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His White Queen: A Prequel	By : jsu1660n Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 18950 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I DO NOT own Harry Potter, neither the characters from the books or movies. I receive no profit from this fanfiction.

Chapter List
- 10
- 11
- 12
A/N: Sexual Content Up Ahead

Chapter 10

“You should have seen it, milord!” he exclaimed, recounting the events of the First Task. “The wall itself was at least ten feet high!”

The Dark Lord gave a rasping laugh. “And Dumbledore didn’t suspect that it was her?”

“I’m sure he did, but he was too startled to do anything. He said that he planned to talk to her. He’s starting to suspect that she’s using dark magic. But I managed to convince him that she trusts me enough to talk to me. So, in addition to mentoring Potter, Dumbledore wants me to keep a close watch on her.”

“Good. As entertaining as it is what she did to the dragon, the length she’s willing to go through in order to keep the boy alive troubles me.”

“It is a bit disconcerting, milord, but I have no doubts that when the time is right, she will make the correct choice.”

“When is the next task?”

“After the ball, milord.”

The Dark Lord sighed irritably. “What are her prospects?”

“The Potter boy would be everyone’s first guess. I doubt she would go with Weasley. She seems to have a natural dislike for him. Krum watches her like a hawk when he thinks no one is looking. Although, that may stem from Karkaroff’s sudden interest in her.”

“Karkaroff?” the dangerous rasp of the Dark Lord’s voice was unmistakable. “Has he said anything to her?”

“Nothing of consequence. I have been keeping a close watch on him as well. None of us have forgotten his crimes. How he is allowed to work around children is a wonder to me.”

“It’s mostly because Durmstrang is a boys institution. Are there any others?”

“She seems to be close to the Diggory boy…and the Weasley girl is quite…enamored with her.”

The Dark Lord chuckled darkly. “Old habits die hard it would seem. I must rest now, my servant. But I trust that no harm shall befall the girl before I am able to infer for myself whether or not it is as we suspect.”

“I live to serve you, master.”

Hermione’s pleasant day quickly deteriorated from bad to worse. It was pleasant because Hermione had a nice dream of the Dark Lord teaching Meira to fly without a broom. An amazing feat that the witch versed Hermione in well enough to try on her own.

The day turned bad when she read the morning’s issue of The Daily Prophet. That bleach blond, propaganda writing, bitch Rita Skeeter, had the audacity to accuse her of seducing Harry Potter and breaking poor Ronald Weasley’s heart! Seriously? And if that was not enough on Hermione’s growing pile of bullshit, Mrs. Weasley actually sent her a howler. Hermione didn’t bother to open it. Instead, she lit it on fire at the table in the Great Hall and gave a little curtsy to Snape when he docked points from Gryffindor for being a “pyromaniac.”

Ginny spent the entire morning trying to make her feel better. She along with Harry and the twins sent home letters to Mrs. Weasley hoping to set her straight. It didn’t fail anyone’s notice that Ron was not included in their damage control plans.

And when Hermione thought that her day could not possibly get any worse, Professor McGonagall announced that there would be a ball before the Second Task. Hermione was indeed having a dark day.

Meira, on the other hand was amused. She was no more thrilled about the Yule Ball than Hermione was, but she thought it was entertaining watching the first and second year children practically meld themselves with the castle walls just to avoid crossing her path.

“Hey, Hermione,” Ginny said cautiously. “Are you feeling any better?”

Hermione met the girl’s wide-eyed gaze and forced herself to smile. “Not really.”

“Hermione, please don’t be upset. Mum believes anything that cow writes. Harry’s letting Luna interview him for her father’s magazine. He says he’s going to fix everything for you.”

“That’s sweet, but I really could care less what Skeeter thinks.”

“And my mum?”

“Is entitled to her opinion.”

“Hermione - .”

“Gin, I really appreciate you trying to make me feel better, but I think I just want to spend the rest of the day by myself.”

“What about dinner?”

“I’m not hungry.”

Hermione could see the tears forming in the girl’s eyes and she was beginning to regret ever touching her.

“All right, I will tell everyone to leave you alone.”

“Thank you, Gin. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

That one little white lie brightened the young witch’s day. Hermione went to the dorms, deciding to take a nap and was surprised to see Lavender Brown sitting on her bed with her face buried in her hands.

Probably still upset about the hair thing.

“Well, then, why not do a good deed and get an annoying ginger off my back at the same time?”

Lavender didn’t take notice of Hermione’s presence until she cleared her throat. She snapped her head up. Her eyes were red and puffy. “What do you want?” she whispered.

“I want to help you.”

The girl scoffed and wiped away her tears. “Why would you want to help me? In case you have forgotten, we are not friends.”

“In case you have forgotten, I was not the one who began this. You started it all with your careless comments. Honestly, Lavender, did you really think there would be no cosmic justice for sticking your nose where it didn’t belong?”

Lavender’s mouth opened slowly. “You? You…did this? This is all because of you?”

“I have no idea what you are talking about. But if you want to want to walk around without wearing that pitiful glamour, you might want to listen to what I have to say.”

