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His White Queen: A Prequel	By : jsu1660n Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 19050 -:- 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
- 12
- 13
- 14
Chapter 12

Everything was all wrong. The judges awarded him 45 points for outstanding moral fiber and Barty Crouch, Sr., was talking his ear off about something he really didn’t care about. Fortunately, Moody sauntered over and saved him from the one-sided conversation. Harry’s mind was solely on the fact that he had just pulled Ron Weasley from the lake when it should have been Hermione.

Someone punched him in his shoulder, hard. And he was surprised to see Ginny glaring at him furiously. “What is wrong with you? Did you just wake up this morning and decide that you were going to be an ungrateful prick?”

“What are you talking about?” he said, fighting the urge to rub his aching shoulder.

“Your best friend is devastated because you betrayed her in front of three different schools for my thickheaded brother.”

“It wasn’t like that, Ginny. As soon as I saw her down there, my first instinct was to get her out. Why do you think that I was delayed?”

“That doesn’t matter, Harry! After everything she has done for you, the person you would miss the most is Ron! That’s all anyone will remember.”

“I know I will never forget it,” Ron said with a lazy smile, throwing his arm around Harry’s shoulder. “I really appreciate it, mate.”

“Thank you for saving my Won Won,” Lavender said, hugging Harry’s neck. “Come on, Ron, let’s get you out of those wet clothes.”

“Later,” Ron said, wiggling his eyebrows.

Ginny’s eye twitched and Harry could see that she was only seconds away from hitting the oblivious girl with her Bat Bogey Hex.

“Where is Hermione now?” Cedric asked as they had begun to cause a scene. Cho stood at his side failing in her attempts to gaze covertly at Harry.

“Don’t get me started on you,” she said, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “What, was she just extra help for the Tournament and a good time for you, Cedric?”

“Don’t make comments on things you don’t understand, Ginny,” he said a little condescendingly.

“And don’t take that tone with Ginny, Cedric,” Neville said almost threateningly.

“This is getting us nowhere. Ginny,” Harry said, hoping his gentle tone would convey at least half of the remorse he felt. “If you know something –.”

“As if I would ever tell you two disloyal gits.”

“Hermione is not here,” the dreamy voice of Luna Lovegood carried over to them.

“Luna, do you know where she is?”

“Of course, Harry. Hermione is on a different plane,” she answered as if it was the most logical statement in the world.

A collective groan passed through the group. “Luna that makes absolutely no sense,” Harry sighed.

“Does it matter where she is, Harry? She obviously doesn’t want to be around you.”

“The Weaselette is right.” Draco Malfoy leaned against a tree, a Slytherin smirk curling his lips. “While you were making eyes at Chang, Granger left in the direction of the gates.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets and started back towards the castle. “I didn’t think she knew how to Apparate, but it is Granger. What can’t she do?” he said thoughtfully.

Ginny and Neville walked back to Gryffindor Tower without another word to Harry and Cedric.

“Should we tell someone?”

“No, if she wanted us to know where she was she would have said something. We should just leave her be for now,” Cedric said, running a hand through his hair.

“I’m sure she’s fine,” Cho said, holding his hand.

Harry turned away. Seeing Cho comfort Cedric was more than he could stomach on an already confusing and emotionally challenging day. He left the couple alone and absently started walking through the Forbidden Forest. Where are you, ‘Mione? He thought, unaware that he was about to stumble upon the body of Barty Crouch, Sr.

Hermione Apparated directly in front of the double doors of the Black Sea Manor. She opened the door, feeling the wards separate to let her through before sealing behind her. She sat on the lower steps of the stairs and released the tears she had held back.

Natasia appeared before her, touching her hands.“What is wrong, my child?”

“It’s all falling apart. My friends are not really my friends. And someone I was involved with, he doesn’t even care enough to miss me if I was gone.”

“I am sure they would miss you, love.”

“They won’t,” she said, shaking her head. “I have done everything right. I bend over backwards to help them even when they don’t deserve it. I feel so lost.”

“You are lost, but soon you will see. Soon you will see that there are many who love you. You will see the sacrifices others have made for you.”

“Would it be all right if I stayed for a while?”

“You may stay for as long as you like,” she said, drying her tears. “I believe he is waiting for you.”

She vanished leaving behind a soft breeze that smelled of flowers. Hermione knew Natasia was right. Getting to talk to Tom was her sole reason for Apparating away from Hogwarts. She went to Meira’s bedroom, more than a little disappointed that she still felt the void where her presence should have been.

She stood before Tom Riddle’s portrait giggling into her hand. He was asleep in his throne with his mouth hanging open. He snored loudly and only got louder when she called his name. His book was opened in his lap and he almost looked harmless.

“Nagini, would you mind?”

His familiar hissed in response and playfully nipped Tom’s ear, startling him off his throne. “What? What?” he jumped up looking around as she laughed, holding her sides. “Oh, yes, startling a poor, defenseless Horcrux off his throne is just hilarious.”

“Poor and defenseless? Those are two words I never would have thought described the Dark Lord.” She sighed and sat in the chair beside the fireplace, across from his portrait.

“You look terrible.”

