanted to."

He licked his lips and, when she turned back around and rested her cheek on their bed, he raised his hand and hit her again.

"No," she said. "Really. Harder."

He sighed. She was ruining the mood; he was supposed to tell her what to do, not the other way around.

"You're the Dark Lord," she said, the giggle back in her voice. "Try letting that out a little."

He ran his hand over the curve of her arse again. "You want me to be the Dark Lord," he asked, his voice getting softer. He could do that; he would love to do that. "Are you quite sure?"

He could actually hear her swallow.

"Tell me what you want," he said, his hand still sliding back and forth over her skin. When she didn't respond he added, "Now, Hermione."

"I want you to spank me," she muttered, her voice muffled as she hid her face. "Harder."

He spread her legs a little so he could feel her and let out a low whistle at how wet she was but he just said, "You're forgetting something. Again."

He let his voice get angry on the last word and she made a slight whimpering sound before she choked out, "My lord."

"Better," he said, and lifted his hand up and smacked her again.

"Thank you," she said as he paused. "My lord."

"It's like you're getting the hang of this," he said, and delivered a series of four slaps in rapid succession, watching her carefully the whole time. She'd balled her fists at her sides and squirmed against him with each smack but when he paused she just murmured her required 'thank you.' He hit her one more time before he realized the tingle in his foot meant –

"Hermione," he said, "I need to move you. I think my foot's asleep."

She pulled herself off his lap and stood up, one hand rubbing at her arse almost unconsciously. "Maybe…" she glanced down at the crotch of his trousers which bulged unmistakably. "Maybe I could distract you while circulation comes back?"

He grinned and stood up, almost collapsing when he put weight on his foot. "Damn it," he muttered as she giggled and then looked properly cowed when he growled at her. He pulled the trousers off leaning against the mattress to keep himself from falling over, and then threw them at her. She caught them and tossed them over to his laundry pile as he yanked his pants down and pointed, as imperiously as he could, at the floor at his feet. She giggled again as she knelt down.

"That does somewhat spoil the mood, you know," he said.

"Sorry," she said with a smirk before she slid her lips around him. "My lord."

"Minx," he muttered, grabbing her hair with both hands and yanking hard. She made a slight gasp and set to work as he watched her.

Life was so good.

Even if his foot felt awful right now.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

A/N – Next week, now that we've dealt with their relationship snafu, we'll return to our previously scheduled evil.

2 other WIP tomione fics I love, both of which are linked from my favorites:

* Linen Rope by Brightki. Non-magical AU with BDSM

* Aca-demic Arrangements by Dulce de Leche Go. Non-magical AU with just utter joy and silliness.

18. Chapter 18

Tom had finally decided on a move and reached his hand toward the chess board when Blaise Zabini, who had come up behind him, stretched out, grabbed a piece, and moved it. Theo looked up and was about to tell Zabini off when he saw Tom's expression and quickly looked back down again in the guise of studying the board to find his next move.

Greg Goyle, a far less subtle creature, made a nervous, muttered excuse for Zabini even as the boy himself said, "You have a habit of making the wrong moves, Riddle."

"Oh?" Tom didn't turn around.

"Maybe no one told you, maybe things were different in your time, and I'm sure she's a convenient fuck what with you both living up there in the Head dorms but – "

At that point he yelped because Tom had grabbed his hand and pinned it to the table. Zabini tried to pull it away but Tom drawled a quick incantation and continued to press the heel of his hand down into the other boy's fingers until there was the sickening sound of at least one bone breaking from the pressure.

"I wasn't planning on moving that piece," Tom said, his voice as idle as if he were discussing the weather. Anyone overhearing him would have no idea he was exerting enough downward force with one hand to shatter a bone.

"You…you've touched it now. I mean, he has," Greg stammered. "You have to play it."

"I won't hold you to that," Theo said with a haste so awkward it made Tom laugh.

"No, no," he said. "I'll stick to the rules of the game. Now that I've touched the piece I'll play it." At that he glanced over at Zabini who had paled to an unattractive shade of grey and was trying not to whimper. "Pawns tend to end up sacrificed anyway." He took his hand away and said, "Perhaps you'll join us tomorrow afternoon when I head out toward the forest with some friends? Meet us at the back gate by the statue of the selkie and we'll all walk together."

Zabini had yanked his hand back and was cradling it, starting at Tom Riddle with fear finally creeping into his eyes. "You're mad," he said.

"You can be where I tell you to be or I can hunt you down," Tom said. "Your choice. It's your move, Theo."

Theo picked up a knight and put it down, capturing the pawn Zabini had moved. "Check," he said, sounding miserable.

"Good move," Tom said and Greg and Theo both twitched, the only indication either gave they were relieved by that response. Tom hovered his hand over the board as he apparently tried to decide upon his next move. "Don't make mistakes on purpose," he added. "Being stupid doesn't help anyone."

Zabini, who'd taken that time to cast a few quick healing spells on his hand and seemed to have the pain under control, hissed, "She's a fucking Mudblood. How can you sit here and play chess with a Mudblood lover?"

Theo's face was a study in misery as he looked at Blaise Zabini. "Don't do this," he said, nearly begging. "Apologize and take your lumps."

"Do you have a problem with Miss Granger?" Tom asked Greg Goyle. "I recall when I first met you that you seemed to."

"Didn't know her well," the boy muttered. "Never really hung out with the Gryffindors. The blood thing was just an easy slur for House rivalry, never meant anything by it, you know." He sounded desperate and Zabini was looking at him as if he'd lost his mind. "You date whomever you want, Tom. Not my business."

"Zabini here seems to think it's his business," Tom said, sliding his king behind another pawn and leaning back.

"Not mine," Greg said, shaking his head.

"Do you think she's just a convenient fuck?" Tom asked.

Theo and Greg both cringed.

"You do what you want," Greg said again. "She seems like a nice girl, don't think you'd be using her like that, but I don't know shite and it's not my place, you know?"

Theo said, voice level, "I expect you to ask me to be your best man, Tom, so I'd say no to that question."

Tom smiled across the table, "And I will," he said. "Maybe we'll have the ceremony when we find some dark and wild part of the world where magic settles over our skin like mist and we bloody well drink power the way we drink juice at breakfast at this school."

"Girls tend to like churches and flowers and shite," Greg said while Zabini gaped at them.

"Not mine," Tom said. "Mine will do what I tell her." He smiled at Greg. "Mine will think it's a great idea to get married barefoot on the moors or mountains somewhere with the full moon lighting us and wild creatures in attendance because she understands power." He paused to consider. "Or she will by then," he amended, then looked over at Zabini. "I wouldn't expect an invitation."

"I wouldn't go," the boy spit at him. "You're as vile as she is, Riddle, if you'd marry filth like that, and crazy to boot."

Theo made a tiny, pained sound like he was choking.

"I'll see you tomorrow for our walk," Tom Riddle said to Blaise Zabini before turning his full attention back to the game.

. . . . . . . . . .

"Potter?" Theo had asked, his voice filled with doubt, but he'd gone and fetched the boy anyway. Son of Aurors and best friend of Tom Riddle's girl, Harry Potter leaned up against the wall of the castle by the selkie statue with Theo as Tom, Draco, Greg, Hermione and Luna approached. Draco and Greg slouched along with the careless grace of young men and if Theo carried himself with more tension he had most of it hidden away. Luna had some kind of finger weaving she was doing and didn't even seem to see them.

"I didn't ask for Luna," Tom muttered to Theo when he sauntered up, Hermione on his arm.

"She just showed up," Theo said in an undertone. "Good luck getting her to leave."

"Where's Zabini?"

At that question Hermione made a face and pulled herself away from Tom. "Really? Blaise Zabini? Of all the people to add to your little cabal… he hates me, Tom. He's a fanatic about blood status crap."

Tom grabbed her hand back and kissed the tips of her fingers. "Remember that thing about trusting me?" She sighed and he pushed her towards Potter with the smallest of gestures. "Go play with your friend and try doing some of that trust thing, okay?"

"Why have I been summoned by our would-be noble leader?" Harry asked Hermione as they all shifted from one foot to the other, leaned against the walls and then stood up straight again, and tried not to get caught looking nervous. Only Tom and Luna appeared to be totally at ease. Tom had his hands in his pockets and stood, unmoving with a grace reminiscent of a cat watching something only he could see. Luna seemed oblivious to the tension the boys struggled to contain.

"I have no idea," Hermione said. "Being the girlfriend doesn't make me privy to all his plans. I'm supposed to just trust him."

"Do you," Harry asked.

"As far as anything regarding me?" Hermione looked over at where Tom and Theo had their heads together and seemed to be conferring about something which might be as innocuous as what they planned to do after dinner but she doubted it. Tom didn't do innocuous and didn't do idle and didn't do simple. He did power and he did control and he did plans and he did schemes and whatever this little walk was about there'd been enough conferring and controlling who would be here that she knew something was going on.

Well, something was always going on.

She finished her answer to Harry. "I trust him with anything about me, yeah. I don't know I'd recommend anyone else do that, though."

That was when Zabini slunk up, his hand wrapped in some kind of bandage.

"Oh good," Tom said. "I don't have to go find you. That would have left me right pissed off."

Zabini just glared at him, sullen, and let his eyes slide over to where Hermione stood with Harry Potter. "I see you've brought your Gryffindor pets."

"You have a fucking problem with me?" Harry demanded, taking a step toward Zabini. "or Hermione? Because I can guarantee she's twice the magic user you'll ever be."

"Not here," Riddle said. "Let's walk."

As a group they turned and followed Theo as he worked his way along the paths and then, after the groomed walking trail ended, along the well-understood route to get to the Forbidden Forest unseen by curious adult eyes.

"How's your mother?" Luna asked, her serene voice cutting through the sounds of their tromping feet. "When she came for Family Day I quite liked her shoes."

"Don't talk about my mother," was all Zabini said in response.

"I wasn't really," Luna said. "Unless she's become permanently bonded to her shoes."

"That would be the only permanent bond Elora Zabini's ever formed," Greg said to Harry and both boys sniggered. Blaise turned, ready to launch an attack, but Tom had his wand at the base of the other boy's skull.

"You'll get a chance to go after Potter," he said. "But not until we're deep enough into the woods there's no coming back."

Blaise Zabini jerked himself away from Tom and continued stalking along until everyone scrambled over and around the deadfall to get into the clearing they'd been heading toward since they left the castle. Tom held his hand out to help Hermione over the fallen trees and she laughed at his courtesy but didn't refuse it. Once they were all safely hidden away Tom pulled out his wand and warded the small open space against any unexpected visitors who might be planning on a night of far more benign trouble than was about to occur.

"Hermione," he said, tone a command, and she obediently pressed herself up against his side – even when they'd been struggling with private issues she never let any discord show in public - and let him wrap an arm around her, no laughter or teasing in her stance. "I understand, Zabini," Tom said, "that you have some kind of antiquated bias against my lovely girlfriend."

Theo, Greg and Draco all edged back as far from Tom and Blaise as they could manage. Harry looked at Hermione who made an apologetic shrug. She'd had no more idea of what was coming then he had.

"She's a Mudblood," Zabini said. "It's like you're fucking an animal."

Even Luna looked up at that.

"I beg your pardon," Harry said, hand on his wand.

"Oh, that's right," Zabini sneered. "Your mother's one too."

Later Hermione would marvel that, for all that no formal group had been established at this point, for all that Harry referred to Tom as their leader with no little amount of irony in his voice, Harry looked over at Tom for permission or instructions - she was never sure what - and at that moment their hierarchy became fixed.

"Prove you're one of us," Tom said to Harry in that idle tone that, as the years went on, would always bode ill for someone, "and defend mother and friend at the same time."

"Rules?" Theo asked.

Tom shook his head.

Hermione turned her face into Tom's arm and closed her eyes for a moment. "What's the end point," she asked so only he could hear. "When will you stop them?"

"I won't," Tom said.

Blaise Zabini grasped he'd been brought out to the woods to duel to the death first and hurled a fireball at Harry. Harry, however, for all that he'd never joined Hermione and Neville for their illicit practices, did excel at Defense Against the Dark Arts and he blocked the boy's attack without even trying. Slicing hexes, boils, even snakes erupted from the wands and the clearing sparked and glinted as the boys became more and more serious in their attacks on one another. Tom studied Harry with interest; more, then, than just a privileged athlete. That made him smile. That was good.

Hermione reached for her wand and Tom stopped her. "Don't," he said in a low voice. "Don't rob him of the chance to prove himself. He won't thank you for it in the end."

"You're making him do murder for you," she hissed.

"Yes," Tom said, watching the battle. "Are you actually surprised by this?"

"Tom, please," Hermione said and, at that, he did turn to look at her.

Eyes serious, he said, "This is necessary, love. I'll lay the world at your feet but I'm going to have to conquer it first and that requires people I can trust. You wanted to keep Harry and that means I have to trust him."

She shuddered and he held her tighter lest she decide to interfere and returned his attention to the battle in front of him. Blaise had decided to try to unsettle his opponent with taunts. It was a good strategy, Tom thought, though unlikely to work as Potter just seemed to get more focused the angrier he got. It would, at least, make it easier to soothe Hermione later. Seeing a man cut down while he taunted her would probably be easier for her than watching what had seemed to be silent, indiscriminate slaughter.

"How does it feel to be the worthless son of a fucking Mudblood whore?" Zabini called out. "She soiled the House of Potter, ruined one of the last pureblood families and now all that's left is your pathetic arse. Of course, maybe your father will wise up and get rid of her, get rid of you, and try again with someone worthier. Maybe a pureblood Potter wouldn't be such a worthless git. You've got no reason to be around, Potter. So you're good at Quidditch? Do you think anyone will care after May? Aren't good enough to be an Auror. Aren't good enough to do anything. And your friends? Even Ron Weasley's turned his back on you now that you're hanging around with Riddle. Fucking Mudblood lovers, both of you. Did Hermione fuck you before Riddle scraped her filthy arse up off the floor? How many of Riddle's little friends is she spreading her legs for? It's the only reason to keep a Mudblood around. I wonder if your mother fucked all your father's little – "

Harry Potter, breathing hard, finally broke through Zabini's shields and sliced the boy's neck open and stood over him as he bled out on the forest floor. It took a moment for him to grasp what had happened and when he did he staggered back.

"I killed him," he said, voice shaking. "I didn't… shite." He looked around wildly and didn't make a move to stop him when Riddle stepped forward and plucked his wand from his fingers.

"One hundred spells should clear it," he said, handing the wand to Theo and Theo nodded and began casting a quick series of charms and spells, changing leaves to cups and back again and making lights appear and disappear to get rid of the history of the duel.

Hermione, freed from Tom's confining arm, ran forward and began examining Harry for injuries. "Are you okay?" she asked over and over again until he finally snapped that he was fine, Zabini hadn't landed a thing.

"I'm good at Defense, Hermione," he said, pushing her hands away. "I don't need you to bloody well smother me."

Luna settled the weaving she'd been doing onto his head where it slid partway to the side before catching on his messy hair and dangling off. "That will help you feel better," she said. She looked over at Tom. "Can we go?"

Tom nodded and Theo tossed Harry his wand back. "It's not totally clear," Theo said. "Keep casting as you walk back."

"Sex will help," Luna said. "It's a good remedy for shock about death. And you can do the contraceptive spell."

"Harry," Tom called as he released the warding on the clearing and Harry and Luna began climbing over the fallen trees, "Welcome to the Death Eaters."

Luna turned to look back at him. "Is that the name you finally picked?" she asked. "It's a bit twee, don't you think?"

Tom rolled his eyes and made an annoyed shooing motion and Luna and Harry disappeared back into the shadows.

"Do you want me to do anything about the body?" Draco asked.

Tom shook his head. "Hermione," he said, "as we leave can you summon a wind to stir up all the leaves and dust and erase our tracks?"

She looked at him and he looked back, waiting for her to accede to this. Finally she nodded and, as she stood on the deadfall, Tom on the other side hand extended to help her down, she spun all the leaves into the air so they settled over the clearing, masking any steps their group had taken and half-burying the body. One more spell and she turned back to Tom.

"What was that last casting?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I summoned some animals. I thought if the… the body were mangled and partially eaten it would make it that much harder to…to…" she stumbled over the words and he pulled her back into an embrace.

"Good thinking," he said. "That's my clever love. Now let's go clear your wand, shall we? Who wants to come back to the Head dorm for a quick drink to settle his nerves?"

. . . . . . . . . .

A/N – Less sex, more murder.

Sorry it took so long to update. I have all of Book One (through graduation) in proofreading stage and am working on Book Two, though it's hard to find the time in the summer. School starts soon and then I'll have a little more time and can get back into a routine.

19. Chapter 19

Hermione tracked Harry down the next day. Neither said anything at first. "Walk?" she suggested and he nodded and they both headed out of the castle, pointing their feet in a different direction than they'd gone the day before.

"You okay?" she asked at last.

"Shaky," he admitted. "I guess I'm all in now."

"Welcome to the Death Eaters," she said. Neither said anything more for a bit and then Hermione nudged him. "How was Luna?"

He sighed. "She's great I just… I mean, she could keep two men happy, but I… maybe it was just a bad time, you know?"

"If there ever was a bad time," Hermione agreed and they walked in silence for a bit longer. The air had the fresh promise of spring when life was hurtling itself out of every crevice and everything seems possible. After a bit Harry reached for her hand and she squeezed his fingers. "If you ever want to talk – " she began.

"You'll be the first person I go to," Harry said. "I promise."

. . . . . . . . . .

"What's it like living with them?" Theo asked. He and Draco had met in a long unused classroom to practice their Imperious Curses and after spending some time humiliating one another they were lounging against the stone wall and idly looking out the window at the Hufflepuff Quidditch team practice.

"Riddle and Hermione?" Draco asked and, when Theo gave him a 'who else?' look, shrugged and made a face. "I bang on my door before I go into the common room. I bang on the bathroom door before I go in to take a shower. I never go anywhere without making noise first."

"Why?" Theo asked, still watching the Hufflepuff Seeker fail to spot the Snitch that was hovering right behind his head. It was amazing how people could miss the obvious.

"Because walking in on them having sex once was enough," Draco muttered. "In the shower. On the couch. Against the counter of that miniature kitchen. I'm not sure a day goes by they don't do it somewhere in the Head Dorm. And they have weird sex, Theo. I mean, he hits her."

Theo tensed at that. "Is she okay?" he asked. "Do we need to – "

"She's fine," Draco said with a shudder. "She's more than fine. I'm the one who's fucking traumatized. I did not need to see Tom Riddle spanking Hermione Granger or hear her nearly coming when he did."

Theo gave Draco a puzzled look. "Is that it?" he asked. "That's what's got you so… Merlin, Draco. Even Pansy likes – "

"No." Draco made a show of putting his hands over his ears. "There are thing I do not need to know."

"Whatever." Theo rolled his eyes and looked back out the window. "They are so bad," he muttered. "Is that really the best Hufflepuff can field?"

"Probably," Draco muttered, a dull red stain still on his pale cheeks.

"She's not going to get pregnant or anything, is she?" Theo asked. "I don't know how Muggles do birth control; has anyone made sure she's – "

"On it," Draco said, not making eye contact. "Apparently Riddle did some kind of Dark magic that, as a side effect, made him sterile. No babies ever for our Dark Lord so as long as Hermione sticks with him she's good."

"I'm not sure 'good' is the word I'd use," Theo said with a smirk. "Sounds more like she's more naughty than – "

"Oh my fucking Merlin," Draco said. "Shut up."

. . . . . . . . . .

Tom lounged back against the wall and laughed as Hermione straddled Draco and shoved her wand into his throat. "Yield?" she asked.

"Yield," he gasped out and she pulled herself off him and grinned down at him, offering a hand to help him up.

"What do you need healed?" she asked as she looked him over.

"Nothing," he said, taking her hand and letting her pull him up before brushing dirt off his trousers. "Though I think I could use a restorative draught. You stuck to pain." He glared over at Tom. "You didn't say Unforgivables were allowed."

"As long as it's not lethal," Tom said, spreading his hands. "She's thrown it at me."

"Didn't hit you," Hermione said.

Draco sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "You two are a menace, you know that? Normal couples don't throw curses designed to cause excruciating pain at one another for fun."

Tom shrugged and pulled Hermione against his side. She tipped her head into his shoulder and watched Draco gather himself back into a semblance of poised arrogance. "You're better now," Tom said. "Theo held back too much, didn't want to really hurt you. I'd set you against any Auror now and be comfortable you'd take him down."

Draco made a face at that. "Even though your girlfriend just slaughters me every time? And Pansy's getting close."

"They'll hold back," Tom said. "The Aurors I mean. They're burdened with laws and morality and the idea that they don't want to hurt you. Hermione, well, she might be still a little peeved about all those years of name-calling and I think Pansy might hate you. If you can fend them off, you'll be a match for anyone else."

"You have to mean it," Hermione said. "It's really just imposing your will on the universe." She paused and then turned to Tom and said, the dangerous excitement new ideas engendered in her obvious in her voice. "Do you think we could find ways to impose our wills without all the glitter and whizbang nonsense of spells? Could we tap into raw power and just shape it with a thought, without the structure of spell work and potions?"

Tom kissed her nose. "We'll find out," he promised.

"A menace," Draco said again. "Both of you."

There was a rustle then, and the sound of feet in the grass, and Hermione extricated herself from Tom's arm and walked slowly around the broken-down building they dueled behind and then took off running. Tom sprinted to the edge of the building and watched her chase down some girl he didn't know. She shot a curse at the fleeing figure and then, after the girl froze, tackled her and they both went down into the grass.

"What's going on?" Draco asked.

"I'm not sure," Tom said. "I'll ask Hermione when she's done." Despite saying that, however, he loped over to the two figures. Hermione had her wand at the other girl's head and was pushing it in so hard it looked as if she were trying to drill a hole into her victim's skull.

"It's Dark Magic," the girl was saying. "Granger, I know it's not you. You're just a Muggle-born; you couldn't have known what he was doing. But it's wrong. What Riddle has you doing, it's wrong. I've been watching you all for weeks and this is so wrong. I have to go to Dumbledore. He'll send Riddle to Azkaban and you'll get the help you need. Just come with me and he'll help you."

"Send Tom to Azkaban," Hermione said, her voice low. "Marietta, isn't it? Marietta Edgecombe."

"Yes," the girl said. "Let me up. I can help you."

"Help me send Tom to Azkaban," Hermione repeated. "Because I'm just a Muggle-born and couldn't have possibly have known what he was luring me into."

Draco had come up behind Tom and stood, nearly frozen, at the girl's words. Tom, however, didn't betray by so much as a tensed muscle any sign of concern at Hermione's words, even as she sat up and pulled her wand away from the girl, even as she released the girl from the partial body bind she'd had her in.

The pale girl sat up and began pulling bits of grass out of her light reddish hair. "It'll be okay," she said. "You'll see."

"Yes," Hermione said. "It will." Then she pointed her wand at the girl and whispered something so softly even Tom couldn't hear it. The green light that came out her wand and the way the girl crumbled back to the ground made the spell she'd used clear, however, as did the way Hermione began to shake.

Tom stepped forward and yanked her wand out of her hand. "Clear this," he snapped, handing it to Draco who began to cast a series of trivial spells and charms as rapidly as he could. "Hermione," Tom said, "my brave girl. It's okay. I've got you."

She turned and let him gather her up against his chest where she shook.

"Listen to me," Tom said. "We're going to go back to the school and we're going to be very obvious and public in the courtyard. Kiss me and then go sit with Potter. Draco, go find that Weasley girl of yours and snog her in a way that everyone will remember. I'll go ask Slughorn for some potions advice. No one comes out here but us so by the time they track the body down we need it to be impossible to link it to us, do you understand me? For the next week never be alone or with just each other. Always be with other people, people beyond reproach."

Hermione nodded, her face still pressed into him.

"She's the second student to die this year and that'll tip Dumbledore off and, Merlin knows, he'll suspect me but without proof he can't do anything. We'll graduate soon and go traveling and this will be just a tragedy."

Draco handed Hermione her wand. "Keep casting," he said. "As much as you can."

She took it and shook her head as if clearing thoughts from that as well.

"Don't look upset, no matter what," Tom said as they began to work their way back to the castle. "You're the diligent, good girl who's worried about her N.E.W.T.s and excited and sad to leave school and nothing else."

She slipped her hand into his as they got closer and began to talk with animation about an Arithmancy problem and whether it would be on the exam. Tom argued back and Draco complained that it would be nice if they could actually study something he was taking as well because he had to pass his exams too and he was done with them, he was going to go find Ginny and study something more interesting that magical vectors. Hermione laughed and shoved at him and he rolled his eyes and pretended to brush her touch off his sleeve. Tom kissed Hermione on the nose and said, voice light, "See you at dinner?"

She nodded and nearly skipped over to Harry, who was sitting with Ron and a gaggle of other Gryffindors, and sat down and soon had her head down in a laughing gossip circle about who they expected to announce engagements right after graduation. Tom watched her for a few moments and then snagged Theo and said, "I need to go talk to Snape. Walk with me?"

"Of course," Theo said, and gathered his things. "Do I need to talk to Snape too?"

"Yes," Tom said. "I think we'll both stay and get some potions questions cleared up."

. . . . . . . . . .

Harry took one look at her eyes and knew, but he didn't say anything. He'd had a similar look in his not too long ago and he remembered. He squeezed her hand tightly before their group of friends headed off to classes. "I love you, Hermione," he said. "Friends, no matter what you do, no matter what I do, right? No matter who you are, no matter who I am."

She gave him a sharp look. "Friends forever," she agreed.

"Always and always," he grinned at her, and if the grin was a bit forced no one noticed.

. . . . . . . . . .

Hermione held it together all day; she held it together through classes and through dinner. She held it together when Ron made a comment about had she misplaced her Slytherin shadow, just telling him he might as well get used to Tom because she didn't plan on breaking up with him any time soon. That news made Lavender visibly relax and she began asking Hermione about the new way she was doing her hair.

It wasn't until she got behind the door of the Head dorm that she sagged and Tom stepped forward and caught her in his arms and pulled her to the couch. "How are you doing with all the N.E.W.T. pressure?" he asked her.

She looked from him to Draco who made a 'the walls are listening' gesture and she said, "It's rough. I feel pretty overwhelmed."

Tom nodded. "It's a lot to handle," he said. "But pretty soon we'll have graduated and then we'll just travel for a bit and I'll take care of you." He stroked her hair. "You can rely on Draco or me if you need to unload; your little Gryffindor friends don't understand the strain you're under."

"Not even Harry or Neville?" she asked.

"Not even them," Tom said. "Once everything is over and you've put it all behind you and we're roaming the world we'll tell them, but right now their attempts to help you would just be an added stress you don't need."

"I… okay," she said. "If you think –"

"I do," Tom said, kissing her temple. "Trust me, remember?"

"Draco?" she said, her voice laced with doubt.

"I know I've been a prat to you for years, Granger," he said. "But you can trust me." He smirked at little at her before adding, almost under his breath, "m'lady."

She turned her head sharply at that and Tom smiled at the shock on her face. He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, "I did tell you. It'll be a few years, but Draco knows what side of the bread his butter is on, to employ a rather tedious cliché." He stood up, pulling her to her feet. "No studying for you tonight. You need a break. Draco, would you fetch up some biscuits in case anyone wants a late night snack?"

Draco nodded.

"Now," Tom said, pulling Hermione toward his room. "Let's get you relaxed."

Once they were further protected behind the additional closed door and behind the layers of warding Tom had added to the room over the year, Hermione just began to sob. He wrapped his arms around her and held on as she shook out her shock and grief. No going back now, he thought with pleasure. You're well and truly tied to me. "I've got you," he murmured. "It will be fine, Hermione. Everything will be fine."

She pulled away and looked at him. "How?" she demanded.

"Trust me," he whispered. "It gets easier."

"She was going – "

"I know," he said. He wiped at the tearstains on her cheeks with his thumbs. "And you stopped her. I'm not sure anyone's ever protected me before."

He worked to keep his voice level, to keep how utterly thrilled he was that she'd killed that worthless girl without a second thought, from leaking into his tone. She'd done it for him, not upon request or demand but of her own volition; he'd spent the whole day thrumming with energy because of that. Still, she was already shaky enough and realizing how pleased – excited – he was that she'd damned herself along with him would probably just destabilize her further right now. "My precious girl," he murmured as he caressed her face and tucked her hair away. "You are a wonder."

"Tom," she whispered. "Am I evil? Maybe I should have just done a memory charm or - "

He shook his head. "You did what had to be done and if she'd been watching us for a while it would have been much too tricky to just alter her memory. Besides, good and evil are, as your little friend Luna would say, just a matter of perspective. That girl thought you and Draco dueling was evil; no matter that you were both laughing and, well, I won't say no one was hurt, but no one had anything happen they hadn't agreed to. She thought it was so evil she had to put a stop to it." He made a face. "I'd rather be in bed with you than rotting in Azkaban because I watched you and Draco hone your skills."

"I'd rather have you here too," she said, "it's just –"

"Just nothing," he said. "You protected me. You protected yourself. You even protected Draco Malfoy whose loyalty to you was already strong and is now pretty firmly cemented. He's not just m'ladying you because you're mine anymore, you know. You threw yourself between him and some rather frightening consequences of Dark magic dueling today; he's smart enough to be grateful."

"I didn't do it for him," Hermione said, though she'd stopped crying and moved on to hiccupping as she tried to calm down.

"No," Tom said, tracing the shape of her lips with his fingers. "I know who you did it for and I'm also smart enough to be grateful."

"I don't want your gratitude," she muttered.

He lowered himself to the floor and began to slip her shoes off. "These," he said, "are the feet of a woman who killed for me today." He pulled off her socks and pressed his lips to first one foot and then the other. She stared at him wide-eyed. "I am yours, Hermione Granger."

"Tom," she said helplessly as he sat beside her again and began to slip her cardigan off.

"May I?" he asked.

She licked her lips. "Have I ever told you no?"

The both flushed at that, remembering too late the day she had very much told him no.

"It's always polite to ask," he said as he began unbuttoning her blouse. "Let me help you relax after a difficult day."

"Please," she said, closing her eyes.

"Please yes, please no?" he asked.

"Please yes" she said. "Merlin, I'm an awful person, aren't I? Craving you today of all days."

"It's a natural response," he said as he unhooked her skirt and she rose slightly to help him slide it over her hips and toss it away. "And I love you."

Her eyes opened at that and he looked into her face, amused, as he unhooked her bra. "You didn't know?" he asked. "Hermione, you are the cold stars that shine in my blackest night. You are the kiss of sun that melts the snow until it hangs in sharp icicles from every eve. You are what makes me smile. I will," he said, lifting her fingers to his mouth, "slaughter anyone who crosses me about you. And, it would seem, you will do the same for me."

"I would," she whispered.

He lowered her body down to his bed and nuzzled at her skin with his nose, breathing in the scent of her. Stale sweat from the fear she'd battled all day mixed with the rose lotion she used. "My lady," he said as he took one nipple into his mouth and let his fingers play over the other. She whimpered a little but soon enough had her hands in his hair as he lapped at the sensitive flesh.

"Tom," she said, breathless and overwhelmed.

He lifted his head and smiled at the picture she made, head back against his pillow and eyes tightly closed even as she tried to tug his head back to her breasts. "Greedy," he said. She flushed a little and he added, "I like it. Take what you want, Hermione. The world is for you; there's nothing you can't have."

She pulled his head back to her with far more vigor at that and he laughed low in his throat as he returned to licking at her breasts while reaching a hand down to slide into her knickers and begin stroking her. It wasn't long before she was trying to shove his head down lower and if he normally would have made her ask – made her beg – tonight he just followed her lead and trailed his tongue along her skin until he reached her hip when he picked his head up again and looked at her. "You are perfection," he whispered. "No wonder I traveled through time. I had to find you. Life without you would be empty."

"Yes," she said, still shoving his head lower. "I love you too, Tom. Now please."

Perfection indeed, he thought, as his cock, already so hard it ached from the knowledge she'd killed for him, that she was his, pulsed with even more need at the sound of even that demanding plea. He took his thumbs and held her open and looked at her, pink and wet and ready for him. Before he rewarded himself, however, for being clever enough to have found this witch, he needed to reward her. He lowered his mouth to her and began to lap, so lightly she whimpered and pushed herself against him in frustration as he pulled back so he could continue teasing her. "Mine," he whispered so quietly she probably couldn't even hear him. It didn't matter. He brushed his tongue across her with that teasing, delicate touch one more time before relenting and going to work, suckling, thrusting, flicking his tongue back and forth as she began to keen under his touch. That's right, he thought as she began to fall into her climax, I've got you.

When she was done and he looked up to see her eyes open and her face shifted from determined need to an almost languid ease she said just one thing. "More. You."

"Pushy little thing," he said even as he stood to divest himself of everything he had on and position himself above her.

She watched him strip through half-lidded, sated eyed and said, "I think it might be wrong to be as beautiful as you are."

He smiled down at her. "Then we're both wrong, love."

She gasped as he entered her and he felt her, warm and wet and encompassing, as he slid into her again and again. She pulled her knees up and wrapped her feet around him and he wanted to laugh at the sheer glory of fucking her as she put her hands back into his hair and tugged his face, still wet with her juices, to her own and thrust her tongue into her waiting mouth. "I love you, Tom Riddle," she said as she pulled away. "Let's go take the world."

"Planning on it," he panted out before she had her mouth on his again and he lost himself in the sensations of her fingers in his hair, her tongue twirling against his, and the feel of her around his cock. She was light and heat and a vengeful demon who'd kill for him and as he remembered the green light shooting from her wand to level the girl foolish enough to challenge them both he came into her, his body rigid until he collapsed on top of her and lay there.

She loosened her grip on his hair and said, "Well, I think I'm a little more relaxed now."

"Good," Tom said. "You're okay?"

She paused for a moment to think. "I wish it hadn't happened," she said at last. "I wish she hadn't been so stupid. But I'd do it again."

He brushed her sweat-soaked hair away from her eyes. "That's my witch," he said. "Take the exams, dream girl, and we'll get out of here. Do I propose formally on graduation in front of your friends or alone in some place of power?"

She slipped two fingers into his hand and he squeezed them. "The proposal in public, I think," she said. "It's announcing a social construct."

"The wedding in private?" he asked.

"Well, your little minions," she said.

"Of course," he said. "But someplace dark and wild?"

She tilted her head to the side. "Is that what you want?"

"Yes," he said.

"Then, yes."

He smiled at her. "Perfection," he said and brushed a kiss across her temple.

. . . . . . . . . .

A/N - Less sex, more murder. But still some sex. Cause fanfic. I hope you continue to enjoy this increasingly dark little story. Book One is pretty tame. I'm working on Book Two now and, as the cliché goes, the gloves come off.

20. Chapter 20

Hermione stabbed her fork into the dinner she'd had sent to the Head common room with such vehemence that Draco flinched in sympathy for her potatoes.

"What did the root vegetables do to you?" he finally asked.

Despite their increasing closeness Hermione still tended to treat him more like a friendly co-worker than a confidant so Draco was shocked when she turned to him and demanded, "What's wrong with me? Why don't girls like me?"

"Pansy likes you just fine," he said, cursing himself for having asked her anything. "You two have become some kind of frightening coalition."

"No one else does," she said, slouching back in her chair and returning her attention to the victimized potatoes. Jab. "Theo. Neville. Ron. Harry. My only real friends here at Hogwarts, using the term friend pretty loosely for Theo, and now Ron's been avoiding me."

Draco became very interested in his own dinner. He did have some inkling as to why Ron Weasley might be avoiding Hermione and he did not want to have that conversation with her. Fortunately for him, she just went on.

"And Lavender's just gloating about it. I was up in the Tower and she and Parvati had their arms around each other and were announcing to all and sundry some kind of graduation party for 'the Gryffindor Girls'. "

"You weren't invited, I take it," Draco said, still not looking up. Where was Riddle, he wondered. Was he supposed to comfort the obviously upset witch? If he hugged her and Riddle walked in would he end up cursed before the man stopped to ask questions? If he let her sit there and work herself into a tizzy because some ridiculous tarts had some social thing planned would he get in trouble for that?

"No," she said. "Not invited."

"Idiots," Draco said. That made her stop trying to murder her dinner and look up at him so he elaborated. "Instead of building a network that included you they decided they'd rather have the petty fun of excluding you because you're sort of Weasley's ex or because you spend so much time with people from other Houses - "

"Inter-House unity is supposed to be a thing," Hermione muttered.

Draco snorted at that before he went on. "Play those games too many times and you'll end up antagonizing someone who turns out to be useful to you some later time. Except now they aren't going to help you out because you treated them like dirt." He took a sip of his juice and made a face at it. Why they couldn't have a decent ale at dinner he didn't understand; once they graduated he planned to make sure there was decent alcohol wherever Riddle took them. "Might not be you - well, it probably will be you in this case - but you shouldn't just piss people off for fun."

"Slytherin motto?" Hermione asked, sarcasm more than evident in her voice.

"Why do you think we're so successful as group?" Draco asked her, grateful she seemed to be calming down. "We don't bloody well turn on each other."

Hermione put a forkful of her potatoes into her mouth and thought about that while she chewed. Draco watched her out of the corner of his eye. "I wonder what they plan to do after graduation," she said.

"Not travel with a Dark Lord, I assume," Draco said. "Some tedious job. They'll fetch coffee or file papers or empty bedpans."

"What would you have done?" Hermione asked. "Without Tom, I mean."

"Internship at the Wizengamot," Draco said. "Fetching coffee and making connections and watching the workings of politics up close."

"I would have liked that," Hermione said, a little wistfully.

""You wouldn't have gotten one," Draco told her. "It's by personal recommendation only."

"And so power remains in the hands of the elite," she said.

Draco shrugged as he stabbed at the last peas on his plate. "It's how the world works."

"Worked," Hermione said.

"Oh, it's still connections," Draco said. "It'll still be who you know. Once Riddle does his thing and takes over do you plan to recommend dear Lavender Brown to any coveted position?"

Hermione finished her dinner and set her napkin on the table before she said, her voice quiet and, Draco thought, laced with malice, "No." She pushed her chair back and looked at him. "You and Ginny still a thing?"

Now it was Draco's turn to stab at the little food he had left. "Were we ever a thing?" he asked bitterly. "I think I might have been another notch on what turns out to have been a fairly marked up bedpost."

Hermione mustered some obviously fake sympathy. "I'm sorry, was she just using you? That's terrible."

"Your friendship with Pansy may be the worst thing that's ever happened to me," Draco muttered.

"Maybe bringing Ron's little sister into our fold isn't the best idea," Hermione offered. "I doubt he'd - or she'd - be wholly comfortable with the Dark Arts and stuff."

"Probably not," Draco admitted. "Still," he sighed dramatically, "I'm single again, Hermione. Now what?"

"Your cousin Sue?" she suggested.

He made a face. "Dru, and I'd sooner kiss a Hippogriff. I think I'm swearing off girls; I don't seem to have a knack for them."

. . . . . . . . . . .

Dumbledore sat, his hands folded and his eyes twinkling, his face a study in grandfatherly concern. Hermione didn't believe it for a moment. Still, she stood in front of his desk with her feet carefully placed to look weak and her hands clutched in front of her and a polite smile on her face.

"Yes?" she asked. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

Dumbledore studied her a moment before saying, "I understand you and Mr. Riddle have plans to travel after graduation."

"Yes, sir," she said. "Draco and Theo both plan to travel and they've got galleons to burn so they've pretty much organized a bunch of us to go with them."

"I didn't realize you and Mr. Malfoy were so close," Dumbledore said.

"We have lived together all year," Hermione pointed out. "We've had to work together as Heads and we've been in a study group for advanced Potions too."

"Still," Dumbledore said, "Mr. Malfoy's prejudices against Muggle-borns are fairly well known."

Hermione shrugged. "Maybe he's grown up, sir."

"Hope is a lovely thing, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said, "but I would advise caution as well. Mr. Riddle is a troubled boy. I remember him from his own time and he was a child who liked to hurt other people. There was a great deal of concern that he traumatized other children in the orphanage where he was raised."

Hermione blinked a few times. "With all due respect, sir, I doubt the orphanage was exactly a pleasant environment. I think it may have been bully or be bullied. I know I've never seen Tom be anything other than courteous and pleasant."

Dumbledore leaned back in his seat and she stood there as he tried to take her measure. Because she knew she wasn't good at occlumency she let her mind focus on Tom laying out a picnic of chocolates for her, on one of the many days they'd leaned up against one another to study in the prized Scottish sun, on him kissing her nose and telling her he'd find a way to get her a ring she'd love even though he was so poor.

She assumed he planned to just charm some unfortunate out of it or demand Theo or Draco hand over the money. Tom didn't really concern himself with things quite as plebian as finances. Between his current clique and the men – now grown – he'd cultivated five decades ago he could always get what he wanted.

She let her memory linger over Tom kissing her hand with that old-fashioned charm that never failed to delight her as he talked about the ring and their future and the way she'd smiled at him as Dumbledore continued to look her over.

"Well," the old man said at last, "if you are sure his intentions are honorable, Miss Granger, far be it from me to stand in the path of young love. Perhaps I have always been mistaken about Mr. Riddle and the way he seemed to not care for anyone other than himself was just a by-product of a harsh childhood."

Hermione suppressed the urge to suggest Dumbledore do anatomically improbable things to himself. "May I go, sir?"

"Of course. Just… be careful, Miss Granger. People tend to die around Mr. Riddle. A student died when he was at Hogwarts in his own time and now that he's here, students seem to be dying again."

"Surely you aren't accusing him of being responsible for this year's tragedies," Hermione said, looking upset. "Tom wouldn't even tell someone off, much less hurt anyone. He's just trying to figure out how to fit in to the modern world. He's made friends in different house, something almost no one does, and he's kept on top of his marks, even with the updated curriculum. He's really great and I don't see how you can –"

Dumbledore cut her off. "Yes, Miss Granger. Mr. Riddle has always been charming. Just take an old man's advice to heart, if you would be so kind, and consider he might have an ulterior motive. Don't trust him."

Hermione breathed out and said, sounding as confused as she could manage. "Yes, sir. May I go, sir?"

"Of course."

Once she was back in her room – in their room – she looked at Tom, sprawled across the bed with his shoes kicked off and a Dark magic tome in front of him. "That fucking bastard," she said.

"Had your little meeting with Dumbledore, I take it," Tom said, setting his book aside.

"In which I was lectured not to trust you while I'm pretty sure the sodding coot tried to rummage through my brain without permission," she snarled as she tossed her bag down, stepped out of her shoes and, climbing onto the bed, straddled him.

"How's your occulmency these days?" Tom asked, obviously amused at how irritated she was.

"Try me?" she invited and began to dwell on the same memories she'd called up in the Headmaster's office.

After a few moments Tom laughed. "I'm not sure I like what a romantic fool you paint me as but nicely done. You're getting better." He slipped an image into her mind, a memory of his own. "You could have horrified him with something like this?"

The suggestion was clearly in jest as what he was picturing was her, kneeling on their floor with her arms bound behind her, tears running down her face. Hermione tilted her head to the side for a moment as she considered that particular moment. "Wasn't I crying because you had just tripped on the sheets and nearly fallen on your face and I was laughing so hard my eyes were watering?"

Tom scowled. "You do like to ruin my mood, don't you?"

"Don't give me grief, Tom," she said. "I've had a rotten afternoon. That old fool. How dare he think to play around in my head? And you know how much I hate occlumency."

"We'll kill him some day," Tom promised her. He took a finger and drew it around the line of her mouth. Her lips opened at his touch and she could feel herself shift from being angry to being wanton. As always, he could tell and he murmured, "As I recall I wasn't so happy with you for laughing at me that day."

Hermione licked her lips. "I think it hurt to sit down for a bit afterwards," she admitted before adding, with a grin lurking at the corner of her mouth. "You like to be goaded sometimes."

Tom was still running his fingers over and around her mouth. "Gentle or not so much?"

"Not so much," she said, kissing his fingers. "How about not the romantic, chocolate-bringing, courteous golden boy I adore but the Dark Lord I was just warned against."

"Whom you also adore," he said sliding a hand into her hair and tugging her towards his mouth.

"Whom I also adore," she said, her lips almost at his.

"Say it," he demanded.

"My lord," she said and, with a laugh that would have confirmed everything Dumbledore suspected about him, Tom Riddle quickly flipped them both, his hand tight in her hair, so he was pinning her down and she was trembling beneath him. "My lord," she said again as he began a course of ravishment that would leave them both drained and her covered in bite marks and bruises.

…

N.E.W.T exams had come and gone when Daphne Greengrass made her mistake. Hermione and Pansy had taken refuge from the men in their lives, both of whom had become bores in their quest to create to perfect travel plan, and were under a tree with a pitcher of lemonade Hermione had convinced the elves in the kitchen to release to her.

"I always knew you were a whore," Daphne said as she stood over the two women, one hand on her hip, "but I'd taken you for one with standards."

Pansy Parkinson didn't even look up until Daphne added, "A Mudblood? Really? I'd have thought you'd have too much pride for that."

Hermione transfigured some grass to a goblet and filled it with lemonade. She'd handed the drink over to Pansy and sighed as she turned her attention to Daphne. "Draco and Theo both told me you weren't very bright but I see they understated the case," she said, letting her eyes rake over the other woman. "Go away, Daphne Greengrass."

Daphne spit down at them. "Filth," she said before she turned to walk away, "both of you."

Hermione pulled up a blade of grass and wordlessly turned it to a handkerchief that she used to wipe Pansy's cheek where the glob of spittle had landed.

"Do we tell Riddle?" Pansy asked nervously.

"Oh yes," Hermione said, watching Daphne walk away from them, a saucy lilt to her hips. "I think I'm going to enjoy this."

Tom just smiled at her when she told him about their confrontation. "I've been bored lately," he said. "You always bring me the nicest presents."

"Shall I play it as your little pet?" she asked as he tugged her onto his lap and began running his lips over her neck.

"If you wouldn't mind," he whispered.

The game began when Tom 'invited' all the Slytherins in fifth, sixth and seventh year to join him for some recreational dueling. Draco and Theo got them all tucked into one of the castle's many unused rooms, wards up, and Tom smiled at the assembled throng. "Hermione," he asked with utter courtesy, "Would you do me the honor of going first?"

"Of course," she said, stepping forward.

"Rules?" Theo asked.

"Set the timer for five minutes," Tom said, his eyes only focused on his adversary. "We stop when it goes off. Other than that, nothing?"

"Unforgivables?" a little fifth year squeaked in fear and excitement.

"Anything," Tom said. He looked away from Hermione for a moment. "I'm sure none of you will tell."

There was a shuffle and a murmur of agreement and compliance and then Theo said, "Begin."

The room filled with fireworks. Hermione shot off a series of slicing hexes, using the ceiling as a tool to bounce them off so Tom had to shield from multiple sides. He sent crucios and imperiuses at her, knowing those would be recognized by their audience, as well as a series of much darker spells he'd learned. Fire licked at the witch's feet and the hem of Tom's robe turned first to snakes, then to beetles, before he transfigured it back in annoyance. She used that opening to land a child's punching curse on his eye.

"They aren't talking," a sixth year whispered in awe.

A gust of wind pushed Tom against the wall hard enough to break his arm. Unable to control his wand properly with the shattered bone he moved to wandless curses and pushed the witch to her knees and sliced her cheek open. The blood oozed out and dripped down along the line of her jaw as she jabbed multiple hexes at him in rapid succession.

"Time!" Theo called out.

Hermione stood up and bowed formally to Tom, who lowered his own head in response, as the room let out a collective breath. She crossed over to him and quickly healed his arm but when she went to mend the bruise blooming over his eye he put a hand on her arm to stop her, then brushed his fingers over the cut on her cheek. The skin grew back together until it was as if she'd never been cut, as if blood had just appeared on her face for no reason.

Tom pulled a chair up and sat down in it, kicking his feet out in front of him with languid ease. Hermione dropped to the ground by one of the chair legs, pulling her knees up and wrapping her arms around them. He lowered a hand to her head and tousled her hair. "Does anyone question why I respect this woman above all others?" he asked.

There was silence.

"Does no one wish to speak? No one wishes to go against her? Or me?" Tom continued. He looked around. "Pansy Parkinson?" he asked.

"If you were to command it, my lord," she said, throat bobbing as she swallowed.

He smiled at her before turning his eyes to the sixth year who'd spoken during the duel. "Would you like to learn that?" he asked.

"Y… yes," the boy said. Someone kicked him and he added, "My l... lord."

"And so you shall," Tom said. "When you graduate, find me and I'll teach you anything you like."

"Th-thank you," the boy stammered. "My lord."

Tom looked around the room as if idly searching out a third person. "Daphne Greengrass," he said at last. "I understand you have some issues with Miss Granger's heritage. Perhaps you'd like to explain them?"

There was a shuffling as the room full of students shifted, parted, and pulled themselves away from the woman Tom had singled out. Daphne seemed surprised to find herself so isolated. "She's a Mudblood," the woman said. "No matter how well she duels, she'll never not be filth. Look at her, sitting at your feet like a dog."

There was the sound of a gasp, quickly swallowed, and then more silence.

Tom smiled down at Hermione and she grinned up at the look of anticipation he was trying to hide. "You did beat me, love," he said. "Why are you sitting at my feet like that?"

"My lord," she said formally, "it is my pleasure to put my skills at your command."

"Indeed," he said. "And yet, here you are, sitting at my feet like – what did the woman call you? – like a dog?"

"I am as loyal," she said. She flicked her eyes over at Daphne. "May I?" she asked.

"No," Tom drew the word out. "I think I'll keep those honors for myself. Mostly." He stood and Hermione lazily drew herself up into the chair he'd vacated, leaning up against one arm and swinging her legs over the other. In a room full of nervous, shuffling followers and students she was the only person, other than Tom, who seemed fully at ease. One almost expected her to pull out an emery board and start filing her nails. Someone from the group shoved Daphne forward.

"If you can land anything," Tom said, "anything at all, I'll renounce Miss Granger and install you as my consort in her place." He looked over at Theo. "Reset the timer, please."

"Begin," Theo said, voice neutral.

Daphne began to draw her wand and Tom cast a crucio. Daphne fell to the floor, her wand rolling away from her, and began to claw at her head before she just lay still, unable even to sob. He released the curse and squatted next to her. "First rule," he said, "be ready to go before anyone calls time. The first time I dueled Miss Granger I shot off a curse before the timer had begun and she still blocked it." He stood up and placed his foot over her wrist, grinding it down into the stone floor. "Second rule," he continued to the sound of breaking bone. "Learn what I value and don't discount it."

"You let her win," Daphne choked out.

Tom began to laugh. "You see, you stupid girl, that's exactly what I didn't do." He kicked her in the face. "Who's filth now?" he asked. There was silence and he sighed. "Would someone be so kind as to explain to her what she says now?"

"You say, 'I am, my Lord,'" Pansy said. She had her arms crossed and was looking down at the beautiful, bloodied girl with vicious satisfaction on her face.

Tom smiled at her. "Would you like to get a hit in?" he asked. "I do understand she behaved quite rudely to you as well."

"With my lord's permission," Pansy demurred.

Tom stepped back and gestured toward the body on the floor. "Just one now," he said.

Pansy had her wand out and simple curse aimed at Daphne immediately. It was just the equivalent of a hard slap but it pulled a choking sob from her victim.

"Trivial," Tom said, a hint of censure in his voice.

"I didn't feel she was worth more, my lord," Pansy said. "She's just trash."

Tom laughed at that and turned to Hermione. "You did tell me I would thank you on bended knee for her," he said. "How right you were." He glanced back at Daphne. "Let's try this again," he said. "Who's filth now?"

Daphne huddled against the stone. "I…I am, m…my lord," she stammered.

"That's quite right," he said, his tone turning the words into a caress that made many of the students in the room shudder. "Shocking, really, given my slight bias toward Slytherin House that you would choose to be vermin in the new world I'm going to build but let it not be said I didn't allow you free choice." He looked around. "Anyone else interested in making that same choice?"

Much shaking of heads greeted his question.

"Someone clean this up," Tom ordered and, offering Hermione his arm, led her from the room.

. . . . . . . . . .

A/N - And so it goes. One more chapter in Book One and then onto the years of exploring the darkest side of wizarding culture, though I may put it on hiatus for a bit to get a little further ahead in Book Two before I start publishing again.

Dulce de leche go has published a new bit of volmione fluff (yes, you read that right) that is fabulous and wonderful and which you should, of course, read. It's called Ternion of Trouble and it's linked of my favorites.

21. Chapter 21

The door to the common room had barely shut behind them when Hermione pushed Tom up against a wall and, her hands up against the wall on either side of his head, pressed her lips against his. She was demanding, furious, almost panting with desire, and Tom laughed into her mouth even as he wound his own fingers into her hair and gripped hard enough to pull a tiny whimper from her. "You liked that, I guess," he said before he grazed his teeth against her lip and then bit down. She curved herself into him and he spun her around so it was her back against the wall; he began unbuttoning her blouse and lowered his head to lick and nip at her nipples through the satin of her bra as she leaned her head back.

"I did," she said, "Oh, fucking God, I shouldn't. I should be appalled and horrified. I should be on my way to Dumbledore, I should – oh my God, I did. Watching you just – "

"Good," he said, voice rough as he raked his hand under her skirt – still regulation length - and began tugging her knickers down. He grazed his fingers across her and she made a tiny sound and he licked his lips in anticipation. "These are soaked through," he said as he struggled with the knickers that, because her arse was pressed up against the wall, he couldn't pull down. "Take them off; I'm going to fuck you right here."

He backed up enough for her to get them down and helped her wrestle them over her feet. She kicked them across the room as he unbuttoned his trousers and pulled himself free. "Beg," he muttered as he scooped her up and pressed her back up against the wall. She wrapped her legs around him as he immediately thrust into her and said, "Beg, Hermione, beg me and I might even let you come."

He dug his fingers into the curve of her hips and she made a keening noise as he leaned so his mouth was at her ear. "Words."

"Please," she said, licking her lips before she pulled his mouth back to hers. "Please," she said again between kisses, "my lord –"

At that he groaned and shoved into her with greater force so she was rocking back and forth against him a series of 'pleases' coming from between her lips. "Fuck, I love you," he gasped out. "Dark magic fucking queen. Do anything for you."

"Me too," she said. "Yours, all yours, anything you want. Anything."

He shuddered and slammed her against the wall as he came into her.

He slowly lowered her to floor and sank down next to her, breathing hard. "While I didn't think," he said at last, "that you'd decide the way I do things was not, after all, to your taste I admit I didn't expect you to just be ravenous afterward."

She brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes. "It was… a revelation," she said. "I shouldn't be this enchanted by you but watching you destroy that stupid girl was just… let's just say I liked it."

"I could tell," Tom said. "Do you plan to attack me like this after every disciplinary meeting?"

"Maybe," she said. A rather impish grin danced across her face. "But you told me if begged – "

"You didn't think I was done, did you?" he quipped and she laughed.

"Maybe we could move to the bed?" she asked and held her hands above her head, wrists pressed together as if he'd tied them.

"I could be convinced," Tom said.

Before they could stand, however, the door opened and Draco Malfoy came in. He didn't see them as he said to Theo, who was right behind him, "Look, Granger's probably in here freaking out and we should see if – "

"Get out," Tom said.

Draco spun toward that voice, made a quick assessment of the disheveled couple sitting on the floor, clothes open, and backed away. "Shite," he said. "Fuck. I'm sorry. I'll – uh, I'll be going now."

He and Theo stumbled back out the door and, as it closed. Tom and Hermione could hear Theo say, "I'm guessing she wasn't freaked out."

Tom and Hermione looked at one another. "That was unexpectedly sweet," Hermione said.

Tom shrugged. "He's charming. Delightful. A prince among men. Now, about that bed idea?"

. . . . . . . . . .

"What did you do to McClaggan?" Hermione asked - no demanded – and Tom shrugged. She threw a pillow at his head, which he dodged, and said, "Tom, you can't just go around putting every bloke who's ever looked at me in the Infirmary!"

"It's hardly my fault the man's clumsy," Tom protested, summoning the pillow and tossing it back at her. "I was on the other side of the castle, talking to Dumbledore himself, if you must know, when McClaggan fell down the stairs."

"Uh huh," Hermione pursed her lips and looked at him. She let the pillow fall to the floor, just kicking it out of her ways.

"And he did a bit more than look at you, as I recall. You mentioned he'd groped you."

Hermione crossed her arms, her lips still pursed. At any moment Tom expected her to start tapping her foot. He tried, with almost total success, to control the quirking of his lip as it threatened to turn up into a smile.

Almost total success, however, wasn't quite good enough and she still saw his look of satisfaction.

"Talking to Dumbledore?" she repeated.

Tom spread his hands. "You can ask him yourself if you don't believe me."

"And where was Draco?" she asked. Tom shrugged so she went on, "Or Theo. Or Pansy. Or even Neville or Harry or, Merlin help me, Goyle."

"Greg's feelings are going to get hurt if you keep calling him by his last name," Tom said mildly, "And I don't keep tabs on them all every moment of every day."

She stalked across the room toward him. "Tom Riddle," she hissed. "You are keeping secrets."

He pulled her into a kiss. "Did you really think I'd let a man I know insulted you go unpunished?" he asked. "Really?"

She broke away from the kiss to glare at him again. "You are a – "

"Man who adores you, quite right," he said.

"It was before I was even with you," she protested.

Tom shrugged and gave her his most charming and innocent look until she rolled her eyes and returned to kissing him. "Brat," she muttered against his mouth to his obvious amusement.

. . . . . . . . . .

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Malfoy," Tom said as they shook hands after graduation. His voice was smooth and respectful and engaging and Lucius eyed the younger man with narrowed eyes. Draco had spoken first with resentment then something nearing awe when he talked about Tom Riddle and, dredging through his mostly unfond memories of his own father, Lucius Malfoy had recalled that Abraxas had been similarly impressed. He'd found his father's journals and read them and, while most of it was tedious and self-important chroniclings of the women the man had seduced, there had been mentions of Tom Riddle and something called the Death Eaters. Abraxas had vowed to himself to follow the man anywhere and then, shortly thereafter, had been wondering what had happened to him. He'd just disappeared.

Abraxas had gone on to tuck away the man's diary, a book that appeared to be blank, and made note that it was of crucial importance and that any descendent who happened upon Tom Riddle ever was enjoined to return the book to him.

This Lucius had done.

Now he shook the hand of the young man and searched that engaging face for a hint of whatever it was that had impressed his father so and that currently impressed his son and found a hint of cold purpose behind the warm demeanour. The longer he looked the more he saw. This one, under that politician's smile, was as Dark as they came. This one was colder than a hand wrapped around your ankle pulling you down into the depths. A glance at Dumbledore, who was glad-handing parents under the graduation tent, was even more revealing. The pompous old fool sent a look in Riddle's direction that was impossible to misinterpret. Dumbledore wished the other man were dead. Lucius was likely to approve of anyone Dumbledore didn't like, even without the darkness that coiled and writhed beneath Tom Riddle's skin.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, as well, Mr. Riddle," Lucius Malfoy said. "I understand you children – well, I guess I should call you young adults now – have plans to do some independent research for the next few years?"

"We do," said the girl at his side. Lucius assumed she must be the witch Draco had moved from contempt to respect to almost slavish devotion for. She had a ring on her finger that sucked all the light into it.

"It's so good to see people interested in the deeper reach magic can have," Lucius said.

"Yes," Tom Riddle agreed. "It's easy to forget that what we learn at Hogwarts is merely the foundation from which true exploration can be launched."

"Well," Lucius said, "I look forward to supporting all these explorations. We have become too hidebound, too restricted, in the way we see our world."

"I quite agree," Tom said and with that there was an awkward moment as it was clear the conversation was over but no one was quite sure how to extricate himself. Thoros Nott solved the problem by ambling up to them, patrician hands thrust into his expensive trousers.

"Tom," he said.

"Thoros," Tom replied. "You were younger when last I saw you."

"Unexpected jumps into the future do tend to do that to people you've left behind," Thoros said. He nodded at Hermione. "Miss Granger. I understand congratulations are in order."

"Yes, thank you," she said as she held out her hand with the ring.

"A black diamond?" Thoros asked politely, though his voice permitted no doubt of his assessment. "Very fitting."

"I thought so," Tom said. He'd gotten down on one knee as soon as the school had pronounced them graduates and, in full view of a glowering Ron Weasely, an expressionless Albus Dumbledore, a Pansy who could barely contain her orchestrated girlish squeals, and every graduating student and their parents made his honorable intentions clear. The wedding would be significantly more private.

"Everything you planned…" Thoros let his voice trail off.

"Minor adjustments only," Tom said. "Power is everything."

Lucius and Thoros exchanged pleased glances.

"Enjoy your research," Thoros said.

"We'll be here when you get back," Lucius added.

. . . . . . . . . .

"He's mad." Daphne Greengrass said the words with no inflection as she regarded Dumbledore. Only her sister had stayed after the bastard had tortured her – actually tortured her – to help her to her bed. Only her sister out of everyone in her House had found pain potions for her. "He's utterly, sodding mad."

Dumbledore regarded the girl, the usual twinkle in his eyes more sober. "He's not raving, Miss Greengrass," he said.

"No," she agreed. "He's just evil."

Ron Weasley, one of the endless poor Weasleys she'd never paid attention to, had seen the way she'd started to shake uncontrollably as Riddle walked past her one day, had seen her lose all colour from her face when the man had blown her a kiss, and had come up and handed her a glass of water he'd conjured from somewhere. "That bastard," he'd said and Daphne had gulped the water before she'd asked the obvious question.

"You hate him too?"

Ron had watched the dark haired man walk across the courtyard, his arm slung over Hermione Granger's shoulders.

"Is it some jealousy thing because he took your girlfriend?" Daphne had asked in disgust.

"No," Ron had said. "It's because he's a fucking lunatic."

"So's she," Daphne had said. Ron had looked furious at that assessment and then, as they talked, first sad and then angry again. Daphne had watched him realize that it wasn't just that his never-quite-a-girlfriend had disappeared into the maw that was Tom Riddle, it was that his friend as well. Gone, corrupted past recognition.

"She laughed," he had repeated, almost numb. "He tortured you and she laughed." It was something unthinkable. Something he couldn't understand but, despite how unreal the idea of Hermione laughing at a woman's suffering seemed, he knew truth when he heard it. The girl who'd shuffled her feet at Family Day and latched gratefully onto his parents and siblings had disappeared and in her place was this laughing figure who tossed her head back with confidence, whose fingers Draco Malfoy kissed as if she were nobility and he her courtier, who planned to 'travel' with Riddle and his gang after graduation rather than get a job.

Ron assumed by the next time he saw her she'd be married to the bastard, probably after some ancient and thoroughly disgusting ceremony that no sane person did anymore. He sat, now, in Headmaster Dumbledore's office while Daphne poured out not a complaint she'd been assaulted with the Cruciatus Curse, though she mentioned that, but her concern that this evil, evil man had almost the whole of her House under his spell.

It was clear, before they had even gotten very far into their meeting, that Dumbledore had no intention of directly pursuing the man. He advised them against it as well pointing out that he was politically nearly untouchable. "He has Lucius Malfoy in his pocket," Dumbledore said, "And Thoros Nott. You'll never make any accusation stick and you'll be painted to look like a rejected would-be girlfriend who's teamed up with a similarly rejected lover to make wild and unsubstantiated claims as part of some quest for revenge."

"Then what do we do?" Ron asked in frustration.

"I think," Albus Dumbledore said, "we start a group that works outside the Ministry, an independent group, to oppose Tom Riddle and try to undermine whatever his plans are."

"We don't even know what those are?" Daphne protested, but the protest was a clearly a token one. Anything that was anti-Riddle was something she was interested in signing up for.

"Does it matter, Miss Greengrass, what the specifics of his plans are?" Dumbledore asked. "I think we can rest assured in the certainty that they won't be about the promotion of elvish welfare."

Ron snorted and then said, "Sign me up."

"Me too," Daphne said. She squinted at the man who had been her Headmaster for seven years of schooling and said, "What do you plan to call this independent – "

"Secret," Dumbledore said.

" – group?"

Dumbledore looked at the perch in the corner of his office where his phoenix familiar was drowsing. The bird opened one eye and made a small squawk before returning to sleep. "Perhaps the Order of the Phoenix."

~ end of book one ~

. . . . . . . . . .

A/N - I have about 3 chapters written in Book Two (which will be in the same fic - no new files or anything) but I want to wait until I have at least 5 - 7 chapters prewritten before I start posting so we're going to go on a short hiatus until I can get ahead a bit more. Depending on how long it takes inspiration to strike that could be a week or two months.

Tumblr is the best place to ask questions and get a speedy answer.

22. Chapter 22

Warning: Please assume that going forward this fic will include murder, mind control, assaults including sexual assaults, torture, and other unsavory goings on. Tom Riddle and his crew of Death Eaters are amoral at best. These are the bad guys. They will do bad things. I will not include specific trigger warnings on individual chapters so consider this a blanket, "these people are evil" caution and caveat lector.

Book Two: The Traveling Years & The Growth of the Order

Ron Weasley, recent Hogwarts graduate, sat in his mother's kitchen with Daphne Greengrass who had managed not to wrinkle her nose at the shabby nature of his childhood home. Ginny had her head down over a Quidditch magazine and was licking her lips as she turned the pages and eyed the players. Mrs. Weasley bustled around the room, preparing tea and fussing and Ron obviously wanted to snap at her to stop but snapping at his mother never ended well. She'd not hesitate to send him packing if she thought he was rude, the presence of his not-quite-girlfriend guest notwithstanding.

Lavender had not lasted past graduation. She hadn't cared for the way he was spending so much time with Daphne Greengrass and he hadn't been able to tell her why as 'Tom Riddle tortured he and we're forming a secret society to take him down' sounded absurd, despite being true, and, well, it was a secret society, not a 'tell your girlfriend' society.

"I'm glad you dumped Malfoy," Ron said at last. Ginny looked up. "He's a no good rotter."

"He's fu… he's crazy," Daphne said. "They all are. My whole House has gone round the bend."

Molly Weasly clucked her tongue at the girl's near-profanity but slipped a mug of tea in front of her, set a plate of biscuits fresh from the oven on the table, and sank into a chair with a sigh of pleasure. "Not to be unpleasant about your school House, dearie," she said, "but Slytherin's always had a bit of a reputation."

Daphne helped herself to a biscuit and said, "There's a reputation and then there's doing Unforgiveable curses in front of an audience that doesn't even object."

"Have you seen a Healer for that?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

Daphne shook her head. "I'm afraid to," she admitted. "I'm afraid if I… I'm afraid he'll come after me again and - "

Mrs. Weasley patted her on the hand. "You're safe now, love," she said. She'd been surprised when Ron had mentioned he'd become close to the girl. Most other pureblood families avoided the Weasleys as too poor - and too Muggle-loving though that was only said in coded speech everyone understood - to associate with. They didn't fit the mold of the politically powerful, ambitious climbers that populated most of the remaining purebloods. The Notts, the Malfoys, the Parkinsons - they all angled to get their children married off to one another and positioned in government. The Greengrasses had traditionally played by those same rules and she'd expected this Daphne to be a bit snooty, if truth be told. She suspected, given the way the girl had plastered a polite but disdainful smile on her face when Arthur had prattled on at her about his current ridiculous Muggle toy, that young Daphne didn't think well of Muggles or Muggle-borns. However, her manners were impeccable and she'd suffered at the hands of what Dumbledore had called the new Dark power and Molly trusted Dumbledore implicitly.

"So," Molly said, "This Tom Riddle… he's run off with a bunch of your classmates now that you've all graduated?"

"Run off to Merlin-knows-where," Ron said. "They all just took off."

"All Slytherin?" Molly asked, expecting the answer to be yes.

Ron, however, shook his head. "Harry's disappeared. So has Neville."

Molly clucked her tongue again. That would break their parents' hearts. Such good boys. Neville, of course, was a bit weak, especially compared to his parents, and a bit forgetful. Not the lad she would have expected a would-be Dark Lord to recruit.

"All purebloods," she asked.

"Except for Granger," Daphne confirmed. "And they're dating."

"Not Riddle as well." They looked up at Albus Dumbledore, who stood in the doorway. "I let myself in, Molly, please forgive my - "

"You are welcome here any time," Molly said. "Nothing to forgive. Sit down, have a biscuit; they're lemon flavored just for you."

Dumbledore settled himself down into a chair and took a biscuit with a twinkle in his eye. "Riddle, unlike most of his followers, is a half-blood."

"I knew it," Daphne said under her breath. At the sharp look from both of the older adults at the table she added hastily, "Not that that means anything, of course."