Once Hermione reminded Lavender that if she ever told anyone that she suspected she was the cause of her hair loss or shirked her “new responsibilities” in any way, she would reverse the spell at the most embarrassing time. She sent her on her way and climbed into her bed. Hermione closed the curtains and cast several powerful wards so that even the headmaster himself would find it nearly impossible to disturb her.

Hermione laid in her bed absently stroking Crookshanks fur as Baltazar curled around her wrist. She felt strange. Was it possible to miss someone you never met? In the beginning, Meira’s dreams and thoughts were frightening. Then entertaining. Eventually she grew obsessed. Yet somewhere along the way, Hermione began to have feelings for Tom Riddle. How foolish was that?

I don’t believe that it is foolish at all, ‘Mi. We are connected. Of course you will feel what I feel, just as I feel what you feel.

“I suppose. But the question still remains. How are we connected?”

Close your eyes.

“Why?”

You pick now of all times to stop trusting me? Seriously, close your eyes.

“Fine.” Hermione felt a tingling sensation ripple through her body. One thing she learned from her years of running around with Harry and Ron, it was how to attune your body to your surroundings. The first thing she noticed – aside from the drop in temperature – was the sounds around her. The waves crashing to her right. The unknown creatures padding across the forest floor. The birds calling in the trees. Hermione opened her eyes and gasped as she nearly rolled off the cliff. “What the hell, Meira?”

Sorry. It’s been a while since I tried to Apparate. I guess I’m a bit rusty.

“A bit?” she stood, wiping the snow off her clothes. “You could have at least warned me to dress warmly.” Hermione looked around and felt her heart fill with equal amounts of terror and excitement.

Welcome to the Black Sea Manor.

The mansion was huge to say the least. There were pillars at the entrance and the double doors opened on their own before Hermione could decide whether or not she should knock or see if it was locked. The floors were a dark marble. There were two sets of stairs on both the left and right side of the room.

“I believe I recall your grandmother being a ghost.”

Yes. She will be around shortly, I presume.

“Is she a friendly ghost?”

As long as you don’t refer to her as a ghost. She prefers wraith.

Hermione fell back on instinct and took the left set of stairs. With each step her pulse quickened in anticipation for what she may find around the corner. She finally reached the top step. She was met by a beautiful spirit who had long, white hair. The wraith’s eyes were haunting because they held a white glow, absent of any color. She wore a long white gown that dragged behind her.

“Identify yourself, child.” The wraith’s voice was a little like an echo. Almost as if her voice was recorded over itself twice.

“Hermione Jean Granger, ma’am,” she said, proud that her voice did not give way to her fear.

“And what is your purpose in my manor?”

“I…was brought here.”

“Only someone with the Belikov blood can pass through those doors.” She tilted her head seemingly curious. “‘If you’re alone, I’ll be your shadow. If you want to cry, I’ll be your shoulder. If you want a hug, I’ll be your pillow.’”

Hermione finished the quote without a second thought. “‘If you need to be happy, I’ll be your smile. But anytime you need a friend, I’ll just be me.’”

She could feel the joy and happiness emanating from the wraith as warm and as bright as the sun. She reached out to Hermione and the wraith’s touch against her cheek felt like the tip of a feather.

“Welcome home,” she said, fading away.

“She didn’t cross over, did she?”

No, she’s entirely too stubborn for that, Meira said, with more than a touch of fondness in her voice.

Hermione continued her journey through the house. She explored eight rooms in all before she found Meira’s bedroom. She stood outside the closed door with sweaty palms and a pounding heart. She was unsure if she was nervous or if it was Meira’s emotions spilling over into her own.

With a trembling hand, she opened the door and took a step inside of the familiar bedroom. The room was decorated in burgundy and black. The first thing that caught her eye was the moving photo set in a gold frame. Hermione lifted the frame and a dull ache echoed through her. It was a wizard photo of Meira at five-years-old with her mother Feodora. They were standing at the cliffs of the manor waving happily at the camera.

“You miss her.”

You will never grow to be too old to need your mother, ‘Mi.

Beside the frame was a box. The decorated box was white and gold porcelain and held a black rose bud at the center. Hermione ran a finger down the rose. Suddenly it opened. Inside were different trinkets, cards, jewelry, and Meira’s diary.

“May I?”

Yes.

She opened the royal blue diary that smelled of lilacs. She skimmed over a few entries before settling on the last.

July 26, 1980

“Dear Mother,

Something is going to happen. Tom is being distant with me and I cannot shake this feeling that we are about to be separated. He assures me that it is all in my head, but it’s not. Do not misunderstand me – Tom is not leaving me, but I fear that his hatred for Dumbledore has clouded his judgment in the worse way. He has become obsessed with this ridiculous prophecy. He is convinced that he must destroy both the Potter and Longbottom children. Killing children! Can you believe it? Even grandmother is unable to talk him out of it.