“It really warms my heart to hear such wonderful compliments from you, Tom,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the visit, it gets really dull around here with Natasia haunting the manor, but I get the feeling that this is not a social call.”

“No, it’s not. I can start from the beginning if you have the time?”

“As if I have anything better to do. Tell me everything.”

For the next two hours, Hermione told Tom everything starting from her home life before Hogwarts all the way up until the moment she Apparated to the manor. Some parts of the story made him laugh, others made him murderously angry, particularly the part about the night of the Yule Ball.

“If I understand this correctly, your lover would rather save another girl and allow you to perish, despite the deeply inappropriate sexual relationship between you. Your so-called best friend elected to save an idiot who has no faith in him at all and is insanely jealous of him in every way. Which left you to be saved by a Bulgarian Quidditch player who has no connection to you whatsoever. Is that about right?”

“Yes.” She leaned back in the chair, massaging her temples. Ever since Meira became MIA, Hermione had started to experience the worse migraines. “I am trying to look at this rationally. Ron was Harry’s friend first. Harry is a boy so therefore he feels closer to him than to me. Cedric is not my boyfriend. He is my lover as you so eloquently phrased it. He is with Cho. He loves her. Viktor doesn’t really know anyone in Hogwarts outside of us. I think he likes me more than he says.”

“You are attempting to find reason in the unreasonable, Hermione. From what you have told me, Harry Potter has only survived this long because of your constant interference. And I really, really don’t wish to upset you, but it seems to me that Cedric was only using you for a good time.”

“But Cedric is not that type of person, Tom.”

“He cheats on his girlfriend. The boy is not exactly a paragon of virtue, Hermione.”

“I’m not saying he is a saint.”

“I hear a ‘but’ in there.”

“But to just assume that he is using me is a stretch.”

“His loyalty is to his girlfriend. Not to you.”

“Tom –.”

“Okay, okay, let’s forget about your little Hufflepuff for a second. Let’s just put him out of our minds. What has Ronald Weasley done to warrant such loyalty from Potter? What one thing has he done that trumps the multitude of favors and assistance you have provided for Potter these past three, going on four, years?”

Hermione was at a loss. She tried hard to think of at least one redeeming quality about Ron, but she drew blanks. Every time he should have been there for Harry, he was always more concerned over Harry’s popularity and wanting to be up front to share in the limelight. That is, when he was not obsessing over her.

“Ron is…he’s still a child in many ways. Most of the things he says and does are not completely his fault. Harry and I have had to mature faster than he has.”

“Do you ever take the day off?”

“What do you mean?” his indulgent smile confused her.

“You spend all of your time fighting for Potter and Weasley, even though one is a thickheaded stalker. But who fights for you, Hermione? Who takes the time to defend you and rescue you for a change?”

“I don’t need saving. Harry is the one who’s usually in harm’s way.”

“Everyone needs saving, Hermione.”

“Even you?”

“You saved me from mind numbing boredom.”

“Quick thinking on your feet.”

“I do what I can. Since you are here, why don’t the two us get into something a little risqué?”

She returned his smirk with one of his own. “What did you have in mind?”

At the castle, Harry had repeated his statement twice to the headmaster and ministry officials after Mr. Crouch’s body disappeared. He had the feeling that neither the minister nor his assistant Percy Weasley believed him.

“Yes, I am sure it was Mr. Crouch I saw lying in the Forbidden Forest. He wasn’t breathing, his eyes were open. He. Was. Dead.”

“Harry, now you had just finished your task,” the minister said, grasping at straws. “You were exhausted. Your mind was playing tricks on you.”

“Have you found Barty, minister?” McGonagall questioned, placing a supporting hand on Harry’s shoulder.

“Well, no, but –.”

“Then it is perfectly reasonable that harm has befallen him.”

“Harry, unless there was something else you would like to tell us, you can go now,” the headmaster said.

Harry wanted to tell the headmaster about Hermione, but he had a feeling that revealing that Hermione had Apparated away to an unknown destination would cause her more harm than good.

He ran a frustrated hand through his hair and left the room without as much as a goodbye. It was still early and he didn’t want to return to Gryffindor Tower and risk sparking Ginny’s ire with just his presence.

He walked to the Astronomy Tower just in time to see the sunset over Hogwarts. He didn’t know where Hermione was or when she would come back. He just hoped that wherever she was she was okay.

“Thinking about Hermione?”

“Yeah. I feel so guilty.”

“It was a misunderstanding. You have nothing to feel guilty about, Harry.”

“You’re wrong,” he said, gazing into her dark eyes. “The headmaster said that if everyone from the castle was gone, vanished, who would I miss the most? I said you, Cho. Only thing is, you’re with Cedric and the headmaster didn’t think it would look right if I pulled you from the lake.”

“Harry, no,” she said, shaking her head.

“Why are you so upset?”

“Because you’re ruining everything!”

“How am I ruining everything?”

“What we have is good, Harry.”

“What do we have, Cho? A fumble here and there while you walk around with Cedric when you know you want to be with me? It doesn’t have to be that way. There is nothing stopping us from being together. I love you.” Frustration had enabled him to say the words. “And I want to be with you. Not just behind closed doors and in dark corridors. I want the whole world to see us together. Why is that so much to ask for?”