"No," Dumbledore said. "I think our dear Mr. Riddle won't be using blood status as the lever to manipulate his followers, if for no other reason than he seems to be quite enamored of Miss Granger. Molly," he smiled at his hostess. "I've asked a few people to join us."

"I made enough biscuits for a crowd," Molly said. "And I can always throw a stew together if we go late."

"Excellent," Dumbledore said. "Miss Greengrass, I'm afraid you're going to be asked to retell the story you told me. It's quite horrifying, of course, and I'm sure it will be difficult for you, but - "

"I'll tell it as many times as you need me to, sir," she said. "That… that… he can't be allowed to win. I'll do anything."

"There's something off about him," Ron agreed. "Evil."

"Draco too." Ginny raised her head from her magazine. They all looked at her.

Molly murmured in an undertone to Albus Dumbledore, "They briefly dated last year. I wasn't happy about it - the Malfoys and all - but it seemed wisest not to say anything and just let it run its course."

"Tell me what you mean, child," Dumbledore said to Ginny.

"He's… well, he treated Granger like a princess he was afraid of offending but would also take a curse for. It was weird. And I never got the impression he really liked snogging me or… snogging me." Molly gave her a narrow-eyed look and Daphne snorted at the way she corrected herself but no one pushed the issue.

"Well, they did work together for a year," Dumbledore said. "Miss Granger told me he'd overcome his prejudice against Muggle-borns. That he had 'grown up' I believe she said."

"Maybe." Ginny, however, sounded like she didn't believe it and went back to looking at her magazine.

"Who is coming?" Molly Weasley asked as she rose to put on another pot of water for tea and take another tray of biscuits out of the oven.

Dumbledore steepled his fingers in front of him and said, "A young Auror named Tonks."

"Nymphadora?" Molly sounded surprised but pleased. "She was friends with Charlie when they were at school together. I haven't seen her in years. That will be lovely."

"Sirius Black," Dumbledore continued, "and his partner." Molly hid the small frown that threatened to take over her face for a moment. "Sirius is a good man, Molly. I know you don't approve of his… lifestyle… but he's a powerful wizard and he'll have insight into some of the children Riddle has recruited." Molly nodded with some reluctance. "The Potters and the Longbottoms, of course."

"Even with their boys…"

"Especially with their boys," Dumbledore said. "They have extra reason to be concerned that Mr. Riddle is up to something."

. . . . . . . . . .

When Tom Riddle and company arrived at the castle that was their destination Hermione stopped on the weedy, overgrown front drive and looked up at the imposing building. "You own this?" she asked, her voice squeaking.

Draco laughed and looped an arm around her shoulder. "Don't be too impressed, Granger," he said. "It's more of a white elephant than a desirable bit of real estate. It's huge, drafty, hard to heat, and it was built to hold off torch-bearing Muggles come to kill the witches, not for comfort."

Tom looked over at the pair and Draco pulled his arm away with a quick and awkward motion to scratch his nose. "Anyway," he said, casually stepping away from her and letting Tom move in, "my father was happy to let us have the place but I'm afraid it might be a bit of a wreck. Structurally sound, I'm sure, but I doubt it's been cleaned in a while and my mother had opinions about loaning us a house elf."

"You own a castle," Hermione just said, still staring up at it. "You weren't just being obnoxious. It's an actual castle."

Harry snorted. "Let us into your castle, Malfoy, so we can see how bad it is."

It was bad. Not truly, terribly bad, but bad enough. There was a large, barren hall that Tom pronounced perfect for Black Arts practice. There was a kitchen that was so covered in grime and soot it would end up requiring a week of scrubbing and spell work to render acceptable even by the lax standards of a group of 18-year-old budding Dark wizards. There were a warren of suites and bedrooms, each colder and darker than the last. Tom commandeered the only one with both decent window and a fireplace and announced it was his.

"Ours," Hermione said, giving him a look.

"Ours," he corrected himself, tugging on her hair hard enough to make her gasp and bite her lip as he pulled her to his side.

Draco looked away. Their damn sex life was so annoying.

Pansy found another reasonably decent suite, thought it looked as if a fox had made a home in the wardrobe. "We'll take this one," she said to Theo.

"Uh," he said, pointing at the fox droppings.

"If it's still here it can be my familiar," she said with an annoying amount of cheer.

Theo gave in to the inevitable and began casting scouring charms at the room at random. Nothing didn't require cleaning so it didn't seem to matter where he started.

Greg and Vincent, as soon as they realized everyone would have to take care of cleaning and finding wood to heat his own room, decided to bunk together. Harry and Neville quickly joined them and the four headed off to find a room with a fireplace that was large enough for four beds.

Draco dismissed even the hint of an idea that he would share a room. "I'm a perfectly competent wizard," he sneered. "I'm quite sure I can manage to clean and heat a small room by myself. I've shared a room for seven years and I am looking forward to having my own space again."

And with that they all parted to deal with the cold, dark dirty rooms they'd chosen. Linens were a problem. There were rodents. Pansy's fox – which was still living in her wardrobe and which took to her with startling alacrity – had been getting plump on rats and there were still plenty to go around.

As Hermione pushed her sweaty hair out of her face with her hand on their third day of nonstop cleaning she grinned at Tom. He was across their room, a book of household charms in one hand and his wand in another.

"There has to be a way to modify these to make them more efficient," he muttered. "This is ridiculous."

"When we rule the world and people ask us how it all started," she said, "Do we admit we spent all this time scrubbing a castle the Malfoys had basically abandoned because there wasn't a house elf to be found who was willing to take on the task of maintaining it?"

Tom laughed. "It's the glamour of world domination that first attracted me to it," he said.

She stuck her tongue out at him.

"Keep that in your mouth unless you plan to use it," he said.

They both turned to look at the bed. "It's definitely clean now," Hermione said.

"We could make it dirty?" Tom suggested.

"Promises, promises," Hermione said, walking toward him.

"How rough?" he asked, quietly as she reached him.

"Just a little," she said, "at least until we get some rugs for these floors. This stone –"

"Understood," he said. She licked her lips and he set the spell book aside and tucked his wand away. "I'm really rather displeased with you."

She looked down at the floor and swallowed, scuffing her toe across the worn, grey stone. "M..my lord?" she stammered.

"So slovenly," he whispered, licking a finger and then rubbing it along her arm. He drew a line in the dust and soot a day of cleaning had left her covered in.

"I… I've been working," she said, still not looking up.

He reached out and grabbed her upper arm and pushed her toward the bed. She stumbled back and grabbed onto the wooden post with her hands. "I didn't ask for excuses," Tom said. "Do I like excuses?"

"No," she said.

"No what?"

"No, my lord," she said.

Tom could feel his pulse begin to race as he hardened at her tone. He searched her face and, when she looked up, her eyes were as mischievous as her voice was fearful and he advanced toward her and pressed himself against the length of her body, his erection rubbing against her. He slid his hands around her neck and pulled her mouth to his and bit her lip hard enough to make her gasp. At that opening of her mouth he thrust his tongue past her lips and brushed it against hers. She ground her pelvis against him at that touch but her arms were pinned behind her, trapped where she'd placed them against the post of their four-poster bed, and she couldn't wrap them around him or pull at him.

"Trapped." He pulled back from her mouth but kept his body pressed into hers so she couldn't wriggle away from where he had her. Where, he thought with amusement, she had placed herself. "And don't think your obvious eagerness for me will get you out of the punishment you've earned."

"I… no, sir," she said. "I could – "

"I'm not interested in hearing anything from that pretty mouth of yours," Tom said, taking one hand off her neck and sliding it down her body toward the waist of her slack. "Not unless you're calling my name or begging for permission to come."

"I –" She shut her mouth in frustration and he smirked down at her. Got you, pretty witch, he thought.

"And talking after I specifically told you not to," he said. "It's as if you just want to increase your punishment."

She thrust her jaw out at him and glared. He stepped back far enough to put both hands on her waist and throw her onto the bed. "Strip," he said, "and then kneel. And be quick about it." She scrambled to pull her jumper and shirt off and was fumbling with her bra when he bent down to pull off first one shoe and then another and then quickly scrougify his hands. She had her trousers off and her knickers down around her ankle when he joined her on the bed; it took her a moment to get the knickers all the way off and to sit back on her heels on the mattress, her knees spread the way he liked so he could see all of her, her hands clasped behind her neck with an obedience that made him hide a smile. "Slower than I would have liked," he said. She stared down with the first hint of real nerves. He knew this was where he had her; the vulnerability of being naked when he was not helped push her into their game. He reached a hand out and took one of her nipples between his fingers and began to lightly press it over and over as he spoke. "So, let's go over your myriad sins, shall we?"

She didn't say anything so he pinched her harder and she let out a quick, "Yes, my lord."

"Better," he said. "You're dirty, you've been speaking out of turn, and you're not following instructions quickly enough."

Her breathing had become shallow and he watched her pulse throb at the base of her throat. He knew if he pressed the fingers of his other hand between her legs she'd be wet and ready for him just from these vague threats. Part of him wanted to taste her but, he thought, that wasn't really where this scene was going. Maybe later, after dinner, they could come back for another round. Still. He eyed the erect nipple his fingers were still rhythmically pressing and couldn't resist leaning in and lapping his tongue against the other. She gasped at the dual sensation and he could feel her struggle to keep her hands in place behind her neck. He ran his tongue in a circle around the erect flesh and she began to whimper.

"Ten swats, do you think?" he asked as he pulled his head back and blew on the dampened nipple. He waited for her response; not too rough, she'd asked for, but they hadn't spelled out quite what that meant.

"I… if my lord wants," she stammered.

"Will it help you remember to avoid annoying me in the future," he pressed.

"Yes," she said and he glanced up and smiled at the way her cheeks were burning. Making her spell out what she wanted remained one of his favorite things about this game.

"So ask," he said.

She gulped and he watched her carefully. "Please help me learn how to avoid annoying you in the future, my lord," she said.

He smiled. "I think I can do that," he said. He pulled her over onto his lap and she shivered as he ran a hand over her arse. He took a moment to arrange her legs so he could reach between them and then raised his hand and brought it down with a loud crack. She tensed and then let out a shaky sigh. He administered another spank and this time she made a little yelp and he watched her hands, still held at the back of her neck, curl into fists. He leaned back a little and reached a hand between her legs and, with one finger, gently stroked her. She burrowed her face into the coverlet and shook as he coaxed one shiver after another from her. After she'd fully relaxed into his touch he pulled his hand away and delivered two sharp slaps in succession, one after the other.

She said something, muffled into the bed, and he paused. "What was that, love?" he asked

"Tom… please," she said.

He ran his hand over her arse and she turned her face so her cheek was pressed to the bed and she could look at him. Her pupils were dilated and her mouth was open and he watched her as he reached his hand down to finger her again. Her eyes closed as if she couldn't take seeing him watch her but her mouth remained open, gasping for air as he teased her. When he brought his hand back up to spank her again, four more times, her eyes opened wide and she whimpered and licked her lips. "Two more," he said and she nodded. But he held off, reaching his hand back down to get her almost there. When she was shuddering at his touch he slapped her once, then again, each hit pushing her closer to the edge, then he pushed her legs as wide as he could and, with her sprawled on his lap, ran his fingers over her in rapid circles until she nearly howled his name and fell apart for him.

He rolled her over onto her back and unfastened his own trousers and, still fully dressed with clothes just pushed down and aside, thrust himself into her. She'd pulled her hands from her neck and wrapped them around him, yanking him down to her so she could kiss him again, which she did with wanton, frantic abandon, as he pushed into her and gasped himself at how wet she was, how aroused by and for him. He would never, never in what he meant to be an unnaturally long life, he thought, become indifferent to how this woman reacted to him. When she bit his lip, payback, he suspected, for the bite he'd left on hers, he arched his back and came into her.

After he lay on top of her for a few moment he rolled to the side and pulled her into his arms. "My hand hurts," he said with a laugh.

"Are you really going to complain about your hand?" she asked as she snuggled into him.

"You okay?" he asked, a little more seriously.

"Yeah," she said. "You hit pretty hard today, though."

"Too hard?" he asked.

She considered for a moment then shook her head. "Don't supposed you'd ostentatiously put a pillow under my bum at dinner?"

"You really like yanking Malfoy's chain, don't you?" Tom said, nuzzling her, glad to hear he hadn't been too rough. "Marvelous, amazing woman. Have I mentioned lately how much I adore you?"

"You could say it again," she said. "My lord."

He kissed her hair. "I adore you, my lady. One pillow on your chair at dinner, as requested."

. . . . . . . . . .

A/N - Don't expect an update for a few weeks but so begins Book Two…

23. Chapter 23

"Remind me why we're doing scut work like fucking Muggles?" Greg muttered as he kicked at another filthy, rotted table in the kitchen.

Vincent eyed him. "Because we're waiting for Luna to graduate, I think," he said. "Not that anyone's actually consulted me. Because Draco had this place, or his dad did, and we needed some kind of home base. Because Riddle wants us honed into some kind of freaky geniuses like he and Granger are before we go and take over the Ministry."

"I liked the taking over the Ministry bit," Greg said, tossing a rotted pot into a growing pile of refuse. "I like this less."

"You're just in a shite mood because Millie didn't want to come along," Vincent said.

"She's loyal," Greg said defensively.

"Sure," Vincent agreed with a nod. "She's loyal to Riddle but it turns out that, unlike Pansy who's basically decided she wants to rule the world no matter how dirty her hands get in the process, Mills is happy to let us take over the world." He tossed another handful of broken bits of something onto the pile. "She, my friend, cares more about her manicure than following you into the wilds."

Greg flung a broken chair onto the pile and waved Vincent back. A quick flick of his wand and the refuse all disappeared into a contained column of fiendfyre that winked out of existence almost as quickly as it had appeared.

"Nice."

Both men spun to see Tom Riddle watching them from the doorway. He smiled at Greg, the warm smile that could make a man feel as if the sun had appeared from behind a cloud just to shine on him. No one could make a man feel special and appreciated in quite the way Tom Riddle could. "Impressive, Greg," he said. "And to think you didn't even pass your O.W.L.s."

The man flushed. "I've been practicing," he stammered. "And you've got a knack for instruction."

"Incentive too," Tom said. "People excel with proper motivation." He glanced around the kitchen. "You've done a decent job of getting this usable but I want you working on magic, not as scullery maids."

"Has to get done," Vincent said. He was used to doing the things that needed doing but that no one else wanted to do.

"Not by you," Tom said. "How's your Imperius Curse?"

Greg glanced at Vincent and then said, "Not sure, my lord. Haven't had a lot of – "

"Now you will," Tom said, cutting him off. "Go get some Muggles – people who won't be missed – and bring them back here and use them to practice on. A well applied Imperius should get us some staff who can't say no."

"Can we get pretty girls?" Vincent asked.

Tom shrugged. "I don't care who you get, but you might not want to let Hermione see you ravish some Muggle you've Imperiused. She has what I believe modern parlance refers to as 'hang-ups' about slavery."

"Good advice, my lord," Greg said, scowling at Vincent who looked somewhat confused that Hermione – who'd come to dinner one night earlier in the week having been quite obviously beaten – had issues with slavery. Greg had already suggested over drinks one night that he just not think about what their lord and lady did behind closed doors and Draco had muttered that they should all just hope it stayed behind closed doors because it didn't always.

That thought was enough to make Greg feel almost ill with fear.

"Won't she mind if we have, uh, slaves?" Vincent asked. "Even if we aren't… even if they just clean the floors they'll still be, you know, uh…"

"Slaves?" Tom asked. When the other man nodded Tom just said, "I'll explain to her the necessity and she'll do as I say."

. . . . . . . . . .

"We can't get house elves." Hermione was nearly ranting as Tom sat at the desk he'd arranged in their room and watched her. "It's exploitative and wrong. You know they hate this castle or Draco's mother would have loaned us one."

"Love," he said again, "this castle is just too much for all of us to maintain if we want to study and learn too. Hogwarts had an entire staff to keep the place clean and do the laundry and the dishes and the cooking. We need a base to work from but if we want to accomplish our goals we can't spend all our time scrubbing."

"Magic – " she began.

"Isn't enough," Tom said. "This place is old and neglected and, even with magic, running a place like this is time consuming. We need a staff."

"Not elves," she said again, her jaw thrust out and her arms crossed. "Anything but elves."

Tom sighed and rubbed at his face. "How about Muggles?" he asked her. "I hate being around them but if you really are this set against elves we could compromise?"

Hermione regarded him warily. "How would you persuade Muggles to work in a magic castle?" she asked. He just looked at her until she made a face. "Imperius? Really?"

"It's that or elves," he said.

Hermione shook her head. "Imperius gives me a headache, Tom," she said. "Do you want me to have a headache all the time."

He stood up and put his hands on either side of her face and kissed her forehead. "I never want you to have a headache," he said. "We'll have the muscle do it."

"Goyle and Crabbe?" she snorted at that idea. "Do you think they can?"

"I think they need to learn how," Tom said.

There was a long pause as he stood holding onto her and she considered what he'd said. The conclusion she reached seemed to annoy her. "You bastard," Hermione said. "You just manipulated me right into what you wanted."

"Elves are so cute," Tom said. "Those big ears and the way they like to slam them in doors."

"No elves," Hermione muttered and Tom laughed, his breath hot against her skin, and ran a hand down her back. "And I am not picking up the slack if Goyle and Crabbe can't handle it."

"Of course not," Tom said, "You won't have to deal with the staff at all. Leave that to me."

. . . . . . . . . .

Pansy brushed past Draco as if he weren't there and pulled out one of the heavy wooden chairs at the main dining table. "Let me guess," she said. "Overcooked vegetables and rat?"

"Oh, ye of little faith," Theo loped into the room behind her. "I do believe Vincent managed to capture an actual cook today and Draco has had supplies delivered, courtesy of his endless galleons, and we should be in for a culinary treat." He bowed over the woman's hand. "May I get you a drink?"

"Get me one too?" Hermione asked without looking up. She was sitting at the foot of the table with a plethora of books spread out in front of her along with an empty tumbler. She reached for it, swore when she realized it was empty, and snapped, "Goyle! Your stupid girl is being worthless again."

Greg sighed. "I'm trying, I really am," he said. "She's fighting me."

They both turned to look at the girl in question, a dirty figure with her hair back in a sloppy pony tail and the dull look in her eye common to the poorly Imperiused. She was sitting on a chair in the corner watching the room and scratching now and again at her scalp.

"She'd better not have lice," Hermione muttered.

"Just the thought," Pansy said with a shudder, reaching her own hand to her head in horror. "You grew up with Muggles, Hermione. Are they all this stupid?"

"And pest ridden?" Theo asked, eyeing the girl as she scratched as well.

"Riddle told me to get someone who wouldn't be missed," Greg said, his arms crossed as he glared from one member of his cohort to another. "I picked up some runaway. I can't exactly make off with the mayor's daughter, now can I?"

The girl looked back at them with a placid, bovine stare and Hermione swore again. "Greg," she said. "You're doing it wrong. You can't get tied down in having to give her specific instructions for every damn thing – "

"Though some of us would appreciate it if you gave her a specific instruction to bathe," Pansy interjected.

" – you have to make her want to make you happy. Like a dog or something. Put her in some kind of dream world where she isn't a filthy captive."

"How?" Greg demanded in obvious frustration. "Every time I let go even a little bit she starts screaming bloody murder!"

Hermione slammed her book shut and said, "Give her to me for a moment but don't let go of your leash either and see if you can feel what I do then try it yourself."

"How the fuck do I do that?" Greg muttered but he squinched up his face in concentration and as the rest of them watched a moment of clear eyed terror filled the girl's dirty face and she opened her mouth to scream before she shut it again and blinked a few times and began to look at Hermione with what seemed to be adoration. Tom had come in and was leaning against the doorframe watching the entire exchange with muted amusement. Harry was behind him, less amused and more concerned as Hermione began to rub at her head. Greg's eyes widened and he said, "I think I have it," before the girl's eyes cleared again and she got out one good scream before Hermione leaned back and began to rub her temples and Greg tightened his hold on the little slave's mind.

"I should go wash," the girl said. It was the first time she'd spoken in a normal tone since she'd been dragged in quite literally by her hair. "I haven't had a hot bath since I left home." She looked at Greg. "That would be good, right?"

"Very good," he said.

"And keep my water filled while I'm reading from now on," Hermione said.

"I'll get you a potion for that headache," Draco said, slipping out of the room after the girl.

"Is she going to run off?" Vincent asked; he didn't have a lot of faith in Greg's mind control skills.

"What is her name, anyway?" Pansy asked. "I can't keep calling her 'that dirty slut'."

"She's not," Tom said. "Nicely done, Greg."

"Mind if I ask what he did?" Theo put a wine glass filled with something red and, since it had come from Lucius Malfoy's cellar, surely exquisite in front of first Hermione and then Pansy before setting the bottle on the table and returning to the sideboard to get more empty glasses.

"Why the fuck would I know her name?" Greg muttered at Pansy. "She's a fucking Muggle; name her whatever you want."

"He did what Hermione suggested and made the main command one of pleasing him rather than doing specific tasks," Tom said, ignoring the side play about the girl's name. "It's a bit more sophisticated but shouldn't take as much work to maintain even if it is harder to set up." He crossed over to Hermione and began to rub her head for her. "How's this?"

"I told you I didn't want to have to pick up the slack," she muttered. "You owe me."

"Technically I think Greg owes you," Tom said, "but as I'd rather I took care of you I'll take on the task of making you feel better."

Greg turned a shade of red that rivaled the bloodstain still on the floor from the unfortunate incident with the first Muggle girl. She'd gotten her hands on a knife when Vincent's concentration had wavered and gone after her captor until he'd desperately turned her rage back on herself. She'd bled out as Tom lectured Vincent on 'overkill' and 'subtlety isn't the enemy' and 'now we'll have to get another one.' They'd disposed of the body and fetched back Greg's current problem and the former cook who was now under the delusion he had a great job working as a private chef for a bunch of rich weirdoes. This was somewhat true, but did leave out the bit about how he couldn't even think about leaving and didn't notice he never got paid.

Vincent, as it turned out, had more of a feel for the Imperious Curse than Greg.

Harry sat down next to Hermione. "Why does that hurt you so much," he demanded.

"I don't know," Hermione said as Draco returned and slipped a shot glass with a foul but effective pain remedy into her hand.

"She can't be good at everything," Pansy said. Both Draco and Harry turned to look at her and she said snorted at their matching looks of outrage. "Look at you two. Tweedledum and Tweedledee." She took a sip of her wine and made a pleased face. Whatever Draco Malfoy's inadequacies had been in bed, he was an excellent judge of a good vintage. Or, more likely, someone on his father's staff was. She took another sip and savored the hints of blackberries and spice. "She's excellent at offense but shite at occlumency and bad at the Imperius."

"I don't like mucking around in people's minds," Hermione said. She'd swallowed the potion and flashed a look of thanks at Draco that made the man smile back at her with something akin to the look of mindless adoration the slave had had on her face earlier. "And I don't like them in mine."

"I want to see if this new find of Vincent's can cook," Theo said. "Maybe we can stop complaining Hermione's not perfect and move on to eating?"

"That seems like an excellent idea," Tom said and moved to the head of the table, stopping to pick up a glass of wine along the way. "To our new home," he toasted once he was seated. "And to getting a staff in here who can keep us fed and the place clean so we can work on what's really important."

"Dark magic," Hermione said with satisfaction.

"Power," Pansy chimed in.

"You two are far more terrifying than any of us," Theo observed, raising his glass toward first one than the other.

"I agree," Greg muttered.

As Draco and Harry exchanged amused glances and Vincent fussed with his wine glass Neville came stumbling in. "Sorry I'm late," he said. "I think I found the location of that woman who rumor claims can summon fairies and compel them to do her bidding."

"Excellent news," Tom said turning his warm smile on the new arrival. "A cause for celebration indeed. Pour yourself a glass, Neville, and let's start dinner and hope that Vincent's find lives up to our expectations."

"Because getting another one would be tiresome," Draco said.

"Exactly," Tom agreed.

24. Chapter 24

The Muggle girl brought Hermione a cup of tea. She'd cleaned herself up and begun to look like she was getting regular food. If it weren't for the vague look in her eyes and her tendency to announce, "I love my job" at random intervals, you'd think she was just another domestic employee.

Hermione didn't even look up at the girl, just took the cup of tea and lifted it to her lips, her eyes still skimming rapidly over the notes of the fairy lady. She'd turned out to be a bit of a disappointment. More delusional than Dark. That didn't keep Hermione from scouring the woman's own notebooks in hopes of finding something more interesting than iron shavings and pans of milk and admonitions that fairies didn't bother drunks.

The woman had clearly taken that bit of advice to heart, Tom mused as he smiled at Hermione. He doubted she'd seen sobriety in years. Not like his Hermione, who liked a clear head and could be coaxed into at most a glass of wine with supper.

Well, he did like her coherent. A coherent witch was a witch who begged prettily as he slid his fingers into her and brought to the edge but didn't let her climax. A coherent witch was a witch he knew was consenting. She'd already threatened to set him on fire once for crossing boundaries and no one had ever accused Tom Riddle of being a slow learner.

"This is all utter rubbish," Hermione complained as she threw the notebook down. "What a waste of time."

"Sorry, love," Tom said as she took another sip of her tea. He smirked to think how she'd accepted the human slaves without so much as a complaint. Step by step he was eroding all her moral scruples. He wondered how long it would take her to just kill or torture people to amuse herself. First, he supposed, she'd do it for knowledge, then for some other kind of gain, and finally simply because they were there and in her way.

Watching her soul become the ideal match for his own was a rare pleasure. He intended to shape her into perfection.

. . . . . . . . . .

Lily Potter looked over the letter the owl had delivered and then handed it over to Albus Dumbledore with a sigh. The man peered across his spectacles at her before turning his attention to Harry's letter while Lily leaned back in her chair and let her own gaze wander around Dumbledore's office with another sigh. She'd loved this room when she'd been a student at Hogwarts; the few times she'd been invited to the Headmaster's office it had felt more magical than anyplace else in the castle. Instruments she didn't understand but that charmed her spun and whirled; portraits pretended to be asleep while eavesdropping; books sat on the shelves but also ran along the edge of the room and occasionally even flew from one case to the next as if consulting with one another about magical research.

At last Dumbledore looked up and said, "This is quite nicely written."

Lily shook her head, her dark red hair swinging to and fro. "It doesn't say anything. It doesn't say where he is, who he's living with. It's got a rather funny anecdote about wine that he didn't think he'd like and did - and since when does my son have opinions about wine vintages! - and a description of wildflowers he found on a walk and nothing else."

"Pity those flowers are common to most of Britain," Dumbledore said. "They could have helped up locate the children."

"I want my son rescued," Lily Potter said. "He's always had a reckless streak and I don't want some monster from the past manipulating that to turn him into any kind of Dark wizard."

Dumbledore nodded. "You're quite right, Lily," he said. "We'll do everything we can to save him - and Alice's boy too."

. . . . . . . . . .

It had taken them several months to locate the wizard Tom wanted. Reclusive didn't begin to describe the man. Reclusive, dark, dangerous, fussy. Draco didn't like this one. Most of the wizards and witches they'd found and coaxed secrets from had been more in the way of peculiar scholars who'd pulled on the string of some line of inquiry and followed it to its terrifying end, rather like the fairy wrangler Neville had found. They were thrilled to share their work with the charismatic young man and his friends, delighted that someone was finally interested in what they had discovered. "No one will publish me," they almost all said, petulant and confused. "No one appreciates how interesting, how game-changing, how important my discoveries are."

"I appreciate them," Tom would say as Hermione began to ask questions that broke down the basics of the problem before them. "Tell me everything."

And they did. They poured out information and then the young Death Eaters thanked them and went back to that castle in Whales and began to practice.

The process had become so easy and predictable that meeting this wizard made the hair on the back of Draco' neck rise. He didn't want to admit them, sneered at their youth, raked his eyes insolently over Pansy and Hermione in a way that made both Tom and Theo reach for their wands, fingers twitching with the self-control they were exerting not to kill the man on the spot.

"Who are you?" the man demanded at last. "Your families. What are they?"

"Gaunt," Tom said coldly and the man rubbed his hands together.

"There are no more Gaunts," he said but Tom flashed his signet ring and the man narrowed his eyes and then nodded. "Dark little bastard, aren't you?" he said with a nasty chuckle. "Fine. Gaunt." He looked over the rest of them.

"Nott," Theo said and the man nodded.

He looked at Draco. "No need to tell me who you are. That blond mop. You're a Malfoy. Right side of the sheets or wrong?"

"Legitimate and only heir," Draco said, controlling his voice.

The man only grunted before he continued down the line.

"Crabbe," Vincent said.

"Potter," Harry didn't sound pleased to be forced to pull out his heritage.

"Half-blood," the man said with a sneer. "I heard about that shame."

"Longbottom," Neville said, before Harry could respond.

The man nodded at that. "Bet your parents are thrilled you're off with this lot, boy," he said.

"Goyle," Greg said.

The man didn't respond, just looked at Pansy and Hermione. "Who're the doxies?" he asked.

"Parkinson," Pansy said, her voice the cool and uninflected tone that meant she was about to strip someone's skin from their flesh. "And call me a doxy again and it'll be the last thing you ever say."

The man cackled. He actually cackled. Draco was fairly sure he'd never heard anyone do anything close to a cackle in real life, would have said it was a ludicrous and clichéd way to describe an evil laugh. It wasn't ludicrous. It was terrifying.

"You could try, missy," the man said.

Pansy smiled.

Draco took a step closer to Hermione, worried, suddenly, what was going to happen next. "Tom," he said.

Riddle glanced at him, saw the way he'd pulled himself closer to Granger and nodded.

"And you?" the man asked, looking at Hermione.

"Granger," she said.

He tipped his head to the side. "I don't think I know that family," he said. "What's filth like you doing in this group?" He paused and when she didn't respond he added, tone sly and filled with insinuation. "Brought along a little Mudblood for the cold nights, boys?"

"If you're trying to ask if I'm Muggle-born the answer is yes," Hermione said, her tone belying none of the cold anger that was starting to build in the group.

"Trash," the man said. He leveled his wand at her. "I haven't killed a Mudblood in a few years. Let me give you boys a little demonstration of what it is you came asking about."

Before anyone could stop him a stream of sickly yellow light exited his wand and struck Hermione. She gasped and made a gurgled scream and Draco grabbed her before he could fall to the floor.

"Take her," Tom ordered, without even looking. Draco tightened his grip on the sagging witch and prepared to apparate them both back to the castle. Before he did he heard Tom say, "You are going to regret that."

"Hurt me and you won't get what you came for," the man said, cackling again.

"Oh, I will," Tom said. "You'll be begging to tell us before long."

And then Draco was sucked away into the void, emerging back in the foyer of what had become their home. He raced the witch to her room, hesitating for a moment before kicking open the door to her and Tom' suite with one foot and laying her out on the bed. He stripped the burnt cloth away from her arm where the curse had hit and flinched in sympathy as she gasped at the pain. Her arm looked torn and scraped and burned. Little charred bits clung to flesh that was still red and oozing and Draco closed his eyes for a moment before pulling out his wand and setting to work. "Just, shite," he muttered as he began to clean up the wound. "What did that bastard do to you?"

"Cream," she choked out, "on the mantle. Good for pain control. And potions. They're labeled."

He summoned them over without getting up and sorting through the labels found one he thought would work and pried the cork out and held it to her lips. She made a face as he tipped the thing down her throat but, as it hit her, she sank back into the bed in faint relief.

"That's a little better," she whispered. "Thank you."

"You'll be a lot better before long," he promised. "Maybe Riddle will even keep that guy alive long enough for you to get a curse or two in."

"That'd be nice," she said, "but –"

"No talking," Draco ordered. "Let me focus."

She closed her eyes and let him work on her arm. He wasn't capable of this, he thought in desperation. No matter now many months he'd been working to heal whatever Dark curses he'd landed on someone this was wholly different. He wasn't even sure what this was. He tried to treat each issue separately. Stop the bleeding. Clean the wound. Heal the tears in her flesh. She stiffened with each spell he tried and he could feel his hands shaking. "Just keep her alive," he told himself. "Keep her alive until someone better at this gets here."

. . . . . . . . . .

"Begging?" The wizard laughed. "Because of a bunch of school kids?"

Pansy apparated out.

"I see the girl fled already," the man said, still sneering and cackling.

She popped back into the room, right behind him, with a knife in her hand. She plunged it into his wand arm and, when he gasped in shock at the sudden attack and loosened his grip on the wooden stick she plucked it from his hand and disappeared again.

"Fled?" Tom said and began to laugh himself as he stalked toward the man. "Disarmed you is what it looks like to me."

"May I?" Theo asked, his voice courteous.

"Of course," Tom said. "Just don't kill him. We want to find out what he's done, after all."

Theo and Tom struck the man simultaneously.

"I have often wondered," Tom said conversationally, "if multiple attacks with Cruciatus would increase the pain arithmetically or geometrically."

"It's good to learn new things," Theo replied.

"Indeed," Tom said. "Harry, wish to join us?"

"Quite," the man said, raising his own wand and adding his own curse to fray.

. . . . . . . . . .

Draco was still working when Pansy pushed the door open. "What do you need?" she asked without preamble.

"Someone better at Healing," Draco said. "Knowing what he did to her would help."

Pansy nodded. "On it," she said, and apparated out.

"Draco," Hermione whispered.

"What?" he said, trying not to cry as he worked to patch her arm up and wondered, in terror, what internal damage the curse had done.

"Never thought I'd see this day." She could barely get the words out. "You struggling to save me."

"Please don't talk," he muttered, "you need to –"

"I just wanted to thank you," she said, reaching her uninjured arm toward him. He took her fingers and choked back a sob. "This… if I don't… "

"You will so shut up," he said. "You're going to be fine, Granger. You and Riddle are going to go back to having that weird sex you have and you're going to go back to rubbing it in my face because you know it make me uncomfortable and…and… and you'll be fine."

"Maybe not," she said. "This feels… it feels not good, Draco."

"That's what pain feels like," he said, clutching at her fingers. "It feels not good. But Pansy has gone off to get someone to help and they'll be back and we'll fix you and you will be fine."

"Never would have thought we'd be friends," she said. "Almost turned down the Head Girl job because it meant working with you."

"Nice," Draco said, trying another Healing spell on her arm. "What made you change your mind? My devastating good looks?"

"Hah," she said, her voice so weak he closed his eyes again for a moment. "Dumbledore said he wasn't sure I could handle it and then I was telling him that of course I could handle you."

"So that old coot manipulated you?"

"Bastard," she said. "Serves him right he ended up bringing all of us together with that."

Draco laughed a little before he said, more soberly, "We are friends, right, Granger?"

"The very best," she said, letting her fingers twine through his as her head lolled back. "So glad we are, that I got to know you, before I –"

"Got married, right," Draco said, stopping her. "Because I'd hate to have not been invited to that."

. . . . . . . . . . .

Tom had been right in predicting the man would beg them to let him reveal what he'd done. It didn't even take long. Greg and Vincent looked confused as he explained the curse he'd levied at Hermione but the rest of them became quiet and pale as the man choked out what it did. Pansy had reappeared and she had been talking urgently into Theo's ear but she fell silent as the full import of the spell became clear.

"How do you undo it, you farking bastard," Harry finally demanded.

Tom listened to the man talk and nodded several times. "That makes sense," he said at last.

"Draco needs help," Pansy said. "He's out of his depth. He needs it now. If you're going to stay and – "

"I'm leaving," Tom cut her off. "Make it slow."

"We will," Neville said, his eyes cold. "Trust me, we will."

. . . . . . . . . .

Draco looked up when Tom Riddle apparated directly into his suite. He fought the urge to pull away from the witch he was almost wrapped around but, for once, Tom was focused on something other than his jealousy when it came to Hermione.

"Hold her," Riddle ordered. "Get behind her and brace her."

Draco paled at what that implied but scrambled to get behind the witch on the bed and held her as instructed. When she was leaning up against his chest, his arms were wrapped her around, and her head was lolling against his shoulder, Tom said, "This is going to hurt, love, and I'm sorry, but I'm right here and Draco's right here and this is going to make you better, understand?"

Hermione shuddered a little and then Tom leveled a spell at her and she screamed and Draco tightened his arms as she arched up and screamed and screamed and her whole body convulsed.

"What the fuck?" Draco hissed at Tom. "What are you doing? I thought you loved her!"

"Her cells are breaking down," Tom said by way of brief explanation. "That curse is soaking into her at the smallest level and I have to rip it out, like pulling a weed from a garden. But it's going to," he hesitated and Draco felt his soul recoil at anything that would make Tom Riddle hesitate. "It's going to be bad."

"What do you need?" Draco asked.

"Just hold her," Tom said. "Keep her from hurting herself more as I work."

"Done," Draco said and tightened his grip on the woman who had almost passed out as Tom cast the spell on her again, shocking her into another scream. She was weaker this time and when the wave of convulsions ended she just lay there, tears trickling down her face."

"We're making him suffer," Tom said as he gave her a brief rest. "Just know, love, whatever you're enduring now it's been, and will be, so much worse for him."

"Good," she said, her voice barely audible.

"That's my witch," Tom said.

"How many more?" she asked.

"Probably all night," Tom admitted and Hermione began to sob.

It was the longest night Draco ever endured.

25. Chapter 25

Recovery was slow.

Pansy handed Hermione the wand she'd taken and the shaky woman snapped it. "Bastard," she said, her voice still hoarse from all the screaming she'd done. Pansy tossed the two halves into the fire where they hissed and sizzled as they were consumed.

"I'd say he died screaming," Pansy said, "but by the time we let him die he hadn't been able to scream for a long time."

"You're the best," Hermione said, her smile faint but real.

Harry tiptoed into her suite, a bunch of wilted flowers clutched in his hand. "I didn't want to go to a florist," he said. "I mean, it's not like there's anything around her for miles, but I wanted to give you something." He looked down at the wildflowers in his hand. "They looked better in the field."

"I love them," Hermione said.

Harry transfigured a cup to a vase and shoved the flowers in, adding a stasis spell to try to prop up their wilted heads with only limited success. "We took all his books," Harry said. "The whole library. Took Crabbe and Goyle days to get them all moved over here to what they've started calling 'Castle Library'."

Hermione managed a small giggle at the image of the two of their number who least liked books being tasked with moving them all. "Are they just shoved on shelves in no order?" she asked, the beginning of worry crossing her face.

Harry shrugged. "Riddle told them to just keep them in the same order they'd been in at that lunatic's place so whatever that man's system was, well, it's the same we've got. Whenever he's not here Riddle's been going through them. I guess most of them are warded with enough hexes that just getting into them is a puzzle."

"I guess that's good," she said, her eyes starting to weigh down.

"I'll go," Harry said, studying her with worry on his face. "You're still recovering."

She nodded.

Harry cornered Tom in the corridor. "She's so weak," he said, voice wavering between accusation and fear. "When is she going to get better?"

"I don't know," Tom said, his eyes on the door to his suite. "What he did – it was an incredible spell. It would help if we did it on someone and watched their deterioration so we could know what to look for with her."

"Would a Muggle work?" Harry asked, "or does it have to be a witch?"

Tom eyed Harry for a long moment before he answered him. "I think a Muggle would work," he said.

"Then we get one," Harry said. "One that isn't already making herself useful doing the laundry and taking the edge off Goyle's temper. You can duplicate the curse, right?"

"After tearing it out of her strand by strand?" Tom asked with what almost passed for sarcasm. Harry didn't settle for that answer so Tom nodded. "I could. Easily."

"Then I'll have a victim for you by supper," Harry said. He glanced down the hall before adding, "With your permission, of course."

Tom laughed. "No one who will make anyone's heart bleed, okay?"

"An arsehole. Got it." Harry said, then began to laugh himself.

"What?" Tom asked.

"Pity I can't swing back to the London suburbs and get my cousin," he said. "My mum's sister's kid. As Muggle as they come and just awful. The kind of petty bully who beats up kids two years younger them himself and runs away from spiders and bugs. I used to transfigure anything I could to beetles and the like at family picnics just to watch him panic." He smiled at the memory. "My mum always pretended to scold me on the way home and my dad would just laugh and say the lousy wanker deserved it and more and that next time I should try to get a spider down Aunt Petunia's dress as well."

Tom kept his expression pleasant as his follower reminisced about pleasant family gatherings. "It's probably a bit far to go," he said. "Maybe some derelict closer to here?"

"By supper," Harry said again and strode off.

Tom watched him go and then opened the door to his suite with care to keep it quiet in case Hermione was sleeping. Her eyes slipped open at even the small sound he made, however, and she smiled at him. "Missed you," she said. "Harry said you've been reading."

He crossed over to the bed and sat down with her. "I have," he said. "You'll love the books we got. Most of them are his research notes." Tom took her hand and twisted his fingers through hers.

"He's dead?" she asked.

Tom nodded. "I was here," he said, and she swallowed hard at the memory of that awful night. "The others, they took care of him." He turned away for a moment to control himself before he added, "I'm so sorry, Hermione. When we first… I promised I would keep you safe, promised I would look after you, and he hurt you." Tom's voice broke a little on that last phrase so he steadied himself and said it again. "He hurt you and I'm so sorry."

"It was my fault," she said. "Should have had a shield spell ready. One quick protego and –"

Tom shook his head. "That would have burrowed through most defensive spells."

"Then a better one," she said. "I should have –"

"Hush." He put a finger to her lips. "When you're better I'll yell at you until you cry for letting yourself get hurt, if you like. I'll turn you over my knee and express my opinion that way. But right now you need to get better for me."

She reached her hand up and put it over his finger pressing it to her lips and he sighed. "I was so afraid you were going to die, Hermione," he said, voice low. "I thought you had… I wasn't sure you were going to make it."

He studied her face. "You can't die," he said. "You have to promise me you won't. That, when you're well, you'll do what it takes so you never risk death again."

She closed her eyes and he caught her face with both hands. "I mean it, Hermione. It's time. For me, promise me you will do this for me."

"A horcrux," she whispered.

He didn't let her go until she nodded.

. . . . . . . . . .

Harry Potter had the Muggle – a teenage boy who was covering his fear with defiance and sneers, set up in one of the endless tiny rooms the castle offered before dinner. The victim had been partially immobilized and left lying on a dirty cot until Riddle could attend to him and, because Tom had wanted to use the opportunity as instructional, it was fairly late before everyone was available. Tom lit a lumos and eyed his assembled followers. Neville had his arms crossed and looked uncomfortable; Harry and Draco leaned against the wall near the tiny, broken window no one had bothered to fix and were arguing in quiet tones about something; Theo had an arm around Pansy and her ridiculous fox was sitting on her feet looking both adorable and like at any moment it would bound away and kill something. Tom had sometimes wondered how it was that familiars could be so perfectly matched to their human or, as was the case with Neville and his endless string of toads, could seem to be wholly random. Greg and Vincent, the last of his inner circle hovered; neither expected to be able to master a curse this complicated but Tom had said to be there so they were there.

He wished they didn't have to wait for Luna to graduate. She'd patted him on the cheek and said the something-or-other would lead her to him when she was done with Hogwarts and he'd given her what he thought was his most terrifying look and she'd only asked if the chicken at lunch had upset his stomach. She was the feyest creature Tom could imagine and he wouldn't give her the time of day if it weren't for odd moments where she handed him woven flowers that nearly vibrated with dark energy or asked whether he thought inferi could be set up in a pyramid so you only had to actively control one.

No, he wanted Luna.

Well, he didn't want Luna. Her peculiarities were exhausting after even ten minutes, but he wanted that oh-so-peculiar and brilliant mind turned to his dark plans rather than researching imaginary sea birds or whatever she would be doing without their group to keep her focused.

Tom brought his attention away from Luna's poor taste in being a year behind the rest of his followers and to the boy on the bed. "Harry has procured this lad for us," he began, "so that we might curse him with the same spell our last, late research associate used on Hermione and follow its progression in order to better understand her recovery – "

"Which is too damn slow," Draco muttered.

" – and as none of us were prepared to study the man's technique at the time I thought this would be an excellent time for you to all observe the casting and the immediate reaction. If anyone wishes to practice it themselves I'm afraid you'll have to ask Vincent to capture you another test subject."

"Happy to do it," Vincent said.

"Yes." Tom leveled his wand at the boy on the bed whose eyes had gotten wider.

"Oh, Harry, please release him enough so we can hear him beg," Pansy said. "It's boring with him just lying there like a stick of wood."

"You do like the screamers," Draco muttered and Harry snickered as he pulled out his wand and made a quick pass through the air.

The boy, realizing he could speak again and move, if only a little, began to tremble so much he shook the cot he was on and to blubber. "You're all crazy," he stammered out. "Just let me go and I won't tell anyone, I swear. I'll just go and you can – "

Tom raised his voice and spoke over the continued imprecations of the boy on the cot. "This curse is unvoiced which, of course, makes it far superior on a battle field or in a duel but the spell itself is a sufficiently nasty piece of work that it's not suited for anything subtle. The words you need to mentally articulate are 'mitos destruetur' and the wandwork is thus." Tom swung his wand in a wide arc that tightened into a quick spiral he pointed at the boy. The others mimicked the gesture and Pansy's tight snap earned her a nod of approval from Tom. "Get her a practice toy," he said to Vincent who nodded.

The boy began to laugh with relief. The crazy people who'd somehow tied him to this bed were waving their silly sticks of wood and saying their incomprehensible gibberish but nothing was happening. He'd been ridiculous to think it would. Then Tom, a small smile on that perfect mouth, combined the silent casting with the wand waving and the boy's derisive and relieved laughter turned into a garbled scream that started Pansy's fox enough for it to make a sound that was half-bark, half-scream. Greg, who hadn't responded at all to the wail of agony from the bed jumped at the sound of Pansy's familiar, pulling a cackle from the witch.

"Scared of a little fox, Greg?" she asked.

"I think that thing is going to murder me in my sleep," he muttered.

They all watched the boy who had begun to convulse on the cot. He closed and opened his eyes and began to plead with them between spasms, choking out his terrified words to a room filled with impassive faces and one fox that was licking its paw as though to cover any embarrassment it might feel at having been surprised into a reaction earlier.

"I want someone to watch him and take notes on the progression of the curse," Tom said. "Two-hour shifts. Pansy, you go first, then Harry."

Both nodded.

. . . . . . . . . . .

Tom ran a hand across Hermione's cheek. She'd drifted back into the restless sleep he'd grown to hate. "Time to get you a familiar," he said. "Pansy's fox made me realize how you need one of your own." He sat down and opened a book on Inferi; there was no reason to waste the boy's corpse once the curse finally took him. "I'll sit with you for a bit while you rest, love. Once you get stronger we need to talk about who you want to be your horcrux and the wedding." She shifted on the bed and he smoothed her hair away from her face.

She stirred at that touch but didn't open her eyes and Tom watched her, his moth set in a grim line.

. . . . . . . . . .

"I don't know," she said.

Hermione was finally well enough to be moved and they'd floated her with great care to what had once been some sort of solarium. Draco had repaired the windows and Greg's little drone had scrubbed away the dirt magical charms couldn't handle - some things really did do better when you applied manual labor to them - and Harry had settled the woman into a padded chair and tucked a quilt around her knees. The pair of them were leaning up against the walls, their slouches and casual demeanor hiding that they were very much in attendance.

"It's better to make it someone important to you," Tom said. "You don't want your horcrux to be built out of some absurd girl in a toilet."

"Does it affect the magic," Hermione asked, her interest piqued.

"No," Tom admitted. "It's just… you'll remember that person and that moment forever. It's an intense process."

"You always remember your first," Draco said with a smirk. Tom's smile became momentarily irritated and Hermione laughed.

"Trust you, Malfoy, to equate the darkest magic with sex," Tom said and Hermione laughed again, the sound easing some of the furious tension out of Tom Riddle's shoulders.

"Why does it matter?" she asked.

"He's a sentimentalist," Pansy said, walking in with a lunch tray, her fox at her heels. "All men are. It's their weakness." Draco glared at her and she smirked back. "They get attached to their toys," she added. "Just ask Greg."

Hermione groaned as Pansy set the tray down in front of her. "Do I want to know?" she asked.

"You don't," Harry and Draco said in unison.

Hermione lifted the spoon and began to stir the mild soup with resignation. "You're going to make me sit here until I finish this, aren't you?" she muttered. Draco could be bribed and sweet-talked and maneuvered into taking away half-eaten meals but Pansy was relentless. Tom had ripped every strand of curse out of her but the lasting effects continued to nip at her heels and she was always tired and had trouble eating. Five Muggles had been cursed with the same hex and the young wizards had charted every stage of their demise and the ones who'd been able to muster the will to eat had lasted the longest. Pansy, who'd taken charge of that particular project, remained unsure whether the findings could be applied to someone who had, in theory, been cured, but she tried to stuff food down Hermione's mouth at every possible opportunity just in case.

"There are candied flowers if you finish that," Pansy said. "When you finish that."

She sat down and pulled out a Muggle wedding magazine. "While you're eating I think we should plan your ceremony."

"With that?" Hermione looked over at the unmoving photographs of wholesome models in an endless series of white dresses. "It doesn't seem to be quite the look I think we're going for. And I think Tom wants me to plan a horcrux."

Pansy gave Tom a disgusted look. "Murder does not stimulate the appetite," she said. "Now, what type of flowers do you think would be best?" Draco made a choked snicker and Pansy looked up at him. "Why are you still here?" she demanded. "Have you become a wedding planner since we last spoke?"

Draco looked to Tom for permission to leave and, at the man's slight nod, grabbed Harry by the sleeve and dragged him away.

"Tom?" Pansy asked. "Do you have flower opinions?"

Tom accioed a book from one of the shelves and, once he had it in his hand, tossed it to Pansy. Hermione took another bite of the soup as she watched the pair of them. "I was thinking the soul bond I have marked would be the most appropriate ceremony," he said.

Pansy skimmed the bonding ceremony and let out a low whistle. "Monkshood would work," she said. "And it's pretty too." She frowned. "Nightshade would be the obvious choice but it's a bit cliche."

Hermione took another bite, and another, and finally asked, "What do we do with these flowers in this dark little bonding ceremony you're planning out?"

Tom gave her a steady look before he said, "We distill them into a liquor and mix it with the blood of an innocent and drink it, then heal one another of the resultant poisoning."

"I have to drink blood?" Hermione asked in horror, looking down at her clear soup. "Tom, I can barely stomach this broth; I'd probably throw up poisoned blood."

"You also wear the blooms as crowns," Pansy said. "You crown one another and entwine arms while you drink from rune encrusted goblets of purest silver. It's actually quite a lovely ceremony."

"Except for the drinking poisoned blood bit," Hermione muttered. Tom took the spoon from her hand, dipped it into the bowl, and lifted it to her mouth. She allowed him to feed her and sighed. "Is this really what you want?"

"It should be done in the dead of winter on the solstice," Tom said. "By then I'm sure you'll feel much better." He lifted another spoonful of soup to her mouth. Hermione rolled her eyes and he smiled at her, utter adoration slipping into his expression. "But if you wanted to do it sooner we could aim for Halloween."

"Really?" Hermione held her hand out for the book. "That seems a tad cliched."

He lifted another spoon to her mouth. "You have to decide how many of our friends become bonded in as well because they all have to take part in the ceremony."

"I'm marrying all of you?" Hermione teased him.

Tom, who could barely stand for even Harry and Draco to so much as touch her hand, gave her a withering look which had no effect on her at all. "You're marrying me," he said. "Just me. After you recover completely and you make a horcrux."

. . . . . . . . . .

A/N - There are some stupidly cute fox pictures on the pinterest board for this fic

26. Chapter 26

"What is that?"

Tom dumped the box on the bed and a kitten fell out, claws extended. It expressed its opinion of Tom in no uncertain terms; they were terms that, if one spoke kneazle, probably translated to "dump me out of a box again and lose an eye." Hermione propped herself up against her pillows and reached a hand out toward the ball of spitting, angry fluff and began to laugh.

"You got me a kitten?" she asked in obvious delight.

Tom shrugged. "What's a witch without a familiar?" he asked. "Pansy has that wretched fox that follows her everywhere and I didn't want you to - "

"You may be the sweetest thing," Hermione cooed.

Tom was about to say thank you when he realized she was talking to the kitten, who had, with a baleful look in his general direction, curled itself into a ball on Hermione's chest and begun purring.

"I'll leave you two," Tom said and did.

. . . . . . . . . .

Sirius Black put his feet on his brother's table and smirked at Regulus narrowed his eyes and resisted the obvious urge to shove them off. Drusilla, back from Beauxbatons for the summer, and as unpleasantly arrogant as ever, let her eyes rest on his dirty shoes with a look of disdain that would not have been out of place on her grandmother Walburga's face.

"It's a pleasure to see you, as always," was all Regulus said. "Where's the wolf? Molting somewhere?"

Drusilla smothered a snicker with her cold, polite smile and sat perched on the edge of her chair, her spine so straight you expected to see a board tied to it. Sirius eyed her and wondered if Regulus and his wife had resorted to the posture correcting tools he knew Druella had used on the Black girls of his generation. She'd crossed her stiletto-clad feet at the ankle and held her tea cup with frigid propriety and Sirius considered how easily he was able to despise his own niece.

That she might as well be Walburga born again, from expressions to prejudices, helped.

"Remus is fine," Sirius said. "He's off meeting with Dumbledore."

"What for?" Regulus asked.

"Can't tell," Sirius said with a smug grin.

"Well, anything that would include the cause of your disgrace has to be bad news," Regulus said. "I hope you aren't entangling yourself in one of that old man's schemes."

"Dumbledore is a great man," Sirius said. "Dark times may be coming - "

"Dumbledore," Regulus said with disgust, "is still coasting on his glory days of beating Grindelwald. He's a washed up school administrator who uses students to run that school and sends out endless fundraising letters about the new Quidditch pitch or the new wing of the library all while O.W.L. scores drop."

"And he lets in any old filth," Sirius said. "I've heard it all before."

Regulus glanced at the daughter he'd sent abroad to keep her away from the riffraff at Hogwarts and said, his voice cool, "Times change, Sirius. Muggle-borns have become more accepted and we all need to live in the present."

Sirius almost choked on the tea he'd been swallowing and, yanking his feet off the table, leaned forward. "Did I just hear that right?" he asked. "Is my brother finally not a blood-purist? Did you finally drop that codswallop shite our mother force fed you and come to your senses?"

"There are things more important that blood status," Regulus said. He smiled at his brother. "Dru has two more years at Beauxbatons and then we'll introduce her into society. Society includes half-bloods and the others and it will, I think, be worth her life to be able to mingle with them without snobbery."

Sirius let out a long, low whistle. "I never thought I'd hear you say that, Reg, but I'm glad. I'm really glad." He smirked. "You're still wrong about Dumbledore, though."

"Oh," said Regulus. "I'm betting I'm not."

. . . . . . . . . .

Tom lay in bed net to Hermione and let his fingers trace the pattern of the shape of her spine. She sighed at the soft touch and rolled over onto her back so she could see him. He smiled down at her and, brushing a curl out of her face, said, "It's good to see you stronger. I've missed my dangerous witch."

"I'm sorry," she said again. He'd lost count of how often she apologized for getting cursed and he lay a finger across her lips again.

"Not your fault," he said. "I should have been better prepared, should have expected treachery. So many of these Dark wizards are steeped in blood prejudice - "

"I'm a liability," she said. The kitten, who was curled in front of the fire, hissed its displeasure at that assessment.

"You are the queen," Tom corrected Hermione, sparing a smile for the familiar who had returned to ignoring them. "My queen and therefore theirs."

"I should have - "

He pushed his finger more firmly against her lips. "You should have done nothing," he said. "It's my responsibility to take precautions and I didn't." He let a hint of the fury and rage that she'd gotten hurt leak out of the control he kept on his emotions so they would color his tone. "I didn't take him seriously enough after all the simpletons we've met with and you were hurt. I promised to keep you from getting hurt and I keep failing at that."

He took a deep breath. There was something he hadn't told her yet.

"That curse," he began.

"I'm healed," she said. "It's been too long but I'm fine now."

"No," he said. "Some things will never be fine. You…" He closed his eyes and then opened them. "We did the best we could to rip that out of you but it was designed to attack you at a cellular level and it got too deeply into you while I was torturing the answers out of him and some things can' t be… you'll never be able to have children."

There was a long pause while he waited for her to react. He expected sobbing, or at the very least a brave chin trembling against grief. Instead she blinked at him a few times. "Is that it?" she asked. "That's the big reveal you're bracing yourself to tell me? I thought you'd say I'd never be the witch I was before or something important. Not…kids. Who cares about kids?"

He felt his lips begin to turn upward in a small smile. "Well, yes, that's it," he said. "Don't you want children?"

"Not really," she said. "And you can't have them anyway because - "

"Horcruxes," he said.

"Right, and now you want me to make one and… how was that going to work, anyway? The baby thing, I mean. Making a horcrux seems fairly straightforward next to that given that you're, you know, not fertile."

"I thought if you wanted a baby we'd let Draco or Theo do the honors," Tom said stiffly, "Before you make the horcrux, of course."

Hermione burst out laughing at that. The sound was infectious and Tom began to grin back at her, mostly in relief that she wasn't upset that she was as sterile as he was now. "You can barely stand for Draco to put an arm around me," she said between gasps of laughter. "I've had to threaten you for you to tolerate Harry when I'd rather spend the rest of my life celibate than… oh, just the thought is gross."

She grabbed his palm and pressed it to her lips. "Exactly how did you plan to sit around and watch Draco Malfoy fuck me to get me pregnant without going completely mad and slaughtering him?" She barely got the question out before she was laughing again and Tom began to growl.

"This isn't funny, witch," he said. "I was going to… just so you could have something I thought you'd want and now you're laughing at me."

"I'm sorry," Hermione said, trying to control herself. "It's just… the idea." She shook her head. "I don't want babies anyway but the idea of you sitting in the corner glowering at poor Draco as he struggled to get it up, terrified the whole time if he moved wrong you'd hurt him, if he seemed to be enjoying it too much you'd hurt him."

"If he'd seemed improperly appreciative of the wonder that is you," Tom said, leaning down to brush his lips across her nose, "I'd have had to kill him and you might have found that annoying."

"Quite likely," she agreed. "So few women like having the love of their life murder their sperm donor mid thrust. It might have put me off sex."

"For at least a week," Tom said.

"Maybe two," she said.

"I love you," he said. "You impossible, ridiculous woman."

"I love you, too," she said. "That was a very sweet - if bizarre and insane - thing you were willing to do."

He laughed. "Fine," he said. "I'm insane. I don't suppose you have any thoughts on who you want to kill for your horcrux?"

Hermione sat up and pulled her feet under her in bed and wadded up the rumbled sheet so it rested in her lap. Tom rolled onto his back and looked up at her while he waited for the to think. When she didn't say anything he offered, "Daphne's little sister would work." He smiled. "She'd send a message to the Greengrasses, right enough."

Hermione shook her head. "I don't think I can kill a thirteen-year-old girl who hasn't done anything to me."

"I think she's fourteen," Tom said. Hermione narrowed her eyes and he laughed. "No matter. Fine. The Greengrass girl is out. How about one of those bitches in your dorm who was mean to you?" Her eyelids fluttered a little and Tom took one finger and began tracing it along her knee. "Lavender, maybe? Nasty little thing, wasn't she? All filled with little bits of gossip about how you just weren't quite good enough. It's be nice to have her at your feet, wouldn't it love? You could make her beg, lead her to think you'd let her go if she asked nicely enough." Hermione began to smile a little and he went on. "No one gets to upset you, of course, so she'd have to go eventually, but you could play with her like a cat plays with a mouse. Maybe let her run from you through this castle only to have her find herself in front of you again? You could make her scrub the stones on her hands and knees while Draco and I feed you grapes - "

"You'd let Draco feed me grapes?" Hermione asked. "You might be more into this little fantasy of watching him - "

"Don't." Tom's voice got suddenly serious and cold and she stopped. "Do you want me to fetch you the Lavender girl, or Parvati? Lavender might be easier. I might accidentally get the wrong Patil girl."

"Tom," Hermione said, setting a hand over his. "You know I'm teasing you about - "

"If I tell him to feed you grapes, he'll feed you grapes," Tom said, his voice thrumming with menace. "And you'll let him."

Hermione pushed herself away from him at that comment. "I don't think so," she said. "Don't start treating me like one of your flunkies."

Tom seemed to startle at that and sat up; he reached a placating hand out to her and she let him rest it on her cheek but her eyes remained clouded with annoyance. "I'm sorry," he said. "You keep me in line, love."

She softened a bit and sighed. "Lavender, then, but maybe without the grapes scene." She bit her lip. "How do I make the horcrux?"

Tom pulled her onto his lap and, running his hands over her skin settled down to tell her the process. She nodded as he talked and asked questions and he lay a cheek on her bare shoulder and explained in more detail. He inhaled her scent and thought about the future with this woman at his side - not as his equal, certainly, because he had no equals, but as his love - and smiled. He'd do anything for her, and, he mused, keeping her herded where he wanted her to go was becoming easier. A little flash of darkness, a little anger, and she slapped him down but stepped in the direction of his choosing without noticing. He'd enjoy watching her kill Lavender Brown. The Edgecomb girl at school had been delicious but over so quickly. He'd get Hermione to make this one last even if he did have to have Draco Malfoy hover over her attentively with wine and fruit.

"What should I put it - my soul - into?" Hermione asked at last.

Tom unhooked the locket she'd given him and held it out to her. "I know you gave it to me," he said, "and it seems a bit gauche to - "

"Your mother's locket," Hermione's breath caught. "Are you sure?"

"It would… yes," he said. "I want you - your soul - wrapped up with jewelry that means something. Not just a pretty bauble or an old book."

"But it's the only thing of hers you have," Hermione said. Tom could see tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

"I know," he said, "but you'll be mine, not dead like she is, mine, forever." He pressed it into her hand and she closed her fingers around it.

"If that's what you want," she said.

"It is," Tom Riddle said. "I want you as all mine."

. . . . . . . . . .

A/N - I will be on vacation and away from the computer next week so won't be able to update. However, in two weeks there will be more. As always, thank you for your lovely words and encouragement. I've hit a bit of a snag on chapters 2-10 and 2-11 and your enthusiasm helps tremendously.

27. Chapter 27

The initial Mark had been designed by Theo's father, something Tom didn't mention as he sketched it out again and slid it across the table to the young man sitting there. Theo looked it over and kept his face politely neutral.

"All of us?" he asked. "This symbol?"

Tom nodded.

"Everyone?" Theo asked again.

Tom pulled the parchment back and began doodling rather idly on the corner of the sheet. "No," he said. "It will indicate rank." He added some runes to the sheet that twisted and folded in on themselves. "It's not just a tattoo, of course."

"No?" Theo asked.

It was clear he didn't want to object. Objecting to things Tom Riddle wanted, unless you were Hermione, didn't tend to go well. Still, the knowledge he'd be expected to burn a Mark into his skin was not, perhaps, the most welcome news Theodore Nott had ever received. Tom permitted himself a moment of longing for the past when people were in awe of him and did what they were told without wanting reasons and justifications. Abraxas would never have questioned the function of the Mark Thoros had designed, but this generation was far more inquisitive. Tom took a deep breath and reminded himself that, in many ways, that was good. They learned faster, took more initiative, were more vicious and less petty. Some of his original gang had really just wanted an excuse to go on some kind of violent rape and mayhem spree; this group, despite Greg's interest in the little imperiused, scullery maid, saw power as a bit more about politics and control and a bit less about slicing people into pieces.

"That Bulstrode girl won't get one," Tom said idly as he kept drawing runes. If he added this and this and that to the incantation he'd be able to add a bit more protection against most offensive spells than he'd had in the Mark already. "She's made it clear her loyalty - "

"Millie's loyal," Greg said hastily.

" - is not quite as intense and dedicated as people in the inner circle need." Tom flashed his warmest smile at Greg and the man flushed a little under that approval. "People like you, Greg."

Greg mumbled thanks and ducked his head in embarrassed pleasure.

"No," Tom continued, "the Mark is quite a bit of magic, really. It will allow you to contact me at any time, to summon me, to add a bit of my power to your own spells." He tweaked the rune configuration and looked with satisfaction at the final result. That would be more than satisfactory; a defensive shield that would turn on the Marked soul if he tried to betray his master. Not that he'd mention that last bit. "It also has a built in Protego charm so you are protected from the most basic of magical assaults."

Theo let out a low whistle. "That is impressive," he said. "Will Hermione…" he trailed off, afraid, perhaps, to go on.

"Of course," Tom said.

"It's going to hurt, isn't it?" Neville asked, looking at the design and the sketched runes. Tom gave him an inquisitive look and Neville smiled back. "I'm good at synthesizing things, remember? You're blending about five different magics into what amounts to one, custom rune that ties into a person's very self. It's going to hurt to get it."

"Probably quite a lot," Tom admitted. No point, really, in hiding it, though he was impressed by how Neville had gleaned that just by looking at the runes and listening to his description of what the thing would do.

Neville shrugged. "Do me first," he said and held his arm out.

Neville bit through his lip and the blood trickled down his chin in his effort not to scream at the agony that coursed through him at the Marking. Greg fell to his knees and vomited on the stones. Pansy just watched Tom through narrowed eyes and said, her voice a little shaky when he was done, "I've had cramps worse."

He took her hand at that and bowed over it. "Impressive," he murmured.

Tom watched them all make their way out when he was done, holding it together with pride and grit and stubbornness as they sought out their beds and what pain potions they had sequestered away to recover. Draco and Harry walked out, supporting one another, presumably to head back to the bedroom Draco had turned into a little den of luxury for himself.

Draco, Tom had observed, liked the finer things in life. And, it would seem, Quidditch players. He shrugged and felt a certain smug satisfaction that the two boys Hermione would insist on touching were less likely than ever to be interested in her in any way he would object to. It would be so messy and inconvenient to have to kill members of the inner circle.

. . . . . . . . . .

Alice Longbottom had not been a smothering kind of parent. She'd been busy, Frank had been busy, and Frank's mother, Augusta, had been more than happy to take on the day-to-day tasks of raising Neville. She considered now, as she read her son's letter, that perhaps she hadn't known him as well as she thought, an opinion she voiced as she sat around Molly Weasley's table with the rest of this new Order.

Molly Weasley sniffed and Alice controlled her urge to sneer at the woman. She doubted little-miss-perfect-mother had really spent any more time with any of her substantial brood than Alice had with her one child. Laundry alone, even with magical aides, would have prevented that.

"Don't blame yourself," Dumbledore said. "None of us really understand why Tom recruited Neville."

"There is nothing wrong with Neville," Frank snapped from where he sat.

"No," Dumbledore said, his tone steady and serious, "But you know he's never been a powerful wizard. His marks are good enough, he works hard, but he's forgetful and clumsy. We all thought he'd end up working in a greenhouse somewhere, living a quiet life."

"It doesn't make any sense," Alice said in frustration. "You tell us this Hermione girl is a powerful witch. Everyone knows the Malfoys and the Notts are up to their ears in Dark artifacts, for all we can't prove it. But why Neville?"

"Why Harry?" Lily Potter said. "Surely you aren't implying that my son - my son - has a history with Dark - ."

"No," Alice snapped. "But no one expected him to 'live a quiet life' either." Her mimicry of Dumbledore's assessment of Neville's future was bitter. "We all thought Harry'd be in this year's group of Auror trainees, not off doing… what are they doing?"

She looked back down at the parchment in her hand and let her eyes skim over the letter again. "He's found a new plant. Pansy's adopted a fox - who is Pansy? - and - "

"Pansy Parkinson," Dumbledore said.

"And her parents aren't here because?" Lily asked.

"Because she's a Slytherin," Molly Weasley said, rising to put a kettle back on for more tea. "And because her parents are probably perfectly happy to have her off cooking and cleaning for a would-be Dark Lord as long as it nets her a good husband."

"Why do you assume the girls are cooking and cleaning?" Alice demanded.

Molly gave her a pitying look. "You don't really think some boy from the past is interested in including girls in his little cabal, do you?" She shook her head. "But this Pansy and that Hermione chit aren't important. What's important is extracting Neville and Harry and stopping this evil little boy."

"On that we can agree," Alice said. It was clear she didn't think they agreed on much else.

Dumbledore steepled his fingers and looked around the gathered Order. The teenagers had kept quiet during the brief argument, though Daphne looked like she had some thoughts on Pansy Parkinson she'd be happy to share. "We need a spy," he said at last. "Someone we can slip into the boy's group. I believe Miss Lovegood plans to join him after her graduation and I'd like to send a friend with her."