Mother, I have never seen Tom so…afraid. I think it would be easier if it was his own life he feared for, but it’s not. We have discovered that the Order, with the full support of the British Ministry, has placed a price on my head. I won’t impress you with figures. Let’s just say that it is no lower than a King’s Ransom. If Tom is public enemy number one, then I am definitely public enemy number two. It has gotten to the point where I am hardly ever alone if Tom is away, and even if he is home, he has Death Eaters stationed by twos shadowing me. When he is away, Barty is with me. What can I say about Barty? He is a Light in the Darkness. When he is around, the death of Ciarán no longer feels like a sea of despair waiting to drag me down into its black abyss.

In the beginning, when Tom first noticed my fondness for Barty, his jealousy consumed me like a raging Fiendfyre. It was only when I allowed him to hear Barty’s unharnessed thoughts about me did he finally see. If Barty looks upon me as a mother, it is more than an assumption that he wishes the Dark Lord were his father.

The war itself is progressing. The Light side has been hesitant in its efforts of killing the followers of the Dark. They are still under the laughable delusions that killing is only the last resort, when the last resort has left them barely an inch away from death. However, quite a few supporters to Dumbledore are more than willing to fight the way we fight. Those are central targets. The darker they fight, the easier we can portray them as Dark Wizards and let Dumbledore’s righteousness do the rest.

Writing to you has given me a little more comfort than what I had when I picked up my quill. I feel Tom’s presence downstairs. Yes, he could Apparate directly into the bedroom, but he’s been saying things lately like, ‘why rush? I want to take my time so that I don’t miss anything.’ Something bad is going to happen to us. It frustrates me to no end because it seems as though everything and everyone are aligning themselves to keep us apart. But it is a waste of time. They can try to part us. They can try to kill us. Whether it be months, years, or centuries, I will never let Tom go and he will never let me go. The world shall drown in blood before our bond is broken.

Love,

Meira, the Dark Lord’s White Queen

Hermione closed the diary unsure what she should have felt about reading that last entry. It was obvious that Tom and Meira were devoted to each other. She doubted if Death itself could truly part them.

She looked through the different cards and notes from Tom over the years. Hermione was pleasantly surprised to see that the Dark Lord would actually take the time to make such sweet gestures before she became his wife.

There was one card in particular that stood out to her. It bore the shape and scent of a purple rose bud and felt like velvet. She opened the card and began to read aloud.

‘She walks in beauty, like the night

‘Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

‘And all that’s best of dark and bright

‘Meet in her aspect and her eyes;

‘Thus mellowed to that tender light

‘Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

‘One shade the more, one ray the less,

‘Had half impaired the nameless grace

‘Which waves in every raven tress,

‘Or softly lightens o’er her face;

‘Where thoughts serenely sweet express,

‘How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

   “‘And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,

     ‘So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

    ‘The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

     ‘But tell of days in goodness spent,

     ‘A mind at peace with all below,

    ‘A heart whose love is innocent!’”

Hermione froze at the sound of the familiar voice as Meira sighed contently. She was too afraid to look.

“Personally, I found Lord Byron more tolerable than Shakespeare. ‘My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun’ and all of that rubbish. As if I would ever pronounce myself a slave to anyone!”

With the velvet card clutched in her trembling hands, Hermione glanced up at the wall opposite to the bed. Hanging above the mantle of the fireplace was a portrait of the darkest wizard known to their world. He sat proud like a king donned in the finest green robes with Nagini wrapped around his throne.

“Tom Riddle,” she whispered. And then she fainted.

Back at the castle, Ron Weasley sat beside Harry and across from his sister, shoveling potatoes in his mouth with one hand and gnawing on a chicken leg with the other; oblivious to the various disgusted glances he was receiving from his housemates.

“And she’s not coming down at all?” Harry asked Ginny again for the fifth time.

“No, Harry,” she sighed. “She said she wanted time to herself. My guess is she’s trying to keep her temper under control.”

“Can’t say I blame her. Your mum was out of line,” he said. “She actually wrote back saying that I was too blinded by Hermione’s wantonness to see how wrong for me she really is. Oh, but she did take the time to sing your praises, Ginny.”

“Well,” Ron said, swallowing a mouthful of potatoes to weigh in. “You have to admit that Hermione’s been acting and dressing a little looser than normal. I mean if she wasn’t our friend, I would say that she’s acting like a right slut.”

The words had barely left Ron’s lips before Ginny swished her wand, dumping the entire bowl of mashed potatoes onto her brother’s head.

“What the hell, Ginny?” he exclaimed over the laughter in the hall.

“Only a coward would insult someone when they are not around to defend themselves, brother,” she spat. She sheathed her wand and left the hall ignoring the whispers and looks she received.

Harry wiped his mouth and looked at his friend disgustedly. “Honestly, Ron? We had just gotten everything back on track and you say this?”

He stormed out of the hall followed by Neville who merely shook his head in pity.

“What is everyone’s problem?” he said, fruitlessly picking mashed potatoes off his head.

“I know a pretty good cleansing spell that can get rid of those.”

He turned at the sound of the vaguely familiar voice. Lavender Brown smiled prettily with her newly re-grown hair, wand in hand.

“Would you mind?”

“Sure.” She cleared away the potatoes, but the scent still lingered. “That’s the best I can do. I’m afraid that you’re just going to have to wash the smell away.”