“Cedric is going to be my husband one day, Harry.”

“Yeah, the two of you are off to a swimming start!” he snorted. “Wait, wait, don’t go. I’m sorry,” he said, pulling her into him. “I don’t want to fight with you.”

“I don’t want to fight with you either. I really like being with you, Harry. But please don’t ever ask me to choose between you and Cedric.”

“And what would you do if he left you for Hermione?”

“He won’t.”

“What if he did?”

“He won’t, Harry. Just drop it.”

He sighed, resting his chin on top of her head, wishing he would never have to let her go. “I’m doing a terrible job of not fighting with you, aren’t I?”

“Yes, you really are.” She gazed at the darkening sky as he held her waist. “But,” she took his hands off her waist and brought them up underneath her skirt. “You can make it up to me.” She parted her legs and reached behind her to unzip his pants.

“Cho, we really shouldn’t –.”

“Afraid we’re going to get caught?” she whispered.

“No.” I’m afraid Voldemort might come through my mind again and cast you off the Astronomy Tower, he thought. “But this is a little dangerous,” he said as she wiggled out of her knickers and stuffed them inside his pants pocket.

“That is supposed to be half the fun.”

She cast the contraceptive charm and braced herself against the rail. He entered her slowly, stifling all thoughts of their last encounter. This was heaven. There were no crazed wizards, hell bent on killing him. There were no best friends to betray or life threatening tournaments. There was only him and Cho, connected so deeply that he could feel her heart beating. It started to rain and the heavy drops splashed against their skin soaking them. The loud splatters muffled their panting moans.

Harry placed his hand between her thighs massaging her clit as he felt himself about to explode.

“Harry!” she whimpered, coming as he filled her with his seed.

He stepped back and rearranged his clothing after she cast a cleansing spell on them both. He didn’t bother asking if she was going back to Cedric. In the end, she always went back to him. Harry wondered why he even bothered to continue to put himself through the pain of loving someone who loved someone else. But as she held him close and kissed him goodbye, he could only anticipate the next time they would be together. And maybe then, his love, his affection would be enough.

She left him standing in the Astronomy Tower gazing at the falling rain. Harry always liked when it rain. It was the only time no one could see you cry.

~…*…~

“You know, Tom, when you said we should get into something risqué, this was not exactly what I had in mind.” Hermione winced slightly as his Queen destroyed one of her Knights. “I will say it again; this game is barbaric.”

“There is nothing barbaric about Wizard’s Chess, Hermione, and it’s not my fault if your mind was in the gutter,” he teased.

“My mind was not in the gutter, Tom. I just thought you meant brewing illegal potions or testing dark curses.”

“Well, aren’t we so eager to break the ministry’s laws and code of ethics?”

“The ministry can stuff it. Just because they are incapable of controlling certain types of magic doesn’t mean that everyone else is as incompetent.”

Hermione’s negative views on the MoM made him happy. She was well on her way to becoming the woman she once was. “You will stay the night, won’t you?”

Hermione glanced up at the portrait, thrown by the question. “I wasn’t exactly planning on it. They have to have realized by now that I am not in the castle.”

“Perhaps they have, and if so, why should you rush back?”

“I could get into a lot of trouble, Tom.”

“You could,” he agreed. “But then again, you knew that the moment you left.”

He was right. If they did know she was gone and were scouring Scotland for her, she may as well enjoy herself while she could. “I suppose I could stay. Where is the kitchen in this place?”

“You will not prepare your own meal, Hermione. Just call for an elf. They will be more than happy to cater to you.”

“Will they answer me? I am not their mistress.”

Again, Tom wore that ‘I know something you don’t know’ smile. “Try and see.”

“Ava!” Hermione learned months ago that it was a waste of time to question how she miraculously knew all of these random names and bits of information without Meira’s intervention. It was not as if anyone would give her a straight answer about it anyway.

A female elf wearing a uniform donned in Ravenclaw colors winked into the bedroom. Her hazel eyes shined brightly with unshed tears. “Mistress?”

Hermione glanced at Tom’s portrait for assistance. “Ava, this is Hermione. She will be coming in and out from time to time.”

Recognition dawned in her eyes and she bowed to him. “Yes, master. How may I serve you, Hermione?”

Hermione blinked slowly. She had great respect for house-elves, but she had never come across one who spoke as eloquently as Ava did. “If it’s not too much trouble, I would like a chicken salad sandwich with a pickle and pumpkin juice.”

Ava nodded and winked out. While she waited, Hermione decided to search through Meira’s closet for something to sleep in. “Wow, you know just by looking at this wardrobe I may as well sleep naked.”

“You will hear no complaints from me if you did.”

“I’m sure,” she said dryly.

She chose a nightgown that while skimpy, it was probably the most appropriate article of sleepwear in the closet. Ava returned with Hermione’s meal and she was pleasantly surprised to see that she managed to guess a few things about her. She knew that her favorite bread was marble rye. She knew she liked the chicken chopped in thick chunks with extra mayo, thin sliced tomatoes, lettuce and strip of bacon on the sandwich.

She finished her sandwich and pickle as she chatted with Tom about Rita Skeeter. “And you have no remorse whatsoever?”