Based on her reaction, Molly followed his reasoning first because she began to say, "No. Absolutely not. I forbid it."

Dumbledore, however, spoke over her. "Miss Weasley," he said to Ginny. "Would you be interested in learning Occlumency during your seventh year?"

"What?" she asked.

"The art of hiding your thoughts," Dumbledore explained. "I have reason to suspect young Mr. Riddle is a not untalented Legilimens so anyone we slip into his care will need to be able to guard herself from mental intrusions."

"No," Molly Weasley said again.

Ginny, however, her eyes sparkling, said, "Yes!"

. . . . . . . . . .

"Why'd you end things with Ginny?" Harry asked as he passed Draco a vial of pain potion. He'd gone out to raid the stores and brought back dinner, four more doses of pain killer, and a bottle of wine that probably shouldn't be mixed with potions, but any day that involved binding your soul to a dark magician, even voluntarily, was a day to drink.

Draco swallowed the potion and, when no napkins were to be found, grimaced and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. "You mean other than she's a fucking lunatic?" he asked.

Harry gave the other man a look as he settled back in one of the medieval wooden chairs Draco had scrounged up from someplace and added to his room. The room Harry had put together with Greg, Vincent and Neville looked rather like barracks right down to the bunkbeds. Draco, however, had gone in the other direction and the result was comfortable with a large bed and a pair of chairs and a table by a fire and a mantle stacked with books.

Draco saw the look and laughed. "She is, you know."

"We did briefly date," Harry said. "I am aware."

Draco slouched back against his headboard and sighed. "She was jealous of Hermione," he said at last. "I think she knew something was up and assumed it must be… something it wasn't."

Harry poured some of the wine into a glass and sniffed at it.

"The vintage is better than you'll be able to appreciate," Draco informed him. "Stop smelling at it like a dog nosing something foul."

"Snob."

"Half-blood."

"Is that really the best you can do?"

"It's better than 'snob'," Draco said, a touch of his arrogance laced into the tone.

Harry shrugged. "Still not very good." The pair looked at one another and Harry took a tentative sip of the wine before he said, "To be fair to Gin, it's not like what this is… this almost fealty thing because of Riddle… this isn't what a normal person thinks of first."

"True enough," Draco said. "And if it had felt right I would have tried… but it didn't. I just could never get into her."

"Or Pansy," Harry said.

"Oh," Draco said, "I got into Pansy. Almost daily." They both sniggered before Draco said, almost uncomfortably, "It turned out that she just wasn't really my type. It wasn't only that she was pissed off about Hermione before she understood about her and Riddle, it's that it was always off somehow."

Harry nodded. He didn't pull his eyes away from the fire lit in the grate and warming the room when he asked, "What is your type, then, if it's not Pansy or Ginny?"

"Not Hermione," Draco said as quickly as he could. Harry kept his eyes on the flames as he nodded. They both knew Riddle would kill anyone who went near her and that she pushed back at him hard because he got tense whenever anyone male so much as hugged her. However generous he was with knowledge, the man didn't like to share.

"No," Harry agreed. "But she's pretty much the sister I never had. I'd do almost anything for her, but even if Riddle weren't around I wouldn't… no. Just… that idea is… no."

Harry had unconsciously screwed his face up in an expression of distaste so absolute Draco laughed. "Who then?" he asked. "Not Hermione, Merlin forbid, or Pansy, because let's let Theo deal with that fox of hers. Greg left Millie behind doing something wholesome and aboveboard. Is there a girl waiting for you in some quaint hamlet somewhere?"

Harry shook his head and took a big gulp of the wine. "No," he said. "I don't think - no. No girl."

Draco swallowed so loudly it could be heard even over the crackle of the fire. "My type might be," he paused. "Not a girl."

Harry's fingers tightened on his wine glass and he said, "I'm not a girl."

"I know," Draco said.

Harry turned at that and they looked at each other in the flickering light, the fresh Marks on their arms almost pulsing in time with their breathing.

. . . . . . . . . .

Ginny flooed to Luna's house, ignoring the objections of her mother who found her sudden interest in summer visits all too suspicious. Complaints that Ginny was underage, too young, too impulsive to be sent off to infiltrate a possible cabal of Dark wizards were ignored by Dumbledore as well. His eyes twinkled as he told Ginny he'd see her again in the fall and they'd begin working on her Occlumency lessons then but, in the meanwhile, she should spend her time with her friends and had she heard that Luna was planning to travel after graduation?

Ginny understood perfectly well what that meant. Cultivate Luna.

She'd smiled and said friends were great, weren't they, and she'd love to spend more time this summer relaxing with them because next year would be all about N.E.W.T. exams and studying and Dumbledore had smiled at her. Luna smiled at her too. Every time she showed up, fashion magazines in hand, or a new book, or a bag of biscuits stolen from her mother's counter Luna smiled and thanked her.

"You should be careful," Luna said one day as she sat behind Ginny, braiding her hair into a series of tiny plaits. "You'll get caught in things."

"My hair?" Ginny asked as Luna tugged out a knot with her fingers.

"That too," Luna agreed. "It's pretty hair, though. You wouldn't want to cut it off."

"No," Ginny said. "I wouldn't."

. . . . . . . . . .

A/N - Thank you to the amazing lizziebennetgonesolo and TequilaMockingbirdWrites who beta read this chapter and kept me from making punctuation sins galore!

Come visit on tumblr, where I'm also Colubrina!

28. Chapter 28

Subject matter warning: references to off-stage non-con.

. . . . . . . . . .

Tom assigned Neville to go fetch Lavender Brown. How he got her back to the castle wasn't a concern, he was told. Just get her there, preferably in one piece but alive was all that really mattered. Neville opted to invite her to a party. "Malfoy's got a castle," he told her. "Way out in Wales, and access to his father's booze." He implied it was exclusive and last minute.

"Is Ron going," she asked with a sulky frown. "He and I aren't together any more, you know." Neville neither knew nor, to be honest, cared about Lavender's personal life though the knowledge Ron wasn't likely to come seeking her when she went missing was good to know. She went on to explain in tedious detail that he had become enamored of Daphne Greengrass. "All these Slytherins," she complained. "This isn't a Slytherin party, is it? I mean, if Malfoy's hosting..."

"Harry'll be there," Neville reassured her. "No Ron, though. I think they're drifting apart. It's just going to be a mix of people with connections letting off a little steam before we have to take up running the world." He let out a low laugh that, if Lavender hadn't been agog with pleasure at the idea she was considered a person with connections worth cultivating, she might have wondered at. Instead she fluffed her hair and smirked a little and began a monologue on what her parents did and how she wasn't just a little nobody Muggle-born or some recent immigrant but a real Pureblood British witch. Even apparition to Draco's castle didn't stop her prattling so much as briefly interrupt it, and she continued on with surprise that Neville had been invited because he was a sweetie, of course, but not exactly bound for great things.

Draco opened the door for them. "He's in the library," Draco told Neville, who made a face at the news. The room they'd turned into a Dark magic library was drafty and no amount of insulation charm work seemed to help.

Neville's facade of bumbling charm dropped as soon as he shoved the witch he'd been ordered to fetch into Tom's presence. Lavender had been getting slowly more concerned at the lack of any sound of merry-making and she looked at Tom Riddle with displeasure. "You," she said.

"She's in one piece," Tom said to Neville, ignoring the woman after a quick assessment of her condition.

"If I'd had to listen to her much longer that wouldn't have been the case," Neville said. "Tell Hermione if she makes it slow I'll find a way to get oranges to grow for her in that benighted greenhouse I've been repairing."

Tom laughed and promised to pass along the suggestion.

"Make what slow?" Lavender demanded. "Neville, what's going on? You told me this was a party."

"It is a party," Tom reassured her. "A Revel, even. And you're the guest of honor."

Lavender Brown wasn't actually a stupid girl and she took a step away from Tom Riddle and toward the door. "Neville?" she said again, her voice shaking, "I think we should leave. I want you to take me home."

Neville, who'd been excused by a quick jerk of Tom's head and had therefore been heading for the door, stopped and looked at the girl and said, "But, Lavender, I'm not really a powerful enough wizard to manage that. Not bound for great things, I think you said." He conjured a handful of fiendfyre and gazed for a moment at the contorted faces dancing in the flame before dismissing the miniature inferno. "So weak."

Tom said, "I'll see you at dinner?"

"Of course, my lord," Neville said politely. He nodded his head at the shaking girl. "Lavender," he said, and then he let himself out.

Lavender took another step away from Tom who rolled his eyes and hollered, "Hermione!" and then, when there was no response he tried again more loudly, "Hermione!"

From the corridor Lavender could hear Hermione Granger's voice. "If you trip me and I fall down these stone stairs and break a leg, I hope you don't think Tom will feed you." The door was pushed open and Lavender felt relief when Hermione Granger, predictably frizzy-haired, with an orange kitten twining in and around her feet, came into the room. Her hands were busy tying that hair up into a loose twist and she had on what looked like loose, black pajamas.

"Hermione," Lavender said, "This... We have to get out of here. You have to get me out of here."

"She insulted Neville," Tom said idly.

"You don't need to give me a reason to do this," Hermione said in what sounded like annoyance. "We've already talked about it."

"How's Fluff-butt?" Tom asked as he bent down and rubbed his fingers together trying to get the kitten's attention.

"Trying to kill me," Hermione said. The kneazle let out a loud meow as if to say she was merely misunderstood and ignored Tom who straightened with a sigh.

"Hermione," Lavender said again, more urgently. "I have a really bad feeling about this party. I think we should leave."

Hermione scooped up the kitten who began to purr. "Neville said if you made it slow he'd work on that orangerie for you," Tom said from where he stood. "She apparently made some crack about his lack of power and you know how that irritates him."

Hermione frowned at that. "I don't know why people underestimate Nev," she said. Lavender felt herself pale when the witch turned to really look at her. "If you can get out of the castle," Hermione said, "I'll let you live." She glanced out the window and crossed over to stand next to Tom. "You can even have a two minute head start. Longer if my lord can keep me distracted."

Lavender took a step backward toward the door, then another, her eyes widening in horror as Tom Riddle fisted a hand in Hermione Granger's hair, tearing out the loose twist, and capturing her mouth with his in what looked like a searing kiss. The kneazle, reacted with an irritated snarl and, after leaping down, trotted out the door. Lavender turned and followed the little creature, her hand on her wand. The front door was only a few steps away. She wasn't sure what twisted game this couple was playing, or how they'd lured Neville into their web, but she'd be outdoors and free of them in under 30 seconds.

Lavender made it back to the front door and yanked on the handle. The thing was stuck and heavy and old so it wouldn't open and she pulled harder. It wasn't until she heard the low laughter from behind her that she began to be really afraid. When she turned Draco Malfoy, dressed all in black and looking as unattractively pale as ever, was leaning up against one of the stone walls of this monolith and chuckling at her. "After we did the Marking ceremonies," he said, somewhat inexplicably, "Tom warded the place so no one but us can get in or out." He put a look of mock concern on his face. "You mustn't have been invited to join up given that the door won't open for you." He laughed again. "Well, that and you're still standing. Being Marked takes it out of a person."

"Open the damn door," Lavender said, her voice shriller than she'd like. "Draco Malfoy, open the damn door."

He licked his teeth and smirked at her. "I'm afraid I can't do that."

"Why not" she demanded.

"I like not being in pain," he explained. "If Riddle wanted you to be able to leave he'd have keyed the wards to you, so letting you out might just upset him and he can react badly when he's upset." Draco shook his head. "He's brilliant, you know, but he doesn't have a lot of tolerance for failure."

"But Hermione said if I could leave the castle she wouldn't kill me," Lavender said, her voice starting to spiral up.

Draco began picking at his nails. "Maybe there's an unwarded window somewhere?" he suggested. "You could certainly try. In your place I would."

The sound of the library door opening was very loud, as was Hermione's voice saying, "Where did Fluff-butt go? Damn that cat."

Lavender began to run.

The floors of the castle had been worn smooth by hundreds of years of feet and had been recently scrubbed clean by someone. Lavender doubted it had been Hermione. It certainly hadn't been Draco Malfoy. She passed yellowed and dirty magical portraits in need of restoration. One witch patted helplessly at what had been her cheek before the paint had flaked away. Lavender would have felt sorry for her if the witch hadn't called out, "She's here" as she ran past.

The interior doors didn't seem to have the same warding on them as the exterior one had and Lavender pushed one of them open, shutting it behind her as quietly as she could, and then stumbled on a loose rug on the floor as she crossed the cold and otherwise empty room to a window. The sill was as stuck as the door had been and she slammed her fist on the glass. It shook a bit and she pulled her wand. "Am I a witch or not?" she muttered. "Think, Lavender, think."

She tried to break the glass. She tried to make the glass disappear. She tried to transfigure the glass into something else - anything else - and only succeeded in turning the clear glass into a dark shade of blue.

"Maybe you should have paid attention in school to something other than divination?"

Lavender spun and looked wildly around trying to find another exit because Hermione Granger was standing in the door. She was fussing with her hair again. "Tom likes it down," she said. "He likes to be able to grab at it and yank, but it gets in my mouth all the time, so up it goes."

Lavender spotted a tiny door, probably meant for a servant, in the corner and began edging toward it.

"I like the blue," Hermione continued. "But it makes the room too dark." She waved her hand and the window returned to the clear glass it had been originally. Lavender took the woman's momentary distraction to flee through the door and up a set of stairs she found on the other side. Down a hall, up more stairs, around a corner, anything to escape the laughter floating up after her.

She found herself in a room at the top of the castle with windows along the ceiling and wooden slats over a slanted stone floor. Giant pots sat on the slats and they were filled with what looked like vegetables. A girl in a simple grey dress stepped out from behind one of them and dumped a heavy bucket of water down into the pot.

"Thank Merlin," Lavender whispered. "Miss, can you help me get out of here?"

The girl looked at her with placid, fogged eyes and said, "Are you new? This is a great job. I love this job."

Lavender reached out and shook her but the girl didn't even react even when Lavender's voice got louder and more panicked. "I need to get out. How do I get out? How do you get out?"

"I love my job," the girl said again. "Today I'm working on the vegetables. Tomorrow I'll clean the main hall. It's going to get messy tonight. That's what Greg said." She smiled. "I really like Greg."

"Greg Goyle?" Lavender asked.

The girl shrugged. "I love this job," she said.

Lavender saw a door on the other side of the greenhouse space and, abandoning the girl she'd decided had to be touched in the head, she left the brightly lit room and entered instead a dark and long abandoned work space. Dust coated every surface and what she feared was a nest of rats scurried inside the walls. Lavender crept across the room. She'd decided to try to find a way to the roof and see if she could climb down from there. That she was in the attic where servants had once lived and worked made her hopeful she'd find a way up and out, one that perhaps no one had thought to ward.

When she opened another door she shrieked as a blur of red flew past her face and landed behind her. Lavender could barely breath her heart was pounding so much and her head was spinning and it took her a moment to realize the red thing was a fox that stood there, a tongue lolling out of its mouth. If a fox could be said to laugh, the fox was laughing at her.

"You horrible thing," Lavender said.

"You shouldn't say that," said a voice. "You'll hurt his feelings.

Lavender barely took the time to recognize the speaker as Theodore Nott, one of the hateful Slytherins, before she scrambled through the door and away. Behind her she heard him say, "And when the fox gets his feelings hurt, Pansy gets upset, and when Pansy gets upset, I get peeved."

"By peeved I assume you mean homicidal?" Hermione Granger's voice hung on the air. She was relaxed and amused and Lavender, who had finally trapped herself in what turned out to be a large closet with no exit, pressed her back against the far wall and began to cry. "How did that fox even get up here?"

"I have no idea. Do you want me to haul her out for you?"

"No." That made Lavender begin to shake and cry more. "A couple of Crucios and she'll crawl out on her own."

She did, too.

The first Crucio felt like she'd accidentally picked up a hot lid with her bare hands. The shock of pain was so absolute it took a moment for her brain to even register what had happened and she jerked back further against the wall as though she could pull herself away from it, though, of course, she couldn't. She heard the instruction to come out or the second round would last longer but wasn't able to react fast enough; the second bout lasted either several seconds or an eternity and she screamed. When she heard, "come out" she crawled forward as quickly as she could make her limbs obey, only afraid now that she wasn't moving fast enough and that she'd get stuck again.

She must have been satisfactory because as she shuddered on the dusty floor at their feet Theodore Nott and Hermione Granger proceeded to discuss the evening's plans.

"I think Pansy has some kind of party planned," Hermione said. "Something about how important events should be properly acknowledged. I think there's going to be food and Draco was down rooting about in the wine cellar for an appropriate vintage and one of Vincent's little slaves has some rosemary shortbread biscuit recipe we're going to be treated to."

"Rosemary shortbread?" Theo sounded like he doubted that was a good idea.

Lavender felt a foot nudge her and she whimpered. "Maybe you could carry her?" Hermione said. "This was fun, but I don't think she's in any shape to make it back to the main hall on her own."

Theo didn't say anything but he scooped her up and Lavender rested her cheek against a soft shirt and heard the comforting, steady pounding of his heart. Hermione walked off and, as Theo took his first step, Lavender whispered. "You could get me out of here. I'd do anything. You don't have to listen to Tom Riddle and Draco's little whore, please - ."

Theodore dumped her down onto the stone floor. She heard something crack, felt a searing pain in her arm, and she screamed again, then stopped when someone kicked her in the thigh. "Sorry," she heard him say. "I might have tripped. I should be more careful."

Hermione's laugh grated in Lavender's ears. "You are such a love, Theo."

Lavender could see him take her hand and kiss the tips of her fingers. "I am utterly devoted to you."

"And Pansy."

"Well," he said as he picked Lavender back up without even token concern for her comfort, "Pansy is… I'm very fond of Pansy. More than fond."

As they walked back down stairs and the the main hall, flares of agony pulsing every time the arm Lavender was sure was broken bounced along, Hermione teased Theo about his love life, his girlfriend's fox, and his disdain for even the possibility of rosemary biscuits and something about the normality of their conversation in the wake of her torture made her start to weep and the hot tears ran down her face and got into her nose and made her feel like she was choking on her own life.

It was a party. Lavender found herself dumped on the floor and stepped over as voices she recognized from school laughed. She could hear glasses tink as wine was poured and toasts were made. The maligned rosemary biscuits were pronounced delicious, the wine choice excellent, and there was apparently even beef and fresh greens cooked with garlic that people piled onto plates and ate. Lavender could hear the sound of silverware hitting the plates and the compliments paid to the food.

No one offered her anything. The only time she was acknowledged was when Draco Malfoy squatted down and smirked at her. "You probably shouldn't have excluded my lady from your little parties back at Hogwarts," he said. "That made her upset and, well, that's not a good idea."

Lavender begged again, against her own knowledge that it wasn't going to help, and he laughed, stood up, and left her there.

When she heard a fork hitting against a glass, calling for attention, she knew, somehow she knew, and she realized she'd wet herself in her fear. This couldn't be happening. These schoolmates - not friends, certainly, but schoolmates - couldn't possibly be planning to hurt her, to kill her, yet, obviously, they were. She began to try to pull herself across the floor as Tom Riddle spoke.

"As you all know, our lovely Hermione was hurt quite badly by one of our scholar friends - our late scholar friends - and I'm pleased to announce she's finally fully recovered."

There was a polite round of applause at that, as well as a cheer from a female voice and what sounded like the barking of a shrill dog.

"I was able to convince her that she needs to take certain precautions about her own mortality - something I encourage all of you to do - and despite the knowledge that this is widely considered the darkest of Dark magics she had acceded to my request that she make a horcrux."

Lavender had no idea what a horcrux was. This ignorance was not, apparently, limited to her as a low murmur spread through the room as questions were asked and answered. That she was going to be murdered in a Dark magic ritual made Lavender redouble her efforts, however futile, to creep from the room. She was pulling herself along when she heard a voice ask, "I wonder when she'll realize she's not going anywhere."

She opened her eyes and saw that, indeed, she was somehow caught in some kind of force that pulled her back the same distance she'd crept forward. She was helplessly trapped and these people were laughing at her.

"You're all evil," she choked out. "You're going to die. Someone will stop you."

"Actually, dying is exactly what we won't do," Hermione said. "Stay young forever. Rule the world. I'm not really seeing the downside to being 'evil'."

"You have to lose your soul," Lavender said. "Hermione, please, you don't have to do this. You aren't lost yet, you haven't killed - "

"Have," Hermione corrected her. "The first time was a bit of a shock but Tom reassures me that it gets easier." The smile in her voice was cruel and cold. "It did with torture, after all."

And then Lavender was on fire. Her bones were breaking, her heart was going so quickly she was sure it would burst and she couldn't scream or crawl or beg and she lay there and endured it until the world was black and peaceful and her last thought was that the silence was all.

. . . . . . . . . . .

Hermione jerked back when Lavender finally died. Because she was waiting for it she could feel her own soul tear and she heard Tom's voice telling her now, now and she used all of Lavender's own energy - more than she'd expected given when a horrible bitch the girl had been - to push a sliver of her soul into Tom's locket. Lavender's soul burned and expired and faded into nothing from being so used but Hermione felt as though she were brimming with life. Her eyes sparkled. Her hair crackled. She licked her lips and felt her body almost explode with pleasure at even that tiny sensation

She turned to Tom and said, breathlessly, "It's done."

"I know," he said, his eyes on her.

"We're leaving," she said, grabbing him by the wrist and nearly dragging him from the hall. "I've been horribly, awfully bad and I need you to explain the errors of my ways to me in great detail all night."

"Right," Tom said. He managed a quick nod of his head to the assembled Death Eaters. "Gentlemen. Lady," before Hermione had him trailing behind her en route to their room.

"Sometimes their sex life freaks me right out," Harry said. "Would it be so bad to just have normal sex? Does it have to be about her being bad?"

"And do they have to tell us?" Draco whinged in absolute agreement. "You know she'll come down to breakfast with bite marks all over her neck and she'll be all 'oh, my arse is so sore' and there are things I don't want to know."

Pansy looked at Theo. "I haven't been bad," she said, "But I'd be willing to change that."

He smirked back at her. "I'm always interested in exploring the depths of your feelings on naughtiness." They disappeared as well.

Draco held a hand out to Harry and, without a word, they vacated the hall, leaving behind them Greg, Vincent, Neville, and two Muggle slave girls.

Greg looked at the body glumly. "I miss Millie," he said.

"You could use one of them," Vincent said.

Greg looked up at the girls in question and groaned. "It's worse than just having a wank," he said. "They only do exactly what you tell them and if you loosen your grip on their mind for a moment they scream and try to kill you."

Vincent sighed in agreement. "We need to recruit more girls," he said. "Evil girls." He waved at the body on the floor. "Girls turned on by that the way Hermione and Pansy are."

"Yeah," Greg sounded like he didn't think that was likely.

Neville laughed and clapped a hand on the man's back. "You'll find someone, Greg," he said. "They say there's someone for everyone." He strode from the hall, apparently not intending to help with the clean or bothered by his own lack of partner.

Greg sent a column of fiendfyre at the body and let hell devour Lavender's corpse before he called the flames back down.

One of the little slave girls looked at the spot where the body had been and said, "You cleaned her up for us. You're so nice, Greg. I love my job."

. . . . . . . . . .

A/N - Thank you, all, for spending your time reading this. Such a compliment.

Beta Love: Thank you, TequilaMockingbirdWrites and lizziebennetgonesolo, for knowing the secrets of my dirty, comma ways and helping me hide them from everyone else.

29. Chapter 29

"Nightshade," Neville said with pleasure as he held up the clear decanter. "Distilled and highly toxic."

"An innocent," Draco said. He had a barely conscious man at his feet, stripped, covered in runes, and bound with devil's snare. The man stirred feebly but he'd long since given up hope. "Or close enough," Draco amended. "A sacrifice, at least." The man had tried to pick Draco up, thinking he was a runaway, and had been somewhat stunned when the proverbial table had turned and he'd been the one begging to be released.

"Goblets," Greg said. The antique silver cups were still tarnished but even so they gleamed in the moonlight.

Tom looked with utter satisfaction around the hill. Neville had forced trees to grow and age, a perversion of the natural order that created a magical ring of oaks perfect for Dark magic. He'd debated whether this was best done at a new moon, under an utterly black sky, but decided eventually that right as the full moon began to wane and darkness started its endless cycle of dominance was a more appropriate symbolic choice. His Marked circle stood, each robed in black, each bearing the Mark that made them his, each holding an integral part of the ceremony. Hermione's feet were bare, her robe the classic white of the bride, and her eyes gleamed with anticipation.

That he loved her remained such a delight. That she was endlessly his, more his with every day, was joy beyond measure.

They'd rehearsed this at length so the actual ceremony could be as silent as possible. Vincent held the knife, Pansy the crown of flowers, Harry the goblet of water. Theo a single candle flickering with rage and despair.

"My love?" Tom asked as he held his hand out to Hermione. "Shall we begin?"

She nodded and shrugged out of her robe and stepped, wholly bare, over the pile of white fabric and set her hand in his.

"I come to you with no pretense," she said.

"I take you with no illusions," Tom murmured.

Draco hauled the human sacrifice up and stepped forward, holding the throat out toward them to make the cut simple. Vincent hurried forward and pressed the knife into Hermione's hand before returning to his place, exhaling with relief he'd gotten his part right. Pansy glared at Greg and, almost tripping over a root he moved forward and knelt below the body, holding up the goblet to catch the blood. Tom set his free hand over Hermione's as she lowered the blade to the man's throat. "You are sure?" he asked her. In answer she pushed the edge against the man's throat. Greg struggled to collect enough of the blood in the chalice for the ceremony and then, after a nervous look into the cup, he nodded, and Draco let the body fall with a thud.

Greg handed the goblet to Tom and scurried away, slinking back to take the knife from Hermione's hand.

Tom resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

Neville stepped forward and passed the distilled poison to Hermione, who poured it into the blood. Tom swirled the cup to ensure it mixed in and then, as Neville returned to his place, murmured, "My life is yours," and pressed the cup to Hermione's lips. She took a deep drink, and then, twining her arm with his, took the goblet from him and pressed it to his lips. "My life is yours," she repeated as he drained the rest of the cup and tossed it aside. He pulled her him and kissed her, tasting the metallic blood in her mouth even as her wordless spell burned through him, healing him of the poison he'd taken, even as she gasped and stiffened against him at the shock of his own burning spell.

When he released his bride, Pansy sauntered forward and crowned them both with the woven flowers. "I pronounce you one," she said. "In blood, in water, in fire, you are joined from this day forward." As she said 'water', Harry poured some of the water at their feet. As she said 'fire', Theo held up the candle and the flame momentarily surged and lit the whole clearing.

Harry passed his water goblet to Hermione who took a sip to clear the taste of the blood from her mouth before passing it to Tom, who did the same. Hermione retrieved her white robe, subtly transfiguring it to black before putting it on.

There was a long moment as they all looked around at one another. At last Vincent said, "That was it, right? We're done and you're married, right?"

Hermione laughed and that broke the tension. "We are," she said. "Now, I think, cake and champagne and dancing,"

Tom wrapped an arm around her, sticky with the blood of their sacrifice. "Food and merriment," he agreed.

"And a bath?" Greg asked hopefully. He was covered in blood.

"Baths for all," Hermione agreed as they all began traipsing back to Castle Library, the sarcastic moniker having stuck. She tucked her hand into Tom's. "Do you feel it?" She asked quietly as they let the rest of the Death Eaters preceded them.

"I do," he replied. And he did. Magic never ceased to be marvelous and wonderful and tonight was no exception. He could almost feel her breathe. He was sure their very hearts had synchronized. When she held his hand he was at the edge of feeling what she felt. She wasn't just his; she was, in some peculiar and wonderful way, him.

. . . . . . . . . .

After the wedding, after the squabbling over who had used all the hot water to get the blood off, after the reception which did, indeed, involve cake and champagne and even something akin to dancing though, with the groom giving polite looks of imminent death to anyone who touched the bride, dancing was a tad more uncomfortable than at most weddings. Pansy swirled around the floor with Hermione, smirking at the boys, and Tom laughed and called her a minx and Theo a lucky man.

Graciously accepting his lord's approval, Theo bowed over Hermione's hand and congratulated her before scooping his own companion off to their room. He turned and glared at the fox as it trotted after them. "Stay," he said. It yipped, settled back on its haunches and began licking a paw. The kitten - larger now - rubbed her head against her vulpine playmate and the two of them skipped off to wreak havoc somewhere other than Pansy's bed.

Greg, third glass of champagne in hand, regarded the room with glum acceptance. "Why aren't girls interested in researching Dark magic?" he groused, not expecting an answer. He wrinkled his nose at the Muggle girl hovering in the doorway with another bottle in her hand. Vincent nodded his head toward her and Greg let out a sad huff. "I don't want to have to do all the thinking," he muttered. "I just want some girl to tell me what she wants and then I'll do it."

"Me too," Vincent said with a sigh.

They both watched Tom and Hermione slip off, Tom's hand in her hair yanking and -

"Oh, Merlin," Draco muttered. "Is he going to make her crawl on these floors all the way to their room? I fucking hate the way they do that in public."

Harry peered out the door and down the hall. "Do you want me to answer that?" he asked.

"They didn't make it to their room, did they?" Neville asked, sounding more amused than horrified.

"Up against a wall," Harry confirmed. He and Draco exchanged exasperated looks. "Is there another way to get to your room without having to walk past them?" he asked. Draco nodded and began mumbling about how they'd have to go up to the third floor. Before he could go into too much detail, Harry just put a hand on his arm and said, "Show me."

Neville watched them leave and looked at the girl in the doorway and let out sigh that nearly perfectly echoed Vincent's. "It's not that I want a girlfriend," he said. He looked in the direction Harry and Draco had gone. "Or a boyfriend. It's just that Dark magic - "

"Makes you horny," Greg said.

"I was going to say stimulates the senses," Neville said, "but that works." He rubbed a hand over his face. "I feel like I'm crawling out of my skin half the time."

"Maybe Luna will bring friends when she arrives," Greg said hopefully.

Vincent let his head drop to the table. "I doubt she…" he trailed off. "It'll be the three of us, alone, unwanted, forever."

Neville pushed back from the table. "I'm going to take brisk walk," he said. "Maybe collect some mushrooms. You two keep wallowing. I'm sure that will make it better."

"Wanker," Greg muttered after he disappeared.

"Yep," Vincent agreed. "Us too."

Greg regarded the vacant-eyed girl in the doorway. "Us too," he agreed.

. . . . . . . . . .

Draco and Harry regarded one another. The door had shut behind them, Draco had lit the fire and his room was warm and inviting and luxurious, and they were both slightly pissed from the champagne.

Draco bit the inside of his cheek and said, "This is easier for me with girls."

Harry let out a little laugh. "Right?" he asked. "They just hear the name 'Potter' and they go all gooey because it's such an old family." He leaned against the door. "Must be worse for you, actually being a pureblood and all."

Draco shrugged; it was but he didn't want to talk about it. "I'm pretty sure Pansy just looked at me and saw Malfoy Manor and a vault of galleons," he admitted. "At least Ginny was just collecting scalps."

"She looked too much like my mum," Harry muttered. "It was… I couldn't do it."

Draco pictured Harry Potter's mother, legendary Auror and Muggle-born, and had to admit she did look a lot like their mutual ex-girlfriend. "Eww," he said.

"Tell me about it," Harry muttered.

Another silence fell and the crackle of the fire seemed louder and louder until Harry said in a rush, "Would it be weird to say I think you have the best mouth?"

Draco self-consciously lifted his hand to his lips then dropped it again and licked them. "You too," he said at last. "Though I tend to look more at your eyes."

"My mother's eyes," Harry said. He'd probably heard that at least once a month his entire life. You look just like your father except for the eyes. You have your mother's eyes. People like him or disliked him based on his eyes. "Great."

"No," Draco murmured, stepping closer to the other man. "Your eyes." He cupped Harry's face with one hand and licked his lips again. "Green, green eyes." He took a deep breath and leaned in and pressed the lips Harry had said he liked against the side of the other man's mouth. He didn't think Harry would pull away - they'd been sidling toward this moment for a while - but he himself was unsure what to expect. He'd kissed girls. He'd kissed, if he were being honest, a lot of girls. They were soft and tasted of whatever they'd smeared on their lips, and tended to melt into him like some kind of ice cream treat on a hot day, gooey and unpleasant. He ended up having to support them as they dripped all over him. Kissing Harry was, the part of his mind that was still working noted, wholly different. Harry pushed back, a hand working its way to the back of Draco's head where he grabbed on and pulled them closer, all without expecting Draco to hold him up. Draco could feel the stubble along the man's face rubbing against his cheek and he wondered what it would feel like to have the man's jaw rubbing against his thighs instead of his face.

Harry must have had the same thought at about the same time because he reached down and undid Draco's trousers then rested his hand over the obvious sign of Draco's arousal. "Have you ever noticed that Dark magic - " he began.

"Yes," Draco said. "But it's not just that." He yanked Harry closer to him again and ground himself against the other man. "It's you." Based on what he felt pushing back against him, it was him too. He looked at those green eyes, the pupils dilated now, and let his mouth run along the line of the man's jaw, feeling how very different he was from any of the pallid, uninteresting girls in his past, then down the man's neck, grazing his teeth along the skin and delighting in the sudden gasp Harry Potter made.

"Take these off," Harry said, his voice husky as he gripped Draco's trousers in his fist. "I don't know how this goes but I think I can figure it out."

"You too," Draco said as he began to push his trousers down. Harry pulled his own off and, not meeting one another's eyes, they flopped down onto the bed, stripped down to only shirts and, in Harry's case, one sock. Draco lay his cheek along Harry's thigh and cupped the man's arse with one hand. "This is okay?" he asked.

Harry reached a hand down and grabbed onto the blond hair and muttered, "This is weird enough; don't make me say yes to everything."

"After Tom and Hermione," Draco began.

"Yeah, if you start fucking hitting me, I'm done," Harry said.

Draco let out a relieved laugh. "Thank Merlin," he said. Then he took Harry into his mouth, not exactly sure how this went from this end but wrapping his lips around the man anyway and figuring he'd learn as he went. Harry let out an almost immediate groan and his other hand hand crept to grab Draco's head. Draco had always been a fast learner; if Pansy hadn't let out a series of fake -and loud - coos and gasps as soon as he'd touched her, he'd probably have been able to figure out how to bring her off for real. Harry's sounds were lower, softer and, Draco was pretty sure, a lot more authentic. He flicked his tongue along the underside of the man and, when the fingers in his hair tightened, did it again.

"Fuck," Harry muttered.

Draco pulled his mouth away, wiping the line of fluid that stretched from the tip of Harry's cock to his lips, and said, "On a first date?"

Harry laughed and the sound shattered what tension was left between them. "You little shite," Harry said.

"Little?" Draco raised his brows and Harry glanced down at him and shrugged.

"We can't all be as generously endowed as I am. I won't hold it against you."

"You… brat," Draco said. "I'm not sure I want to finish this now." He leaned over on his hand and smirked at Harry.

Harry laughed again and yanked Draco up toward him until their faces were close enough for him to use one hand to pull Draco's mouth to his and with his other reached down to wrap his fingers around Draco's maligned cock. "Maybe not so little," he whispered between kisses as he began to smear droplets from the head along Draco so he could slide his hand up and down along the other man. "I think I may have misspoke."

"I think you did," Draco said, struggling to control his voice. "I think you owe me an apology."

"Mmm," Harry said, his hand still moving as Draco gasped against his mouth. "I'm not sure I care." He let his fingers dig into the back of Draco's neck. "I bet you'll let me fuck you anyway, even if I don't tell you how sorry I am."

Draco let his own hand move down to grasp Harry. "Manners, Potter," he said as he wrung a moan from the man. Harry held out for several minutes before he laughed out an apology and Draco dropped his head back down and finished what he'd started earlier, Harry Potter's hands in his hair and his name on the man's lips.

. . . . . . . . . .

Dumbledore sat back into his seat and regarded Ginny with unalloyed pleasure in his twinkling eyes. He'd run her through a final Occlumency test and she'd passed with flying colours. Despite how hard he'd pressed at her, he hadn't even been able to tell she was occluding. "You are quite the marvel Miss Weasley," he said. "I'd trust you against the most talented let you legilimans." His face grew more serious then and he studied the ginger-haired girl in front of him. "And that is exactly what I will be doing. Are you completely sure that this is something you are willing to risk? Do not be fooled by his attractive appearance or charming manner. Tom Riddle is a very disturbed boy. The word evil is often overused and, yet, I think it is appropriate here."

Ginny smiled back at the elderly man who had been her private mentor for the whole of her final year of school. Weekly meetings in his office had taught her first to the basics of Occlumency and then honed it to a nearly perfect, impenetrable sheen as she'd demonstrated today. She nodded and said, "Luna plans to head out and find them immediately after graduation. In her own, vague way she has told me that I am welcome to go with her if I really think that that is what I want to do with my life."

"And is it?" Dumbledore's twinkle had stopped and he had steepled his fingers together and was looking as sad as she had ever seen him. "The abyss looks back, Miss Weasley," he said. "You will undoubtedly be asked to do horrific things and you will have to do them to remain under cover. Are you absolutely sure you are prepared for this?"

"I'm your girl, sir," she said. "You can count on me."

. . . . . . . . . . . .

A/N - Merry Christmas. Have some evil?

There is a Christmas drabble for this on tumblr at colubrina dot tumblr dot com slash post/135843494721/death-eater-christmas-a-pygmalion-drabble-i

Thank you to my lovely beta reader, TequilaMockingbirdWrites, who wants Ginny to die.

30. Chapter 30

The year moved on without incident. By the time the next class of Hogwarts graduated Tom Riddle and his followers had exhausted the Dark wizards available in Britain and waited only for Luna to arrive and acclimate to proceed. Tom poured over maps and journals they'd borrowed from various sources - often with heavy use of both Imperius and Obliviate charms, much to Hermione's ongoing irritation - trying to decide where to travel first. He was head down over a map of China when Luna pushed open the door to the Malfoy Welsh castle. Tom felt the breaching of the wards and he hurried down to the entrance foyer to investigate. He wasn't sure what he expected to see, but the serene blonde girl with one of the endless and tedious Weasleys in tow certainly wouldn't have made his list. "Luna," he said with a slight frown. "You found us. Might I be quite so rude as to inquire how? I assumed we'd have to go fetch you."

She tilted her head to the side and appeared to be examining one of the portraits instead of acknowledging him and Tom felt the usual grating irritation that the apparently daft Ravenclaw managed to evoke in him. She was quite possibly the most exhausting person he'd ever met even after a year spent seeking out the company of would be Dark magicians and, most of the time, finding only frustrated academics. "That's a forgery," she said dismissing the picture she been examining and returning her gaze to him. "If an owl can find you, so can I. So can anyone, really." She turned her attention back to the paintings. "I hope they aren't all fakes."

"How?" he demanded.

"I assume whoever bought it didn't know very much about art," Luna said turning her wide eyes back to him. She seemed perplexed that he was having trouble following her.

"I was talking about how you found us," Tom said trying not to grit his teeth and making himself loosen his clenched jaw.

"I told you," she said. "Like the owls."

Tom took a deep breath and reminded himself that throttling people was not a good way to motivate them. He really, really missed the way people had been more properly respectful in his original time. This era certainly had its advantages, Hermione not least among them, but there were things he preferred about the past. He decided to move on to the second question the girl's unexpected arrival had raised. "Who is this?" he asked, gesturing toward Draco's ex-girlfriend.

"You know Ginny," Luna said. Her smile became slightly more enigmatic. "She seems to wish to join you."

Tom slipped into the ginger-haired girl's mind and was shocked to discover a beautifully constructed and absolutely false set of enthusiastic reasons for wanting to become one of his minions. It was impressive and troubling work and he looked back at Luna who seemed yet again to be considering the provence of the paintings on the wall. She even reached out a finger to poke at the oil paint on one. "I so hate it when things aren't what they appear to be," she said. "Fakery upsets me." She looked back at Tom. "I'd have expected better of the Malfoys."

By now the other Death Eaters had convened and were hovering in the doorway, unsure whether they were permitted to enter. Tom met Luna's steady gaze and found a smile tweaking up the corner of his mouth. "Luna Lovegood," he said in resigned acknowledgement. "Welcome to the Death Eaters."

"Should we do the Mark now?" she asked.

Tom decided not to question how the woman even knew that he was Marking his followers and just nodded. She held her arm out and, drawing his wand, he proceeded to trace his ownership brand onto her skin. After two seconds she let out a full throated scream that continued without pause until he had completed the entire magical act. When he pulled his wand away from her, she blinked a few times and then collapsed. Tom summoned Greg Goyle with a sharp wave of his hand and said, "Take care of her."

The man nodded, looking nervous as he had a regrettable tendency to do, and scooped the woman up from the floor and carried her gently away. Tom hoped he had the sense to put her in one of the parlors to recovery and not that bunk bed filled closet half of the men under him slept in. He dismissed the issue of Luna from his mind and studied instead Ginevra Weasley. Seventh child of a pureblood magical family and only daughter, obviously a talented occlumens. If she had truly been here to join him she would have been a delight, he thought to himself. A ruby to cherish.

Pity he doubted that were the case.

Hermione came up to him and slipped an arm around his waist and rested her head against his shoulders. He rubbed his cheek against her hair before he said, "Look, love, Ginevra is here. Weren't you two friends?"

"Ginny," Hermione said in what sounded like delight. "What fun. It's almost all of us. You and Harry and Neville." She tilted her head up and smiled at Tom. "I think we lions might outnumber you snakes soon."

"There are no House affiliations in the Death Eaters," he said, smiling back down at her. "No blood status either. We are a purely merit based organization."

"Honestly," Hermione said.

"Vincent," Tom said, turning back to look at Ginny Weasley who'd yet to utter a single word. "Find a room for Miss Weasley." He smiled at her. "You'll have to clean it up and clear it out yourself. We all did. There are, however, rooms in this warren of a castle filled with furniture and rolled up carpets so help yourself to anything no one has claimed.

"You aren't going to…" she half-lifted her arm and looked nervous.

Tom nearly purred. "Oh no, Ginevra. You have to earn your Mark. You'll get the opportunity though, don't worry."

. . . . . . . . . .

"Why are you here?" Tom asked Luna over dinner. She had finally recovered and joined them for a meal. Luna, apparently, did not believe in toughing things out to look stronger than she was and he wanted to get a clear sense of how much she understood about his goals.

"Curiosity," she said. She looked over at Greg and smiled. "Plus, I think it would make Greg and Vincent sad if I were to leave now."

Greg flushed and looked down at the table and Vincent mattered, "Whatever you want to do, Miss Luna."

"Miss Luna?" Ginny asked with what sounded like disgust. "Since when are you 'Miss Luna'?

Tom suspected Ginny was more than a little irritated and jealous that she'd been led to a small, dark room and told to make it habitable but Greg and Vincent had fussed over Luna almost from the start. They'd taken her to three rooms on a floating carpet so she wouldn't have to walk while she recovered and asked her which she wanted. They'd wriggled like puppies when she'd told them they were very good at nursing. They'd fetched and carried and, if what Hermione had told him was true, she'd sent them off to find a bigger bed and had them both move in with her.

Luna turned her large grey eyes on Ginny and said, as though having two of his flunkies start calling her by an honorific was the most normal thing in the world, "'Mistress' sounds a bit like I'm a house elf or, rather, they are, and I don't think I'm quite fey enough for that. 'My Lady' is obviously Hermione, so that requires us to be a tad more creative with respectful titles."

Hermione rolled her eyes at being called 'My Lady' and Ginny made a half a huff, though whether it was at the idea of Hermione being called by a title, or Luna, wasn't clear. Luna looked over at Tom and said, a question in her voice, "Oh, are we being informal? I'm never quite sure when we are supposed to be formal and when we are supposed to be informal. I tend to get that wrong a lot."

Tom heard himself snort in agreement. It was a dinner filled with snorts and huffs.

Luna continued, "Though admittedly, upon due reflection, there doesn't appear to be a proper level of formality in this situation, does there? It's a bit strange to call Hermione 'My Lady' when she's just Hermione, but it is also a bit strange to call her 'Hermione' when she is going to be the queen."

Tom could feel his head start to spin and he was fairly sure it wasn't from the wine.

"Queen," Ginny said in a tone that made her opinion of that clear. Draco stiffened and Theo began to push his chair back from the table. Only Tom's look stopped him but even with what was clearly a direct order to let it go he looked furious.

"I think that the ladies in waiting are probably permitted to be more informal," Neville said, toying with the stem of his wine glass as he studied not Luna but Ginny.

"Oh," Luna said with a light laugh looking down at her arm, "but I'm not one of the ladies in waiting. I'm a knight."

Ginny made another one of those indiscreet noises and Tom's head began to pound.

. . . . . . . . . .

Luna sat in her chair, almost absent mindedly feeding baby carrots to Greg, who was on the floor leaning against her leg. He took each carrot from her fingers with his teeth while Tom looked on in amusement. Hermione had her head down over a book and seemed oblivious to the entire conversation though her periodic interjections made it clear she was following along. Neville lounged against the wall, summoned but not yet wanted and waiting for his audience with relaxed patience.

"Wands are just a crutch," Luna said after a lengthy debate that had ranged through the definition of light and dark magic, whether dark magic was inherently violent, and the nature of power. "We don't use them for Runes or Potions - "

"As Snape drilled into us in his charming way," Hermione muttered, adding in near perfect mimic of the loathed teacher, "There'll be no wand waving in my room."

Luna laughed and let her fingers play with Greg's hair before reaching down with another carrot. "There's no reason we need them for charms," she went on. "It's easier with a wand, but why be limited?"

Tom smiled at her. "And have you mastered wandless magic?" he asked.

"Only for water," Luna said serenely. "Uncontrollable maelstroms are not often useful, though, so I'm working on refining my technique."

He laughed with delight and made a shooing motion with one hand. "You do that," he said. "Now go away. I need to talk to Neville and you can make yourself busy elsewhere. Don't rain inside the castle is all I ask."

Luna rose and Greg, looking to her for permission, followed suit.

"Go on, Greg," Tom said. "I want one more word with Luna before she goes."

The man nodded and backed out of the room. Tom watched him and then arched an eyebrow at Luna. "Both of them?" he asked. She'd had Vincent hovering over her at breakfast, bringing her tea and flushing with pleasure when she smiled at him.

She tilted her head to the side and considered. At last she said, "I think so. They are such simple souls, really, and you make them nervous. They want so much to please that they work themselves into a fuss worrying they've done things wrong."

"I do like people to take initiative," Tom said.

"They do better with direct orders," Luna said. "It relaxes them to know their place and what they're required to do. And they ruminate over mistakes. They're much happier when they can just be punished and move on." She smiled at Tom. "You used crucio but that makes my teeth ache. I'll have to be more creative."

"I am surrounded by women averse to unforgivable curses," Tom complained though the smile on his face suggested he was more amused than irritated.

"Not Pansy," Hermione said, "And thank you very much for harping on my issues with the Imperius curse."

"It's hardly harping," Tom said but Hermione sniffed and when Luna asked for permission to leave Tom waved her away and gestured for Neville. The man approached and stood, his hands clasped in front of him. "I have a task for you," Tom began. "I don't think you'll like it, however."

Neville looked interested but all he said was, "I do live to serve."

Tom frowned. "I want you to cultivate Ginevra," he said. "Make her think you're the harmless boy she remembers from school and get her to trust you."

"She's a spy, then?" Neville said, half a question, half a statement.

Tom pursed his lips. "She's a remarkable occlumens for a very young woman with nothing but a Hogwarts education," he said. "So very, very good I can barely tell she's doing it. I cannot believe with that going on in her head she's wholly sincere in her interests in the Dark arts."

Hermione looked up at that. "Maybe she simply wanted to follow Draco?" she suggested. "They were, briefly, a thing and she always seemed bitter about his attachment to me. Perhaps if she discovered that really was fealty and not some kind of misplaced one-sided love - "

"If it were, he'd be dead," Tom said.

"Don't be difficult," Hermione said, but she sounded as pleased as a cat handed a dish of cream. Neville snickered and then, as both looked at him, schooled his face into a more respectful expression.

"Maybe," Tom said to Hermione's suggestion that Ginny had arrived to pursue some kind of crush, clearly of the mind it was an idiotic suggestion. "Find out, Neville."

"You want me to play the fool for her," Neville said.

"I do," Tom said. "Is that a problem?"

There was ice in his tone but Neville just smiled. "Nothing you request could ever a problem, my lord," he said. "I am your dedicated servant. I do, however, have one boon to ask."

Tom arched an eyebrow.

"If she can be brought to embrace the Dark Arts I ask that you let her join us, whatever her original intent was."

"You wish to corrupt her?"

Neville shrugged.

"And if you can't?"

Neville's smile grew cruel. "If she truly believes I am the fool I play, if I cannot bring her round, let me be the one to destroy her."

. . . . . . . . . .

A/N - I'm afraid I'm decidedly stuck on this one and have no inspiration for all that I have an outline. I've got one more chapter in the queue and about half of the one after that but it may be a slog for a bit.

31. Chapter 31

Ginny had expected Tom Riddle's gang to be, somehow, more obviously evil. The imperioused girls she'd find cleaning or cooking around the castle were disturbing, especially given how they tended to fix their eyes on you and tell you they loved their job, but when she'd mentioned it to Neville he'd stammered and stuttered and wrung his hands before saying it was just that the castle was so big and they couldn't keep it clean and everyone they'd found had come from awful lives. "They weren't even getting enough food," he'd said to her earnestly. "At least here they're warm and safe and aren't hungry."

Neville, at least, hadn't changed. Draco Malfoy, who she remembered from just a year ago as a smug aristocrat with a streak of insecurity wider than she'd have expected - though based on his performance in bed not, she thought, wholly irrational - had somehow turned into a man whose smile made shivers run down her spine. He wasn't interested in courting her any longer, or even in getting her to regard him with any kind of favor. Instead when he acknowledged her at all it was with what looked like muted amusement. Harry was much the same. Gone was the Quidditch-mad boy resigned to a life as an Auror and in his place was a man who loped about the castle as though it were his.

Given that he seemed to be fucking Draco Malfoy, maybe he thought it was.

Hermione had changed the most and the least. She remained a tedious swot with her head down over dusty old books no one could possibly care that much about but she also came to dinner one night with a leather collar on her neck that made Draco groan and ask in an aggrieved tone whether it would be possible for her and Tom to restrict their freaky sex life to their room.

Ginny had stared at the goody-two-shoes she'd known for years, the bushy-haired head-girl who never did anything wrong and then at Tom Riddle.

"I got hungry," Hermione had said. "At least I put clothes on."

Ginny's eyes had gotten wider as Tom said, "You mean at least I let you put clothes on."

Draco had just made another one of those loud groans and heaped more potatoes onto his plate while Ginny had tried to reconcile what that had to mean with the fact it was Hermione Granger. Or Hermione Riddle. Whatever. Was she the queen of this dark cult like Luna claimed or some kind of sex slave?

Pansy Parkinson, who Ginny had never liked said, "She needs to eat, Tom."

"Which is why we're here," he'd said, glowering at the woman.

Ginny could not figure out the dynamic.

Neville, however, Neville was the same. Sweet, weak, clumsy Neville who took her for walks around the overgrown gardens he was reclaiming and took her hand in his sweaty palm while he showed her an orangerie he was fixing. "In winter we'll be able to sit in here," he mumbled. "It will very pretty with candles and … almost as pretty as you." He blushed as he added the last, his head ducking down.

"You'll have to really join them," Dumbledore had warned her. "You'll have to embed yourselves within them so firmly they believe you are absolutely one of them. It will be a project that could take years, Ginevra." He'd watched her across his desk. "You'll have to make friends."

She'd originally planned to 'make friends' as Dumbledore had coyly suggested with Draco Malfoy. Rekindling that relationship, she'd thought, wouldn't have been that hard. But Neville was an even better choice. Neville was sweet. Neville was kind. Neville was out of place here, sucked into a vortex because of his friendship with Hermione and Harry. It almost hurt her heart to use him that way, but she steeled her resolve and smiled back at the shy and clumsy man. "I… thank you," she said. She let herself blush. She'd spent years watching herself in the mirror and learning to blush and cry on cue; skills like that had been important when dealing with six older brothers and a mum who believed a crying little girl over her protesting brothers every time. She'd never expected to use them as a spy for the Light.

Neville smiled back at her. "I know things are weird here," he said. "I just… I hope you'll want to stay."

She took a few steps deeper into his orangerie. It was an impressive bit of work. She assumed the metal frame had been there originally but he'd repaired all the broken glass, fixed the walls, and laid a paver of bricks in a twisting, unusual pattern. Giant pots were laid out, waiting for dirt and the orange trees she assumed he planned to grow.

"Things are strange," she said. "We're just so restricted with what they let us learn at Hogwarts."

Neville came up behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders, the edges of his fingers touching her throat. "You'll learn a lot more here," he said. "I can promise you that."

. . . . . . . . . .

Hermione traced her fingers over the sketch of the Mark that Tom had burned into all his followers save her. "If you really want it, you can have it too," he said as he traced his own fingers over her bare hip. "I told them you were getting it."

She snorted. "I think not," she said. "I'm not one of your branded cattle."

He laughed. "They'd probably not like knowing you call them that," he said. She rolled away from the scrap of parchment she'd been studying and onto her back so she could look up at him more easily. His eyes glittered and she could feel the echo of his amusement in her own bones. The sense of being in one another's skin had faded after the bonding ceremony but had never quite gone away. She couldn't read his mind, exactly, but she sometimes caught his thoughts in the same way you'd see something out of the corner of your eye and then turn to find nothing there. It could be disconcerting.

She could also feel his power thrumming through her when she went to cast a spell. It was intoxicating. It was glorious. She'd never been a weakling but now she doubted anyone could stop her.

"I do want the protection runes burned into you," he said. He drew one of them with his fingertip across the swell of her belly. "I could make a pattern of them moving across you."

"Minus the sudden and painful response to betrayal?" she asked.

Tom laughed. "I don't recall mentioning that to you," he said.

She just looked at him until he laughed again and bent down to press his lips to her side. "Just the protection, love. And it won't hurt you," he murmured. "I can do it without pain if I care to bother."

She let out a sigh at the slow journey of his mouth as he began to trace the outline of the runes against her skin with his tongue. She could feel her nerves burn and her pulse race under his touch. "You're a monster," she whispered, as he crept up her body. "Letting them suffer."

"I only promised to keep you from pain." His breath was hot against the underside of her breast as his fingers stole up the inside of her thigh and she shifted so she could widen her legs. "Let them remember what it is to serve the Dark arts." He licked one nipple them blew on it to the sound of her gasp. "And it reveals things about them, what they do, how they stand it. Do they crumple? Do they brace themselves? Do they embrace it or just endure until the end?"

She keened softly as his fingers reached their goal. "You, however," he continued, "I know your soul. I can feel it poured against mine. I don't need to see you scream to learn anything about you." He stopped and looked serious for a moment. "I already know how you face torment, Hermione. I don't ever want to see it again. That's why we'll be putting those runes in your skin."

"If you keep talking," Hermione said, "You may start to wish you'd embedded those runes into your own skin before now."

Tom tuned his attention more thoroughly to using his mouth - and hands - for other matters; he'd have inky lines of protection embedded into her soon. Very soon. Now that Luna was here it was time to begin traveling and there would be no repeats of the incident.

. . . . . . . . . .

They had all gathered in the main hall. Ginny looked down at the line of Muggles bound and gagged in front of the fireplace and a small part of her mind noted that the fireplace was large enough to burn any one of them alive; she hoped that wasn't the plan for the afternoon. Neville came to stand alongside her, reaching down to hold her small hand in his reassuringly.

"Nice work, Vincent," Tom said, surveying the line of terrified, sobbing victims. Vincent had become the group's main kidnapper; he had a knack for luring the downtrodden back 'to his place for a drink'. For some reason people saw him as harmless. He wasn't, of course. "I hate to be critical," Tom continued, "but is there any reason we are actually physically tying these people up instead of using magic to subdue them?"

Luna looked up from the decorative knots she seems to have spent the last hour tying along one of the young man's arms. "I thought it would be a good chance to practice," she said.

Draco looked from her to Vincent to Greg, who had taken to studying his shoes, and said, "Oh, Merlin, no. I did not need to know that. Did not."

Ginny looked from Draco to Luna to the bound young man and her eyes widened. She wasn't completely sure what it was that the pair of them were talking about, but she was sure that it wasn't anything she had learned from her books on outdoor survival. She glanced nervously up at Neville whose expression, she was shocked to see, was one of amused interest. When he noticed her face turned to him, he schooled his smile into one of sympathy. "Don't worry about them," he murmured.

What happened next was the first of many sessions that felt to Ginny like hideous perversions of Hogwarts. Tom explained a new spell either he or Hermione had discovered going through the books they had confiscated from some evil wizard or other. He taught them the wand movements and he taught them the verbiage and they practiced each separately. Ginny waved her wand and said the words, making sure not to do them at the same time. The spell was nasty. As Tom described it, it would sever the major arteries within a person's body, causing the victim to bleed out internally. "It's not a particularly painful curse as such things go," Tom said. "Though it is delightfully effective and people around the target won't realize anything is wrong until it's much too late because there are no outward marks."

"At least not until they fall over." Theo Nott seemed especially charmed by this particular spell. Ginny looked over at him when he spoke, her face betraying her distaste. When he noticed her attention, his lips turned up in a slow, cruel smile, and he let his eyes slide down her body and then back up to her face. He licked his lips and winked at her and, with a shudder, she turned her attention back to the lecturing Tom, who was now inviting his cohorts to practice the spell on the subjects that Vincent so thoughtfully provided for them.

"Why don't we let Ginevra go first?" Tom said with a smile as he stepped back to give her room to stand in front of the captives.

"I… I don't think that I can," Ginny said with a stammer.

"It's really a very easy spell," Pansy said from where she stood. Theo had his hand resting on the back of her neck and both of them were smirking at Ginny. "Really, even a fourth year should be able to manage this."

"One of the startling things about Dark magic," Tom said in evident agreement, "is that it is often much, much easier then the things they teach you at Hogwarts. Of course, eventually it will get more complex, and some of it's a dreadful slog, but simple charms like this are, well, simple."

His blatant lie made most of them smile. Dark magic could be so much, much harder than what they learned at Hogwarts.

"Oh, don't tease the girl," Draco said. His light eyes were watching Ginny with what she could only assume was malicious pleasure. "She doesn't have any experience in being cruel."

Remembering how she'd critiqued his sexual prowess when she'd ended their relationship, Ginny flushed. She'd compared him to her myriad exes, most of whom she'd not done more than kiss in dark corners, and implied he fell short when measured against all of them and that was why she was moving on rather than her jealousy over his friendship with Hermione.

"It's really very easy," Neville said. "Just try it." His voice sounded warm and encouraging. "I'm here for you, Ginny. You can do this."

"If you bungle the first one," Tom said with a small shrug, "you really don't need to worry. This isn't school. There are no exams. We are going to mark you down for getting it wrong the first time, Ginny. And, really, we have plenty for you to practice on."

"And we can always get more," Vincent said.

Ginny's hand shook as she took her wand and combined the gesture and spoken words for the first time. A bolt of blue light sputtered forth and struck the boy she'd aimed her wand at. She had tried not to look at the lined up sacrifices and not to see them as individuals but as she killed the boy she saw his dark eyes beg her not to and she saw that he had a small scar along his jawline and she saw that his lips were chapped.

She saw that he was a person right as she ended that.

She tried not to throw up there in the stone hall.

"I knew you could do it." Neville's words sounded more pleased about her success then she felt.

"Well, it was a bit sloppy," Tom said. "I was expecting more focus and determination from someone so eager to join us. I think you should try it again."

He made her kill all seven boys as they knelt there, tied up by Luna's elaborate handiwork, watching her work her way down the line, each knowing she'd cast the spell at all of them in turn. Tom had lied, or had been mistaken, about the amount of pain it caused; it was clearly an agonizing death. By the time she got to the last sacrifice he was kneeling in a puddle of his own urine, terrified, and his face was soaked with tears. "I'm sorry," she murmured in the privacy of her mind as she killed him.

She supposed it didn't matter that she was sorry; they were all just as dead, and all by her hand.

"You always remember your first," Harry Potter said, watching her.

"Her first seems to be a bit of an orgy," Draco observed.

"We need more," Tom told Vincent, who nodded. More, Ginny knew, would be provided. More terrified Muggles who would die in pain and fear, learning magic was real in the worst possible way. She looked around the room at people who had been her schoolmates, at Harry who'd eaten at her mother's table, at Hermione who'd dated her brother. She took a step back and felt Neville's hand on her shoulder.

"Bit of a shock the first time," he said. "But it'll get easier." He looked over at Tom. They always checked with their boy Lord for permission to come and go and it already made Ginny want to scream. Tom must have granted what Neville sought because he tugged at her hand and led her from the room. "Let's go for a walk outside," he said. "That always clears my head."

. . . . . . . . . .

Theo watched the pair and then looked over at Tom. "I don't mean to criticize, my Lord," he began.

"Then don't," Tom said.

"Let him play with his food," Hermione said.

The smile that crawled over Theodore's face would have sent Ginny running back to her mother and Dumbledore begging to be protected. "And Neville?"

"Taking one for the team," Draco muttered. "Poor bastard."

"Poor man," Pansy agreed. A general round of murmurs chimed in. None of them wanted to be the one to handle Ginevra.

Harry rolled his eyes. "She's ridiculous," he said. "You think she'd do a better job of pretending. Was she really the very best they could send to spy on us?"

"Better the spy we know," Tom said.

"I much prefer my evil witch," Theo said, wrapping an arm around Pansy. He glanced at Tom and, when he got a quick dismissal in the form of a nod, exited the hall in the same direction Neville had taken Ginny. Rather than go outdoors, however, he just pressed Pansy up against one of the wall and lowered his mouth to her neck. "I do, too," he murmured.

"Do what?" she asked.

"Prefer my evil witch," he said. "Not because of power or how much a star she is in our Dark sky, but because she's just perfection. I prefer her so much I'd rather like to make her mistress of Nott Manor if she doesn't mind."

Pansy froze under his hands and, sensing the change, he withdrew and studied her face. "Have I overstepped?" he asked with sudden formality. "Perhaps I shouldn't have assumed that sharing a room and a bed meant that - "

"No," she said, cutting him off. "It's just… are you sure? I'm not exactly undamaged goods. I was with Draco and - "

"Merlin." He ran a hand over her hair and shook his head. "Pansy Parkinson, I love you. You're brilliant and terrifying and… you're not some kind of used bit of parchment just because you… I mean, if it had been Tom I might be worried because he doesn't exactly share well and I'd rather not have to worry about your ex-boyfriend deciding I didn't need to be among the living anymore but that's not because you were damaged or dirty so much as because he's - "

"Bad at sharing?" Pansy asked with a shaky laugh.

"Right." Theo ran a hand through his own hair in frustration and then got down on one knee.

"Theo," she hissed. "You do not have to do that."

"You usually like me kneeling," he said, looking up with an irrepressible grin on his face. "Or have I misunderstood that?"

"Theo," she said, looking back to the main hall with nerves in her eyes.

"Will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife," he asked her. "I realize we can't exactly run back to the Manor now and turn you into a chatelaine, and you're far too impressive to ever just be another pureblood society wife, and I know I don't deserve you, but that's never stopped me from wanting - "

"Yes," she said. She started to cry and Theo stood up and wiped the tears from her face with a thumb as she said, "Yes, Salazar, yes." She sniffled and cried and he held onto her and then, after she calmed down a bit and had her head leaning on his shoulder, she asked, "We don't have to do the weird, creepy blood thing like Tom and Hermione did, right?"

Theo thought for a moment and then asked, cautiously, "Do you want to?" She had, after all, been instrumental in helping to plan the event.

"I was hoping more for white dress robes with tons of tiny buttons and handmade lace," Pansy admitted. "For my own wedding, I mean. And watching my mother choke on how plain, worthless little me managed to succeed after all."

Theodore Nott looked relieved. While it was one thing to celebrate your Dark Lord's nuptials with blood sacrifice and nudity under the midnight sky, and while he understood the power the pair had harnessed with their ritual, it wasn't what he'd ever thought of as a wedding either. He was used to dress robes and flower arrangements and bonding ceremonies, yes, because Notts didn't end their marriages except with death, but not quite that much bonding. Then he listened to what she had said and hugged her as tightly as he could and said, his lips right at her ear, "Marrying me doesn't make you a success, love. It makes you a bit of a fool, maybe. You're a Death Eater in your own right, you know. Better than me."

Pansy sniffled again. "You're pretty good," she said. They both knew, however, that she was better.

"You're the one with the wild animal who's latched onto you," Theo countered.

"I love you, Theodore Nott," Pansy said.

"Let's go tell the others," he suggested, "and begin planning the society wedding of your dreams."

. . . . . . . . . .

Neville tossed the note to the desk in front of Tom. With a raised eyebrow the man picked it up and skimmed it.

Dear Mum and Dad,

L and I arrived safely. No need to worry, everything's fine. I'm glad that N's here; we were never good friends back at school but now I feel like we're getting close. He seems the same. Give everyone my love. ~ G

"Well," Tom said.

"She doesn't know I took it, of course," Neville said. "I left her sleeping."

"Convenient," Tom said.

"Drugged her juice," Neville said. "She was getting on my nerves. She cried and sniveled and… apparently one of them had chapped lips?"

"Chapped lips?" Tom sounded confused.

"I don't understand it either but she seemed to think killing someone with chapped lips was somehow worse."

"She did a nice job," Tom said with a shrug. The girl had. By the last curse she'd gotten very efficient and her wavering blue light had transformed into a tight, focused beam. "Especially for someone whose heart wasn't in it. Shame."

"She's powerful," Neville agreed. "Just…." He trailed off and sighed. "Shall I let her send it?"

Tom handed the parchment back. "Let her send her notes; it's benign enough and sooner or later we can start slipping them false information."

. . . . . . . . . .

A/N - I did say they were evil. But society wedding...

32. Chapter 32

Theo knocked and waited for acknowledgment. The "come in" sounded quite a bit more like, "what" and was laced with more than one hint this was not a good time but Theo pushed the door open anyway.

"My lord," he said politely, ignoring Hermione who was wearing far too little for him to comfortably acknowledge.

Tom looked up from the book he'd been bent over and seemed to force his expression into one of welcoming gentility. Theo guessed research wasn't going well; the Dark arts could be seductive but they could also be absolute drudgery. He sometimes suspected the reason Hogwarts, unlike Durmstrang, no longer taught them wasn't the moral scruples Dumbledore claimed but that they were just too bloody tedious for most people to master.

"I would beg a favor," Theo said.

Tom sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose before setting the book aside and focusing his attention on his disciple. "Dare I ask what?" he said.

"Pansy and I would like to get married," he said. Theo wasn't sure this required permission but the precautionary principle was a good one to utilize when interacting with Tom Riddle.

Tom considered him for a long moment. "Not in the woods I take it?" he asked.

"Pansy would prefer a society wedding," Theo admitted, "and as the heir to the House of Nott, I - "

"Yes," Tom said cutting him off. He seemed to be thinking. "All of you will need to find an appropriate spouse," he said. "You, Malfoy, Potter, Longbottom... all my little scions."

"My life is yours," Theo said.

Tom nodded. "But your life is... yes, a society wedding sounds perfect. We'll display ourselves as the nobility, let Potter and Longbottom's families squirm, attract new interested parties. We can do it again for Malfoy and then the rest of you." He glanced over at Hermione who looked up from her own book and sighed at him.

"You plan to make Draco get married?" she asked. "Don't you think Harry might have something to say about that?"

Theo kept his eyes firmly above her neck. "We do have to beget legal heirs," he said gently. "It would be hard to maintain support if the... if certain people thought we were undermining the ancient families."

Hermione made a face that suggested either her opinion of the esteemed ancient families or, perhaps, her thoughts on making Draco marry a woman. She didn't argue the point, however. Tom might not have positioned his movement as one of blood purity, opting instead for pure Dark arts power, but the support of the old families would be essential for them to triumph and they all knew it. Lucius Malfoy might not care who or what his son did in private - and Theo knew of more than one pureblood marriage that operated on absolute discretion once the required heir had been produced - but everyone would sit up and take notice if the young Dark Lord's followers suddenly tossed tradition to the proverbial winds and didn't continue their family lines.

"Obviously it will be a marriage of convenience," Tom said with some impatience. "Somewhere there's a witch who will be sympathetic to our aims, happy to take on the mantle of Lady Malfoy, and suffering no romantic interest in your beloved Draco."