“Thanks. That was more than I could have hoped to have from the rest of these traitors,” he said, glaring mutinously at his remaining housemates.

“Would it be alright if I sat here?” she asked, blushing.

“Be my guest.” Ron found himself liking the way the girl blushed at the opportunity of being so near to him. “Has anyone asked you to the ball yet?”

Her eyes lit up as brightly as the stars in the Astronomy Tower. “Are you asking me?”

Ron felt his ego inflate even further than it already had. “No, no, I was just wondering. I’m probably going to ask Hermione.”

“Oh,” she said sadly, much to his delight. “She’s not going to go with you.” She kept her eyes lowered, feeling his heavy gaze boring into her.

“Oh, yeah, and how would you know?” he said, rudely. “She doesn’t even like you!”

“I don’t mean to offend you, Ron. I just don’t think Hermione deserves someone as smart, funny, and good-looking as you.” Underneath the table, Lavender starting running her hand up and down his thigh.

“I suppose you’re right. Hermione is too much of a bitch to deserve someone like me. She’s not like you, though. But suppose I did ask you. What would you do for me in return?”

Her eyes grew lidded and she licked her lips. “Anything.”

“I don’t do anything halfway, and I think you know what I mean,” he implied. She was practically sitting in his lap now.

“Maybe we could go back to the tower and I could help you wash your hair.”

Ron smirked, leaving the Great Hall with his head held high and Lavender at his side. From what he could tell, Lavender had a great body. Curves in all the right places and her tits were sure as hell bigger than Hermione’s. So yeah, he would humor the little lioness and let her think that she had him totally distracted from Hermione’s lore. But in the end, nothing and no one would stop him from claiming Hermione for himself.

At the teacher’s table, Moody smirked to himself. He watched the little incident at the Gryffindor table from start to finish. The Weasley boy had no idea just how resourceful his obsession could be when she was determined.

“I have told you already, Severus, although Miss Granger’s behavior as of late is odd, I see no reason to punish her when she has done nothing wrong,” the headmaster sighed.

“Nothing wrong?” Snape hissed. “That little chit tortured my godson –.”

“We have been over that, Severus.”

“And from the start of this term she has constantly back sassed me in front of the other students. How do you expect me to do my job adequately when I have lost their respect?”

“First, Severus,” McGonagall answered before the headmaster could respond. “You lose their respect every day when you choose to belittle them instead of helping them discover why they made errors to start with. Second, Miss Granger is one of the finest students Hogwarts has seen in years and it just kills you that she receives better grades than your godson.”

“Hear, hear,” Moody said, raising his glass to the stern witch.

Severus’s eye began to tick as he glared at Moody. “But of course you would agree with the professor, Moody. From the start you have been Miss Granger’s defender from all things wicked. Why is that?” he questioned in that angry-calm voice he uses to intimidate his students.

“I have news for you, Snape. I ain’t the Longbottom boy. That voice doesn’t work on me.”

“How carefully you avoid the question, Moody.”

“Well, maybe I like seeing the girl put you in your place every day.”

“Maybe that’s not all you like,” he said, ignoring McGonagall’s gasp and the headmaster’s heavy sighing.

Moody stood slowly. “That’s more of Karkaroff’s style rather than mine, Snape, but then you would know all about Death Eater proclivities, wouldn’t you?”

“Alastor, Severus, that’s enough.”

“Fine, don’t listen to me. But you three won’t be satisfied until she starts murdering the students and burying them in the Forbidden Forest,” he said a little too loudly drawing everyone’s attention. “You already let one student turn dark on your watch and now no one dares to even utter his name, despite the fact that he is gone. Will you allow the same fate to befall another, Albus?”

Snape spun on his heels, storming from the Great Hall in a great flourish of robes.

“Alastor?” the headmaster continued to stare after his potions master.

“Yes, Albus?”

“Do keep a close watch on Miss Granger.”

“For what end, Albus? And besides, Miss Granger is of my House. I should be the one –.”

“Please don’t argue with me on this, Minerva.”

“I’ll keep an eye on her Albus,” Moody assured him. “Don’t you worry about a thing.”

***

The bedroom was nearly dark when Hermione came to, save for the moon and firelight. She sat up slowly as awareness trickled back to her.

“Please don’t tell me I fainted. Not one of my best moments.”

No, it really wasn’t, Meira giggled.

“Finally,” Tom’s portrait called. “You gave poor Natasia quite the scare.”

“Sorry,” she said, trying to ignore the fear and longing she felt.

“Not to worry. Witches have always fainted in my presence,” he smirked. “Why should you be the exception?”

“Are you always so arrogant?” she said, climbing off the bed.

“It’s not arrogance if it is the truth. Come closer. I can barely see you.”

Hermione swallowed her nerves and moved closer.

“Closer.”

She moved again.

“Closer,” he said in an almost teasing voice, making her feel like she was having a Silence of the Lambs moment.

She was now standing directly in front of the portrait. Just like in her dreams, Tom Riddle had black hair that hung over his left eye. His eyes were that dark coffee brown. His skin was pale and even though he looked like an angel, she could see that it was an all act, a very good one, but an act all the same.