“In hindsight, it may have been a bit petty of me to end her life just because she slandered me, but no, she made her own bed. I researched her thoroughly. Her parents are dead. Her sister lives in the U.S. She disowned Skeeter after she wrote a defamatory article about her husband being a Squib. She has no husband and no children. No one but the money hungry leeches at the Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly will miss her.”

“She suffered less than if I had done it.”

“I can imagine. Blood and mutilation galore would have been your method, Tom.”

“You know me so well.”

When she finished her sandwich and juice, Ava brought Hermione her favorite dessert. A martini glass with a mini whipped cream frosted strawberry shortcake, three strawberries on top and a scoop of vanilla ice cream at the bottom of the glass.

“I think she is dropping subtle hints that she does not want me to leave.”

“It’s not every day that she gets to cater to the living.”

After finishing every morsel, Hermione decided to take a shower before bed. She could still smell the scent of the Black Lake on her skin and it only dredged up uncomfortable memories of the day’s events. She slipped on the gown and looked at herself in the mirror. It was laced and rose-colored. It was floor length and thinly strapped. It opened in the front, exposing her G-string. It was sheer in the back and cut low across her breasts.

“Come out, come out, Hermione,” Tom’s portrait called teasingly.

“Um, I would, but…”

“Now where is that infamous Gryffindor bravery?”

“It’s being overshadowed by your Slytherin cunning,” she called back as he chuckled. She took a deep breath and stepped out of the bathroom. “Well, what do you think?” she said, slowly modeling it for him.

“I think you make me sorry that I am a portrait.”

She blushed at his candid insinuations. “Me, too.” He raised his eyebrows and she quickly backtracked. “I only meant that it would be easier to talk to you and do things if you were really here.” It was snowing heavily outside and she felt a chill in the room. She waved her wand and lit the fireplace after she extinguished the lights. “Goodnight, Tom.”

“Goodnight, Hermione.”

From what she remembered, she was lying on Meira’s side of the bed. She clutched one of the pillows and held it against her. It still held the scent of Tom’s hair. She fell into a deep slumber, unaware of the Portrait-Horcrux’s eyes gleaming red.

“She is here, milord.”

“I felt her earlier,” the Dark Lord rasped as he held on to the connection of his Horcrux. “It would seem that I was correct. Potter and the Hufflepuff betrayed her.”

“And rather stupidly, I should say. She was in tears when she arrived. Natasia and I consoled her as best we could.”

“She is better. Her emotions have evened. She is still angry and her feelings of betrayal will not leave her anytime soon, but she seems to understand now. I require your assistance, Tom.”

“You are not strong enough yet, milord.”

“So everyone continues to remind me. But I am strong enough for this.”

“Will it affect the integration?”

“No. As you have said, Tom, my presence is not strong enough.”

“Very well, milord.”

The Dark Lord merged a fraction of his magical energy with the Portrait-Horcrux. While she slept, a transparent body made up of a dark swirl with red glowing eyes emerged from the portrait. The essence glided over towards the bed. It had been years since he was able to return to their bedroom. So many memories of nights upon endless nights of pleasure were created in that very room. He stood over Hermione who shivered slightly. Even in her sleep, she could feel him near her. He slid back the sheets. Her creamy skin was luminous in the firelight.

“Tom?” she whispered, feeling the hand slide up her thigh.

“Don’t open your eyes, Hermione.”

He borrowed the portrait-Horcrux’s voice so that she would not be startled into opening her eyes at the sound of his rasping.

“Okay.”

She kept her eyes closed and felt him bind her wrists above her head. She felt his hands all over her. He touched her hair, her face, her lips. He tore open her gown in his excitement. She gasped, pulling against her invisible restraints as he suckled her nipples. In the back of her mind, she knew he was not really there. That he was employing the same type of magic as she had with Cedric and Skeeter only a bit darker. He moved lower and lower, until he was down between her thighs. She raised her hips helping him take off her G-string. His mouth felt cold against her burning flesh. She called his name again and again as her thighs trembled. She shuddered feeling her orgasm wash over her.

Exhaustion began to overtake her and she could feel his presence receding.

“Please don’t leave me, Tom,” she whimpered. Hermione felt weak. She was tired of fighting what felt right. No longer did she want to deny herself happiness because it would change her relationships with those around her. In that one moment of weakness that she would probably regret in the morning, Hermione was willing to give up Harry, Cedric, Ginny, and everyone in Hogwarts, just so she could remain with Tom.

“I will never leave you, Hermione,” he promised. “Sleep.”

Hermione awoke the next morning with a smile on her face and a flutter of contentment through her body. Last night was the first night in months that she actually had a dreamless sleep. No memories. No nightmares. Just a blissful stretch of darkness. It was Saturday and truthfully speaking, she didn’t necessarily have to return to Hogwarts. And who would really care if she didn’t? The next tournament wouldn’t be for a while, and with the exception of Potions, most homework assignments were suspended until after the Second Task. So neither the Champions nor Ron particularly needed her around.

There was no risk of anyone stumbling upon her dark texts and objects because she had the foresight to hide and carry her bag around with her at all times. But there was still the subject of her familiars. She did not want to leave them trapped in her warded bed until Monday.