"I think he's Harry's beloved Draco," Hermione said.

"Which is why he's alive," Tom said. Hermione gave him a scathing look but returned to her book. Tom let out a huff of obvious exasperation before he returned his attention to Theo. "Tell your witch to plan the event of the season. I have one, small request."

Theo put an attentive look on his face.

"Invite Regulus Black and his daughter."

Theo nodded. The Blacks were worth cultivating and their generation only had the one girl they'd be likely to recruit. He knew Draco didn't care for her, but she was a much better bet than his cousin Nymphadora Tonks. "Would my lord and lady consent to being the wedding party?" Theo asked.

Tom smiled. "I do like you, Theodore Nott," he murmured. "I can trust you to arrange a masterful event." He picked his book up again and Theo, recognizing the implicit dismissal, bowed slightly and backed away from the room.

Pansy was waiting in the corridor. "He said yes?" she asked.

Theo picked her up and spun her around. "Plan the event of your dreams," he said. "We are commanded to orchestrate the society event of the year."

"Politics," Pansy said as he set her down, but she didn't sound upset. Rather she sounded as though she were savoring the opportunity. She looked up at Theo through the lashes that he suspected could seduce a man sworn to celibacy and said, "This will be the most fun ever."

He laughed and kissed her forehead. "Make them all jealous," he said. "Just make sure the ones our lord wants drift quietly to our banner."

. . . . . . . . . .

Neville stopped Pansy after breakfast and, as Ginny walked out to go write another letter to her tedious parents, murmured he needed to speak to her.

"Merlin," Pansy said. "It's not about your precious girlfriend, is it?" Neville made a face and she laughed. "Getting any yet, Nevvie?" she asked.

"No," he said, "But I intend to." With Ginny safely out of earshot he shed his clumsy facade and eyed Pansy with a smirk that would have made a lesser woman's heart begin to race and her palms sweat. Pansy just stared back until Neville laughed. "Do you want to hear the details of what I plan to get her to beg me to do to her?"

"Not really," Pansy said. "Like the rest of us, I already have to live with Tom and Hermione's kink show. I don't need you to start narrating your fantasies as well." She tapped her foot with a deliberate show of impatience. "What do you want, Neville? I have a wedding to plan. Flowers to pick. Dark spells to create to cast on the guests so anyone wishing us ill spends the night convinced the oysters were bad. I am a busy woman, so spit it out."

"It's your fox," he said.

Pansy arched an eyebrow. Her familiar came and went as he pleased, sauntering out of locked rooms with a yawn and interrupting private meetings with yips and yowls. She adored the beast. "What is it?"

"He's dug holes all through my garden."

Pansy shrugged. "Put up warding."

"I did," Neville tried to restrain his snarl. "Nothing keeps that thing out. It's a menace."

Pansy gave Neville an arch look. "You're a dark wizard. If you can't keep one widdle foxxie out of your herbs, I have no sympathy." She walked toward the door, making sure her heels clicked on the stones.

"He's impossible," Neville called after her. She stopped and turned to smile at him before sashaying off, her facial expression almost as smug as the fox's. "Just like you," Neville muttered. He sighed. "Damned witch," he said with exasperated admiration. "I just want to know how he's doing that."

. . . . . . . . . .

Neville was not in the mood to deal with Ginevra Weasley. He'd spent the afternoon warding his gardens again after Pansy's less than helpful reminder that he was a dark wizard and her fox had sat, just out of range, laughing at him. Theodore had pulled him aside when he'd come back in, covered in dirt, to remind him to send his parents a bland note. The Longbottoms would be invited to the Parkinson/Nott nuptials and he'd have to socialize and that would be more uncomfortable than necessary if he'd neglected to maintain even the pretense of ties.

He loved his parents and knowing they'd be devastated by the choices he'd made was a thought he tended to shy away from.

The combination of Pansy's wretched fox and his own guilt about disappointing his parents, heavily seasoned with resentment that despite their love they'd seen him as lesser for so many years, left him hostile and snappish, and when he opened the door to the room that had become his by default as all the other residents moved out the last thing he wanted to see was Ginevra Weasley sitting on his bed.

"I'm sorry," she said when she saw the flash of rage on his face. "I shouldn't have just let myself in."

No, he thought, you shouldn't have. What he said, however, was just, "I'm sorry, love. I've been out warding the gardens again and then got cornered by Theo. I shouldn't take it out on you." He bent down and tugged off one muddy boot. "Let me get cleaned up, would you?"

He'd taken out the bunkbeds as soon as Greg and Vincent had moved away and replaced them with a larger bed of his own, found rugs for the floor, and turned the whole place into a much more soothing retreat than their previous near dorm room set up had been. He needed to thank Luna and Draco for getting his roommates to clear out and set up little dens of sin so he could enjoy solitude.

He looked at Ginevra.

Well, he could enjoy solitude most of the time.

"I could join you in the shower?" she asked and he groaned internally. She had to choose now, when he was in a foul mood, to start her clumsy seduction?

"She sucks a mean cock," Draco had assured him, causing Harry to glare from across the breakfast table. "Better than Pansy," he'd added, spreading marmalade across his toast as one of the Muggle girls chimed in with, "I like cock."

"You love your job," Harry had said with an edge to his voice as he continued to scowl at Draco. "We know, trust us, we know."

"That'd be great," Neville said to Ginevra, adding a nervous sounding, "I mean, if you want to. I don't want to - "

"I do," she said.

The en suite off this bedroom was small, and the shower in it smaller still, but Neville stripped down and rinsed the dirt from his body as Ginevra joined him. If he'd had any doubt she was a genuine ginger, seeing her nude would have eliminated it. He wondered if it would be in character to suggest a certain amount of hair removal wouldn't be amiss and decided, with some regret, it probably wouldn't be and that he would have to put up with Miss Bushy for the duration. Draco could have warned him, the bastard.

She dropped to her knees and mumbled something about was this okay and he sighed but wrapped his hands in her hair as she took him in her mouth. He just leaned against the cool, tile wall and let her do her thing. One unfortunate consequence of being Neville-the-loser had been no one had been interested in him at school and even now the dearth of available women had kept him celibate; he couldn't bring himself to use one of Vincent's little imperiused Muggles. How could the woman at his feet be so stupid as to think he'd actually turn down a willing witch?

A manipulative witch who thought to turn her into a tool in her hand, perhaps, but a willing witch nonetheless.

He looked down at her and thought he'd make her work a little harder than this to get him to return the favor. It was a little insulting to have her think she'd get him in the palm of her hand quite this easily. He shuddered as he came into her mouth and, once her teeth were safely away from him, he pretended to stumble and yanked her hair to stabilize himself.

Based on the way she yelped he was pretty sure it had hurt.

Good.

"I'm so sorry," he said, "Ginny, are you okay? I didn't mean… I'm so sorry."

She struggled to her feet and gave him a wobbly smile. "No, I'm fine," she said. "Just startled me was all."

"You were great," he said. "I - "

"No," she said, "Don't apologize." She put a hand to her head and rubbed at it while Neville summoned a towel. She looked impressed and he cursed himself for forgetting to use a wand. "I guess I'm flattered I made you lose control."

He tossed the towel at her and figured he'd already let his wandless accio out of the proverbial bag so he summoned another one for himself and made a show of almost dropping it.

"That's pretty neat," she said. "No wand?"

"I told you you'd learn things," he said. He flushed and said, "It's not all… I mean the Dark arts are great, Ginny, and they have a lot of power, but it's not all that. There's all sorts of things they don't teach us at school. Hermione has a lot of theories on why and - "

"Oh, well, Hermione," Ginny said. "She's always got a theory about something."

Slapping her would have played his hand so Neville controlled himself at her dismissive comment. He admired Tom Riddle. He respected Tom Riddle. Hermione, however, he, like all their crew, adored. She'd seen him as powerful when the tart who'd just been at his feet wouldn't have given him the time of day. He'd seen her claw her way back from near death at the hands of a blood-purist and he would burn anyone who hurt her again. He'd kill them so slowly they'd give up even the hope for death.

Unaware of her mistake, Ginny turned and walked back toward his bed and Neville realized she planned to stay. He closed his eyes and wondered if Hermione knew a spell for patience. When he opened them again, he couldn't help but observe that, based on Ginny's arse, she was going to spread out in exactly the same way her dumpy mother had.

Not his type at all in so many ways.

"You're so pretty," he said, stammering a little as he crossed to the bed. He wondered how far she was willing to go to ensnare him in her little net.

He wondered how far he could push her tonight.

It had been a shite day, after all. He deserved a little pick-me-up.

. . . . . . . . . .

A/N - I'm so excited because now I know how it ends. Try not to be horrified I didn't know until now.

33. Chapter 33

Tom nipped at Hermione's ear with his teeth and she laughed and batted him away. "No time for that now," she said.

"Later," he said, the words not quite a question, and her breath caught for a moment in her throat and she nodded with a hint of subdued lust before she shook her head and, with a sigh, he turned to the work at hand. They'd arrived in Belize the night before via unauthorized portkey, courtesy of Theodore's talents, and Hermione already had a table in their house covered with maps and notes. Draco's money had come in handy yet again; he'd rented a cottage in a town near the Mayan ruins they'd come to explore.

"Loot," Luna had said with her usual, headache inducing habit of being as direct as possible.

"We aren't looting," Tom had said in exasperation. "We're here to learn from an ancient civilization. Neville found rumors of witches still using the Mayan star charts for accurate divination and - "

"Exploit, then," Luna had said, patting his cheek. "You really need to be more comfortable being a bad person, Tom. I have some meditation exercises I can offer you that help you get in tune with your true intentions."

"That's fine," he'd muttered, stalking away from the woman. "I'm fine."

Luna made him want to drink a pain potion and lie down.

Hermione hadn't been pleased with his decision to come explore the Mayan ruins first. Her opinion that divination was rubbish had been expressed more than once. Despite that, she had become intrigued that a ghost with glowing red eyes reported to haunt the site and now she had every report of 'the stone woman' spread out so she could track the spirit down and they could try to get her to share her knowledge.

Assuming she had any.

"With the luck we've been having lately, she's an angry housewife who died in childbirth and is still pissed about it," Hermione muttered.

. . . . . . . . . .

"I just find the blood sacrifice thing so interesting," Pansy said, running her hand over a face carved into the stone. "Blood magic is an art the Ministry frowns on and yet here it is, just an accepted part of the culture."

"They may have all been Muggles," Theodore said, though the tone suggested he doubted it. Witches and wizards existed in all modern societies; it was not a stretch to assume they existed in ancient ones as well. The prevalence of blood sacrifice in Mayan culture had surprised them all. It wasn't just the human sacrifice, though there seemed to have been plenty of that. The Mayans also appeared to have smeared their own blood on religious statues in much the same way modern Muggles might dip their fingers into holy water. They'd muffled their conversation so the hovering guides and other tourists couldn't hear them; people could get so upset about discussions of human sacrifice as a viable idea worth trying.

"Even if the Muggles were doing the sacrificing," Tom said, his eyes almost gleaming, "Wouldn't the magic users have been able to harness the power? Especially if the victims were children."

"And they were," Hermione said, her nose down over her notes. "Often."

"We should sacrifice a child and see what happens," Luna said. She had climbed up onto the stone stairs and had her hands spread out over an image she seemed to find especially interesting. "If we take the still beating heart of a toddler and try to extract energy from it what will happen?"

"It might rain," Hermione said. "What few records there are of pre-Spanish Mayan religious practices suggest some of these people were killed for the local rain god, Chaahc, he who strikes the clouds with his axe made out of lightning."

"I'm good at rain," Luna said serenely. She was still tracing the carving with her fingers and ignoring the increasingly frantic demands of the Muggle guide that she get down from there at once.

"Did he really have an axe made out of lighting?" Draco asked. "That seems impractical?"

"I don't really understand why we should care so much about blood magic," Harry muttered. "It just seems gross and pointless." They all ignored him. He'd been complaining that blood magic seemed unpleasant for days.

"He does," Hermione said. "And - and you'll like this - he's frequently referred to as a serpent."

"I like him already," Pansy said. "Let's grab some kid, pull his heart from his chest, and let Luna do her water thing and see what happens."

"Won't that be great, Gin," Neville asked, taking her hand and smiling at her, hiding his malice.

"Great," she said weakly.

. . . . . . . . . .

Ron Weasley didn't like Auror training. It was hard and Nymphadora Tonks kept laughing at him whenever he complained. "What did you think it would be?" she asked him as she turned her hair a brilliant shade of violet. "It's dangerous, going after these sorts. You need to be prepared." Then she turned her nose into a beak and Daphne laughed into her hand.

"There hasn't been a Dark wizard of any strength since Grindelwald," Ron said, ignoring the woman's antics, or that they all knew another dark wizard was coming; he just liked complaining about the work. Meanwhile, even as he slogged through learning counter-curses and shield charms, the Order of the Phoenix dinners came as regularly as the tide. Every Friday night at the Burrow Molly Weasley dished up shepherd's pie or toad-in-the-hole as the group discussed what little they knew about the antics of Tom Riddle and his band.

They didn't know much.

Ginny's notes came every week, saying little but suggesting she was fine; Molly continued to insist she didn't believe it and something was off. Neville and Harry wrote less frequently and said even less but Neville confirmed Ginny's hint that she'd ensnared the weak and forgetful boy in her net. I'm not sure if you and Dad know Ginny Weasley, Neville had written in his most recent note. Her brother, Ron, was in my year. He's a bit of a mean git but I like her a lot. I feel like I can really trust her.

We're heading off to travel a bit, Harry had written, though he'd declined to say where. I'll see you at Theo Nott's wedding though, right? Miss you guys!

The discovery that two of Riddle's followers were planning a big society wedding had made Molly Weasley sniff in derision. The Parkinsons had run an announcement of the engagement in The Daily Prophet and Ron had looked at the dark-haired woman in her little black dress with a collar decorated with, of all things, white embroidered daisies and made a face. "The Dark Arts haven't made her any prettier," he said.

"I like her dress," Daphne had said a trifle wistfully. Ron had looked again at the dress with its childish collar and its lace sleeves and managed a tactful, "I'm sure it would look better on you."

Daphne, his somewhat girlfriend, had smiled at that. As least he assumed she was his girlfriend. She let him kiss her, and paw at her, but she didn't cling to him the way Lavender had. Sometimes she seemed almost resigned to him, which wasn't the most flattering feeling, but then she'd smile and that would chase the shadows away and, anyway, his mother had come to adore the way the pureblood girl flattered her cooking by saying house elves couldn't cook like Molly Weasley did.

He wondered sometimes what had happened to Lavender after they left Hogwarts. It was peculiar how you could see someone almost every day for seven years and then lose track of them so quickly. He supposed she was fine. He knew he didn't care for pudgy little Neville's assessment of him as a mean git; he wasn't the one who'd been so stupid as to run off to join a dark wizard!

"I wish Harry would write more," Lily said. "At least Alice gets some extra information on Neville thanks to Ginny. He's still the same, and it sounds like he's sheltering her from the worst of them." She stabbed her fork into the dinner and glumly stared at the carrot slice impaled on the prong. "For all we know, Harry is the worst of them."

. . . . . . . . .

"Honestly, Harry," Hermione said. "Could you be any worse at this?"

Harry had refused to take part in child-slaughter and had instead dedicated his time to trying to understand the Mayan arts of divination. He and Hermione had gone to visit every local would-be psychic in the hopes of piecing together even a fragment of what these peoples ancestors had known. So far the closest they'd gotten to anything real was a woman who looked at the lightning shaped scar on Harry's forehead, the remnant of the time he'd fallen off a broom as a toddler, shrieked in fear, slammed the door in their faces, and refused to come out again. It had been a frustrating series of dead ends.

"I'm going to start calling you Chaahc the Chosen," Hermione said. "Let me know when you can summon the rain."

"It's a scar, not an axe," Harry said. "Don't be ridiculous. Pass me the charts again. This thing where all the numbers are in base twenty is giving me a headache but I am going to get this to make sense."

Hermione laughed. "Imagine doing arithmancy this way," she said.

"I'd rather not," he said. "Though at least they have a zero." He made a face at the chart of the stars in front of him. "These are so intricate, Hermione. You could spend your whole life studying them and not make much headway."

"Do you think there's anything to be learned?" Tom had come in and was leaning against the doorframe. The Dark Lord had a peculiar interest in prophecy that Harry considered all out of proportion to the stuff's actual usefulness.

"Maybe," Harry hedged. "But unless someone has a knack for it, and the time - "

"Then we cross it off the list," Tom said. He sounded disappointed but brusque. If it wasn't worth their time, it wasn't worth their time.

"It's really rubbish," Hermione said right as Harry said, "She's right, it's bullocks. Neville and I both had a prophecy made about us and yet nothing ever came of it." He shoved at the charts.

"What do you mean?" Tom asked. He almost licked his lips at that news and Hermione gave a dramatic sigh. Harry looked from one to the other and swallowed a groan, already wishing he'd kept his mouth shut.

"So, my mum labored at St. Mungo's," Harry began as Tom settled down into a chair and propped his chin on his hand. Tom gave Hermione a glance that clearly meant 'take notes' and she let out another dramatic sigh because she'd heard the story of Harry's drunken prophet multiple times. She pulled out a clean sheet of parchment anyway and, with a roll of her eyes, began writing the tale down. "They didn't used to have very good security," Harry continued, "probably still don't, and the night Neville's mum, Alice, and my mum were both there waiting for whatever it is women wait for in labor, this would-be seer was roaming the halls offering to tell your future for a handful of knuts. Total rubbish, of course. But my mum was bored and, well, my dad's always up for anything that causes trouble, so he paid the woman and she started a canned spiel about how the baby would live a long life and be loved by everyone and so one and so forth but then she kind of sputtered, or so the story goes, and her voice got lower and she ground out what was supposed to be a 'real' prophecy." Harry made quote marks in the air with his fingers when he said 'real' and it was clear what his opinion was on the actual veracity of the prophecy in question. "Freaked my mum right out and my dad pushed the woman out of there and she kind of came to in the hall with no idea of what she'd said, or so she claimed."

"And Neville?" Tom asked.

"Oh, she went down the hall and did the same thing to them. Same act. Same thing where her voice got lower. Same exact thing." He shook his head. "Neville and I found out when we were telling stories one night at Hogwarts. What a fraud. She couldn't even be bothered to make up a new 'real' prophecy for the next family she did her act for."

Tom frowned but said, "Humor me. What was this prophecy."

"Balanced between day and night, born as the seventh month dies, born to those who see but are blind, who live because time allowed it, they come who burns what burns love." Harry recited and then snorted. "Total incoherent nonsense but you can see why my mum got upset. Who burns what burns love. What does that even mean?"

"I don't know," Tom said, studying Harry with new appreciation. "Do you know what happened to her? Or her name?"

Hermione was the one who snorted now. "Dumbledore gave her a job at Hogwarts," she said. "Trelawney, the Divination Drunk."

"Well," said Tom. "That's convenient. We'll have to pay her a visit sometime when we're in that area."

Draco stuck his head in the door. "I hate to interrupt," he said, "But Luna claims she's making some progress on the whole rain thing. She wanted to see Harry and Hermione and have them try it before she shows it to the whole group. Something about perfect friendships creating a harmonic convergence."

Tom glanced at Hermione and seemed to notice for the first time how tired she looked. "How many of those local pathetic excuses for magic users did you visit today?" he demanded. When she hedged he almost snarled at her and both Harry and Draco pulled away from the pair uncomfortably. "You have been… you have not been good, Hermione," he said. His voice dropped into the crooning threat that usually preceded someone being badly hurt and left, at the very least, sobbing on the floor, if not dead. "I am not happy with you."

Draco watched her give a tiny nod he couldn't quite wrap his mind around, especially when Tom's ire transformed into what looked like delight. "Has she been naughty, do you think Draco," the man asked him.

Draco threw a panicked glance at Harry, who refused to make eye contact. "What's the right answer?" Draco managed to choke out at last.

Tom sounded both amused and exasperated as he simply said, "Get out."

Draco and Harry were both more than happy to comply and almost fell over one another to get out the door and close it behind them. "I don't get it," Harry said.

"Me either," Draco said, looking nervously back whence they'd come. They could hear the muffled voice of Tom Riddle telling Hermione to fetch the flogger he'd packed away just in case bad girls needed discipline. "Me either," Draco repeated.

"I guess we should go tell Luna she might be awhile," Harry said, edging further away from the door. "I really don't want to be caught eavesdropping - "

"I don't want to be eavesdropping," Draco said.

In perfect accord they hastened away from Tom and Hermione Riddle and whatever it was they were doing.

34. Chapter 34

When she heard the footsteps hurrying away Hermione laughed and tossed the flogger to Tom, who caught it deftly and grinned back at her. "You do like making them uncomfortable," he said.

"So do you," she noted as he grabbed her face with ungentle hands, the leather of the toy pressing into her cheek and he devoured her mouth.

Once he'd gotten her heart pounding and her knees weak and the familiar tingle of nerves dancing, he stepped back and jerked his head toward the braided rug that softened the worn floors of their rental house. "Clothes off," he said. "Kneel." When she hesitated for the briefest of moments he hardened his voice. "Now," he said.

She kicked off her shoes and pulled the sundress over her head as quickly as she could and was wriggling out of her knickers when he said, "Time's up."

She paled at how pleased he sounded and dropped to her knees; she tried to spread them but the knickers halfway down her thighs limited her and Tom Riddle smirked as she fought against the fabric in her attempt to arrange herself in the position he preferred. "Such a naughty little thing," he crooned. "Works too hard, doesn't follow instructions, can't even get her clothes off properly." He leaned down and pulled one of her curls up into his hand and let his slide through his fingers. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "My lord."

"How about 'I'm a naughty little thing'," he prompted her.

"I'm a naughty little thing," she repeated, flushing red even as she could feel her pulse begin to throb in response to his words. She swallowed hard as he prowled around her, her eyes on the rug and her ears straining for a hint of what he planned to do.

When he was behind her he squatted down and, laying the flogger on the floor, reached around and cupped her breasts, running his thumbs over the smooth satin of the bra she hadn't gotten off in time. She whimpered at the steady touch. "Such a shame," he whispered in her ear. "I could have spent such a very long time playing with these, but a certain witch wasn't able to follow instructions and now she'll have to go without." He flicked a finger across the cloth covering one erect nipple and she bit down on her lip for fear any sound would seem like a plea for clemency. "What witch was that, do you think?" he asked, his breath hot on her skin. When she didn't answer right away he sighed and took his hands away and repeated himself. "What witch is so very bad at doing what she's told?"

"I am, my lord," Hermione said.

"Do I like people to defy me?" Tom asked her.

"No," she whispered. If there was one thing Tom Riddle hated it was defiance. Wit, cleverness, power. He soaked those things up as if he were a snake and they the sun, but he hated it when anyone refused a direct order. If he planned to bring that sentiment into this game, she might regret her brief hesitation in stripping for a long time.

"I didn't quite hear that," he said. She could tell he'd picked up the flogger again and she shivered.

"No, my lord," she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking. She suddenly couldn't stop herself and the words came tumbling out of her mouth. "I'm so sorry, I was just startled and I didn't - "

"Be quiet."

She shut her mouth instantly, pressing her lips together as if she could physically force herself to keep from saying anything else.

"Spread your knees wider." Tom had come back to her front and, with her eyes on his shoes, she struggled to do what he asked, restrained by her own clothing. She could feel her breath coming in great gulps as she couldn't do it, and when he reached down she shuddered but he just split the fabric with a tiny motion of his hand and, grateful for small mercies, she opened herself as widely as she could. His low laughter made her flush more even as a surge of heat ran through her. "So you can listen," he murmured.

She kept silent, afraid of consequences for speaking out of turn.

"I suppose you think you should be rewarded for that," Tom said with a much put upon sigh. Hermione wasn't close to foolish enough to tell him yes but when he settled on the floor so he could admire the view of her body spread out for him she couldn't keep from licking her lips in anticipation. "Put your hands behind your neck and leave them there," Tom instructed her before reaching a hand out to run his fingers along her folds. She obeyed instantly this time, earning her another chuckle, but he rewarded her with attentions long ago grown skilled until she hovered on the cusp of orgasm, her arms shaking with the strain of holding their position, and he pulled his hand away.

"Turn over," he said. "Face on the carpet, please, and arse up. I do think you still have some punishment to take for working yourself too hard."

Hermione scrambled to get herself arranged the way he wanted. "Fifteen," he said. "Count them. If you lose track, we start again."

Hermione lay her cheek on the rug and gasped out a, "one" as he struck her. The threat wasn't empty. She'd skipped a "twelve" once by mistake and he'd made her take the whole spanking again from the beginning. She'd come close to using their safe word that time and probably would have if he hadn't stopped every few slaps to pet her hair and tell her she was such a very good girl. He'd used his tongue that night in ways she hadn't though possible so it had been worth it, but it had been a hard lesson on staying attentive, and one she didn't want to repeat, especially with the flogger.

"Two," she said as he hit her again. She gasped at the sharp flare and felt tears sting at her eyes already.

"Three."

By ten she could barely hold the position and he stopped to give her time to catch her breath. "You're so beautiful," he murmured as she opened and closed one fist helplessly around the edge of the rug. "Naughty, though," he said as he lifted his arm to continue.

"Eleven," she said as the flogger fell.

When he reached fifteen she gasped out the last number and held herself, shaking, until he gently eased her down and pushed her thighs apart. She expected his fingers so when he lapped at her with his tongue she almost sobbed from gratitude. "My lord," she whimpered.

"I know," he said against her skin. "I have you, love."

Those words were what pushed her over the edge and, with Tom Riddle's mouth on her and her wet face pressed into the rug, she shuddered and fell apart. She wasn't even sure when he scooped her up and carried her to their bed. He tucked her in and pulled off his own clothed before he joined her and cradled her against his chest. "You okay?" he asked.

"Hurts," she said. "But a good hurt." She began to try to wiggle down toward him, intending to return the favor, but he held her firmly in place.

"Just for you, today, love," he said. "You're spreading yourself too thin."

She flinched a bit as she moved and he ran a gentle hand over the marks he'd left. "Too much?" he asked, silently charming some of the pain away but leaving a hint of red to enjoy.

She let out a contented sound as he eased what he'd done but said, "No, it was thirteen or fourteen before the back of my mind stopped fretting over all the things we need to do before we move on from here."

He sighed at that, as pleased as he was that he hadn't overdone it. "Hermione," he said, "There's no rush. The ghost has been there for over a hundred years. She'll wait a few more weeks if we need her to."

"Luna wanted me to - "

"Luna can wait," Tom said, dropping a kiss to her forehead. "My witch needs to sleep."

"I do," she admitted at last.

"Then sleep," he said. A smile quirked up his lips. "You know how annoyed I get when you don't do what I tell you."

Her laugh was interrupted by a yawn and before she knew it she couldn't keep her eyes from closing and the world fell away and she slept.

. . . . . . . . . .

Ginny had spent the day trying to keep her breakfast down. Vincent had kidnapped several toddlers from what seemed to be a poorly supervised Muggle orphanage with dozens of children running about and tied them to a tree in case his Imperius wore off.

Ginny supposed the one mercy was that it didn't. Not even when Luna took a knife and plunged it into the first child's breast and pulled out the heart. "It works," she said, almost reverently, as clouds rolled in and a short shower drenched them all. Ginny had noticed it rained rather a lot where they were and wasn't quite convinced whatever spell Luna thought she had done had accomplished anything other than soaking her hands in yet more blood. "Can you feel it?" Luna asked, turning to Draco and Vincent with her wide, grey eyes.

Vincent nodded, but, Ginny thought, he'd agree with anything Luna said. Draco looked more doubtful. "You were already pretty good at water, Luna," he said. "I don't see anything different."

She handed him the knife. Draco's sacrificial rite was clumsier because he had to cut the heart out one handed while he used his wand in the other to cast the spell Luna was quite sure she'd found carved into the rocks. He sucked in his breath as he held the heart in his hand. "It's like fire," he said in evident awe.

"Lightning," Luna corrected him.

"I could do anything," Draco said as blood dripped from fingers and the heart slowly stopped beating. "Luna, we could rule the world. Who could stop us?"

"Who indeed?" Luna asked. Ginny had turned her eyes on the remaining children who sat, happy and placid in the shade with ropes around their necks like leashes but she felt like Luna's comment was directed at her and didn't dare look up.

. . . . . . . . . .

Pansy tossed Hermione a cushion. "I understand you were busy playing this afternoon while the rest of us kept our noses to the grindstone."

Hermione laughed and batted Tom's arm when he scowled. "My arse is fine, Pansy," she said. "Thank you for your concern."

Draco's usual flinch at her sexual escapades was subsumed in his desire to tell both lord and lady what spell Luna had uncovered and gotten to work. "Vincent still has a couple more," he said. "We stashed them in one of the spare rooms, all Imperiused up, but you really have to try this after we eat. It's amazing."

"Human sacrifice is boring, Draco," Pansy said with a much put upon sigh. "I've been thinking about the wedding and, unless you object my lord, I think a fall ceremony would be best. That would give us time to finish up here and for me to go to Paris to get fitted for robes."

At Pansy's inquiring look Tom sighed and nodded. "I'm going to have to get new robes, aren't I?" he asked.

The look Pansy gave him was withering. She spent the rest of the meal talking about her wedding. She planned to make it faux-rustic with wooden tables stretched out over the back lawns of Nott Manor. "I mean, I'm not going overboard," she said. "It will still be crystal and china. I don't plan to serve drinks out of jam jars or anything." She looked over at Ginny and said as sweetly as she could, "Did your mum ever do that?"

Draco rescued her with a wry, "I think my cousin Sirius might have done that when he and Remus had their event."

Pansy sniffed in derision. She might have even muttered, "Peasants" under her breath.

"Did they have dog themed centerpieces?" Neville asked. Greg looked confused and Theodore, who had been in the midst of swallowing some wine, began to cough and sputter.

"I don't get it," Vincent said to Luna who patted him on the hand and whispered 'werewolf' in his ear. Vincent looked disgusted. 'Really?' he mouthed at Luna. When she nodded he shuddered as if he'd reached into a jar of what he thought was chocolate only to pull out something that was very much not chocolate. "Gross," was all he said.

"Whatever those two did," Pansy said, "I am not some creature and I will be having a proper wedding. Hermione, you will wear black and a corset, so help me, because I am not having you look like some dumpy Muggle. I got a bunch of Muggle bridal magazines and I do not know what is wrong with your people but they have bad taste. Very, very bad taste. There was some travesty I saw in maroon with this weird crossing pattern in the back that looks like it was designed to make every person who wore it ugly." She stabbed her fork into her salad. "Corsets."

"I like corsets," Tom said.

"Really?" Hermione asked. She took a sip of her wine and said, "You've never mentioned that."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Draco muttered.

"Exactly," Hermione said, licking her lips.

He groaned and slouched down over his dinner. "Could we get back to the dark magic and human sacrifice, please?"

. . . . . . . . . .

"I just don't like this," Molly Weasley said. She'd said it a dozen times before and Sirius sighed as he handed her bowl with the chopped herbs. "She says she's in Belize. Who goes to Belize? And I'm sure they're censoring her letters because she reminisced about her tenth birthday party and how she wanted a pony so badly and how now, on this trip, she finally got to ride a pony."

"So?" Sirius said. Remus was late and while Sirius was wholly committed to Dumbledore and this Order of the Phoenix, he hadn't anticipated getting roped into having to help the hostess make this week's meal. "What little girl doesn't want a pony? Regulus' little horror wanted a matched set of white ponies at that age." Which, naturally, she got, he thought silently to himself.

"Ginny never wanted a pony," Molly Weasley said. "She wanted a broom."

Sirius let out a low whistle as that sank in while his hostess stirred her pot vigorously. "So they're reading her mail," he said. "And she knows it."

"Which means they know she's not really one of them," Molly said. She turned to look at Sirius, hands on her hips, and said, "The moment she tells me she wants out, we're getting her."

Sirius frowned. "Molly," he said slowly. "If this Tom Riddle is as bad as Dumbledore says, pulling her out might be putting a death sentence on her head. He can just come here and - "

"Not if we hide The Burrow with a Fidelius Charm," Molly said. She looked at Sirius. "I want you to be secret keeper."

Sirius nodded slowly.

. . . . . . . . . .

The ghost of Xunantunich was uninterested in talking to them. She appeared, as advertised, in a white dress and walked up the stairs of what they were fairly sure whad been a temple only to disappear into the stone wall. She ignored most tourists, the bulk of whom didn't seem to notice her anyway, and gave Tom Riddle and group one long, contemptuous look with her glowing red eyes before continuing on her way. If they put themselves in her way she stepped around them. If they tried to talk to her she sniffed. They were polite. They were kind. They were sympathetic. None of that worked.

Finally Harry snapped. "You are such a waste of time," he said to the ghost. "I want to go back to Britain and get away from this heat and the screaming brats in the spare room and Luna's cooking because I am almost sure she's reusing hearts from the sacrificial rites in the stew, but we have to keep trying to talk to you." He turned to stomp away but for the first time the ghost spoke.

"You're in the wrong place," she said. Tom stilled and watched the shade closely. "Power comes from being the one willing to surrender. From being the one who loses." She smiled. "And you don't want that to ever be you. Until you risk loss, you lose."

She disappeared through the wall and Tom scowled at the place she'd been before saying, "If by 'power' she means getting killed and being forced to haunt the same ruin for a thousand years than I think I can do without that."

"There's the attractive eye thing," Draco said in an ironic drawl. "I'm sure we all want that."

Pansy snorted. "I don't think Witch Weekly had anything about, 'Glowing red eyes are the very thing for fall'." She made a show of smoothing her hair. "Are we done here? Can we go home now? It's very difficult choosing a photographer when we're in Belize."

"We're done," Tom said. He still sounded irritated with the ghost. "Home to Castle Library and you can spend the whole summer planning your wedding while we refine Luna's fantastic work."

Hermione took his hand and leaned into his side. "I think after the wedding we should go to Montenegro. I've been doing some reading on the local vampire traditions."

35. Chapter 35

Ginny was relieved to get back to the Welsh castle. She never thought she'd sink down into her grim little room with its grim little bed and ancient, wobbly desk and feel tension leaving her. Belize, however, had been horrible. Neville had hovered, always, always there being attentive and kind and 'helping' her do darker and darker magic. She supposed she should be grateful they'd never handed her the knife and an imperioused, indigent Muggle toddler, but she'd stood by as they'd murdered child after child and used the power from that sacrifice to fuel their own magic.

She hadn't been able to react. If she'd screamed or cried or tried to save any of the unfortunates who'd fallen at their hands she'd have been revealed as an imposter.

At least Tom had never made noises about Marking her. She'd listened carefully as they chatted over wine about the scars they bore with filthy pride and she'd gathered they were more than membership tattoos.

Once you had one of those, there was no going back.

There were other things from which there was no going back. They'd joked about who each of them would choose as their horcrux, whatever that was, and what object they'd select. Hermione had stroked her locket and said it was nice having it be meaningful. These people were just evil and debased and vile and she regretted more each day that she'd offered herself up as a sacrifice.

And Neville… she thought he hadn't changed but she'd been so wrong. Sometimes she saw his eyes glitter with amusement at her expense, amusement he'd thought he'd concealed. He knew. He knew. Which meant they all knew. Which meant she had to get away..

Maybe now that she was back in Britain she'd be able to do that.

In the meantime she had to play along. She had to pretend she didn't see the way Tom Riddle eyed her like a toy he was saving for a day he was especially bored or the way Pansy snickered whenever she came into the room. She had to pretend she liked the things Neville Longbottom liked to do to her.

She had to pretend she didn't know the way he hurt her wasn't ever an accident.

Ginevra Weasley sat on her bed in the castle that was her prison and shook as she sobbed into her hands. She wanted to go home. She wanted her mother.

After a moment she pulled out a sheet of parchment and began to write a cheery note to send out to her family. She knew these monsters read her mail but she'd grown up with tricksters for brothers. She knew how to send messages that would tell her parents things weren't right. She'd already written to them about the ponies. Her mother would know that wasn't true.

Her mother would save her.

She would.

. . . . . . . . . .

Tom Riddle looked over one of the tedious messages Ginevra Weasley sent home and okayed it for owling with a tired sigh. First ponies and now the weather. He hadn't realized a human being could be this boring.

Neville shrugged. The girl's letter about their trip was banal but harmless enough. Neither of them held out any hope of converting her to the Dark Arts any longer. They'd start editing her letters when they had false information they wanted to slip to the noble forces who'd sent her to spy but, until then, she was just a nuisance they all ignored. "She is mine to kill, right?" he asked

Tom laughed at that. "I promise," he said. "All yours."

. . . . . . . . . .

Harry glowered at Draco. "I love you," he said in a cruel mimicry of the other man's voice. "This is it, this is what I want."

"I do," Draco said. He'd flung himself into a chair in their room and was staring out the window. "And it is. But - "

"But you're going to find a wife," Harry said. "That's what you said. I'm not exactly seeing how that fits with you wanting me."

Draco didn't respond with anything other than a snort. Harry was being unfair and they both knew it. He was just angry - and who wouldn't be - but when Tom Riddle told you to find a wife who would benefit the Death Eaters and placate the power base of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, you did it. He'd write to his father and tell the man to make him a list of girls who'd be politically useful and understanding about the entire… situation.

The real loser in the whole equation was likely to be the girl. As much as it was the most efficient way to solve the problem, Draco hated the idea of having his father parade girls in front of him as if he were a horse buyer at auction. The analogy was painfully apt; no pureblood family would turn down a marriage to a Malfoy and whichever girl took his fancy would get bullied until she agreed to the match.

He should have just married Pansy when he had the chance.

"Poor kid," Draco said, thinking of whatever sacrificial lamb would get tied to him, and Harry came up behind him and rested his cheek on the top of Draco's head.

"Maybe it won't be that bad," Harry said.

"Maybe," Draco said, thought it was clear from his tone he didn't believe it.

"At least it won't be Ginny," Harry said and Draco was tricked into a laugh even as he took the other man's hand and leaned his cheek into Harry's palm. "Can you imagine," Harry went on. "Having to fuck her over and over again as she pretended to like you until you got her pregnant."

"Given her family history, at least it wouldn't take long," Draco said. "But we'll use fertility charms. Me and whoever it is, I mean. Shouldn't take more than once."

"I want to be there,"Harry said.

"When I impregnate my wife?" Draco turned to look up at the man and almost gaped because it was clear Harry was being completely serious. "When I take whatever poor girl gets stuck with us and have sex with her you want to be there too? I thought you didn't like girls at all."

"I don't want to fuck her," Harry said hastily because that idea was repugnant, really. He knew Draco didn't mind girls, or hadn't, but he really didn't care for them. Not that way. "I just… I don't want to have to sit in some other room knowing you're doing things to her I wanted you to just do to me." The silence that fell over them waited until the ludicrousness of the image of Harry hovering at the side of the bed while Draco had sex with some girl, probably barely legally an adult if the way pureblood marriages tended to go played out, overtook them both. "I could offer suggestions," Harry said. "Tips. Pointers."

"That seems a little rude," Draco said but he was smiling now. "Poor kid'll be nervous enough with you there without you telling her what to do."

Harry smirked. "I didn't mean I'd be giving the pointers to her," he said.

Draco hit him.

. . . . . . . . . . .

"What do you plan to use?" Pansy asked as she spread marmalade on her toast. "I have an old ring of my grandmother's that I've always rather loved."

Ginny flinched away from the cold glint in Neville's eyes, one of the many clues he'd dropped when he thought she wasn't looking that had made it clear he was just as dreadful as the rest of them. Just as evil. Just as repugnant. "I have a pocket watch that belonged to the uncle who threw me out the window to see if I'd bounce," he said.

"What if you'd been a squib?" Tom asked.

"Who cares if a squib nephew dies?" Neville said. The words were light enough but furious. "I thought I'd use him too."

"Poetic," Tom said. "I like it."

Hermione touched the locket she always wore. "Family heirlooms are a nice way to go about it," she said. "Makes it more meaningful. Who wants to have a bit of yourself in some old rubbish forever?"

"Exactly," said Tom Riddle.

"I was thinking of using cock rings," Luna said. She smiled at Greg and Vincent who looked adoringly back at her.

Ginny sipped her tea and tried to be as inconspicuous as possible as she stored all the information they gave her away and prayed she'd be able to use it against them.

. . . . . . . . . . .

Albus Dumbledore sat in his bedroom, fuzzy purple slippers on his feet, and ran his fingers along his wand. It wasn't the one he'd bought at eleven, not the wand he'd wielded as a talented young man. This one he'd won. He could still see Gellert's face.

"You've come back," the man had said to him. "Albus, you've come back."

He's sounded joyous. He'd sounded thrilled.

He'd disarmed the man he tried to think of merely as Grindelwald before that man had even put his hand on his own wand.

He'd turned away as the waiting Aurors has closed in and taken the man into custody so he couldn't see the look of betrayal in Gellert's blue eyes.

"It's for the greater good," he'd murmured. He said it again now. "It's for the greater good."

. . . . . . . . . .

"One of the basic courtesies of dueling is you wait for your opponent to be armed," Tom said as they paired off in their large hall. "Not quite cricket to attack before the other person is ready."

Pansy snorted at that and the fox sitting at her side, his tongue lolling out, yipped in evident agreement. "We're the bad guys, Tom," she said. "Not quite cricket is sort of what we do." Theo, who stood opposite her ready to attack, already had his wand in hand. He was well aware of Pansy's habits.

Tom nodded at her and looked pleased. "Yes," he said. "Exactly. In a real fight, don't let yourselves be hung up on chivalry; do what you need to win. That said -." He looked around the hall. "Rules of engagement for this contest are no one starts until I give the word and nothing you can't heal." He smiled kindly at Ginny. "I know that puts you at a bit of a disadvantage, sweetheart, so you'll have to be quick on your feet."

Ginny gripped her wand and nodded but she kept her eyes on Neville. Her lover had his own wand held lightly between his fingers and a cool smile on his face. He'd done things with his tongue that morning that had brought her to shuddering, shaking, pleading orgasm even as she'd hated herself for begging the man, for promising him anything if he'd just let her finish. Whatever else he was, Neville Longbottom was a viciously skilled lover. She'd barely stopped quivering, though, when he'd straddled her and, gripping her hair, thrust into her mouth as if choking her were his goal. She'd tried to employ some kind of skill of her own but he'd ignored her until she lay, defeated, under him, brutalized as he got himself off using her mouth as if there were no other part of her.

He'd told her she was beautiful afterward. "I never want to let you go," he'd said. She'd summoned a tremulous smile and told him he was so sweet.

She'd love to land something nasty on him, the bastard. She might not know quite as many nasty tricks as these sick Death Eaters did, but she wasn't some helpless damsel.

"Winners face each other until the last person standing gets a biscuit," Tom said. Hermione laughed because the man had indeed put a single chocolate biscuit on a silver tray as the prize. She didn't look at him, however. She had her own eyes on Gregory Goyle, who'd whimpered when she announced she'd pair with him.

Tom stepped back out of the fray and said, "Go," in a quiet voice.

Ginny slashed her wand at Neville and a gash appeared across his cheek. He looked surprised and almost insulted but before he could tighten his grip on his wand she cast a series of protego charms that deflected the silent assaults he'd sent at her and cast a childish engorgement charm on his testicles before smashing his face into the floor with a series of pummeling fists summoned out of air that she'd learned from her older brothers.

"Yield," Neville gasped out. Ginny didn't bother to offer a hand to help him up. She just shrank his balls again and made a quick pass as the wound on his cheek so it knit but would likely still hurt for days.

"I hope you're okay," she said, sounding as nervous and overwrought as she could. "I didn't think - "

"I'm fine," Neville said. He gave her a look that hinted at a smidgeon of respect for the first time. "I look forward to watching you in the next round."

Hermione beat Greg easily, and Pansy disarmed Theodore before he could get off a single curse. Vincent managed to beat Luna by hammering her with one Imperius curse after another. Harry left Draco bleeding from a nasty sectrum sempra that required everyone to stop while Hermione healed the wound and Neville fetched some blood replenishing potion.

"I do think I said nothing you couldn't heal," Tom said as Hermione poured the bitter concoction into Draco's mouth to make sure he didn't perish from the blood loss and Greg cleaned up the floor with a quick spell.

Harry blanched at the lack of emotion in the words. "I'm sorry, my lord," he whispered. "I didn't mean - "

Tom's crucio was quiet but Harry collapsed to the floor under the weight of the torture curse as all his nerves told him they were burning, burning, and he screamed and he screamed and then didn't scream but twitched and spasmed in silence. "I don't like people to not follow instructions," Tom said. His voice hadn't changed. "You can match with Ginny next."

Ginny hurried to the Harry's side and helped him up. He gave her a wan smile and thanked her as he struggled to his feet. "I think you'll get a bit of a buy this round," he said. "I don't think I'll be able to manage much."

His prediction was accurate. Ginny knocked him out with one quick curse and he staggered up again, bowed, and joined Draco at the side of the room with the rest of the losers. "Prat," Draco murmured as he took the man's hand. "Why don't you know vulnera sanentur?"

"I think I have motivation to learn it," Harry said. His fingers shook in Draco's grip as his body was wracked with the after effects of Tom's curse. Everyone knew the pair of them had plenty of potions tucked away in their room so if eyes lingered on Harry long enough to make sure he didn't need extra attention right now, no one fussed.

Hermione had removed herself from that round. "There are five of us left," she'd said. "And if I have too many biscuits I might start to spread in ways my lord wouldn't care for."

Tom had run a hand over her arse and murmured that more curves were never bad, but he hadn't objected to her exiting his contest. Pansy had trounced Vincent and now her fox stood on his prone body and licked his face as she nudged him with the toe of her boot and said in exasperation, "Oh, get up. You're fine. Baby."

Vincent, clutching the arm she'd broken as if it might break again if he moved too quickly, slipped to the side of the room and sat at Luna's feet. The blonde woman smiled and ran her fingers over his short hair as she murmured promises to make everything better and that he'd been very impressive indeed.

Pansy eyed Ginny with absolute pleasure. "Well," she said. "Miss Weasley. It looks as if we are the last two standing. Shall we dance?"

Ginny sent a freezing curse at Pansy, who danced out of the way and slammed back at the woman with a series of sparks. Ginny summoned snakes, Pansy summoned beetles and a mongoose, which settled down and began eating the snake it rapidly killed. Ginny threw fire at Pansy who laughed and summoned rain. Pansy tried a crucio and Ginny sent it back at her with dozens of tiny, spinning protego spells. Ginny summoned a boggart and Pansy momentarily froze at the sight of her mother sighing with disappointment but, before Ginny could move in with a final spell, Pansy banished the boggart and a horde of miniature Weasleys ran in every direction.

Neville had to swallow his laugh into a coughing fit and Ginny was so stung by the transformation Pansy disarmed her, jabbed her wand into the girls throat and asked, "How much do you think I know how to heal?"

"Yield," Ginny whispered. "You win."

Pansy shoved her to the floor and kicked her. "And I always will," before she snatched the biscuit off the tray Tom held and bit into it.

. . . . . . . . . .

A/N - I offer up a chapter and a fic rec: in the wonderful world of powerful!hermione tomione, Persephone updated this week after a multi-month hiatus and it's perfection, as always. (It's on my favorites list.)

36. Chapter 36

Drusilla Black leaned toward her mirror as she touched her mascara wand to each eyelash. One at a time they darkened and lengthened until her eyes looked wide and sooty and perfect. "Tom Riddle," she recited to herself. "Dark Lord. Cultivate, don't offend. Hermione Granger. Muggle-born. Don't react, married to Riddle. Powerful." She went down the list one more time to confirm she knew all the major players in today's event. Her own papa had been worried she'd not be pleased about Hermione Granger's blood status; he'd been a bit of a zealot on the matter himself thanks to grandmama, but Beauxbatons didn't hold with that nonsense and she was more than able to adapt when necessary to win.

Drusilla felt that flexibility was one of life's more important qualities. She, for example, could not only lay her palms flat on the floor while in her heels, she could condemn violence and hatred with all sincerity while systematically destroying anyone in her way. Mental agility kept one from going the way of poor grandmama Walburga.

Drusilla stepped back to do a final check on her appearance and smiled at the way she'd turned herself into a delicate waif. Six years at Beauxbatons and she'd learned to navigate the shifting alliances of personal magical power, family influence, and physical beauty that guided every interaction at the French school, and learned to navigate them with ease.

It helped she was personally magically powerful, from an important family, and, if her own cold and surprisingly unbiased assessment was correct, beautiful.

Beauty was just one more weapon and Drusilla had honed it for years.

If this Hermione Granger had moved herself to the top by means of power and beauty only, with no family to call upon, she must be quite impressive and Drusilla Black was not stupid enough to go about antagonizing a witch of that stature just because she didn't have parents to speak of. Drusilla smoothed the silk of her black dress over her hips, checking to make sure there were no unsightly lines, before she stepped into her heels. Drusilla liked to keep things simple when it came to shoes: very plain, very black, very high.

She balanced on her toes and added the charm she had developed and refused to share that made these shoes comfortable. She particularly liked that she could store the pain from the heels and give it to the witch of her choice. More than one rival at Beauxbatons had had to leave a social event early because, despite her dumpy little practical heels, her feet were killing her.

"Dru," Regulsus called from outside the door. "Are you ready?"

Drusilla opened the door and admired her papa. "It is unfortunate there are no Black cousins to marry," she said as she took in his dark curls and the angles of his face. "How will I ever content myself with anyone not as beautiful as you?"

Regulus Black smiled at his daughter's flattery and held out an arm. "It's a pity your mother died," he said. "She would see the way you look today as an utter triumph. The only Black girl of your generation and you're perfection."

Neither of them mentioned Nymphadora Tonks who was loud and crass and an Auror, of all dreadful, plebian things to be, and not a Black. Blacks did not get jobs. Blacks married well, which might mean a cousin but never meant a werewolf, and then after marriage they dabbled in influence.

"Are you prepared to assess this young dark wizard?" Regulus asked her. "We haven't committed ourselves yet, not fully."

"The other families?" she asked as delicately as she could.

"Draco Malfoy is off with him and, of course, it's young Theodore's wedding," Regulus said. "The Parkinsons - "

Drusilla interrupted him with a sniff and he laughed. "Quite," he said in agreement. She hadn't expected to see the names Potter and Longbottom on her notes. She'd used the gossips at Beauxbatons, sending off owls about how she was going to this wedding and did anyone know if any of these Hogwarts clods could even dance, and heard quite a bit in return. Harry Potter was Quidditch mad, the son of Aurors and so squeaky clean one of her chums suggested she could use him as soap. The general consensus was that Neville Longbottom was a bit of a non-entity and she could get away with one pity dance.

"Must I dance with any of the Weasley lot?" she asked, as they made their way to the front stoop to apparate over to Nott Manor. The event should have more properly been hosted by the Parkinsons and Drusilla has raised a perfectly groomed brow at the gauche snub of the bride's family. Thoros Nott and his son did not, apparently, even plan to pretend they gave a damn about propriety.

Regulus Black made a face but nodded and she sighed in grim agreement. "If I must," she said. She gave a damn about propriety.

Propriety meant you did whatever you damn well pleased just as long as you appeared like trustworthy good girl who never broke a single rule.

Or nail.

Poor personal grooming was the sign of a weak person and Drusilla was many things but she was not weak.

. . . . . . . . . .

"I don't see why we have to go to this," Ron Weasley muttered as he straightened his robes again. "It's not like I was friends with either of them. They can both go to the devil for all I care."

"They effectively both have," his mother said from where she stood by the door waiting for him to finish getting ready. Molly Weasley had had very similar sentiments about going to this wedding and had been mildly shocked to receive an invitation, despite social rules dictating all members of the ridiculous so-called Sacred Twenty-Eight be invited to one another's major social events. She certainly didn't invite these blood purists and Dark Magic users to her parites and she was quite sure Thoros Nott wouldn't have been able to pick her out of a crowd. As for Pansy Parkinson's mother, well, that harpy would have spit on her just for the sin of being poor. "But we'll go because Albus Dumbledore asked us to and we'll go to see your sister."

Ron continued to grumble under his breath but they'd had this discussion at a much higher volume when Professor Dumbledore had told Molly Weasley to go and have a good time. Dumbeldore had won that argument and Ron admitted the man's reasoning was sound. Tom Riddle and his crew were a bunch of worthless, torturing, freaks but if they were going to be stupid enough to come out of wherever their lair was then the Order of the Phoenix should be there, watching them.

Dumbledore had not been invited and neither had Tonks, who'd sniffed and said several rude things about her cousin and the rest of the Blacks. "They want nothing to do with me and I feel the same way about them," she'd said.

"You'd think with Hermione nestled into their fold they'd be over your mum running off with your dad," Ron had said but Tonks had snorted and said something about how old crimes were never forgiven, not even when they weren't technically forbidden anymore. She might have even muttered 'I'd sooner eat glass, anyway,' under her breath.

"Will you meet Daphne at the wedding?" Molly asked as Ron finally stopped stalling. The rest of the clan had managed to find it impossible to go; even Arthur had come up with a last minute work related emergency and hustled off the Ministry to find out who had charmed all the soap dispensers at some Muggle store to announce 'yer filthy' whenever they were used.

"It is quite clever," he'd said as Molly glared at him, "but can't be allowed to stand, of course."

"Yeah," Ron muttered. "She and her sister, her whole family, they're all going. The rest of the Greengrasses are Riddle's sort, of course." He was looking forward to dancing with her but was less excited about chatting up her parents. He suspected that he wasn't quite what they'd had in mind for their little pureblood princess.

. . . . . . . . . . .

Tom Riddle let his eyes travel up and down Hermione with frank appreciation. Pansy's insistence her friend dress 'like a proper dark witch' had resulted in black satin that slithered over the woman's body except where an external corset pushed breasts up and waist in. The top of the dress drooped over the edge of the corset as though it couldn't muster the energy to stay on any longer and would like nothing more than to slide to the floor in a puddle, and his mother's locket sat between her breasts. "Sit," he said, the words a husky order as he pointed to the bed in the room they'd been offered at Nott Manor.

It remained surreal to Tom that he was still young, and always would be, while Thoros Nott had aged past his prime. He, however, was young and so was the woman carefully balancing herself on the edge of the bed, and he intended to enjoy that.

"Politics soon," he murmured as he knelt down at her feet and slipped the dress up her thighs. "A long night of listening to people avoid saying what they mean." He used one finger to hook her knickers to the side. "Dancing with people we hate and smiling at the empty words of idiots." He pressed his mouth down and flicked his tongue across the very tip of her as she slowly curled her hands into claws on the bedspread.

"Tom," she said, her voice shaking just a little bit.

"I haven't done anything to muffle the room," he said, his breath hot on her skin. "Best to keep it down."

"You are a cruel man," she said

"But you love me," he said.

. . . . . . . . . .

"Theodore Nott," Pansy's mother said to one of her friends as they hovered near their seats and waited for the ceremony to begin. "They met in school, you know. He took her to the little Hogwarts dance their last year." She took a sip from her champagne; it wasn't the first she'd had. This was her moment of triumph and she intended to enjoy it. She'd gotten her plain, unclever daughter married off to a man of wealth. His father was influential in the Ministry and Theodore would surely inherit that so not just a man of wealth of a man of wealth and influence. A pureblood wizard of wealth and influence had, for reasons she couldn't fathom, fallen for her daughter. She'd seen the vows the couple had selected and binding didn't begin to cover what those vows were. As long as the boy didn't change his mind in the next few minutes, Pansy would be well and truly married forever to someone better than she'd hoped for in her wildest dreams.

"Impressive," her friend said. She mostly hid the jealousy in her tone. "Ivy's can't be here today, unfortunately. She'd gone abroad and is traveling in Iceland."

Mrs. Parkinson considered the missing Ivy. She'd been the beauty of her year at Hogwarts and had multiple N.E.W.T.s to her name. "We'll miss her," she said, "but I do hope she's having fun." She took another sip of her drink. "Did I tell you Pansy and all of her little friends spent the early part of the summer in Belize, of all places?"

"No," her friend said through gritted teeth. "How fascinating."

. . . . . . . . . .

Neville glided across the gravel path toward his parents. He smiled at the sight of them. As usual his mum looked vaguely rumpled and deceptively indifferent to her surroundings, and she was unwrapping a hard candy and popping it into her mouth. His dad had his hand on her lower back as they looked over the crowd.

"Neville!" His father spotted him first and shook his hand before using the grip to pull him into a hug. "You look good," he said. "Travel must agree with you."

"Or maybe Ginevra Weasley does," his mum said in a knowing voice. Neville bent down to brush his lips over her cheeks, marveling how tiny she seemed for such a powerful and intuitive witch. She took his hand in both of hers and seemed to study him. "Neville," she said after a moment, "Are you okay?"

The guests talked around them and glasses clinked but Neville's world narrowed to his mother as she studied him with eyes that seemed to see him for the first time. Not the bumbling herbologist with a little childish pudge he could never quite shed and not the forgetful lad who made everyone roll their eyes because he couldn't remember the password again. Alice Longbottom looked at her son and saw him and he could watch her heart sink as her eyes became carefully neutral. "Are you having fun over in Wales?"

"I am," he said. "Draco's family's estate has a long neglected orangerie I've almost totally restored and I've put in some herb gardens." He patted her hand. "Had to ward the thing with work you'd expect to see at Hogwarts because Pans has a fox that seems to be able to wiggle past any spell."

Alice nodded. "Some ward work can be nasty," she said, accepting the offered reason for the way he'd changed even if she didn't fully believe it. "Be careful, Nev."

Neville, who had spent the morning playing catch-the-fiendfyre with Vincent, said, "I'm always careful, Mum."

She gave him another searching look. "I hope so," she said.

The guests had begun to sit down and Frank jerked his head towards the seats Alice had left her bag on. "Sit with us, son?"

"Of course," he said.

. . . . . . . . . .

Theodore Nott met his father's glance and both men smiled. They'd opted to hold the ceremony in one of Nott Manor's ballrooms,with the reception spilling out onto the rolling lawns and gardens behind the main building. There were multiple secluded nooks people could slip into to have private conversations about politics and how much the Ministry's current policies were a shame.

Thoros Nott had been shifting the conversation from 'blood purity' to 'governmental overreach'. If Tom Riddle, still young and still so very dark, had taken a Muggle-born has his wife, blood purity couldn't be the lever and, to be honest, it excluded too many half-bloods who'd accumulated power and wealth over generations and had no intention of letting it go. Thoros valued his heritage, and was pleased his son had found a pureblood to carry on the family, but he took no issue with what other people did so long as his own power was unquestioned.

Wizarding Britain was an aristocracy, whatever propaganda the Wizengamot spewed, and Thoros had no intention of letting that change. However, opening the gates just a wee bit to include all the magically elite, whatever their heritage, was sound policy.

It wasn't as if there were even that many truly powerful magic users anymore. Thoros frowned as he stood to admire the bride walking down to meet his son. Pansy Parkinson was quite the witch but he knew she'd been seen as average in school. He and Theo had had an interesting the conversation the previous night; Pansy and Neville both had come into their own when they'd turned their hands to the Dark Arts.

Only educating people in Dumbledore's approved curriculum had crippled their people.

Thoros had watched the rise and fall of Gellert Grindelwald on the continent and had seen Dumbledore lauded as a hero for beating the man. He didn't buy it. Dumbledore was hiding something about the battle that had made him famous; there was no way a wizard that dark had been tricked quite that easily, or fallen in a fair duel.

Tom Riddle, who stood next to Theo as his son vowed his life and fidelity to the woman at his side, would never have allowed himself to be taken so easily.

Thoros looked at the robes Pansy had on and smothered a snort at the number of buttons. He hoped Theo knew an unbuttoning charm or it might be a long and frustrating night.

. . . . . . . . . .

A/N - Aren't weddings fun?

37. Chapter 37

Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy had spent much of Pansy's wedding arguing. They'd argued about what to wear, about whether Harry could introduce Draco to his parents with the implication that they were a thing. They'd argued about the girls Draco had to meet to find a wife and they'd argued about the flowers in the centerpieces. While Pansy and Theo were posing for photographs in the gardens, Harry had stalked off to see his parents, fuming that Draco was being an utter prat. Draco, in turn, stalked to the full bar set up on the veranda, asked for fire whiskey, and downed half the tumbler before he acknowledged the girl next to him.

"Rough day?" she asked.

He sighed and put on his manners. The girl looked vaguely familiar but half the women at the wedding had opted to dress in black and she was no exception and in the sea of black clad socialites the only thing about her that really struck him was that she seemed to be dressed like she was on display.

He had a terrible feeling he knew who she was being displayed for.

"My partner is upset I won't go make nice with his parents," Draco muttered. "And he's right, but we agreed this would be a good place to find a… anyway, it's hard to, uh…"

"Look for a wife?" she asked.

"When you're dancing with another man and chatting up his parents, right," Draco said. He held his hand out. "Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."

She dimpled at him as she took his hand. "I know," she said. "We've met multiple times. 'Toria Greengrass."

Draco had the quick feeling that he'd bungled this entirely and quickly kissed the back of her hand. "I'm sorry," he said. "I've been quite rude and - "

"They didn't tell me you were gay," she said. She took a sip from her wine glass and allowed him to guide her away from the bar and the curious barkeep and toward a somewhat more private table where he held a chair out for her. "That does change things."

"You were told to charm me,I take it," Draco said. The news wasn't surprising but was dreary nonetheless. A wedding filled with girls eager to woo him into a marriage sure to make them unhappy.

"Oh, yes," Toria said. She grinned at him and looked a lot less like a debutante on the make than an urchin about to suggest a prank. "You're rich and powerful and there's the wee matter of you being very close to certain people." She waved over a passing caterer and took the entire tray of bacon wrapped asparagus from the woman's hands and set it on the table between herself and Draco. "I love these."

"Sorry about being gay," Draco offered as she popped a starter into her mouth.

"Oh, don't be sorry," she said around asparagus. "Taken too. It's great. We can dance and sit here in this tete-a-tete and my parents will think I tried and be happy - though after Daphne's little mistake they don't have a lot of room to complain. And she's never shuts up about it. 'Riddle is a monster, Toria. They're all monsters. You need to join the Order. Ron's so nice.'"

Draco snorted at that

"Right?" Toria asked him. She ate another one of her asparagus and licked her fingers before she said, "Better a monster than as much of a bore as she's become. I mean, she's my sister, and I love her, but she doesn't know when to stop."

Draco watched the girl eat with unalloyed delight. She managed to make what were technically horrid manners into a charming wink and nod at convention and he noticed that for all she made a show of eating with her hands, she didn't get a speck of grease on her dress. She waved cheerily at an older matron who smiled back at her. Astoria Greengrass embraced life with such joy she delighted everyone who saw her. Draco suspected she could work a room so skillfully no one realized they were being nudged in the direction she wanted them to go because they were just so happy to let some of her own sparkle rub off on them.

"Toria," he asked slowly, "Do you just dislike the idea of me, or - "

"I don't want to get married at all," she said. "Not to anyone." She looked suddenly uncomfortable. "I'm not a very... I'm not a physical person and my mother has made it clear that a husband would have, uh, expectations she called them, and - "

"I'm gay," Draco said, cautious optimism starting to grow. "I assure you, I wouldn't have any expectations of the sort. If you could…just once, to get an heir, and then… assuming…"

She set down her starter and looked at him. "I don't want to be stuck in some drafty manor with your parents and a baby while you - "

"How do you feel about politics?" he asked her. "How would you feel about the Ministry?"

Astoria Greengrass beamed at him as if he were the best present she'd ever been offered. "I'm Head Girl," she said. "I love politics."

. . . . . . . . . .

Harry Potter smiled at his parents. His mother kissed his cheek and his father studied him. "We thought we'd see you every day at the Ministry," his mother said. "I can't quite get used to my boy being all grown up and off… what are you off doing, exactly?"

James was even less subtle. "Dumbledore tells me Tom Riddle is up to his eyes in Dark magic. Tell me you aren't messed up with that filth."

Harry, who'd held a toddler's heart in his hands and mused that with the power this kind of sacrifice gave them no one would have been able to land a curse on Hermione, Harry, who'd casually condemned a girl he'd grown up with to death once it was clear she was a spy, Harry, who'd polished his skill at deception at the hands of a man who'd offered him eternal life just so long as he wasn't squeamish, grinned easily at his father. "I wouldn't put too much faith in Dumbledore," he said. "I think he might miss a little of the glory days of being the man who defeated Grindelwald."

"That wasn't an answer,"James Potter said, his eyes narrowing.

Harry turned his guileless smile up a watt. "We've seen some nasty things on our travels, I admit," he said, as though confessing something, "but nothing quite as bad as Aunt Petunia."

James let out a reluctant chuckle at that. "If there was ever a Dark witch, it would be that one," he said.

"Good thing she's a Muggle," Harry said. "She'd mandate perfect lawns for everyone, or off with your head."

James laughed, threw an arm around Harry's shoulder, and said, "What's he like, this Theo friend of yours? Good guy?"

Harry thought of the way he and Theo had slowly tortured a man to death for hurting Hermione. "The best," he said. "I'd trust him with my life."

. . . . . . . . . .

Drusilla Black walked up to the bar and ordered her drink, flashing a practiced smile at the man next to her. She didn't recall seeing a photograph of this one on her notes for this party. He was tall with arms that spoke of manual labor and eyes that promised he knew how to do other things to do with his hands as well. "Nice wedding," she said.

He nodded. "It's always good to see the right sorts of people get married," he said.

Drusilla sighed internally. Naturally, the one man she'd met who appealed to her was probably just some worthless second cousin once removed no one cared about. She let her eyes slide up and down his frame and pictured for a brief, delightful moment what he'd be like in bed. Not a polite lover, this one, she suspected. She could barely keep from licking her lips at the prospect of throwing herself against his will to see how long it took him to use the force in those arms. She took a sip of the cocktail the bar tender handed her. Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter were crossed right off her cultivation list, she hadn't even seen anyone who looked like the pudgy Neville Longbottom, Greg Goyle was clearly an idiot, and it was rude to seduce a groom at his own wedding.

Not that she hadn't done it before. Drusilla was what many people called an 'early bloomer.'

She hadn't even gotten a chance to speak to Tom Riddle. When he wasn't on the dance floor with his wife he was buried in conversations with politicians and venerated members of the elite. This whole event was her worst social failure in over three years and now she'd finally found an attractive man who pushed all her buttons and who had appropriate opinions and he wasn't on her list.

"It is," she said. "She was a beautiful bride."

"Yes," he said. "The foxglove in the bouquet was a nice choice."

He sounded amused and Drusilla sighed again. He recognized flowers which meant he was probably a gardener. She was hot for a bloody gardener. Life really wasn't fair. She supposed she could bed him and then obliviate him afterward. She really deserved some kind of happy ending to this failure of a day.

As she was contemplating whether she'd get caught a dumpy ginger haired girl in an unfortunate dress with ragged nails crept up to Drusilla's mystery gardener. "Do you think we should dance?" the girl asked, her voice almost quivering.

"Where did you find that dress?" Drusilla asked her. The girl smiled tremulously and began to answer but before she could do more than stammer out a gratified word of thanks Drusilla added, "Because I do want to make sure I never go to that establishment. It's not often a floral managed to clash with itself." She took another sip of her drink and said to the man, "Is this your date?"

"She is," the man said. His eyes traced over what looked like a hand-crocheted shawl. "She is," he said again, and he sounded depressed by that.

"Funny," Drusilla said. "I would have expected something different." Her plans to drag the man into an unused room and do things with him that were illegal in some countries evaporated. Anyone who wanted a woman this pathetic - this cringingly submissive - was not her type, hard arms and dangerous eyes notwithstanding. She turned back to the barkeep; a lesser woman would have sagged in disappointment but Drusilla Callidora Cygnia Alpharda Black never sagged.

"What do you want, Ginevra?" the man asked. "I was having a conversation. Why don't you go and talk to your mum or something?"

"You could get clothing tips," Drusilla offered. "Dressing like someone's mum appears to be your style." She was running the name Ginevra through her mind. "Ginevra Weasley, is it?" she asked. "All the endless brothers?"

The girl's eyes flashed for a moment before the shuttered again. "I think I will go talk to my mum, if that's okay with you. I didn't realize she was here."

He waved a hand holding a glass of golden whiskey toward a clump of uncomfortable guests hovering near a cheese table. "Last I saw her, she was over there."

"You don't have a formal wedding without inviting representatives from all the families in the Sacred Twenty-Eight," Drusilla said. "Even the ones who smell up the place." She took a sip. "I'd expect anyone to know that, even you."