“What is your name?”

“Hermione Granger.”

He smirked at her as if he knew something that she didn’t. “Tom Riddle.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Ah, my reputation precedes me then?”

“That it does.”

“Well, now I feel accomplished,” he said with a wink.

Hermione felt a surge of heat flow through her body and frowned. Was a portrait really arousing her?

“But what I don’t understand is how you are actually here. You’re not dead.”

“Good to know. It has been thirteen years since I have spoken to someone besides Natasia. As you may have guessed, she is bound to the manor and has no way of knowing what is going on in the outside world.”

He ran a hand through his hair and Hermione had to bite her lip to stop from moaning at the sight of it. But even as a portrait, Tom Riddle didn’t miss a thing. “Is everything all right, Hermione?”

She loved the way he said her name.

Someone is getting sidetracked, Meira teased.

“Yes,” she said, clearing her throat. “Everything is fine. But why would there be a portrait of you when you are still alive?” she asked again.

“Perhaps it is because I am not your every day portrait.”

Hermione blocked out everything around her and focused on the steady pulse of magic from the portrait’s frame.

“You’re a Horcrux,” she gasped.

“Yesss,” he hissed in such a way that served to thrill more than frighten her. “What House are you in?”

“Gryffindor.”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Ten points to Gryffindor. That really leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he warned as she reached out to touch the frame. “You have no idea what Horcruxes can do, do you dear?”

“No, I haven’t exactly had the time to read up on them. Although, I sincerely doubt that even the Restricted Section would have an in-depth analysis on such dark magic.”

“Dark Magic? Dumbledore is still the headmaster I take it. Hermione, if you ever learn anything from me, let it be this. There is no Dark Magic and Light Magic. There is only power.”

“Power can be a dangerous thing. Witches and wizards have fallen before it for centuries.”

“They have, but it has not stopped me yet, Hermione. Not completely anyway. If you were to touch any part of my portrait, then I would cease to be trapped here. Instead, I would dwell inside of you. Ah, I see that sparkle in your eyes. Naughty girl!”

She blushed and looked away. “Okay, you would absorb into me, if I understand you correctly. Which is a very bad idea because I doubt you would restrain yourself if I brought you back to Hogwarts.”

“Let us just say, all good things come to those who wait.”

Before we go, there may be some things you can use in the safe behind his portrait.

“I don’t suppose you’re willing to let me into the safe behind your portrait.”

“I would not be opposed to it. But to gain access to the safe, you would need to tell me the password.”

“Password? Great, I love a game of charades,” she muttered. “Slytherin?”

“No.”

“Ravenclaw?”

“No.”

“Natasia? Feodora? Guinevere? Kadru? Ian?”

“No, no, no, no, and no. Try again, dear.”

She exhaled slowly and touched her hair, when it suddenly came to her. “Ciarán.”

He nodded and the portrait slowly swung opened to reveal…a wall. Hermione pressed her hands against the wall, feeling around for any indents or soft spaces. She found none. Ignoring her rising fears and hoping against hope that she had the wrong idea she withdrew her wand and cut the palm of her hand. She waited until her blood began to run and pressed her bleeding hand against the wall. She sealed the cut and waited. And waited. She had almost given up when the blood absorbed inside the wall as it did in her journal. The piece of wall grew transparent before disappearing completely.

Inside the safe, she found a silver ring with a W engraved in a red rose. The Ring of Walachia. She found Guinevere’s necklace. She found a wand that was an exact replica of her own, but there was something different about it.

Untraceable, Meira whispered.

Good. That saved her an unscheduled trip to Knockturn Alley. There was also a bag the size of a change purse.

Grab that. You will need it.

“It’s not filled with dark objects that are going to get me caught the second we get back to Hogwarts, is it?”

No, ‘Mi, you won’t get caught.

“That doesn’t really answer the question, but fine.” She stepped back from the wall and watched as the portrait swung closed. “I believe that’s everything.”

“Are you sure? Isn’t there something that you are just dying to ask me, Hermione?” he purred.

“Are you responsible for whatever it is that’s happening to me?”

“Yes and no.”

She waited for him to elaborate. He didn’t. “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?”

“Well, what did you expect? An epistle detailing all of my wicked deeds?”

“No, I was hoping you would skip to the section where you explain my connection to Meira,” she said a little snappishly.

“Ah, that Gryffindor bravery.”

“I’m sorry to be rude. I just –.”

“Want answers? Want to know why you find it impossible to stop thinking of me?”

“Yeah.”

“Unfortunately dear, I am not the one who can answer your questions.”

“Then who can?”

“Lord Voldemort.”

~…*…~

“Come on, ‘Mione you have to go!” Harry pleaded as Hermione struggled to concentrate on the dark arts book that was untitled. The book, among other things, was located inside of the change purse. Meira had created an extension charm on the bag and it held books, jewelry and money. She was on the section of Horcruxes when Harry barged into the Common Room and threw his head in her lap.

“Harry, I already told you. There is no reason for me to go to the ball.”

“Of course there is. You can keep me company while I drown my sorrows.”