“A sickle for your thoughts?” Tom called from his portrait.

Hermione sat up slowly, yawning and stretching. “Good morning, Tom. How did you sleep?”

“Obviously not as well as you did,” he smirked.

“What do you mean?” she blushed. “Did – did you hear something from me last night?”

“Well, yes, I did, but I was actually referring to your girls.”

“My girls?”

“Your girls,” he said, gesturing to her chest.

She looked down and quickly pulled the sheets up to her chin. She had forgotten that during her “sleep” her gown had gotten torn. “Sorry.”

“I’m not.”

“No, I shouldn’t think you would be. I had an epiphany this morning.”

“Did you?” he said, intertwining his fingers, looking almost intrigued.

“Yes, it is Saturday and my friends have no real need for me. There really is no good reason to return before Monday.”

“Really? And are you not worried that your friends will panic in your absence?”

“Nothing would make me happier.”

“That is quite the epiphany, Hermione.”

“But there is a problem. I don’t want to leave my familiars unattended and it might be best to inform at least one person of my safety.”

“Well,” he began thoughtfully. “Communicating with someone inside the castle should not be a problem. You could always enchant a parchment to exchange messages. As for your familiars, it would take a lot of concentration and magical energy. You would have to practice summoning living creatures. Carefully. It’s never a pleasant sight to see your familiars splinched.”

She winced at the thought. “What do I need to do?”

“Close your eyes and relax.”

She followed his instructions and breathed deeply.

“Envision your familiars. Envision the sight, sound, and feel of them. Envision them being with you right now.”

She envisioned Baltazar. She recalled the smooth feel of his scales and the light weight of his body wrapped around her wrist. She envisioned Crookshanks. His thick and plushy fur. His heavy purrs that vibrated throughout his body whenever she scratched his tummy.

“Open your eyes, Hermione.”

She opened her eyes and squealed happily. Crookshanks sat on her lap, purring happily and Baltazar coiled around her wrist, hissing softly. “It worked!”

“Did you doubt it would? You are an extraordinarily powerful witch, Hermione.”

“And you are a very good teacher.”

He rolled his eyes and smiled. “It is still very early. Why don’t you go back to bed and rest a little longer. Then you can compose your letter.”

She nodded, suddenly feeling very sleepy.

Saturday morning found Barty sitting in his office. He sealed and warded the door so that he was finally able to drop the old, paranoid Professor Moody guise. He had just ended a conversation with the Dark Lord. Barty expected the Dark Lord would be annoyed that he killed his father and prompted a premature worry within the MoM. He even thought the Dark Lord would be angry because Potter stumbled onto the body before he had the chance to transfigure him into a rock to drop into the lake. But the Dark Lord was neither annoyed or angry. He was amused that Potter found the body and that the ministry officials refused to believe him, and he was proud of Barty for finally breaking his father’s unhealthy hold.

But while Barty was happily killing his father, he had completely missed Hermione Granger’s abrupt exit. They had been so worried that she would find it impossible to betray Potter in the end. Instead, he made their jobs easier by betraying her himself!

Barty was naturally worried when the girl disappeared and did not reemerge even at dinner (although anyone could have guessed why, especially with the female Weasley angrily glaring at Potter as though she would spit venom), but the Dark Lord assured Barty she was in the safest place, besides his presence of course.

“Not to worry, my servant,” he said. “The only danger is to those around her while she is basking in the aftermath of betrayal.”

He knew the girl was more than capable of defending herself if necessary, but it made him anxious to know that she was so far away while she was still in her…confused state. Seeing his lady for the first time as a mere shell of her former self nearly caused Barty to blow his cover and Avada Dumbledore on the spot. She had her moments where something would happen or someone would say something to spark the little flame inside her that was once a raging wildfire.

Barty would never forget his first formal meeting of the Dark Lord. Not only because he was a wizard that was greatly admired long before Dumbledore defamed his name, but because it was the first time he would lay eyes on the Dark Lord’s Queen.

He was understandably nervous about meeting such a fierce and powerful wizard. One whose magical abilities stood to rival those of the famed Albus Dumbledore. His “interview” with the Dark Lord was much more rigorous than he anticipated. It was not enough to know curses deemed dark and illegal by ministry standards. Executing these curses and even demonstrating that you had the stomach to take a life if necessary was only the cusp of the Dark Lord’s standards. For Arithmancy, Runes, Potions, Herbology, and Magical Creatures, he accepted no less than knowledge equivalent to Exceeds Expectations in, at the very least, three of these areas.

Barty graduated in the top of his class and had no problems passing the Dark Lord’s trials. It was only when he laid eyes on Lady Meira, the Dark Lord’s Queen, did he fear his life was in jeopardy. For only a man who is devoid of sight or tempered to embrace his own sex could withstand the lure of her presence. From her black as the night hair, her flawless porcelain skin, her haunting gray eyes, her pouty rose lips, to her full breasts, and womanly figure. She had the allure of a Veela and the temperament of an angel, forgiving and loving, and at times, merciless and avenging.

It was only when the Dark Lord kindly suggested he place his devouring eyes back into his skull should they be removed did he redirect his attentions.