"Just remember," he said to the girl who'd dropped her beaten puppy look to scowl at Drusilla for a moment before putting what appeared to be a mask back on. "I can always find you, Gin. I'll always come for you. I never want to let you go."

"You're always so romantic," she said tightly before walking off.

The man sighed again. "Maybe that'll keep her out of my hair for a bit." Drusilla made an inquiring sound and he said, "It's hard to explain." He held a hand out. "Neville Longbottom."

Drusilla felt her lips turn up in an involuntary smile. Apparently her photographs had been woefully, wonderfully out of date. When she went to take his hand he deftly snagged her fingers and placed a kiss in her palm

A kiss that started at inappropriate and continued on from there.

Dark magic almost flowed out of his touch and she could feel herself melting.

This wedding had just gotten much, much better.

"Drusilla Black," she said.

. . . . . . . . . .

Molly Weasley stood at the edge of the crowd. She'd been scanning the assembled luminaries for Ginny since she'd arrived and the girl had been late to appear and then hadn't left the side of Luna Lovegood or some heavy-set young man Molly didn't recognize. She'd looked wan, despite bright laughter, and like she hadn't been eating well. Molly watched her during the interminable ceremony, filled with archaic vows no sensible person would agree to, and she'd watched her during this cocktail hour and felt herself become more and more concerned. When her only daughter tentatively approached Neville Longbottom at the bar it was all Molly could do to restrain herself from cursing the boy on the spot. She couldn't even hear what he said but Ginny cringed back from him like a kicked dog.

Molly remembered a neighbor when she was a child had kicked his dog. The thing had whimpered and flinched and tried to get approval right up until the day it tried to rip the bastard's throat out.

Neville turned away from Ginny and tipped his head toward the black clad girl at his side - Sirius' niece Molly suspected - and Ginny almost ran across the lawn to her mother.

Molly grabbed the girl and held her as tightly as she could. "Are they hurting you?" she demanded, followed by, "Come home."

"I can't," Ginny whispered. "They'd follow me, they'd come get me."

Molly looked at her daughter, then looked out over the lawn. Thoros Nott had been born into wealth and had used it on his only son's wedding. Tables lit with fairy lights and weighed down with crystal sparkled and women in black robes that cost more than most witches earned in a month circulated. A quarter of musicians played some kind of occasional music Molly was sure was just the thing but which left her cold. Ron, his ginger hair an untidy beacon, caught her eye and, when she jerked her head, excused himself from his girlfriend's side and made his way back to his mother.

"Take Ginny home," Molly ordered, her voice low.

"Mum," Ginny said, her voice just as soft, "I can't. They'll find me, they'll hurt me, and you, and - "

"The Burrow is under a fidelius charm," Molly said.

Ginny's eyes widened and she almost sagged at that news. "They can't - "

"They can't," her mother said. "Though I have some words to share with that Albus Dumbledore when next I see him. Sending a child in to infiltrate… he ought to be ashamed." She kept one hand tightly on Ginny's wrist and the other on the handle of her dressy bag. It wasn't a great bag, certainly hadn't come from the boutiques or designers every other woman's clutch did, but it held her wand, her lipstick, and a bottle of Peruvian Darkness Powder she wouldn't hesitate to use to create a diversion if necessary.

Ron's eyes were on Hermione as she danced with her husband, the ringleader of the opposing side. "I miss her," he said.

"You shouldn't," Ginny said. "Take me home." She let out a shaky breath. "Please."

. . . . . . . . . .

"My Lord," Neville said.

Tom looked away from his conversation with a Ministry official. "Neville?" he asked. The look on Neville's face caused him to excuse himself from the man he'd been talking to with a brief apology and move into a private nook where Neville, Drusilla Black on his heels, followed.

"She's gone," Neville said.

Tom looked at the man sharply then across the crowd. None of the Weasley's were present. Draco and Harry sat at a table with a girl in black who couldn't be old enough to have graduated from Hogwarts but who appeared to be the solution to their bridal problem. Luna danced with herself, twirling in a circle waving her arms around while Greg and Vincent chatted with their respective parents. Theo and Pansy also danced, so wrapped up in one another he probably would have had to summon them through the Mark to get their attention. Hermione, caught by his growing flare of rage, appeared as if from nowhere.

Ginny, however, was gone.

"You were supposed to be watching her," Tom said in a low voice.

"I can only offer my apologies, Lord," Neville said. "I suggested she speak to her mother but warned her I would find her no matter where she went. I thought it would be enough. It was not. The mistake is mine."

Tom looked at the girl behind him. "Miss Black," he said, half an acknowledgment, half a question. She dropped a quick curtsey that managed to imply she'd sunk to the ground without making a spectacle of herself and if he hadn't been on the verge of succumbing to the fury that threatened to consume him he would have been impressed. "You can do more than apologize," Tom said to the man who stood before him, head bowed. "You can suffer."

He looked up at Nott Manor. There would be a room somewhere enough out of the way no one would stumble upon the locked door while looking for a place to have a private tryst. "Come," he said. He looked at the girl, not possibly old enough herself to have finished school. "You as well," he said. "See what happens to people who disappoint me."

. . . . . . . . .

A/N - Thank you, as always, for reading this dark tale of people who are dreadful. For various reasons it will probably be two weeks before I am able to update again.

38. Chapter 38

Neville lay in the darkened room at Nott Manor and tried to remember to breathe. He hadn't begged. That had been his only goal. Even survival was up to Tom, but he'd wanted to maintain enough dignity that he didn't beg his Lord to stop. Muggles begged. Trash begged. He didn't.

And he hadn't.

When it was over and Tom had spun on his heel and left his minion on the floor, covered in sweat and in too much pain even to pull himself to the couch in the room, Neville just tried to remember to breathe. That was a lot to manage, and when a hand held a vial to his lips and told him to drink it, he was too weak to ask who or how. When the pain potion dulled the agony to mere misery, he regarded the chic young woman in black who'd dosed him. She'd retreated to a chair and was barely visible. "Still think I'm such a great catch?" he asked, his voice a hoarse croak after all the screaming.

"I suppose that depends on how often you plan to permit spies you've been told to watch out of your clutches," she said.

Neville felt a laugh work its way out of his tortured throat. "I think this is a one-time mistake," he said. "I generally manage to be competent. It's why he let me live."

"I didn't care for her," Drusilla Black said. "That Ginevra girl. I'm glad she's gone." She crossed her ankles. "It would have made it trickier to seduce you to get access to your little group if you were babysitting." She paused and examined her nails as if one of them might have had the temerity to chip while she watched him be punished for his transgressions. He wondered if she'd enjoyed the sight. "Not that I would have let her stop me," Drusilla added.

Neville felt the warm wooden floor under his cheek where he'd lay back down after downing the potion the woman had given him. "You're a bitch," he said. He suspected once he stripped her down she'd be as magnificently, meticulously groomed under that dress as the bits of her that showed were. "You need a good walloping to teach you manners."

Drusilla laughed at that. "You could try," she said.

"I'm afraid it will have to wait," Neville said. "I'm a trifle out of sorts at the moment." He struggled to sit up and finally just gave up and eyed her from where he lay on the floor. "But I will beat you until you cry."

"I finish school this spring," Drusilla said. She stood up, and he looked at the very high heel she put in front of his face. "Come get me when I do."

"I'll do that," Neville said. She was at the door when he added, "And I will beat you."

"Promises, promises," she said, and then she was gone.

. . . . . . . . .

They wanted her to go over things again and again, and Ginny was exhausted. The Order of the Phoenix had convened at the Burrow, passed into the now protected dwelling one at a time, and they'd gathered around the large table as Molly served up stew and bread.

"The things that they're doing," Ginny said. "I didn't… I didn't know people could be… They've all changed." She said it flatly and didn't make eye contact with Harry or Neville's parents. If she'd looked at Alice Longbottom, she would have seen Neville looking back at her, false concern in his eyes as he found a new way to assault her, a new way to leave a bruise on her. He'd slipped. He was clumsy. He was so sorry. "All of them."

"Their magic?" Dumbledore prompted her again.

"Powerful," she said. "They research all the Dark Arts they can, kidnap Muggles, and practice the spells until they can do them perfectly." She kept her eyes on the bowl of stew in front of her remembering the fears that Luna had put human hearts into her cooking. "I lost count of how many people I saw die."

"Did you - " Molly began.

Ginny shook her head. "No," she lied. She'd rehearsed what she'd admit to. "I… you had to be Marked to be allowed to, and I wasn't good enough at the other things like fiendfyre to be Marked."

"Harry isn't…" Lily began.

"He is," Ginny said. "He isn't the worst of them but… he's not… he does all the same things the rest of them do and if he isn't as sadistic as Theodore Nott it doesn't mean… he's got the same Mark burned into him that the rest of them do."

She'd already drawn the skull and snake design. She'd memorized the details as much as she'd been able, staying up nights to trace Neville's Mark over and over again with her eyes so she could bring as much of it back as possible. Dumbledore had looked at the parchment, and she'd seen his eyes widen the tiniest bit before he'd folded it up and put it away in a pocket saying he'd need to research some of those symbols and runes in the library at Hogwarts.

"Even Hermione Granger?" Sirius asked. He and Remus had always adored the Muggle-born witch. "She let him burn some Mark into her arm?"

Ginny shook her head. "I never saw one," she admitted. "But she… she killed as easily as the rest of them. Riddle adores her, they all do, but she… they've all changed." She took a deep breath. "She's got some locket she wears every day that's important. I'm not sure how but it's important."

"What makes you say that?" Molly asked.

"They said… they talked about their plans to do something, and it had to be really bad because they didn't explain exactly what it was in front of me, but they all knew. 'Put a piece of yourself in something' was as close as I was able to… the locket is hers. Pansy was going to use a ring for hers. Neville was going to use a pocket watch that belonged to an uncle, one who threw him out a window."

"Algie," Frank Longbottom said with obvious reluctance as Molly glared at him. "He's a bit of a… he has issues with whiskey and - "

"He dropped your child out a window," Molly said. "You let a man drop your child out a window."

"He was afraid the boy was a squib," Frank said.

"So what if he was?" Molly said heatedly. "He was your son, he - "

"How many squib relatives do you acknowledge?" Alice snapped. "None, I'm sure. No one's condoning what Algie did, but Neville was fine and - "

"Maybe if he hadn't been dropped on his head he wouldn't have run off to join a Dark Wizard," Molly hissed. "Maybe the reason my daughter was brave enough to fight for the Light instead of succumbing to that Riddle boy's allure is that I didn't drop my children out of windows to see if they weren't squibs!"

"Mum," Ginny said. The word was very soft, but Molly immediately turned to her. "May I go upstairs. I don't feel well."

"Of course," Molly took her up to her childhood room and tucked her in, and Ginny lay on one side so she could look out the window. She wondered how far the Fidelius Charm reached. She wondered if she'd ever be able to go outside again.

. . . . . . . . . .

Tom handed the bottle of silver wisps to Draco. "Get your fiancée to pass this to her sister. I want it in Ginevra's hands, and dear, stupid Daphne can be of some use."

"Consider it done," Draco said.

. . . . . . . . . .

"She's lying," Sirius said. He and Remus had left Molly, kissing her on the cheek and thanking her for her hospitality, and returned to their own place. Sirius had kicked at a chair and poured himself a drink and lit a cigarette before flopping into a worn couch and expressing himself. "She did a lot more than she wants us to know."

Remus shrugged. He'd poured a drink of his own and sat with his head tipped onto the back of the stuffed chair. "Wouldn't you?" he asked quietly. "If you'd lived with monsters, wouldn't you want to hide things you'd done to fit in?"

"She couldn't even look at Alice," Sirius said. He took a drag of his cigarette and seemed to rage in silence.

"She was seeing Neville," Remus said. "Maybe they were close, and it hurt her to leave him behind."

Sirius made a disbelieving sound and Remus sighed, and the pair sat and drank until Sirius said, "Well, I'm not going to bully a teenage girl into spilling her secrets. I just hope what she isn't telling us doesn't turn out to be the thing we need to know."

"I doubt it," Remus said. "She killed people, probably horribly. She and Neville had a thing, and she cares about him but left him anyway to save herself. It happens."

. . . . . . . . . .

Daphne Greengrass set the vial of memories on the table in front of her at the Burrow and shivered. Astoria had told her if it didn't make it into Ginny Weasley's hands there would be unpleasant consequences. Daphne remembered Tom Riddle's idea of unpleasant; she still woke, covered in sweat, with memories of his beautiful face smiling coldly down at her as she huddled on the floor at his feet while her Housemates did nothing.

She had no doubt he could make it much worse, and she wasn't tucked away in a protected cottage. He could reach her at any time, and now that her parents were in negotiations with the Malfoys on the exact details of Astoria's dowry and settlements, no one would stand between her and the devil except the Order of the Phoenix.

If she married Ron, would she get to live here?

She set that thought aside as Ginny picked up the vial and looked at her mother, fear in her eyes. There was a note that was charmed to only be opened once Ginny had viewed the contents of her present, and, with a sigh, Molly tipped her head toward the pensieve Dumbledore had brought them. "Might as well get it over with," she said.

The entire Order wasn't present, but Alice Longbottom was, and she put her hand reassuringly on Ginny's shoulder. "It's just a vision," she said. "I've had to look through the memories of some pretty dreadful people as an Auror, and it never gets easier, but nothing in there can really hurt you. It's just a… a stage show set out for you to view."

Ginny nodded, poured the contents out, and dipped her head into the silver. Her whole body tensed as she watched what she'd been sent and at last she withdrew and pushed the pensieve away. Dumbledore began bottling the memory up again, presumably so he could study it at his leisure, and they all waited for Ginny to say what she had seen.

"Tom wasn't happy I left," she said softly. "He punished Neville."

Alice tried to control herself, but a tiny sound escaped her mouth. Molly glared at the woman. "Go on," she encouraged her daughter.

"He… Tom… he likes the Cruciatus Curse, you understand," Ginny said. "It's his favorite tool of discipline."

Daphne wrapped her arms around herself. She could remember all too clearly how pleased he'd looked with himself as he made her suffer using that particular curse. She knew you weren't supposed to be able to remember pain but she did, and all too well.

"Neville was supposed to be watching me," Ginny said. "He talked a lot at first about how great the Dark Arts were, but then he stopped doing that and just… it was his job, you see. He made sure I was contained so they could… Tom's not one to throw a tool away."

"And he let you go?" Dumbledore prompted.

Alice Longbottom seemed eager to believe her son had let Ginny go and taken the blame for her escape until Ginny said, her voice still soft, "Not willingly. He didn't think I'd dare to leave. He'd… he'd done things before when I made him… when he wasn't happy with me. It wasn't worth it to do anything that displeased him." At that, Alice let out a choked sound of misery. Ginny wouldn't meet the other woman's eyes. "So when I left Tom… he punished Neville, and it was… it was long."

Alice had begun to cry, and Molly ran her hand up and down her daughter's arm. "I'm sure Neville never meant to hurt you," she said. "He was always such a nice boy."

Ginny shook her head but didn't argue. Daphne knew, just watching the way the ginger-haired girl sagged, that Neville had meant to hurt her, but she didn't want to think about it in enough detail to argue the point. What, after all, did it matter if his mother continued to hold on to the belief her son was still inherently good? Ginny's hands were almost steady as she opened the note that had come with the memories and Daphne admired the strength of will that kept the girl at the table instead of running to the toilet to throw up.

Ginny read the note and set it down, and that was when she began to shake.

Daphne leaned forward so she could see the words written in the flawless, slightly old-fashioned script.

Neville was punished for his little transgressions. I do take care of my people and when you are back with us, Ginevra, I will keep a tighter rein on him. TR.

She was the one who ended up running from the room so she didn't lose her breakfast right there in front of everyone.

. . . . . . . . . .

"You recovering?" Hermione pushed open the door and joined Neville in one of the upper story greenhouses. He'd chased the blank-eyed servant girl away and settled himself down with a book and some tea and has been enjoying the late fall sunshine when Hermione arrived.

"Mostly," he said. Hermione opened her mouth and looked as if she were going to make excuses for Tom or, perhaps, his own failings, and Neville held up a hand to stop her. "I deserved it," he said. "I made a mistake in how I handled her, and a mistake in letting her go, and that might end up costing us." He set the book aside, his hands still trembling just a little with the after effects of the curse session. "I might have gotten off lightly."

Hermione didn't argue with him for which he was grateful. "You're still the best of men," she said.

"Don't let Tom hear you say that," Neville advised at which she laughed, leaned over, and kissed his temple.

"I do what I want," she said.

Neville was smart enough to resist even a roll of his eyes and just said, "And we'd all do anything for you."

They talked about what he'd been reading, and a spell she'd been refining that was a variation on forced-transfiguration, and, at last, their conversation turned to Montenegro. Pansy had overseen packing and finding accommodations with the same ruthless efficiency she'd used to plan her wedding, and everyone looked forward to interviews she'd lined up with three local vampires. "Just another month in the life of an evil overlord and his band," Neville quipped. "Interviews in the field with the undead. Participant observation, maybe?"

Hermione laughed and he thought fondly how much he adored her, the Dark Lady who'd valued him when he was still a pudgy boy who forgot the passwords. Drusilla might appreciate the man he'd become but Hermione had seen him as worthwhile at eleven, and there was nothing he wouldn't do for her.

. . . . . . . . . .

A/N - Much love to Shayalonnie who beta read this chapter.

39. Chapter 39

Molly Weasley tossed the paper down with a disgusted snort and glared around the table, daring anyone to contradict her. As no one else had seen the article, they all became very interested in the bacon, sausages, and tomatoes she'd put in front of them. Only Ron dared to pull the Prophet toward himself and scan the lines that had elicited that reaction from his mother.

Mr D Malfoy and Miss A Greengrass

The engagement is announced between Draco, only son of Mr and Mrs Lucius Malfoy of Wilshire, and Astoria, second daughter of Mr and Mrs Hyperion Greengrass of Surrey.

"Well," Ron said. He set the paper down and looked over at his mum. "Daphne did say that was coming. He couldn't imagine the horror of having your baby sister chained to any of Tom

Riddle's followers, much less prat extraordinaire, Draco Malfoy. That poor girl must be terrified and miserable.

"No wonder Daphne never wants to go home," Fred said.

"I was starting to think she might actually like you," George added.

"It made me think badly of her."

"Now I see -"

"- she just wants to get away from her own family." Fred took a large swallow of pumpkin juice and grinned at his youngest brother. "Makes me respect her more."

Molly glared at the pair of them. "Is this how you behave when I invite you over for breakfast?" she demanded. "I can just let you subsist on cold toast and milk that's gone off if that's the case."

Fred and George both assured their mother, as quickly as they could, that they had just been kidding, that Ronnie-kins could take it, and to please not banish them back to the flat above their store. Not mollified, their mother turned to Ginny, who was pushing a slice of tomato around her plate. She hadn't eaten well since she'd fled what had been, in effect, her captors and she was beginning to look gaunt. She smiled wanly at her mother and made a show of taking a bite of toast and chewing it before Molly could start in on how she needed to eat more and would she perhaps like a bit more egg? Ron helped shield her by saying he'd like more if there were any left and, with a glower at the still-smirking twins, Molly dished more onto Ron's plate.

"I'm glad you have a good, stable job," she said. "Opening a joke shop. I don't know what will come of that. But a job as an Auror, that's something to be proud of. You can always rely on a government job."

. . . . . . . . . .

"You're sure?" Hermione asked Harry.

They'd arrived at their rental home in Montenegro the night before. The autumn air was chilly, if not cold, and Hermione had looked out at the waterfront with naked longing in her eyes. "Maybe we should have planned this one for summer," she'd said. It wasn't that the days were too cold to enjoy being outside. Indeed, after going to school for years in Scotland, the fifty degree day that greeted them that first morning was mild. It still wasn't summer.

Hermione had cornered Harry over tea and toast before they set out to meet with the first of two local vampires Pansy had corresponded with via owl. "This marriage thing with Draco and the Greengrass girl; are you really okay with it?"

Harry raised his eyebrows. "I have a choice?" he asked her. "I thought when Tom Riddle says Draco is to get married, he's to get married."

Hermione sighed and leaned on the balcony. She wasn't sure she'd ever get tired of this view. She already liked this place much more than she'd ever liked muggy Belize. "Tom can be a little autocratic," she admitted, "but if you really hate the idea, I'll get him to come up with another plan."

Harry took a sip of his tea and regarded her. She still had a bruise on her upper arm from something or other, and a red mark on her neck. She'd sat on a cushion when she'd first come to breakfast and Draco had groaned and Pansy had laughed at the way she flaunted their sex life. "You'd cross Tom for me?" Harry asked her now.

Hermione looked perplexed. "Of course I would," she said. "He can get fixated on things and forget that people are, well, people."

"I appreciate that," Harry said. It was his turn to shift so he looked out over the water. "But, as weird as it sounds, she's great."

"She's marrying your - "

"I know," Harry said. "It's weird. But… she's… she didn't want to get married at all, and you know how it can be for pureblood girls." There was a moment while Hermione considered Pansy, raised to the slaughter of the marriage market, as it were, all the while being told she probably wasn't pretty enough to get anyone worth having.

"So," Harry went on, "I think it will be fine."

"Still," Hermione said. "Do you like her? Because whether she's in Draco's bed - "

"Which she will not be," Harry said, a disavowal that would prove to be false as time passed.

"You're still a bit stuck with her."

Harry took a deep breath. "I don't know her well," he admitted. "But I think this is doable. I think I like her, what I know of her, anyway. I think we'll be friends."

. . . . . . . . . .

"What did you say your name was?" Pansy asked the woman they'd sat down with to interview. The woman was old. No, she was beyond old. She'd seen old at least a few hundred years ago and kept going from there. Her wrinkles had wrinkles. Her eyes twinkled, however, and were sharp and mean. For all that Pansy had owled the woman multiple times, she'd not been exactly forthcoming with information other than where to meet her and that she demanded they buy her a meal.

"Vještica," the woman said. She licked her lips. "You are not quite what you seem."

"We wanted to talk to you about immortality," Pansy said, ignoring the comment. It could mean anything coming from the vampire-thing she was talking to. Did she mean that Pansy was a witch and not Muggle? Or did she sense the Horcruxes Tom and Hermione had made?

Their interest in immortality wasn't completely abstract, after all. She looked forward to the day she'd watch her mother scream in agony as she'd died. Considering that future moment as her mother had gone on and on about who would have thought her plain, slow daughter would have landed a catch like Theo Nott had filled Pansy with a cold satisfaction at her wedding. She wore the family heirloom she planned to use around her neck and somedays, when her mother sent yet another owl wanting to know when the babies would arrive, she touched it and smirked to herself.

Her mother shouldn't look forward to the babies quite so much. Once the heir and the spare had arrived, Pansy could safely gut her own fertility in order to live forever.

Tom stood with his arms crossed and watched Pansy and Vještica at the table, Hermione at his side, without saying anything. The cafe was derelict and unpleasant and if there was food to be had, despite the assurances of the waitress, it would be a surprise to them all. They'd walked through dark rooms with faded wallpaper to reach this back dining area. There were cobwebs in corners and so much dust on the bookshelf that it was clear no one had read any of the books in years. Tom poked at one and a moth flew out, circled the room, then vanished into the curtains. The title of the book he'd disturbed had worn away, though the claim that the author was the 'Late Attaché to the Serbian Royal Legation to the Court of St. James' remained clear.

"Babies," she said with a shrug.

"You mean having them?" Draco asked. If they'd come all this way and met up with this decrepit woman only to be told the banality that your heirs were your immortality, they'd all be annoyed. Tom would be annoyed. He had a rather bad habit of killing people who annoyed him and he was still upset about Ginny's defection back into the loving arms of her family.

"Eating them," she corrected him.

Luna looked smug. People had given her such a hard time about reusing sacrificial hearts in Belize and hear this woman confirming her intuition pleased her enormously.

"Do you use garlic?" Greg asked. Vincent kicked him and Theo buried his face in his hands and muttered something about why couldn't they leave those two at home?

"I leave my body at night," she said, "and fly around until I can enter the body of a black moth. Then I drink blood from the hearts of infants." She looked around. "I thought you had promised me refreshments."

Tom looked at Hermione who jerked her head at Greg who grumbled but went off to find the waitress in this otherwise abandoned cafe and discover what had happened to their order.

"What happens to the infants?" Pansy asked.

The woman looked at her as if she were stupid. "They die," she said. She shrugged. "It can take a while," she admitted, "but eventually they grow pale, develop fevers and die."

"And then?" Draco prompted.

"You have to find another." Vještica opinion of Draco's intelligence seemed to be on par with what she thought of Pansy.

The waitress had finally emerged from whatever cave in the cellar she'd retreated to and sullenly put a large tureen of thick potato soup on the table along with a stack of bowls. "You want rakija?" she asked.

The old woman began ladling soup into her bowl and grunted a yes and, with a disgruntled stomp of her foot the waitress disappeared again.

"Some of my sisters use chickens," the woman said as she began to eat.

"Chickens?" Tom asked, speaking for the first time.

"Instead of moths," she said, her mouth full of potato. "You aren't the sharpest tool even in this shed, are you boy?"

. . . . . . . . .

"Reassure me again that the brand of immortality we're using keeps me young and beautiful forever," Pansy said. Theo sighed and poured another glass of the apple brandy he'd found in one of the local shops. "I'm not sure I want to live forever if I turn into a vampire chicken who looks like that old witch." She shivered a bit as the wind came off the water and cut into them as they sit on their porch. It was a little late in the year for outdoor dining.

Tom stabbed his fork into the raštan the girl who Greg had found to cook for them had made and looked at the green leaves with a hint of displeasure. "This looks awfully healthy," he said. He'd been in a foul mood since they'd left the Serbian witch drinking her tiny glass of rakija and snickering at his scowl.

"There's something distinctly unhealthy for dessert," Hermione said.

"Oh, Merlin, please no," Draco muttered. "Not again. Do we have to talk about this at the table?"

Hermione turned to look at him and he turned bright red. "I was talking about a platter of what Greg's little slave called 'priganice' but that looked like doughnuts to me," she said. "What are you thinking about?"

"We could do that too," Tom said. Hermione grinned at him and Draco groaned again.

"Can we stick to the subject at hand?" Pansy demanded.

"Yes," Tom said, sounding bored. "You'll stay young, Pansy. Whether you'll be beautiful is a more subjective question." She looked as if she might protest and he waved her away. "Go torture Theo somewhere in private if you want reassurances about your appearance."

As dinner proceeded they came to the conclusion that while the magical creature they'd met with had certainly been interesting, she hadn't been especially useful. What she could do seemed more inherent to the type of creature she was than anything that could be applied to their own magical arts, and thus irrelevant. Plus, she'd been old and ugly and, as tedious as Pansy's vanity was, even Tom admitted he'd rather not face eternity as a monster. There were limits, after all.

"I did steal the books from that cafe," Hermione said. She pulled them one at a time from her bag and stacked them on the table, a collection of dusty tomes with missing covers and pages hanging askew. "If all else fails, at least we can learn from books."

"Who's next?" Tom asked.

Pansy pulled out a planner and flipped through it. "Some guy named Radovan who is a bit of an outcast from the local vampire community because he had a vampirović."

"A what?" Neville spoke for the first time.

"A kid," Pansy said.

"They can do that?" Hermione asked in fascination.

Pansy shrugged. "Apparently."

"This should be interesting," Neville said. Greg's imperiused household help had brought in the pastries, a pot of honey, and some fruit on a platter and he helped himself to one, drizzling some of the honey over it with an avaricious lick of his lips. "An outcast vampire with a child. You do find the best oddities, Pans."

. . . . . . . . .

Radovan invited them into his home. Hermione glanced around as they passed through the dark hallway into another dark room, lit only by flickering candles. She supposed it counted as atmospheric. He waved them to a seats around a table set with a large tray of what looked like cured meats and cheese. "Please," he said, "eat."

Hermione took one of the slices of meat and cast about for something to say. The meeting with Vještica had gone so badly she wanted to steer this one into a more productive channel. "So," she tried, "how did you become a vampire?"

Neville tensed. That seemed like the worst possible start to him, but Radovan just smiled genially and said, "The local village neglected to burn my body and a chicken jumped over it."

"A chicken?" Hermione asked. She didn't want to sound rude but the chicken theme of this region was starting to seem like a giant joke the locals played on outsiders.

"Might have been a cat," he said with a shrug then tipped his head toward the platter on the table. "How's the meza?"

"It's excellent," Hermione said. "Thank you."

Radovan was far more interesting in chatting than the witch had been. He asked about their plans, pulled some books off the shelf to offer them, noted that local offensive magic was quite advanced because of the ongoing war and made copies of several spells for them to take away. "Wars make for good eating," he said.

Hermione opted not to comment on that.

"Not as good as the Muggle Great War of the 1940s," he said. "That was delicious. Death everywhere, all seasoned with mustard, so to speak. But this civil war is good enough."

Tom became briefly excited that their host remembered the time he still considered his, and the two launched into a discussion of earlier eras that left everyone else smiling politely and nibbling at the offerings the vampire had put out. The common bond, however, seemed to lead Radovan to think they wanted advice and he began to offer some.

"You should recruit your squibs," he said. "This use of Muggle slaves is easier, of course, but it just isn't sound over the long term. The very magic that keeps them docile renders them incompetent at recognizing any threat, and they aren't loyal enough to report one even if they noticed it."

"My girls love their job," Greg muttered.

Radovan flicked a look at him that suggested he didn't think highly of the man's wits, but rather than engage the wizard in debate he merely continued his suggestions. "If any of them were captured by the people who oppose you, well, they're all walking intelligence nightmares. It could go very badly. And how long do they remain malleable if the person controlling them is killed?"

"Can't be killed," Greg said, touching the crotch of his pants.

Theo buried his face in his hands, a reaction to Greg that was becoming all too common, and muttered, "She really did use cock rings. Oh my fucking Circe." Greg had wanted to make a horcrux early and had insisted the Goyle's didn't need an heir and Tom had shrugged and given the man the go ahead.

It had been a fun party, really. The victim had died screaming and Greg and Luna had dragged Vincent from the main hall, panting with lust.

Still, Theo thought to himself. A cock ring? Really?

Luna smiled at Radovan who quirked an eyebrow up at her as if he were considering asking her to extend her own visit. She dimpled and he sighed and shook his head. "Another time, perhaps," he murmured to her before continuing his discourse. "Squibs, on the other hand, well, your culture despises them much as mine hates me."

"That vampirović," Neville said.

"Exactly," Radovan said. "My sweet Vukasin."

"Why is that?" Neville asked.

Radovan sighed and steepled his fingers together. "We still have feelings, you understand," he said. "Drives. Being immortal doesn't end one's… urges." He glanced at the assembled, fresh-faced wizards and witches, letting his eyes linger a moment on Luna, and sighed. "I suppose you do, though your method of immortality seems a bit inelegant."

Neville prompted him. "Vukasin?"

"Yes, my sweet boy. His mother is long dead, of course. My Irena. She was the most beautiful woman in our village and she could make better plum jam than anyone else. Better pomegranate syrup also. I visited her, you see. After I died, after I lived again. I would go to her window at night and she'd let me in and we would love as we always had." He closed his eyes as if he were picturing nights spent with his long lost wife.

Luna looked liked she was going to ask a question but Pansy kicked her and she closed her mouth again.

"She caught and her baby, well, he is as he is. His bones are small, of course, and his head large, and he casts no shadow. I spirited him away so he would be safe from mortal hatred." He glanced at a heavy wooden door. "She died in her time of old age. He's upstairs now."

"Why does that make you - "

"Outcast?" The vampire eyed Hermione. "His blood is poison to other vampires. He is… how do I say this…a weapon against my own kind. Those who have embraced immortality, with all its costs, are loathe to risk it. You may be aware of this, no?"

"Oh." Hermione seemed to be turning this idea over in her mind and before she could ask Radovan asked her if she'd like a vial of the boy's blood to study and add to her own collection of poisons and oddities. He took her upstairs and Tom twitched, only calming when Theo whispered in his ear that he was fairly sure Hermione could incapacitate the elderly immortal with his quaint ideas of cultivating squibs without even trying.

As they left, a new collection of copied books in their hands, Radovan's kisses on Hermione's fingertips, and his son's blood in a bottle in her bag, the vampire said again, "Do consider what I have to say about squibs. Give the marginalized a little bit of power and respect and they'll be loyal in a way your little slaves never will be."

"Squibs," Neville said with disgust as they apparated back home. "Can you imagine?"

"The idea is repellant," Draco said. "Filthy creatures, worse than Muggles because they should have power but don't."

"It's as if they're diseased," Pansy agreed. She shuddered and Theo pulled her into his arms to comfort her. None of them wanted to risk contamination at the hands of people who should have been wizards but, due to some horrible accident of birth, weren't. What if what had stunted them were contagious? The idea wasn't to be borne.

"Power is everything," Tom said to a round of murmured agreement from everyone there.

. . . . . . . . . . .

"Hermione," Tom said as they packed to leave. "Might I borrow a drop or two of that blood you got from Vukasin?" She tipped her head toward the mantle where she'd left the bottle and he picked it up and smiled at it, one of his coldest, most predatory smiles.

"Have an errand to do?" she asked.

He kissed her cheek before he left. "I didn't care for that Vještica calling me dull," he said.

. . . . . . . . . .

A/N - One more stop on the world tour of evil, then Astoria and Drusilla will have finished school and it's time for another wedding and the world's most awkward insemination.

A very brief bibliography (because I did not make up vampire chickens):

* Hero Tales and Legends of the Serbians by Woislav M. Petrovich, 'Late Attaché to the Serbian Royal Legation to the Court of St. James' (London: George G. Harrap & Co., 1914)

* Slovenska Mitologija, by Nenad Gajić.

The awful cafe is an exact description of a restaurant I once ate in in Bucksport, Maine. The food was very good but the place looked like where you'd go to get murdered in every horror film ever.

SO many thanks to the-witch-of-the-forest who beta read this. She looked up myths and declined nouns and everything. She is the cultural treasure behind much of the folklore of Montenegro in this chapter.

Thank you also to Oracle10, whose excellent strategic advice on squibs is reiterated here. Pity they're all too arrogant to take it.

40. Chapter 40

"Iceland?" Pansy stood with her hands on her hips and glared at Theo. "I suggested New Orleans. Good food, good music, and, more to the point, warm. But would you listen to me? No. It had to be bloody Iceland. In February. Who goes to Iceland in February?"

"At least we missed the cat," Theo murmured. Hermione grinned at him and he smirked back. She missed her own cat familiar, who was presumably roaming the halls of Castle Library with Pansy's fox, terrorizing the one servant they'd left alive, and had been charmed by the legend of the Icelandic Yuletide cat that ate people who weren't wearing new clothes. Yule itself had been a bit of a dull holiday for her. She and Tom had exchanged gifts but done little more. Draco had gone to London to squire Astoria around at public events where she beamed at elderly ladies and waved the enormous diamond on her hand under the eyes of society photographers. She'd blushed with calculated adorableness as one old woman cornered her and, when Draco had asked her why, she'd told him, trying not to giggle, that the woman had been giving her tips on pleasing a man in bed.

"Any good suggestions?" he'd asked her.

"How do you feel about heels in bed?"

"I think Harry doesn't quite have the feet for heels," he'd said. She'd taken his hand at that, leaned against him with a sigh of happiness at how well they suited each other, and flashed one of her charming smiles at their hostess. Draco was more than pleased with the way his engagement was working out. His mother was terrorizing the wedding industry with her demands for perfection and Astoria had a list of Ministry charities and committees she planned to be invited to join as soon as she finished school, all as part of her bid to use his money to have the place firmly under her thumb before anyone even noticed.

Even Harry liked her.

Neville had gotten permission to go to France and he'd come back with a bruise on his cheek he refused to let anyone heal and a smug smile. When Hermione had asked how the trip had gone, he'd licked his lips and said he was working on teaching manners to Miss Black and she liked to fight back. Hermione had looked briefly concerned until Neville had leaned forward and whispered, "Her safe word is stiletto," and then she knew it was fine.

Tom had spent the holidays bent over the books they'd brought back from Montenegro. At last he'd thrown one of them across the room and muttered that the old bastard was right, the girls were a security risk, especially since Ginevra had fled and could, at least in theory, lead their enemies right to them.

The servants had, at least, made excellent practice fodder for some of the spells they'd learned. "Useful to the end," Neville had said, nudging one with his toe when she lay, broken and bleeding, on the floor.

"Waste not, want not," Luna had chirped.

"We aren't here to collect quaint Yuletide legends," Tom said now as they gathered at the central portkey terminal in Iceland. "We're here for the apples."

"Fine," Pansy said. "To the cottage, then."

They stepped into the Floo, one at a time, and emerged on the other end into a small, isolated cottage. Small was the key word. As one Death Eater after another stepped out of the small fireplace, trying not to bump their heads, they looked around the single room in growing dismay. One loft with a single bed hung over half the room. A small kitchen and smaller bathroom sat tucked under the loft. Two couches and a table took over the rest of the main living space. It was a cottage meant for a single couple, not nine people. Tom looked around and said, his voice deceptively calm, "Whose responsibility was it to choose the lodging?"

Everyone shrank back.

"Mine."

Tom turned to look at Hermione and she sighed. "I realize it's hardly optimal - "

Harry snorted rudely.

" - but if we want to try to summon a god we need to be away from the rest of society. The magic this is going to take … the whole sky will light up green."

"Thus winter," Theo murmured. "So our work will go unnoticed in the general flare of the aurora."

"We're summoning a god?" All the color had drained from Vincent's face and he looked like he wanted to run right back into the floo. This, he seemed to suggest, was not something he had signed up for.

"A very minor goddess," Tom said, giving the nervous man an impatient look. "And she didn't ever even want human sacrifice. Don't be such a coward, Crabbe." He slipped up to Hermione and ran a hand down her back, stopped just above the curve of her arse. "Was this place really the best you could find, love?" he asked in a rough whisper.

She licked her lips. "It's possible I might have tried harder," she admitted, looking up at him. He pulled her against him and buried his face in her hair, murmuring things the rest of them could barely hear but that sounded uncomfortably as if he were asking whether she needed a lesson on being thorough.

"Fucking great," Draco muttered to Harry. "In a tiny cottage, too."

"Hermione and I will take the loft," Tom said, eyeing the blond who became very interested in his shoes at the scrutiny. "The rest of you may use the couches and floor."

. . . . . . . . . . .

Daphne ducked her head and smiled as bashfully as she could. She'd been working toward this moment for months. She'd cultivated Molly Weasley, let Ron go further and further with his groping hands and damp mouth, and if he didn't actually propose soon she might scream. She had to get out of her house. All her parents could talk about was marriage, specifically the brilliant one Astoria had made. She'd landed the only heir to one of the most important ancient Houses. The Blacks were still more important, her mother had said in a hushed voice. Compared to them the Malfoys were nouveau riche, but unless they married one of the girls off to the widower Regulus, who was a little old for them, there weren't any Blacks available.

They'd looked at her rather speculatively as they discussed whether a man old enough to be her father would be a steady choice for a foolish girl. That had accelerated her plans to get this stupid, stammering boy to marry her so she could hide out the storm that was coming in his nice, safe house.

She'd even asked the wretched boy's mother, when she knew he was in the next room, if she was too old fashioned because she wanted to wait for marriage to, 'you know'. It had been the most awkward and unpleasant conversation imaginable to have with a woman whose son's genitals had been in your mouth only an hour or so earlier. Molly had beamed at her, however, and told her she was a good girl, such a good girl, just like another daughter.

She'd overheard Ron talking to his father shortly after that about rings so she had hopes it had worked. Dangle sex and get the bastard to jump. So bloody predictable.

She hated men sometimes.

"I know we're going to be stuck living here," Ron said. "I can't afford to get a decent place and Ginny needs us to take care of her."

Daphne had worked hard to make herself essential to Ginny. She felt pity for the girl, who'd endured hell at the hands of Tom Riddle's minions, but also contempt that she'd been so naive she'd walked into their lair as if she could have even been anything but their victim. She'd told Ginny about her own torture at Tom Riddle's hands and the girl had perked up a little at the story of how she'd spit on Pansy. "I'd like to be able to do that," Ginny had said. "Her and Hermione both. I'd like to see them suffer the way they liked making us suffer."

"Someday, maybe," Daphne had said, but she hadn't believed it.

"But I was wondering if maybe you'd marry me," Ron said. He held out a box and Daphne squealed with the most excited joy she could conjure and threw her arms around his neck. "I know I'm not… I'm not rich like your sister's - "

"But you're so good," she said. "And I love you. Yes!"

When she finally looked at the ring it was tiny, the stone almost lost on the thin, silver band. When this war was over, when the good guys had won and she didn't have to be afraid of Tom Riddle anymore, she'd fling this dinky ring in Ron Weasley's face and tell him she wanted a divorce. No binding vows for her. She'd tell him they were too Dark and he'd believe her.

"I love you, too," he said, and pressed his moist, soft lips to hers.

. . . . . . . . . .

The sound of Tom's hand slapping against Hermione's arse almost echoed in the tiny cottage. Draco pulled a pillow over his head and tried not to listen. They'd found almost enough bedding in one of the cupboards for the rest of them, and the couches were both fold-outs, so between the couches and the floor they'd all found room to sleep.

Well, room to lie down.

*smack*

Draco pressed his hands over his ears under the pillow to see if that kept the noise out. It didn't. He supposed this was some kind of lifelong punishment for the way he used to flaunt his sex life with Pansy at Hogwarts. He peeked up to look over at Pansy and immediately dove back under his pillow. He wasn't completely sure what it was Theo had attached to her nipples but it looked like either jewelry or a torture device or maybe both.

*smack*

Draco told himself that the light was very dim and he had to have seen wrong.

*smack*

Just when he thought this couldn't possibly get any more uncomfortable, Hermione had a very loud orgasm. At least, he thought, in the silence that followed, that was it. They'd reached the peak of unpleasant room sharing problems.

"You know," Luna said from the fold out couch where she cuddled up with Vincent and Greg, "that gives me an idea."

Draco began to hope the god they were going to summon just killed him.

. . . . . . . . . .

Albus Dumbledore looked at the sketch Ginny Weasley had made of the mark she said all Tom Riddle's followers had burned into their arm and traced over one of the runes again. It was a nasty piece of work and Dumbledore had to squelch the part of his mind that admired the ruthless cleverness of it. It would keep them from suborning any of the man's followers but, he thought to himself, mayhap it was too clever by half. What would this Mark interpret as betrayal? If the person doing the betraying was under duress at the time, would that count?

He looked over at his list of 'Death Eaters' - and what a name that was - and considered them all. Lily would have his head if he experimented on her son. Alice likewise, for all that, from what he'd gleaned from Miss Weasley, the boy's soul was well and truly lost. The Malfoy boy was too high profile to go missing, especially with a society wedding in the works. His eyes lingered on the names 'Greg Goyle' and 'Vincent Crabbe'.

Two boys who had been dull little non-entities at school, following whoever had the most power and parroting the opinions of the popular. Neither had a family with enough sway to cause a fuss if one or both of them were to disappear.

He could use Miss Weasley as bait to lure one of them out.

Dumbledore pulled out a quill and began writing to Sirius and Remus. Molly would balk but Sirius would do whatever he asked.

. . . . . . . . . .

Luna used the metal-tipped stick to carve the runes into the frozen dirt, going over and over each spot to make sure everything was clear and no loose soil fell back down into the lines she'd drawn.

"This seems like such a bad idea," Vincent mumbled.

"She's a minor god," Hermione said again. She'd become tired of explaining this to the man. For all that he was so very good at the Imperious Curse, he really was a very simple thinker and sometimes that became tedious. "Could you handle him please?"

The last was said to Luna, who looked up and said, "It'll be okay, Pookums. There isn't one extant example of Iðunn as being vindictive in all the literature. She's all about life and fertility. We'll just summon her, ask a few questions, thank her for her time, and be on our way."

"Pookums?" Draco mouthed to Harry, who tried to control his snicker and only mostly succeeded. Vincent hunched his shoulders at the muffled sound of Harry's laughter and took his place in the circle, ready to chant with the rest. They'd rehearsed the ritual Tom had found, adapting it to Luna's specifications. For all that she often seemed odd and dreamy, they'd learned to trust her intuition about magic and with each rehearsal they'd done, she'd added a line, or changed an inflection, until she had sat back on her heels, looked at Tom, and said, "Do you think Neville could grow a tree of immortality apples from seed?"

"Apples are tricky," Neville had said, hoping to nip the project of growing an orchard of magical apples in the proverbial bud while he still could. "They don't reproduce true to the parent seed. You have to graft and you usually need another type to pollinate and - "

Tom had looked at him and Neville accepted the inevitable. "Of course," he had said, "I could ask the lady goddess for a branch to graft and see what I could do."

"You do that," Tom had said. "That greenhouse at Castle Library isn't just for seducing unpleasant gingers."

"Shall we?" Hermione asked, a tint of impatience coloring her voice. "My feet are cold."

"When we're done, I'll rub them," Tom promised. "Now, let's summon the Norse goddess of youth with her magical apples of eternal life, shall we?"

. . . . . . . . . .

A/N - Thank you to Oracle10 for the suggestion of Iceland, and to lizziebennetgonesolo for Drusilla's safe word. As always, love to Shayalonnie and dulce de leche go, who alpha read this beast, oftentimes in 500 word chunks.

41. Chapter 41

The ritual to summon Iðunn worked better than anyone would have expected. After the group of young Death Eaters cast the summoning spell, the goddess appeared, shimmering into existence from dust motes and starlight. She had a basket of apples under one arm and long braids that trailed down from under a simple, rust-colored woolen cap. She wore what looked like old, wool robes with dull tints and very little ornamentation; a less impressive goddess would have been hard to find.

She glanced at the young magicians where they stood, arrayed equidistant from one another around the circle that was supposed to contain her and keep them safe. She seemed more amused, and perhaps even flattered, than upset at their call.

"Look at you," she let her eyes move from one fresh-faced summoner to the next. "Look at you. I'm so rarely of interest. Everyone always wants Odin or Thor, silly little ones." She studied first one witch, then another, then a wizard, evidently so charmed by their cheek you'd have thought she was a woman pulled away from her more important tasks to attend a toddler's tea party that was happening right now rather than a goddess brought to the mortal plane by words and enchantments.

"So very young," she said as she let her eyes linger on Draco Malfoy. "Not, perhaps, quite heroes, however." That idea seems to tickle her fancy and she said again, "None of you need worry about attracting Odin's attention."

"It is, rather, your attention that we hoped to attract, my lady," Tom said. His manners were impeccable and his voice managed a nearly perfect and unattainable balance between respectful enough to keep him out of trouble without being either so oily or unctuous as to offend on that end. "Your area of expertise is of research interest to us and, though we regret disturbing your eternal feasting, we had hoped that you would spare us poor mortals a few moments of your time."

"Not exactly mortal, are you?" she asked. She still seemed amused. "Not you, not your leman. Not quite research interests, methinks. Not entirely. Not only."

Iðunn began to walk on the inside of the circle, stopping first opposite Hermione, who she studied with her hooded silver eyes. "You put a little bit too much faith in your trinkets," she said after a moment long enough to be uncomfortable. Those eyes lingered on the locket at Hermione's neck. "You put a little too much faith in your own, admittedly prodigious, talents."

Hermione forced a smile to her face and bowed her head submissively. "I shall think on what you have said, my lady," she said.

The goddess didn't seem to believe her. "You are still too young," she said. "You won't. You have not yet learned to value wisdom or know the difference between it and knowledge."

She moved on strolling along the edge of the circle. She stepped quickly past Pansy with only a nod, but stopped and studied Theo for another one of those long, difficult moments. "Name your first born after me," she instructed him.

"Is that the price your most reverend ladyship would like to extract for our summoning?" Tom asked. He seemed a little put out that, at least thus far, the goddess seemed wholly uninterested in him.

She did glance back at him where he stood at that question. "No," she said. "That would merely be polite and Theodore of the Night, your little god gift, is, I think, one who would be happy to give back that gift to me." She smiled at Tom and the heavens themselves seemed to tremble. "Cherish god gifts, Tom Marvolo Riddle, even as you seek to cheat one of them."

No one asked how she knew their names.

She went back to prowling the edge of her circle and, when she reached Harry, stretched out a finger as though she meant to touch him but pulled her hand back before she reached the edge of the barrier. She seemed interested in the lightning shaped scar on his forehead. "Cycles and turns and variations and yet some things stay the same," she said. "Isn't life interesting?"

"I fell off a broom when I was little," Harry said. "I hit my head on a rock." He was trapped in the goddess' eyes, trapped by her smile and her interest in him, and had she crooked her littlest finger at him, he would've followed her, willingly, gratefully, eternally.

She didn't crook her finger, however, and he was spared.

When Iðunn reached Luna, the two women studied one another. At last, Luna said, "Yes, my lady? Is there anything that I might give to you?"

The goddess of youth and immortality with her apples and her simple robes smiled and said, "I believe you shall, little girl."

Luna nodded, and said only, "Whatever your ladyship so desires."

It was, after all, bad form to gainsay a goddess.

Tom interrupted again. "If we might have but one of your apples, my lady," he said, "we would be most grateful."

Iðunn flicked a glance at him, still amused, took one apple from her basket, and tossed it at Neville. He caught it, the fumbling hands of his childhood matured into a swift, sure grasp that held the red fruit with awe.

Neville bowed his head. "Thank you, my lady," he said. He seemed to be having trouble catching his breath and could barely take his eyes off the fruit in his palm. "I can assure you, it will be treated with the utmost reverence."

Iðunn smiled again and this time she plucked a sprig of flowers that surely hadn't been in her basket a moment earlier, reached out over the edge of the circle that had been supposed to contain her, and tucked the apple blossoms behind Vincent's ear.

He shuddered at her touch, and seemed to simultaneously lean towards her in supplication and cringe away in terror. He was even more caught by her than Harry had been, more lost. The rest of them watched, frozen and entranced and frightened. The circle they'd been so sure of had failed and they'd loosed a goddess upon themselves. She, however, only had eyes for Vincent. She laid her palm on his cheek and said to him, her voice soft, "Yes, you, little love." And then she disappeared and the entire sky burned green.

Vincent collapsed to the ground in a dead faint. Luna hurried to kneel by his side, one hand on his forehead and another checking his pulse. "He's alive," she said with some surprise and quite a bit of relief.

"Funny," Greg said. "Vince was the one who was most terrified of the whole idea, who thought that we shouldn't summon her. And then he's the one she really likes. Life's funny."

"Yes," Tom said. "Funny." His eyes lingered briefly on Vincent's prone form, but he dismissed that and tipped his head sharply towards the flowering sprig that lay on the ground where it had tumbled away from Vincent when he collapsed. "Get that," he said. "I understand we'll need it to grow more."

Neville walked around the edge of the circle no one quite wanted to breach yet with no hesitation - indeed, he barely kept himself from running - and snatched up the branch, holding it with the same sense of wonder his face still showed for the apple in his other hand.

Pansy made a sound that suggested he was odd for walking, wasn't he a wizard, after all? Couldn't he just summon the branch to his hand? Her eyes begged to be allowed to stroke the flowers and touch just the tip of one finger to the apple.

"Don't want to use accio," Neville explained, breathing hard as he held the branch. "Not sure what magic would do interacting with this."

"Smart," Hermione said. Her own fingers clearly twitched to stroke the flowers and fruit Neville cradled. They all had trouble keeping their hands and eyes off the divine gift, and that they managed to not destroy themselves fighting over it was probably due only to the strict discipline they'd all embraced. Crucios were, after all, a good reminder to control oneself.

"The gifts," Draco said.

Neville slipped the apple and flowers into a stasis protected pouch at his waist and, with them out of sight, everyone seemed to regain a little more awareness of where they were.

"Right," Pansy said. "The gifts."

They'd brought flowers and nuts and berries and wine to offer as a sacrifice to the goddess and, wordlessly, they piled the bits of life into a pyre, crossing with fear into the circle that has been supposed to contain Iðunn and hadn't, though she'd certainly toyed with them and allowed them to think it had for a bit. Luna looked at the collection, pulled a tiny obsidian knife from a sheath at her waist, and added a lock of hair from the still-unconscious Vincent.

"Maybe that will be enough," Luna said. Pansy nodded but didn't voice the guilt that tickled at the edge of her mind. Maybe if they didn't speak it aloud it wouldn't happen. Maybe she hadn't meant it. Maybe they'd misunderstood.

They waited for Vincent to stir and, when he woke, let him light the flames. A flick of his wand and fiendfyre consumed the lot, the apple wine hissing as it evaporated.

"We can go now, right?" Draco asked. "We can go back to Wales and relax for a while?"

. . . . . . . . . .

"I don't know," Ginny said. She huddled against the back of the chair and eyed Dumbledore with wide, frightened eyes. "I'd have to leave - "

"You do not," he said. "I promise you, Miss Weasley, we'll not be summoning anything or anyone who could really hurt you. I'm not interested in speaking to Alice's son, or Lily's. I want to talk to Vincent Crabbe."

Ginny seemed to relax as he spoke and Dumbledore kept his words as soothing as he could. She knew that boy wasn't one of the ringleaders, didn't she? Ginny nodded at that. Vincent wasn't kind. He wasn't good. He was a follower, however, and he'd never really gone out of his way to hurt her. More, she was fairly sure that if it came to a battle he'd fall before her, though she'd have to use things she'd prefer not to admit she knew. She wasn't, when it came down to it, as frightened by Vincent as she was by some of the others. As Albus Dumbledore spoke about giving the lad a chance, letting him leave the people who'd lured him in and instead work for the Order she slowly picked up the quill.

"If you could save him, save any of them, wouldn't you?" Albus asked. "Don't we owe it to the best parts of ourselves to make the choice to extend a branch of peace and life to the boy."

Ginny nodded again.

"All you need to do is write the letter in your own hand and ask him to meet with you, tell him what he needs to hear to come alone. You don't even need to see him."

"I want to," she said. Her voice shook but she began to write anyway, the quill flowing across the parchment with the ease only a woman who'd never used Muggle writing implements could muster. "I want to face him and ask him to leave. I want… I want to do something besides hide. I want to fight."

"Very well," Dumbledore said. He let his eyes twinkle at her. "You're a very brave young woman, Miss Weasley. The Order is lucky to have you on its side."

Sirius had already agreed they could use his home to meet with the wretched, idiot boy Ginny Weasley wrote to. I was afraid. Dumbledore watched the words appear. Neville hurt me and I didn't think I could ask our lord to protect me. But he's said he would and I want to come back. You'll have to meet me at Sirius Black's house in London. My mum wouldn't understand. I'll sneak away so we can meet, so you can take me back. Vincent, promise me you'll come and that you'll help me stand up to Neville. Please.

She wrote down the address and signed her name and handed it across to Dumbledore, who blew on the ink and peered at her over the top of his glasses. "You are a wonder," he said to reassure her again. "Thank you, Miss Weasley."

. . . . . . . . . .

"Lucky you," Theodore said with a snigger as he tossed The Daily Prophet to Draco. They'd returned to Castle Library and had been passing their days sleeping in, researching, and waiting to see if Neville's attempts to grow apples succeeded. "Looks like you're about to become brother-in-law to the delightful Ronald Weasley."

Draco made a gagging sound but picked up the paper and skimmed the announcements. There it was: Ronald Weasley and Daphne Greengrass to wed.

"Marrying sisters doesn't make us brothers-in-law, does it," he asked with obvious distaste and some fear. Tom Riddle despised Ron Weasley because the man had the unfortunate history of having dated, and upset, Hermione. It didn't matter she'd married the Dark Lord, adored him, or that she'd probably kill Ron if he so much as touched the hem of her robes. He existed romantically in her past and, therefore, Tom Riddle hated him.

The Dark Lord wasn't good at sharing and, more, being hated by Tom Riddle didn't bode well for a person's long term survival.

Draco also just disliked most of the Weasleys. Poor, numerous, and uncouth, they were everything he didn't like about other people. It didn't help he'd been unable to charm Ginny back at Hogwarts. That embarrassment he could do without revisiting. If the entire family were wiped out, he wouldn't object.

"Even if he were your brother-in-law, you could still kill him," Tom said. "Pruning the family tree, and all."

"Poor Astoria," Harry said. "She must be so embarrassed."

"She'll live," Tom said. He took a sip of coffee and made a face. Vincent's newest round of Imperiused help didn't include anyone good at brewing hot beverages. "How goes the wedding planning with the lovely Miss Astoria Greengrass?"

Draco set the paper down. "We'll wed this summer, if it pleases you, my lord," he said. "As soon as she finishes Hogwarts."

"I look forward to it," Tom said. "I assume your mother is taking care of the arrangements?"

"It will be flawless," Draco assured him. "I certainly wouldn't trust the Greengrasses to manage such a thing." He looked down at the paper with displeasure. "They don't have good judgement."

"Obviously," Tom said. He took another sip of his coffee and then pushed the cup away in irritation. "Someone get me Vincent. I can't go on with only this swill available."

. . . . . . . . .

A/N - Even a Dark Lord needs good coffee.

42. Chapter 42

Pansy cast the charm again to be sure before an utterly un-evil squeal made its way out of her mouth. Her fox, tongue lolling, barked at her and she ran a hand over its head. "We did it," she said to the creature.

Interested, as always, in the doings of the humans, the fox followed Pansy as she sashayed through the halls of Castle Library to track down her errant husband. He wasn't in the gardens consulting with Neville, or up in the reading room. Luna was, Greg at her side, and she tipped her head and regarded Pansy. "News?" she asked.

"Where's Vince?" Pansy asked. You so rarely saw two of them without the third.

"He said he had a girl to go and get," Luna said. "A present."

"That's thoughtful," Pansy said, and meant it. Vincent was always bringing little things back for Luna, and sometimes for her own fox as well. The day he'd dropped a bag of baby rabbits in front of her darling, he'd made a friend for life. "He's a sweetheart."

"He really is," Luna said.

Theo wasn't up in the indoor garden, and wasn't down in the dungeons, and Pansy had just about decided she was actually annoyed with the git - he should know when he was wanted - when Theo snuck up behind her, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her. She could feel her irritation melting away as she swayed into him and, in perfect counterpoint to the way his touch always made her grow soft and pliable in his arms, she could feel him get not soft as he pushed himself into her. "Have a few minutes," he whispered into her ear. "Or a few hours? We could wile away the afternoon and work on making that heir?"

She nipped at his jaw line before she stepped back and smirked at him. "Can't, I'm afraid," she said.

Theo looked perfectly disappointed and her smirk grew as he said in resignation that he supposed she had things Tom had her doing. "It's not that," she said. "I just need your help finding a new staff person."

"Why?" Theo asked. "Just get Greg to have one of his girls do whatever it is you want."

"I," she said, "am not handing your heir over to some Imperioused Muggle. We need a proper witch nanny, someone with a good accent and references and - "

"A nanny?" Theo cut her off and lay a hand almost reverently across her still flat abdomen. "Does that mean - "

"The charm was brighter than any reference in any of the texts," Pansy said, "but I cast it multiple times to be sure and the little light glowed every time."

"A baby," Theo said in awe. "We made a baby."

"Well, technically, at this point I think all we've made is a kind of blob," Pansy said. "I didn't pay a lot of attention in Madam Pomfrey's lectures on the topic but I'm pretty sure that right now - "

"A baby," Theo said more emphatically. "Our baby." He suddenly looked around, almost frantic. "Should you be standing? Aren't pregnant women supposed to stay off their feet? And I don't think you should do Dark Arts while… who knows what that would do." He held a hand out rather peremptorily and said, "We need to go get you settled in a chair somewhere, and one of those girls to wait on you, and - "

"I'm fine," she said, narrowing her eyes. "I'm pregnant, not sick."

"But - "

"Fine!"

He dropped his hand and too one nervous step backward at the vehemence in her voice.

"We could, however, go celebrate?" she suggested. "Since I believe you suggested you had the afternoon free?"

Theo gulped. "Won't that be bad for the baby?" he asked. "I think we shouldn't."

She turned and stalked off toward their room, not bothering to dignify that with a response. "Pansy." He trailed after her. "What if the baby can see my penis? That might scar it or something."

Her muttering that all men were idiots and maybe she'd just have Luna eat her out for the next nine months made him catch up to her and take her hand, the unspoken agreement he'd just do what she asked from her on very, very clear.

. . . . . . . . .

Albus Dumbledore steepled his fingers and let his eyes twinkle and regarded the young man who had been placed in the chair in front of him. Vincent Crabbe had been an unspectacular student and had failed his O.W.L. exams the first time he took them. Now he slouched, despite being magically chained in place, and regarded his captor with a glower more sullen than defiant. It baffled Dumbledore that this man had been considered recruitment material by a Dark wizard.

Gellert wouldn't have looked at this Vincent Crabbe twice.

Dumbledore looked at the narrow, black eyes of the dull boy and thought to himself it was clear this had been a worthless plan. There was no way this boy could possibly have useful information. It would be better just to let him go and try again. He moved to release some of the bonds holding Crabbe and stopped himself just in time.

"Very well done," he said, impressed even as he cleared away the mental filaments that had been slowly tying his will up into knots. "Silent and wandless Imperious. I tip my hat to your skill with Unforgivables."

"Only that one," Vincent Crabbe said. "If I was good at t'others you'd be dead now." He seemed to manage to entertain a thought in his brain, though Dumbledore reflected it was likely one of those parties no one else went to and that single thought stood, sipping a drink in an otherwise empty room. "Or wishing you was."

It was hard to maintain any sense of sympathy for the lad. Molly had certainly tried. She'd fussed over him, and told him she was sure he'd just been led astray, and that all he needed to do was let it all go and they'd shelter him and keep him safe. Vincent had spat in her face. "I watched your daughter kill Muggles," he'd told her. "She was good at it, too. Neville said what she was good at other things, too." He'd leered at Ginny and licked his lips at that, then thrust his tongue into his cheek in a vulgar, and obvious, allusion to something she'd been good at. Molly had slapped him and Sirius had had to drag her from the room before she did anything else.

"You aren't very bright," Dumbledore observed. "A smarter man would have pretended to defect."

"Ain't betraying Riddle," Vincent said. If his arms weren't bound to the chair he'd have crossed them over his chest. "Not even pretending."

Well, the point hadn't been to capture one of Riddle's strategists but just a flunky to test out his theory about the Mark the idiot's Dark master had burned into his arm.

"You will," Dumbledore said. He settled back in his chair and spun one of the silver balls on his current research project. He watched it moved and settle into position before he added quietly, "Almost no one can withstand pain when it's applied long enough, Vincent. And all you'll have to do to make it stop is promise to defect to our side. Once you've successfully left Tom Riddle's service, I'll make it all stop. All the pain will go away and everything will be over." He made the words as soothing as possible and he repeated them as he applied the Unforgiveable curse with a delicate touch. He used a charm to muffle the boy's screams, though not his speech, so he could continue whispering how all Vincent needed to do was say he'd betray Tom Riddle and all the pain would end.

"Fuck you," Vincent said at the start but as the pain began to wear him down he first wept, then urinated himself, and finally threw up and lay in the puddles of his own vomit and piss. It was unpleasant but, surely, for the greater good. He needed to know what that Mark on the boy's arm was capable of and, if it did let Vincent Crabbe turn on his master Dumbledore had every intention of keeping his whispered offers. He'd obliviate the boy first, of course, because the others in the Order wouldn't understand that sometimes people had to be treated as pawns and if you wanted to maneuver the other king to checkmate, some of those pawns would fall.

"Just leave his service and this all ends," Dumbledore promised the boy. "Just betray him."

"I'll do it," Vincent screamed at last, then sobbed out apologies not to Riddle, oddly enough, but to Luna Lovegood. "I'll join you," he added, gasping for breath in the space where the Cruciatus ended.

Dumbledore stepped back and began to count. He'd reached three and gotten out the 'f' of four when flames began to appear around the boy's legs and, if the screaming weren't still charmed into silence, Dumbledore suspected it would have caused hearing damage. The smell as the fire consumed the vomit made his stomach curdle and the urine sizzled as it evaporated. The faces that loomed out of the fiendfyre reminded Dumbledore of his long-dead sister, and he could have sworn he heard Ariana's voice hiss, "unforgivable" at him before the flames folded in on themselves and vanished, leaving a pile of ash and charred bones behind.

Dumbledore vanished the remnants of Vincent Crabbe and sat down to make notes of what the Mark did to people who betrayed Riddle.

. . . . . . . . . .

Tom stiffened where he sat in a chair in his office. Hermione had been curled up at his feet, a book in her hand and her cheek resting against his leg. "Anything wrong," she asked him.

"Get Luna," was all he said, the tone sharp and commanding. Hermione usually would have told him what he could do with his orders, that she wasn't one of his minions, but one look at the fury on his face stopped her. The expression distorted his beautiful features into those of a monster and she nodded and almost ran from the room to find Luna.

. . . . . . . . . .

"Albus Dumbledore did this." Luna seemed to consider the information before she nodded. "Fine. Then I'll kill him."

Tom coughed and when she looked over at him something about the expression she wore made him decide not to argue with her about whose job it was to avenge Vincent's death. Delegation was, after all, an important leadership skill and as long as it got done he supposed it didn't matter who did it. "He might be hard to kill," he settled on saying.

Luna waved that off. She was the deathly still of air before a storm. She was the pause right before the hail came. She was the stillness of water that hides currents waiting below to pull you to the bottom and never release you. She had closed her eyes for a brief moment when Tom told her what he'd learned through Vincent's Mark but she hadn't screamed or wept or done anything other than consider what had happened. "Everyone can be killed," she said to Tom in response.

Tom coughed again. "Not exactly true," he pointed out.

She looked at him steadily with those protrudent grey eyes and said again, "Everyone can be killed." Her lips turned up in a placid smile that you might have expected to see at a garden party on the face of a society matron contemplating a plate of delightful tea biscuits as she added, "I can kill anyone."

Tom started to speak and she said again, "Anyone."

Hermione redirected the conversation. "How do you plan to attack Dumbledore?" she asked. "He's not a white knight, exactly. He'll have skills he doesn't talk about or teach."

Luna leaned back in her chair and Tom waited. He expected her to discuss a specific curse, or some skill she'd picked up in Belize, something to do with her knack with water. Instead she said, "It needs to be poetic."

"You plan to kill him with verse?" Tom asked, feeling his usual Luna-induced headache starting to pound behind one eye.

"It needs to be tragic," Luna said. "It needs to be his own weaknesses rising up to throttle him so he chokes and struggles and suffers, knowing with every stab of agony that he did this to himself, that he brought his own end down upon his shoulders."

Tom flicked a glance at Hermione who shrugged. "As long as he dies," Tom said. "I leave the method of execution to you."

"He'll die," Luna said. "But not until I let him."

. . . . . . . . . .

At dinner Luna wore black instead of her usual fey mix of rainbows and yellows. Greg's face was ashen.

"Vincent is no longer with us," Tom announced.

"How?" Draco demanded.

"Tricked," Tom said.

"I'm handling it," Luna said.

Theo paled.

. . . . . . . . . .

Astoria looked at the sample of lace and smiled. "This is lovely," she said. She turned to her mother. "Don't you think this is lovely?"

"It will make a beautiful veil," her mother agreed. "You will be a vision."

Narcissa Malfoy fingered the sample. "It is perfection," she said. "I'm glad one of your daughters has sense, Laurel."

Laurel Greengrass tried not to let the way she stiffened in her seat show. Narcissa Malfoy had, against all tradition, simply taken over the planning of Draco and Astoria's wedding. That the mother of the bride had even been invited to this dressmakers presentation seemed little more than an empty courtesy, and she'd sat in Malfoy Manor all afternoon feeling every inch of her inferiority. Astoria might be good enough for the little princeling, but what Daphne had done made it clear no one trusted her family.

"Daphne is in love," Laurel said. "And it's a good family."

Narcissa lifted her shoulders in a delicate shrug. "My mother said it was as easy to fall in love with a rich boy as a poor one, but perhaps you're right. Who are we to stand in the way of what is meant to be?" She touched Astoria's hand. "Will you be in your sister's wedding."

Astoria put a suitable sorrowful expression on her face. "Daphne has chosen to have a very small ceremony in the Weasley's back yard," she said. "I'm afraid I won't be able to attend."

Narcissa patted the girl's hand. "We'll have to make that up to you," she said. "The Blacks and Malfoys will shower you with love."

Laurel hoped she wouldn't need to see a teeth healer with the way she was clenching her jaw.

"Have you selected an attendant?" Narcissa went on.

Laurel knew the wretched woman was well aware of every last wedding plan. She was just twisting the knife now.