In spite of Harry and Cho “hooking up” every other night, she decided it would be best for appearance sake to go with Cedric. Hermione couldn’t exactly blame her. Who in their right mind would willingly put themselves in Skeeter’s target range? Speaking of which…

“It can’t be that bad. Ron managed to wrangle a date with Lavender. I know you can find someone. What about Ginny?”

Harry sighed, enjoying the way she ran her fingers through his hair. “Ginny’s going with Neville. And I can’t tell you how happy that makes me.”

“Yeah, Neville doesn’t get a lot of breaks.”

“That’s not what I meant. I didn’t tell you this sooner because I didn’t want to upset you, but in Mrs. Weasley’s letter it was like she was trying to make an argument why her daughter would be a good wife for me or something.”

Hermione closed the book and stared down into Harry’s sparkling green eyes. “She did?”

“She did. I never told you this, but sometimes, when Ginny’s looking at me I think she sees him.”

“The Dark Lord?” she whispered. “But why? You look nothing alike…from what I have heard,” she covered quickly.

“I think it’s because of my scar. It reminds her of him. She’s still terrified of him, you know?”

“Aren’t we all?”

“Did you know,” he began with a strange smirk. “That there is a rumor going around about you?”

“When is there not a rumor going around about me? All right, let’s hear it.”

“Well, rumor is that you turned down Viktor’s invitation in the library.”

“And who started that?”

“Ginny. So, is it true?”

Hermione sighed and nodded. “It’s not that I have anything against Viktor Krum. I don’t. I just don’t think it would be fair to drag him down in my wicked circle.” That and Hermione overheard his thoughts of her being a sure shot to getting lucky. “Maybe you should ask Luna. She did get you that interview, you know.”

“Yeah, that’s true. And she is cute, a little spacey, but cute.”

“See? There you go.”

“Are you sure there’s no way that I can talk you into going?”

“I’m sure, Harry. I think that I’m going to just do some homework.” Yes. Homework.

[LINE]

The night of the Yule Ball found Rita Skeeter lounging in a bubble bath humming merrily. Her articles on the Granger girl and her “romance” with Harry Potter had sparked an increase in readers for her column, “Me, Myself & I.”

And it was all thanks to that delightful Pansy Parkinson who had began to give her exclusives on the girl and her little trio.

“Hermione Granger, you are my ticket to fame,” she sighed, closing her eyes.

“Is that right?” Rita gasped and opened her eyes to see the black and gray essence of Hermione Granger standing over her, looking like the dark witch she accused her of being. “You should have minded your own fucking business.”

The Essence grabbed Rita’s hair and pushed her under. She laughed dementedly as the drowning woman’s mind screamed that she was not ready to die. She kicked and fought, sloshing water all over the floor, but in the end, the battle was lost and Hermione was the victor.

That was great, Meira sighed dreamily. It had been entirely too long since she watched the light leave the eyes of her enemy.

“I didn’t really think I would be able to do it. I’ve never…but she deserved it. She was going to do everything possible to ruin my life. So it was okay to get rid of her…right?” she felt like a child asking for acceptance.

It was more than okay. And if it were not you, I guarantee it would have been someone else. At least your way was quick and virtually painless. Now, I do believe we have a party to crash.

The Yule Ball had been underway for an hour and more than a few of the guests were disappointed that Hermione did not show up. Harry figured it had something to do with Ron bragging loudly about Lavender being his date and remarking how sad it would be for a girl to go stag. At one large table was Harry and Luna, Cedric and Cho, Viktor and Fleur, Neville and Ginny, and Ron and Lavender who were being ignored while they were busy inhaling each other’s faces.

The crowd parted when she walked through. All eyes were on her and Meira inwardly preened from the attention.

Looks like I was right.

Before Hermione left the Manor, she found a mauve colored dress in Meira’s closet. She modified it a bit. It was now a strapless bodice with a tiered floor-length skirt and the edgings were trimmed in glittering silver. She curled her hair and wore it down around her shoulders.

“No way,” Cho said, her jaw dropped in awe.

“What…is that…?” Neville gasped.

“Hermione!” Harry waved.

“You made it,” Ginny beamed.

“Did you really think I would miss it? And why are you all sitting around the table? Let’s dance!”

The mood lifted significantly amongst the Champions table as they followed Hermione out to the dance floor. Even Ron was having a fun time, although he managed to spend most of it gawking at Hermione and stepping on Lavender’s toes as a result.

“Ron!” she said, smacking him over the head.

“What the bloody hell did you do that for?” he whined.

“Pay attention!” she grabbed a handful of his hideous robes and turned him away.

Hermione smirked at their antics and allowed herself to be sandwiched between Harry and Ginny.

After about an hour of dancing, Hermione took a break by the refreshment table. She carefully avoided the punch knowing it was spiked. She nibbled on a piece of chocolate contemplating which dessert she wanted.

“Granger.”

She glanced up to see Draco Malfoy glaring at a cupcake. “Has the pastry offended you in some way, Malfoy?”

He huffed and rolled his eyes. “No, it’s called be inconspicuous, Granger,” he said as if it should have been the most obvious thing in the world.