But overtime, Barty’s sexual desires towards the Dark Lord’s wife diminished and in its place was a loyalty and love as strong as that of a son’s for his mother. It was a bit Oedipal at times even to Barty’s own eyes, but Lady Meira did become his mother.

They grew close after her son Ciarán was murdered in her womb. The Dark Lord’s already short temper was at its worst. Even with Regulus Black’s unforgettable execution, Lady Meira had not recovered from the loss of her first child. They suspected that there was more to Dumbledore’s curse than the Dark Lord let on, but who would be foolish enough to question it?

One evening in particular changed the dynamics of Barty’s relationship with Lady Meira.

The Dark Lord was away gathering intel on Dumbledore and his Order of the Phoenix. Fenrir Greyback and members of his pack were stationed all around the outskirts of Riddle Manor. It bothered Barty that the savages were so close to the Dark Lord’s home, but both he and his Queen seemed to trust the wolves implicitly. Who was he to question their judgment? He still kept an extra eye on them.

Four Death Eaters in pairs of two guarded the manor from both the outside and inside. Every six hours, four more would come to alleviate the others and it would continue until the Dark Lord returned. They never knew why he dismissed the inside Death Eaters. They mostly figured it was because they wished to spend their time together in private.

Barty was stationed inside the manor with his partner Evan Rosier. Rosier was a quiet man, but deadly with a wand. Barty usually partnered with either Bellatrix Lestrange, her husband Rodolphus or his brother Rabastan. He liked all three Lestranges. They were three of the most magically inclined Death Eaters he knew and they always made him feel like family. Truly, he got along with most of his brothers, all except for Snape and Malfoy. Snape always seemed ashamed to be a poor halfblood, which was ridiculous considering that their leader was a halfblood, as quiet as it’s kept, and even with his misplaced shame, he had this way of looking down on everyone. He had an almost unprecedented knack for Potions but from his attitude, you would think that he gave birth to Merlin! And then there was Malfoy who thought money and wealth were synonymous with respect and ability.

Barty himself was not exactly having the best day. His father in his inane quests to become the next minister of magic continuously led raids on their secret properties. It made no sense to him. Regulus was dead, yet somehow information was still leaked to the Order. There was another rat. There was no other explanation. Even worse, Barty received a letter by owl from his father. He claimed that he knew of his “nefarious activities” and if he did not cease at once, his mother would pay the price. Barty knew his father was a ruthless man and would fall dead before he let anything or anyone tarnish his impeccable reputation within the ministry. He knew his father would never physically harm his mother, but the ministry never knew how much of an expert he was at the Imperius Curse. It sickened him that his father could go so low just to keep him under his thumb.

Barty decided to distract himself from his bleak thoughts. He had planned to do something special for Lady Meira. He only hoped that his lord wouldn’t misconstrue his intentions.

“Ava!” both the Dark Lord and Lady Meira gave the on-duty Death Eaters permission to call upon their house-elf should they need something.

“How may I serve?” she said with the slightest bow of her head.

“I would like an audience with Milady Meira if she is up to it.”

Rosier blinked slowly when the elf winked out. “What are you doing, Barty?”

“I am requesting an audience with our mistress.”

“This is a breach of protocol.”

“I realize. I just wanted to give her something,” he said, taking the black wrapped parcel from his pocket.

“When the Dark Lord hands you your own arse, you have no one to blame but yourself.”

“Duly noted.”

Ava appeared before them. “Mistress shall see Master Crouch and Master Rosier in the throne room.”

Since Dumbledore’s attack, she found it too painful to enter the parlor. Rosier and Barty entered the throne room, to find their lady perched daintily on the Dark Lord’s throne. She had never sat there before and Barty was a little slow in his bowing, he realized, when Rosier tugged him down by his robes.

She was dressed in all black again. Another long-sleeved gown that touched the floor, reminiscent of an era too soon forgotten. He thought of Queen Victoria when she was in this form of dress and it was what spurred him to be so bold as to buy her a gift.

They removed their masks and she smiled faintly. “Rise. You will forgive my lack of decorum, gentlemen, but I am to assume temporary power when the Dark Lord is away. You requested my presence?”

“It was not I, milady,” Rosier clarified immediately.

“It was I, milady.”

“Oh? And for what purpose?”

“I have something for you.” He held the parcel out to her and attempted to mask his hurt when she waved her wand testing it for curses.

“Do not be offended, Barty. After Regulus’ deception, we can never be too careful. You may approach.”

As he moved closer to her, he could see that her skin was pale and ghostly, no longer porcelain. Her eyes were watery and red rimmed. She took the package from his hands and unwrapped it.

“‘The Complete Works of Alfred, Lord Tennyson.’ Thank you, Barty,” she smiled. “This was very thoughtful of you.”

She was seconds away from dismissing them when he interrupted her. He could see that for her, the book served to be no more than a child’s breath of a respite from her pain.

“If I may, milady, I would like to read something for you.”

Her eyebrows rose slightly, before she waved her hand exhaustedly. “You may.”

Barty opened the book to the poem that touched him the most and began to read aloud.

“Number LXV.