"Draco's cousin, Drusilla, has agreed to take on the responsibilities since Daphne cannot," Astoria said. She leaned toward Narcissa and said in a stage whisper. "I think she and Neville Longbottom met at Pansy's wedding and are eager to see one another again."

"I do love this time in a young girl's life," Narcissa said. "Nothing but possibilities. The future is yours, Astoria." She glanced at Laurel. "Don't you agree?"

"Absolutely," the Greengrass matriarch said. She wished she could just kill Daphne. This should have been her moment of triumph. Her peculiar, younger daughter had captured the Malfoy heir and she should have been able to spend the season lording it over everyone. Instead she had to eat crow at every meal because of her other daughter. Ron Weasley. What was Daphne thinking? A life as a spinster would have been a wiser choice, especially with rumors in the air about young Dark Lords and those foolish enough to set themselves against such. They might have even been able to marry Daphne off to Regulus Black; she was pretty enough and he'd been a widower for ages. Instead the girl had opted for social suicide. It was maddening. "Astoria can do anything," Laurel added. "She's such a delight."

. . . . . . . . . .

"Neville Longbottom?" the other Beauxbatons student looked at Drusilla with pity. "The little fat loser from Hogwarts? Oh, Dru, I'm so sorry."

Drusilla plucked the letter from her father in which he 'informed' her that he had 'decided' she would marry Neville back from the malicious fingers of the other girl.

Young Mr. Longbottom has approached me to form a marriage contract with the Ancient and Noble House of Black and, though we are still negotiating details, I have decided to move forward.

"I do what is best for my family," Drusilla said. "As should you. What is best for the Blacks is, in the end, the best for me."

"I don't know if I could be so dutiful," the girl said. "You're… your father must be pleased with you."

"I do my part," Drusilla said. Her heels clicked on the marble floor. "We'll be late to class if we don't hurry."

"Right." The girl scurried to catch up with her. "I just hope you're happy, Dru."

Drusilla spared a brief glance for her wrist. She'd charmed away the rope burns from Neville's last visit to maintain her privacy, but the memory of their time together still brought a smile to her cold, sculpted face. "I'm sure I'll be fine," she said. "We all have to make sacrifices."

. . . . . . . . . .

Vincent trailed after Iðunn, a chalice of wine in his hands and adoration in his otherwise nearly blank eyes. "I love my job," he said.

. . . . . . . . . .

A/N - Now that another project is off my plate I hope to return to weekly updates. Thanks for bearing with me. Book 2 is turning out to be much longer and more complicated than I planned.

As usual, with Laurel I'm using Shayalonnie's names for characters unspecified in canon.

Annamonk wrote a great ficlet set in this universe about Pansy and her fox: Vixen's Vocation. www DOT fanfiction DOT net/s/11875771/1/Vixen-s-Vocation and also linked from my profile.

43. Chapter 43

The knock interrupted them. Draco had been retying his tie for the seventh time and Harry was sitting on their bed, ready to go to his lover's wedding but for his shoes. Before Draco could answer, the door opened and Astoria stuck her head in. "Mind if I join you?" she asked.

"Aren't you supposed to be in some kind of seclusion so I don't see you until the ceremony?" Draco asked.

She laughed and sank down into one of the silk-covered arm chairs in his suite at Malfoy Manor. Her hair had been pilled onto her head in a series of intricate curls and a diamond tiara nestled among them but she still had a fuzzy pink robe tied over her body; the contrast was absurd. "I'm sure you'll be able to summon an appropriate look of awe at my beauty as I walk down the aisle," she said. "If nothing else, think of the cost of the gown and you'll look properly stupefied."

Harry let out a laugh at that. "Save me a dance?" he asked her.

"Several," she said, awarding him one of those dazzling smiles that made strangers offer her their place in line and hardened politicians move to sit closer to her before her expression got more serious. She looked down at her manicured hands and the giant ring glittering, then back at Harry. "I think it would be best if we presented a unified front."

He nodded at that. If they didn't, of course, people would talk. People would already talk about the Malfoy heir and his very good friend, Harry Potter. If he and Astoria seemed to be at odds, it would give adversaries a wedge they could try to use. "We are the best of friends," he said.

"I hope so," she replied. She pulled an envelope from her pocket. "I have a present for you."

She passed it over to Harry as Draco, now on his eighth attempt at a bow tie, said, "Don't I get anything?"

She raised her eyebrows. "You get my maidenhood. Isn't that enough?"

"I may be ill," Draco said. "'Maidenhood'."

Harry had opened the envelope and pulled out a dozen cards, each beautifully hand-painted, each saying, My Turn. He looked at Astoria, confused.

"Whenever you want me to go," she said softly, "No matter the situation, just give me one of those and I will, no questions asked."

Harry's fingers tightened on the cards in his hand before he put them back into the envelope with immense care. "Thank you," he said. He nudged her with his foot. "Aren't you supposed to go put on some overpriced robes or something."

"Eh," she said. "I've got time. Who's up for a game of Exploding Snap?"

. . . . . . . . . .

Daphne sat in the attic room at the Burrow and squinted into the mirror as she applied the makeup charms. It was so dim up here she had trouble seeing what she was doing but she'd wanted to be alone and solitude was hard to come by in the Burrow. Too many people, too little space. The ghoul banged on the pipes and she hissed her frustration at it. Wartime made for odd bedfellows.

Her wedding robes hung on a nail hammered into the back of the sagging door. In a fit of pique she'd told her parents they didn't need to waste their money on expensive robes since she knew she'd disappointed them in not marrying that ancient and probably unstable Regulus Black. The man was old enough to be her father; the very idea was repugnant.

She ignored the tiny voice that whispered that maybe a wealthy man on the other side of this conflict would have been a safer bet than this one, even with the Fidelius charmed cottage. At least she would have had more space. At least she would have had silk duvets and house elves and trips to Paris.

Of course, she also would have had that creepy Drusilla as a step-daughter.

No, this was better.

She glanced over at the robes. There was nothing wrong with being simple. There was nothing wrong with a plain, small ceremony.

She wished she hadn't scheduled it the same day as Astoria's. She wished her sister could be there, even if she was marrying into that nightmare.

This was a terrible day to be alone.

. . . . . . . . . .

Draco's breath caught in his throat at Astoria walked down the aisle. Had the woman spent half her inheritance on those robes? Not that it mattered, of course. He had enough money they couldn't spend it all if they tried, but maybe he should have believed her when she'd laughed about the cost of her outfit. She was gorgeous. At his side, Harry leaned over and whispered, "Damn, Draco."

She winked at Harry when she handed her bouquet off to Drusilla and turned to hold Draco's hands, the perfect, demure pureblood bride. Draco looked down into her eyes as he promised to honor and cherish her. They'd quietly struck the lines about placing her before all others; he hoped no one noticed. She smiled back at him, and as he slipped the wedding band onto her perfectly manicured finger, sealing the bond between them, the magic crackled. When he bent down to kiss the bride, she kept it chaste and appropriate. He heard elderly matrons sigh with romantic appreciation, and one voice carried, querulous and pleased above the crowd, "So many of these young girls today make a spectacles of themselves. So pleased to see this done right. So pleased to see a girl with dignity."

He tried not to laugh. By the look dancing in her eyes, Astoria felt a similar sentiment.

"Mrs. Malfoy," he said, offering her his arm to lead her back up the aisle. Harry and Drusilla followed them, ready to sit for portraits and sip champagne as the cocktail hour began and the reception got underway.

. . . . . . . . . .

Daphne stiffened when Ron shoved the band on her finger and the magic crackled. This wasn't supposed to be binding. She'd been very clear about that. Binding magic seemed too black, she'd said. So Dark. Not what she wanted at all. She couldn't, just couldn't, especially with the world the way it was. It wasn't that she didn't loved Ronald, but…. And Molly Weasley had bustled and said she quite agreed, so old fashioned. No one did that anymore.

And now she could feel the binding magic settle over her, tying her to Ronald Weasley for the rest of her days.

She looked up from her blushing, idiot groom at the man conducting the ceremony and Dumbledore twinkled at her. Something in her stomach curdled.

She guessed there was no escape now. She was on this side for good.

. . . . . . . . . .

The cake was cut, the flowers tossed, and the first dance long passed as Tom spun Hermione around the outdoor dance floor. The sun had set but glass jars filled with candles floated above the reception - Astoria didn't care for the threat of dripping wax posed by candles alone and Narcissa had quite agreed with her - and the musicians had kept the crowd on their feet and promised to do so until the sun rose again and breakfast was served for the brave and hardy who managed to stay on their feet all night.

"Have I mentioned that you are the most beautiful woman here?" Tom murmured in Hermione's ear as they turned. He'd set politicking aside for the night to dote on her. Theodore and Pansy, the early and pronounced swelling of her abdomen carefully highlighted by the cut of her robes, had taken the networking duties on and reassured the conservative masses that Tom Riddle's gang honored the old ways. A Nott heir was on his - or her - way. Riddle's followers were charming and polite and honored their elders. This man was a rising star in Wizarding leadership you could trust.

"You have not," Hermione said. "A girl might begin to feel slighted."

Tom brushed his lips along her neck. "We can't have that," he said. "You are, without a doubt, the only woman worth looking at in this entire over-crowded event filled with sheep and fools."

"Fools you'll own?" she said, her own words an almost silent rustle against his skin.

"I'll be a merciful overlord," Tom said. "As long as I have what I want - power, life, and you - I can let them live in peace."

"Still," Hermione said. The amusement slipped out even in that single word. Tom didn't care for people to defy him and the easiest way to keep them in line was to make sure they knew he could make them regret even a single uppity word.

"Yes," he whispered. "They'll all still belong to me. And to you."

"As I belong to you?" The laughter threatened to spill out at that notion and he tightened his hands on her as they danced. She grinned up at him, the naughty smirk that suggested she wouldn't be against the notion of taking a few private moments in a secluded spot to play. "My lord."

Tom was too caught up in the notion she, in any way, compared to the people around them to notice her hint, however, and he snorted with disdain. "If one puts the most precious jewel in one's collection in the same category as chipped plates you'd use for a picnic, certainly," he said. "They belong to me in the same way." He looked at the couple dancing closest to them; the woman had piled her hair onto her head in a way that any hairdresser would have recommended against and applied the cosmetics with a hand that could best be described as 'generous'. 'Unskilled' would have been an equally apt term. Her partner's robes might have fit him in his youth, but a fondness for rich food and the ability to ignore his reflection in the mirror had combined in an unfortunate manner, and they didn't fit any longer. The pair were, to Tom's mind, disposable. Useful, certainly, but if he broke them he wouldn't waste time or worry on the loss; he'd just let the help clean up the refuse and get another set.

Hermione frowned at the way his focus had wandered and with deliberate force set her heel down on his foot. He yelped and glared back at her. "Oh," she said. "I'm sorry. I wasn't paying attention. My lord."

Tom finally heard the emphasis on the last two words and began to smile. "Does my lady need a lesson in paying attention?" he asked her.

Hermione shrugged and looked as innocent as she could. Then she stepped on his foot again.

. . . . . . . . . .

Molly Weasley fiddled with the wireless to get Celestina Warbeck to come in more clearly as sighed with happiness as the perfect voice warbling, "I've got a cauldron full of hot, bubbling love" filled the yard. She'd set out a table with cold meats and a nearly flawless wedding cake - as long as you overlooked the slight tilt to the top layer - and she watched her youngest boy dance with the wonderful girl he'd found. They were young, but with tensions rising she couldn't blame them for wanting to make their relationship official. It gave them a place of certainty in an increasingly unsure world.

"Do you remember our wedding," Arthur asked her. He'd come up behind her and wrapped his arms around her. She leaned into him and smiled at the memory. "You were the most beautiful woman there." He bent down to whisper in her ear, "You still are, but don't tell the bride."

Molly could feel a giggle escaping. "We snuck off and had a quickie in the back room, remember?" she asked.

"How could I forget?"

She turned to look up at his face, still beloved after seven children, and said, "Wanna?"

Arthur grinned. As if she had to ask. You don't have seven children if you don't like sex.

. . . . . . . .

Hermione sighed with satisfaction. Weddings were boring and this one threatened go on all night, but at least she and Tom had snuck away, however briefly.

"Want me to charm away some of the soreness?" he asked as he used a washcloth to wipe his face.

She laughed as she settled her dress back around her hips, though the laugh included a slight flinch as the fabric brushed against her bum. Tom had pulled her over a knee and spanked her until his own hand was too sore to go on, stopping to stoke her every few blows and make her ask him to continue. She'd asked every time until he'd spread her on the floor of the beautifully decorated room and planted his tongue between her thighs.

They'd had to use a cleaning charm on the ancient and probably priceless carpet. Hermione made a mental note to apologize to Draco in case they'd somehow damaged the thing. It looked okay, but cleaning wasn't her speciality.

"I think I can endure," she said. "It'll bring back pleasant thoughts as we chat like the serious and mature people we are with some of the more tedious guests."

"As you please," he said. He offered her his arm and they opened the door only to find Neville and Drusilla, his hand fisted in her hair, her struggling to free herself and simultaneously kick him in the shin.

Hermione waved a hand toward the room they were vacating. "I think the silencing charm is still in place," she said.

"Miss Black," Tom said. "Neville."

"My lord," Drusilla said, still bent over. "A pleasure to see you." She'd stopped trying to ram her shoe into Neville, though he kept the hand gripping her extended so that, when this conversation had ended, she wouldn't be able to get a quick blow in.

"You'll be joining us, I understand?" Tom asked. "Another wedding in the works?"

"Yes," Drusilla said. "Planned for this winter, if that's acceptable to you."

"I'm looking forward to it," Tom said. "Give your father my best."

"I will," she said.

Tom nodded a brief dismissal to Neville and the man dragged his again active fiancee into the parlour and slammed the door behind him as Hermione and Tom continued on their way back to the public part of Draco and Astoria's reception.

. . . . . . . . .

Draco eyed Astoria, who'd come into the room wearing what was a lovely white negligee. She picked at the lace with a bit of distaste on her face. "This itches," she said. "Whoever designed it hasn't ever worn one."

He nodded and shoved his hands in his pockets and they stood there, staring at one another. "So," she said at last, "Do we…?" She trailed off.

"No!" The word burst out of Draco's mouth with such force he was immediately embarrassed. "I mean, you look great, don't get me wrong, but aren't we going to dose you up with potions first to make sure you're fertile, and time it, and then do charms? So you only have to do it once? I'm too tired to mess with all that - "

" - and I haven't been taking the potions yet." Astoria looked relieved, as if a chore she didn't hate but didn't like either suddenly wasn't her problem. The dishes had been done. The laundry had been folded. She could just relax.

Harry, who'd managed to keep his mouth shut during the entire conversation, fished a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and an old Weird Sisters t-shirt out of a drawer and tossed them to her. "Change and we can finish the card game from earlier?" he asked.

"You are a man after my own heart," she said.

. . . . . . . . . .

Daphne's fingers picked at the bit of lingerie Molly had given her - and wasn't that uncomfortable - and forced a smile onto her face as Ron licked his lips. "Well," he said. "Married."

"Married," she agreed.

He sat on the bed next to her and ran a hand over her arm. "We never talked about kids," he said. "I've always wanted a big family but I should have - "

"Let's get started on that, then," Daphne said. Her mother had always said pregnancy was a free pass to anything you wanted; she planned to be a very fragile, delicate pregnant woman. She smiled at her husband and prepared to lay back and think about her personal safety and how she'd do just about anything to ensure that.

. . . . . . . . . .

A/N - A kiss blown to my alpha reader, shayalonnie, and a quick reference to Debt of Time with 'maidenhood'.

44. Chapter 44

"She is the worst pregnant person ever." Summer had come and no one wanted to do much of anything in a heat wave that seemed to defeat even the best cooling charms. People lay in puddles around the castle, too languid to do more than summon iced drinks and mutter there had to be cooler room somewhere. Out was hot. In was hot. Everyone was miserable and Pansy, who was nearing the end of her pregnancy, was utterly miserable. Her only solace appeared to be plotting her mother's demise and carping at anyone who came near her.

Tom didn't even bother to look up from the chalice he was poking at. Hermione wasn't the first person to complain to him about Pansy. "Do you think this thing really belonged to Helga Hufflepuff?" he asked.

Hermione huffed at him but looked at the cup with at least a little interest. A badger looked back from the gold design. "Does it do anything?" she asked him as he picked it up and turned it upside down. "Where did you get it?"

"Did you know we don't have a single member of Hufflepuff in our cohort?" Tom asked. "Luna's from Ravenclaw, you and Harry represent the lions, and, well, Slytherin."

"We aren't short of you lot, no," Hermione said. She took the cup away from Tom and squinted at it, searching for some sort of engraving that might explain it.

"It doesn't stay magically full," Tom said. "I had one of the Muggles drink from it and nothing happened. As far as I can tell, it's just a cup. Disappointing."

"And you got it…?" Hermione asked again. She tried a revelio charm, which made Tom snort with derision at the suggestion he hadn't already made that obvious attempt to find any hidden charms or runes.

"Luna killed some boy," he said. "Said he was rude to her. Tosser named 'Zachary' or 'Zacharias' or some such." He shrugged. "She said the cup caught her eye and at first I thought it had to have some kind of special magic she'd picked up on. You know how she is."

Hermione nodded.

"But maybe it was just shiny." He exhaled in frustration. Luna had been flitting around all summer gathering things that interested her and by now they had an entire room filled with oddities. If he'd had the slightest interest in a career in retail he could have opened a shop to compete with Borgin and Burkes, but the idea of trying to sell things to peasants made him want to kill people, and there were only so many times you could do that before you risked someone noticing.

And it wasn't just Luna who was aggravating him. Pansy was huge. A giant whale of a human being with an abdomen that announced her arrival long before she made it into the room. And she waddled, which was funny, but if you mentioned it, she cursed you. Her feet were swollen, the baby spent all its time kicking her so hard you could set paper on her and watch it get booted off, and none of this made her happy. She whinged. She glared. She had almost ripped Luna's head off with one hand when the woman had said in an airy voice that it was efficient of her to have two babies at once.

"This is not twins," Pansy had said in a voice that allowed no argument. "I am not some sheep popping out a matched set of lambs."

Weekly trips to St. Mungo's for stress tests had not made her any less grouchy. No one there mentioned the possibility of multiple babies, probably because years of dealing with angry, hormonal witches had taught them the wisdom of discretion, but they'd suggested to Theo that if she planned to birth at home - as many women able to afford on-site Healers did - perhaps they might want to hire someone who had experience with complicated births. Also, perhaps a second nanny wouldn't be the worst choice ever.

Theo, no fool, mentioned none of this to Pansy but quietly asked Narcissa Malfoy if she could, perhaps, find staff that met those guidelines? Narcissa, who lived to prove her superiority, patted him on the hand and told him it was so sad he had no mother of his own he could rely on, and Pansy's mother, well, she understood why they weren't asking her.

None of these carefully laid plans made Pansy any less annoying to be around. Hermione set the cup that might have belonged to Helga Hufflepuff down with a thunk and said, "Just add it to Luna's collection of crap and listen to me whinge about Pansy."

Tom rubbed at his face but turned his attention to Hermione. "Yes?" he asked her.

"She's annoying," Hermione said.

"She weighs fifteen stones easily," Tom said. "You'd be annoying too."

"I will never be pregnant," Hermione said. "I cannot tell you how relieved I am by that. Never, ever, ever. We can have sex with no need for contraceptive charms and I will never end up growing a person - "

"Probably two people."

"Worse. So much worse." Hermione shuddered.

Tom licked his lips and nudged her with a foot. "Sex?" he asked. "Somewhere in there I thought I heard you mention - "

She sighed. "I don't have the energy to play," she said. "I'm tired and it's hot out and I'm not in the mood for - "

"We could just do gentle and lazy?" he suggested. Hermione perked up a bit at that. "I could spread you out on the bed next to me and just trace my fingers over your skin. Maybe some ice, since you're complaining about the heat? Lick the melted water away?"

Hermione eyed him for a long moment and then said, with a sigh, "As long as I only have to lie there."

"I'll do all the work," Tom promised. A bit of a cocky smirk danced across his face. "I won't let you do anything at all."

. . . . . . . . . .

Theo sat on the end of their bed and rubbed Pansy's feet. She'd read that if you pushed on just the right pressure points you could start labour and she was ready for labor to start. She took another bite of the hot pepper - also reputed to start labour - and chewed.

"So, we're agreed that Thadeus is a good name for a boy," Theo said. Pansy nodded. That had been easy. "How about Circe for a girl?"

Pansy twitched. "Lythande?" he suggested.

She glared at that. He went though a series of other names, all of which she frowned, grunted, or kicked at him at. Medea. Tahreem. Eris. Willow. All 'no.' Dolores made her try to kick him hard and he had to dodge out of the way. Gloriosa, Jessamine, Maikoa: all no.

Laurel, however, made her smile. At 'Laurel' Theo knew he had a winner. "We'll make the middle names to honor Iðunn?" he asked. "Since we promised?"

"Laurel Epli for a girl," Pansy said. "Thadeus Idun for a boy."

"Done," Theo said.

She took another bite of the pepper. "Semen is supposed to soften the cervix," she said as she chewed. "Get working."

Theo tried not to laugh as he set her foot down and prepared for another round of contortions. Angles were very tricky given Pansy's current size and the way she just stuck out, but so far they'd managed to make it work.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Well," Draco nodded a few times and crossed and then uncrossed his arms. "I guess today's the day."

Astoria gave him a smile that could best be described as forced cheer. "No more nasty potions," she said. "Can't say I'm sad about that."

"You're all… fertile and stuff," Draco went on. He'd spent the whole day worrying about this. He'd tried to think how to make it work over breakfast. He'd eaten lunch thinking about how to get his wife pregnant. He'd felt nervous over dinner. He wasn't good at girls, as Pansy had been sure to comment upon, loudly, several times to Astoria since his wife had moved into a room that rather magically appeared as an extension of his. Astoria just laughed every time and told Pansy everyone found a partner who suited them.

Harry groaned. He'd flopped down into the chair in the corner of their room in Castle Library and was watching the married couple. "Just fuck her, Merlin, this isn't advanced Arithmancy. Cast the extra fertility charms, get the job done, and then we can all apparate out for ice cream."

Astoria threw him a grateful look. He'd offered to take off and give the pair privacy to make a baby but she'd asked him to stay. "It's sort of going to be your baby, too," she'd said. "You don't think you'll get out of changing nappies just because it wasn't your sperm, do you?"

"Cute outfit," Harry added.

She plucked at the satin and lace and seemed to be suddenly far more at ease than she had when she'd pushed the door connecting their rooms open and stood there, dressed in an ensemble sure to entice most men. "I told the girl at the shop I was trying to get pregnant and she said this little number had a 100% success rate." She flopped down on the bed and reached a leg out so Harry could feel the stockings. "Silk," she said.

Harry ran a hand along her leg. "Nice," he admitted. "If you like that sort of thing."

Astoria pointed her toes and admired the way the dark stocking highlighted the shape of her leg. "It is," she agreed. "Pity wearing these to society events is just not appropriate. I wonder if I can find some in flesh tone so I can enjoy the feel of the silk without scandalizing all the society matrons."

Draco coughed. He wanted to get on with it, not watch his partner admire his wife's lingerie. "So," he said. "Do you want me to…?" He trailed off. "I could," he began again.

"We could just do it," Astoria suggested. "No reason to drag it out."

Draco fumbled, trying to figure out how to explain lubrication and vaginas and arousal without sounding like a condescending arse; just because the woman wasn't into sex didn't mean she didn't have basic knowledge of her own body, but he really had no idea who to begin without making the entire encounter even more uncomfortable. Harry saved him by pulling a bottle of lube out of a drawer and tossing it over. "This should work," he said.

"Let me see that," Astoria held out her hand, suddenly all efficiency, and, bemused, Draco handed it over. She skimmed over the label on the front before turning it over and peering more closely at the fine print.

"What are you - "

"Just making sure it's not a spermicide," she said. "Sometimes potions companies double up and while it wouldn't matter for what you two need, I 'd feel a bit stupid to ruin everything with contraceptive lube."

"Good idea," Draco said. He could feel his hands twisting his shirt. "So, is it okay?" he asked.

"Looks like it," Astoria said. She pulled the stopper out of the bottle and tipped a little bit of the fluid onto her fingers. Draco stared as she spread it over her labia and into herself then, as he realized he was staring, looked away quickly and studied the pattern in the oriental rug on the floor. When he looked back she had her legs spread was wiping her fingers off on a towel Harry must have gotten her.

"Draco," Harry said.

"What?" he snapped.

"Plan to get an erection anytime soon?"

Draco balled his fists and glared at Harry, who smirked back and kicked his feet up on the bed. He seemed much too amused by the entire situation, especially when he leaned over to Astoria and said in a stage whisper, "Sorry about this, Tory. He doesn't usually have these kinds of issues."

"You are such an arsehole," Draco said. "This is a little weird, you know."

"It's fine," Astoria said. "I just think of it as, well, like shaving my legs. Kind of tedious but not a problem."

Draco did not appear to be encouraged or moved toward arousal by that comment.

"People have been making babies since the dawn of time," Harry said. "Seems pretty normal to me."

Draco reached down into his pajama bottoms - not selected for their statistical likelihood to result in successful impregnation - and wrapped his hand around his flaccid penis and tried to think of erotic imagery. None came to mind. All he could think about was family duty and obligations and, oddly enough, Pansy's fox. The damn thing was probably sitting outside the door right now, tongue lolling as it laughed at him. The more he tried, the less he succeeded. Astoria sighed and nudged at Harry. "You're going to have to help," she said.

Harry's sigh was theatrical enough to earn him another glare, but when he tugged Draco's clothes off and applied his mouth to the problem at hand, Draco, with a guilty look at Astoria, let himself forget about duty and just enjoy. Astoria pulled the paper off the nightstand and began reading an analysis of one of the recent Ministry initiatives to widen the range of subjects available as electives at Hogwarts. Thoros Nott had proposed the legislation and it had been heatedly debated then tabled when Albus Dumbledore had said, voice sonorous and wise, that none of those subjects would ever be taught at Hogwarts while he lived to fight the change. The papers had been opining one way or another on the proposals since. No consensus had been reached.

Draco, who'd not been thinking about politics or papers or even Astoria, suddenly gasped and shoved Harry away. "If I come in your mouth, you wanker, we have to start again," he said.

"Sorry," Harry said, sounding not sorry at all. "Not my fault I've got skills."

Astoria set the paper aside and pulled her lingerie thing further up and said, "Go for it."

Draco positioned himself and gently worked his way into her. She stiffened a bit, then seemed to force herself to relax. "He's got a cock smaller than the average finger," Harry said, taking her hand. "Fortunately for you, his limitations in that area shouldn't impact his fertility."

"Oh, good," Astoria said. She squeezed Harry's fingers. He studied the determinedly cheerful look she had on her face and kept going.

"Now I," Harry said as he held on to her, "am not so minuscule."

"Could you stop," Draco said. "I'm trying to fuck over here and your insults are not helping."

Harry shrugged and began telling Astoria a series of jokes that had her giggling, one hand pressed over her mouth with guilt as she looked from Draco to Harry. Draco finally hissed at Harry that they both needed to stop. "All she really has to do is lie here, dammit, but if I can't perform - "

"Fine," Harry held up his hands in what might have been an apology. Draco continued to glare at him until he moved to sit on the bed and, sliding one hand back into Astoria's, cupped the other behind Draco's head and kissed him with a thoroughness Astoria seemed to find charming and which Draco clearly found helped him focus on the task at hand. Harry pulled back and whispered filthy things into the man's ear until, with a groan, he managed to climax.

He waited for a moment and then asked, "Are you okay?"

Astoria patted him on the cheek. "You did great," she said.

Draco snorted at that but pulled out of her and they all stared at one another. "Ice cream?" Harry asked.

"Ice cream," Astoria agreed. "As soon as I put on something else."

A few minutes later, they stepped out into the corridor, dressed, smiling, arms slung around one another with the relief of friends who've gotten through a mildly unpleasant task together, when Luna drifted by, somewhat more focused than usual.

"Moon girl," Astoria said.

Luna smiled at her. "The babies are here," she said. She paused to look at Astoria. "Oh, yes," she said. "They are."

"Babies?" Harry asked, suddenly nervous. He looked at Astoria's middle. "You can tell already?"

"Pansy's babies," Luna clarified. "She threatened to kill the Healer but she says that's normal. She seems very pleasant. Maybe we should keep her for you."

"We won't be able to do that if Pansy kills her," Astoria said, amusement in her voice. "Maybe we should stay and distract her from murder."

"I think so," Luna agreed.

"Wait," Harry said. "Does this mean no ice cream?"

. . . . . . . . . . . .

A/N - Thanks to badpunsandharrypotter, quirkycurlygirl, bellutrixlestrange, coffeequeen73, the-mothafuckin-pigeon-empress as well as some anonymous askers on tumblr for their help with the names for the Babies Nott.

Thank you to shayalonnie for alpha reading. There are no words to express how much she keeps me going some days.

45. Chapter 45

early summer, 2000

Daphne shut herself into her bedroom with a sigh of relief. Molly Weasley didn't hold with morning sickness. She hadn't had it, therefore it was all in a woman's head, and Daphne needed to just perk up and everything would be fine.

It was hard to imagine everything being fine when you spent most of the day wanting to throw up. Morning sickness, she had decided, had been named by some bastard with a cruel sense of humor. At least the actual vomiting in the morning had put Ron off sex. Ron liked sex. He liked sex a lot. He wasn't very good at it, at least as far as Daphne could tell, but that didn't dim his enthusiasm. It wasn't that she had a lot of men to compare him to. She had none. But she had her hand and she'd figured a few things out in her life and there were a darn sight more than Ronald had. He didn't even seem to know sex was more than him pumping away with vigor and then lying on top of her, all sweaty and off-putting. Daphne had no idea how to suggest he might try something else, especially since, to be honest, the faster it was over the better.

She wondered if Astoria was pregnant by now. It was funny to think they might have children born within a few months of one another. In any fair world they'd be the closest of cousins, growing up running in and out of one another's houses.

"You in there?" she could hear Molly calling.

"Just getting the towels," she called back. "I think I want to try a new spell I found in one of your old books on how to get out old stains."

Molly opened the door without knocking and stuck her head in. "That'd be great," she said. "I can't tell you how wonderful it is to have you and Ginny both here. Running this place can be a chore but many hands - "

"Make light work," Daphne completed the saying she'd heard at least once a day. "Do you have any parchment?" she asked on impulse. "While the towels are on the line I thought I'd write my sister."

"Your poor sister," Molly said. "You're a sweet girl to try to keep in touch with her. "

. . . . . . . . . .

Luna handed the ring to Greg, who held it with the tips of his fingers. He'd learned to be very careful with the things she found. "What is it?" he asked.

"Oh," she said, "it's just an ugly ring. But with a little work a certain someone will think it's the resurretion stone." She kissed Greg on the cheek. "Let's go back home. I've got a new pattern I'd like to try with the black rope and I think it's time to have the babies so they'll be the same age as all the others. It's good to have playmates."

He tucked the ring into a bag. "Of course," he said.

. . . . . . . . . .

"Can you feel it kicking?" Draco asked as Astoria threw up again. He held her hair back while Harry hovered with a glass of water.

"You're an idiot," Pansy said. She'd come in behind the trio and was watching Astoria with pity. Her own pregnancy, other than making her huge and uncomfortable, had been fairly free of nausea. "The baby's about an inch long, you fools. It's the hormones making her sick, not someone kicking her in the gut from the inside."

"Why are you bothering us?" Harry asked her. "Shouldn't you be off milking yourself like a cow for your little herd?"

"Two is not a herd," Pansy said. "Don't be an arsehole. An owl brought a letter for your bride, or his bride, or whoever the fuck's bride she is. I thought you might want it." She passed the folded bit of cheap parchment over to Harry who frowned at it. There was no return address, no way to see who it was from.

Astoria wiped her mouth on a towel and took the glass from Harry's left hand. "Thank you, Pansy," she said before rinsing her mouth. "That was very thoughtful of you."

"Let's get you out to Neville's budding apple seedlings," Draco said. "You can sit in the garden and try to feel better while you read your letter."

She smiled at him, and if her skin was a bit wan and grey, her eyes still twinkled with that contagious delight he'd noticed the first time they'd really met at Pansy's wedding. "Could you be any nicer?" she asked him.

"Yes," Pansy said. "He could. Wanker."

Harry laughed and Draco sighed but they both helped the still somewhat wobbly Astoria out to a chair in the shade and fetched her some water with just enough citrus in it to settle her stomach and some crackers. Draco then opened a book on Dark hexes he was trying to index for ease of future reference and Harry began practicing a water jinx Luna had developed and they sat in happy ease until Astoria tapped Draco on the shoulder and passed the letter over with a worried frown.

Draco read it and looked back at her. "She made her own bed," he said. Astoria just looked at him until he said, "I'll ask him, Tory, but I can't promise anything."

. . . . . . . . .

Tom sat, Hermione's feet in his lap, one hand kneading at her sole while the other held Daphne Weasley's letter. "A masterpiece of not saying anything," he said after he read it to Hermione.

"She's a bitch," Hermione said. "She tried to sell us out to Dumbledore and you know it."

"I did torture her," Tom pointed out.

"You torture a lot of people," she said. "You tortured Neville at that wedding and he didn't run off and carry tales."

"Some people are slow learners," Tom said. Hermione made a sound that expressed her opinion of that and he laughed. "Well, they are," he said. "But she is Draco's sister-in-law, and the sister of the future Minister for Magic, so she's worth corrupting if we can." He set the letter down and turned his attention more fully to Hermione's feet. "But I agree she needs to earn it, especially after what she's done."

Hermione leaned her head back against the pillow and began to smile. Tom watched the cold, cruel look spread over her face and waited, his hands working with steady fondness, as she formulated her ideas. When she suggested what she had in mind he was tricked into a full-throated laugh. "You do have a poetic soul," he said at last. "Clever, poetic, brilliant. What would life be without you?"

"Merely eternal?" she asked.

He lowered his face to her foot and kissed each toe. "Immortality without you would be punishment," he said.

. . . . . . . . . .

Sirius didn't even knock when he threw open the door of Grimmauld Place and glared perfunctorily at the portrait of his mother. Remus trailed behind him looking half amused and half worried. "Reggie," he yelled into the house. He kicked at the house elf, Kreacher, who dodged out of the way with ease borne of long practice, and stomped his way into the parlour were Regulus sat, a tray with coffee he'd almost finished and a croissant he hadn't touched on the table in front of him.

"Sirius," the man said, "How loud to see you this morning. And you have your faithful dog."

"Ha ha," Sirius said. "Is this true?"

He tossed a folded copy of The Daily Prophet down in front of Regulus who gave only a cursory look to Drusilla's engagement portrait. "Did they get her middle name wrong?" he asked. "I spelt it three times for them so if they mangled it, I'll be rather put out." He didn't pick the article up to check.

Sirius flung himself down into a chair as Remus told the hovering elf that, yes, coffee would be lovely. Thank you. "It's not her name," he said, "Though how you could name a child Drusilla Calliadora Cygnia Alpharda is beyond me - "

"It was her mother's doing," Regulus said. "You know I'm putty in the hands of a pretty woman." He picked up his coffee and drank the last so Kreacher could refill it. "It's got a certain cadence, I thought."

"How can you marry that girl off to Neville Longbottom?"

Regulus laughed at the phrasing. "Have you ever met my daughter?" he asked. "We play the game. I pretend I'm telling her who to marry, and she pretends to be dutiful and agree, but if I'd picked anyone she didn't prefer, she'd probably obliviate and Imperius me." He held his cup out and waited for Kreacher to pour, took another sip, then said, "She's a Black, Sirius. Perhaps you've met some of us before?"

"Very funny. That boy is in over his head with Tom Riddle and his gang."

Regulus looked over at Remus, who had become very interested in a painting that hung near his seat. "What, dear brother, is wrong with Tom Riddle?"

"Other than he's an evil git? Nothing, I suppose."

"And you know this how?" Regulus sighed and looked over at Sirius. Impetuous. Sometimes violent. Passionate. He wondered how Remus put up with it. His own, late wife had said the Blacks could exhaust a person to death with the force of their loves and their hates. She'd faded away in a decline that came right out of a book, exhausted into nothing, so Regulus supposed she'd known what she was talking about. "He's a bright young man who's married - and by all accounts adores - a woman mother would have despised, so you can't hate him for being a blood purist. He's charismatic, funny. He told a story about a Montenegrin vampire when I last saw him that made me laugh until my side's hurt."

"He's evil."

"You're just jealous." Sirius stopped short at that and Regulus smiled at how well that dart had gone home. "You'd have loved to have spent your youth off in some castle with your little Marauder friends, researching magic no one else cared to study in detail and lolling about. And you would have if Lily hadn't been dead set against it, so James settled down and became some kind of suburban father, and Peter wandered off to do Merlin knows what - "

"I think he's in a Muggle jail, actually," Remus muttered. "Something about fraud."

" - and you're jealous that this boy has managed to do what you would have loved, and that his friends don't disappear to become good little mommies and daddies as soon as the bellies swell."

"But Neville," Sirius said. "He's… you need to talk to Ginny Weasley."

Regulus raised his brows. "Why would I be interested in talking to some spurned ex?"

"He beat her!" Sirius said. The frustration in his voice leaked into his body and he slammed the cup Kreacher had given him down onto the table so hard the black liquid splashed over the side and puddled on the antique wood. Regulus looked at the spill and sighed at his brother and Kreacher squeaked and ran off to find a rag. "Sirius, he beat her and humiliated her and - "

"Some people do seem to ask for it," Regulus said. Sirius's outrage seemed to grow until Regulus added, "Rather like that Severus Snape you used to torment. I recall a few incidents that certainly would have counted as humiliating."

"He was a git," Sirius muttered. "Snivelus. Always whining and - "

"I suspect Neville felt the same way about your Ginny," Regulus said. "I saw her at the Nott wedding and she looked like a dumpy little thing, afraid of her own shadow. I wanted to hit her myself."

"What if he decides Drusilla - "

"She'd probably kill him." Regulus set his cup down and sighed. "I appreciate your concern, but I did ask the girl what she wanted, and I'm not unaware of his past with the Weasley girl."

"And?"

"She said if he touched her in a way she didn't care for, she'd cut his balls of, make him cook them himself, and then watch him choke on them." Regulus smiled. "I think Drusilla will be fine."

. . . . . . . . . .

Ginny handed the plate to Daphne. Dumbledore and the rest of the adult members of the Order of the Phoenix had been arguing for hours about Neville's plans to marry 'that Black girl.' Sirius kept shouting she had a name, Molly shouted back that everyone knew what she was like, and Alice slammed things and said there was nothing wrong with Neville and this entire meeting was offensive and people needed to watch their mouths.

Daphne dried the plate and set it in the cupboard.

"Neville was a bastard," Ginny said. The words were low and angry. "Some day I'm going to kill him. I won't be having to pretend to be something I'm not and he'll look at me and I'll rip his guts out."

Ron stuck his head into the kitchen. "Either of you have more coffee ready?" he asked. "They're going through it like water and mum asked me to see if you had more on."

Daphne moved the kettle to the stove. "I'll get some going," she said.

Ron disappeared back into the fray of the meeting.

"You're welcome," Daphne muttered before her gut began churning again and she held herself over the sink, waiting to see if this time she'd keep things down.

. . . . . . . . . .

Daphne cried when she got the letter. She waited until the rest of the household had gone to sleep and then went out to the edge of the property and wept until she was so exhausted she could barely stand. Eleven years. Until Hogwarts. And they'd ensured if she changed her mind again she'd pay the steepest price.

Respond at once, the letter read. So she did.

. . . . . . . . . .

"I just hate to leave you," Theo said. "It's not a long trip - just a few days to check out a cursed tomb and see if there's anything worth stealing - but I know you're a little cooped up."

Pansy shifted Lauren to the other breast and took a moment to adjust the little mouth until the girl was happily slurping away again. "I'm too tired," she said. "Bring me back a cursed dagger or something I can use to kill my mother once I can muster the energy to care about anything other than sleep."

"Do we need another nanny?" Theo had hired a revolving staff of three baby nurses but Pansy preferred to be at Castle Library to Nott Manor and that left her juggling small babies with only the help of the brainless Muggles. "I could find one - "

"I don't want some uniform wearing, starched, rule-citing horror in my bedroom," Pansy said. "I can do this. They'll be weaned soon enough and then it'll be off to the nannies and Nott Manor and nightly presentations to mum." She bent down and kissed the head of the girl who ignored her to continue drinking. "Go. Travel. Bring me presents."

. . . . . . . . . .

Tom kissed Hermione's temple, inhaled the scent of her hair, and said, "Off to New Orleans?"

"Indeed." She leaned against his side. "I understand there's a zombie type you've not yet studied."

"Raising the dead to do my bidding is always an enchanting way to spend a week," Tom said. He leaned in to nibble on her ear. "And if we borrow these new world ways of doing things, the sad little lessons children learn in Defense Against the Dark Arts won't apply."

"Plans within plans," Hermione murmured. "A minister who belongs to us, a school teaching what we want, and an army or two of the dead just in case."

"Mmm," Tom agreed. He kissed her again, this time with more demanding urgency and she swayed into him. "By the time we confront that silly little group of Dumbledore's, he'll be left relying on school children."

She laughed. What a ludicrous idea: fighting evil with children. That would never work.

. . . . . . . . . .

A/N - Thank you to shayalonnie, who alpha reads this, and to wildrosemage and small-steps-and-better-days who both helped with some time line issues.

46. Chapter 46

Astoria looked at Luna. The blond woman was directing a set of needles to knit a runic pattern into baby booties. "I thought Greg had already done his horcrux," Astoria said, treading with as much care as she could find. "And that… had complications."

"You can't cheat death and generate life," Luna agreed. The needles kept going, clickity clack clacking their way through another line of stitches.

"And you're pregnant, so…" Astoria trailed off and Draco tried not to look as interested as he was.

"49 percent of the world's population is male," Luna said. She squinted at the booties where they hung in front of her and then shook her head. A wave of her wand and the last 20 stitches unravelled and she set the needles to try again. "Some of them have acceptable sperm counts. It's hardly Arithmancy."

"Paternity?" Astoria asked. Paternity was such an issue in wizarding culture and she didn't want to see the daft, powerful witch ostracized if a blood test turned up she'd been with some random Muggle she'd found on the streets.

Luna glanced up and smiled. "I think Vincent's father left happy."

Draco goggled at her. "You…you seduced Vincent's father?" he asked.

"What?" Luna asked. "Like it's hard?"

Astoria looked at the patterns in Luna's wool. "Can I have a set of those?" she asked. "Two sets?"

. . . . . . . .

"Anyone good?"

Tom stretched his feet out and smiled at Theo, who smirked back in return. "I wouldn't call any of them good, no," he said. Tom laughed at that as Theo pulled out a stack of parchment. "I took the liberty of writing up a brief summary of the skill level of all the young Slytherins who asked to learn what one rather diplomatically called, 'extra-curricular material'. I think the interest in the Dark Arts is strong, and a number of them show talents in the field."

He handed the reports over and Tom flicked through them, stopping at one. "A child?" He raised his brows and looked at Theo. "I thought you were restricting yourself to Hogwarts graduates."

Theo nodded. I'll teach you anything, Tom had told the members of their House after he'd tortured Daphne in front of them. Just find me after graduation. That little project had been handed over to him and he'd been running classes on the Dark Arts at Nott Manor for a while. "One young man showed up with his sister in tow," Theo said by way of explanation as Tom returned to looking over his report on the girl. "He'd been unable to get out of baby watching duties, and doesn't come from a family likely to be sympathetic to our aims."

"She sounds impressive," Tom said. "Imperius at ten?"

Theo nodded.

"Well, we'll keep her name on a list for when she'd older," Tom said. He tossed the paperwork down. "Good work, Theo," he said. "You're one of my best."

"I live to serve, my Lord," Theo said.

. . . . . . . .

Tom slung an arm around Hermione as she turned her face up to the sun. They'd loved Egypt. Ancient spells. Tomes. Burial rituals. It was one dark discovery after another, and a welcome break from baby central where they lived.

"Thank Salazar Pansy will wean soon," Hermione said. "Then we can go back to normal."

Tom perked up at the thought of a castle free of screaming babies, then slumped again. "Astoria," he said. "And her sister's brat."

"They aren't going to be in the castle, are they?" Hermione asked, trying to conceal her horror.

Tom shook his head and she relaxed. Astoria had already made it clear that Castle Library was lovely, it really was, but she planned to spend her post-partum months in Malfoy Manor being waited on and pampered. Draco and Harry seemed torn between their desires to father the little one and a sense of obligation to their lord, an obligation he'd been more than happy to waive for the duration. Anything to get the babies out from under foot. They could all meet up again once the bratlings were toddlers and the cooing baby love that had possessed Pansy had passed and the parents were all happy to pass the screaming, sticky creatures off to nannies.

"It's going to be a long couple of years," Hermione said.

"Well," Tom said as he brushed his lips over her shoulder, letting his teeth briefly graze her skin, "We do have all the time we want."

"We do," she agreed, as she turned to meet his lips with her own.

. . . . . . . . . .

Alice Longbottom stood to watch the bride enter and felt a sinking in her heart. Drusilla Black. Somehow, she'd told herself that it couldn't be real. Her son, her sweet, pudgy boy who'd never been good at much besides plants, couldn't possibly be marrying a Black. Sirius was fine, she supposed. Annoying, reckless, and borderline unstable but, at heart, a kind man. Regulus was less kind and his daughter was the epitome of a Black. Brilliant, brittle, unyielding, Dark.

And that was the crux of the problem. Alice sank back into her seat as the Dark witch stood on heels like knives and bound herself to her son. Her sweet, sweet boy who'd liked to collect wildflowers and hadn't ever been able to remember what time dinner was served. She remembered when Algie had decided to test the boy and see if he were a squib. She remembered how he'd always painted in the back garden, his tongue thrust out the side of his mouth as he concentrated. She remembered when he'd told her he was going to live with friends after graduation, maybe travel a bit before he settled down.

"With this Ring I thee wed," her son was saying. "With my body, I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods, I thee endow."

The magic settled over the pair as he slid the ring onto her finger and Alice Longbottom watched as a bright, white light settled across her new daughter-in-law's shoulders before turning to a dark, glittering black and then disappearing.

Alice wanted to cry.

. . . . . . . . . .

Tom slipped into the room at St. Mungo's. His shoes were still wet from the cold, February day and his patience thin from dealing with Draco. Draco was a nervous father and with Astoria close to delivering he'd managed to antagonize everyone around him. Even Harry had told him to go wank off until he was bearable to be around.

If Hermione hadn't stepped between him and the man, Draco would probably still be recovering.

Now that he was here, however, best to focus on the task at hand. The new baby was in a bassinet next to the bed and Daphne had the same exhausted but overjoyed look he remembered from Pansy. Tom closed the door behind him and smiled down at her prone figure with a warm expression that would have made most hearts melt. "You look lovely," he said.

Daphne swallowed hard and said, "Thank you, my Lord."

Well, Tom museed to himself. She's learned manners, at least, during her surely unpleasant stint with Dumbledore and the Weasleys. He crossed over to the baby and touched his finger to the little one's cheek. "You have six weeks," he said to the mother as he examined the child. "And then go for a walk with your pram."

A fat tear rolled down her cheek, and her voice shook, but she said meekly, "Yes, my Lord."

Tom smile became somewhat less warm. "I like you better this way, Daphne," he said. "You've learned your place, haven't you?"

He took some of her lank dirty hair it his hand and twisted it as hard as he could. She gasped and the tears began to flow more quickly, but she didn't fight him. He considered just killing her and taking the baby. It wasn't as if she were really lilely to be any use to them, but he decided that if Astoria wanted her sister, then she should have her sister. The poor woman deserved it for putting up with the asinine politics of back rooms at the Ministry, something she did with the sparkle never leaving her eye.

Tom tightened his grip on Daphne's hair as he thought approvingly about the political genius of Draco's wife. She'd be Minister within a few years and not a single one of the dreary hacks that ran the place would see it coming, or appreciate the iron hold she'd have over them. It was a trifle inconvenient that she wanted her sister instead of something simple like a fox or a kitten, but if that's what she wanted for a pet, then that's what he would let her have her.

Still, between obliviation and the imperious curse, no one knew he was here and he might as well enjoy himself. He pulled his wand out, let go of the woman's hair and smiled at her with that warm, charming smile before he said, "crucio."

. . . . . . . . .

"Maybe early March wasn't the best time to come to Alaska," Tom admitted as he cast yet another warming charm where he and Hermione stood on the beach. "I just couldn't bear Draco and his panic every time Astoria so much as shifts her weight any longer."

Hermione nestled up against his side as they stood on what someone had sworn counted as a 'beach' and looked out over what was supposedly 'water'. She guessed it was water. Frozen water was still water. "I sympathize," she said. "But I think we should do Egpyt next. I could use someplace warm after this."

"Where's the fiery hand of death," Tom complained. He'd gotten word there was a fiery hand of death that rose out of the water and they'd come all the way here and, frankly, he felt a little petulant. All work and no play and too much research into Grindelwald made him feel a little hostile.

"Maybe we haven't been naughty enough?" Hermione suggested. "The book suggested it rose up from the depths when children were naughty and grabbed them."

Tom looked down and her and she looked back. "I could be naughty," she said.

"You could be naughty in the hotel room," Tom said with a grimace as he looked from the ice at their feet to the ice that stretched out before them, no fiery hand of doom to be found. "Where it's warm. I'm going to kill the witch who suggested Alaska. I think that woman just made that hand up to scare her kids."

"I'll help," Hermione said. "We'll do it slowly."

In happy sympathy, and with pleasant ideas of a little hotel room naughtiness followed by explaining to the witch who'd sent them here that they only wanted good information, accurate leads, not old wives tales, they apparated away.

. . . . . . . . . .

"At least it's not as wet as Belize," Theodore said, looking out over the endless sands of Egypt.

Pansy coughed and when he demanded what she smirked and just said, "The Nile, Theo. The Nile."

"A river that stays properly on the ground," Theo said. "Did we manage to spend one day in Belize where it didn't rain?"

Pansy rolled her eyes as her only comment on that but her fox yipped in agreement. Belize had been damp. Coming from Britain they should have been used to it, but British weather was damp and cold. Belize had been humid and hot and buggy. Useful, but unpleasant for a group of witches and wizards used to cooler temperatures. None of them had been sad to leave. Pansy had also failed to muster sorrow at missing Alaska. Now that Laurel and Thadeus had been passed off to a series of nannies at Nott Manor, however, she was enjoying their little trek through the delightfully warm country. They'd claimed it was a research trip, though since Tom and Hermione had already visited the country that was a bit of a lie. This was more of a, "Get away from children and work" vacation, though Theo had gathered enough shamelessly looted treasure from a wizarding marketplace to keep Luna sorting through shiny things for a year. It would give her something to do while she nursed.

"It's been a season of babies," Pansy said as she considered Luna's newest addition to their collection and reached down to scratch the fox's head. "First Scorpius in March, now Helios in April."

"And soon Rose in February will join the herd," Theo said.

Pansy laughed. "Hogwarts will never survive them," she said.

. . . . . . . . . .

Daphne pushed the pram along the walk on the late April day. Molly had shooed both her and Ginny out once Daphne had mentioned going for a stroll, saying they both needed air and exercise and no one was going to come after them. "There aren't any of that ridiculous boy's followers hanging around the lane, you two," she'd said. "Go on now. I'll just get dinner started without you."

Daphne had wrapped Rose up and counted all her fingers and toes and kissed her while Ginny waited, first happy to have anything to delay her excursion outside the safe boundaries of the Burrow, then with growing impatience. The sooner they got out the sooner they'd be back, untouched by Tom Riddle's gang. "Just put her in the pram already," Ginny said at last. "She looks just the same as she did this morning."

"I know," Daphne said. "She's just so perfect."

Ginny tried to soften her face into a smile, and the pair went out for their walk, six weeks to the day after Rose's birth. They made it just far enough for the Burrow to be out of sight when Neville and Theo apparated in front of them in the lane. Ginny froze for one moment too long before she went to grab her wand and Theo had it in his hand, accio at the ready. He laughed at her stricken expression. Daphne didn't even try to get hers.

"What have we here?" Neville said. He glanced at Theo in mock confusion. "Two little birds out from the nest. Little birds should be careful, lest the big, bad wolf come along." He bore down on Ginny, each step closer making her shiver more, until he was almost pressed up against her. "I'd say I've missed you, but that would be a lie." He leaned forward to whisper in her ear as he ran a hand over the front of her blouse, cupping one breast and weighing it as though considering whether he wanted to purchase it or not. "You were so boring, my sweet."

"I hate you," Ginny said. Her voice shook but she she looked him in the eye as she added, "Go to hell."

Neville grabbed her arm at that and twisted until she'd bent over and was down at his feet. "Oh, silly bird," he said, though he sounded more amused than upset. "That's not a smart way to talk to someone who has no reason at all to wish you well. I was quite amply punished for letting you slip away, you know, and if my Lord has decided he likes you where you are for now, well, that didn't make the time I spent suffering for his pleasure any less." He let her go, stepped back, and pulled his wand. Daphne covered her face and turned away as Ginny screamed, then didn't, as the torture curse burned through her. Neville squatted down once he'd stopped and said, "I could go on, my sweet. Shall I?"

Ginny looked up at him and spit in his face. He laughed and stepped back again. "If you'd been this much fun when you were trying to spy, I might have liked you more," he said. "If you'd had this much spine, I might have treated you better." He let loose another crucio, his wand almost dangling from his fingertips as if it were just too much trouble to bother holding onto the wood as he drove the woman at his feet into convulsions.

"Don't kill her," Theo advised from where he stood. "Tom's told us not to."

"Right," Neville said.

Daphne turned to Theo, who'd lifted Rose from her pram with the greatest of care. His eyes were almost kind as he tucked her into the crook of his arm and then looked at Daphne. "She'll grow up as a sister to her cousin," he said. "She'll be a princess in a castle, treated like royalty. She'll want for nothing."

"Unless you force us to punish her for your misdeeds," Neville added. He looked at Ginny who had slipped into unconsciousness, or something close enough as to make no difference. "I wouldn't recommend that."

"I'll be good," Daphne said. Her voice trembled as she added, "Please let me see her sometimes. Send a picture, or - "

"If our Lord thinks you deserve to see your child, you will," Theo said. Any illusion of kindness leeched away as he looked from the baby to the mother. "If you haven't sent any information worth rewarding, you won't."

She nodded then took a step toward the baby where she lay in the Death Eater's arms. "May I - ?" she began, planning to kiss the child one last time.

"I don't think so," Neville said. He pointed his wand at her. "And we don't want it to look like you didn't put up a fight, do we?"

Daphne fell to her knees and was already crying just from the memory of her torture at Tom Riddle's hands by the time the curse fell. Neville held it until she was shaking then nudged her with his foot. "Thank us for taking your brat," he said. "Thank your Lord for being willing to have you, despite everything you've done."

"Thank you," she said. Her cheek was pressed into the dust and she could taste the dirt of the path in her mouth. "I am grateful."

"You should be," Theo said. "I'd have killed you for spitting on Hermione, not given you a second chance." He plucked a blanket out of the pram, as well as a stuffed rabbit, before he apparated away.

Neville snorted as he looked down at the pair. "Worthless, both of you, " he said. "So sure you were the cat's meow, and now you're reduced to begging for favors." He kicked at Daphne first once, then again, harder, disgust in his voice. "Dumbledore wasn't a smart choice, was he? Enjoy the next decade paying for that mistake."

Ron found her lying there, too weak to move, the pram overturned. One of the Death Eaters had left a note. "We'll take the next one your whore wife pushes out, too."

End of Book Two

. . . . . . . . . .

A/N - Thank you to briallyson94 who caught my mistake of planning to get Luna pregnant even if Greg already had a horcrux. Quick little juggle, with a nod to Elle Woods, and plot hole patched.

Thank you to hail-and-frost for the idea about Alaska.

Thank you to stefartemis, who named little Helios.

Thank you to all of you readers who've stayed along for this dark romp of evil.

47. Chapter 47

Here starts the third and final part of this tale.

At first they filed complaint after complaint with the Ministry. Aurors came and took statements and listened to Ron and Molly at length as Daphne sat in a chair, pale and seemingly broken. Every complaint seemed to go astray. Paperwork was misfiled. There was one more form that needed to be filled out. The person who had been handling the case had been moved to another department and now his replacement had to get up to speed. One young, idealistic Auror came, over a year after the Death Eaters had kidnapped baby Rose, and fumed with outrage that nothing had been done.

"This is ridiculous," she said. "Your sister is in line to be Minister," she said to the almost unresponsive Daphne. "I'd think your case would have people extra careful to dot every 'i' and cross ever 't'."

Daphne just poured more tea into her cup and asked if she'd like a biscuit. "I made them fresh this morning," she said. "Ginger."

"Thank you," the Auror said. After Daphne set the biscuit on a plate and put it in front of her, after she excused herself to go hang laundry on the line, the Auror looked at Ron with grief and horror on her face.

"They crucioed her and took her daughter," Ron said defensively. "She hasn't been quite right since."

"She cooks, dear thing, and does the laundry," Molly said. "She's a great help to me but she's… she's lost."

"Which is just another reason we need to get that baby back," Ron said. "If having her in the hands of monsters weren't reason enough." He slammed his mug on the table before apologizing for his outburst. "We even know who took her," he said. "They left a bloody note. I don't see why this is so difficult."

"You can count on me," the Auror said, her eyes glowing with the fervor of innocence and youth.

Out at the laundry line, Daphne wrote a quick note, just the new Auror's name, and tied it to the leg of an owl. Ron had fretted she sent off messages, especially when she told him they were for Rose. He'd even looked at one note, the envelope addressed to 'Rose Weasley, wherever she may be', and choked back a sob. He hadn't stopped her from sending notes, however. "If it helps her cope," he'd said to his mother. "It seems like a little enough thing."

. . . . . . . . . .

Draco pulled the bit of parchment off the leg of the owl, read the name, and passed it over to Astoria. "Merlin," his wife muttered. She looked down at Rose and Scorpius, stacking blocks in the nursery at Malfoy Manor. They loved to play next to one another, had screaming fits if you tried to separate them, but still didn't play cooperatively. The nanny had assured them that was developmentally normal, and that they'd be stealing blocks from one another and hitting soon enough. "Those damned Order people just don't give up, do they?"

"Man wants his daughter back," Draco said.

Astoria sniffed. "I'll have the new Auror reassigned," she said.

"Better to send a message, maybe," Draco said. "Don't get too close to the Weasley case."

Astoria nodded. She pulled a camera off a shelf and took a quick photograph of Rose, a block with runes carved on each side in her chubby fist.

"She's earned a photograph?" Draco asked, taking the camera from Astoria.

"It's been a year," Astoria said. "Best to let her know we do intend to keep our end of the bargain since she's keeping hers."

Draco nodded. "I'll have it developed and see she gets it."

. . . . . . . . . .

Molly set the Daily Prophet down, almost banging the table with the force of her gesture. "She's dead," she said.

"Who?" Ron asked.

Molly passed over the paper and he read the article lamenting the loss of one of the bright, rising stars in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He swore and Ginny plucked the paper out of his hand. The blood drained from her face when she read the account of the young woman's tragic death and, her hand over her mouth, she ran from the room. They could hear her heaving in the toilet. Ron looked nervously at Daphne but she seemed as placid as ever. "Do you want some more tea?" she asked.

Ron sighed. "That would be nice," he said. "Thank you."

. . . . . . . . . .

Daphne took a walk every afternoon, rain or shine, at two. She paced along the same road where Theo and Neville had found her, the same road on which she'd been found by her husband, tortured and lying in the dirt. The Healer had told Ron and Molly that the exercise was good for her so, though both worried she was searching for the missing baby, they just watched her go each day and said nothing.

When she saw Greg Goyle, standing in the dirt around the bend in the road where he couldn't be seen by anyone at the Burrow, she stopped.

"I ain't Neville," he said. She seemed about to faint from fear at the sight of the Dark Mark on his arm, though she held her ground and waited. He tried to reassure her. "I don't plan to hurt you none."

She nodded.

Greg thrust out the envelope with the photograph and Daphne took it with a trembling hand. She opened the flap with the greatest of care and pulled out the picture. Rose raised the block in her hand and waved it at the camera, an endless loop of a smiling, delighted baby. Daphne's jaw trembled and water came to her eyes, but she slid the photo back into the envelope without a word and tucked it into a pocket in her robes.

"She's a sweet baby," Greg offered. "Plays real nice, not too fussy. Little Helios – my boy – he cried every time you wasn't walking him for seven months, but Rose hasn't never been nothing but the sweetest little thing. She got the prettiest laugh."

Daphne shook under the words but absorbed them as parched soil does water. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Ain't no one hurting her, you know," Greg said, more uncomfortable than he'd expected to be when faced with this wan, desperate woman, their spy. "She's got the best of everything, and Draco and Harry and Astoria treat her like their own."

Daphne nodded and Greg searched for something else to say. "She had a bout of magic," he said, glad to hit upon something he could tell Daphne about a baby who, from his perspective, was a dull tot like any other. "She got mad they tried to feed her mashed up turnips instead of carrots and splatted the food all over the wall."

That made her mother smile. "Not a squib, then," she said.

"No!" Greg said in shock. What a thing to be afraid of. "No! She's as magical as any other child."

"Good," Daphne said. "That's good then."

Greg shifted from one foot to the other and then said, "Just… Keep sending the notes and whenever they think it's valuable enough they'll send another photo," he said. "No one suspects you, right?"

"They think I'm touched," she said. He saw for the first time a hint of dismissive contempt in her voice, the first suggestion of steel, and he used the opportunity to escape.

"Uh, good," he said. "Then… I'll see you sometime."

He couldn't apparate away quickly enough.

. . . . . . . . . .

Daphne made tea. She did laundry. She served biscuits and dinner at Order meetings where everyone looked at her with sad eyes but talked openly in front of her as they discussed their questions about Tom Riddle and his gang, their worry about they way his gang had begun to openly move into positions of power. No one in the public suspected Draco Malfoy, pureblood scion, could be evil. No one wanted to believe sweet, charming Astoria Malfoy with her adorable blond toddler and her seemingly effortless ascent up the political ranks could be anything other than a lovely woman determined to use her privilege to effect change for the benefit of all. Neville and Drusilla Longbottom-Black filled society pages with their exploits even as he developed an herbal cure for an illness that had plagued the wizarding world for generations.

Neville neglected to mention to anyone that he soaked his plants in the blood of Muggle virgins, taken unwillingly. Tom laughed every time he was lauded as a lifesaver in the press. "How many people died to save that one magical child?" he asked.

Neville raised an eyebrow and shrugged. "Do you really care?" he asked.

"I'm just amused," Tom said.

"Every drop of magical blood is precious, yes?" Neville asked. "And there are just so many Muggles. No one will miss a dozen here or a dozen there."

No one who would have cared would have believed the dashing group of young stars could be anything other than wizarding Britain's most brilliant youth, the cream of society, the hope of the future. They couldn't be evil. And the tiny handful of people who knew didn't care.

Except for the Order.

"Whenever we try to tell anyone," Molly said, "we're laughed at." It was frustrating. Sirius was told he just had a family grudge against his brother's daughter; his feud with his family had been too public. Remus was dismissed because he was a werewolf. Every Order member who'd tried to publicly denounce any member of Tom Riddle's gang had been ripped to shreds by the press. Jealous. Bitter. Mired in the past.

Dumbledore nodded. "They're untouchable right now," he said. "But I have an idea." He smiled at Molly. "Even monsters love their children," he said. "And where do all magical children go?"

"To Hogwarts," she said, the words drawn out. "Though some still go to Durmstrang or Beauxbatons."

"Most then," Dumbledore said. "And who controls Hogwarts?"

Molly leaned back in her chair, clearly uncomfortable. "You can't use children against their parents," she said. "That's not right."

"I agree," Sirius said. He narrowed his eyes and bristled at the idea. "I may not like Drusilla, and I don't know how Alice and Frank cope with the way Neville dismisses them, but her daughter, Belladonna, is my grand-niece and a child."

"A child Alice's never seen," Molly said.

"She did tell Drusilla she looked like a ridiculous whore at her own wedding," Sirius said. "She can't have thought that would go over well."

Molly's 'hurumph' suggested Drusilla Black was one of the few things she and Alice Longbottom had ever agreed upon. Neither liked her. Both thought she was a bad influence on Neville, who they continued to call 'that sweet boy.'

"They'll be hostages," Dumbledore said, returning to his idea. "We won't hurt them. All we'll have to do is threaten and they'll back down. We'll insist they open up their Castle to Auror inspections – or international ones because it's fairly clear they control the DMLE – and get their Dark magic use exposed and toss them all into Azkaban." He glanced at Daphne. "We might even find your missing granddaughter, Molly, if we're lucky. She's surely brainwashed by now, if she's… if they have her… But we can get her a good mind Healer."

"Would you like more tea?" Daphne asked.

"Thank you, dear," Dumbledore said. He patted her on the hand. "You're a sweet soul."

. . . . . . . . . .

Sometimes a year went by between photographs. Sometimes they arrived merely weeks apart. But until the spring Rose turned eleven, Daphne sent her owls off to 'Rose Weasley, wherever she is' and went on her daily walks and served tea and did laundry. Passive, placid, sad Daphne Weasley. She kept the photographs in a locked box in the back of the laundry room, a place only she went, the box charmed to open only to her voice. When everyone was out, she'd barricade herself behind the bleach and the ironing and pull them out and look at them, one at a time. Rose waving her block. Rose holding on to the hand of a person whose face she couldn't see and taking a careful step. Rose on a broom. Rose blowing out candles on a birthday cake. Rose hugging a kitten. Rose growing up happy and surrounded by love. She was beautiful. She was safe. She was worth every moment stuck in this house, stuck with this family. Worth every night Daphne spent lying under Ron as he pumped away.

At first she'd just pushed him away, then claimed to be afraid they'd have another child and it would be taken too. Finally she'd given up and just lay there, as passive and placid as she was for everything else, as Ron rubbed his face along her skin and told her she was beautiful, as Ron pushed himself into her. As Ron grunted out her name. If she knew he was going to be in the mood, she tried to finger herself in the bathroom ahead of time, thinking of anything and anyone but him, so at least she'd be wet. She'd hoped for a while that her passivity would turn him away, send him off to find a partner more enthusiastic, more responsive. At last she admitted to herself she doubted he knew any better. This was what sex was. It was what it always would be until Tom Riddle told her she was done, when she'd end this marriage.

And, at last, Rose was eleven. She'd be going to Hogwarts in September. Daphne had served out the sentence Tom Riddle had demanded. She'd spied and she'd endured and she'd given him every bit of information she could, all while fading more and more into the ghost of a broken woman she'd pretended to be for so long. At last it was almost over and every day she sent her owls and she walked and she waited for someone to come not to give her one of her treasured photographs but to tell her she could leave.

. . . . . . . . . .

A/N - And so eleven years have passed…

48. Chapter 48

August, 2012

Sirius kicked his feet up onto the table, the old habit designed to irritate his brother done more out of habit now than enmity. Belladonna glowered at him, her brows drawn together in a look so reminiscent of Walburga's it was hard not to laugh at the furious expression on the petite face. Sirius smirked at her and crossed his ankles and the glower grew more pronounced.

"'Donna, go play upstairs," Regulus ordered. The girl stomped out of the room, every step a reminder of just how much she disapproved of everything with her eleven-year-old righteous fervor. Once she'd gone far enough the brothers could pretend she was out of earshot, Regulus said, "Sometimes it's hard to believe all those boys follow her around as if she were a fairy princess."

"I don't seem to bring that out in her," Sirius said.

"No," Regulus agreed. Sirius had never been one of Belladonna's court; for all he doted on his grand-niece he enjoyed tweaking her determined sensibilities too much and cared too little about pleasing her.

Sirius looked at his brother, who'd picked up Belladonna's Hogwarts letter and was passing it from hand to hand. "Time to go school shopping?" he asked.

Regulus nodded. "Neville and Dru are off doing it now," he said. "She got left with me so they could shop in peace without her complaining the robes were too ugly and could they get an ice cream and why not just get the green Slytherin things now because we all know where she's going to be Sorted."

"Her father was in Gryffindor," Sirius said.

"And her favorite uncle," Regulus said.

"Harry?" Sirius asked.

"Don't be ridiculous," Regulus said. "You know who I mean."