“Of course.” She picked up a saucer with a scoop of vanilla ice cream drizzled in chocolate and caramel sauce. “Is there a particular reason you’re being inconspicuous beside me?”

“I can’t figure you out.”

“Okay…I didn’t realize that I was occupying your thoughts.” She had to admit that the prat looked very dashing in his robes. Even his perpetually tousled hair was smoothed back.

“Well, it’s not every day that someone tortures me in a classroom,” he said, wryly.

“It seems as though your memory is getting a little foggy, Malfoy. You tried to torture me.”

“Simple semantics, Granger,” he said with a half smirk. “Why are you so different this year?”

Hermione was pleasantly surprised to see there was a mini brownie inside the scoop of ice cream. She chewed thoughtfully. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just tired of you and your little serpents pushing me around.”

He said nothing to that. Hermione thought he had decided to let the conversation drop and come to his senses. “I sense something in you.”

He spoke so lowly she had to strain to hear it. “Please tell me that was not your attempt at a pickup line, Malfoy.”

“You’re going dark.”

On the outside, Hermione coolly ate her ice cream and even rolled her eyes at such a preposterous statement, but inside, she wondered if anyone else was as conscious of her actions as he was.

“Gryffindors hardly ever go dark, Malfoy.”

“That doesn’t sound like a denial, Granger.”

“Was your father very angry with you?” she didn’t know why she asked about Lucius Malfoy, but from Meira’s memories, she could almost see the exact point where he changed to be the man he is today.

“What’s it to you, Granger?”

“I was just making conversation. No need to get your knickers in a bunch.” She debated whether she should have another scoop. Why not? She would just run a little longer in the morning.

“I think he actually likes you…in some way,” he finally said. “It works in your favor that you call him Lord Malfoy.”

“So was he really mad?”

“At me mostly. He said my grandfather would turn in his grave if he knew his only grandson allowed himself to be tortured by a mudblood.”

She ignored his regular use of the name, realizing that he only used it to mask the sadness of his voice. He seemed so much like the innocent little bundle she, well, Meira, held in her arms.

“Draco, your father sets standards that even he can’t live up to. Aside from the negative things you have said to me over the years, you are a more than capable wizard. My only competition academically actually.”

“Why did you say that?”

“I don’t make a habit of giving compliments; just take it as it is.”

“Why did you call me by my first name? You’ve never done that before.”

She watched the now empty saucer vanish. “Times are changing…Draco.”

“Everything all right here?” Harry said, placing his arm around Hermione’s waist, glaring balefully at Malfoy.

“Surprise, surprise, Potter to the rescue as usual,” Malfoy sneered, falling back into his usual role as everyone’s favorite villain.

“I believe Hermione has more than proved that she doesn’t need rescuing, least of all from you.”

“Whatever, Scarhead.”

“I hope you two don’t think you were being inconspicuous,” he said when Malfoy rejoined his friends. “There was not a person in this hall who didn’t see the two of you talking.”

“Well, damn, you caught me. And before you ask, no he was not bothering me.”

“Then what was he doing?” he asked seriously.

“I think since our duel he is beginning to realize that I am not who I once was,” she said slowly.

Harry seemed to be considering her words. She could see the doubt in his eyes. Not that she blamed him. She had begun to keep more than her share of secrets from him. “In any case,” he said with a smile. “You owe me a dance, Miss Granger.”

“I believe I do.”

Ironically, Evanescence’s Snow White Queen played. Harry and Hermione danced – a little too closely to fall in the category of “just friends” and Draco Malfoy was being interrogated by his fellow Slytherins.

“Just what were you playing at talking to that little mudblood bitch?” Pansy hissed, more jealous than upset over Draco betraying blood loyalties.

“I don’t believe I owe you an explanation, Pansy. You are nothing more than a bed warmer.” He ignored the hurt that passed before her eyes and took a sip of the spiked punch. “Don’t ask questions beyond your station.”

“Then answer my question,” Blaise Zabini glared. “I personally could care less what depraved acts you get into on your own time, Malfoy, but at least have the decency to show a little discretion. You are making our house look bad.”

“Yes,” Adrian Pucey said, having overheard their argument. “And it would be a shame if word got out. What do you suppose your father would say if he learned his baby boy was behaving like a blood traitor? I dare say he would ship you off to the burrow and call you a Weasley.”

“You’re all being stupid,” Goyle said, stepping between Adrian and Draco. “Obviously, after the incident in DADA, Draco’s learned that, mudblood she may be, she is not to be taken lightly. When the direct approach fails, you have to know your enemy. But you all are too foolish to realize this. I only regret that we didn’t try this tactic from day one. If we had, Draco’s methods wouldn’t seem so suspicious to everyone.”

It took every ounce of restraint Draco had to compose himself. Gregory Goyle. Who would have thought that there was more to the lump of muscle?

“Just make sure that’s all it is, Malfoy,” Pucey warned.

“Thanks for that,” he said after the others dispersed.

“Don’t make a liar out of me, Draco. If what our fathers say is true, now is not the time to risk being painted a Blood Traitor because of a passing fancy.”