‘Sweet soul, do with me as thou wilt;

‘I lull a fancy trouble-tost

‘With `Love's too precious to be lost,

‘A little grain shall not be spilt.'

‘And in that solace can I sing,

‘Till out of painful phases wrought

‘There flutters up a happy thought,

‘Self-balanced on a lightsome wing:

‘Since we deserved the name of friends,

‘And thine effect so lives in me,

‘A part of mine may live in thee

‘And move thee on to noble ends.

Barty heard his lady sniffle, but he kept his eyes focused on the book in his hands. He feared that he would not be able to continue if he saw her cry.

“Number XXI.

‘I sing to him that rests below,

‘And, since the grasses round me wave,

‘I take the grasses of the grave,

‘And make them pipes whereon to blow.

‘The traveller hears me now and then,

‘And sometimes harshly will he speak:

‘`This fellow would make weakness weak,

‘And melt the waxen hearts of men.'

‘Another answers, `Let him be,

‘He loves to make parade of pain

‘That with his piping he may gain

‘The praise that comes to constancy.'

‘A third is wroth: `Is this an hour

‘For private sorrow's barren song,

‘When more and more the people throng

‘The chairs and thrones of civil power?

‘'A time to sicken and to swoon,

‘When Science reaches forth her arms

‘To feel from world to world, and charms

‘Her secret from the latest moon?'

‘Behold, ye speak an idle thing:

‘Ye never knew the sacred dust:

‘I do but sing because I must,

‘And pipe but as the linnets sing:

‘And one is glad; her note is gay,

‘For now her little ones have ranged;

‘And one is sad; her note is changed,

‘Because her brood is stol'n away.

He closed the book when he was finished. She had bit her lip to the point of bleeding to withhold her tears. “Milday?” he asked, longing to comfort her as he would his own mother.

“Leave us,” she said to Rosier without removing her eyes from Barty’s. He bowed and left the room, closing the door behind him. “Barty, I have no idea what would have possessed you to read these poems to me. But thank you for doing it.”

She opened her arms to him. He went to her, falling to his knees before her. He clasped her small hand between his, tears dampening his eyes. She hugged him to her breasts and pressed a kiss against the top of his head as though he were the child she so terribly missed.

Her hold on him suddenly tightened and he guessed why when he felt his Dark Mark tingle. “I would advise one of you to start explaining within the next five seconds.”

She released her hold on him and Barty prostrated himself at the Dark Lord’s feet remaining silent. She maneuvered around him. In the prolonged silence, Barty’s curiosity got the best of him. He glanced up to see Lady Meira clasping the Dark Lord’s hands between her own and gazing unblinkingly into his eyes. They stayed that way for almost ten minutes before the Dark Lord blinked and slowly lowered his gaze to the still prostrating Barty.

“Rise,” he commanded. He obeyed, keeping his eyes down respectfully. “You are relieved for the night, Barty.”

“Milord,” he said respectfully.

“And Barty,” he called. “Thank you.”

He bowed lowly to them both and Apparated away, pleased to see the first real smile on his lady’s face since the death of her son.

Barty downed another glass of Firewhiskey. He staggered to his bed, still thinking of Meira. No matter how this year ended, he would do whatever was necessary to return her to the Dark Lord.

Hermione awoke for the second time in the manor to find that Crookshanks had made himself at home on Tom’s side of the bed and Baltazar was curled against his belly taking in his heat. She glanced at the portrait and found Tom reading. He was frowning at whatever he was reading and his lips puckered slightly in a pout.

He really was a handsome man. Not that she was so shallow that she could not see past his looks. By ministry standards, he was as far from good as a wizard could get. But even before Meira’s sudden emergence, it bothered Hermione that no one ever bothered to ascertain why the Dark Lord was the way he was. Long before he declared war on Dumbledore and the Order, he already had plans for immortality and he obviously wanted to be in a position of power. Why was it that no one bothered to find out why?

“Is there something so fascinating about watching me read, Hermione?” he said, smiling without taking his eyes from the page.

She blushed a little over being caught. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Ask away.”

She bit her lip wondering how she could form this question. From Meira’s memories, she only had scattered accounts of Tom Riddle and their life together. Even then, it was from her standpoint. She often wondered how he felt about his life and his plans for himself.

“Oh, don’t be shy, Hermione.”

“Well, I wanted to ask you because I sincerely doubt that your other self would be willing to answer.”

He closed the book and met her gaze. “I dare say I am intrigued. Go on.”

“What was your life like before Hogwarts? Did you always want to be the Dark Lord? Why did you long for immortality? And…why do you have trouble saying the L-word?”

Tom’s expression did not change. She was beginning to wonder if her questions had irritated him. “You don’t pull any punches, do you?” He stroked Nagini’s head as she slithered her upper body onto his lap. “Very well. I will answer your questions. However, there are a few things you must do first.”

She was so eager to learn a firsthand account of the life of the darkest wizard in history that she would have agreed to do anything. “Okay.”

“First, you will shower and change. I have never actually discussed myself with anyone before and it will be a lot simpler if your state of dress were not so…distracting. Secondly, you will eat, and then compose your letter.”

“Are you sure you are not trying to keep me distracted?”