Sirius stared at the heavy letter Regulus still passed from hand to hand and then said, somewhat abruptly, "I think you should send her to Beauxbatons."

Regulus stilled. "Why?" he asked.

"You sent Dru there," Sirius said. "She did well. Make it a family tradition."

"Nicely evaded," Regulus said. The brothers looked at one another until the silence grew heavy and at last Sirius sighed.

"I would like to think," he began, as if hunting for the words, "that Hogwarts is a safe place for students."

Regulus pulled his wand out and muffled the sound from the room without any fuss.

"I would like to think," Sirius went on, "That Albus Dumbledore is a good man who puts the safety of the students in his care before any other concern. I would like to think these things, but I would not like to risk Belladonna's life on that assumption."

Regulus seemed to search for something to say and settled on, "I am just the grandfather. I don't have input into where she attends school."

Sirius swore, then said. "Just do it, Reg. I don't trust him. He's making noises about… look, Dumbledore's built his life on… defeating Grindelwald defined him. Made him a hero. I sometimes think he cares more about repeating that with your Tom Riddle than… just don't send her there. "

"She's going," Regulus said. "Dru told me they're all going. The whole lot of the Castle Library kids." He shoved Sirius' feet off the table. "And he's not my Tom Riddle. He may be Dru's, and he's certainly Neville's, but I didn't go about swearing fealty to the man."

"Though you're backing him."

"Though I'm backing him," Regulus agreed.

. . . . . . . . . .

Scorpius took a bite out of the cake and regarded the red-haired sister he adored. "What if we aren't in the same House," he asked her. "What if you forget you're Cassie?"

Rose Weasley, known to all outside the Death Eaters as Scorpius' twin sister Cassandra, snatched the cake out of Scorpius' hand and glared at him. He'd been fussing about worrying about Hogwarts since before their letters had arrived. He'd been worried hers would be addressed to Rose and that the magic disguising her wouldn't hold up when faced with the ancient enchantments that governed Hogwarts. Then he'd latched on to fears that she'd let slip she was really Rose and get into a snit if anyone disparaged her mother and pound on them, especially if they weren't in the same House and he couldn't watch over her.

Rose could be very physical when she was upset.

"I'm not going to betray my mum," Rose said.

"I know you wouldn't on purpose," Scorpius said. "But what if some Order sympathizer says things?"

"Then I'll hex them later," Rose said, thrusting her jaw out. "My mum is living under cover with those awful Order people to help our Lord, and no one gets to say bad things about her."

Astoria stuck her head into the room that had once been called the nursery and now was the children's sitting room. "Are you two ready to go get wands?" she asked. "I took the afternoon off from the Ministry so I could go shopping with you for your first official wands."

"Yes, Mum," Scorpius said.

"Yes, Mum," Rose echoed.

Harry stepped in behind her. "Remember," he said, "this is supposed to be your first wand, so don't let on how much you can do already."

"We know," Scorpius said. "We aren't stupid, Dad."

"The first rule is don't get caught," Rose said, crossing her arms and glowering at two of her parents. "We know."

Harry and Astoria exchanged amused glances. "Oh," Astoria said, "to be eleven and know everything again."

. . . . . . . . . .

They sat around the table or, rather, most of them sat around it. Luna had perched herself on the edge of the heavy, antique oak and was swinging her feet and no one quite dared to tell her to please sit in a chair like a normal person. "So," Draco said. "Hogwarts."

"Why can't we just get rid of him now," Hermione asked, though the question as really more rhetorical and whinging than anything else. For all that Astoria was Minster for Magic, for all they'd infiltrated almost every hall of power, Dumbledore remained wildly popular and influential. Rita Skeeter had just come out with a new biography lauding the man's duel with Grindelwald as the most important event of the century. Hermione hated the book because of the myriad digs at how Dumbledore had made the world better for all those poor, unfortunate Muggle-borns. Harry had disliked the way it held his parents up as a shining example of all that was right with the previous generation, including the way the Muggle-born Lily Potter just adapted so well to the magical world, with the less-than-subtle lament that the current generation didn't quite measure up to their parents. Theo had just said with dismissive contempt that the woman had needed a better editor and didn't know how to use the subjunctive properly.

"It does provide an excellent opportunity to force his hand," Tom said. "It's not like he can really hurt any of the children – "

Pansy snorted at that. Anyone who made the mistake of setting himself against one of the "Castle Crew", a name the children had come up with, was likely to find himself in a bit of a pickle.

Tom gave her a quelling look and continued, " – and we can orchestrate a public conflict where he puts the children of the whole nation at risk in order to further his peculiar vendetta against me."

"Perhaps Rita Skeeter has been useful, after all," Hermione said, tapping her fingers against the table. "If we let the reminiscing about the man's former glory days go on, it will seem more understandable he wants to relive them."

"Dementia?" Neville suggested. "I could arrange it."

"No," Luna said. "I want him aware when he dies."

Everyone looked at her.

"The ring is done," she said. "It took a full decade for the spells to mature and settle into the band, but it's a dead ringer for the Gaunt ring now, and no hint of detective work will reveal it's not the Resurrection Stone."

Tom began to ask how Luna knew his family ring and horcrux contained witin the Resurrection Stone, but decided against it. She'd explain in a way that made his head spin, and that was so rarely worth it.

"It's cursed?" he asked her instead.

She smiled. "He will die by inches, but the strand will not be cut until I so choose."

"Painful?" Pansy asked.

The smile grew. "How do you feel about burning alive, you skin endlessly sizzling, or so it seems, but the nerves never dying, nothing ever ceasing?"

"Any treatments?" Neville asked.

Luna shrugged. "I'm sure he'll try any number of pain potions. Some may even work. I didn't test it."

"Can he just… choose to end it?" Drusilla asked with unusual delicacy.

Luna laced her fingers through Greg's and the couple exchanged a glance. "No," Luna said. "He'll suffer until I decide it has been enough." She nodded at Tom. "Or you command it end, my Lord."

"I think a public disgrace suits us better," Tom said, though he and Hermione had argued about the virtues of just slaughtering the man now the night before. He'd prevailed, but she'd made sure he knew she disagreed with his plan to be dramatic and showy, that she thought it was too risky. "Just killing him might turn him into a martyr and give those Order people a reason to go on. I want to break all of them." How dare they resist me went unspoken but echoed around the room anyway.

"So," Draco said again, "They all go to Hogwarts."

"Even Rose," Harry said, though that worried him. What if the girl who had become their daughter in all but name were snatched by someone determined to reunite her with what they would consider her real father.

"Rose knows she goes in as Cassandra," Astoria said. "She's been charmed to be Cassie, and Cassie she'll be until her mother is freed and lauded as a heroine." She looked at Tom. "Might I be so bold as to ask when that will be?"

Tom glanced at Hermione, who shrugged. "Has she suffered enough for you, my love?" he asked.

"I suppose," Hermione said.

"Then find her a place," Tom said to Astoria. "I think the final battle will be a nice, properly – "

"Dramatic," Hermione said with amusement.

" – time to release her and reunite mother and daughter," Tom continued. "They can fall into one another's arms and weep with joy and we'll spin it that the Weasley clan had kept her cruelly away from her daughter, told her she was dead in order to keep her at their side instead of with the sister who loves her."

"You're such a bastard," Theo said with admiration.

Tom smiled with pleasure. "You've always known me well, Theo," he said.

Drusilla coughed into her hand and at Tom's nod asked, "I hate to be difficult."

Pansy snorted. Whenever Drusilla said she hated to be difficult, she inevitably was.

"But why are we sending them to Hogwarts at all? I glanced through Belladonna's books and all the children are ahead."

"More than ahead, I'd hope," Theo said.

"We did have an extra year," Pansy said. She and Theo had opted to hold the twins back so they could start with the rest of their friends and cousins. She'd written a pretty letter to Dumbledore, with a Healer's note attached, saying that because of their small size at birth they'd always been developmentally behind and needed an extra year for their magic to mature enough to be ready for formal instruction. They cried when I said they couldn't go to Ollivander's yet, she'd written, but I really think it's for the best. Neville remembers being behind because his own magic took longer than most to really blossom and I'm sure you recall the struggle he had at school.

Dumbledore had graciously agreed that the twins should start a year later, and so Pansy and Theo had let them spend their extra year dogging Tom and Hermione while they tried not to laugh at the way Tom vacillated between hating children and enjoying their total lack of moral inhibitions. Laurel would probably be the first student to start Hogwarts who could do a wandless Imperious curse, a trick she mostly used on her twin brother.

"Exactly," Drusilla said to Theo's comment. "They're quite a bit more than ahead, so why send them off to live in a castle with this Headmaster of yours."

"It's not about the education," Hermione said. "It's about making friends."

"They have friends," Drusilla said. Her arch look suggested her very Black opinion that everyone at Hogwarts who wasn't already one of the Castle Crew was beneath her daughter's notice, probably had poor personal hygiene, and would be lucky to get a job scrubbing Muggle toilets upon graduation. "They don't need more."

"Followers, then," Tom said. "They need devoted little lackeys who will think that a room shared at the age of fifteen means they're confidants."

"They won't be," Pansy said.

"They might want to date," Neville said. "I understand once they get a little older, that will be a pressing concern."

Pansy sniffed. As far as she was concerned, Laurel belonged with Scorpius and Thadeus with Rose and cradle betrothals might be old fashioned but weren't traditional values something the Death Eaters stood for?

"They're going," Tom said, and that was final. He did rather love Hogwarts, a sentimental streak that only Harry seemed to rival.

"Well, if we're done," Pansy said, "I do have to go school shopping. I left the twins with the third nanny of this year, and - "

"Grandma not available?" Drusilla asked. A laugh went round the table. Pansy had cut her mother apart within in days of childbirth. They'd all made their horcruxes but she'd let her mother beg for days, having babies brought to her to nurse in between torture sessions, before finally killing the woman and creating the horcrux that now hung around her neck.

"Sadly, no," Pansy said. "But if I don't get back soon, the nanny might not be available anymore either."

Another laugh and the meeting broke up.

. . . . . . . . .

Hermione took the strawberry Tom handed her and popped it into her mouth. "Showtime," she said.

"Well," he said, "Not quite yet."

Hermione shrugged and reached a hand out to tuck one of the curls that tended to fall down into his eyes back behind an ear. He caught her fingers, brought them to his mouth, and pressed his lips into her palm. "A good day?" he asked her.

She laughed. "I suppose," she said. "The old Potions book Harry found has a lot of errors in it, and we blew up the lab and lost three of the Muggles - "

"Lost?" Tom quirked an eyebrow up.

"When the scalding potion splattered around the room some of them were hit," she said.

"And you didn't heal them?" Tom pretended to tsk.

"Well," Hermione said, "we did discover that the flesh-eating element of the Potion worked just fine, even if adding a shrivelfig made it unstable."

Tom tugged her closer to him and dropped a kiss onto her shoulder. "Flesh-eating has potential," he said but Hermione made a face. It was the fifth flesh-eating potion they'd catalogued that year. Not every Potioneer who developed a taste for Dark work was the creative type and many of them were quite stupid. Tom saw the grimace and laughed. "It could be worse," he said.

"I could be Daphne?" Hermione asked. "Married to Ron? Molly as a mother-in-law?"

Tom's smile tweaked up. "That would be unthinkable," he said.

"Though," Hermione said, the words seemingly dragged out of her. "Speaking of mother-in-laws, yours is moving to Australia for retirement and I promised we'd be at the send off."

The look Tom gave her was murderous.

. . . . . . . . . .

A/N - Many thanks to Mags0607, who read through this for me and made suggestions on how to improve it, and to Shayalonnie, who alpha reads all the things.

If there are plot lines you particularly want to see addressed, or questions you'd like to see answered in this third and final section of the fic, please let me know.

49. Chapter 49

"So, what did you say you do these days, Tom?" Helen asked.

Hermione's fingers tightened on the stem of her organic wine and she smiled even as her narrowed eyes signaled to her husband that he had better come up with an edited answer. Tom, however, had his most charming mask on and almost radiated trustworthiness as he launched into an explanation of how he worked in wizarding government. "Not as a bureaucrat, you understand," he said. "I head a think-tank of policy analysts."

"What are your, well, positions?" she asked. Then she laughed, "Not that I'd understand your politics, mind. I barely follow our own."

Tom's smile glittered. "We're a bit of a mix," he said. "We're trying to eradicate some prejudice that's been baked into the culture against people like your daughter - "

"Muggle-borns," Helen said.

"That's right," Tom agreed. "But, in many ways, we're quite conservative. Less government regulation. A return to a time when we trusted people to use common sense to govern themselves instead of having endless Ministry offices making little lists of this thing being forbidden and that thing requiring a permit and the thing resulting in a fine." He took a sip of his own wine and smiled. "And we're doing research into extending the average lifespan. I think we've made some fair progress there."

Hermione's father laughed and a round of predictable jokes were made that it was easier to stave off death than taxes.

"And Hermione?" Helen turned to her daughter. "You've never had children. I was so concerned that would upset you, but you seem to be happy."

Hermione swallowed her retort along with the sip of truly awful Chardonnay she took to give herself time. It didn't matter how many articles she published on Potions, all of which she forwarded to her mother. It didn't matter she was regularly asked to give talks on her advances in magical charm development, all of which she told her parents about. It didn't matter she was a bloody light in her field, described by some as the sharpest mind to work in magical research in a generation. All that mattered was that she hadn't done what any cow in a field could do: push out a baby. "I was attacked right after I finished Hogwarts," she said. "The curse rendered me infertile, remember?"

"They do really amazing things these days," Helen said. "You could go to hospital - a regular one, not one of yours - and they might be able to - "

"I'm really very happy the way I am," Hermione said.

Tom hooked a hand under her elbow and she leaned into the touch. "We consider all our friends' children honorary nieces and nephews," he said.

"You could adopt," Helen suggested. "I thought heirs were a big thing in your magic world. That's all that Draco boy could talk about when you brought him by. His wife was having his heir and then he could make her lucks, which didn't make a lot of sense, to be honest, and I chalked it up to his being a little tired with a pregnant wife at home, but he did seem a little fixated."

Her lucks? Hermione mouthed at Tom as her mother turned to pick another cracker and slice of cheese off the platter she'd set out.

Horcrux, he mouthed back, and Hermione rolled her eyes. Trust Draco to talk about some the Darkest magic to her parents. You couldn't let him out without a keeper, some days. She adored him, but he could be ridiculous.

"Well," Hermione said as her mother turned back to face them, "That's Draco. He fixates, and the Malfoys do rather obsess over their family line." She glanced back up at Tom, who had the amused smirk he got on his face whenever anyone talked about heirs. Immortality rendered heirs a bit of a moot point for him, and he did love his immortality, and hers. Children were loud and messy and frequently sticky. In the case of Belladonna, they were also sometimes prone to setting things on fire and smiling beatifically as adults tried to get the fiendfyre out. Tom admitted to being charmed by that one quirk, though he refused to babysit ever again because taking away her practice wand had no effect on Bella's casting skills and she gave him a headache.

"What do you plan to do in Australia?" Tom asked. "We keep meaning to go and visit some of the dreamwalkers but life keeps getting in the way."

"We have time," Hermione said.

"We do," he agreed. "All the time in the world."

. . . . . . . . . .

Astoria Malfoy, Minister for Magic, kissed her son and her niece on the cheeks, despite their squirming, and then gave them each a little shove toward the train. Two of her many assistants stood several feet back, one pretending not to be a bodyguard, one not bothering with pretense. Some woman named Marlene McKinnon had fought her way into the Ministry just the week before, screaming that the Minister was a Dark Witch and people needed to listen to the Order of the Phoenix. It had taken three Aurors to subdue her and she'd gotten off a final curse as she lay bleeding out on the marble floor.

She'd been brave, and powerful, and foolhardy, and now she was dead. Draco had spent an hour swearing and pacing as he ranted that she could have died. It had been Harry who'd finally calmed him down by asking, one eyebrow raised, had Draco gone and destroyed his wife's horcrux, because that was really quite rude.

Harry put a hand on her shoulder now as she sent her children off to a school run by the man who'd wound that poor Marlene woman up and pointed her at them. "They'll be fine," he said. "The twins are already on the train, and Belladonna's arguing with Neville about something out on the road, but she and Helios will be there too. Nothing's going to happen to any of them."

Astoria forced a smile to her face. It might have been a bit tremulous, but she turned the wattage up to her usual, blinding charm when a photographer from the Prophet snapped a shot to run. She could see it now. Weeks After Assassination Attempt, Minister Sends Twin Children to Hogwarts.

"Are you nervous, ma'am," the reporter asked, shoving himself into her personal space. Draco stepped closer, his fists opening and closing. "Your only children, right? Scorpius and Cassandra?"

Astoria raised her hand to send a happy wave to Rose and Scorpius as they stood in the doorway of the train. They waved back, and then disappeared into the belly of the metal beast, swallowed up by the first step into adulthood.

"Why would I be nervous?" she asked. "Isn't Hogwarts the safest place in all of Britain?"

The reporter flushed a little. "Just," he stammered, "After the incident with Ms. McKinnon, I mean,.."

Draco set a hand on her shoulder and she stood there, flanked by the pair of them, Draco on one side, Harry on the other. "If you're privy to information that there could be a risk at Hogwarts, you should divulge that."

"I would consider you personally responsible if I discovered you knew something - anything - about Hogwarts that would put children at risk and didn't say anything," Harry said.

"Mr. Potter," the reporter nearly cooed, "you are such a close friend of the Malfoys, does it bother you that your parents defended Ms. McKinnon's actions?"

Astoria's smile became much cooler. "Harry is indeed my very best friend," she said. "Other than my husband, I trust him above all others."

"My parents are unfortunately under the impression that Tom Riddle, whose research company I work for, is a Dark wizard," Harry said. His smile never faltered as he stared down the reporter. "Apparently the work our firm has done, coming up with things like Neville's medical breakthroughs, means we must be evil."

"You shared that treatment at no cost," Astoria protested.

"We're all wealthy," Harry said. "None of Tom's… well, I hate to use the word employees, it doesn't quite get the right feel for our relationship."

"Cohorts?" Draco suggested.

Harry shrugged, "None of us need to earn a living, and making money off the suffering of children when we could alleviate it seems immoral, don't you agree?"

"Still," the reporter pressed, "your relationship with your parents must be strained."

"It is," Harry acknowledged, "but I hardly think that has bearing on anything outside awkward family dinners." He looked past the reporter to the train, where Rose had stuck her head outside a window, breaking at least three rules, and was waving frantically. His smile became genuine and he waved back.

When the reporter left, Astoria tipped her head toward the waving girl. "Do you regret not having one of your own?" she asked.

Harry stiffened a little. "Since when are she and Scorp not mine?" he asked. "Who taught her to fly a broom?"

"Technically, that was me," Draco said.

Harry snorted. "You bought her a broom," he said. "Then she fell off and cried and you panicked and yelled at her and I spent the next two days holding her as she rode around the back gardens."

"Still," Astoria said.

Harry shook his head. "Best part of my parents being so vocally anti-Tom is that he didn't decide I needed to go make a Potter heir to placate them the way you both had to." He grinned. "Can you imagine me with a wife?"

"I can't imagine myself with a wife," Draco said, "Yet here we are."

Astoria smacked him on the arm and, laughing, the three of them left to have lunch before she returned to the Ministry and they both apparated back to the Castle to test some new Potions that Hermione thought might work as a counter-agent to Felix Felicis.

. . . . . . . . . .

With their daughter off to Hogwarts, Neville and his wife had agreed to join his parents for dinner. Drusilla had put on her highest heels and her tightest corset and looked like the whore they considered her. Neville licked his lips before they apparated out of their own home. "You," he said, "are Muggle sin personified."

Muggles frequently invoked their gods when being tortured to death and they had all learned more than they cared to about sin and hell.

Drusilla tossed her hair and smirked at him.

Neville appeared to be considering the myriad assaults he could wage upon her body before he sighed and muttered, "Family duty calls," and they left to spend an evening discussing his medical research as his mother tried to convince him to leave 'that monster' and get a good, steady job at St. Mungo's.

The evening, already slated to be unpleasant, became more so when Frank Longbottom shook his son's hand, frowned at Drusilla, and then introduced them to a dumpy looking woman seated in the middle of the couch. She had frizzy hair, and sensible shoes, and a cold smile that got colder when she ran her eyes over Drusilla. "I don't think you've ever met our old friend, Dorcas," Frank said. "We were all friends back at Hogwarts and we've been meeting up again regularly."

"Oh," Drusilla said. She settled down on the edge of a chair, her spine straight as only tight lacings could make it. "Are you an Auror as well?"

"No," Dorcas said, but she declined to elaborate.

Neville flicked a glance at his mother, who said, "Dorcas is a bit of an independent researcher."

"Like Hermione?" Drusilla asked.

"Nothing like her," Dorcas said. "The antithesis, really."

"Pity," Drusilla said. "I quite like Hermione."

"We all do," Neville said.

Alice steered the conversation to charms research Dorcas was doing for the Unspeakable division of the Ministry, and the way runes could be integrated into charm work to intensify the effects. Drusilla laughed when Neville said he was aware of the way the two fields could play off one another and Alice glared at her.

"It's just," Drusilla said, controlling herself as if with effort, "this is all work that Tom did years ago. Maybe you should read some of his publications, what was that one that came out last year, Nev?"

"Only working with light magic changes the work," Dorcas said. The words hung there, a challenge in the air, and Neville forced a tight smile to his face.

"Does it?" he asked. "I guess I was always considered so… weak... at magic I never really paid much attention to - "

"You are not weak." Alice almost exploded. "Neville, if those people are telling you that you're weak if you don't use Dark magic, that's not true. We can help you. You can work with Dorcas, turn that mind of yours... you saved children, Neville. Your work is inherently so good, you don't belong with the Malfoys and the Notts and that awful Hermione Granger, and - "

"I think we need to be going." Neville stood up and held his hand out for Drusilla. "Thank you for inviting us, mother, but I suddenly remembered a pressing engagement."

"They've made you think you're weak without them." Alice was nearly crying now as Drusilla took Neville's arm and watched the scene play out in front of her. "You aren't what they say you are."

"You made me think I was weak," Neville corrected her. "Hermione was the first one who saw me as valuable. Tom was the second. Am I not?"

"Son," Frank began.

"It was lovely to meet you, Dorcas," Neville said. "So sorry this little drama had to play out in front of you. Do send me some of your research. I'd love to look it over."

"I'm sure the way charms and runes combine in that mark on your arm make the subject of particular interest," Dorcas said. She picked up a glass of white wine that had been sitting, untouched, in front of her since he had come in. "I was so sorry to hear about your Uncle Algie's death. Is that his watch you're wearing?"

"It is," Neville said. "Drusilla?"

"At your service," she said, and they were gone.

Back at home, they looked at one another. "She's trouble," Drusilla said.

Neville nodded. "Put on something more comfortable," he ordered. "We need to go see Tom and that corset may get in the way of assassination."

. . . . . . . . . .

Theo looked up from the article on historical wand regulation and its connection to government overreach and sighed at his wife. "Pansy," he said, "it's the first day. Nothing can possibly have gone wrong yet."

She turned and pointed a perfectly manicured nail at him, about to launch into an explanation of the many, many things that could, and did, go wrong at Hogwarts, but then she sighed and went back to pacing from the window to the bookcase and back again. At last she said, "It's not like we can make any more. If he does something… why does Luna have to drag things out? And Tom, too. We could just go up there, kill that doddering fool, and be done with it."

Theo made a mark on the parchment and then set the quill down. "You know why we can't," he said. "The man's a beloved hero. We have to see him utterly disgraced."

"Plus, Hermione has some thing about him and Grindelwald."

Theo made a face. Picturing the elderly wizard young and doing things with Grindelwald was enough to turn a man's stomach. Though, the thought of things did make his mind consider he could be doing those same things, or near enough, with Pansy. He cocked an eyebrow up in what he hoped was a seductive smirk but after over decade of marriage, she only scowled. "Not until we get an owl that everything is fine."

He said, slowly, "You told the children to owl us?"

"How can I forward appropriate House regalia if I don't know what to shop for?" Pansy asked, her hands on her hips and her jaw thrust forward. "I didn't want to get two of everything."

"I don't think you'd have needed to get Hufflepuff for Laurel," Theo said. "I have trouble picturing her in the nice house."

When the owl arrived, Pansy almost fell over her heels in her eagerness to snatch the note away from the bird. Theo handed the creature a snack and rubbed the top of its head while Pansy read.

"Laurel's in Slytherin," she said.

"That's my girl," Theo said.

"And Thadeus is in Hufflepuff."

Theo blinked a few times at that and then shrugged; it was probably best for him to be away from his sister, anyway, and he did like to sneak to the kitchens as often as possible. "Did they mention any of the rest of the crew?"

Pansy nodded, her eyes skimming over the letter. "Bella's in Ravenclaw. Helios is in Hufflepuff with Thadeus -"

"That's good."

" - Scorpius is in Slytherin - "

"Naturally. Malfoy."

" - and Rose is in Gryffindor."

"Cassandra," Theo said automatically but he raised his eyes to Pansy's and they exchanged worried looks. She was the only one of the lot of them in Gryffindor. It made sense. Weasleys were always sorted to that House, and the magic they'd used to hide the girl only went so deep. "I'm sure it will be fine," he said.

"Right," Pansy said. "Fine."

. . . . . . . . . .

After Neville had left, Tom turned to Hermione. "We kill her," he said.

"We do," she agreed. Then she sighed. "But not this week. We have the conference in Paris and then we finally have that meeting with Grindelwald next month and we need to get ready for it."

Tom almost snapped the quill he had in his hand in frustrated rage but he mustered the control to set it down on the desk with precision so careful it became meticulous, even fussy. "I hope this meeting with Grindelwald bears fruit."

"Even if it doesn't," Hermione said, "this Dorcas Meadowes will still be here when we get back."

"I plan to take care of her personally," Tom said. He smiled at Hermione. "I'm bored. Everything's going so well. I need to hurt someone to keep my skills sharp."

. . . . . . . . . .

A/N - Alpha/Beta love to Shayalonnie and Mags0607. Thank you both! Thanks also to the many people who ask questions about the story; you shape future chapters with your insights!

50. Chapter 50

October, 2012

Tom looped an arm around Hermione and smiled as she curved herself against his side as though she were seeking his protection in the big, scary prison. It was, he had to admit, a deliberately intimidating place. The lighting was too bright and artificial, the chairs purposefully uncomfortable. The guards smirked and glowered and insolently ran their eyes up and down Hermione.

"Shall I?" he asked, as the third guard eyed her like a cheap lolly he planned to lick before shutting the door and leaving them in the room to wait for Grindelwald.

"Already done," she murmured back, her head tipped against his shoulder and her mouth right at his ear. "Their eyes will start to itch and burn in a few hours. Rubbing it will make it worse, and, unless they have the self-control to keep their hands away from the pain, by morning they'll be oozing."

"Their hands?" Tom asked.

She laughed at that. "Their eyes," she said. "And after oozing comes swelling, and then their eyes will be too large for the sockets and seek to escape any way possible. The road to blindness will be painful and visually unappealing."

Tom felt her snuggle against him. "Poetic," he said. "I sense the influence of Luna."

Grindelwald appeared at the other end of the bright visiting chamber, hands shoving him through the door. He stumbled a few steps before regaining his balance and straightening so he could regard the youthful pair waiting for him. He and Tom took one another's measure with the long, slow gaze you might find in a pair of dogs circling before one darted in to attack. Grindelwald's eyes shifted to Hermione and he bowed his head. "Manners have slipped since I was a child," he said. "In my day, we introduced ladies."

Tom stiffened at the rebuke. Manners remained something he insisted upon as much as he could, pointing out that they were the great divide between man and beast whenever anyone quibbled with him.

"Hermione," Tom said, "I'm sure you've heard of Gellert Grindelwald. Grindelwald, this is my wife, Hermione Riddle."

Hermione held a hand out toward the older wizard, who laughed at the order of the introduction even as he bowed over it as well as he could in his chains. "Enchanted, my dear. You nearly vibrate with power. Tell me what possessed the fools who run this place to permit you past the door?"

"Money," she said. She waved him to a seat and, following her invitation and command, he lowered himself to the hard, metal chair as though he were a king and it a throne. "People lose what little wisdom they possess when you make large enough cash payments."

Gellert Grindelwald laughed at that and under the ravaged face of the prisoner appeared a hint of the charismatic man who'd charmed Dumbledore, and everyone else, l so long ago. "What brings you to my humble abode?" he asked them. "I'd offer refreshments, but I'm a bit restrained at the moment."

And then Tom started the interrogation. What had the man planned? What had he learned? What about the Elder Wand?

"Dumbledore has it," Grindelwald said. His eyes glinted a bit as he added, "Assuming he hasn't been defeated."

Tom had postured and used the threat that always lurked behind his eyes for anyone with wit to see to pull answers from Grindelwald. It was Hermione who leaned forward and asked, "How much do you want freedom?"

"Not enough to become a slave," Grindelwald said. He flicked a glance to her forearm. "I've heard a bit about how the pair of you work. News like that travels, even to prisons."

"Especially to prisons?" Hermione asked.

Grindelwald made the tiniest of shrugs, acknowledging the eternal truth that captives of one sort or another found ways to pass information. Whispers as they passed in the line at meals, notes written on the wrappers of fags, the banging of old pipes. Prisoners always knew things.

"Not everyone takes the Mark," Hermione said. Tom made a noise and Hermione waved a hand irritably at him to make him be quiet, adding, "I've never doubted Regulus' loyalty and he has opted to remain a supporter and not an acolyte." Tom grunted an acknowledgement, though he tended to consider Drusilla a hostage to her father's good behavior. Regulus' adoration of the chit was well known.

"I would want a shot at Albus," Grindelwald said into their silence. The condition sat there, the first step in a negotiation and Hermione smiled. They had him. All that was left was working out the details.

"You'd have to work that out with Luna," Hermione said. "But I have no objection."

"We have no objection," Tom corrected her.

All three of them smiled as they began to sidle toward agreement.

. . . . . . . . .

Draco passed a jar of marmalade to his wife and shook his head over the note from Hermione She and Tom had gotten what they wanted from Grindelwald and she planned a quick stop in Australia on the way home to say hello to her parents and see how they were settling into their retirement. Draco assumed Tom would be gritting his teeth through that one. Two visits, one right after the other, with the Muggle in-laws. If one ever doubted whether Tom adored his wife, his willingness to visit her parents would clear that confusion away.

"What is it?" Astoria asked as she began to spread the orange treat on her toast. "Problems?"

"No," Draco drew the word out. "It's just… has it ever struck you as weird that Hermione's parents are just like real people." He shook his head. "I never would have expected that."

Astoria shrugged and took a bite of her breakfast.

. . . . . . . . . .

Rose Weasley, known to most as Cassandra Malfoy, stepped inside the headmaster's door. "You wanted to see me, sir?" she asked

Albus Dumbledore twinkled at the girl and waved her to a seat. She took it, perching her eleven-year-old body on the edge of the ancient leather and looked from the elderly headmaster to the two women she'd never met before. The ginger woman, already faded from what had probably been considerable beauty despite being in only her late twenties or early thirties, looked at her curiously. Rose's eyes flickered for a moment when she saw the second woman but she tucked that flutter away and kept her face a mask of neutral curiosity.

"Miss Malfoy," Albus Dumbledore said, "I'd like you to meet your… aunt. Daphne Weasley."

Rose nodded at the pale woman. "Pleased to make your acquaintance," she said.

"Mrs. Weasley," Dumbledore said, "is it possible this girl is your daughter?"

Silence hung over the room for a moment, and then Daphne started to cry. Great, wracking sobs shook her body and she doubled over and wrapped her arms around her waist and began to keen. Rose pulled back a little from the sight, and Ginny lay a consoling hand on Daphne's shoulder. "How could you?" she hissed at Dumbledore. She turned to the tiny girl and explained, apology in every syllable she uttered, "Your cousin Rose was kidnapped as a child and we assume she's… she's not with us any more."

Rose nodded, wide-eyed.

Ginny flashed an apologetic look at Rose before letting her ire loose on Dumbledore. "You know Daphne's been lost since her daughter disappeared. You just bring her in here and parade some girl in front of her like some kind of torture." Dumbledore spread his hands out to try to appease the woman but it was too late. "When I think that I trusted you I could go back in time and slap myself. Do you think we don't know about her sister's children? How stupid do you think we are?"

"I'm sorry," Rose said. It wasn't clear what she was apologizing for, but in a room filled with adult hatreds and griefs it seemed like the only thing to say.

Dumbledore leaned toward the women as if he could compel them to listen to him. "Didn't you ever wonder why no one talked about Astoria Malfoy having twins until the children were several months old?"

Ginny's mouth twisted into an incredulous frown. "No," she said. "Multiple pregnancies are risky. My own mum didn't talk about Fred and George until she was sure they were both healthy and going to survive."

"No one wants to spend her life having people sorry for her that her child died," Daphne said.

"I'm sorry," Rose said again.

Daphne looked at her, her eyes desperate and sad under Dumbledore's assessing gaze. "Don't apologize, Cassandra," she said, the words catching on something in her throat. "You're perfect."

"She's right," Ginny said. "This… cruelty isn't your fault."

"Can I go back to class?" Rose asked.

"You don't have anything you'd like to say?" Dumbledore asked her.

Rose gulped. "I have a test later this week, sir," she said. "I'm not sure what you want from me."

"Go," Daphne said. Rose's eyes flew to her face and she added, "Your education is important."

"Maybe you and Mum could reconcile?" Rose asked. "We could meet?"

"Maybe someday," Daphne said. "I hope."

After she shut the door Rose stood on the step and listened. She didn't dare cast any spells, not even wordlessly, so she had to strain her ears. Even through the heavy wood she could hear Ginevra Weasley lay into the headmaster. She thought that she wouldn't want to be on the wrong end of that tongue but she was glad someone could defend her mother to that man. It wasn't enough, though. She'd already hated Dumbledore on principle just because her parents did. Half-heard conversations had let her know that he was the only real opposition to the Dark Lord, the beloved man who rubbed his forehead in exhaustion when Belladonna set the curtains on fire for the fifth time and told her father in mock irritation that she was worse than a tiny dragon with the way you could follow where she'd been by the scorch marks.

Dumbledore was why her mother was working undercover. He was why she was so sad and scared.

Rose cast one last look of loathing mixed with pride for what her mother was enduring for their cause behind her before she went to class.

. . . . . . . . . .

Harry kissed Hermione's cheek before she pulled out a chair and unfolded the napkin onto her lap. "How was Paris?" he asked.

She made an exasperated sound, waved a server over and placed a rapid order for tea and biscuits and had the chef made any of that potato soup today? - No? - Oh, that was too bad, she'd have a beetroot salad then. Then she had a sip of water before answering his question. "It was fine," she said. "Not a lot of progress in the time studies, which was frustrating. It was mostly mingling with people who want things. Everyone has their hand in your pocket."

Harry snorted out his agreement. His friendship with Astoria meant an endless stream of people who wanted him to talk to the Minister about their brilliant idea.

"You and Tom okay?" he asked.

"Always," Hermione said. "You and Draco?"

"He's the most aggravating person I've ever known," Harry said. "Did you know he bought our daughter a forty-five-galleon Morgana costume? What little girl needs a forty-five-galleon costume?"

Hermione laughed. "Yep," she said. "You two are okay."

. . . . . . . . . .

Albus Dumbledore shut the door of his office and looked at Dorcas Meadowes. She studied the bleak look in his eyes. "That bad?" she asked.

He picked up a little silver ball that usually hovered between two wires on his desk and passed it from hand to hand. The tinkling it made when it moved was supposed to soothe the soul. He didn't think it worked, but maybe the flaw was in him rather than the magic. "I'm not a good man, Dorcas," he said at last.

She sat down at that and began to protest his claim. "You are the best man I've ever known."

He stopped her. "I've done cruel things," he said. "I've betrayed people who trusted me because I thought it was for the best, that it was better to let one life go. I had to save the world." The soft noises of the ball woke one of the portraits, and the man in it stirred to life and regarded the meeting with a curious eye. "I've told myself that many times."

"No one is perfect," Dorcas said. "But Grindelwald - "

"Yes," he said. "Grindelwald." The name sat heavily on his tongue.

"He would have done terrible things," Dorcas said.

"Maybe." He'd certainly told himself that. Gellhert had certainly planned that. Would it have happened? Who could see the future? Prophecy was uncertain at best. "I wonder, and now I wonder about Tom Riddle. Did I destroy a girl for no reason?"

Dorcas didn't know what he was talking about, of course. He'd sent Ginevra Weasley into that den, and she'd come back a different woman. He'd killed that boy, that stupid boy. All while telling himself any price was worth it to stop Tom Riddle.

"The research you asked me to do," she said. "That Mark he's burned into their arms. I've spotted it on Alice's son, and the Nott boy, and his wife."

"The Malfoys?" Dumbledore asked. "The Minister?"

"I haven't been able to see," she said, "but they socialize in a way Riddle doesn't with anyone other than his inner circle." She looked up at him. "They let him near their children."

Dumbledore nodded. He'd assumed as much from the moment Draco Malfoy had trailed off to Wales, following that curse from the past, his grey eyes glinting with the prospect of power he believed he'd earned via his own merits instead of inherited from a corrupt father. He'd watched the faded Daphne for years with hopes she could bring him intelligence about her sister but whenever you tried to talk to her she evaporated before your eyes. Ginny, likewise, went pale when she was questioned about the Death Eaters. Her shoulders would fold forward and her chin would lower. Broken, both of them.

"We need to stop him," Dumbledore said. "Will no one rid us of this troublesome wizard?"

. . . . . . . . . . .

Family Day at Hogwarts began as one of those perfectly crisp autumn days. The sky stretched out as an endless sheet of blue and leaves snapped and bit under the well-shod feet of parents strolling the paths of their old school. Draco looped an arm around Astoria as Harry walked at their side. They could see the blond heads of their children running toward them from the castle. Other children walked with affected nonchalance, afraid of being embarrassed by all the old people with their ridiculous fashion choices and their ignorance of important fads, but the Malfoy twins still adored their parents.

Draco bent down as Rose flung himself into her arms. "How's my girl?" he asked.

"He knows," she whispered in his ear. "Dumbledore knows. Daddy, what do I do?"

He glanced at Harry, who ruffled her hair. "Don't I get a hug?" he asked. And the five of them took a minute to pass kisses around, Scorpius trying to look sophisticated by pressing his lips to the back of his mother's hand, while Rose just hung on them all as if she felt safe for the first time since she'd arrived at school.

They'd barely finished their greetings, and no one had formed an answer for Rose, when McGonagall walked up. "Minister Malfoy," she said. "It's a pleasure to see you. Your daughter is a credit to her House."

Astoria tucked a hand on Rose's shoulder. "We've always been proud of Cassandra," she said. "She means the world to me. I'd do anything for her."

"Still doing Family Day," Draco said. At McGonagall's curious look he added, "Hermione let me know how exclusionary it was. Keeping the Muggle-borns out of the fun, and all, since their parents can't come. I'd have thought you'd have shifted policy."

"Hermione Granger doesn't dictate Hogwarts policy," Minerva McGonagall said. "Neither does the Ministry."

Astoria didn't rise to that bait. She just ruffled Scorpius' hair and said, "Hogwarts has always operated quite free of government oversight. I've been meaning to ask if you'd be interested in setting up a time for someone to come in and chat, however. People have been raising concerns about falling O.W.L. scores and your ongoing refusal to expand the curriculum and perhaps, well, not a hearing, of course, but just a casual conference."

"I'll owl you," McGonagall said with narrowed lips.

"Riddle," Harry said.

"I beg your pardon?" McGonagall turned to the man who stood rather lazily at Draco's side. He'd been whispering something to Cassandra while the other adults talked and she had a somewhat shaky smile on her face.

Harry's smile was far steadier. "Her name," he said, "is Hermione Riddle."

. . . . . . . . . .

A/N - Obviously, Dumbledore's comment to Dorcas is quick allusion to Henry II's famous, "Who will rid me of this troublesome priest?" question about Thomas Becket. I couldn't resist the Tom connection.

Many thanks to wildrosemage, apple2019, & cocoartistwrites, who beta read and brit picked this chapter as well as to Shayalonnie, who alpha reads. Remaining problems are, of course, my fault.

51. Chapter 51

November, 2012

"Have you read this?"

Ron looked up at his mother. Molly had tossed The Daily Prophet down in a rage that seemed out of proportion to anything that could have been printed in the paper. He pulled the folded pages across the table and tried to focus on the article as Daphne filled his coffee.

"Thank you, love," he said. He ran a hand over the arse that hadn't spread in all their years of marriage and patted it before he skimmed the paper. He could see why his mother was upset. His own jaw tightened as he read the first few paragraphs, and by the end he was grinding his teeth.

Albus Dumbledore is remembered for his long-ago defeat of the Dark wizard Gellhert Grindelwald, and rightly so, but has he lived up to that promise in his later years? As O.W.L. scores drop, some worry that the renowned scholar considers Hogwarts little more than a laboratory for his personal research projects. "Dumbledore isn't ever around," one first year student told The Prophet, on the promise of confidentiality. "I thought the school Headmaster had to do things with the school, but he's always off doing more important stuff."

Dumbledore could not be reached for comment.

The article went on at some length, cataloguing Dumbledore's many contributions to scientific research, all while implying that that research had been done at the expense of the students he was supposed to be shepherding toward adulthood.

Can Magical Britain afford to have our students shortchanged in this way? Other wizarding schools have broader curriculums that better prepare their youth for a changing world. With the fall off in student performance, perhaps it's time we rethink the way we educate.

"Disgusting," Ron said. "Dumbledore is a great man."

Molly nodded, pleased to have her own opinions echoed back at her. "Broader curriculums," she said with a derisive sniff. "Teaching the Dark Arts is what that means." She slammed her cup down for emphasis. "I'd tell Fred and George to pull their children from that school and teach them at home if they opened the door to filth like that."

Ron agreed and he and his mother, and eventually Ginny, spent the morning enjoying how much they all agreed with one another as Daphne began to clean up the breakfast dishes then left for one of her silent walks.

. . . . . . . . . .

"Constant vigilance."

Alastor Moody looked at the class of first years. He knew it was a cliche, but every year they really did seem smaller and more innocent and less likely to ever see Dark Arts. He'd insisted the junior years classes be combined and Dumbledore had agreed; he just didn't have the stamina any longer to teach four separate sessions for every year, or even two. It meant the classes were large, but they paid attention as much as ever had, which wasn't much.

The Nott twins were finally here. They'd begged off the year before, their mother claiming they'd been born small and were behind their peers and that they needed another year to grow up before they'd be able to handle the magical rigors of Hogwarts. They were certainly small, if the first one was anything to go by. The stool she perched on almost swallowed the tiny girl. He glanced back at his class list. Laurel. Long dark hair framed eyes too big for her face and she held her wand like she still wasn't used to its feel in his hands. Maybe they should have kept her back another year. Her twin had gravitated to her side. Thadeus had thick hands who looked like he'd never turned down a treacle tart. He even had a smear of something on the yellow of his school robes.

Scorpius and Cassandra Malfoy, the other set of twins in this year, had likewise returned to one another's sides. Alastor supposed it was odd to be separated from a person who was your other half, but he spared them no sympathy. The world was a hard place and the children of the Minister for Magic surely knew that by now. The girl's hair flickered between a blonde that mirrored her brother's and a Weasley ginger and Alastor turned his magical eye on it for a moment before he snorted. Someone had charmed her hair to hide the red. Trust the Malfoys to be embarrassed by anyone who dared to sport anything other than their usual platinum. He made a note to remember that. What else were they hiding?

A slip of a girl with pale skin and dark grey eyes walked in, barely not late. "Miss Longbottom," Moody said.

She smiled at him. "Professor," she said. "It's Black."

The brown skinned boy with curly hair following her like a puppy laughed. Moody looked down at his class list again. That one must be Helios with the unfortunate hyphenated last name. He found that practice ridiculous, though the girl who had her mother's last name instead of her father's was worse. In his day that was something to be ashamed of, proof of bastardy, but this minx announced her name as though she were proud of it.

"Sit down," Moody said. How had his life come to this? He'd retired from the Ministry and thought he'd prepare the next generations to fight against the Dark Arts but none of these babies had ever seen a curse darker than a jelly-legs jinx, and they never would. Their parents, who had no respect for tradition and twisted their last names into absurd mouthfuls, were politicians and researchers. The world was filled with politicians and shopkeepers and housewives and there wasn't a place for soldiers any longer. He decided he'd retire for good after this year. He was done.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

Tom knocked on the door and when the woman opened it he smiled his toothiest grin at her. Hermione had to keep from sighing in exasperation as he asked Dorcas Meadowes whether she planned to invite them in or not. She seemed taken aback at the question and studied him and his tousled black curls and cruel eyes. He studied her in turn. She had a clever face and good hair that, despite the casual ponytail she'd tied it into, she was surely vain about. Lean arms and a stance that could erupt into orchestrated violence suggested she wasn't only good at reading. This would be even more fun than he had expected.

"Why would I invite someone like you into my home?" she asked, stalling as if that would help.

Tom just brushed past her and entered the small bungalow. He took in the neat curtains and the small bookcase filled with popular novels and well as the larger one filled with far less common work before sitting down in the plebeian arm chair. "Fortunately, I'm not a vampire and don't require an invitation," he said. "You are rude, however."

"You always have had a thing for manners," Hermione said. She'd come in behind him and had begun to peruse the shelves of darker tomes. "Magick Most Fowle," she said. She glanced over at Tom and said, "Vampire chickens." He suppressed a snort of laughter at that.

"What?" Dorcas asked. She closed the door and stood facing the two intruders with her arms crossed. "That book is not about vampires or chickens, much less the two combined."

"Sorry," Hermione said with utter insincerity. "Private joke."

"We should go back to Montenegro," Tom said. "I enjoyed that little hotel we stayed at."

"We could say hello to Radovan," Hermione agreed.

"You need to leave," Dorcas said. She went to open the door as if that would make her point but the knob wouldn't budge. She tugged on it again.

"You are a terrible hostess," Tom said. "Trying to get us to leave. Love, she hasn't even offered us tea."

Hermione tsked but she was more interested in a book she'd pulled out than Dorcas Meadowes deficiencies. "I don't have this one," she said.

Dorcas yanked on the door again and Tom made a show of sighing. "My dearest Dorcas," he said. "I'm not leaving. Stop being tiresome. That won't open until I decide it does."

She reached for her wand but the moment she pulled it from a holster tucked inside her deceptively meek housedress Hermione had yanked it from her and she twirled it between her own fingers. "Look what I have," she said.

Dorcas hissed out a slicing curse and Hermione inhaled with shock as it cut into her arm, severing the fabric of her own, less meek, frock. Blood welled up for a moment before the skin knit back together and, other than the smear of red, it was as if the injury had never been there. To her credit, Dorcas didn't even blink. She pulled out a second wand and twirled, launching one curse at Tom before sending the same cutting hex toward Hermione again. This time the pair were prepared for her. Hermione batted aside the hex as if it were a child's toy and took a step toward Dorcas. "If you'd damaged this book I would have been very annoyed with you," she said. "Be more careful with your things."

Hermione took another step but Tom held up a hand. "Hermione," he said in a warning tone. "This is my playground."

Dorcas kept sending curses, one after the other, as the couple in her living room fought them off almost absent-mindedly, too busy eyeing one another to truly focus on the woman they'd come for.

"She cut me," Hermione said as Tom tried to impose his will on her.

"Exactly," he said.

Hermione turned and whipped her wand through the air and Dorcas narrowed her eyes but didn't react as her own arm sported a cut that matched the one she had inflicted on Hermione. Hers didn't magically disappear. "No horcrux?" Hermione asked with a clear taunt but before she could go on Tom snapped her name again.

"She's mine," he said.

They locked eyes and at last Hermione threw her hands up and said, "Fine."

"Good puppy," Dorcas said. "She does what she's told, doesn't she?"

Tom laughed as Hermione flung herself down into one of the ugly chairs. "She's my better half," he said, "as the saying goes." He held a hand out and blood began to drip from one of Dorcas' eyes. "Maybe you have something in your eye that keeps you from seeing how much I value her."

"Dark magic whore," Dorcas said.

"Half right," Tom said. Tiny cuts appeared along her skin and, shredded by the series of slices, her shirt fell off first one shoulder than the second. He covered her bared torso in more of the shallow cuts, blood welling from each in slow motion, the red appearing as if surprised it could escape. Her brasserie began to soak up the blood, a wick drawing the moisture to it, and the dull beige cotton became pinker and pinker. Through it all Dorcas kept firing spells of increasing strength and fury at Tom, but he blocked them all without seeming to try. The curtains dissolved into a sea of spiders that ran at her, and she transfigured them back to dust without a word and he laughed in delight.

"You are a treat," he said. "Where have you been hiding?"

"I am not a schoolgirl," she acknowledged, panting.

Tom's trousers caught on fire. He extinguished them. Her hair sparked out from her head and the books on her shelf all turned to dragons and flung themselves at Tom. He murmured just one word and they all turned to attack their maker. She undid the spell and pages fluttered to the floor. The ink ran out and began to creep toward Tom. He stopped and stared at the black river. "I've never seen that," he said. He nodded to Dorcas, a small gesture of genuine respect. The ink ran up his shoes and tried to sink into his skin and he banished it with a wave of his wand. "Not exactly light magic, is it? Look who's willing to bend her ideals."

"I don't have ideals," Dorcas said. "I have a mission."

"A zealot," Tom said. He nodded as though a piece of the puzzle had slotted into place and now he could see the whole picture. "Anything can be turned to what, the greater good?"

"Exactly." Dorcas threw another curse at him and he blocked it again.

"It would have been nice to have you on our side," Tom said. "You're quite talented."

"Death first," she said as blood dripped down her skin and collected in small puddles on the floor. Her eyes narrowed as she redoubled her efforts to kill him.

Tom merely shrugged at that dramatic statement and made a show of blowing glitter that appeared on his hand in her face. Everywhere it touched, flames bloomed. Faces screamed and writhed in the Fiendfyre as it consumed her. "If you insist," he said softly.

She kept her eyes on him as she burned, keeping her composure through the agony with an almost inhuman force of will. "Albus will defeat you," she said. "Light snuffs out darkness every time."

"Light is an aberration in the universe," Tom said as she died. "Darkness was there first, and darkness will be there when light burns away."

"Poetic," Hermione said as the fire sank into oblivion.

"I'm a sensitive soul, " Tom said.

He looked at Hermione where she'd sprawled in one of Dorcas' chairs, the book she'd wanted dangling from one hand. Her eyes glittered the way they did when he'd excited her, and her tongue darted out to lick at her lips. "You enjoyed that?" he asked.

She pushed one shoe off with her foot. The second didn't want to come off and she had to bend over to unbuckle the strap and when she straightened he'd crossed over to her. "You have plans?" he asked.

Her face was on level with the crotch of his suddenly tented trousers and she looked up at him through her lashes. "Maybe," she said.

He ran his hands slowly along the line of her shoulders and along her neck before fisting them in her hair so firmly she gasped. "What makes you think I'm interested?" he asked.

"I could convince you," she suggested.

She raised a hand toward the buckle of his pants but he tightened his grip. "Don't use your hands," he said. "I'm not interested in a witch who does manual labor."

She raised an eyebrow and he smiled as the buckle of his belt worked itself free without so much as a murmured spell on her part. Was there anything more of a turn on than power and control? By the time she had the trousers unbuttoned and his pants down, it was all he could do to keep from thrusting into her mouth with a violent frenzy. He held himself still, however, and let her do the work, her tongue on him and then her whole mouth. "Control," he whispered, more to himself than to her as she demonstrated her skills weren't limited to magic.

Later, as they lay sprawled on the floor, control having long been abandoned, Tom sighed out in bliss. "You," he said, "are the perfect woman."

"Of course I am," Hermione said. She nudged at him with her knee. "You did shape me to your specifications."

He laughed at that. He had.

She reached a hand up to get her hair out from under the edge of a chair they'd knocked over during the uncontrolled portion of their afternoon, and made a face. "Ugh."

"What is it?" he asked.

"I got her blood in my hair," Hermione said. They glanced over at the burnt spot on the floor, all that remained of Dorcas other than blood, some of which had crawled across the floor and reached Hermione's curls. "I want a shower."

. . . . . . . . . .

A/N - Thank you to cocoartistwrites, who beta read this chapter.

52. Chapter 52

December, 2012

He knew he should be wary, but he'd been hunting hallows most of his life. He had the Elder Wand, taken from Gellhert so many years ago. He tried not to think of that. He didn't have the Cloak, exactly, but he knew where it was. James Potter had it, tucked safely away, and Albus knew he could get it whenever he chose. There hadn't been much point, however, until he had the Stone.

The three Hallows. Have them all, and you became Master of Death. The Wand that could not be defeated. The Cloak that hid you from Death itself. The Stone that brought shades from the beyond to your side. Men had died and gone mad and lost themselves trying to find them and he'd had two for years, without side effects of any sort, but had never been able to find the third and now someone had sent him a ring that every test he could run identified as the Resurrection Stone. It glittered at him from where it sat on the table. Black facets caught the light and sent it back and he knew he should be careful but he'd mastered two and the lure of power had him in its grasp and so he slid the ring over the gnarled bones of his finger until it sat, a perverse wedding band, secure and solid and safe.

He had it on for three seconds, maybe four, before the burning began.

He could feel the fire steal over his skin as if he had stepped onto a pyre and he grabbed the ring to pull it off and cast it aside but it wouldn't budge. There was a roaring in his ears and he almost fell as he stumbled from his seat at the desk to his personal potions cabinet. Five spilled, bottles broken and priceless magic left to soak into the carpet before found the one he wanted and pulled the stopper. The liquid slid like ice down his throat and it damped down the fire but the flame wasn't out, merely contained.

Dumbledore took a deep breath and summoned Severus Snape.

Snape took an eternity to arrive. He was there in moments. He took in the spilled potions and the tight face of the man who'd been his patron since he'd been a sullen, impoverished boy good at potions but so terrible with people he couldn't get a job. "What have you done?" he asked.

"I am afraid I have been a foolish old man," Dumbledore said. He held up the hand with the ring on it and offered up a wry smile. "I have been seduced by power."

Snape looked at the dark bit of jewellery and closed his eyes. "Taken in by a curse, more like," he said. "I assume it cannot be removed."

"I have failed to do so," Dumbledore said, "but I am open to your suggestions."

Snape was a not untalented wizard and he turned the full of his faculties onto the ring and achieved exactly what Dumbledore had, meaning nothing at all. The ring simply wouldn't budge.

Dumbledore's smile became more pained as more attempts failed and at last Snape said, "I can control the… side effects… of the curse."

"The pain," Dumbledore said.

Snape nodded. "The Potions you'll need… they are… you can't stop taking them. Do you understand?"

"Or I'll die," Dumbledore said with a hint of his old twinkle but the twinkle faded when Snape shook his head.

"No," he said. "You'll just want to."

. . . . . . . . . .

Tom looked at the tree. He wanted to despise the holidays, but he couldn't when Hermione had found an evergreen that almost filled the main hall of Castle Library and filled the branches with glowing balls of light. Boxes spilled out under the tree and he wanted to laugh when he realized she'd put tiny warding spells keyed to the recipients on each package. The children would have to undo her magic to get their presents.

"Do you think that will slow them down?" he asked her.

She hooked an arm through his and grinned. "If they can't figure out how to undo simple little locking spells, they aren't clever enough to use what we got them."

'Not clever enough' wasn't a description a sensible person would apply to any of the castle crew. Nor was quiet. The door from the outside was pushed open and all the Death Eater families tumbled in, bags with gifts of their own slinging from arms and kisses dropped on cheeks as the adults stepped around the pre-teens to ask how the season had been. Astoria had votes lined up for anything they needed and blackmail threats ready to release. Draco swung Hermione in a circle and asked how her last shopping trip had been. Harry kissed her cheek before extricating Rose from an aggressive indoor potted plum she'd been convinced she could tame since she was a tot. The chaos came in and brought laughter and shoving and drinks were poured and passed around until Belladonna begged to be allowed to open the presents and did her favorite uncle like her hair.

Tom mussed that hair and told her she was a menace but he was immune to her charms so go find her package and stop wasting her time on a man old enough to be her father. Drusilla laughed. "Takes after her mother," she said with pride.

Granted permission, the kids tore into boxes, passing packages to one another as they identified who each spell was keyed to. Rose crowed with delight as she pulled a necklace out of her box and fastened it around her neck and promptly winked out of sight.

"Hermione," Draco said as his near-daughter disappeared. "Are you sure that was a good idea?"

Tom smiled at his follower, his eyes glinting, and asked, "What makes you think it was hers?"

"I'm sorry, my lord," Draco said, taking a step back. "I'm sure she'll be fine." His stumbling attempt to extricate himself from that misstep turned into suppressed laughter as the invisible child dumped a bowl of glitter over the head of her favorite non-parent. Tom stood in a shower of silver and tried to keep his mouth stern as Drusilla smirked and Helios clapped his hands with delight. These children would be the death of them all.

. . . . . . . . . . .

The building where they had decided to meet huddled down against the back of Knockturn Alley. Narrow windows had been covered with soap and the yellow glow of the lamplight oozed out where the white had been scraped away. Greg cast an uneasy glance back over his shoulder, worried they'd been spotted or, far more likely, that some hooligan would take it into his head to rob Luna.

Any clever thief would have steered clear of her. Despite the way she tipped her face up to the sky and tried to catch one of the fat snowflakes that drifted down on her tongue, she radiated that edge of danger they all did. Black corsets and heels that should have slipped on the icy street wrapped themselves around a woman as fey as she'd been at seventeen.

Of course, fairies were notorious in folklore for luring people off cliffs and laughing as they died.

Fey, Greg thought, was exactly the right word.

Fey, dangerous Luna stopped trying to eat snow and opened the door to the squat house. The light briefly stained the cobblestones before she and Greg stepped in and shut the light inside with them.

The older man sitting at the table wasn't as thin he'd been in prison. He'd dressed in fine robes, and a bit of the old sparkle had come back to his eyes. "Madam," he said as he rose to greet her. "I've heard fascinating things about you."

Greg pulled out a chair for her and Luna sat down. Once she had settled herself the old man followed suit while Greg kept standing behind her. "You are older than in your photographs," she said.

"That happens," he said.

"Not to me," she said. She studied him. "Gellert Grindelwald. The Darkest wizard of his time, defeated, imprisoned, aged, freed."

"Luna Lovegood-Goyle," he responded. "Dark water-witch."

"You want to kill Dumbledore," she said. "He's mine."

Gellert tweaked his brows up and the haggard face transformed for a moment back to that of the cocky young man who'd planned to rule everything and had never doubted he had the power and the right. "I think he was mine first," he said. "I think he betrayed me first."

She shrugged and tipped her head to look up at the ceiling. "This place is dirty," she said. "We'll send over someone to help you get rid of those cobwebs."

"Dumbledore - "

"Is mine." Luna had no intention of backing down on that, even if it were possible. "It's already started," she added. He looked curious, or perhaps he was being polite, but she took that as an opportunity to share the details of her plan with the ring, the deceptive stone, the curse. As she described the way it couldn't be removed and how even the best pain medications would only dull the agony of endlessly burning alive, Gellert began to smile. When she told him the ring also wouldn't let him die until she released it, he laughed out loud.

"You," he said, "are a delightful creature."

. . . . . . . . . .

Her steps clicked down the floor of the Ministry, each tap of her heel a tiny reminder of her power. Astoria stopped to lean on the desk of an administrative assistant, compliment her hat, and ask if she'd heard that there was going to be a sale at Madam Malkin's starting on Friday. The young woman beamed at the Minister and admitted she had plans to be there. Older bureaucrats stopped what they were doing to smile at their Minister as she passed. Astoria appeared with rural orphans riding her shoulders at Quidditch games, and was well known for the platter of biscuits that never seemed to run out sitting in the waiting room outside her office. People loved her.

"She's been waiting for twenty minutes," a wizard said, the tone suggesting he thought she might need a warning.

Astoria glanced up, past the folded paper airplane memos soaring hither and yon, to the large clock dominating the open foyer. "Our meeting isn't until nine," she said, dimpling at the older man with his purple velvet hat that spouted a canary from the top point. The canary must have been set on a wire because it bobbed first one way and then the other as the man nodded his head.

"She arrived early," he said.

"Probably trying to avoid getting stuck in her office up at Hogwarts," Astoria said. "I so admire the effort that goes into running that school."

The both glanced over at the morning's Daily Prophet. 'Continental Wizarding Firms Prefer Durmstrang Graduates' read the headline.

"They're a little mired in the past," the wizard said as his canary wobbled.

"Well," Astoria said, "I'm glad they're willing to talk to us about maybe moving forward a little." That was what she said to McGonagall too, when she pushed open the door to her office precisely at nine, having complimented a wizard on his son's three goals at last weekend's youth Quidditch match, stopped to remind an Unspeakable that they'd promised her an update on their research into fire spells, and shared memo writing tips with a very serious young witch who wanted to go into government. Astoria did not permit herself to be rushed merely because other people arrived early.

"I'm so happy you're here," she said at that exact hour of nine. "Thank you for making time to talk with me about Hogwarts."

"You really should be talking to Albus," Minerva McGonagall said. "I am only a teacher. I do not set policy."

"I was hoping for a more informal discussion," Astoria said. "Tea?" She moved to the silver tea set gleaming from one of the many antique tables in her office and poured herself a cup.

Minerva McGonagall said, "That would be lovely, thank you," into the expectant pause, and Astoria poured out a cup for her, inquired about milk and sugar, and handed her former teacher tea exactly the way she liked it before settling down in an armchair covered with pink silk.

She held her saucer with one hand, picked the cup up to take a small sip, and leaned forward. "I'm sure you want to help make Hogwarts great again."

"I wasn't aware it had stopped being great," McGonagall said.

Astoria ignored her. "I am less sure that Albus Dumbledore is concerned with the school. He's always been a man who dedicates his energy to worthwhile projects, of course, but concerns have been rising about the way the school compares to other wizarding schools - not the American schools, of course - but Durmstrang and Beauxbatons."

McGonagall sniffed to express her opinion of American schools. "Albus is a dedicated educator," she said.

"Is he, though?" Astoria asked. McGonagall set her tea cup down with a bit of a thunk on the table at her side, her opinion expressed with that gesture. Astoria didn't allow her own expression to falter. "I don't doubt he's a great wizard, Minerva. I can call you Minerva, can't I? But he doesn't teach, he doesn't guide a House, he doesn't even seem to know the students, if reports can be believed. I know you are still deeply involved in the day to day educational concerns, and I trust you to - "

"You can trust me to tell you Hogwarts is in excellent hands," McGonagall said. "And no, you may not." She stood up and made a show of brushing her hands over her dark green robes as if she might have become dirty during her time in the Minister's office. "Good day, Mrs. Malfoy. I can let myself out."

After she'd gone, Astoria took another sip of her tea and waited. Harry slid out from behind one of the many false panels, helped himself to a biscuit, and said, "Well, you tried."

Astoria laughed. "I did my best to antagonize her. If they actually capitulated and started teaching the Dark Arts before Tom had his chance to destroy Dumbledore in some dramatic and public way, he might be peeved at me."

Harry looked at the biscuit in his hand. "Is this stale?" he asked.

Astoria apologized with the admission it had been one more way she'd wanted to make Minerva feel put out. A quick head out her door and a request to one of the assistants who adored her had a fresh plate of biscuits in her hand and a reminder she was meeting with a Bulgarian official about potions regulations in thirty minutes. Harry declined the offer to spy on that meeting as well, and took off to deliver the results of the McGonagall meeting to Tom.

. . . . . . . . . .

A/N - Thank you to cocoartistwrites, who beta read and brit picked this for me. She is a gift (and has her own, wonderful tomione stories to delight you.)

53. Chapter 53

January/February, 2013

Regulus looked at Astoria who dimpled at him as she spooned some of the marmalade onto her miniature toast. Never had a woman looked so delighted to have breakfast with him. Even though she'd just asked him the most outrageous thing, he still felt charmed. That was what made her so dangerous.

"Astoria," he began, "you know I adore you."

"Pish," she said. "Everyone adores me, even your hellion of a child."

Regulus laughed because it was true. Drusilla was as taken by Astoria as everyone else, though her delight in the youthful Minister stemmed from how the woman fooled everyone into thinking she was a bit of society fluff even as she twinkled and sparkled and outright glittered them into doing everything she wanted. "It's just," he said, "among other things, she's already married."

Astoria waved her hand as if to say these pesky issues could be dealt with easily enough and he needn't worry his pretty little head about such trivial things.

"And my sources tell me it was a binding ceremony," he said. "One Dumbledore did, and, as much as I don't care for the old coot, no one's ever claimed he was bad at magic. If he did a binding ceremony, the girl is well and truly bound."

"Against her will," Astoria said. "Or so I understand."

"Still binding," Regulus said.

"Until death do us part," Astoria agreed and the quiet chill that ran up Regulus' spine reminded him that under her coiffed hair and perfect nails beat the heart of a Death Eater. "Her daughter is delightful, by the way. Bright and cheerful with the prettiest shock of ginger hair you ever did see."

"You would know," Regulus said. "Does she?"

"We send pictures," Astoria said. She took a bite out of her tiny toast and seemed to consider. "When the information is good enough."

"It amazes me people think you are good," Regulus said. None of them were good. Not him. Not any of the young and brilliant members of society who orbited Tom Riddle. Certainly not the Minister for Magic. "So you want me to do you a favour and offer your sister my protection. And what do I get in return?"

"A beautiful wife?" Astoria suggested. "The personal gratitude of the Minister of Magic? The opportunity to enrich our world with a new generation of Blacks?"

Regulus spooned some of the sweet blood orange concoction onto his own tiny toast and bit into it, savoring the sting of the marmalade on his tongue as he studied the beautiful woman sitting, a picture of serenity, across from him. As much as it irritated him to admit, he knew he wasn't going to say no. The personal gratitude of the Minister was no small thing, even if the sister he'd be rescuing was, as far as he could tell, a dumb little thing prone to reacting without thinking. Marrying into those Weasleys to protect herself from Tom Riddle had been stupid. Agreeing to sell herself as a spy to get out of it, desperate beyond measure. He hoped that at least she wasn't as… uninterested… in sex as Astoria was reputed to be. He couldn't fathom having a young, pretty wife and still sleeping alone.

"The Blacks do binding marriages," he hedged. "We always have."

Astoria nodded. Even Drusilla and Neville had bound themselves, though so had she and Draco. Most of the old families preferred the traditional marriages. "Then I suppose you'll have to please her lest she decide to kill you too," she said. She took a sip of the tea Kreacher had made and smiled at it with such pleasure Regulus was sure the spying elf would spend the afternoon telling him that Madam Malfoy was the best of women. "The boys tell me the first time's the hardest, but after that it's just like pulling weeds out of the garden."

Regulus laughed out loud at that. Even his own mother hadn't been quite that blasé about murder, though he doubted she'd have stayed her hand if she'd decided it needed doing. "Now that might have been the most enticing thing you could have said about her," he said. "If she's truly dangerous under that dumb exterior, I could fall in love."

Astoria dimpled at him. "I'm counting on it," she said.

. . . . . . . . . . .

The newest of Greg's many servant girls stopped to stare blankly at the huge orange cat blocking her way. "Fluff-butt?" she asked. "Do you need more food?"

"Meow-er."

. . . . . . . . .

Tom squinted down at the cup the girl had put in front of him. "Hermione," he asked. The cold anger in his voice made her look up from the old text she'd been studying and fix the patient gaze of the long-suffering wife on him. He ignored it. "What is this swill?"

She sighed. The daily ritual of Tom's complaint about the coffee had ceased to amuse her long ago. Since he cared that much, he should just go find someone competent and explain why they needed to make it to his specification. A few torture curses and the problem would be solved. Sometimes she suspected he just liked whinging in the morning. "It's coffee," she said.

Tom made a dramatic show of taking another sip. "It is not," he said. "It might smell like coffee, but this is some kind of boiled dirt. At best."

Hermione picked her book up again. "Talk to Greg," she suggested as she returned to reading how to turn a person's hair to snakes. "Maintaining the staff is his job. Go have him kidnap a barista or something."

Tom scowled at her lack of sympathy. "I'll do that," he said before he stomped off.

. . . . . . . . . .

When Draco arrived at Castle Library his smile was too tight and his shoulders too tight and his eyes too tight and Hermione pulled him into a hug and held on until he began to slowly ease and unwind. She hustled him into one of the smaller sitting rooms and he looked around with a wry smile. "Do you remember when this was filled with fox shit and dust?" he asked her.