“Goyle, it’s not like –.”

“You don’t need to explain anything to me,” he said, holding up his hands in surrender. “Granger is a hot little piece that has entered all of our thoughts at least once since the year started. But whatever this thing is you have for her, get it under control before the wrong person finds out.”

Draco Malfoy had a lot to think about that night. One, how the hell could he have missed that Goyle actually had a brain and a keen sense of perception? And two, what was wrong with Granger? How was it possible for her to undergo such a drastic change in personality and no one else seemed to really notice? Even as he watched Pansy’s head bob up and down on his lap, later that night making up for her accusations, Hermione Granger was the only thing on his mind.

The Yule Ball had ended. Most of the couples who came together left together. All except for two. Covertly, Cho left the hall and lay in wait in the darkened corridor for Harry.

“Go get ‘em, Tiger,” Hermione said, kissing him goodbye. She met Cedric’s eye as he stood at the door. He signaled for her to come.

Hermione left the hall, with a wave to Moody who in turn smirked as if he knew she was about to get up to all kinds of naughtiness. She disillusioned herself and trailed behind Cedric making sure no one else was around.

She followed him into the Prefects Bathroom and warded the door behind her. She dropped the charm and waved her hand to start the bath.

“I didn’t have nearly enough dances with you,” he said, taking off his dress robes.

“You can thank Ron for that. Even for all of Lavender’s distractions he still managed to stalk me the entire night.”

When he was down to his under shirt and trousers, Hermione wrapped her arms around Cedric’s neck, staring into his soft bright eyes. They held each other, swaying to a silent song.

“Can’t seem to take a hint, that one. What was that little thing between you and Malfoy tonight?”

“You saw that, did you?”

“Everyone saw that. You will be lucky if Skeeter doesn’t get wind of it.”

I wouldn’t say luck has a thing to do with it.

“I’m not sure exactly. He seems to think that I’ve gone dark. Do you think so?” she asked, laying her head against his chest. Cedric didn’t wear cologne like the other boys. His scent was all him.

“Confident, focused and stronger, yes. Dark? Not as much as you could be.”

“Would it be so horrible if I was?”

“Only if your wand was pointed at me.”

She bit his neck and stroked his cock through his trousers. He reached behind her and unzipped her gown. She let it fall to the floor, leaving her clad in her thong and heels. Hermione watched Cedric drop to his knees before her and almost came at the sight of it. He pressed soft kisses to the inside of her thighs. He slid her thong to the side and trailed his tongue up and down her dripping slit.

“Tub,” she moaned when her legs turned weak.

She stepped out of her shoes and banished his clothes leaving him in his boxers. They climbed in the swimming pool sized tub. Hermione went under, wetting her hair. Cedric pulled her close and she could see the difference in his eyes.

“Cedric…”

“Don’t make me wait any longer, Hermione,” he whispered against her neck. “It will be good. I promise it will be good.”

His kneaded her breasts, taking care to stroke her sensitive nipples. “Okay.” She shimmied out of her underwear and threw them on the floor alongside her dress. For the first time since she began embraced Meira’s presence, Hermione felt afraid. She wanted Cedric nearly as badly as she wanted Tom Riddle, but what if she wasn’t good? It was one thing to read about sex. Putting it into practice was an entirely different matter. She watched his boxers come off and felt her nerves flair again.

Deep breath, ‘Mi. The more you tense up, the more uncomfortable it will be for you.

She gave in to Meira’s calming presence and acted on instinct. Cedric guided her towards the edge of the tub, turning her back to him. She spread her legs, bracing herself. He whispered a spell. She flinched, feeling the cooling sensation in her back passage. Was he really…? He distracted her by inserting his wet fingers inside her throbbing heat.

He pushed his fingers in and out of her bringing her closer and closer to orgasm. She felt so relaxed that she barely flinched when Cedric eased his hard cock inside her ass. They groaned at the feel of her tight hotness.

He held perfectly still giving her time to adjust to his size. He bit down on his lip hard enough to draw blood. She was even tighter than Cho. His male instincts screamed for him to pin her hands against the tub and pound her until she begged for mercy. Maybe later.

“Touch yourself,” he whispered.

She obeyed, gasping as he experimentally thrust in and out of her. “Oh, Cedric. Yes, more!” she worked her fingers in tandem to his thrusting. She could almost feel the sensations of his cock inside her throbbing cunt. She was so close.

“Hermione!”

“Cedric!”

She came hard, drenching her fingers as Cedric filled her in long, hot spurts.

“Ten points to Hufflepuff,” she panted.

“Only ten?” he chuckled.

“Well, the night is young…”

While Hermione was having the time of her life with Cedric, Harry’s fun with Cho came to an abrupt end when his eyes suddenly turned red and his voice became a haunting rasp.

“The Hufflepuff will pay with his life for defiling my Queen!”

Natasia & Meira quote comes from thinkexist (dot com)

She Walks In Beauty – George Gordon, Lord Byron

Sonnet 130 (My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun) – William Shakespeare
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His White Queen: A Prequel