“No, I fear that you are a little too persistent for that.”

The first thing Hermione did when she went into the bathroom was look in the mirror. Her reflection was nowhere near what she expected. Her lips were bruised. There were passion marks on her neck and bite marks on her breasts. There were even handprints around her thighs. Any chance she had of hoping that her phantom encounter was all a hallucination went out the window.

“He’s getting stronger,” she whispered.

She shook off the festering questions and put the Dark Lord’s eminent rise out of her mind. She showered and washed her hair with the rose scented shampoo and conditioner Ava stocked earlier that morning.

She stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around her waist. She waved her hand, drying her hair and binding it into a messy ponytail.

“How did the Dark Lord ever allow Meira to leave the manor?” she questioned, finding more and more inappropriate outfits in her closet.

“She wore a cloak at all times unless he preapproved it.”

“Hmm, well I suppose this will have to do.” Hermione chose a black and white short-short sweats with a matching short sleeved hood that only zipped up halfway revealing a red, built-in bra. “Did she just walk around all day hoping to seduce her husband?” she said, putting on her ankle socks.

“Oh, yes,” he laughed. “It was quite the entertaining little spectacle.”

Once she finished dressing, she sat down to her breakfast and considered whom she would write. Harry would be the obvious choice, but she was still not ready to forgive him for his betrayal. It was the same for Cedric. Ginny would most likely be the best bet.

“Do you think I should give Viktor Krum something for pulling me from the lake?” she said, suddenly.

“You could,” Tom said, carefully. “But you may want to be cautious. If the boy has designs on you, you wouldn’t want to encourage him.”

“It’s not as if I was going to give him a silken scarf with my initials embroidered at the bottom to wear against his chest for when he flies out to play!” she said, dramatically.

“But you have given it some thought obviously.”

She sighed exasperatedly. “I suppose so. He was the only who cared enough not to leave me there like some sort of sea ornament. Chocolate would definitely give him the wrong idea. Cologne would imply that I have problem with his smell or that I actually care if he smells a certain way. I don’t know. Maybe I should follow Meira’s method and get him a cloak and his favorite alcohol.”

“If you feel so inclined to offer a token of your gratitude to the boy then let it be something that relates to what he loves the most,” Tom offered wisely.

“Quidditch. But he would already have the best of everything. What could I possibly…?” Hermione’s mind suddenly flashed back to her father’s obsession with football.

“Have you come up with something?”

“I think I have. Although, I may need your help with it.”

“Very well. We will start on it later tonight. Now, however, I believe you have a letter of sorts, to compose.”

It was Saturday, and Ginny was less than thrilled. Hermione still had not returned to the castle. She sat in the Common Room gazing dismally into the fireplace. Harry was off sulking somewhere mostly because of Cho and partly because it was his nature. Ron was too busy trying to get up Lavender’s shirt to take notice of Hermione’s absence and Cedric was no longer allowed in her presence.

Everyone else was out enjoying their day without a care in the world, but Ginny could not partake in the enjoyment of a weekend of suspended homework. She missed her friend. Ginny twirled her wand, absently conjuring snowflakes that rained down onto her hair when she felt something warm in her lap. It was a piece of parchment. She picked it up and words began to appear just as the pages in Tom Riddle’s diary did in her first year. The words remained on the parchment long enough to be read once.

“Ginny, it’s me. Do not freak out. Do not alert anyone that I am writing to you. Take this parchment and wait until you are alone to respond. Remember, tell no one about it.”

She breathed a sigh of relief when she recognized Hermione’s handwriting. Ginny took the parchment and hurried up the stairs to her dorm. She grabbed a quill and sat on her bed drawing the curtains closed.

Her hand shook in her excitement as she wrote in near frantic squiggles. “Hermione, thank god! Where are you? Are you okay? I’m so sorry about what happened!”

“Ginny, breathe. I am fine. I am somewhere safe and I will be back before classes start on Monday. And you have nothing to be sorry for. Has anyone taken notice of my absence?”

“Yes. Harry and Cedric, of course. Cho, Luna, Neville, and surprisingly enough Malfoy.”

“Malfoy?”

“He saw you running towards the gates. It was strange. The first thing I expected of him was to laugh at your pain or insult you, but he seemed almost sympathetic towards you. Is there something going on between the two of you?”

“That is a very disturbing and slightly nauseating question, but no. There is nothing going on between Draco Malfoy and myself. Do not tell anyone that I have contacted you and destroy this parchment. I will see you soon.”

“Be safe, Hermione.”

She lit the parchment afire and banished the ashes. “Good, that should give Harry more than enough time to think about what he’s done,” she smiled.

A/N: Oh, Harry! When will you see that Cho is the type of girl who is like poison? Up next, Tom reveals his past to Hermione!!

LXV & XXI from “In Memoriam A.H.H.” – Alfred Lord Tennyson

Prince Albert died in 1861. His wife, Queen Victoria mourned for 40 years. During her period of mourning, she wore nothing but black. During this time her poet laureate, Alfred Lord Tennyson came to her court and read his poem “In Memoriam A.H.H. in its entirety to her. I thought that was an interesting piece of history.
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His White Queen: A Prequel