"The glamour of our beginning," Hermione said. She snapped her fingers and one of the endless line of interchangeable blank-eyed girls brought him tea and a plate of madeleines before letting herself out and shutting the door behind her.

"I sometimes miss those days," Draco said. "It was easier."

"Just play around with Dark magic and travel and dust?" Hermione asked him. The sitting room didn't dare to have dust these days. Light streamed in through leaded windows and a potted lemon tree sat in an alcove, flourishing as only Neville could make a plant grow. The chairs had all been covered in fine silk in neutral colors and a thick rug absorbed noise and heels. It wasn't a room furnished with transfigured boxes any longer.

"Being an adult has its drawbacks," Draco said.

"Problems with the children?" Hermione asked.

He snorted. "I wish," he said. He took one of the madeleines and bit into it. "It's my aunt," he said.

"Monthly visit?" Hermione asked. Draco rolled his eyes and slouched down in the expensive chair and popped the rest of the madeleine in his mouth and chewed with sullen agreement. He dutifully went to visit his Aunt Bellatrix almost every month. He and his mother would sit and smile as she ranted about Mudbloods who stole magic and how she'd show everyone. It had been awkward when he was a child. Now he spent the whole visit hoping Tom wouldn't show up and kill him for pretending to listen to the old bat as she mouthed her nonsense. Times had changed but, locked in her madness, Bellatrix hadn't.

"You know I don't agree with her shite," he said. He searched Hermione's face and relaxed when he saw she was trying not to laugh at him.

"Draco," she said.

"I did," he said, "you know I did."

She became more serious. "And I thought the world was fair," she said. "I thought my parents wouldn't matter."

"We were so young," he said.

"It was good to know everything," she agreed.

. . . . . . . . . .

Severus Snape looked at his class of Slytherin first year Potions students and summoned a tired sneer. He'd been up most of the night brewing one of the pain potions Dumbledore needed to function. Highly addictive, dangerous to take and even more so to make, the potion had taken all his attention and now he had to face a day of incompetence, exploding cauldrons as likely as not, and 11-year-olds who thought they knew everything.

The Black girl sauntered in, bag slung over her shoulder with a jaunty air that spoke of a life spent surrounded by wealth and love. Every boy in the class watched her, some openly and some trying to hide it because girls were still supposed to be icky. Worse, she knew. She flashed a look at one of them under lashes with a skill no child should have.

"Do you plan to take your seat, Miss Black, or are we all to be an audience for your budding social life?" he asked.

She smiled at him and sat down with the Malfoy boy. Snape glared at the pair of them. Had their robes been made to order? No patches for that pair, no hand-me-downs. "I'm ready whenever you are, Professor," she said.

"And the universe applauds," he muttered. He began to write the day's potion on the chalkboard. "Try to be more competent than your father, Miss Black, if you're capable of that."

Because his back was turned to the class he missed the amused look she and Scorpius shared. He did get to hear her say, "I try to emulate my father in all things, sir." He wondered why that sounded like a threat, but he was too tired to pursue it.

. . . . . . . . . .

Daphne clipped the bottom off each of the rose stems with a sharp, neat movement. Ron had handed them to her, pleasure in his eyes that he was the sort of husband who remembered Valentine's Day even after over a decade of marriage. She'd smiled as happily as she could even though she hated him. He'd expect sex tonight. He'd breathe the scent of his mother's cooking into her face as he pumped away and collapsed and then she'd have to wash the sheets tomorrow.

. . . . . . . . . .

"Valentine's Day," Tom said. He lay beside Hermione in their bed, sheet half pulled up over himself as a nod to the drafts in Castle Library even the best warming spells couldn't quite prevent. She was still too flushed and disheveled from their evening to want blankets of any sort and she had one leg thrown to the side, knee bent, in wanton exhaustion. "How did a Muggle saint's day become a thing in the wizarding world?"

"Don't know," Hermione said. "Don't care."

He began to drop a line of kisses down the arm that she'd reached toward him earlier. It had been tense then, every line of muscle a plea that he bring her to completion. Now it lay, limpid and spent on the wrinkled sheets. "What?" he teased, "Did the brightest star of our age admit to a lack of curiosity about something?"

Hermione lifted her head as though she planned to scold him but just let it drop back. "You've robbed me of the energy to care about anything other than the feel of you," she said. "I thought men lost stamina as they aged."

Tom didn't even waste a huff on that claim. "I'm not old," he said. He'd worked his way up the whole of her arm and began to kiss the curve of her neck. "And I don't age."

Hermione tipped her head so he had more access to skin and Tom chuckled. "I thought you were too tired," he said. He pushed some of her hair back and then stopped and wound one of her curls around a finger.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Do you remember when we met?" he asked her.

"Handsome boy in Dumbledore's office who got dumped in my lap because he was too lazy to deal with you himself?" she asked. "How could I forget?"

"He probably thought the oh-so-good and dutiful Head Girl would keep an eye on my evil for him," Tom said. That would have been Dumbledore's style: use children to manage the place so he could do things far more interesting than run a school. He kept turning the lock of hair around and around in his hand as he contemplated the way the brown hair turned to a thousand colors and then a thousand more. The longer you looked at it the more complicated it became. "Like you," he murmured.

"Tom?" she asked.

"Your hair," he said. "It's always been like you. The wild woman who doesn't care what anyone thinks, who does as she pleases."

"That's what you said." He watched her become lost in the memories of their first days together. "You were horrid, making me come to you when you could have just seduced me."

He shrugged. He'd always liked making people dance to his tune and move as he pulled their strings. She'd been the most difficult person he'd ever had to manipulate. "I needed to know you really wanted me," he said. By the way she rolled her eyes he knew she didn't fall for that, for all that it, like the best equivocations, was true. "I like you taking things," he said. "I liked you taking me."

"Horrid," she said again.

"Do I get a pass for being madly in love with you?" he asked.

"What would I have done without you?" she asked.

"Got a tedious job as Theo's administrative assistant," Tom said.

She laughed and nestled herself into his arms and he shifted so he could hold onto her. He liked this world he'd made for himself. Power, eternal life, this woman. He didn't even itch to run the Ministry or Britain or the world. He'd just enjoy eternity letting Astoria handle the minutiae while he had his way with this one woman. It had become enough.

"For the greater good," she said with a laugh.

Well, Tom thought, it would be enough once he'd stripped Albus Dumbledore of all his power, of all his respect.

. . . . . . . . . .

A/N - Many thanks to cocoartist, who beta read and brit picked this chapter.

54. Chapter 54

March/April 2013

Sirius kissed Hermione on the cheek as she brushed past him, hostess gift of chocolate cake balanced in her hands. "What brings you to our humble abode?" he asked. "Ran out of evil to do?"

She rolled her eyes and looked for a place to set the cake down. Remus rescued her and pulled it from her hands with an offer to cut slices for all of them in the kitchen. "You've never been humble in your life, Sirius," she said.

"Truer words," he admitted, and waved toward one of the chairs in his flat. "We don't do fancy here," he said. "Cut off from the family wealth, and all."

Hermione sat down and favored him with one of her warmest smiles. "You've been avoiding me, Sirius. I thought we were friends."

Sirius wanted to snort at that but it had been true. When she'd been the awkward Muggle-born he'd adored her. She'd been another Lily, though less confident than his best friend's wife had ever been. Hermione had wanted approval. Lily had assumed she had it. "We were," he said and sat down and kept watching her. The girl he'd known over a decade ago, the girl who'd been his friend, would have squirmed under that scrutiny. She'd have started to talk to fill the silence. This woman didn't. She just smiled back at him as if she were happy to sit for hours in companionable silence. Even his horrible mother hadn't had that level of self-possession. An unwilling grin of admiration forced it's way onto Sirius' mouth. "You've grown up," he said.

"People do," she agreed. When she smiled at that the lines appeared around her eyes were the only hint on her face she wasn't still an 18-year-old girl. "Even you, Sirius."

"Dark magic," he said. He'd never been one for skirting the issue. "Your lot tortured Ginny Weasley."

If he'd expected her to go on the defensive, he would have been disappointed. She merely shrugged and said, "She took the tiger by the tail. If you do that, you shouldn't complain when you get bitten." Sirius opened his mouth to retort but before he could she added, "And it wasn't as if Dumbledore didn't know what he was sending her into."

Sirius closed his lips and looked at her without saying anything as Remus came back into the room and set her slice of cake in front of her. She picked up her fork and said, "He does like to use children, doesn't he."

Sirius exhaled and looked up at Remus, who refused to make eye contact.

"Do you think he'll hesitate to use Belladonna?"

Once she asked that Hermione turned her attention the cake. She'd picked it up at the bakery she knew Remus adored and it outpaced anything any of their staff could make. Even Narcissa Malfoy hadn't been able to lure the baker to work for her and she had every intention of enjoying the rich chocolate in front of her. It helped that the long silence meant Sirius was considering her point.

"What about werewolves?" Sirius asked as she licked at her fork.

"I could guarantee full recognition as human," Hermione said. "Subject to human laws of course." She dimpled at Remus who closed his eyes as she offered to erase centuries of legalized discrimination with one sentence.

"Hermione," Remus said. She didn't bother to hide the way a smile tugged up the edge of her lips at the agony in that one word, and the pleasure wasn't just because of the bitterly sweet chocolate lingering in her mouth. There was a special thrill in seeing people betray ideals for their personal gain. Everyone loved the idea of light and goodness until it was balanced against a beloved niece and legal rights.

"You can't do that," Sirius said. "You don't have the power to do that, Hermione. You're just a researcher."

"But if I did?" she asked.

"I won't join you," he said. "No Marks."

"All you have to do is stay neutral," Hermione said.

"Pass the law first," Remus said.

She stood to go, brushing imaginary crumbs from her lap. "Look in the paper tomorrow," she said. She kissed Remus on the cheek as she passed him on her way to the door. "I'll let myself out."

. . . . . . . . . .

Werewolves Recategorized As Human

In a surprise move, Minister for Magic Astoria Malfoy (née Greengrass) brought a motion to the Wizengamot to classify werewolves as human rather than as Beasts or Beings, as has been historically the case.

"With the development of Wolfsbane," Minister Malfoy said, "those unfortunate souls afflicted with Lycanthropy can maintain their human minds during their transformations and legislation needs to keep pace with scientific progress."

The measure passed with little debate, though Thoros Nott commented that, with Wolfsbane allowing werewolves to regulate their own behavior even in wolf form, it might be possible to eradicate Lycanthropy in one generation.

Funding has been set aside to supply all known werewolves with Wolfsbane.

. . . . . . . . . .

Narcissa had decorated the whole of the Manor for Easter but her sparing of no expense had found its fullest flowering on the back terrace. Warming charms turned the whole area into a pleasant spring day, proving yet again that even the British weather yielded to the power of a British witch. Flowers spilled out of urns and bowls filled with chocolate eggs crowded the tables. The Castle Crew, home for the holiday, ran around excited by the freedom from school and the sugar no one pulled out of their hands.

Astoria kept one eye on Scorpius as his blond head darted around guests while she dimpled and smiled and charmed the political visitors. To the little ones this was a sweet-fest. To the adults it was a chance to meet informally and make deals no one would talk about in the Ministry itself. "Mr. Podmore," she said to the square-jawed functionary who'd been asking her about research gains the Unspeakables had been making. "I'm so sorry, could you say that again?"

He nodded his head and his straw-coloured hair shook like barley in the wind. He began his long, dull query again and a few minutes into it she already knew her answer. Budgets were always an issue but her administration was committed to furthering research. It was a pat answer she gave multiple times each week. The children shoved at one another and tossed chocolate eggs back and forth as he talked and talked. Scorpius had slipped his arm around his sister. Not his sister, Astoria reminded herself. Rose was his cousin, her niece. That didn't reduce her urge to find out why the girl had started to cry, why a tear dripped down her face, in the slightest.

Scorpius dragged the girl by the arm up to their mother and Astoria had to excuse herself again as children interrupted her focus on the dull Sturgis yet again. She could feel Lucius come up behind her and felt a surge of gratitude that her politically astute father-in-law could read the room as well as he could. "Tell her, Mama," Scorpius insisted. "She'll see her mother again this spring."

Astoria froze.

Lucius froze.

Sturgis took a step toward the children with fierce interest burning in his eyes. "Rose Weasley," he breathed out as though he could see the girl for the first time. Illusions sometimes worked like that, and the spells guarding the girl depended quite a bit on people seeing what they expected to see. Strip that away and a ginger-haired girl with freckles stood there next to her blond cousin. Lucius and Astoria looked at each other, and before Astoria could even move to draw her wand, Lucius had his out.

"Imperius," he hissed and the man drooped into a puppet as Lucius spun out a series of instructions. No one had the late Vincent Crabbe's facility with that spell, but Lucius was no slouch and Cassandra Malfoy was his de facto granddaughter. When he was done Sturgis Podmore smiled a bit blankly at Astoria and complimented her on the party before ruffling the once-again-blonde girl's hair and telling her she should just watch what her mother did and she'd grow up to be an exemplary hostess.

After he'd walked off, Astoria allowed the tiniest of shakes to show in her hands. "That was close," she said. She looked at Scorpius, who'd already shrunk into himself. "You must be more careful," was all she said and he nodded, more chastised by that simple sentence than he would have been if she'd yelled.

"It will be over soon," Lucius said. Scorpius swallowed and looked from mother to grandfather for permission to go before he ran off, Rose's hand in his.

. . . . . . . . . .

"What are you doing here?" The researcher looked up at the dazed looking Ministry employee who'd somehow found his way down into the bowels of the Unspeakable area. "The Department of Mysteries is a restricted part of the building."

"Have to," the man began, then walked past him, his eyes on a cabinet filled with arcane and poorly understood artifacts. The whole room of scientists launched themselves at the intruder before he could open the door and do who-knew-what with one of the risky toys they collected.

"It's not that they are inherently dangerous or evil," one of them said later to the reporter who cornered him outside the trial. "Fire isn't evil either; we use it to travel and cook and… it's just that when you misuse something you don't understand, you can get hurt." He considered the lightning sphere the man had been reaching for before they had finally tackled him and called security and shuddered. He'd been so weirdly focused on reaching it to the point of ignoring his own injuries. "This man," he began.

"Sturgis Podmore," the reporter said.

"Right, this Sturgis Podmore could have inadvertently done the equivalent of starting a forest fire. That part of the building is locked for a reason."

"Do you think his sentence to Azkaban was too harsh?" The reporter leaned forward, her quill almost vibrating with excitement at landing this interview. The Sturgis Podmore trial sold papers and this exclusive interview might get her moved to a more exciting beat than scientific research.

"No." The Unspeakable seemed to draw the word out as though he regretted it. Azkaban was truly a terrible place, but trying to steal secrets from the Department of Mysteries couldn't go unpunished. "I think it was a just decision."

. . . . . . . . .

Draco sorted through what felt like endless reams of parchment as he walked through the halls of Castle Library. He'd apparated over that morning, had a cup of coffee Greg's new find had made, and said hullo to Luna, who had decided to paint one of the walls in the main hall with what seemed to be an elaborate mural of apples. Trees grew up the wall, and she was adding a brown-skinned witch in a black bustle dress plucking one of the fruit. Judging by the pile of cores already outlined at the witch's feet, it wasn't her first. "Nice," he said.

Luna smiled at him rather absently as she floated a brush with a brilliant red to her hand and began work on the apple in the witch's and. "The cadmium in this pigment is a poison," she said. "Apple of life, apple of death."

"Right," said Draco, and shuffled his papers again as he fled to safer ground. He needed to go over the results of the most recent round of investigation into members of the Wizengamot. Amelia Bones remained squeaky clean, despite their best attempts to find a way to blackmail her, but she also seemed concerned about the standards at Hogwarts and was coming round to the opinion that perhaps Albus Dumbledore would be better off researching down in the Department of Mysteries than running a school. It wasn't what Tom wanted - he seemed peculiarly obsessed with humiliating the man - but it was a step towards getting control of the school without violence and Draco had hopes he could convince at least Hermione to talk to Tom about removing Dumbledore first, and crushing him second.

He pushed the door open to the library, planning to spread his papers out on one of the tables, only to be met with a slight obstacle to his plan.

Hermione was spread out on the table. She was naked, she was tied down, and Draco realized with absolute horror that Tom Riddle had some kind of small whip in his hands.

Draco backed away as quickly as he could, papers fluttering to the floor, hands over his eyes, as he gasped out as many apologies as he could as he escaped out the door without a single crucio thrown his way.

"Merlin," he could hear Hermione say even through the heavy wood. "That has completely spoiled the mood."

. . . . . . . . . .

Albus Dumbledore just blinked at the man in his office. He'd seen Gellert so many times in his mind's eye since their fateful last meeting that it took him a moment to realize the man really was there. The lines on his face helped. The Gellert in his memories and dreams remained eternally youthful, eternally beautiful. This man wore his imprisonment in the wrinkles and crevices that marred what had been perfection.

"You look well," Gellert said.

Dumbledore stood and reached for his wand, but his hand had no sooner twitched than Gellert waved and the wand skittered away until it came to rest under a chair, almost huddled against the baseboard. He wondered, briefly, if that counted as winning the wand. Gellert made no attempt to summon it, so perhaps not. The Elder Wand could be a tricky thing. He'd have preferred the man to just battle for it. This kind of trickery made him nervous.

"Try to remember I'm not a school child," Gellert said lazily. "And I'm not likely to make the mistake of trusting you again."

"You murdered my sister," Albus said. He wasn't sure, of course, but Ariana had died and he preferred to tell himself Gellert had cast the curse that had struck true. Not being trusted shouldn't have hurt as much as it did, but Dumbledore felt the sting of that smirking accusation. Old friends and lovers know the best places to wound.

"You betrayed me into decades of imprisonment," Gellert said. He might have been discussing the bright weather of early spring for all the concern in his voice, and that hurt too. Albus kept a serious expression of appropriate concern on his face to mask the thousand emotions that threatened to throttle him just because this man was sitting there, in his office. "I suspect a close examination of both our memories of that day would cast a different light on poor Ariana's death." Gellert lowered himself to a chair in his former lover's office eyed the spinning silver balls on the desk and glanced up at the portraits. Some of them looked back curiously but most pretended to be asleep. It was the office of a successful man and as Dumbledore stood he seemed suddenly like the awkward child Gellert had always brought out in him, eager to please and impress the older, more powerful boy.

Dumbledore lowered himself back down onto his chair and said with all the ease he could muster. "I didn't realize you were back in Britain."

"Oh?" Gellert raised an eyebrow. "Young Tom Riddle and his lovely wife arranged my release. I think a few Imperius curses might have been involved but I am a free man again." His legs stretched out and his ankles crossed and he became the picture of aristocratic insouciance. "Naturally, I came running back to your - what do they call it? - your loving embrace."

"What do you want?"

"Why would I want anything?" Gellert steepled his fingers together and pressed them to his lips as he pretended to consider the question. "To see you, perhaps? To give you the opportunity to beg my forgiveness."

Albus folded his own hands with outer calm in response to that suggestion. "You wished to subjugate huge swathes of people to your own ambition," he pointed out. "Your experiments with the Dark Arts - "

"Fascinated you." Gellert interrupted him. "Try not to paint yourself as the noble defender of the downtrodden, Albus. It's tiresome and false."

Albus Dumbledore summoned a more genuine smile at that. "I am not that boy anymore," he said.

Gellert's smiled bared teeth he must have had fixed since his stay in prison. They gleamed with perfect whiteness and not a single one dared to shift from their straight lines. Albus found himself fascinated with that mouth anew, even half hidden as it was behind hands. "That's why you're losing." The lips moved and his eyes were so busy tracing the shape of the words and watching the teeth flash and disappear again that it took him a moment to realize what Gellert had said.

"We aren't losing," Albus said. "Love always wins."

Gellert laughed at that. It was the same full-throated sound, filled with joy, that had helped enchant Albus so many years ago. "I suppose it does," he said and Albus could feel the flames licking at his hand where the cursed ring sat. "I suppose it will."

Albus closed his eyes and when he opened them Gellert was gone. He fetched his wand and checked how many hours it was until he could drink his next potion before he sat down again, feeling very old and very tired.

. . . . . . . . .

A/N - Thank you to cocoartist, who beta read and brit picked this for me, and to Mags0607, who combed through all the last chapters looking for inconsistencies and dropped plot lines, and whose help in that area has been invaluable.

55. Chapter 55

May, 2013

"You wish to force this?" Hermione waved the paper under the nose of the Auror who'd delivered it and he paled. He mumbled out the usual stream of excuses that it was just his job, and he didn't necessarily agree with what it said, he'd just been told to deliver it. She had to understand that Albus Dumbledore remained popular and influential within the Ministry and Minister Malfoy, for all that she was also well-liked, was still young and Dumbledore had decades of influence and favors to call upon.

"Please don't kill me," he ended, swallowing so hard she could see his throat bob under his robes. She hoped he hadn't pissed himself in his fear. The London townhouse they used whenever they were in the city had antique carpets and if she had to borrow one of Narcissa Malfoy's house elves to clean urine out of it, the woman would never let her hear the end of it.

Hermione controlled her ire as Tom set a hand on her shoulder. "We knew he would find some way to force the issue," he said. "We counted on it. This is a gift."

Hermione looked back at the paper. Due to concerns raised by Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the Ministry must inspect your home(s) for evidence of Dark Arts. As I'm sure you know, Dark magic remains strictly prohibited and no child can be returned to a dangerous home. Please indicate what date(s) would be most amenable to you. Refusal to cooperate will be seen as admission of guilt.

"I don't like it," Hermione said but Tom was already plotting.

"Who do we have at The Prophet," he asked her. He plucked the summons from her hand and skimmed it himself before telling the Auror he'd have to consult his planner and personal secretary for convenient dates and would tomorrow be acceptable for a response? The Auror gulped, nodded, and fled as Tom began to draft out a response. "We need photographs of the littlest children," he said as he wrote. "Preferably some not connected to us. People who look fragile and scared."

"And interviews with their parents," Hermione added with a nod. She kissed his cheek and leaned up against him. "We'll let them scour?"

Tom nodded absentmindedly. Anything dangerous would be unfindable anyway. Let the Ministry search.

. . . . . . . . . .

"That doesn't seem right." The woman read the article again, and looked from the photograph of the scared looking first-year Hogwarts student back to the bland story on how the Ministry would be searching the homes of several prominent young witches and wizards. Their children had made comments at school that had suggested their families might be indulging in Dark magic.

"It's illegal," her husband said. He glanced over her shoulder and skimmed the article. "Not that I'd trust the government. The Ministry's always up to something, and Dumbledore's been bitter about Riddle and his crew for years, the old has-been. Bet it's some kind of smear job."

She pointed to one line. If Dark artifacts or evidence of illegal magical use is discovered, the students of these families will be kept in custody at Hogwarts until appropriate and safe housing can be found for them. "Can they do that?"

"Apparently," he said.

"They can't get the O.W.L. scores up, but they can refuse to return children to their parents?"

"Apparently," he said again.

"This is kidnapping," she said. She glared at him and he spread his hands as if to say it wasn't that he disagreed with her, it was that he couldn't do anything about it. "No good will come of this," she said. "Mark my words."

. . . . . . . . . .

Harry was sitting in her office when Astoria got to the Ministry. She raised an eyebrow when he cast a silencing charm to give extra privacy; she'd already shielded and warded her private spaces so that not even the Ministry bugs could track her but if it made him feel more secure in what he wanted to say she wouldn't stop him. "Official business?" she asked.

"Not family," he said.

She nodded and settled down. She had assumed as much. If it had been personal he would have brought it up when he'd rolled over in bed that morning and told her she'd taken all the blankets in her sleep. "The Ministry plans to conduct inspections on every house belonging to a Death Eater this afternoon," he said. "Timed and coordinated raids."

"Will they find anything?" she asked. When he shook his head she shrugged and said, "Then I don't see what the problem is."

Harry took a deep breath. "The problem, as you put it, is that you are supposed to keep these kinds of things from troubling us."

Astoria nodded. "I know," she said, "but my power isn't absolute. And you wanted to force a confrontation. You wanted to force one that ruined his reputation, not one that just defeated him."

Harry paced back and forth. He knew that was the truth. He'd debated with himself about even facing Astoria down over this. He'd finally done it because if he hadn't challenged someone he'd have lost his mind in worry. Draco already looked pale, even for him, and making him more upset about their children up in that castle under Dumbledore's control would have only resulted in a fight and they couldn't afford that kind of dissent with the final battle coming. And he wasn't stupid enough to challenge Tom. That resulted in vomiting from the pain and throwing away trousers ruined when you pissed yourself from the crucio. That had left Astoria, best of friends, partner's wife, the Minister for Magic.

"Scorpius," he said. "Rose."

"I know," Astoria said gently. "They'll be searching our house too."

"If Dumebledore's pet Aurors keep the children away from us, I'll burn them in their beds," Harry said. "If they harm a hair on any of their heads, I'll keep them alive in that fire for years."

Astoria offered him a hug and he took it. They both knew the threat was empty. Neither of them would cross Tom.

"He won't let them hurt them, will he?" Harry asked as if she would know.

"I rather think he considers them his possessions, like a pack of small kittens he can't quite control or fathom but which are, nevertheless, his."

Harry buried his face against Astoria's immaculate robes and let himself be reassured.

. . . . . . . . . .

Sirius had barely finished reading the article before he was on his brother's doorstep waving the paper in outrage. "Belladonna's up there," he said as he pushed his way into the house "I told you not to send her that fucking school."

Regulus crossed his arms and glared at his brother. "What makes you think, as the grandfather, I was consulted?" he asked.

"Look." Sirius ran his hand through his hair and tried to find the words. "I don't have a problem with… but what if he decided to send kids to random family members? Muggles? I don't have a problem with most Muggles, but I've met Lily's sister. What if they decide to send some of these kids to people like that? To people like your son-in-law's uncle?"

"Again," Regulus said, "I don't have any power here so stop hurling all this at me."

"Get me Tom Riddle," Sirius said. Regulus opened his mouth. He wasn't going to just ring up Tom Riddle and demand the man's attention. There were things you just didn't do. Sirius must have seen the refusal on his face because he got the mulish expression in his eyes that never boded well. "Then get me your son-in-law," he said. "I have something Neville wants."

. . . . . . . . . .

"As the Minister I am not above the law," Astoria said to the clustered reporters. Once they'd all had a chance to read the planted stories they'd arrived, a pack of hounds sniffing out blood. She planned to give it to them. It just wouldn't be hers.

. . . . . . . . . . .

Neville made a show of kneeling as he handed over the key phrase they needed to capture Ginevra Weasley. "May I fetch her, my lord?" he asked.

"At the Battle," Tom said. He and Neville grinned at one another. "Maybe she'll turn on her wretched family at a pivotal moment."

Neville laughed at that. It would be poetic if she did, and if she didn't, well, now that they could break the Fidelius Charm they could pick the Weasleys off any time they wanted. "So we're going up to get the children?" he asked.

Tom glanced out the window. He'd hated Albus Dumbledore since the man had taken his measure at the age of eleven and judged him as wanting. That hatred had only grown over the years. Everyone else adored him, but never Dumbledore. People knew he was what Tom Riddle was and followed him, or they didn't, and fell for the charming smile and tousled curls. Dumbledore knew, he'd always known, and had had the nerve to despise him for it.

Tom didn't care for being despised. Feared, yes. He liked being feared. He liked being feared and adored but Dumbledore's contempt stung as almost nothing else ever had.

The discovery the man had his own closet filled with plans and betrayal had added fuel to Tom's need to destroy him. It wasn't enough to kill Dumbledore. It wasn't enough to know he lived each day battling agony thanks to Luna's cursed ring. He needed the man to be publicly humiliated. He wanted people to spit when they heard his name. Holding children hostage should do it. Rescuing them would put a gloss on his. "We are," he said.

"Bella will be disappointed," Neville said. "I'm sure she's hoping to set the place ablaze."

"She'll have to play the rescued innocent," Tom said. "The world will wait for her."

. . . . . . . . . .

Albus Dumbledore tugged at the ring on his hand. As Tom Riddle, his Muggle-born wife at his side, ambled into the Great Hall at Hogwarts the usual burning that itched under his skin flared up. He ignored it. He had become skilled at ignoring the constant pain since he'd made the mistake of putting the ring on his hand back in December, though it had withered to a black husk since that day. He still couldn't get the ring off. He supposed it didn't matter. Severus would have another potion ready for him once he'd met these wretched Death Eaters, spread his hands in innocence, and let loose the power of the school and the Order on them in the enclosed space. He could end the threat he'd sensed in Tom Riddle when the boy was eleven in one, quick battle.

When he'd received the polite letter from Neville Longbottom informing him they'd be at the school on Friday after examination to reclaim their children lest they somehow disappear on the journey home Dumbledore had had to control his urge to crow. They fools had decided to walk right into his stronghold.

Strategic geniuses they weren't.

"Mr. Riddle," he said now as he looked out over their motley crew. A collection of followers looking for a leader who could show them more refined forms of cruelty, the intellectually amoral, and the Muggle-born. He looked around and he didn't see the fey Luna Lovegood though her husband, thick Greg Goyle, stood behind Tom Riddle with his arms crossed.

Before Tom Riddle could respond there was a horrible scream, like a peacock had opened its mouth, from the foyer. Thunder followed in the wake of the scream and the skies released torrents of rain that beat down and turned the dust outdoors to mud and the windows to streaked glass that let in even less light. Draco Malfoy turned his face up for a moment as though, even indoors, he was letting the rain soak into his skin and when Dumbledore looked back at Riddle, the missing Luna had joined him.

"Was that really necessary?" Riddle asked her.

She shrugged and looked up at him. "I like to be prepared," she said as she studied the headmaster of her school. "Nice ring," she said. "I'm glad you appreciated my present."

"I think he might have a tiny addiction problem," Neville Longbottom said at her side. He had the temerity to sound amused.

"Addiction is a plague on the soul," Luna said. "But I can purify that."

She blew him a kiss and Dumbledore felt the ease Severus' potion gave him evaporate. If he hadn't become accustomed to even the duller chronic pain of the curse, he'd have fallen to his knees at the wave of fire that sped along his skin. When he looked out into the assembled Death Eaters and saw Gellert that fire only intensified. So this was what it had come to, all his chickens coming home to roost. He nodded at the man as if this were a social gathering and they would greet one another with civility and restraint rather than curses and death.

Gellert nodded back and a thousand memories crowded into Dumbledore's mind.

A thousand schoolchildren, or so it seemed, crowded into the Hall, the ones in the front pushed and shoved by the hoard behind them. At first it seemed they had arrived to defend their school against the robed figures arrayed behind Tom Riddle, and a few of them did run to join the Order of the Phoenix. The Weasleys had arrived, and the Prewett twins. Alastor Moody had climbed up to join the headmaster, and Kingsley Shacklebolt. James and Lliy looked uncomfortable, their eyes seeking out their son. Alice and Frank stood with arms crossed. That relationship had been strained to the breaking point by Neville's marriage to a Black. He knew they'd stay true. The Order were so few in number, though. Dorcas had gone missing and a search of her house had revealed only scorch marks and blood on the floor. Sturgis languished in Azkaban. Dumbledore looked over his people for Sirius Black, a boy he'd cultivated since his Sorting into Gryffindor, but he was nowhere to be found. Remus Lupin was likewise missing and a flare of rage joined the rest of the fire burning through Dumbledore. He'd given that boy a chance despite his affliction, and this was how he was repaid. With absence. With nothing. A quick survey of the Death Eaters showed they hadn't quite defected all the way to that, but they hadn't shown up to defend Hogwarts either. They hadn't answered their master's call.

Daphne and Ginny Weasley slipped into the group arrayed behind him, though why they'd come seemed unclear. Both had been so broken by Tom Riddle they could barely handle the rigors of daily life, much less a battle. Ron had a hand on Daphne's shoulder, and she shrugged it off, her eyes searching through the forces lined up against them. Tom Riddle nodded at her, and she broke free of her family and ran across the hall. Ron hissed as she knelt at the man's feet.

"She has to be imperiused," he said, his voice carrying through the shocked and silent room. "Someone do something."

Tom Riddle had his hand cupped under Daphne Weasley's chin and he raised his voice at Ron's accusation. "We aren't the ones who've kept her a near prisoner," he said. He gestured her to her feet and she rose even as reporters gasped and began scribbling. Dumbledore looked at the Death Eaters with even more anger. They'd brought the press.

"They told me I had to stay with Ron," Daphne said. "They said if I didn't, they'd find my daughter and murder her."

The scribbling of the quills was very loud.

"That's not true," Ginny said. She rather obviously thought Daphne had lost her mind and she took a few steps toward her almost sister before she stopped at the sight of the cold smile on Hermione's face.

"It is," Daphne said. She pointed at the Weasley clan and said with a shaking voice, "They thought I would spy on my sister, that I would be their window into her world." Her finger moved to indicate Dumbledore. "He killed Victor Crabbe, and told me he would do the same to Rose if I didn't cooperate. My sister and Tom Riddle rescued her."

One reporter called out, "Why didn't you leave too?"

Daphne's voice became filled with so much hatred even Hermione looked surprised. "Because Albus Dumbledore married me to Ronald Weasley in a binding ceremony against my will."

Before anyone could react to that revelation, Rose Weasley broke free of the gathered students and ran to her mother's side. Daphne dragged the girl into a hug that tried to make up for eleven years of absence as hearts melted throughout the hall.

"This is beautiful," Theo said to Pansy. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders as they enjoyed the spectacle of the weeping mother and daughter. Daphne had pulled back and was staring at Rose's face, comparing the living girl to the lifetime of collected photographs as her daughter reassured her that everyone had been wonderful, Astoria had loved her, Scorpius was like a brother.

"It really is," Pansy said. "Merlin, if we'd given the dumb bitch a script, she couldn't have played this as well."

"Rose?" Ron stepped forward, his voice choked with hope and misery as he looked at the girl he'd assumed long dead. "Daphne, is that - "

"I'm not yours," Rose said. She turned and glared at him. "You helped Dumbledore hurt my mother."

"I didn't," Ron protested. "I'd never…" He trailed off and just stared at the girl in wonder, a thousand dreams come true even if she stood next to a man he considered mad and dangerous and spit venom at him. "I love your mother," he said in a whisper everyone could hear. No one wanted to so much as shuffle a foot lest they miss part of the drama playing out. Even the reporter's quills had gone silent. "Rose, come here." He held his hands out, a supplicant who didn't falter even when she spit on the floor.

"Do as he says, Cassandra," Albus Dumbledore said, her false name mockery in his mouth. "You'll be much safer with your family."

That appeared to be the last straw for Rose. She'd put up with a lifetime of estrangement from her mother, hung on stories of how brave Daphne was for spying, how lucky she was to have a mother so amazing. She'd also lived with the fear she'd be discovered and forced to return to the Weasleys. She pulled out her wand and hissed a curse so Dark it made even Tom's eyebrows quirk up in surprise. The spell flung itself toward Dumbledore, who batted it away with ease and frowned with endless put upon sadness at the child who'd attacked him.

"Drusilla," Tom said as he ruffled the girl's hair with approval, "would you be so good as to take Rose from the room? I don't think this is a place for children."

Drusilla scooped the girl up and carried her bodily away, swaying on her heels and whispering that it was all over now, she'd be with her mother from now on, in Rose's ear. The girl wrapped her arms around the well-known and loved Auntie and let herself be borne away even as her father took first one, then another, then a third step toward her.

"Rose," he cried, grief and anger fighting in his voice "Where are you taking my daughter?"

"People don't care to have their children taken away," Hermione said a lilting mockery in her voice. "Do they?"

"Give me back my daughter." He'd told himself she was dead, that that was why no one could find her, but now that it was clear she wasn't, that she'd been living with Draco-sodding-Malfoy of all people, Ron Weasley nearly screamed his incensed fury at the Death Eaters. "Daphne, get over here."

Daphne looked nervously at Tom, who smiled at her. "It was a bond for life," he said. "Alas, even I cannot undo that kind of magic. You are well and truly married 'til death do you part." He made a show of looking at his nails as Ron made a triumphant sound and Daphne took an uneasy step back in his direction.

"Of course," Tom added, "As soon as he's dead, you're free."

Her wand was out and the curse fired before Ron could even react. The avada kedavra struck him in the chest and he had a moment to look shocked and hurt before he crumpled. Molly Weasley wailed and had her own wand out, an answering curse thrown at her daughter-in-law, and that was when the battle began. Astoria stepped out of the crowd and took her sister by the shoulders. The pair hurried from the hall, Daphne off to sit with her daughter and have a quick draught of something to settle her nerves.

Regulus Black watched the pair hurry away and sighed. The personal gratitude of the Minister, he reminded himself. One of the Prewett twins then made the mistake of engaging him in battle and he turned his attention to teaching the man a lesson. No one took on the Blacks and lived.

Lucius Malfoy occupied himself expressing a similar sentiment regarding the Malfoys to the other Prewett. He and Draco stood, backs braced to one another, and took the man on. He was good, this Gideon. He snarled at them, kept up a steady stream of taunts, and they both had to stay focused on his rapid curses lest he strike them.

Each of the Death Eaters squared off against professors and members of Order of the Phoenix and even some students. The children of the Weasley twins fought especially viciously and it became clear that many of the older students had spent the year preparing for this moment. "To me, Dumebledore's Army!" cried a ginger-haired student, and they advanced with wands drawn.

"Get the children out," Hermione said in an undertone to Luna, who nodded and began shepherding their own little ones out of the room. Helios stomped his feet and complained he was old enough, and Belladonna left a trail of burning chairs in her wake, but their grumbles that it wasn't fair quickly faded as they were led away.

Ginny had been standing over Ron's crumbled body, her mien shifting from fury to despair and back again. She glanced at Dumbledore, who stood a bit removed from the fray, his eyes shifting over the fighting but continually returning to an older man. Tom Riddle, on the opposite side, stood equally disengaged. He watched his people battle with a smile pulling up one corner of his mouth and making creases around his eyes, but he didn't deign to join in. He clearly enjoyed the spectacle too much to want to interfere at the moment. This was a bit of theatre, playing out for his enjoyment.

After all, none of his core supporters could even die.

Ginny had never wanted to destroy someone as much as she did at that moment, watching Tom Riddle amuse himself as he warmed what passed for his soul at the sight of violence waged on his behalf. She skimmed her eyes over the groups. Most people were engaged in single combat, or battling in small groups. Hermione pointed her wand at random members of the Order of the Phoenix and shot out curse after curse, each accompanied by a delighted laugh. Some of her spells missed. The ones that didn't gnawed into their victims. Ginny saw Headmaster Dumbledore's odd friend, that little Mundungus Fletcher, covered in black smoke that seemed to devour him as he screamed and pleaded for someone, anyone, to help him.

The smoke resolved into the dreaded fiendfyre and his screams became muffled under the roar of the flames.

Hermione clapped her hands at the sight and Ginny heard her call over to Tom, "It worked, love!"

He blew her a kiss and she made a show of catching it and pressing it to her lips, and during that distraction Ginny ran across the hall, almost slipping in a puddle of blood and something chunky, but making it to Hermione Riddle's side before anyone bothered to take note of her. Hermione reached out, perhaps to cup a hand along her face and send her into the same paroxysms of misery she'd condemned her other victims to, but Ginny snatched the locket from her neck before she could react, adding a curse she'd learned from Fred and George to help her break the chain. A quick turn on one heel, and she hurled the locked into the fire still consuming poor Mundungus and Hermione took a step backward in shock, one hand at her throat where her horcrux had hung only moments before.

"Not so smug now, are you?" Ginny asked. She laughed and knew she sounded wild, unhinged, but didn't care. Before any of the other Death Eaters could react, or race to the woman's side, she used the things they'd taught her to attack the suddenly-vulnerable Hermione. She remembered standing in that hall, Neville smirking at her, as they made her kill muggle after muggle. There had been seven in all. One of them had had chapped lips. The last had wet himself in fear by the time she'd reached him. It hadn't mattered. She'd killed them all, killed them at Dumbledore's behest, killed them to try to trick Tom Riddle into thinking she was one of them. That had been a fool's errand. But she'd gotten very, very good at it by the end of the line, and she said that spell now.

A bolt of blue light darted out of her wand and found its mark unerringly. Hermione took another step backward. "You told me it wasn't painful." She was still laughing and hysterical but it was worth it to see Hermione Riddle take another step backward as the spell began to do its magic and sever the woman's major arteries. She coughed and blood burbled out of her mouth and she looked at the red on her hands in horror.

"Tom," Hermione said. She took a step towards him, Ginny forgotten. "Tom?"

He turned. Her voice was little more than a whisper in a loud hall but he turned as if he would have been able to hear her call to him across the length of hell itself. She took another step, and staggered, and Ginny launched another curse at her, and then another, layering them the way Tom had once suggested in one of his foul teaching sessions, tangling them in on one another so picking them out would be harder than unknotting thread.

Hermione didn't even seem to notice the weight of the magic pushing her down, even as she fell to her knees under its force. Tom hissed with an intake of breath that made every Death Eater in the room, as well as their parents and supporters and allies, shift and turn to him, the black hole pulling all the energy to himself.

There was a moment where even the Order of the Phoenix held its collective breath. Only Ginny kept firing curse after curse into the silence.

Then Draco and Pansy grabbed at Hermione, their own opponents forgotten, and, with a sharp nod to Tom, pulled her away. Ginny began to laugh, a frantic, hysterical sound that cut off when Neville grabbed her arm with such a violent wrench he dislocated her elbow as he grabbed her wand. The wand disappeared and the whole of the Hall heard him say, "With your permission, my Lord?" before he apparated away, Ginny in his grasp.

"My Lord?" It was Harry who asked, uncertainly in his voice. They hadn't planned on this.

"Power comes from being the one who loses," Luna said. The pleased lilt in her voice suggested she'd at last solved a puzzle. She tipped her head to look at Tom and said, "Not that there's any reason to take that too literally. I like snakes."

"I was going to make my point, take the children, and leave," Tom said. One of the Prewett twins tried to launch a curse at him and fell, his hands clutching at his throat, to the ground. Molly Weasley rushed to his side as her brother choked and gasped and gurgled. Perhaps because Tom hadn't voiced any spell, hadn't waved his wand, not everyone realized he had been responsible for the man's fall. The other twin hurled a curse of his own. Tom narrowed eyes that had begun to take on a red tint. "Don't," he said. "I no longer choose to permit these games." The man took a step forwards, then staggered. He fell, unable to even catch himself to break his crash and landed on the stone floor with a pained gasp as bones broke under his own weight.

Harry was the one who set the body on fire with a twitch of his wand. "Shall I burn them all?" he asked Tom. "Shall I burn them all, burn the family what burned love?"

Luna clapped her hands. "Of course," she said.

Everyone ignored her.

"I thought," Tom went on, his eyes getting redder and redder with each word, "that I would enjoy the luxury of eternal life without the tedium of governance. Let Astoria do her magic. I had Hermione. What else did I need?"

He raised a hand and hissed out a whispered command that reverberated through the room, echoed through the castle, carried all the way down to the lowest caverns that sat under the school. Caverns where things lived. Caverns where one thing began to stir, answering a call it hadn't heard for over fifty years.

"I made a mistake, however," Tom said.

"You cannot love," Dumbledore called out. "It is your fatal flaw, Tom."

"I tire of him," Tom said to Luna.

She nodded, tilted her head, and a black cloud spread out from the ring on his hand. The curse, held back by her will and Snape's potion genius, burned through him in an instant and he fell. There was a gasp of disbelief from Minerva McGonagall and a loud sob from the Divination teacher, hovering with her spectacles and her wringing hands.

"If you are a politician," Tom said, "you have to work. You have to govern. You have to wield power." He waved his hand and Harry nodded at the command, gathered the Castle Crew as were still there, and disappeared with them. The other Death Eaters followed suit until only Luna remained at his side.

"What am I going to be?" he asked her.

She just smiled at him and twisted one of her locks of hair between her fingers. The pair of them studied one another as every member of the Order who tried to fling a curse gasped and died. The walls rustled as something slithered through pipes and moved inevitably towards what was left of the battle.

"If you wish to live, I suggest you leave," Tom said. "I suggest you begin praying Hermione lives." The reporters behind him began to edge towards the door. He waved a hand at Thoros Nott who watched him for a moment, then nodded. People rushed from the Hall, stumbling over one another, trampling one another, in their need to escape. James and Lily Potter were the last to go, staying to reassure themselves their son was truly away before they, themselves disappeared.

And the Basilisk emerged from the wall as Tom laughed.

. . . . . . . . . .

A/N - There will be one more chapter and then we are done. Thank you all for your support and many kind words. Love and abstract internet kisses.

Thank you to cocoartist, who beta read and brit picked this for me, and to Mags0607, who combed through all the last chapters looking for inconsistencies and dropped plot lines, and whose help in that area has been invaluable.

56. Chapter 56

Epilogue

Astoria stopped in the atrium of the Ministry for Magic and turned to face the hoard of reporters who had followed her like rats after cheese. "No," she said, the word coming out with such cold irritation several people involuntarily stepped back. "I do not know when it will stop raining. I do not know what Dumbledore was planning. What I know is that the late headmaster of Hogwarts took the entire student body hostage, trained underage magicians into an army in his name, and had a monster in the basement. What I know is that my sister has been a near prisoner of the Weasleys for years, afraid to do anything wrong for fear her child would be killed. She's severely traumatized and I am very worried she won't recover. What I know is that my dear friend, Hermione Riddle, was attacked by Ginny Weasley and is lying in a coma in her home, her husband at her bedside. Similarly, no one knows if she will recover. What I know is that until we get answers on what Dumbledore and his private army were up to at Hogwarts, all of wizarding Britain is under martial law."

"What can we do?" called out one reporter.

Astoria fixed her eyes on the woman. "You could look for Ginny Weasley?" she suggested. "She wasn't one of the bodies we located after Tom Riddle heroically managed to get that basilisk under control, and she's wanted for attempted murder."

"I meant about the rain," the woman said.

Astoria glanced over at a window. Dull grey clouds filled the sky and water streaked down the dirty panes until the whole of the outside world ripped and shifted into a distorted nightmare.

"The weather is an act of god," she said. "I suggest you try praying."

. . . . . . . . . .

Neville had perched on a high stool at the end of the bed and when he allowed Ginny to regain consciousness, he was the first thing she saw. She began to struggle almost at once. Her hands fought against the robes he'd used to tie her to the frame as if that would help. He supposed fleeing a predator was probably some kind of instinct buried so deeply within the human brain she couldn't help herself. He wondered if he could train her to hold herself still when she saw him.

That, he thought, might be fun. It would give these sessions a certain structure. Anyone could just launch crucio after crucio until their victim lost her mind. He hoped to have a little more refinement than that as he broke her.

"Good morning, sweetheart," he said. "What a pleasure to have you back in my bed."

Drusilla pouted. He could hear the pout in each word. "This isn't your bed."

Neville shrugged and let his smile grow as Ginny began to struggle even more frantically. She was pretty this way. Her arms were stretched out on each side of her head and the deliberately course rope was already chafing her skin. She'd rub herself raw before long with those struggles. He'd kept her feet bound together and loosely tied to the end of the bed and she still wore what she'd had on during the Battle. He wondered if some part of her mind took comfort from that. He could have tied her spread eagled and naked, after all. That would have been crude, however. When he finally used her that way, she'd ask for it, and mean it.

"It is my bed," Neville said in response to his wife. "I do own it, after all."

"True," she said. "And what's in it."

"You can't own a person," Ginny said. She probably had meant the words to be defiant, or perhaps she'd just realized for the first time he hadn't gagged her. Hard to tell, he supposed. He rather liked the tremulous waver in her voice that belied the defiance of what she said. He rewarded her for pleasing him that way by getting off his stool, settling on the edge of the bed, and gently rubbing her feet. He ran his thumbs over the soles, and pressed them into the arches, and with calm deliberation made her feel pleasure at his touch.

"I can," he said as he rubbed. "I can and I do. Do you think anyone is going to defy Tom now?"

Drusilla tittered at that. Even his allies were afraid to meet Tom's eyes now. Save the people in his innermost circle, no one dared contradict him, question him, even look at him too directly. What Tom Riddle wanted, Tom Riddle got, and people who'd hated her only a month before probably spent their nights on their knees praying to whatever gods they believed in that Hermione would recover.

Not that that would make things better. It would just keep them from getting any worse.

"We're going to get to know one another very, very well," Neville said as his hands massaged her feet. "I think you learn people the best when you see them at the point of orgasm and when they are in agony."

"I tried to kill your precious queen," Ginny said. She still had that delightful edge of fear in her voice and he bent down and pressed kisses on each of her toes to reward her. "Just kill me like you want to."

"Kill you?" Neville allowed a hint of dismay to color his voice. "Why would I do that?" He looked at her feet with a bit of a grimace. Grooming had never been Ginny's strongest point. "Dru, would you get one of Greg's little servants to find time to give our girl a pedicure?"

Drusilla nodded and left the room, the clack clacking of her stilettos making a cheerful sound on the stone floor.

"I'll give you a pass this time," Neville said. "But from now on you are to have pretty feet or I will beat the soles with a riding crop, do you understand?"

She turned her face away and he made a show of sighing loudly. "It isn't a good idea to be a slow learner, Ginny," he said. He summoned the tiny crop he'd stashed on the dresser and hit each foot two times. She jerked in her bonds and "What I'd like you to say is, 'Yes, Sir.' Do you think you can do that?" He caressed the bottom of one of her feet and her shoulder shook but she managed to choke out the required words and he set the crop down and kissed the ball of one foot again.

"Good girl," he said. "See, that wasn't hard."

He stood and deposited the crop back where it belonged and then leaned against the wall and looked at her. Tears had gathered in the corners of her eyes. "Just kill me," she said.

"No." He let the word hang there. "You're going to live a long, long time, Ginny. You could have been one of us but instead you picked betrayal. I plan to make sure you regret what you did to Hermione every day. We'll even feed you apples of Idunn so you won't ever age, won't ever die." He smiled as he considered how many people wanted nothing more than what he was going to give her. "Immortality, Ginny. Say thank you."

She mumbled the words as though she would choke on them.

"I'm sure you're lying there thinking you'll at least have your virtue," he said. "You tell yourself that we can dress you up in collars and paint your toes, but you'll never be evil, not like we are."

"You're the one who said it," Ginny said. She opened her eyes and he smiled at the look of triumph in them. She really thought she had that tiny shred of hope left.

Of course, hope was the best destroyer.

"I wonder how many years it will take before I put a wand in your hand and tell you to please me by torturing an innocent," Neville said. "Will it take one? Five? Twenty?" He watched the defiance in her eyes and said with the kind of gentleness that coaxed plants to espalier themselves against walls for him. "I have eternity, Ginny, and sooner or later you will care more about making me smile at you than you will for the purity of your soul."

He knew she thought he was a monster. He didn't care. Hermione lay in a room in this very castle, fighting for her life wrapped in spells and love, and the bitch in this bed was responsible for that. He was too, a little, He'd let Ginny escape with her dangerous knowledge of horcruxes. He picked up a knut and tossed it from one hand to the other. "Will today's lesson be one of pain or pleasure?" he asked her. "Heads, my dear, and I wrench an orgasm from you. Tails and I leave you bleeding. I mean to learn all about you, every weakness, every flaw in your character, and we'll do it with pain and pleasure until you long for and dread them both equally." He tossed the coin into the air and watched it land.

He smiled.

"Excellent," he said, opening a drawer of the dresser he'd filled with toys of all sorts while she'd been unconscious, his efforts focused on the recovering queen rather than the slave. "Shall we begin?"

. . . . . . . . . .

Regulus helped his bride into their suite and tried to smile encouragingly even as his head pounded from one too many glasses of champagne at their wedding. He knew she wasn't that young – the woman had daughter at Hogwarts for Merlin's sake – but she seemed almost childlike in the way she ducked her head and sweetly accommodated everything and everyone. She'd liked all suggestions for the wedding, had no obvious opinions of her own, and almost didn't seem to take up space.

Regulus supposed eleven years of gathering information as the wife no one thought was very bright wouldn't have gone successfully if she'd been more assertive and, given Theo Nott had kissed her on her cheek at their wedding, Regulus assumed she'd done well in her role as spy.

The Riddles, obviously, hadn't attended the event.

Rose was alive, probably running through the back gardens at Malfoy Manor with Scorpius, utterly heedless her life had hung by the thread of her mother's intelligence for years. Daphne had done very well indeed, Regulus mused. From the schoolgirl who'd spit on Tom Riddle's fiancé, she'd spun herself into a trusted spy, her daughter best friends with the myriad offspring of the most powerful women in their world. If he didn't know all of that, if he hadn't seen the woman murder her first husband, he'd have written her off as too placid, too dull, too ordinary to be worth a second glance. She seemed like nothing but an unexceptional, middle class housewife.

"I hope you haven't become too terribly fond of housework during your stint with the Weasleys," he tried to tease, hoping to break the ice. He hasn't actually seen much of the woman since Astoria had hustled her out of Hogwarts before the battle started in earnest and everything had gone to hell. After everything, he'd reassured her she'd have a place with him – a home – and that her time as Tom's spy being well needed truly over, then, when she'd collapsed sobbing into Astoria's arms, he'd excused himself. Histrionics reminded him too much of his mother, and, though he supposed being released from over a decade of bondage via murder might justify a bout of hysterics, he hoped they were an uncommon occurrence. When she just smiled tremulously at his comment about housework he tried again. "Kreacher – the house elf – gets a tad upset when anyone tries to take over anything he considers his responsibility, and, though I know some people think of house elves as oppressed slaves, . one in a snit is a sight to behold."

Daphne shook her head. "I never really cared for the chores." Her fingers picked somewhat nervously at the antique lace of her wedding dress. "If you wanted me to… I am very grateful, you understand." Her voice was measured. These, Regulus thought, were the words of a woman who had given this considerable thought. "I expected to live as some kind of servant in Tory's house after I… after the Dark Lord permitted me to leave the Burrow. I am grateful you have… I know you can have no thoughts of attachment to a woman your daughter's age, but I will try to be a –"

"Stop." Regulus decided he couldn't bear to hear this beaten down, rehearsed spiel. "I'm not sure what you know about men, but, in general, we don't turn our noses up at beautiful, younger women." He tried to make the words a jest but the shake in her smile made him reach out a run his fingers along her jaw. "Daphne," he said. "You're a beautiful woman."

"I'm… I know having Rose made me… I don't look like a – "

She stopped and Regulus kept his hand cupping her face.

"I will, of course, not do housework if it would upset your elf."

"If you like it," he tried, "I'm sure we could weather his sulks."

"I hate it." The words were low and possibly the most passionate thing he'd heard come out of her mouth. "I hate cooking, and I hate scrubbing, and I hate laundry. I despise laundry. I hate picking up dirty pants that never reach the basket and I hate-"

"Then you won't do any of it," Regulus said. He pulled her a little closer and studied the eyes that gave almost nothing away. "I made a vow to honor and cherish you," he said. "And, Salazar knows, we're rich enough you needn't lift a hand if you don't want to." He took one of those hands and pressed his mouth against her palm. She inhaled with what seemed almost like dread, which couldn't be right. She was no unsure virgin, handed over by Pureblood parents like some kind of ignorant sacrifice, afraid of the things girls whispered about behind closed doors when the really sheltered ones tried to speculate what a husband might want. She'd been married over a decade. She'd borne a child. He took one finger into his mouth and sucked on it, swirling his tongue around, and she seemed about to cry.

He stopped and stepped back. "Are you not interested in men?" he asked as politely as he could. He'd spent the whole of the afternoon since she'd appeared in that dress fantasizing about stripping it off her, one tiny button at a time, and finding out what every inch of his new bride tasted like, but if that was not going to happen he'd rather like to find out before he went much further and ended up miserably aroused while she stood there in her frozen, unprotesting silence, letting him do what he wanted as if she were an unfeeling doll. That was a repugnant notion.

"I am… I have stretch marks," she said. When he didn't say anything but just studied her she added in a rush, "I usually just… I could get myself wet enough it won't hurt if you're willing to wait, but – "

Regulus was not exactly sure what she was suggesting, but a tiny voice in his brain whispered when he figured it out he was going to be very, very angry. It was hard to believe this nervous woman was offering to wantonly display herself for him on their very first night together, which meant she –

"Did your first husband not take the time to –"

"I just took care of it," Daphne said. "I didn't want him touching me anyway." She looked down at the floor and Regulus shivered. "It felt too personal," she added and something in Regulus got very angry indeed. He was angry at the husband she'd murdered, angry on her behalf, angry even at Tom Riddle, who'd left her to spy. Proud, too, that she'd done it and hadn't broken.

He pulled her into his arms and said, "You do have a will of steel, don't you?"

"I needed to keep Rose safe," she whispered. "Until he told me I could leave, I'd earned my freedom, I had to do whatever it took to keep her safe, and – "

"And that meant… Didn't he even care?" Regulus demanded thinking not of Riddle, who, of course, wouldn't care, but of her husband. "Didn't he notice? Over a decade and you just got yourself wet so it wouldn't hurt?"

Daphne just shrugged. It was, Regulus realized, what she'd known. It had just been how it was. "Would you be terribly upset," he asked her, as formally as he could, "if I opted to not do it that way?"

"I –"

"I have every intention, Daphne Black, of protecting you from the world." He could hear how enraged he was and while he knew it was unreasonable to be angry because she hadn't been his then, she hadn't been his to shield from everything, he was still furious. As he stood in his room, his arms around the woman who might not realize yet she'd come home and would never be unsafe again, he didn't care. She'd been bruised and manipulated and scared since she'd been a child and he planned to make sure none of that ever happened again. He kissed her forehead, then tilted her head up so she was looking at him. "But I think there are some things you might like if you tried them again."

Her mouth trembled and he pressed his lips to the very edge and whispered, "Let's start with kissing." He kissed her with no demands at all in his mouth or his hands until her lips parted just the smallest bit and she sighed against him as her body began to uncoil. Regulus turned his attention to her neck and at last she gasped. It was the tiniest of sounds, hesitant and unsure, but he counted it as a victory. When she lifted the hands that had hung limply at her sides to put them behind his head he counted that as another one. "Good girl," he whispered. "Take what you want."

When he finally unbuttoned the last of the many, many buttons on her dress, his breath hot on her skin, she trembled under his hands with eagerness and when she cried afterward, after she fell apart under his hands and mouth, after he came into her her name on his lips, he wasn't even surprised. "It's a good thing you don't like housework," he said as she wiped tears off with the handkerchief he'd summoned from a drawer.

"Why is that?" she asked around her sniffles.

"Because I would hate to be a tyrant so early in our marriage," he said as he ran a finger over the silvery lines on her stomach. "But if you think I'm letting you out of bed to scrub, you have misread me altogether."

"I don't get to scrub?" she asked, and the tiny giggle was another thing he put onto his list of victories.

"No," he said. He kissed her on the shoulder. "My love, you're going to have to resign yourself to a life without scrubbing."

"I think I can do that," she said.

When she reached a hand over to rest it on him, he had another victory, and if he was old enough that it took him longer to come back to attention than it had in his youth, some things were worth waiting for. Some things were worth doing properly, so he did. Several times.

. . . . . . . . . .

Gellert Grindelwald picked up the cup of tea and savored the taste of properly brewed fresh Earl Grey. The British could be difficult in so many ways, but they did know how to make tea and after his many years in a continental prison, he was making a point of appreciating the little things freedom had brought. A clean flat. Sun streaming through windows. Warmth.

Also, vengeance. Luna had gifted him a copy of the memory of her final, killing curse and sometimes he settled down at night and watched it the way one might reread a favorite book. The guilt in Albus' eyes when he looked out and saw his former lover was his favorite part, but he enjoyed seeing the light go out of those eyes as well. He wasn't sure the months Albus had lived in the brink of agony quite balanced out his own years in prison, but it was at least a payment or two into the bank of revenge.

He took another sip and set the cup down so he could pick up his quill. One summer to create an entire curriculum. It was a challenge. He'd realized how much prison had dulled his wits when he'd been asked to take this on. Still, the chance to shape young minds wasn't one he planned to turn down.

Plus, 'Professor' had quite ring to it.

The Dark Arts are a demanding field, he wrote. The introduction to the first year text had been thwarting his attempts to write it for weeks. They demand care, precision, and utter surety that the ends justify the means.

. . . . . . . . .

Tom sat with her hand in his. The red eyes could still cry. They still made tears. Hermione would find that interesting, he supposed.

"You have to sleep." Pansy had come in and set a hand on his shoulder.

Tom let his mouth twist. "I don't, actually," he said. "I am as a god." Pansy's finger's tightened in sympathy. Tom didn't bother to shake her away. She'd worn herself until she was nearly translucent herself in her quest to keep the woman lying in the bed alive. "They'll pray to me," he said. "They'll cry out their screams to an unfeeling god and then they will burn."

"She's going to live," Pansy said. "We've fed her the apples, Luna sacrificed a dozen babies - "

"I'd noticed the rain," Tom said. It would have been hard not to. It had pounded on the ceiling and run down windows in a torrent of misery. Luna's rage came out in water. His would wash Britain in blood.

"It's just time," Pansy said. "Just give her time. It's only been a few weeks. We have time, Tom."

"We do," he said. He looked away from the ashen, unconscious love that was his and was him and studied Pansy's face. She didn't flinch at the red eyes. Didn't flinch at him. The rest would. "I was willing to be a benign overlord," he said. "As long as I had her, I would have let Astoria run the politics and been happy to master the Arts in peace."

"And now?"

"Are the gods ever kind?"

. . . . . . . . . . .

Hermione opened her eyes. Tom had collapsed at the side of her bed, his head folded down over arms. He knelt at the floor at her side, and when she raised a weak hand to touch his head he jerked back to full alertness.

"Hermione," he said, then again, "Hermione."

"I'm here," she said.

She brushed a finger against the long lashes and looked at his red, red eyes. "Now it is time for me to work on you, I think. All will be well, my love," she said. "All will be well."

57. Author's Note and Drabble

Author's Note:

Thank you to all you amazing readers, who hung in there through patches of writer's block, and kept the support and love coming. Like all fanfic writers, I thrive on your comments and you have been wonderful.

Many, MANY thanks to the crew of alpha and beta readers who have nurtured this along the way with everything from brit picking to time line straightening: apple2019, brightki, cocoartistwrites, dulce-de-leche-go, lizziebennetgonesolo, Mags0607, Oracle10, shayalonnie, small-steps-and-better-days, TequilaMockingbirdWrites, theeldritchwitch, wildrosemage

The next generation cheat sheet:
Thadeus Idun Nott - June 21, 2000 (Hufflepuff)
Laurel Idri Nott - June 21, 2000 (Slytherin)
Scorpius Malfoy - March 15, 2001 (Slytherin)
Rose (Cassandra) Weasley - February 14, 2001 (Gryffindor)
Helios Vinson Goyle-Lovegood - April, 2001 (Hufflepuff)
Belladonna Black (Ravenclaw)

Annamonk wrote a great ficlet set in this universe about Pansy and her fox: Vixen's Vocation. www DOT fanfiction DOT net/s/11875771/1/Vixen-s-Vocation and also linked from my profile.

There is a pinterest board for this fic at www DOT pinterest DOT com/colubrina/pygmalion/

The best way to reach me with questions is via tumblr, where my user name is Colubrina.

. . . . . . . . . .

And, finally, to end this journey, a bonus Christmas Pygmalion ficlet, originally posted on tumblr in 2015 for a little holiday cheer:

"I don't see why we have to do this," Greg muttered as he and Vincent hauled a large tree back to Castle Library. "Tom could just float the thing here with one wave of his hand but, no, instead we have to haul the thing in the hard way." He took a deep breath and gave the evergreen another yank, making a face as his hand came in contact with some of the stickiness around the base of the tree. "I'm going to have sap on everything."

"You wanna tell Tom to do it?" Vincent demanded. He'd remembered to wear gloves - and gloves he didn't care about at that - so was a tad less pissy than Greg.

Greg lowered the trunk and turned to look at his longtime friend. "You want me to die or something? What's with a suggestion like that?"

"You were complaining," Vincent said.

Greg huffed. By the time they had the tree in he did, indeed, have sap on everything. "I need a bath," he muttered as Pansy ordered him to leave the tree right there in the foyer, that she and Hermione would decorate it.

"Were we supposed to get people gifts?" Greg asked Vincent as they went off in search of a more sapless existence. He was worried he'd somehow mucked everything up. "Were we supposed to get her a gift?" Vincent glanced back over his shoulder at the two women who were levitating the tree with their wands and arguing about where it should go and hunched his own shoulders. If they were supposed to get Hermione a gift, and didn't, Tom would be angry. If he felt their giving her a present was overstepping, however, he'd be, well, neither of them wanted to think about what he'd be. He liked to experiment on Muggles to pass the afternoon, and he frequently delivered lectures on what whatever curse he was working on did as it happened.

Entrails were incredibly messy and both Greg and Vincent preferred theirs inside their bodies rather than on the floor. Still, no matter how terrifying the man was - and he was terrifying - he could inspire. He was willing to go over anything he discovered with any of them for as many times as it took. Used to teachers who dismissed him as 'the stupid one', Greg appreciated that Tom Riddle didn't do that. He could make you feel like you were something special, that he saw you for who you were and valued you. He made you feel important.

"We'll ask Neville," Vincent said.

"Huh?" Greg's thoughts had wandered and he wasn't sure what Vincent was talking about.

"Whether we should get Hermione a gift or not," Vincent said. "Neville always knows what to do."

Neville was of the opinion that gifts were a good idea and so the three of them spent an afternoon looting through an abandoned cottage that had once been home to a hedge witch with a nasty habit of poisoning her neighbors. Neville had stumbled upon the place while looking for toxic plants and was happy to share his bounty for Christmas giving. "Can't exactly give Hermione, or even Draco, a Pygmy Puff," he said as he blew dust off a vial labeled, 'For Enemies.' "Regular stores are right out if you want to get something good. Wonder what this does."

Greg shrugged.

"You did remember to owl order something for your parents, right?" Neville asked.

Vincent dared to say, "What are you getting yours?" Neville's Auror parents, notable fighters for all things good and right, were something they generally didn't bring up, much as they didn't mention Potter's.

Neville's smile faltered a little before he said, "Good fire whiskey." He scooped a pile of books up and dropped them into Vincent's arms. "You should find something there for everyone. Just don't give the illustrated manual on suggestions for Devil's Snare uses to Hermione. Tom might take books on herbivorous bondage ideas the wrong way."

Vincent looked down at the load of books in his arms, his eyes wide enough that Neville laughed.

They did find something for everyone in the dilapidated cottage and Vincent and Greg spent much of the early evening trying to get things to wrap. Sticking charms went astray and there wasn't enough paper and Vincent accused Greg of using more than his fair share of the ribbon, an argument that might have come to fisticuffs if Neville hadn't transfigured an old shirt into a spool of more green ribbon than anyone could have wanted. When the three of them finally brought their stacks of books and mysterious dark vials and some object Neville had made off with that seemed to twist space around itself and hurt to look at, all neatly wrapped - or at the very least wrapped - to the tree Hermione and Pansy were still squabbling.

There were too many lights on one side. And the star on the top was crooked. And Pansy's fox had made off with some of the popcorn Hermione had strung, though, as Pansy pointed out, she'd strung it in under three minutes, thanks to magic, so it wasn't quite as though she'd spent the whole day making a food garland only to have it eaten which, by the way, was what one did with food.

Hermione huffed and seemed like she was about to retort when she saw the boys standing in the doorway, their arms piled with presents. That made her smile and she pointed, somewhat imperiously, under the tree and they slip the packages under the boughs laden with what looked like real icicles, candles, and more popcorn garlands. "Happy Christmas Eve," Neville said, bowing over her hand. He nodded somewhat less formally at Pansy. "Keep your fox out of the packages, Pans. I'm not sure what some of them would do to him."

"Noted," she said.

"Where are Tom and Theo and Draco?" Vincent asked as he rearranged packages to give his own presents slightly more prominent placement.

"Shopping," Hermione said. She and Pansy exchanged smug glances. "Trust men to leave it to the last minute."

"Right," Greg muttered.

"Wouldn't want to do that," Vincent agreed.

"Should we break out the wassail while we wait?" Neville asked. "The shops are probably crowded and it make take them a bit."

Pansy gave the star one last adjustment with her wand and agreed that was a perfect plan and so the five of them sat in happy accord, getting steadily more relaxed as they drank the mulled ale, and waited for the rest of their band of miscreants to return so that their celebration of the darkest night might commence in earnest.